Her heart missed a beat as she registered who Mr Butler informed her was at the front door – her father, Baron Henry George Fisher of Richmond-Upon-Thames. Most definitely not her invited dinner guest, Inspector Jack Robinson.
"What?!" she swallowed.
"Can't I visit my daughter?" Henry Fisher stepped inside without being invited.
"From England? Why didn't you write, or telegram?" What was she going to do about her dinner arrangements?
"Letters take such a long time, my dear, and telegrams? Well they are so impersonal." He smiled, genially, which did nothing to soothe her suddenly shattered nerves.
Mr Butler was standing just behind the Baron also wondering what his mistress was going to do about her plans for the evening. Dinner was ready to be served at her convenience and he was sure the Baron was surplus to requirements.
"Why are you here?"
"I've come to see how you are."
"Fine, don't you get to see my letters?" she ground her teeth.
"Well, we do wonder if you're telling the truth, helping in police cases … strange hobby …"
"It's not a hobby!" she snapped, "I'm a Private Detective …"
"Now Phryne …"
"Don't 'now Phryne' me!" she yelled, "I'm a grown woman, not a child!"
"Well, really, what kind of attitude is that, I am your father and you should respect me …" he took a step forward, there was another knock at the door.
Phryne was under no illusion that he meant to strike her, he had started to lift his cane …
Jack immediately took in the situation as he stepped through the doorway and Mr Butler whispered that Miss Fisher's father had decided to pay a visit.
"… uninvited, sir, if I may be so bold."
Jack nodded and let him announce him.
"Inspector Robinson to see you, Miss Fisher," it sounded so formal. Mr Butler always announced him as 'The Inspector' which sounded less so.
Henry's hand dropped and he glared at his daughter.
"Inspector," she walked round her father and held out her hand to Jack.
"Miss Fisher," he bent courteously over the hand, "might I have a word – in private."
"Perhaps this way," she led him to the dining room.
He closed the door behind him.
"Phryne?" he turned her to face him, "what's going on? I thought your father lived in England."
"He does," she hissed through gritted teeth, "he's just turned up, to visit, he says."
"Do you want me to go?"
"God no!"
He pinched the bridge of his nose while he thought. Phryne was too frustrated to think straight, her plans for a dinner a deux and seduction were going up in smoke.
"Do you want to go?"
"What?" she blinked at him.
"Do you want to go? I mean somewhere else?" he touched her face gently with his forefinger.
"Run away?"
He tipped his head and smiled gently, "not 'run away' … not exactly," his brain was running faster than her Hispano Suiza, how could he get her out of this situation?
"This is not what I planned for this evening," she huffed in frustration.
"I don't expect it was," he half smiled, "it's certainly not what I expected. So … perhaps we should adjourn to somewhere else …"
"Oh Jack," she sighed, "I just wish I knew why he's here."
"You had no idea he was coming?"
"No, none," she sat down, "mother writes but she hasn't said anything …"
"Do you think she knows where he is?"
"Oh god!" she put her hand to her mouth, "you don't think he's on the run, do you?!"
He just raised his eyebrow.
"Damn him!"
"Phryne," he took her hands, "look at me." She did. "There is nothing we can do at this time of night …"
There was a polite knock on the door.
"Miss," Mr Butler cleared his throat, "your father is wondering how long you will be with the Inspector."
"I have to …" she frowned.
"Shall I pack the dinner, Miss, to go with you?"
"Oh, er …"
"That would be lovely, Mr Butler," Jack nodded, "Miss Fisher and I have a new case, an urgent call out …"
"Of course, sir, it won't take but a minute."
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"Miss Fisher will be leaving, Dorothy," Mr Butler whispered as he entered the kitchen, "her father has come to see her and the Inspector has called."
"He was her dinner guest," Dot frowned, "the Inspector, I mean."
"Quite," he lifted the basket used to take baked goods to the station, "I do believe she may need her coat, and perhaps something for overnight?" he smiled a little knowing smile.
Dot turned and ran up the back stairs to her mistress' bedroom, hastily packed nightwear, clean clothes for the following day and the small clamshell case from the bedside cabinet.
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"… just explain that as we have no female officers I need Miss Fisher in on an interview," Jack lifted Phryne's overnight bag while she took the basket from Mr Butler. "She apologises …"
"… tell him it's a common occurrence, Mr B, and thank you." She smiled at the older man. "Dot …"
"It's ok, Miss," Dot shrugged, "I'm sure we can deal with him."
"Best not turf him out to find his own bed, Dot," she sighed heavily. "Give him the guest room."
"As you wish."
Actually she didn't wish it, but heaven only knew what kind of accommodation he would find for himself; probably try to get a suite at the Windsor and charge it to her account. Why, oh why was he here?
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Jack pulled his car up outside an neat, but unassuming, bungalow in a quiet street.
"This is where you live?" she leant forward and looked over the tidy garden.
"I thought you'd have found that out, by now," he gave a knowing smile.
"Even I wasn't going to invade your privacy to that extent, Jack. I would have if I really needed to."
"Like tonight?"
"Probably."
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He showed her into the hall, wooden floor, light walls and surprisingly spacious.
"New build, Jack?"
"We bought it, when I came home from France – Rosie and I, with the hope of filling it with children. As you know … well she didn't want it, the disappointment … and I didn't want to move, it's a quiet area …"
"It's lovely," she moved through into what appeared to be the living room, filled with his books and his piano, an old upright, there was a cabinet with a whisky decanter surrounded by photographs. She went over to look, not sure what she would see, but there were no pictures of his former wife, only family, she supposed, children, nephews? Nieces? Parents?
He continued on into the kitchen and put the basket on the table. The way Mr Butler and Dot had wrapped the food it would still be warm, but it should be eaten before too long. He let her find him, preferring her to snoop as she would, on her own, he had nothing to hide.
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Phryne wandered through the rooms, a smallish room that was used as a study as there were some files there – she surmised they weren't important case files, or current ones or they would be in his office at the station – and an empty coffee mug.
She found the bathroom and washed her hands. The towels were perfectly folded and hanging on the airer, it was all neat and tidy, which she expected, but it seemed more than she would expect of a single male.
The bedroom; she hesitated before entering; there was nothing out of place, the bed was made, a book on the bedside table beside a lamp, his grooming kit on the dresser and full height windows that looked out onto his garden at the back. She thought it would be lovely to wake up to the sun and flora each morning. His salary must stretch to a housekeeper of sorts, or a 'daily'.
There was another room, sparsely furnished with a bed and dresser, certainly not ready for use.
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"Found everything?" he handed her a glass of wine.
"You have a lovely home, Jack …"
"… but not what you expected?"
"Hm," she sat in the seat he pulled out for her. "I don't know what I expected, not as light, or as spacious, I suppose, as a single man. I expected it to be tidy, everything in its place …"
"Ah," he nodded, "that's the girl who comes in to clean."
"I see."
"My mother organised her, said I wouldn't have time for housework with my job."
"She thought you'd do it?"
"I am quite capable of domestic chores, Miss Fisher …"
"… so am I," she huffed.
"I know, I've seen you make a cuppa, or cocoa and I expect you are perfectly able to look after yourself."
"Basic cooking, only," she passed him the dish of vegetables, "but I wouldn't starve without Mr B."
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As they ate the meal and drank the wine they talked about anything but the sudden appearance of her father. Jack didn't want to bring it up and Phryne wanted to pretend it hadn't happened; but both knew they would have to discuss it, to work out how to find out the reason for his impromptu visit. He supposed it would involve telegrams between Phryne and her mother, at the very least.
They washed up; Jack washed, Phryne dried and they went into the living room with the last of the wine.
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"I suppose I'll have to telegram mother," she sat down on the couch.
"That would be a start," he agreed. "Do you think she knows he's come over?"
She shook her head, "probably thinks he's at his club."
"It's a six week voyage, Phryne," Jack pointed out.
"True, if she doesn't know where he's gone she's likely to have instigated a missing person case with the police."
"But she hasn't contacted you?"
"I doubt she's considered it, that he would come here, we've never had the close father – daughter relationship and I'm not particularly close to mother. We are civil to each other but I write to tell her what I've been doing, about Aunt P …"
"Doesn't she write, I mean they are sisters?"
"She does, but only what she thinks mother wants to hear, so I fill in the gaps, tell her what I see, especially when Arthur died."
She got up and started to pace the room. "Father spends money like he has a hole in his pocket, he gambles – and loses, plays cards – and loses; has absolutely no business sense …" she swallowed the last mouthful of wine in her glass, "… he might want to borrow money, for a 'golden opportunity' which will turn out to be tin … oh hell, Jack!" she threw her hands up in the air, "I don't know why he's here, and I don't want him here!"
"Hey," he stood up and took her by the shoulders, "we'll find out what he's up to, but it won't be easy. First we have to find out if your mother knows he's over here, then does she know what he's been up to, or what he's chasing …"
"… rainbows."
"… or if he's being chased. You did wonder, before we left, if he was on the run. Perhaps I should contact the force where they live."
"Could you?"
"Of course, it's just an enquiry, but first, your mother."
"I suppose he'll have to stay at Wardlow," she huffed and pouted.
"I'm sure you could find him somewhere suitable, but, if as you say, he's always short of money, you might end up paying the bill."
"Oh I don't doubt that," she grunted.
"For tonight, you don't have to see him, or speak to him, we're on a case, remember." He bent forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead.
"I hope he doesn't give Mr B the runaround."
"I'm sure Mr Butler is more than able to deal with your father, Dot, too."
"Poor Dot …"
"I'm sure you will reward her, amply. Now, I have some passable brandy, so how about we have another drink, maybe some coffee?"
"That sounds lovely, can I help?"
He just shrugged, she'd follow him into the kitchen whatever he said, and she did.
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The brandy was more than passable, not fine and old and aged, but a good one, the coffee was as she liked it, strong and black. He stood by his gramophone player and selected a record.
"Dance with me, Phryne," he held out his hand.
"I've danced with the best, Jack, princes, presidents … film stars …"
"I'll do my best," he smiled.
He was a good dancer, holding her close and leading her around the room until they were just swaying to the music which, for Phryne, was the steady rhythm of his heartbeat in her ear as she lay her head against his chest.
The music stopped.
A few steps then they stopped, the air charged. Phryne lifted her head and looked at him, almost shyly. Her original plan had been, dinner, drinks and, hopefully, get him into her bed. God knows she had thrown everything in her arsenal and he had dodged every missile up to now – then her father had shown up and scuppered that particular ship.
Jack smiled down at her; in her stocking feet she was somewhat shorter than him and maybe a little more vulnerable? He bent his head and lightly touched her lips with his. On his way over to Wardlow that evening, he had decided that resistance was futile, his only hope was that whatever happened did not ruin their friendship; it was strong, made even stronger after the Gertie Haynes case and the near breakup of their partnership, and he knew that it would take a mammoth event to break them up, but could this be it?
She liked that his kiss was light, hungry kisses would come later, she slipped her hands up round his neck and another kiss followed, deeper, a lover's kiss.
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It was rare for Phryne to wake early, rare that a lover would still be in the bed beside her but she wasn't at home, or in a hotel, she was with Jack, in Jack's bed; she stretched.
"Morning," he grumbled, his voice vibrating softly through his chest and down her back. He had been lying waiting for her to wake, his arms round her from behind, hands resting lightly on her stomach; a rare sight for him, Phryne Fisher, calm, relaxed not the whirlwind he was used to.
"Mmm," she hummed and pushed back against him. Jack had satisfied her with his lovemaking the way no other lover ever had done, not even Rene. The only thing she could put that down to was that he really cared about her, that he did love her in spite of everything, and she loved him for that. It wasn't something she had ever given much thought to until she had met Jack, in that she had grown to love him, slowly, to appreciate him as a man, as an intellectual, as a person. She was glad he hadn't succumbed to her flirting in those first weeks, or at the mine when he told her to lock her bedroom door so no-one could get in and harm her, and she had pointed out that he couldn't get in, either.
"I suppose we have work to do?" she turned and snuggled against his chest.
"We do," he kissed her forehead.
"I'd much rather spend the day here, being ravished by you," she gave a cheeky smile.
"I'd be quite happy to oblige," he agreed, "maybe another morning?"
"I shall hold you to that, Inspector," she teased.
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They spent time over breakfast composing the telegram to the Baroness, the answer to which would give them a starting point as to why Henry was in Melbourne upsetting his daughter. Phryne would return to Wardlow after sending the telegram and wait for a reply.
"Once we know what she knows," Jack shrugged his jacket on, "we can move forward."
"I doubt she knows anything, Jack, he was always secretive about his schemes, until they unravelled and people came calling for their money. My guess is he owes money that he hasn't got and is on the run."
Jack could see that although she considered her relationship with her mother to be 'civil' at best, it worried her that she may be being harassed for money Henry owed.
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Jack pulled up outside her house. They had sent the telegram, now all they had to do was wait. Jack had wondered if they should try to get a London newspaper, some shops carried them.
"Mr B gets the Illustrated London News and The Times," she hummed, "are you suggesting there might be something in one. I think he uses the old ones for wrapping the peelings or lighting the fire with."
"I should think a missing Baron might make more than the personal column, Phryne, though not the front page perhaps."
"Shall we see if he has today's?"
"Alright, seems like a good place to start. I expect your father is reading The Times."
"Probably."
"You say he's a gambler, perhaps he'll turn to the racing pages first."
"You might have something there."
Phryne let them into the house. "Only me!" she called, cheerfully.
"Where've you been?" Her father looked up from his breakfast and glared.
"On a case," she grabbed the paper. "This is Inspector Robinson, father, of the Victorian Constabulary. Inspector, My father, Baron Henry George Fisher."
"Phryne!"
Jack gave a little bow, "Baron."
Henry stopped glaring at his daughter and gaped at the Inspector.
"Here we go, Inspector, shall we go into the study?"
"Miss Fisher," he nodded.
"Mr B, could we have some coffee, please?"
"Miss, breakfast?"
"We've had some," she raised one eyebrow.
"Very well."
It was all rather formal, Jack thought, but there was no need for Henry to know how close he and Phryne were, especially not now.
"What's this case?" Henry frowned.
"Missing person," might as well tell the truth, though not who the missing person was, "best keep to the house, father, he's rather dangerous."
Jack turned away to hide his small smile.
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Jack had never thought Phryne had a study, it had never occurred to him that she might, but she did. Not a large room, but furnished with a desk and bookshelves that probably housed the more salacious of her reading matter, and the drawers probably held the files on her own cases and notes she and Dot had made on their cases; as well as a couple of chairs and side-tables.
She pushed the inkwell and pens to one side and opened The Times, laying it across the desk. There had been nothing on the front page about a missing Baron so it left them to go through the paper, page by page.
"Coffee, Miss, Inspector," Mr Butler entered the room, "scones. Dot's just made some."
"Oh lovely. Sorry for running off last night Mr B, I hope my father wasn't too much trouble."
"He was a little confused about you dashing off, thought you'd engineered it …"
"Time is of the essence in a missing person case, Mr Butler," Jack handed Phryne a cup of coffee, "first we have to find out why that person is missing …"
Phryne watched the older man process this and understand what they meant.
"Of course, if there's anything I can do to help …"
"Keep an eye on the post, please. I'm expecting a telegram from my mother, but any letters from England and any calls from my aunt."
"Of course Miss. And the Baron?"
"Damn," she muttered, "how about calling the boys and having them take him to a club. I'm sure one of them will have him as a visitor. Jack?"
"Here," Jack wrote in his notebook and tore the page out, "he won't get into too much trouble at this one. Mainly older men with nothing to do but avoid their wives. No gambling, that I know of …"
"Is there a bar?"
"Of course, why?"
"I wonder if they'd let me set a limit."
"I'll ring them, I know the owner …" He stepped out into the hall.
"Done," he returned fairly quickly, "he won't allow your father to get drunk and incapable, see he has a nice lunch and meets some equally minded old men … if you don't mind me saying …" he thought he might have overstepped the mark with the last comment.
"Don't mind at all, Jack, you must tell me about this place."
"Later, it's small, quiet and safe."
"Sounds perfect – for him."
"I'll have Mr Yates and Mr Johnson come round," Mr Butler took the slip of paper from Jack and left them to reading the paper.
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"Oh," Henry patted down his jacket, "well that sounds rather nice of them … but I did come to see my daughter …"
"Unfortunately, with a case she wouldn't have time to entertain you, my Lord," Mr Butler bowed, "she thought a club would be a pleasant way of spending your day, with other like-minded gentlemen. She has arranged transport there and back, you can have luncheon there and the cab will bring you back this evening."
"This happen often?"
"It does, my Lord," he confirmed, "Miss Fisher is either involved in her own cases or assisting the Inspector – it's the lack of female officers."
"Ah, well, I suppose it can't hurt." Henry hummed.
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"You are sure, Jack, about the club?"
"Absolutely, my father used to belong. Not even George Sanderson could find a reason to close it down."
"Right, I'll take your word for it. Let's have a look at the personal column in this paper, then."
"I suppose it's a good place to start," he took his pencil and proceeded to cross out any personal ads, or notices that didn't pertain to a Baron; so out went requests for nannies, lover's meetings and greetings to the newly married or those having a birthday celebration, congratulations on engagements and exams passed and accolades given.
Phryne stood up and rubbed her neck.
"Break?" Jack watched her.
"I suppose so," she groaned.
"Here," he stood behind her and pressed his thumbs into the sides of her neck, "relax, love."
He worked the sore muscles and tendons for a while, until the ache began to subside.
"I'm ok," she placed her hand over his, "you can continue later, in a more private setting."
He kissed the nape of her neck and smiled to himself.
"I really don't think mother has put anything in the personal ads, Jack," she sighed, crossing out another congratulations on an engagement.
"You could be … hey, here we go!" he stabbed at the paper with his finger. "Henry, come home, Margaret."
"To the point," Phryne noted, "but he's unlikely to see this, it's almost hidden. Does she really want him home?"
"What's their relationship like? My parents had their spats but they'd do anything for each other, so would my sister and her husband."
"Oh they row, frequently, always have as long as I've been alive and probably before. Mainly about money, or his drinking or his disappearing for days."
"Disappearing?"
"Aha," she nodded, "usually because he'd done something stupid and either ended up behind bars for a day or two, or a deal gone wrong that had a thug pounding on our door for money. She'd give whoever what she had, we'd go hungry and he'd turn up when it was safe. If it hadn't been for inheriting the Barony …"
"Quite," he agreed, "I suppose I would have got to know you in quite a different way … paying his bail out of your hard earned wages?"