What Phryne Fisher wants, Phryne Fisher gets. Be it a dancer, a painter, a chinese who-knows-what or a fellow member of high society.
Inspector Jack Robinson had hoped, foolishly, that after dancing around for months, risking his job on several occasions, nearly having lost her several times, that this time it would be different, that this time it would be him.
The lingering touches and glances, their afternoon drinks after a solves case…
He’d been married when he kissed her the first time, in order - he’d told himself - to make sure they got the man they were after, the one who had tormented Phryne all those years ago and still did. Maybe it had been the main reason, then, but not the only one.
Jack wished he could have enjoyed it, savoured it, after, even at that time, having seen those lips curl up in many a devilish smiles that promised both trouble and fun for the ones involved.
But he had been married, rocky as it had been after the war, and even so, he had held to the sanctity of it. Because he had stood with their families and friends, and promised they would stay together.
And then Rosie and him finally ended things, and Jack could allow himself to grow closer to Phryne.
When the news of the fatal car crash had reached him, Jack had automatically assumed the worst, and the aftermath had nearly driven them apart. Him, mad at her for her recklessness and terrified that one day, that message really would be about her. Phryne, balking at his words, probably hearing them as though he was trying to control her.
Jack could never do that.
They reconciled, and Jack felt what had been a great divide at their distance fill up and close again.
After her father’s arrival, things had been more difficult but they had still gravitated closer towards one another, and shorty before the Baron finally left, escorted by his daughter, Jack had thought finally, at last, had looked into Phryne’s eyes and known what he felt for her, she too felt for him. Or so he had hoped at least, let himself believe.
When they had kissed a second time, it was an actual kiss, and a promise, and a hint of something unspoken. Something more.
Then Phryne had told him to follow her, her voice had been full of laughter and her eyes had shone so bright and Jack had wanted nothing more to do as she asked, but he had a life and his work and damn him, he lacked the courage to follow her.
Jack had watched her fly away, wishing for all the world that he was her passenger instead of her father.
And now, here he is again. Too late to follow her and her request. This time, on a ship bound for London, sailing steadily closer to a memorial for Phryne. Because this time, the message was about her. This time, she truly was dead.