Epilogue

Mr Butler had removed the pudding bowls, but both sleuths remained, apparently transfixed, at the dining table. The candles in the candelabra burned steadily, oblivious to the tensions surrounding them.

In an unusually low voice that Phryne asked the question that had been nagging at her for some hours.

"You liked her Jack, didn't you? Quite a lot."

He turned his gaze to his wife and, as steadily as the candle flame burned, replied.

"Yes. I did."

Phryne had taken many slings and arrows in life, and this one stung. The burning pain was a feeling she'd hoped never to feel again – hadn't imagined she would feel at all in the company of this, of all men – and all of a sudden she longed for the scorch of a coarse brandy. Perhaps several. She almost didn't hear his next words.

"It was wonderful, and terrifying, to find someone so like – and so opposite to – you."

Her brain screamed Opposite? What do you mean opposite? She was a blonde, but apart from that?

Her mouth formed the word "Oh?" Her vocal chords couldn't quite come up with the goods but, watching her, he got the message.

He stood, extended a hand and when she took it, tucked hers into his elbow to make their bodies fit that little bit closer as they retired to the parlour.

Without needing to ask, he took two glasses and selected a bottle from the tray, pouring a short measure into each. When he turned and extended one to her, she took it without thinking, and took her usual seat.

Then she looked at the glass, and blinked.

He'd poured them both a shot of neat vodka.

He sat opposite her, and waited for the moment to pass. It was finely judged, and when he thought she'd absorbed the message raised his glass.

"A toast. To Judith Hollowfern. An extraordinary woman, who sacrificed everything for those less fortunate than herself."

The drink provided the requisite burn, and she replaced the glass on the table before her, feeling a little better. If she couldn't have his heartfelt fidelity, at least she'd value honesty.

He replaced his too, and then rose to his feet to walk over and stand before her. Then he sank to his knees, and took her hands in his.

"I hoped you'd never doubt my fidelity to you, Phryne – even in my mind – and I'm apologising because I can tell you've had cause to, this time."

"Jack, don't be silly, I'd never …" she started in brittle tones; but he hushed her by drawing his palm down her cheek until his thumb touched her lips.

"Of course you did. I could try telling you again and again until I'm blue in the face that you're wrong, but you're too smart for that, so I can only hope to show you, and help you understand you will always be able to trust me."

He took each of her hands in each of his once more, and squeezed a finger on each in turn.

"She cared for the weakest in society – and so do you." Thumbs.

"She had verve, and flair, that drew people to her – and so do you." Index fingers.

"She set her own rules, and devil take the man who wouldn't observe them." He squeezed both of her middle fingers at once at this, and she snapped her eyes up to look at him with a hint of laughter.

"She'd only ever enter a contract she controlled." A pause. He squeezed the ring fingers; first the unadorned one on her right hand, then the left which held both her plain wedding band and the 'Dearest' ring he'd given her on their marriage. A contract, yes; but one in which they were equal partners.

He moved his grasp to her little fingers, and paused again, struggling to construct the sentence; when she saw him swallow again, she relented and helped him out.

"And she didn't love Jack Robinson."

He looked up to meet her gaze.

"I'm the luckiest Chief Inspector in Christendom, Phryne – there isn't a day passes that I don't catch my breath in wonder at my good fortune. Judith Hollowfern was an astonishing woman, and I genuinely mourn her passing, but she was only a poor reflection of you."

She regarded him solemnly for a moment, then returned to the drinks tray and poured two more vodkas. Handing him his, she raised her own.

"To us, Jack."

"To us," he echoed, and swallowed the shot.

In unison, they put down the glasses, joined hands, and headed for the stairs and the boudoir. She made him laugh. He made her wince, then gasp. She stole his breath. He stole her mind.

In the morning, there was rich, dark coffee.