Phryne's steps were light with the echo of a very well-spent day.
She had cheerfully met Maud and Peter Harrington in Bloomsbury, genuinely glad to see that her former landlord's dream of opening his own art gallery had come true and looking forward to devotedly immersing herself in her friend's latest work.
The bold and colourful geometric abstract style elicited a deep sense of energy and positivity in Phryne, enhanced by how proud of her work Maud was. It was an absolute delight to watch her speak excitedly about the choice of colours, shapes, and techniques as they made their way through the exhibition, her features lighting up with animation and her hands sweeping across the air as if she was planning and sketching those pictures anew.
Peter had gone to his study to take care of some pending paperwork (definitely his least favourite part of working for himself) and Phryne and Maud were alone now in front of a painting in marigold, blue, and red that had jolted Miss Fisher.
The sudden flash of how well those colours went with the stained glass around Wardlow's front door and how it would look on the wall of the landing at the end of the hallway hit her with an unexpected pang of longing. She had missed Melbourne from now and then but it had never felt like she was missing «home» until that moment.
Propelled by the many wonderful memories of the years she had lived there and the dear friends she had made, London held a special place in Phryne's heart, but she came to the conclusion that she now felt this city as a familiar but distant place.
While not unexpected, being able to articulate it these impressions this clearly left her shaken and even a bit breathless. It had been glorious to meet those she loved and esteemed in person after so much time away, seeing her mother, even they hadn't been together so often, and she was set to cherish that time with them to the hilt, but there was somewhere else she was very keen to go back to, sooner or later. Staying in London had never exactly been on the table, but these new realisations brought a new weight to that vague resolution of returning to Australia eventually.
«Are you alright?», asked Maud. «You became very pale all of a sudden». She put a hand on Phryne's arm and looked at her friend attentively, trying to ascertain the gravity of Phryne's spell.
«Yes and no?», replied Miss Fisher, after a deep breath. She would never offend their friendship with a shallow answer to such a question.
«Isn't it strange to feel that you do or don't belong somewhere?», Phryne continued. «Particularly when you hadn't really found yourself beholden to a place before? Maybe to some people but definitely not places?», she mused. That was probably what had startled Phryne the most. She obviously missed the family gathered at 221B but she also missed the sandy beaches around Port Philip's bay, so close to St Kilda, the constant buzz around Flinders Station, even the mercurial Melbourne weather. Maybe there was more of that city in her than what Phryne had ever believed.
Phryne hadn't looked directly at Maud, but she felt compelled to answer nevertheless.
«In a way, I guess? But at the same time it does seem to make sense, I'd say.»
For Maud, it had been her family she had felt she didn't belong to, still did, in fact, while geographically she was where she always felt she was supposed to be, perhaps because she could work well in London and there were other people grounding her there, like her friends, Aunt Elizabeth, and Lydia.
«It looks like that while some acknowledgments come easily with age, others seem even harder to come by», Maud said.
Phryne nodded and took a deep breath, trying to soothe her heart. There wasn't much she could add and neither did Maud.
«Your work is amazing», Phryne said genuinely, moving on to the next painting, this one rendered in blue, green, and yellow.
Maud smiled, truly honoured. She had faith in her ability and skills but being recognised that openly by someone so important to her filled her with a particular sense of achievement.
They resumed visiting the exhibition, strolling merrily arm in arm. Once the tour was finished, they bid goodbye to Peter and after a decadent afternoon tea at the Grantley, made their way to their dinner plans.
xxx
Louisa and Darshil's home was the smallest in their friends' group but it was definitely the favourite and no one minded getting a bit cramped up in the flat near the British Museum. Both hosts cooked very well and knew how to entertain so between games, dancing, incursions into their very well stocked liquour cabinet and conversation, there was never a dull moment and those evenings went on and on without anyone noticing the time passing.
At 3 am, Phryne had just returned from such a pleasant soirée. It was late enough to remove any qualms about the use of the key her mother had given her and Phryne let herself in.
Everything was quiet and in the dark. Carefully, Phryne walked up the stairs, trying to make the least amount of noise possible. But the light coming from under the drawing room door halted her in her step.
Phryne opened the door and found Margaret sitting on the sofa in her night and dressing gowns; in front of her, a pot of tea Miss Fisher knew would be cold by now.
Her mother raised her eyes towards Phryne. She could read a heart-breaking embarrassment that made Miss Fisher want to cry and scream at the same time.
«Where is he?», Phryne asked in the most normal tone of voice she could muster instead.
«At the club? I don't know», Margaret said with a defeated and disappointed sigh.
Phryne had regretted bringing Henry back a handful of times but they paled to nothing in comparison with the fury that engulfed her in that particular moment. She couldn't say she was surprised to find out that Henry's promises to change were empty vows (quite the contrary – she would have been astonished if he had indeed behaved differently or at least made an effort to) but she discovered that she had held some tiny hope that distance and meeting Margaret again might lead him to step up and act like a good man and a good husband.
She sat down next to Margaret and took one of her hand in hers.
«Sometimes I wonder if your father is really this oblivious and callous or just feels so overwhelmed by everything he just carries on as if nothing was happening».
Phryne would bet on the first option but didn't reply. It seemed that the meeting with the solicitor hadn't gone very well.
Margaret sighed.
«We have to sell the Seymours», she said, wiping her teary eyes with the cuff of her dressing gown, meaning the two 18th century equestrian paintings in their country house library. «From this moment on, it's best to sell Brentby or this house instead of any more art. With the Turner, the Gainsborough, the Reynolds and the Copley on the walls, they will surely fetch more money and maybe that will be enough for a while. Maybe the Stricklands will buy it. I was foolishly trying to hold on to something for ourselves and the next Baron, whoever he is, but I think there isn't much more I can do.»
Phryne held Margaret in her arms as he mother cried with abandon. Her heart tightened even more. Margaret would never allow herself to be that vulnerable and to reveal it unless she was at her absolute limit, especially to her daughter.
«I love Henry but I don't think I like him anymore», Margaret said after she was able to manage her sobs, a hand on her forehead.
Phryne hugged Margaret again. None of the things she wanted to say would be of help and instead of lying to her mother with empty words Margaret would recognise as such, Miss Fisher thought it would be more productive to show her mother that she wanted to comfort her through actions like this.
«I'm going to make you a pot of proper tea», Phryne said, squeezing Margaret's hand.
«Thank you, dear», Margaret touched Phryne's face tenderly.
xxx
«Hello?»
«Darshil, hello. I'm very sorry for calling this late. Is Louisa still up?»
«Yes, I'll get her. Is everything alright?»
«Not at all», Phryne replied with the ease of trust.
«Louisa is here. I'll put her on. Let us know if you need something».
«Thank you, my friend».
Phryne faced the dining room, hoping that the water for Margaret's tea wasn't boiling in the kitchen already.
«Darling, what happened?», the straightforwardness in Louisa's voice made Phryne wish it would be possible to hug her through the telephone cables .
«I'm sorry I'm calling this late but could I borrow you motorcar? My mother had to sell theirs and I don't want to bring a taxi driver into this mess».
«Of course. I'm just going to throw a coat over and I'll be right there».
«Thank you very much, Louisa dear».
«Always».
After she hung up the phone, Phryne prepared Margaret a lavender and honey infusion and a plate of biscuits and took them upstairs.
Her mother thanked her and Phryne replied that it had been no trouble. They said nothing else. There was no need to.
A/N: First of all, may you have a happy 2020 with everything you wish for.
So here it is, the new chapter of this seemingly endless fic. It has been taking a lot more to write (and finish) than what I had ever predicted but let's hope that slow and steady wins the race.
I have the following chapter already written so I hope it doesn't take this long to update the story, but I'd rather not make any promises.
Your feedback is appreciated as always.
