Chapter Text
Rosie needed a distraction.
She had been staying with her sister Marjorie and her family. And while they had all been lovely and supportive during the whole devastating implosion of her engagement and Father’s scandal, Rosie was craving an adult evening of conversation that did not center on children, scandal, her brother-in-law’s firm, or the footy scores. She craved a night out. Getting dressed up, cocktails, and invigorating conversation.
In truth, what she was craving was Jack. They had grown up together, and even though they had been through some awful times, it hadn’t been bad for the entirety of their 16-year relationship. He would know how to cheer her up. There was a time when he had been devilishly good at setting her to rights. Most of his techniques had involved them being naked, a level of intimacy she had not reached with Sidney. The second time really was very different than the first. She sighed audibly as she sank into her thoughts.
Sex with Sidney Fletcher had been exciting in the beginning, but then she began to notice little ticks. He was always checking in with her during the act, asking questions. Initially the attention had been welcome, as it had been so long since someone had asked her what she wanted. However, she came to realize that it had more to do with his own vanity than his desire to give her pleasure. She began to think of it as fishing for compliments about his technique and wanting validation of his sexual prowess. It was a bit tiresome, really.
But Jack, darling Jack. He had done everything either of them could dream up in order to bring her pleasure. She had not even felt the need to question how he came by his knowledge of that tongue technique he used on her most intimate flesh after he had returned from the war. They both had sought comfort during those years apart. Neither explicitly said it, they didn’t have to say it. They knew each other well enough to read between the lines of the letters that had been sent farther and farther apart and containing more benign news. Saw it in each other’s faces when he came off the ship, felt it in each other’s touch as they tried to rediscover each other upon his return.
When he came home early that one night and walked in on her and the visiting French poet, Sylvie, he had been angry at first. But she imagined it would be just like any husband walking in on someone with a hand up his wife’s skirt and wearing the dregs of her lipstick on neck and collar. After Sylvie made her hasty retreat, he had withdrawn pensively to his room. Rosie had no idea what to say—she knew what the well-to-do families often did with women like her and she was grateful Jack would never do that to her—but she knocked on his door anyway. Honestly, it had looked worse than it was. Sylvie had only just begun her bolder explorations of Rosie when Jack had arrived. She and Jack had talked and cried together well into the night. He had been so much more a friend than lover at that point but it was what she needed.
He had been quite lovely these past couple of months, checking in on her and Margie. Their friendship was stronger than ever, and Rosie was glad for it. She asked after his cases and surprised herself by discovering that she was even able to hear Miss Fisher’s name without flinching. She couldn’t bring herself to ask directly about her, or them, yet. She had recognized their affection for each other even when they both had seemed blind to it. But lately, she had noticed a shift in Jack’s demeanor and suspected that what had been painfully clear to everyone else had finally occurred to them—that they were a them .
She had always been unable to hate Jack. That would have been so much easier. If she had hated him she could have brought herself to divorce him years earlier. No, there would always be a place in her heart for Jack Robinson. And while they were ill-fated lovers she was happy they had stayed in each other’s lives as friends.
But were they on solid enough footing that Rosie could call and ask him to take her out tonight? Rosie was lost in thought and missed the ringing of the doorbell. It was not until the housekeeper, Mrs. Ellis, popped her head into the parlour that she realized she had a visitor. “Miss Sanderson? There’s a Miss Fisher here to see you. Are you receiving visitors?”
Rosie was incredulous. She sighed aloud. Of all the people to visit. So few, if any, of her friends had stopped by. Suddenly her circle had grown quite small. So to have the paramour of her ex-husband paying her a visit was unexpected but Rosie was not prone to trepidation. “Certainly. Please, show her in.”
“Yes, Miss.”
Rosie was very pleasantly surprised that Miss Fisher had chosen one of her more modest costumes for today’s visit. If she had swirled in on a cloud of feathers and silk Rosie might have changed her mind about receiving her.
Rosie stood to great her guest. “Miss Fisher, this is quite intriguing. I suppose I should not be at all surprised that a lady detective would discover where my sister lives, but I am fascinated to discover what has brought you to her doorstep.”
“Please Miss Sanderson, I had hoped you would still call me Phryne. And I am here on a very important mission.” Rosie could tell that Phryne was trying to sound light and breezy but sensed there was a little nervousness underneath it all. Good, she thought. Not maliciously, but she was feeling incredibly vulnerable and she did not want anyone, least of all the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher, to feel like they had the upper hand on her.
“Yes, I will try Miss...Phryne. And, of course, call me Rosie. Now that we have the formalities out of the way, let us return to the reason for your visit. Please, have a seat. You said it was an important mission. Well, you have piqued my interest.”
“Good, on all accounts.” Phryne said, sounding a bit relieved. She remained standing as she blurted out. “I am taking you out this evening!”
Rosie thought that after all that had happened to her over the past month that her ability to be shocked had been exhausted. She was wrong. She quickly regained her composure, a skill that had been honed to precision at this point.
“I am sorry, what did you just say?”
Phryne walked further into the room to stand by Rosie. “Yes, it is my personal philosophy that the best revenge is living well. You have missed two of the latest luncheons that the society mavens of Melbourne have thrown and one charity ball. And while it is perfectly reasonable to cocoon for a bit after all you have been through, it is time to take back your life and step out on your own terms. So forget the stuffy luncheons - believe me, you missed nothing by the way – and let’s really show them what you are made of by hitting the town!”
Rosie looked at Phryne and let that little speech pour over her. A part of what she said had some real logic to it. But Rosie had never been much of a rebel. Of the two of them, Marjorie had been more inclined to that, before her husband won her over and they settled down to start their family. Rosie had always been the pragmatic one. But above all else, Rosie was confused about something.
She sank back down onto the chaise and Phryne finally stepped over to the chair next to her and sat as well.
“Why, Phryne?” She said rather quietly. Her voice betraying her feelings more than she would have liked. “Why do you want to do that? I have hardly been particularly warm towards you during our past encounters.”
Phryne had been expecting this. “Because I know what it is like to be the controversy.” She replied simply. “I am sure you are well aware that I was not born to this society life, Rosie. And then, to top it off, I return from my global travels a spinster who promptly hangs out her shingle as a detective.” Phryne smiled roguishly. “So now, the grubby girl from Collingwood who ran away to Europe returns as the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher, secure in her own financial independence, running about in terribly well-tailored trousers with her best friend who happens to be a Sapphist, getting caught up in the most intriguing adventures.” With a shrug of her shoulders she added. “Not the least of which is the occasional romantic dalliance captured by the gossip rags.”
Rosie had not really taken that all into consideration before, but Phryne was right. Rosie and Margie were not the pinnacles of Melbourne society either, but she had grown up very comfortably in middle class Richmond and had access to good schools and all the “right” sorts of hobbies, as was befitting a lady. Her parents’ ambition had earned them access to the crème de la crème of Melbourne, which she and Margie had frankly taken for granted. Miss Fisher had returned to Australia as the very eccentric niece to one of Melbourne’s most stalwart of mavens, Prudence Stanley. She had definitely been the topic of conversation at more than one society gathering.
Rosie became thoughtful for a moment. Something Phryne said had stuck out, and she could not let it go passing by without a query.
“Yes, you have been spotted stepping out with quite a few of Melbourne’s most handsome bachelors. There is one man, though, who they have yet to capture you with, other than on the courthouse steps.” She added pointedly but not angrily or negatively. It was the other thing Phryne had expected would come up during this visit.
Phryne thought it best to be as open here as possible. “Jack is too cautious for that, Rosie,” she said tentatively but then rushed to add, “our friendship has been very slow to flower into anything else and the romantic overtures are more recent. I think many have assumed Jack and I were romantically inclined before we actually were.” Phryne offered a small almost shy smile. “He really does think the world of you, Rosie, and even after your divorce was finalized he did not want to do anything that would hurt you or your reputation. As for our past encounters, well, I do not begrudge your acrimony. I appreciate a woman who is willing to stand up for a man she loves. In your shoes, with someone like Jack, I am confident I would have behaved the same.”
A thought occurred to Rosie, and she blurted out “Jack doesn’t know you’re here!”
“No, he doesn’t. I wanted to do this and I knew he would likely try to talk me out of it.”
“Well, this cannot possibly be an attempt to size up the competition. You know perfectly well that ship has sailed.” Rosie winced at her own reference. Tears welled up to sting her eyes and she was hopeless to stop them.
Phryne swiftly moved from her chair to the chaise and sat next to Rosie. “Rosie, please, I truly did not stop by today to hurt you. I rather admire your tenacity, actually. And, as I said, I know what it is like to walk into a party and have the conversation abruptly change topics. What you do not know is just how acutely I am aware of the devastation felt when a lover betrays your trust. Of the anger felt when you realize you have lost something of yourself to someone and the dread that you will never get it back.” Phryne’s own eyes clouded as they always did when the topic of Rene came up.
Rosie looked at her as she heard the change in her voice and noticed the change in her breathing. “Your French painter, right?” She put her hands over Phryne’s. “Jack did mention something about that case. Not the least of which was because of the kiss.” Rosie smiled, despite herself. “And the snails.”
Phryne had forgotten that detail as the whole day to her had been a blur. “That’s right, we were trying to pretend to be normal diners. Anatole was trying to keep up appearances so he placed food in front of us. I couldn’t eat a bite, but Jack….”
At that, a giggle rose up unbidden from Rosie. “How that man has stayed trim is beyond me. His appetite is rather legendary.” At that second comment Rosie gave Phryne a sidelong glance and smirked, despite herself. Phryne cocked an eyebrow and looked at Rosie appreciatively, acknowledging the double entendre.
Rosie realized that despite all logic and reason she definitely liked the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher.
With that, she made her decision and said in a conspiratorial voice, “I think we are heading into dangerous territory now and if we are going to do that, I believe I will require a cocktail...or three.”
Phryne beamed and there was no mistaking the mischief in her eyes. She had decided she rather liked Rosie Sanderson. “Agreed, let’s hold off on secrets and conspiracies until we can have more sail than ballast.”
Phryne stood, preparing to depart. “I’ll come ‘round about nine tonight. And then, look out Melbourne!”
The two ladies parted in very good spirits, both marveling at the mercurial nature of friendship.