Prologue:

It had been annoying, at first, irksome as the journey progressed and highly frustrating when she got to the London house. The most irritating part was that the financial situation was nowhere near as bad as she had been made to believe. The family were solvent, the estate was rented out for the season, not sold, and her mother was clearly up to something. Now, Phryne had no illusions that she was not the favourite daughter, Janey had been that, but Janey was gone and she had come to terms with that so she was a little confused to say the least.

At first Margaret had been delighted to see her daughter, threw a coming home party for her; which she didn't want because she wasn't stopping - well not long anyway; then started to organise lunches, dinners and afternoon teas with available Lords and Viscounts, Barons and Earls that were either too young or far too old and looking for their last ditch attempt to continue the family line. To keep the peace Phryne danced and made small talk with these men but she had no desire to engage with them any more than that.

Henry pulled her aside at one of the soirees Margaret had arranged and whispered in her ear.

"Phryne, dear girl, you do know what she's doing, don't you?"

"Of course I do," she scoffed, "but I'm not the marrying kind."

"She doesn't believe that, you know," Henry pouted, "she thinks all she has to do is find the right person for you and you'll fall head over heels."

"Fat chance ..."

"Here, yes," he smiled, a conspiratorial smile, "but I think back in Melbourne... anyway, she sees it as your duty."

"I don't know what you mean," though she did. He had seen her kiss Jack at the airfield, had made a show of it holding them up. "Anyway, duty be damned - I am not going to marry any of these 'appropriate' men, I have no desire to be used as a brood mare!"

"I'd get yourself back there, tout suite, if I were you, before she delivers a fait accomplis."

Short of her mother tying her up, drugging her and dragging her to the altar Phryne didn't see how she could do that but for some strange reason she decided to heed his words. She slipped up the stairs to her bedroom, on the pretext of needing to 'powder her nose' but it was really to think on what he had said. Ordinarily she would suspect her father of colluding with her mother to see that further funds came into the family through marriage, but somehow he seemed to want to distance himself from it. Of course, if he didn't she would probably blame him for whatever ills befell her.

She flopped down onto the bed and stopped. There was something under the cover, paper, or, as she discovered when she drew back the blanket, an envelope addressed to her. She drew out the contents and smiled. For once her father had done the right thing - she held in her hand a ticket for a parlour suite on a liner that was leaving the following morning. It would be an early start but better than the breakfast with Lord Gauke her mother had planned.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Two suitcases, larger than the one she had taken in the plane, were filled as best she could with enough clothes to see her through the month's voyage home. She had slipped out of the house at a disgustingly early hour, taken a taxi to the docks, and boarded the liner, relaxing as the shores of England slowly disappeared from view.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Her contact with Jack and her Wardlow family had been by telegram, mostly, some letters and birthday cards when appropriate, but she hadn't been able to tell her odd little family when she would be coming home. She told, in short sentences of the boredom, the cold and the arguments. She told how she was longing to be home.

The telegrams she sent on the voyage home were from the ports they stopped at, as if she were flying, the ones to Jack hoped he was well and that she was looking forward to seeing him very soon. She told him she missed him, in ways she did not understand. Somehow his replies found her, forwarded to the ship from the port. He said he missed her sitting on his desk, that no one could take her place and how sorry he was that he was not able to follow her.

MY DOOR WILL ALWAYS BE OPEN TO YOU STOP NO NEED FOR THE PICKS STOP JACK.

Which she took to mean the front door of his little bungalow, that she had found at the end of one case, as opposed to his office door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She kept every one of his telegrams, the ones that let her know he missed her to ones that showed he hoped the kiss, and the dare to follow her, were not just a passing 'romantic overture'.

As her subterfuge continued she knew it was the best way. If she told Dot and Mr B she was on her way home, and when she would arrive they would throw a big party, which was not what she wanted so soon after she put her foot over the threshold, so she resolved to sneak back into Melbourne, hail a taxi and go and surprise someone.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She spent the voyage keeping very much to herself, as much as she could. She wore dark clothes, appearing to be in the later stages of mourning and found most people just nodded their greetings but left her to her musings and her solitary dinners. She thought this would drive her to leap overboard and swim home, due to boredom, but a complete volume of the bard's works kept her mind occupied finding messages to send to Jack in the lines of the plays or sonnets.

She also spent a lot of time thinking about her father and what he had said when they were home. True he had been quiet on the flight, but she presumed that was because he was frightened out of his wits but when they had got to London and the truth about the estate had come out he had looked like a naughty boy caught out telling fibs. He had always been a good actor, especially in front of a Judge, and it would seem he had put those skills to good use when running her ragged before she flew him home. She wondered if it was in his plan to be flown home given his aversion to that form of transport, or did he just have to bring her with him. She would never know, really, because her mother held the answers to those questions and she didn't care to find out.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Margaret was livid when she found out Phryne had skipped town. Henry feigned complete ignorance and suggested she had gone to see some friends, perhaps.

"You barely give her time to catch up with them, dear," he smiled, "and you know she had expressed a desire to go and see some of her school friends. You could try them."

She rang round all the friends she could think of but all said they were surprised Phryne was in town and disappointed she hadn't called. They assured the Baroness that they would send her home if and when they caught up with her. Henry avoided the subject, he didn't fancy the row or that she may suggest he go and fetch his daughter back again. He hadn't been a good father but he hoped this may go some way to redress that. It was clear to him that Inspector Robinson was more than a detecting colleague, there was a mutual respect there, and really, he had much more backbone than some of the men Margaret put forward as potential husbands. If the title and land and money hadn't come their way he had no doubt Jack would have arrested Phryne frequently, their paths would have crossed of that he was certain, better that it was this way, as equals. He resolved to telegram Phryne just to warn her that her mother was on the warpath.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Phryne read the telegram from her father and for a few moments pitied him. He would weather the storm, he would have to, as he had noted though they were solvent if he kept going to Australia to bring her back it would deplete the funds faster than betting on three legged horses.

She would write to her mother when she got back and had a small idea of where she and Jack were heading.

Jack, dear, patient Jack. She had never felt like this about a man, not even Rene. She had never felt as if she meant more than just a quick fling, or a light distraction. With Jack she felt on a level, on equal footing; certainly intelligence-wise, both had a need to right wrongs one way or another and though she went about it in a cavalier fashion, just over the line of the law, he never held a grudge, well not for too long. She hadn't had anyone in her bed for quite some time and while she missed the sex she didn't miss the feeling of being used or using someone just for her own gratification. In fact there had been times when it had all been rather mechanical and boring - a non event. She had even considered taking Mac to bed but her sapphic curiosity had long since waned, a girls' boarding school did that for her, and she didn't want to use her friend that way.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The shore of Australia was in sight. Phryne stood at the railing on deck and watched it slide ever nearer, slowly but surely. She felt her stomach do a little back flip of excitement and she shivered. It would be early Sunday evening when they docked. She was hoping Jack would be at home, perhaps reading. He would end up there, whatever else he was doing so even if he wasn't she would let herself in. She had no plans to go to Wardlow that night to be fussed over by Dot or Mr B.

She carried her own cases off the ship and hailed a taxi, giving them Jack's address. Intent on her path she didn't notice a certain pair of taxi drivers waiting for fares on the docks, but they noticed her.

"Isn't that Miss Fisher?" Bert pointed to her retreating back.

"Can't be, she'd a called ahead," Cec shook his head, "anyway, hair's not right."

(It had grown and was on her shoulders, curling slightly.)

"Think it is," Bert chewed on his cigarette.

"Well, she didn't call so we'll leave it," Cec folded his arms, "she'll have her reasons. Maybe a case and she don't want to be recognised."

Bert just grunted and threw the cigarette butt to the floor.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Phryne sat and watched the familiar streets roll by, she felt nervous, which was silly she told herself, Jack wouldn't turn her away; if he was in; she refused to entertain the idea, but she was taking a chance.

The taxi pulled up outside the small bungalow. The garden was neat and tidy, the plants bursts of colour in the tubs and planted areas, Jack didn't have borders round a lawn, he had patches of roses, chrysanthemums and azaleas.

She declined the driver's kind offer to carry her suitcases to the door but included a generous tip with his fare. He touched his cap and wished her well, she watched him drive off before heading up the path.

Phryne stood in front of the door and took a deep, steadying breath. She knocked ... stood back and waited. Not wanting to be seen using her lock picks, mainly for Jack's reputation, she lifted her cases and headed round to the back, which was not overlooked and she could pick the lock of the back door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The crunch of feet on the gravel had him look up, he wasn't expecting visitors, certainly not dressed as he was.

Phryne grinned at the sight of her buttoned up inspector kneeling in front of a tomato plant, harvesting the fruit. He was placing them gently in a basket in which was already some freshly pulled beetroot and a cucumber. He wore an old shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the collar undone showing the top line of his singlet. His trousers were baggy, rough cotton, held up with a pair of braces that had seen better days, but were still serviceable. His hair was loose of its usual pomade and the front flopped over his forehead. He had obviously not shaved over the weekend, his chin had unmistakeable stubble, the beginnings of a beard and moustache, she thought she might like that.

"Phryne!"

"Hello Jack," she tried to sound nonchalant but there was a little squeak at the end of her usual greeting.

He stood up and brushed his hands down his trousers as she carried on walking towards him.

She stood directly in front of him, just close enough.

"You're back," he reached his hand up to caress her cheek then pulled it away aware of the dirt, "did I miss a telegram?"

She took the hand and leant her cheek into it, "no," she murmured, "I thought I'd surprise you. Nobody knows I'm back."

They stared at each other for what seemed like hours, but was only a few seconds, her with her cheek in his hand he not attempting to pull away.

"You didn't fly?" he gestured to her suitcases.

"No, not this time, father bought me a ticket on a ship."

"Your father?" he gasped.

"Mm," she smiled.

Suddenly realising he was being, in his eyes, inhospitable, he invited her in, lifting her suitcases while she took the lighter basket of fruit and vegetables.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In the kitchen he washed his hands and filled the kettle, almost not daring to look in case it was another of his all too vivid dreams. He heard her put the basket on the table and felt her behind him.

He breathed in her scent, how he had missed that, usually arriving before she did. She was really here, in his little kitchen, choosing him over her Wardlow family. He turned in the little space she had left between them.

"Did you come straight from the docks?" should he make small talk or sweep her off her feet and carry her to his bedroom?

She nodded.

"The red raggers ..."

"No, just a taxi," she shook her head. "Like I said, nobody knows I'm back." She tipped her head. "Jack ..."

"Phryne ..."

Phryne reached round behind him and turned the ring off under the kettle, not breaking the kiss until she absolutely had to and even then she leant against his chest and sighed.

"I missed you," he whispered, stroking her back, "it was too quiet."

"Lock the door, Jack," she tipped her head up to look into his blue eyes.

He tipped his head and she could have sworn there was a twinkle in his eye as he leant over and locked the door, while still holding her with the other arm.

"Is this really what you want, Phryne?" he stroked her cheek with his finger, "I'm just Jack, a copper, no grand family home or long heroic history ..."

"I'm the daughter of a con artist..." she gave a little laugh, "are you ready to take me on, as I am ready to take you, 'just Jack'?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The early morning sun sneaked between the drapes at the windows throwing a line of light across the two figures in the bed. She lay across his chest with her legs splayed over much of the rest of the bed. He lay with his arm around her and one leg over hers. She sighed and swallowed. She smelt sex, the earth that he had been working in the previous day and the remnants of her perfume. He felt her lips turn into a smile as she remembered them moving from the kitchen to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothing, finally ending in the bed where he proceeded to make love to her and she found him rather skilled in that department. Underneath his layers of the coat, suit, shirt and singlet John (call me Jack) Robinson was a man of many talents! He drew circles lightly on her bare shoulder eliciting a shudder.

"Phryne," he whispered, "Phryne, I'm sorry but I have to go to the station."

"Can't you ring and say you're ill?" she huffed.

"You know I can't," he squeezed her, "nothing would give me more pleasure than to spend the day here, with you, but I have a duty to uphold."

She looked down at the tenting of the sheet and smirked. "I can think of something else to uphold," she giggled.

"Woman," he growled, "temptress. Will you be here, tonight?" he added softly.

"We have much to talk about, Jack, if you want me to be here ..."

"I think I should like it very much. It's a long time since there has been someone at home for me," he kissed the top of her head, "though I would never presume to have you as the little woman waiting for her man to come home after a hard day's toil," he added quickly.

"Just as well," she gave a small laugh, "with the way things are with us you're more likely to be waiting for me."

"Mmm ..." he pushed himself up, "either coming in from dancing or a little breaking and entering."

"Only for a case, Jack," she pouted, "and I like dancing."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

While Jack showered and prepared for the day Phryne headed for the kitchen in search of tea, or coffee, and at least toast. She didn't know what he kept in his fridge or pantry but she was sure there would at least be bread and butter, and she wasn't a complete novice in the kitchen.

By the time he came through, suited and booted, hair combed and kept in place with his usual pomade and clean shaven there was tea, toast and bacon on the table, together with a fried tomato, courtesy of yesterday's harvest.

"Not quite Mr Butler's standard ..." she started to say.

"Phryne," he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her soundly, noting how gorgeous she looked in his shirt, hair mussed up from bed, oh how he would like to stay with her today.

"Eat," she pulled away, reluctantly, "you need to keep your strength up."

"Promises, Miss Fisher?" he teased, sitting down and tucking into the breakfast.

She sat opposite and drank a cup of tea and nibbled, her own, piece of toast.

"You didn't have to do this," he wiped the last traces of the bacon and tomato off his plate with the toast, "but I'm glad you did."

"We both missed dinner," she set her cup down, "and I did ... have to do this." She was almost embarrassed but he decided against letting her know he noticed.

After a light hearted argument about the washing up Phryne sent Jack on his way and assured him as he left that she would be there when he returned, and if she wasn't she would make sure she let him know where she was. He wondered if she would alert Dorothy and Mr Butler, or go to Wardlow and speak to them. Phryne too was wondering if she should let them know she was back but decided to think on it over the next few hours.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The bed was a mess, it told of the previous night's activities and she didn't want Jack to be embarrassed by his cleaning lady, if that was how he saw to such things. Actually, what did he do about the domestic side of his life? Did he do his own laundry, she had noticed a washing machine in the kitchen, and housework? She stripped the bed while the bath was filling and dropped the sheets into the laundry basket. Fresh sheets were located in a cupboard outside the bedroom so she remade the bed, plumped the pillows and smoothed down the eiderdown.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

That evening, after a simple supper, Phryne opened up about what she had found in England. Jack let her ramble on, knowing how difficult it was for her to be so open. He showed his surprise at her father's sensitivity over getting her back to Melbourne and frowned at her mother's determination to marry her off.

"I told father I wasn't going to be used as a brood mare," she sipped her whisky and nestled into his shoulder, "I don't see how she could have forced me to marry."

"Me neither," he agreed, "then there is the producing a child, it doesn't always happen, me and Rosie didn't manage it."

"Did it matter, to you?" she turned and tried to see his face.

"At first, I think so, perhaps Rosie more than me," he was staring into space, remembering the tears each month and the arguments, the blame. "Then I went away to war and when I came back I wasn't sure I wanted to bring a child into a world that tried to solve its problems by fighting. If it happened it happened but by then we had grown apart, the war ... did you ever want children?" He knew her feelings on the subject, now, but wondered, if when she was younger.

"Rene beat that out of me," she sat up with her back to him, trying to steady her voice.

"Phryne, I'm sorry, I should have known he would have something to do with it," he put his whisky down and reached out for her.

She sniffed and held her head that little bit higher, "it was a long time ago." There was silence for a minute or two, Jack was sure that she had more to say so he waited, his hands on her upper arms.

"They told me it was a little girl," she whispered dropping her head.

Jack leant forward and lifted the glass out of her hand then turned her to him and pulled her onto his chest. He listened as she whispered and sniffed her way through the beating Rene had given her when he found out she had caught, that, knowing what he would say, she had kept it a secret for as long as she could but at six months or thereabouts, he had beat her so hard Veronique Sarcelle had taken the bleeding and screaming young girl to the hospital where her baby had been born, given its first and last cry and been taken away before she could ask to see her. The doctors had cleaned her up and Veronique had taken her to her and Pierre's apartment to recover.

"I thought you always used ... protection," Jack stroked her back.

"He didn't always give me the chance to put it in," she shrugged, the storm having past. "You, and Mac, are the only ones who know, not even my parents or Aunt P have ever been told. It's easier to pretend I don't like babies."

"Do you ... like them I mean?"

"I don't really know," she sighed, "not having been in close proximity to many, and Mary's baby ... well it was the first one I had seen close up for many a year, and I'd never seen a new newborn." She slipped into deep thought. "You're not planning something are you, Inspector?"

"I wouldn't dare," he smiled down at her, "and anyway, that kind of thing should be a joint decision - I'll wait for you to tell me."

She stuck her tongue out at him, he swiftly dipped to cover it with his mouth and they sank into a deep kiss.

For a few days they lived this way. She would send him off to work with a reasonable breakfast, more than he would normally make himself, and then see to the house and bathe. She would dress conservatively, hide most of her face with a hat and head out to purchase the means to make a dinner for the two of them in the evening. They spent those evenings talking and loving,. in truth they learned to live as a couple, man and wife, partners. It didn't take long, really. Phryne found contentment even though she knew she would not be able to sustain it indefinitely so they came to an agreement. She would go and announce her arrival to Dot and Mr Butler and that Jack would live, part time, with her. When she needed space or he did he would remove himself to his bungalow, if they both needed to be quiet after a case they would both go to the bungalow and she would become the elusive Mrs Robinson. This would be their life until such time as she needed the distraction of other men in her bed. She was honest with Jack about this but at the same time assured him that it was unlikely, he was enough for her. He, in turn, told he that he would try to be the best he could be for her, that he loved her in a way he had never loved a woman before, not even Rosie. He agreed that cases may cause them to argue, perhaps even fight and that keeping the bungalow was the best way to allow them that break they may need. If they were subtle about this maybe nobody would pay them any attention, after all he often paid her a visit after a case had been closed and unless there was someone twitching curtains nobody would know if he left - or not.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jack pulled up outside her house and turned off the engine.

"Ready?" he took her hand in his.

"Ready," she nodded and breathed deeply, "dinner, tonight?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," he smiled, "but I will ring, if I'm delayed."

She leant towards him and he kissed her softly on the lips.

"See you later, Jack," she opened the car door.

He got out from his side and helped her carry her cases to the door, then, with another chaste kiss to her cheek he left her, as planned, to meet Mr Butler and Dot and settle back into what was her usual state of being.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She let herself into the house and called through.

"Mr Butler!" her voice rang through the quiet, "I'm home!" She sounded as if she had been away for a week, not months.

"Miss!" Dot shrieked and ran through from the kitchen followed at a respectful pace by Tobias Butler his impassive face showing no surprise his mistress would just arrive without fanfare. He gave a little smile as Dot flung her arms round Miss Fisher and hugged her, hard.

"Miss Fisher, so glad to have you back," he nodded politely and went to lift her suitcases from the doorstep. "Do I expect Albert and Cecil at the kitchen door?"

"Not this morning, Mr B," she disentangled herself from her companion, "Inspector Robinson brought me round. One of those suitcases is his, he will be staying." She gave the information as if it was nothing out of the ordinary and apart from raised eyebrows from Dot that was how it was taken.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Over coffee and freshly baked biscuits Phryne explained why she hadn't alerted them to her return and hoped they would understand. She also, briefly told them what arrangement she and Jack had come to.

Neither commented but both had seen it coming, one way or another.

Phryne spent the rest of the morning arranging for her hair to be cut back into its usual short bob and going through the correspondence Dot hadn't forwarded to her. She rang her aunt and suggested she come over for tea one afternoon so she could update her properly on her parents.

"Really, Aunt Prudence," she sighed, "it was nowhere near as bad as father had made out, or mother, it was all a ruse to get me back and married off."

"Oh Phryne," Mrs Stanley gasped, "I would have thought your mother knew you better than that, by now."

"It would seem she chooses to ignore what she knows and goes her own way, still, I suppose I should expect nothing less. It's not as if I have to produce the next in line, they have Georgie for that."

"Indeed, dear," and they left it at that, Prudence agreeing to meet her for tea the following day.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hugh Collins couldn't miss the lightness in Inspector Robinson's demeanour over the last few days. He hadn't asked if he had heard news of Miss Fisher, but he had confided in his wife about the change in his character.

"He seems much happier, Dottie," he had mused one evening, "as if he's had good news or Miss Fisher has returned."

"She hasn't, Hugh," Dot shook her head as she took the plates to the sink, "I would know, where else would she go?"

"You have a point," he nodded.

This particular morning Jack breezed in and gave him a cheery "Good morning, Collins, all quiet?"

"Morning, sir," he had managed to gasp out, "nothing to report."

"Well, I expect that will change soon," he laughed, "Miss Fisher has returned, our peace will no doubt be shattered in due course."

"Oh, er, yes, sir," Hugh stammered, "perhaps the crims will run for cover, though."

"We should be so lucky, Hugh," Jack took the offered cup of tea and headed to his office where he took off his coat and hat, sat down, put his feet up on the desk and grinned to himself.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Phryne was sitting in the parlour, going over reports from her accountant when he arrived in the evening.

As he had left the station he had taken a deep breath. Instead of heading to his bungalow, for the first time he was going straight to Wardlow without a case as an excuse. He wasn't worried about Dot or Mr Butler's reaction though breakfast might be a little bit strained, it was using her home as his. Still she had managed to use his as hers, though Phryne would not have such doubts or worries about how other people perceived their relationship.

"Good evening, Inspector," Mr Butler let him in, took his coat and hat and left him to go into the parlour without announcing him.

Phryne looked up and smiled as he stepped over to her and kissed her lightly.

"Hello, Jack," she sighed, "quiet day?"

"How did you guess?"

"You didn't call me," she pouted.

"Yes, it was quiet, perhaps news of your return has got round," he went to the side table and poured them a whisky each, a habit he had got into at his bungalow. "Your day? I see you've had your hair cut, pity I quite liked it a little longer," he teased.

She raised an eyebrow, he'd never commented on her hair or dress before save that a certain dress was 'lethal'.

"Just going over reports from my accountant," she waved the folder of papers, "so far all is well, very little impact from the world of finance. Most of my investments are in manufacturing and that seems to be holding its own."

"Good, let's hope it stays that way," he handed her her drink, "and although I'm not exactly wealthy, love, I do have a bit put away." He blushed, they hadn't mentioned money in their relationship and he wasn't sure how to tell her he didn't want to be a kept man.

She seemed to understand what he was trying to say but she knew it wasn't why he loved her, her money.

"Better save it for a rainy day, then," she raised her glass, "here's to us."

He sat next to her and chinked his glass against hers, "to us."

"So how did it go with Dorothy and Mr Butler, he seemed remarkably sanguine when I arrived?" Jack slipped his arm round her and she settled comfortably against him.

"Something tells me they were just waiting for us to see what they have seen for a long time," she sipped her drink, "apart from Dot looking surprised that I was so open about you living here, part time, she did mutter something like 'about time'," she shifted her head so she could see his face but all he did was his little sideways head tip.

Jack found he was less uncomfortable than he thought he would be over dinner, after all he had dined with Phryne on a number of occasions, and a drink and game of draughts in the parlour afterwards was nothing unusual. Mr Butler stepped in to ask if there was anything his mistress required before he turned in, Dorothy had left to go home to her husband but had left everything ready for her mistress.

"No thank you, Mr B," she smiled, "goodnight."

"Goodnight miss, sir" he nodded, "I have locked up for the night."

"Lovely," she took two of Jack's pieces, "see you in the morning."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was the first time Jack had been in Phryne's bedroom with her. He'd been in the room before, carried there unconscious after being knocked out by a combination of the Baron's nerve tonic (accidentally drunk) and the edge of the door being pushed into the side of his head, but not with her, not as her lover.

Dot had laid out his pyjamas and Phryne's nightgown, which made him smile, somehow during the nights they had spent at his bungalow nightwear hadn't featured.

"Well, Dot's taking it all in her stride," he slipped his arms round her from behind and nibbled her ear.

She hummed and tipped her head back to expose her neck and leant against him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Six months later:

"You know, Jack," she curled against him. "We haven't needed the extra space of the bungalow, at all ..." they had just cleared a tough case, the murder of a factory owner who treated his workers badly, Phryne had done some sneaking around and they had argued about her putting herself in danger after she had been caught by some more belligerent workers and been stabbed. The knife had hit her collar bone and deflected into her shoulder. It wasn't a deep wound but the man had been aiming for heart - she had moved, just in time or he wouldn't have been able to have the argument with her. He had held her gently after Dr Macmillan had patched her up, and they had both cried - she because she was in some pain, high on painkillers and his disappointed hurt look had struck her more than words could, and he because their new relationship was so young and he wanted to grow old with her.

"... perhaps we could manage without it," he hummed, "let it out to some deserving couple. Selling isn't really an option, not at the current time."

"Dot and Hugh are still living with his mother," she shifted in his arms, "and you know how much they can afford."

"Alright, well ..." he reeled off what he paid for gas and electricity and his average phone bill, "so ..."

Phryne reached for his notebook and pencil and they did some calculations, including Dot's wages and worked out a reasonable rent that would leave them with enough to consider starting a family.

"Dot doesn't want to give up working for me, and I suppose, after an appropriate amount of leave she could bring any sprog they have here," she mused.

"Still avoiding newborns, love," he grinned.

She batted his arm and pouted, "I dare say she'd keep it out of my way."

"Well, perhaps we'd better put it to them before Mrs Collins, senior, throws them out," Jack put the notebook back and pulled her back down into the bed.

"Yes, Dot did say it was getting increasingly difficult to be civil," Phryne agreed, "Hugh's mother is wondering when they are going to produce grandchildren, in her mind Catholics have dozens of children whether they can afford it or not."

Jack didn't comment but he had a feeling Phryne had a hand in that situation.

"Dot says she doesn't want the old woman telling her how to raise her children, which she knows will happen if they have one while they are still living there, and the priest is suspicious of her not having got pregnant yet," she continued, "he suspects them of going against the church's teachings on contraception."

"R i i ght," he hummed.

"As you know, Jack, it doesn't always happen," she finished, innocently.

"Of course."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx