Chapter One
It was that silent hour immediately before dawn. The one that Phryne used to hate, because it would remind her of the soul-destroying times behind the trenches, when serried ranks of young men were waiting to be sent over the top with the whistle and her job was to get them to the field hospital and then watch their eyes stare in death. She'd found different ways of dealing with it since the war; often, she would stay out dancing until dawn and let alcohol-induced oblivion take over. Or she would find someone to bring home and play with, to while away the hours.
Now, as in so much, it was different, she thought, as she opened her eyes and let them rest on the sleeping man next to her. Lifting herself up gently so as not to wake him, she propped her head on one hand and studied his face. Even in peaceful sleep, he wore a slight frown, as though he carried the world's cares in his dreams as well as his waking hours. Certainly, there was enough that was ugly in his life – she'd once joked to him that if she found an attractive crime she'd hold a wake when it was solved.
But there was also plenty that was very, very beautiful – especially now. As she lifted her hand to push a stray curl of hair from his face, she saw, in the hint of the dawn, the sparkle of the diamond in the ring he had given her the previous evening. Married? Phryne Fisher? Wonders would surely never cease; but on the other hand, she'd had to face the idea of a life without Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson in it for a couple of dreadful days on their sojourn in London, and the sheer panic the thought invoked had been a salutary reality check.
She recollected that the flash of the stones in her "dearest" ring had been a harbinger of dawn, and realised glumly that he would wake as soon as it was light, and leave her, to do his civic duty for another day. Then she smiled to herself wickedly. Rather than run her hand down his back, laid very temptingly open to view where the sheet had been pushed down, she carefully lifted the sheet from herself too, and very warily moved to lie full length on his back. He gave no sign of having woken, until the corner of his mouth opened to mutter groggily.
"Phryne."
"Yes, Jack?" she whispered. It would be rude to wake him, after all.
"What 'you doing?"
"Stopping you getting up, Jack."
"Oh." A short pause. "D'you think it'll work?"
"Well, if I got up to find your handcuffs you might have woken up, so it was the best I could improvise under the circumstances."
Another short pause.
"Fair enough."
Faintly surprised that he wasn't making more effort to escape, she folded her hands over the back of his neck and rested her chin on them.
"Jack?" Now more of a chatty whisper.
"Hmmnn?"
"You know how we've just got married?"
"Hmmnn?" That was definitely a self-satisfied smirk, albeit a sleepy one.
"Are we allowed a honeymoon? I mean, are you allowed any more time off, after all the time we spent in England?"
Silence.
"Week."
"What?"
"Got a week. Starts today. Train to Gippsland 'n' hotel. 'N' a boat." Another smirk. He loved it when he could surprise her, and especially loved that he'd yet to open his eyes. "Can I go back to sleep now?"
Her eyes narrowed at his temerity in keeping such a secret from her. Then she smiled, cat-like.
"No, Jack Robinson, you may not."
Mrs Robinson proceeded to demonstrate the precise punishment handed down to husbands who failed to inform their brides of an impending honeymoon.
He didn't mind a bit – in fact, when she'd finished, asked very politely if she could please do it again, because he was awake now.