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Phryne was doubled over on the side of her bed, feet on the floor and head in her hands, as Dot drew open the curtains. “Miss?” she asked tentatively. “It’s nothing, Dot,” she said, sitting up and tossing a note written in a tight scrawl onto the vanity. “I’d like a bath this morning, if you’d be a dear and start it,” she added, standing and walking around, moving her limbs in wide circles to shake off her edginess.
She’d had an exceptionally pleasant night in her bed with Jack last night. It was only the third of such nights with him, but she was hooked, she could tell— dreamy and dopey as anyone who feels the early stirrings of love. They hadn’t even intended to meet last night, as she would be joining him at his home for the first time the following evening, but in those early, eager days, sometimes these things just couldn’t wait.
She plunged into the tub with heavy limbs, however, because despite the heavenly night, the little note that Jack left for her on his empty pillow this morning had her thoughts swirling and spinning every which way.
The note began innocently, telling her how much he had enjoyed the evening, how much he adored her, and other lovely little sweet nothings that she devoured greedily and happily. But she sat stock still as she read the last bit, a short, potent question: “Marry me?”
When she’d first read it, she couldn’t help the words that left her mouth: first a curse, followed by “Oh, Jack, no— why would you do that?!”
The bath was having a good effect. She felt a little less rattled, a little more ready for a conversation, or at least ready to plan a conversation. First, she had a renewed hope that perhaps she’d misunderstood or misread it. After all, would he really ask something like that in a hastily written note left on a pillow? Perhaps he was teasing her? She emerged from the tub and snatched it from the vanity to read it again.
No. Plain and simple, the proposal sat there, earnest as anything. She groaned as she began looking for her undergarments.
Dressed, breakfasted, and a little clearer-headed, Phryne went to her office. After sorting through some correspondence, she reclined a little in her chair to consider what precisely she wanted to say to Jack. First, of course, she would tell him she loved him. He knew, but she knew he didn’t tire of hearing it. Second, she would say how much she was enjoying these early days with him, seeing him in a new light and relearning each other after her absence. But third, and most importantly, she must say that it was too early to say she would marry him. She surprised herself at realising that she wasn’t off the idea entirely; it might actually be pleasant at some point. But, as things stood, she couldn’t accept his request and feel good about it. She felt a pang of guilt that perhaps he misunderstood what they were doing. Despite their amorous correspondence, when they finally saw each other again, they’d fallen into bed with a lot of enthusiasm and not a lot of talking. She’d known when they first became physically intimate that it was something that he treasured— as did she. But this was courting, this was not… what would irrevocably lead to the altar.
She must tell him directly.
She didn’t want to wait for the evening, so she asked Dot to prepare a luncheon basket and made her way to the police station.
He smiled when she opened the door to his office, waiving her in as he finished up a phone call. She returned his smile, closing the door behind her then walking across the room. She lifted the basket onto his desk with a sultry tilt of her head; he winked at her, and she felt her chest flood with warmth.
“Well, Miss Fisher, this is a surprise,” he said, hanging up the phone and sweeping her hand into his. He stood up and gave her hand a gentle tug to pull her to him for a small peck on the lips.
“Well, I’m glad it seems a happy one,” she said with soft eyes, pecking him back.
“A very happy one,” he said, moulding his arms to her back and humming lightly in contentment.
He didn’t seem, she considered, like a man who had made a proposal of marriage and was waiting for an answer. Did he believe her answer was a given? Did he take her visit as an affirmative? This would not do, she thought, as she slowly extricated herself from his embrace. To her slight horror, he sat back down in his chair and eyed the basket, peeking under the towel at the goodies below.
“Jack, about this morning—“
“I’m sorry to have left so early. I hope I didn’t wake you?”
“What? No, no, I didn’t hear you leave…”
She looked at him with her head cocked, trying to understand what was happening. Why was he acting like this was a normal visit? Why was he more interested in the food than a life-altering conversation?
She pulled the note from her purse.
“Jack darling, what does this say?” she asked, pointing to the end of the note.
“I look forward to dinner tonight.”
“Not that one, the sentence after that.”
“It says ‘Maybe more?’” he said, blushing slightly as he looked up at her. “I felt uncomfortable to suggest you pack an overnight bag, but I admit that was my hope,” he continued, smiling adorably.
“Jack,” she breathed, sinking into his lap.
“Yes, Phryne,” he answered, kissing her jaw, nuzzling her neck.
“You have terrible handwriting.”