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“I see a very careful man who professes to be cynical in the face of mysteries he can't explain, and claims to have no passions in spite of a heart that runs as deep as the Pacific Ocean.” The words had been out of her mouth before Phryne's brain was given a say in the matter.
Perhaps she’d blame the looseness of her lips on tonight’s divine cocktail creation, care of Mr. B.
After all, every good pirate girl never forgot what liquor was capable of.
Naturally, Phryne had hoped to wheedle the information out of Jack somehow. She couldn't help but overhear his conversation with Mrs. Bolkonsky loud and clear. It's not as if she could have avoided listening to such a personal moment… Slipped into the parlor and tuned the woman's words out, for example…
No. It simply hadn’t been a possibility. On this point, Phryne Fisher was unwilling to leave well enough alone. Quelle surprise.
Phryne had been struggling to comprehend how something said by Madame Bolkonsky, of all people, followed by Jack Robinson's dismissal of the same had wound her so tightly.
There wasn't a single piece of evidence that pointed to Phryne Fisher being Detective Inspector Jack Robinson's greatest passion.
Not a shred.
Not a single iota of evidence that Jack even had a greatest passion to begin with, herself or otherwise.
In retrospect, he could have been swearing off any number of things. Finally participating in the Tour de France, for one. Discovering the most perfect biscuit recipe in existence for another.
Not that she’d allowed herself much time to overthink. Clearly.
Granted, it had been her goal to find a much more subtle method of extraction. Things weren't exactly going to plan. If loose lips could sink ships, then the S.S. Phryne was quite possibly in need of much safer waters. ‘... a man who claims to have no passions… ’
Honestly .
It was practically a confession of her eavesdropping, and from the glint of his eyes, Jack knew it.
The way his eyes had darkened in the moments that followed caused her heart to stutter in her chest. The way his head had tilted forwards had her wondering, for the briefest of seconds, if perhaps this was the moment where a corner was turned?
Was she even remotely ready for such a shift?
As she watched Jack’s eyes shutter from open vulnerability to impenetrable fortress, literally in the blink of an eye, she had her answer. She was surprised to realize that maybe she was ready.
So long as it was a very slow turning of said corner.
“...strange. All I can see is another martini.” As per usual, she was apparently also two steps ahead.
***
Jack hadn’t been expecting it. That flash of disappointment in Miss Fisher’s eyes at his dry riposte.
She rallied admirably quickly, donning the mask of a sly smile in no time at all. That single second, though, made it clear he'd said something wrong.
He'd been following what, up until this very moment, he'd believed was still their preferred script - maintaining their usual status quo with witty quips and flirtations, while never truly delving beneath the surface of any alleged passions .
Alas, it wouldn’t be a nightcap with Phryne Fisher if he didn’t feel at least slightly off-kilter at some point in the evening.
Was something shifting between them? Jack, by nature, was an observant man. He couldn’t deny that there had been… moments… recently. Moments that had nearly made him wonder…
A glance darkened with what a less informed man might surely mistake for adoration, and on occasion yearning.
A red flag being waved at a bull in such a way that this same man might mistakenly sense hints of jealousy and fear hidden amidst the teasing.
A freudian slip involving the mention of one’s passions that might be misinterpreted as interest in something altogether more complicated.
Yes, these moments might have caused a weaker man to make mistakes in judgment, but Jack Robinson wasn’t prone to weakness. But perhaps, he admitted, he was not brave enough to take such a risk.
He found he couldn’t bring himself to trust where his intuition wanted to lead him. Not yet, at least. Not when he and Phryne Fisher had yet to find themselves on the same page of this particular chapter.
Let alone in the same book.
While Jack hadn’t any plans of diving in head-first, perhaps he could make an effort towards cautiously testing the waters, in his own way.
Phryne had by now drained the emerald liquid in her glass. Before she could stand and move to the drinks cart, Jack held out his hand to her. Puzzled, she met his eyes. He cleared his throat. “Croquet, you said?”
Her eyes lit with delight before she settled more deeply into the settee, knee nudging his thigh gently as she shifted to a more comfortable position.
She offered her hand, palm up once again. “Mmm. Lots Of Croquet.” Her nose wrinkled adorably in distaste. “I can't say I've ever found the game challenging enough to be worth the time it takes to play.”
***
“Perhaps what you've lacked is an opponent far more skilled with a croquet mallet than yourself.”
“And do you, Detective Inspector Robinson, consider yourself skilled with such things?”
“My hands are nothing if not capable, Miss Fisher.”
She looked down, entranced by the hands in question.
Her own hand looked so small cupped in his much larger palm. “Yes, I can see that.”
The finger he'd been absent-mindedly using to gently trace along her lifeline, back and forth and back again, didn't look like it should be capable of such a tender touch. The goosebumps that blazed a trail down her arm at every swipe of his skin against hers begged to differ.
This man truly had no clue just how seductive he could be without even trying.
She glanced up, entranced by the stormy blue-gray that met her gaze.
“I see a woman so clever she leaves everyone in the dust on almost a daily basis.” She smirked at this. He breathed deeply before continuing, Adam’s apple bobbing as he seemed to steel himself for what he was about to say. “Who claims to have many passions, despite having a heart so well-guarded that even the best of men could never dream of being granted more than a glimpse of all it beholds.” He broke eye contact, his finger continuing its soothing path along her palm. “A woman so singular that any man worth his salt would savor that one single glimpse, rather than risk the loss of it by asking for anything more than what she was willing to offer.” When he met her eyes again, his glance was almost shy. Nonetheless, he didn’t look away. Brave man .
Phryne found herself at a loss for words.
It had never been about foreswearing the pursuit of any passions. It had been about respecting her. He believed her capable of more, but didn’t believe that she was willing to change, and he had accepted that without argument or expectation.
If only he knew.
If only she was brave enough to broach that conversation.
Jack cleared his throat, bringing her back to the moment. “But what do I know from fortune telling?” He rumbled softly.
She found her gaze drifting to his lips, which were suddenly much closer than they had been a mere moment ago. “I think, Jack, that you know far more than you reali–” a loud rapping rang out against the parlor door, startling both detectives towards opposite ends of the chaise.
“Miss Fisher,” Mr. Butler’s voice drifted through the wooden panel, “I apologize for the interruption, but your Aunt Prudence is on the telephone. She’s unwilling to hang up until she confirms the final details of your upcoming trip.”
Phryne screwed her eyes shut and inhaled deeply. “Thank you, Mr. Butler, I’ll be there presently.”
“Very good, Miss.”
Upon opening her eyes, Phryne felt a strong pang of disappointment upon realizing that Jack’s walls were officially very much in place again. Two steps forward, and one step back it is, she thought wryly.
“I’m sorry, Jack,” she smiled apologetically, “but Queenscliff calls!”
“I could have sworn it was your Aunt.” That impish gleam was back in his eyes, and she couldn’t help but smile.
“Mmm. Her too, I’m afraid.”
***
As Phryne closed the door behind Jack and turned towards the phone alcove, she resolved to give Aunt Prudence just a little grief for such an untimely interruption.