Author's note: First of all, I want to thank everyone who reviewed my last chapter, also the guest reviewers whom I can't thank personally. Your positive feedback means a lot to me, and is a great encouragement to keep writing.
That being said, I'm now a bit apprehensive about this chapter J It probably can't live up to the last one, but I suppose that's okay. There's always going to be some variation in quality as I try out new things, writing what feels right, and different things will please different people.

Just a heads up: there will be no smut in this chapter (gasp!). It didn't feel right. Lots of angst this time, so if you're not in the mood for that, feel free to skip or come back later. And don't worry, there will be lots of smut again in future chapters, because I can't resist J

Well… enjoy! And reviews are always welcome.

Jack's fist smashed into the man's grinning face, and he felt the crunch of breaking bones under his knuckles. He pulled back, swearing softly but savagely as he shook his hand, trying to diffuse the pain he knew would come. Right now, he was still numb with adrenaline, his anger still strong enough to keep him from feeling anything else, but the bruising impact would soon hit him. Breathing heavily, he turned and saw Phryne. She was standing in the doorway with a hand over her mouth, eyes wide, but he was still too angry to apologize. In fact, he wasn't quite sure he should apologize to her at all. After all, this was her fault. He turned his back to her again, facing the man now lying on the floor, blood streaming down his face.
'Touchy as always, I see, Jacky,' his brother grinned, wincing as he touched his broken nose.

It had all started two weeks ago. Jack and Phryne had been working on a case together, and one afternoon they met at the station after having conducted their separate investigations in the morning, sitting down together in his office to compare notes. They were in the middle of a discussion when they heard the phone ring, and Collins answer it. A moment later, the constable stuck his head around the door to Jack's office.
'Sir, uhm… could I talk to you for a moment?'
Jack left Phryne sitting at his desk, sifting through files, and followed his constable out of the office. Collins seemed a little nervous when he turned to the Inspector.
'Sir… your brother called.'
Jack sighed, wearily closing his eyes. 'What now? Does he need me to bail him out again? I'm not pulling any strings this time!'
'No sir, nothing like that. He wanted to let you know that he was back in town and… and he asked to see you, sir. I told him you were busy and would call him back.'
'Thank you, Collins,' Jack said gratefully. Now that he was forewarned, he would have time to find a good excuse for not having to meet his brother, like he always did. It was bad enough that he had to talk to him on the phone every few years, whenever he got in trouble. 'Now, let's keep this between us, alright, Collins? There's no need to trouble Miss Fisher with this information…'
'What information?'
He turned to see her standing in the doorway to his office, a file in her hand and a curious expression on her face.
'Nothing,' he said quickly, but she wasn't so easily deterred.
'Oh please, that look on your face does not mean 'nothing'. And poor Hugh here is looking like he's hiding state secrets.'
Jack threw his constable a dark look, and the young man flushed bright red.
'Nothing that concerns you,' he added dismissively. It didn't work. She simply raised an eyebrow and pressed on.
'Is it about that phone call?'
Her question met with stony silence on the part of Jack, so she turned to Collins instead.
'Hugh, who called? Honestly, you can at least tell me that, can't you? Does it have anything to do with our case? I thought we were working together on this. I'm not asking you to reveal sensitive information, but it couldn't possibly hurt to simply tell me who called just now…'
Hugh was stuttering clumsily, throwing his boss a trapped kind of look, and Jack could see that he was about to crack under the pressure. Hugh had never been a very forceful personality, and stronger men than him had succumbed to the phenomenon that was Miss Fisher, especially under the look she was now giving his poor constable.
Realizing that Hugh wouldn't hold up much longer, Jack decided he'd better get it over with. She'd never let it go anyway.
'It was my brother.' He braced himself for the impact. 'My brother called me.'
Phryne turned to him, a look of utter surprise on her face.
'Jack! I never knew you had a brother!'
He looked at her grumpily. 'Well, now you do.'
'Were you ever planning on telling me?'
'No,' he answered curtly, and turned his back to her as he reentered his office. She followed him.
'What? Why not?'
'We're not on speaking terms.'
'Why, what did he do?'
'Nothing. Well, it's not that he did anything in particular. The man's a scoundrel, that's all.'
Phryne grinned. 'Sounds fascinating. Tell me about him. Older or younger brother?'
'Roger is two years older than me,' Jack replied grudgingly.
'What line of work is he in?'
'Undoubtedly something shady,' he grumbled as he dropped into his chair. 'Look, we don't get along, alright? Leave it be.'
But that wasn't Miss Fisher's style. She hopped onto his desk, and he rolled his eyes, sensing that she was ready for a thorough round of questioning.
'Can we go back to work, please?' he growled, but she was unimpressed by his grumpy attitude.
'No, I want to hear more about this mysterious brother of yours. Are you alike?'
He sighed. 'Yes,' he admitted reluctantly. 'People say we are alike.' In looks, at least. In fact, all throughout his childhood and adolescence Jack had lived under the impression that his brother was a bigger, better version of himself. That was certainly the way other people treated them. They looked alike, but Roger had always been taller, more handsome, more athletic, and he had positively exuded confidence and charm, while Jack had been a calm, serious boy who liked to read adventure books and had been easily overshadowed by his elder sibling. Everybody liked Roger. At least, Jack reflected grimly, until they really got to know him.
Phryne still seemed curious. 'But what kind of a person is he?'
Jack angrily pulled down the corners of his mouth. 'He's not very agreeable. Though most people would probably disagree with that. He's a real charmer. Did well for himself, too, last I heard. The only thing he lacks completely is a moral compass.'
Phryne smiled. 'Sounds interesting.'
Jack threw her a dark look. 'Maybe to you. But you can imagine that we don't always see eye to eye. We usually keep out of each other's way. It's been years since he's been in Melbourne.'
'And now he called you?'
'Apparently. He wants to see me.'
'And will you?'
He snorted. 'No.'
'Oh, but you must, Jack! He's your brother after all. You should take care of your siblings. You never know when you might lose them.'
He looked up at her, understanding, and his tone softened. 'Phryne, our relationship was nothing like yours was with Janey.' He found it hard to continue, but felt he should explain. 'Roger wasn't a … kind boy, not to me at least. He loved to torment me whenever our parents weren't looking. Later he used to laugh that it had made me stronger, and he's probably right, but it didn't make me like him.'
She seemed unconcerned. 'But surely that's water under the bridge now? And you haven't seen him in years, perhaps he's changed?'
'I don't believe that's possible.'
'But you can't know for sure unless you see him…'
'No,' he snapped, 'I don't want to see him. End of story. Now about these witnesses…'
He turned back to the case files, and Phryne observed him for a moment, then seemed to decide to let it go.

Two weeks later they were sitting in her parlor, enjoying a drink before dinner, when she suddenly turned to him with a purposeful expression on her face that did not bode well. He frowned.
'What?'
'I tracked down your brother.'
'You did what?'
'I found him for you. I thought it might be nice if you could reconnect.'
'I specifically told you that I didn't want to see him!'
She rolled her eyes. 'Yes, but why not? A simple childhood grudge. You should get over that, darling. You still see him as the boy you knew, while you should be getting to know the man he's become. I think it would be good for you, put the past behind you. He was very keen on the idea.'
'You talked to him?' He was appalled. He knew she was headstrong, but he hadn't expected her to go this far.
'Only on the phone. Come now, darling, he's your brother.'
'I understand that you're looking at things from your own perspective, but you don't know…'
She cut across him. 'You're not the same person you were back then! You've changed, you've grown, it will be different now. Don't you think there might be the slightest chance that he's changed for the better?'
He hesitated. 'I suppose so…'
'And don't you think you should at least give him a chance?'
'Well… maybe.'
The doorbell rang, and her expression brightened. 'Good, because I've invited him over for dinner.'
He stared at her, stunned. How could anyone be this interfering? She gave him a maddening smile.
'Best get that look off your face. It will be fun! Oh, I'm very curious to meet this brother of yours!'
She walked away to the hallway, where Mr. Butler was opening the door, and he got up slowly to follow her. He was furious. To spring this on him, unprepared…! But he knew she could never have coaxed him into doing this if he had known. Perhaps, he reflected, it was for the best. Perhaps he really should get over this childish grudge against his brother. He was family, after all, and they were grown men now.
But the moment Roger swept over the threshold and shook Phryne's hand with a roguish grin, Jack felt an immediate, visceral stab of dislike as he took in the familiar figure, not a bit changed from when he had last seen him, almost seventeen years ago now.
'Jack!' boomed the newcomer, catching sight of him. 'How are you, little brother?'
'Roger,' Jack replied stiffly, holding out his hand to him, but his brother swept him into a hug which he returned very uncomfortably. Roger's hair had been slicked back with the same old sweet-smelling oil, and the scent of it made Jack's stomach contract. But his brother seemed genuinely pleased to see him again, and he tried to be polite. At least give him a chance. He took a deep breath.
'It's… it's good to see you again.'
Roger grinned broadly in return. 'You too, Jacky. It's been too long. Tell me, how have you been?'
Phryne had kept herself in the background, watching their little reunion with a satisfied smile, but now she spoke up.
'Shall we go into the dining room to catch up? Dinner is almost ready, and I've had an excellent bottle of wine opened for the occasion.'
'A woman with taste,' Roger smiled charmingly. 'I like that.'
But when Phryne turned and left the parlor, Roger put his arm around Jack's shoulder confidentially, and his smile vanished as his eyes followed Phryne. 'And quite a looker, too, I must say.' Jack stiffened, but Roger seemed not to notice. 'However did you manage to win her over, little brother? Can't say you were ever a big success with the ladies.'
Without waiting for an answer, he released Jack's shoulder and followed Phryne to the dining room, leaving Jack to clench his jaw, determined not to say anything.

Over dinner, it soon became clear to Jack that Roger hadn't changed one bit. On the surface, he was the perfect guest: polite, entertaining, charming to Phryne, but Jack felt it was all a show. Watching his brother telling a story, gesticulating for emphasis, his mind drifted back to those boyhood summers, when they had spent long afternoons together, playing and exploring the neighborhood. As long as they were in school, he rarely had much trouble with Roger, but with nothing else to do during the long summer holiday, his brother tended to turn to his favorite pastime: pestering Jack. He was subtle about it, Jack had to admit. Roger was never the type to start a fight, or openly insult him, which Jack would have preferred. No, he had a sneaky way of needling his younger brother, always knowing exactly what to say to get him so mad he threw the first punch, and then got blamed by his parents. Roger was clever, Jack knew, a keen observer of human character, and relentless in his use of whatever information he gleaned about others' weak spots. That's probably what has gotten him so far in life, his pitiless exploitation of other people's weaknesses.
But there were other things. Jack's possessions would go missing without a trace. A ball, a whistle, a beetle in a glass jar. They never turned up in Roger's hands, though, so he didn't steal them because he wanted them - he simply didn't want Jack to have them. Jack was never able to prove anything, though. Even at a young age, Roger had displayed a disconcerting knack for being able to talk himself out of any situation, twisting the truth with a casual dishonesty that shocked and frustrated Jack, especially since he usually ended up getting the blame for any wrongdoing of his brother's. But the one thing Jack could never forgive him had happened much later…
With an effort of will, Jack wrenched his thoughts away from these bitter memories and tried to focus on the present. Phryne was laughing at Roger's story, and his scowl deepened. It might seem petty, but he didn't want her to like him.
At that point, Roger suddenly turned to Jack.
'So, brother of mine, I hear you're divorced?'
'Yes,' Jack said stiffly, his tone making it clear that he did not want to elaborate, but his brother had always been oblivious to tones that didn't suit his conversational motives.
'How is Rosie?'
'Fine,' Jack replied, tensing. He did not want to go there. He glanced over at Phryne, who gave him an I-don't-mind kind of look, but she wasn't the reason why he didn't want to discuss his ex-wife just now. However, his brother seemed determined to pursue the subject.
'Is she really? Because I heard some unfortunate things about her.'
'Yes, she's had a difficult couple of months, I imagine.'
'What happened? I heard rumors, but…'
'She fell in love with the wrong man,' he replied, looking his brother straight in the eye. 'She seems to have a knack for that.'
Roger grinned. 'Are you really going to bring that up again?'
Phryne looked from one brother to the other, eyebrows raised. Jack knew he should let the subject rest, but he found he couldn't. The injustice of it still rankled.
'You never even apologized.'
'I did nothing wrong! I never promised her anything.'
'You went off without a word and left me to pick up the pieces,' he growled vehemently. He had been so in love with Rosie, who only had eyes for his charming older brother. It had killed him to see her so heart-broken after Roger left for Europe without even saying goodbye.
Roger's grin widened. 'Well, you ended up marrying her, didn't you? So all was well in the end.'
'You broke her heart!' Jack nearly shouted. 'You strung her along for months, you knew she expected you to marry her, and then you just discarded her.' His anger at Roger had lain dormant for years, especially after the estrangement from Rosie, but now it flared again. Rosie had been fine in the end, that was true, but the months after Roger's departure had been agonizing. What bothered Jack most, though, was his brother's unwillingness to admit, even after all these years, that he had done something wrong.
Roger leaned back in his chair and waved a dismissive hand. 'Oh come on, you should be grateful to me! I gave you the opportunity to be the hero there, the shoulder to cry on, you know. She never would have fallen for you otherwise.'
Jack's hand curled into a fist, but he said nothing, anger seething through him. Roger clearly hadn't lost his knack of saying exactly those things that bothered Jack most, especially since he had always suspected that it was true, that Rosie had preferred Roger and would not have noticed him if the situation had been different. He suddenly became aware of Phryne, who had discreetly kept herself in the background as the two brothers argued, and the sight of her calmed him down. He took a deep breath, prepared to change the subject, but his brother seemed unaware – or was he? – of the emotional turmoil he was causing and went on.
'We were never really suited for each other, anyway. You were much more her type.'
Was I, though? Jack wondered. Look at the man Rosie had chosen after him: Sydney Fletcher was exactly the same smarmy, smooth-talking, untrustworthy kind of man his brother was, up to the same shady business dealings. Maybe Jack had never been her type at all. Maybe that was partly why it hadn't worked out between them. He could only deplore her taste in men.
Fixing his brother with a stony glare, Jack asked if they could change the subject, and Roger graciously obliged, moving on to subtly mock Jack's career instead. He clenched his jaw as he listened to his brother's needling questions, but endeavored to keep his tone neutral as he answered, knowing that Roger would only derive satisfaction from any sign of anger on his part. When he glanced at Phryne, he noticed that her expression was slightly pained as she picked up on the undercurrent of Roger's conversation. Good, he thought grimly. Maybe now she'll realize why I didn't want to see him.

Throughout dinner, Roger managed, in an extraordinarily charming way, to criticize about everything Jack valued in his life, but the more his brother baited him, the more Jack came to the realization that he didn't really care anymore. The hold Roger had always had over him had lost its power over the years, as Jack had grown and come into his own, and to his great satisfaction, he managed to listen to his brother's comments with increasing indifference, visibly relaxing as the evening progressed. Then Roger turned to Phryne.
'Phryne – may I call you Phryne?'
'Of course,' she graciously inclined her head.
'Well, Phryne, tell me…' He seemed to be weighing his words, observing her with a look that was hard to read and that gave Jack an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He didn't want his brother to become unpleasant. He was just considering intervening somehow, when Mr. Butler appeared in the doorway and asked if Miss Fisher had a moment.
'Mr. Yates and Mr. Johnson are in the kitchen, Miss. They say they have the information you requested on the 'witness with the iguana', and that you had instructed them to come to you immediately.'
Phryne quickly got up. 'Yes, I will need to see them right away. If you will excuse me,' she added to the two brothers. 'This shouldn't take too long. Perhaps you would like to move to the parlor for a drink?'
And with a swish of her dress, she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving an uncomfortable silence, that was broken at last by Roger clapping Jack on the shoulder and enquiring genially about that drink.

Jack led the way into the parlor, and poured them both a generous measure of Phryne's best whiskey. They sat down in opposite chairs, Roger swilling his drink as he looked around the room appreciatively.
'Well, Jack, looks like you did well for yourself.'
'Excuse me?' Jack asked stiffly.
His brother grinned. 'Caught yourself an heiress, didn't you?'
Immediately, Jack felt the blood rise to his face, but he tried to control his voice, knowing that his brother was just trying to provoke him, now unrestrained by the presence of Phryne.
'It's nothing like that.'
'No, no, of course not,' Roger replied, with a sly look Jack didn't like one bit. 'Though one does wonder what made you change your mind.'
Jack looked at him blankly. 'What do you mean?'
'Well, of all the people I know, you were the one I would have thought least likely ever to be in this situation. Always so high-minded, our Jack. Always doing the right thing. And now… ' Roger smirked, 'living in sin. I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.'
Jack froze. This was a very touchy subject with him, one he hardly dared discuss with Phryne but which he felt deeply about. However, that was the last thing he wanted Roger to know, so he tried to give a casual reply.
'I wouldn't have thought you would be one to judge, Roger.'
'Oh no, not at all! In fact, I think you're doing the smart thing, for once. You probably don't want to be tied down by a woman like that.'
Jack frowned. 'What…?'
But Roger interrupted him, waving a dismissive hand. 'Never mind, never mind. Though I do wonder what our parents have to say about this. They can't be too pleased.'
When Jack avoided his eye with a rather guilty look, Roger continued gleefully. 'You mean you haven't told them? You're full of surprises tonight, little brother! The dutiful son, lying to his parents for a woman.' He tutted in mock reproof, his eyes dancing.
'I never lied,' Jack countered. 'I simply haven't told them… yet.'
Why exactly hadn't he told his parents? He wasn't quite sure, except that he knew that his kind but old-fashioned father and mother would have great difficulty understanding Phryne's 'liberated woman' attitude and even greater difficultly with their… arrangement. Meanwhile, his brother was laughing.
'Same thing, really. Though I don't really understand you, Jacky. She's smart, she's rich, she's damn pretty – why don't you just do the decent thing?'
When Jack flashed him an uncomprehending look, Roger elaborated: 'Marry the poor girl, man, and make an honest woman out of her.'
Jack looked at his brother in horror. 'It's not like that at all! It's not that I don't want to marry her…'
Roger let out a great whoop of laughter. 'Do you mean to say that she doesn't want to marry you? Oh, that's rich.'
Cheeks burning, Jack tried to remain calm. 'I haven't asked her to marry me.'
'Why not?'
'It… hasn't come up yet,' he lied.
Roger looked like he didn't believe him. 'Well…' he said slowly, observing Jack closely. 'I can't say I blame you.'
Jack was silent, knowing that there was more to come. After a moment of Roger hemming and hawing, making an almost convincing show of hesitating, he continued delicately.
'You know… I've been in Melbourne for a couple of weeks now, and I've heard things…'
'Things?' Jack asked icily.
'About her. That she's got… well, pretty loose morals?'
Jack tried not to react, but a muscle was jumping in his jaw. He had always assumed that there would be a fair amount of gossip going around about Phryne, but it was different now that he was confronted with it directly. Did people really see her like that, he wondered, and immediately answered his own question. Of course they did, and actually they were right, weren't they? When he didn't reply, Roger went on.
'I've been hearing of several affairs… Russian dancers… communists… Chinese… she's not too picky, is she?'
His heart was pounding with anger now, but still he refused to give his brother the satisfaction of showing it. Instead, he tried to assume a worldly, tolerant attitude as he replied.
'She's a modern, independent woman. She can do as she pleases.'
'Of course!' Roger conceded, looking at Jack from the corner of his eye. 'I simply hadn't expected you not to care.'
'I don't understand. Why would I have any right to judge her for things she did before we were together?'
'You don't, of course. I just thought you wouldn't have liked the things she still gets up to.'
Jack felt himself go cold. He knew he shouldn't ask, knew he should change the subject, or even better: kick Roger out immediately, with his insinuating remarks and his sly looks. But before he could stop himself, the question slipped out through numb lips.
'What are you talking about?'
Roger looked uncomfortable now, or at least making a very good show of it. He ran a hand through his hair. 'Oh… I thought you knew.'
'Knew what?'
'Well,' Roger continued, a little apologetically. 'I'm just telling you what I've heard since I came back to Melbourne. People seem under the impression that she's still sleeping around.'
'That's not true,' Jack replied automatically.
'Probably not,' his brother said reassuringly. 'You know how people are. It's just that… she gives them a lot to talk about. Apparently she regularly appears at dinner parties without you?'
'I have to work. She doesn't. I can't accompany her every day of the week.' That was true, but it was also true that he simply didn't like these dinner parties, and got out of them whenever he could. Now he was starting to wonder if that was such a good idea.
Roger nodded. 'Perfectly understandable. And I'm sure there's nothing to the rumors that she's been seen flirting with a different gentleman at every occasion.'
'You can't blame her for talking to people,' Jack snapped.
'Of course not,' Roger said, but his eyes were glinting and he eagerly pressed his advantage. 'But there is talking and talking. Common decency… She could be a little more demure. It's not very nice of her that she makes you the laughing stock of Melbourne society…'
Jack jumped up, blood rushing in his ears. He went over to the drinks cabinet on the pretense of refilling his drink, so he could stand with his back to his brother. He didn't believe it, didn't believe a word he was saying.
But Roger had followed him across the room to stand by his shoulder, and Jack could feel the pleasure his brother was deriving from this. He turned away, jaw clenched, but he couldn't shut out the murmur in his ear.
'Of course, I understand. She's very charming. But perhaps it would be more… prudent… to marry her, if you really can't bear to leave her. That way you could keep a tighter rein on her.'
Despite himself, Jack snorted at the thought of anyone keeping a tight rein on Phryne. Roger seemed to misinterpret his reaction, though, and he sounded annoyed.
'You can laugh, but it's true. I can't imagine how you can bear it that she's going around Melbourne making a fool of you. But then again, perhaps you've changed since I last saw you.' A definite hint of malice was now creeping into his tone. 'Perhaps you're not so high-minded anymore after all. Is it because she's rich? Thinking of retiring early? Or is she really good in bed? Maybe that's why you don't mind that she's such a tramp…'
And that was when Jack had hit him.

Throwing the punch, the crunch of breaking bones, the spurt of blood, the momentary look of alarm in Roger's eyes before he went down on the floor – it was all extremely satisfying, but only for a moment. Immediately afterwards, the fog in his head cleared, and realized that he had, once again, fallen for his brother's tricks. Roger sat up, gingerly pinching his broken nose in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood that was drenching the front of his shirt, but Jack noticed that he was smirking all the same. He wondered if this was why Roger had come tonight, for the simple pleasure of taunting Jack until he snapped, just like old times. Or perhaps he had come with better intentions, but been unable to resist the temptation. In any case, Jack felt like a fool. He knew he shouldn't have let Roger get inside his head, knew that this was exactly what his brother had been trying to do. Apparently to Roger, a broken nose was a price he was willing to pay to get the better of him one more time.
He turned away from Phryne, who was standing in the doorway, having come in just in time to see him hit his brother. She flashed him a concerned look – she knew perfectly well that something must be very wrong for him to lose control like that – but at that moment Roger scrabbled to get up, and she automatically reached out to support him.
'Are you alright?'
He grinned, a rather ghastly sight with his face covered in blood, but he seemed to be in very good spirits. 'Oh, I'm fine. Don't worry. We used to get into fights all the time, Jack and me. Though I must say he does hit harder now than when he was sixteen. Punched like a girl back then. Could you maybe get me… ah, yes, thank you.'
With impeccable timing as always, Mr. Butler had appeared with a wet cloth. Roger took it from him and carefully wiped away most of the blood.
'I think I'd better go,' he grinned. 'Not quite the family reunion I was hoping for, but well… Jack was always a bit touchy when it came to me. It was lovely to meet you, Phryne.'
He held out his hand to her, and she shook it with a concerned look.
'Hadn't you better stay here? That looks broken, shouldn't I call a doctor?'
'No, no,' he said dismissively. 'I can walk, don't worry. I'll run by my usual doctor on the way home, he's a friend of mine, he won't mind. Besides, I don't think Jack wants me in the house any longer, ha! It was good seeing you, little brother. You know, up until the point where you punched me. Though even that brings back memories.'
And chuckling, still pressing his handkerchief to his face, Roger left the house.

The moment the door closed behind him, Phryne turned to look at Jack in amazement.
'What happened?'
He was still too angry to be reasonable. He rounded on her so suddenly she took a step back.
'Is it true?' he demanded.
'Is what true?' she asked, a little alarmed at his expression.
'That you've been flirting with men all over Melbourne!'
She looked completely nonplussed. 'What on earth are you talking about?'
'At dinner parties. Apparently people talk about you.'
She looked at him, frowning. 'You're not making any sense. Please calm down.'
His anger seemed to have taken on a momentum of its own – even though he knew that he was being irrational, that he should stop talking immediately before he said something he'd regret – the reasonable voice in his head was drowned out by the taunting echoes of his brother's voice… common decency… there's talking and talking… flirting with a different gentleman at every occasion.
'People are talking because you always show up at parties without me,' he started, and she interrupted him with an indignant look.
'You don't like them! I'm not going to sit at home every night, I like spending time with my friends.'
'That's not the point,' he snapped. 'The point is that you don't behave properly, you never do! If you're flirting with every man that comes near you, how do you expect people not to talk?'
She had grown very still. 'Is that what Roger told you?'
'It doesn't matter who told me. Is it true or not?'
'Is what true?' Her tone was cold now, but he didn't care. 'That I talk with my friends at parties? Yes, that's true. I like to enjoy myself when I'm out. I refuse to sit in a corner all night and only talk to spinsters because you don't happen to be there. I'm not going to give up my life because 'people talk'. So what if they say I'm a flirt? People will always talk. You know it doesn't mean anything.'
'They're saying other things as well.' It angered him that she remained so cool.
'What other things?'
'That you're still having affairs left and right.'
She looked as if he had slapped her. 'You don't believe that,' she whispered.
He felt a twinge of regret as he looked at her, because in truth he didn't believe it, not really. Did he? All of a sudden it all crashed over him, the feelings he'd kept suppressed throughout the last months for fear of confronting the issue and making it worse: his doubts of whether he was good enough for her, if she wouldn't tire of him, his frustration and sadness at her unwillingness to commit to him in any way, her laughter when he tried to discuss these things with her, dismissing them lightly, we'll see how things go, why worry, why make promises, it was all just a game to her.
His mouth was a thin line. 'Is it true?'
She looked at him indignantly. 'I resent that you're even asking me this! Don't you trust me?'
'Why should I? When you're always keeping me at arm's length. You never let me in. You never tell me how you feel.'
She seemed very much taken aback, unsure now, searching for words. He laughed bitterly.
'See? Even now.'
'Jack…'
He brushed away her tentative hand on his sleeve.
'No. If it's too much for you even to say, outright, that you are not interested in other men, that you are with me, with me only, then there's nothing left to say. If you can't even commit yourself that much to this relationship, then why am I still here? I don't care about what other people say,' he continued, at the stricken look on her face. 'But I do care about what you say.'
When she remained silent, a desperate look in her eyes, he nodded. Without a word, he gathered up his coat and hat, and walked out.

When he woke up, he felt terrible. He had spent most of the previous night staring into his whiskey glass, in an agony of indecision about whether or not to go back over there and apologize, try to make things right whatever it took. The thought of losing Phryne took his breath away, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to get up out of his chair. He simply couldn't do it anymore. She should come to him, and if she didn't – he grimaced – that was a clear enough sign that he really didn't matter that much to her.
He kept replaying the night's events in mind, over and over, trying to reason with himself, but it was no use. Now that he was calmer, he saw more clearly what was bothering him. It wasn't that he really thought that she might be unfaithful to him – that was not her style. If she tired of him, she would let him know upfront, he was sure of that. She was not the kind of person to sneak around - if she liked someone else better, she would let him know soon enough. No, it wasn't that. It wasn't even the flirting. If he was perfectly honest, that bothered him a bit, yes, but he knew that this was just Phryne, part of who she was, and he knew it was meaningless.
What troubled him – he came to realize after his third drink – was that seemed unable to say even the smallest thing that might indicate at least some level of commitment or seriousness, not even to stop him from walking out the door. And that made him wonder if she was at all serious or committed. It was true that they worked well together, on all levels, but how did he know he was not just a distraction, like all the others, just another toy, only one that was a little more challenging and enjoyable, one she hadn't tired of quite yet. He couldn't live with the uncertainty. He was slow to open up himself, he knew, slow to offer up his heart, but once he was past the initial reluctance, he gave himself completely and utterly, without reservations or doubts, a love so joyfully desperate that he couldn't possibly contain it. That was the only way he knew how to love. But he couldn't keep it up if it wasn't reciprocated. That was fine for the first few months, in the happiness of finally being together, but now, he needed more, some form of certainty, some way of knowing that she wouldn't walk out on him tomorrow, wouldn't leave him the moment something better came along.
Don't you trust me? The question kept coming back to him, and it was hard to answer. Yes, he thought, on the one hand he trusted her implicitly, trusted her judgment, her honesty, her loyalty. In case of an emergency, there was no one he would rather have by his side – she was steady, quick to improvise, level-headed. He trusted her with his life. The problem was, he reflected wryly, that he didn't know if he trusted her with his heart.

When he walked through the door of the station the following morning, feeling worse than he could ever remember feeling, he half expected her to be there, waiting for him, with a lunch basket and a cheerful smile, but the only one to greet him was Collins. By the startled look his constable gave him, Jack gathered that he looked pretty terrible. He shut himself in his office all day, burying himself in his work and refusing to engage in conversation. Every time the door opened, he looked up hopefully, but it was never her.
He stayed late. The thought of returning to his cold and empty house held little appeal to him, so it was well after nightfall that he finally decided to go home, on the premise that he could hardly spend the night in his office. He had a moment of weakness when he got into his car, desperately wanting to drive over to her house and knock on the door, as he had done so often, knowing that she would welcome him, forgive him, happy to continue as if nothing had happened. Nevertheless, he steeled himself and drove home, fully prepared to drink himself into oblivion again.

But when he got home she was waiting for him, leaning against the hood of her car. They stood watching each other for a long moment, before he turned to the door and softly said: 'Come in.'
She seemed relieved at the invitation, and followed him through the door, but when he turned on the light her expression changed to worry.
'You look terrible.'
He merely grunted, noting that she looked every bit as coolly beautiful and composed as ever. He invited her to sit down and poured them both a drink, feeling that they would probably need it. As he sat down, she took a deep breath.
'First of all, I'm sorry about inviting your brother. You were right, he's a cad, and I should have listened to you.'
'Never mind that,' he sighed. However angry he was at his brother, that was not the most important thing now. 'You didn't know. You were only trying to help.'
'It was selfish of me. I wanted to satisfy my own curiosity, I didn't take your feelings into account.'
'Forget it,' he mumbled, and he meant it. He didn't care.
And uncomfortable silence ensued, both of them staring into their drinks. Finally she looked up at him with a pained expression.
'Jack, I'm sorry.'
He shook his head. 'This is not something you can apologize for. If you don't feel it, you don't.'
'Don't feel what?'
'Serious. About us.'
'Jack…' she had that trapped look again. 'You know how I feel.'
'How can I, when you never talk to me? When you pull away every time I try? Sometimes I get the feeling…' He took a deep breath, forcing himself to get it out, even if it meant that he would never see her again. 'I get the feeling that this is just a game to you. Phryne… do you even care for me?'
She looked shocked. 'How can you even ask that?' she whispered, and he suddenly noticed that she didn't look so composed anymore. Still, he pressed on.
'And yet you're not answering the question.'
She jumped up suddenly and began pacing the room in an agitated way.
'This is hard for me! I've been on my own for a long time, completely free, I admit that I don't like the thought of giving that up. And after René… he was so possessive, it scared me. I don't like the thought of 'belonging' to someone.'
Jack rubbed a hand over his weary eyes. 'Phryne,' he said softly, appealingly, 'I'm not René.'
'I know that.' She had stopped, looking at him intently.
'I'm not saying I want you to 'belong' to me. But I can't do this casual thing anymore, I just can't, I'm not like you, I need some kind of certainty, I need to know that you'll still be here tomorrow.'
'I will be.' The whisper was so faint he almost thought he had imagined it, but then he noticed she was shaking. Without thinking, he crossed the room in three long strides and took her in his arms.
'It's alright,' he murmured, and she gripped him tightly.
'I don't want to lose you,' she said softly. 'Because I do care for you, Jack, I do. You, and no one else. I'm not very good at saying it, but it's true. You just need to give me some time. But I will be here tomorrow.'
It was enough, for now. He stroked her hair, and they stood for a long time, neither of them willing to break apart. He suddenly realized how rarely they hugged. She was very physical in expressing her affection, and she was often close to him, sitting on his lap or sleeping in his arms, but she never came to him simply to hold him, to be near him, and he wasn't one to initiate physical shows of affection, which were always slightly uncomfortable for him. But he enjoyed it now, pressing her closely to him as he breathed in her scent, acutely aware of her body against his. And he silently resolved that he would never let her go, no matter what it cost, no matter how much it hurt. She wasn't the easiest person to live with, that was true, she was difficult and complicated, but nothing worthwhile was ever easy or straightforward, he reflected. And no matter how much trouble she gave him – in the end, she was always worth it.