I continue to be blown away by your responses. And NancyMay, no worries on the name front-Martins is a perfect name for a solicitor, after all. ;-D


When Mairi headed back to the flat an hour later, Phryne took Anthony into the kitchen for a drink of water. As she filled the cup, Phryne reconsidered the conversation; her reaction had been odd, and she could not quite dismiss the niggling feeling that the cause had not been resolved. It was not the smacking itself—that was too commonplace to warrant any reaction at all. Jack was the most moral, caring man she'd ever known, and by all accounts his brother had been the same, so she did not think that it was an inherently damaging choice; it was nothing like her father's erratic punishments.

My Andy worked long hours. I cannae imagine what he must have thought when he walked into the house that night. But he bundled me off to bed, sorted Dan, then let me cry some more .

Oh. It wasn't that Mairi Robinson had made a mistake; it was that she relied on Jack's father when she did.

She handed Anthony the cup, careful he had a good grip, and moved to put the kettle on.

"Miss?"

She turned; it was Mr. Butler at the doorway, bringing in some shopping.

"Oh, hello," she said. "I was just making tea. Would you like some?"

Her butler gave her a considering look, and she realised what she had said. The poor man must think she'd lost her mind.

"I'll bring it through to the parlour, shall I?" he said.

Phryne nodded; she hadn't made such a gaffe since her first days in England as a teenager.

"Yes, please, Mr. B."

She retreated to her familiar parlour. It was her favourite room in the house; decorated to her precise tastes, it was beautiful and comforting, and so much had happened in it since she had returned from Europe the first time five years earlier—most of her courtship with Jack, for she could admit now that it was a courtship before either of them had considered it such; dances and parties and long talks with her friends; investigations and confrontations. It was a good room.

She had found a family in Melbourne, and she loved them all dearly. But if she said yes to Squirrel… if she said yes and lost them, would she still manage? There were dangers inherent in Jack's job, and hers. The world was in the midst of a worldwide financial crisis, and despite her safe investments leaving her day to day life much as it was, that could change. She needed to be honest with herself; if they were to take the boy in, if she was to become his mother, she needed to know that she could handle it without money or support if such an eventuality arose.

Not, she assured herself, that it would. But if.

She was working her way through her second pot of tea when Jack came home that evening, still contemplating her dilemma. Mr. Butler had kept Anthony in the kitchen, claiming that the boy would be a great help in biscuit making. Judging by the clock on the mantelpiece, he was probably in bed now.

"Phryne?"

She looked up, realising that Jack seemed slightly concerned; she was getting that reaction quite a lot that day.

"Hello, darling," she smiled.

"I take it the meeting with your solicitor this morning went well?"

She rolled her eyes. "So well I had no choice but to waste your lunch hour ravishing you senseless."

"Yes," he said, coming over to sit on the chaise beside her. "I do vaguely recall this. Should I ask why?"

Phryne gave an exasperated sigh. "Mr. Martins Junior spent a great deal of time advising me on matters that were none of his business, then attempted to bill me for it."

"That's not the first time it's happened?" Jack guessed; he had always avoided any discussions of Phryne's legal or financial affairs, but it seemed he was at least making an attempt as promised.

"No, he's a fool. His father is the best solicitor in Melbourne and both reliable and discreet, but the son…"

Jack nodded, but didn't offer advice. Feeling a rush of appreciation, Phryne leant over and kissed his cheek.

"Anyway, that's not really the matter at hand. I did manage to talk with him about the—" she attempted to hide her stumble by taking a sip of tea. "Well, there's been some changes since Jane. It's a much more organised and formal system, but not insurmountable. And obviously we will need to speak with Ed at Welfare once he's returned; there are visits to the home, medical examinations, an absurd amount of paperwork, and then we can file the application. Presuming, of course, that we decide to."

Jack nodded. "And the marriage?"

"Our story should hold up well enough—there's the documentation that I added you to my last will and testament, and I'm certain your solicitor will be able to prove the same. So we pretend like the paperwork must have gotten lost somewhere along the way—going a considerable distance for our elopement did have its benefits—and we never realised, and arrange a date before filing the petition."

"If we decide to," Jack amended.

"Yes."

She watched his still face from the corner of her eye; she did so wish that he was at least slightly more expressive. She could not tell how he truly felt, hedging around the matter the way he did. Of course, it would be that she was focusing on that small detail to avoid focusing on the larger ones. Before she could slip into melancholy, Mr. Butler arrived and announced dinner.

The meal and the rest of the evening passed as it usually did, and it was not until they were both in bed that Phryne allowed herself to consider the matter once more.

"I need you to promise me something," she said into the darkness; his hand paused its explorations.

"What?"

"If we…. Jack, promise me that regardless of how obnoxious he is, how loud and disagreeable and defiant… promise me that we'll never break his spirit."

She heard his indrawn breath, felt his hands on her hip tense slightly. She may as well have slapped him in the face.

"This… this isn't about you, darling," she said quietly. "This rule is for me."

He moved closer, his entire body pressed against hers, and kissed the crown of her head.

"Never, love," he murmured. "We would never."

On Saturday, Jack offered to take Anthony to the foreshore.

"Excellent idea, Jack," Phryne said. "I might even join you once I've spoken with my suspect."

There was a particularly casual tone to her voice that worried him immensely, but Jack just shook his head.

"I would ask that you bring your pistol—which is still unregistered and therefore massively illegal, by the way—but I'm fairly certain you'd leave it at home out of spite if I did," he said dryly.

"You know me so well," she demurred, then perked up. "But you won't get rid of me that easily, so bring a picnic."

He was dressed in casual clothes and was packing his swimming costume and towels when the telephone rang, and Mr. Butler knocked on the door.

"Telephone for you, sir. It's the station."

Jack ran a hand through his hair, cast a longing look at the swimming costume he suspected he would no longer need, and sighed as he headed down the stairs.

"Jack Robinson speaking," he said down the line.

It was one of his sergeants; a fugitive suspect in one of Jack's cases had been arrested, and was kicking up seven kinds of hell. He'd need to go in immediately, both for an interview and to bring order back to the station. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jack agreed, thankful he had not mentioned the plans to Ant at least. He went towards the stairs to change into a suit, popping his head into the parlour as he walked passed to explain the situation to Phryne.

"Can't it wait?" she asked. "I thought you were going to the beach."

"It really can't. He's suspected of beating two men to death in a pub brawl, and now he's trying it on my officers. I'll be as quick as I can, but I need to go in."

She made a noncommittal sound in response, but Jack was already heading up the stairs. Mr. Butler had laid out one of his work suits—the man was a miracle worker—and Jack changed quickly, preoccupied with the upcoming interview. He'd been searching for Sam Nelson for the past three months; he'd disappeared after the fight, leaving behind a wife and three kids to fend for themselves. Jack trotted down the stairs, grabbing his hat and coat and heading out the door. He was halfway to the station when he remembered that Phryne had been going out for one of her own cases. Well, it would wait.

He didn't get back home until late afternoon, and when he entered he found Phryne with a whiskey in hand and a look of irritation on her face.

"I'm sorry," he said immediately. "When the station telephoned I utterly forgot you were going out."

"But you'd do it again?"

Trust Phryne to cut to the heart of the matter.

"Yes. And I won't be made to feel guilty about it. My job—"

"Is no doubt more important than mine."

"I didn't say that. But I am accountable to more than a private client, Phryne. And sometimes that has to take priority."

She waved her hand slightly, her habit when she knew she had no argument to counter but was unwilling to admit defeat.

"It will be of little matter soon enough," she said dismissively.

"No?" he asked. Phryne could be impulsive, but he highly doubted a delayed investigation would be enough to change her mind; a part of him still wondered.

"A nanny, Jack."

A nanny. That was… well, of course. It was perfectly logical. He hadn't even contemplated it.

"No."

The word surprised him as much as it surprised her, and she crossed her arms as she looked up at him.

"No? How exactly do you propose we have two jobs between us without one?"

Jack shook his head, trying to work it out himself.

"Not no. Not yet, I think."

"You think?"

Her look was disbelieving, and rather echoed his own sentiments.

"The arrangement we have right now… it works."

She scoffed lightly. "You would say that; you aren't the one who has to juggle it. You've been… incredible, really. But as you say, you are accountable to a schedule; I've had to work around Mrs. Bowen and Dot and your mother when she's in town, and Mr. Butler has taken on far more than he should."

He sighed; she was right. He was also certain that his instinct of not yet was correct, and he'd long ago learnt to listen to those instincts. Thankfully he could think of a potential solution.

"I still have my long service leave," he offered. "I know I was intending to save it for the next time you went to England, but… you're right. I'd have to call in some favours to have it granted on such short notice, and I'd still have court appearances. But I can take the three months."

"Jack…"

"It will leave me free for home visits and solicitor's meetings and whatever else comes up. We could even go on holiday, if you'd like."

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him.

"This is important to you?"

He nodded, and she shook her head.

"This is madness, you know that?"

"We'd still have Mrs. Bowen," Jack pointed out. "And I suspect my mother would agree to extend her stay. But I just… this will be a big enough adjustment without adding another person to the mix. Especially a perfect stranger; Ant's still not handling that well, we both know that. Just… give us a chance to find our footing first?"

Phryne cocked her head to the side, then nodded slowly. Jack felt a rush of relief.

"Thank you, love."

"We could have Jane and Ivy join us for a weekend if we do go away."

She seemed tentatively sincere; it left a warmth in his chest.

"It might even be fun?" she said. "Time with the three of us, I mean."

Jack smiled wryly. "I wouldn't go that far. He's still two."

Phryne had thought that the nanny conversation would be the defining moment, yet the discussion continued. More negotiations, tentative steps and small concessions on both their parts; matters of school and discipline and boundaries and whatever else came to mind. She had never thought that there could be so many little details to consider. Or perhaps they had created little details, neither one willing to be the first to say yes.

Yes, we can.

Yes, we want.

Yes, we will.

"Abbotsford," Jack said over lunch one afternoon very early in the new year, no preamble.

Phryne was going to tease him that it was a cruel thing to insist upon when Collingwood was clearly the superior team, but remembered an offhand comment he had once made about attending Abbotsford games with his father. Clearly it had meant more than he had let on.

"I'll ask Dot to start knitting a scarf," she agreed.

It was such a simple thing, in the end; they were going to do it.