Epilogue
"You didn't want me involved, did you, Jack?"
"Of course I did! I …" he was silenced by A Look.
Palms up, he admitted defeat.
"No. No, I didn't. I still don't. Hell, Phryne, we could all have died in that science lab. I want to wrap you in cotton wool for the next six months or so. Is that so awful?" She looked away, but he covered her hand where it rested on the dining table. "I'd rather you focused on the fact that I didn't object. I can't object, Phryne, I know that."
She lifted a shoulder, then tried to lift the tone.
"How about if I promise, the next time someone fires a gun at me, I'll shout for help instead of sticking a knife in his shoulder?"
As hilarious one-liners went, that one ranked high in the Lead Balloon stakes.
He gave a twisted smile back.
"I think you shouldn't make promises you aren't likely to deliver on."
She really should remember that it was Jack she was talking to, thought Phryne.
Rather than try to argue the point further, she got up from the dinner table, took his hand and led him through to the parlour. Her taste for strong spirits apparently having vanished for the duration, she brought her wine glass with her and watched him pour a scotch for himself.
He settled on the couch, and she sat next to him; after a moment, she slipped off her shoes, turned and lay down across his lap. Her head rested on one of his arms, and his other hand laid the glass down in order to caress his new favourite part of her anatomy once more. She watched through half closed eyes, noting the way in which the fabric was starting to stretch where it had previously hung fashionably loose.
"Some of my clothes already don't fit any more. If you start wrapping me in cotton wool I'm going to be so big I'll need a whole new wardrobe."
"Look on the bright side – Madame Fleurie will be ecstatic," he remarked dryly.
"I don't think Madame Fleurie has designed anything for the expectant mother in her entire life. In her world, women don't have children." The tone was joking but the smile didn't reach her eyes.
He set himself, there and then, the task of keeping her smiling for the remainder of her pregnancy. She was his Phryne, after all – how hard could it be?
He then reminded himself that he liked a challenge.
"Okay then …" he sat back and started enumerating options.
"Not cotton wool. How about … fresh, cool, Egyptian cotton?"
"I'm not planning to be that kind of mummy, Jack."
"Good point. Silk?" His free hand lifted one of hers and started kissing the fingertips in turn.
"Mmm … sounds nice. Might be a little constricting when I want to move around." Her tone was becoming more of a purr.
The kisses started to progress to the palm of her hand, and then to her wrist.
"Kisses?"
She gave an involuntary shudder as he arrived inexorably at one of her sensitive spots.
"Not something … I can exactly … wear… out of doors … Jack." She was becoming oddly breathless.
"Kisses it is, then."
A giggle from the occupant of his lap suggested that Inspector's mission was, at least for the time being, accomplished.