The fire crackled quietly against the cold night outside. Miss Fisher sipped on some concoction Mr Butler had handed her against her oncoming cold, her legs curled up onto the chaise. The drink tasted faintly of flowers, but it barely registered. Her head was too full of thought.
A quiet knock drew her attention to the open parlour door, where Alessandro stood, back in his dark three-piece suit, his hair still wet after a bath.
"May I join you?" he asked. Phryne waved him inside. He sat beside her, his hands folded in his lap.
"I'm afraid I cannot offer you any of this drink," she smiled, getting up to pour him something else. "How did you fare with the aftermath of our wet adventure?" she asked after handing him a tumbler.
"So far no side effects…" he took a sip, "...other than the surprise marriage of our old friends."
Phryne sat and sighed.
"It appears a little rushed, I grant you. But then, what difference does a week make?"
Even as she said it, her stomach curled into a tight little ball. She'd thought she had another week to brace herself. Only for her grace period to have shrunk into a single night.
"Will you be joining them?" Alessandro asked into her thoughts. Phryne nodded. It had been a question she'd asked herself for hours. While sitting in the background while Jack spoke his vows appeared an insupportable thought, she knew only witnessing it with her own eyes would make it real. Aside from that, the unspoken threat in Marco's book still lingered on her mind. What she said out loud was: "Of course. Why wouldn't I join them?"
Alessandro looked at her searchingly.
"Let us not lie to each other, Miss Fisher," he said quietly, taking her hand. "You have as much reason for not wishing to be present as I."
She pressed his hand, quiet understanding passing between them.
"And yet, for that very reason, we must go," Alessandro said. "We care for them and I am not convinced they are safe."
Phryne reached out to touch his cheek.
"You are a good man," she said quietly. He smiled.
"I cannot take such a compliment without doubt," he said after a long moment. "But from your lips it means something, Miss Fisher."
She returned his smile, her fingers slipping up his arm. Warmth bled through the fabric, mixing with his now familiar scent into the perfect comfort for her raw soul. Alessandro reached out his own hand, carefully weaving it into her hair. When he pulled her in for the gentlest of kisses she didn't resist. His lips were hot on hers, infused with the smokey taste of whisky. She eagerly returned his kiss, clutching onto his back, pushing the dark thoughts away. But Jack refused to be banned from her mind, even as Alessandro pulled her into his arms, began to unbutton her blouse.
You made it abundantly clear that I do not possess what it will take to satisfy you…
She pulled back. It took a moment for Alessandro to realise the shift in mood and he resurfaced, panting.
"I am sorry," Phryne said, feeling as if she had emptied a bucket of cold water over both their heads.
"No, I... presumed... I apologize." Alessandro stood stiffly, the effects of their passionate kiss still very visible on his body. She held him back by the wrist, shook her head, trying to reveal her meaning.
"I wanted you to," she said quietly. "But it seems ghosts are not easily chased away tonight."
He nodded, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her hair.
"Maybe it is better if we face our ghosts soberly," he whispered. Then he withdrew to bed, leaving her alone in the parlour. Miss Fisher pulled her knees to her chest and finally let the tears flow.
X
In another part of town, two men nurtured their glasses of wine with little concern to its body or depths.
"Leave town, she said," Antonio Strano said, his speech betraying that he'd drunk more than was good for him. "Ragazza stupida!"
"You know she and Gianni will never have peace in town," Vincenzo said calmly, draining his glass. He regretted by now that he had followed his father's urgent invitation.
"Bloody poliziotto," Antonio Strano grumbled, draining his glass yet again. "Why does she have to marry him."
"Because she loves him?" his son pointed out carefully, emptying the remaining wine into his own glass in the hope that it would keep his father from drinking any more. Antonio Strano was not a pleasant man when drunk. Now he watched his doings out of glassy eyes.
"Sofie!" he called. The petite woman turned behind them, where she had been setting up table for the next day and sighed quietly, but obediently approached. "Bring us some grappa," Strano demanded.
She bustled away and Vincenzo returned his attention back to his father.
"You need to give her time," he said. "She will come around. You know Concetta."
"Time? She never needed time before. Until she met this stupid poliziotto. He sit at my table, drink my wine and steal away my daughter!"
He slammed his fist onto the table with so much force that the glasses rattled dangerously.
"But I will not allow it!" he promised darkly.
Vincenzo turned and waved away Sophie, who was approaching with a bottle of clear liquid. He rather felt his father had had enough.
X
By the time Inspector Robinson said goodnight to Constable Brandon the clock had struck midnight. The young policeman barely looked up from his desk as his superior officer departed. He had become a father recently and had a hard time making it through the late shifts. Jack felt sorry for him, but didn't mention it.
The night air was cool, somewhat calming his fluttering nerves. Wind riffled through the trees as he walked to where the motorcar was waiting patiently, pulling a squashed pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. He didn't smoke often, didn't like the way it made his fingers and clothes reek, never had enjoyed kissing Rosie either after she'd had one. But he did love the way the smoke curled through his lungs, shrouding the world into calming fog. Jack leaned against the car and stared at the moonlight, half hidden behind a cloud. He was certain that some nervosity was natural for a man who was to be married in the morning. A simple telephone call to the presbytery of St Ambrose had secured them the support of Father Lorenzo. He had been sorry to inform him though that the only time he could wed them was at half past seven, before the morning mass. Jack was torn if to be relieved or disappointed by this development. The romantic part of him didn't feel a wedding should be the footnote in a busy priest's day nor should it happen without guests or flowers. Or with the groom having barely slept because he'd had to sort out his cases until late into the night. And it almost certainly shouldn't take place because the bride wanted to escape her father.
On the other side, whoever may have been threatening the wedding wouldn't be able to change their plans this quickly. And, his brain added before he had a chance to stop it, Phryne Fisher was unlikely to make an appearance so shortly after sunrise.
Leaving Melbourne was not as easily accomplished. There were realities to moving themselves to a quiet place in the countryside, a house to be sold and another one to be bought, a transfer applied for to a quiet police station with no murders and no lady detectives to haunt him. Jack pulled up his shoulder in an effort to shake off the thoughts of Phryne.
Miss Fisher's expression, the heartbreak he'd imagined he'd spotted in her eyes, her forced smiles and faux happiness. He had truly never intended to hurt her, not expected her to hurt like this. Be annoyed with his fickleness, surely. Lament the change in their work together, grieve their flirtations, the lost opportunities… But not...this. It made him question himself, his decisions, the future. Jack straightened his shoulder.
What was done, was done. Concetta needed him, now more than ever. She was intent on burning every bridge that still connected her with her father and while the policeman in Jack welcomed this decision, the lover's heart bled for her. She'd lost her mother to a motorcar accident several years ago, he knew, but what he hadn't known until tonight was that she had left an opium den minutes earlier. All anger at her father had broken its way through the fragile truce tonight. He'd never seen her like this before. He never cared to see it again.
Jack rubbed out the remainder of his gasper on the cobbles and climbed into the driver's seat. The dimly lit streets flitted by like flickers of thought, dark, bright, melting into a twilight of confused nothingness. He reached his empty house with a headache and the burning desire to sleep. Heavy hands opened the door into a stuffy hallway. Jack let the door fall shut behind himself and took in the emptiness of his home. Tomorrow someone else would be living here. It was the first time that this thought was bittersweet to him.