Just a Trim
Lucien sat at the kitchen table after breakfast, reading the newspaper, when he had the strangest feeling that he was being watched. And sure enough, as soon as he put down the paper, he saw Jean standing beside the sink, staring at him. Her eyes were narrow as she scrutinized his face, and she wore the most curious expression.
He cocked his head slightly in confusion, trying not to laugh at her strange concentration. "Can I help you with something, Jean?"
She pursed her lips in deep thought before finally blinking and making actual eye contact with him. "I was just thinking about your beard."
Lucien wasn't sure what he was expecting, but that wasn't it. "What about my beard?" He was trying not to be defensive but he couldn't help it.
"Well, it's getting a bit long, isn't it?"
He frowned. "Is it?" Lucien couldn't help but put his hand to his face, examining his facial hair by feel.
Jean came to sit at the table with him. "I wouldn't have noticed except I was going through some old things and I found a newspaper clipping from one of your first cases with the police and it had your picture. Your beard was much shorter there. And a lot less gray." Her eyes sparkled as she teased him.
"There's not much I can do about the gray, though I think most of it is your doing, what with all that nagging and parading all your other men in front of me," he replied with feigned hurt.
She had to laugh. "All my other men!? I can't have been out with more than two men in the entire time you've lived here. Not counting you and your inability to keep your hands to yourself."
"Yes, but you like my hands."
Jean tried not to smile, as it just made her blush brighter. "Yes, I do," she conceded.
Lucien considered coming onto her, but decided against it. He had patients coming soon, and he did hate getting interrupted during their romantic moments. "I'm sorry, Jean, I got off the subject. You were contemplating my beard. Anything I can do to help you decide what to do with it?"
"Don't be silly, it's your face. I'm not going to try to tell you what to do with it." She noticed his small smirk as he surely thought of some kind of innuendo. Jean ignored him. "I was just noticing the difference, is all."
Lucien rubbed his face again, considering her words. "Perhaps I should get it trimmed. I do try to keep it neat, you know, despite your insistence that I don't take care of myself."
"I know you take care of yourself. And you almost always look presentable now. I just think you could take better care of yourself. It would certainly make my life easier."
He chuckled, standing up from the table. "I like having you take care of me. And perhaps this afternoon you can take care of my beard. Give me a trim to your liking, hmm?"
"No, you should go to the barber. I can give your or Charlie a haircut when needed, but I don't know the first thing about trimming a beard! None of the men in my life have ever had facial hair," she protested.
"Yes, I know you're lowering your standards in allowing my beastly beard anywhere near you."
"That is not what I meant!"
He just laughed, putting his hands on her shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Yes, I know, love. Just having a little fun. And I would prefer you do it, but I'll go see the barber tomorrow if you'd rather. I need a haircut as it is."
"I suppose I can trim everything up for you," Jean acquiesced.
Lucien thanked her with another quick kiss before going into his study to prepare himself for Agnes Clasby's appointment.
Jean took a little time while Lucien was with patients to look closer at that old photograph of him in the paper. He really did look much younger with the shorter beard. Not much time had passed, but both of their lives had changed almost beyond recognition. The man in that picture wasn't the concerned, loving, good-humored man who now kissed her before bed every night. No, that man had been bitter and uncontrolled and selfish. She had hated herself for being attracted to that man. But she knew she'd softened to his eccentricities the more she got to know him, and with understanding grew love, real and true and deep. Jean smiled at the photograph, wondering if that Lucien Blake with the shorter beard had ever even considered the possibility of falling love with his nagging housekeeper.
Later in the day, Jean brought Lucien his tea, as always. He'd finished with his patients, but hadn't left his study. "Do you have a case I don't know about?" she asked, setting down the tray beside the desk.
"No, I'm just reviewing Agnes's medical records. Her blood pressure is frighteningly high, despite all the medications we've tried. I'm just trying to see if there's something I haven't given her, or if there's something else in here that I've forgotten," he explained, not looking up from the file.
"Rest your eyes. Don't let your tea get cold," Jean instructed. She quietly left the study, knowing when he needed to be left alone. She'd check on him later to make sure he didn't overwork himself unnecessarily.
But to her surprise, he called her name almost as soon as she'd closed the door. She returned to the summons.
"Yes?"
His expression was almost comically disappointed. "You aren't going to have tea with me?"
"I didn't want to bother you."
Lucien shook his head. "You are never a bother." Upon seeing Jean's incredulous expression, he amended, "Well, you're never a bother when you help me clear my mind with a little cuddle."
"Yes, I can take a hint," she sighed, crossing to his side of the desk. He pushed his chair out from the desk to give her room to come sit on his lap. Whenever they did this, Jean felt equal parts embarrassed and enamored. She was a grown woman, sitting on a man's lap. But it did feel nice to have Lucien hold her like that, his strong arms around her body, his deft hands resting on her hip and her thigh.
Lucien nuzzled against her clavicle and breathed in deeply. "You see? Not a bother at all," he murmured.
She gave a small laugh as she stroked his cheek and neck. "If you still want that haircut, we should get started. I'll need to clean up the kitchen before I start on dinner."
He agreed and reluctantly let her stand up. He sipped his tea, giving Agnes's records one last glance while he waited for Jean to get her scissors and things ready for him at the kitchen table.
When he sat in the chair, he suddenly felt slightly nervous. "Now you will be careful with those shears so close to my neck, won't you?"
"You're the one who asked me to do this! And actually, you should go wash up and make sure all that brill cream is out of your hair. I can't do a thing with it when it's all plastered down like that."
Jean used the few minutes alone in the kitchen to find her confidence. She had none. She had no idea what she was doing, nor did she really understand why Lucien wanted her to do it.
He returned wearing only his singlet tucked into his trousers and his hair dripping wet. "Right, let's trim me up, shall we?" he said with enthusiasm.
With one last determined huff, Jean went to work. She gently combed out the hair on his face and his head, going in with the steady hand of a seasoned seamstress. She kept the shears close to this face, trimming the length of his beard down to a much shorter level. As she moved from one side of his face to the other, she leaned in quite close to examine her work. Lucien's gaze went to the gap that formed in the neckline of her blouse as she bent over in front of him. She didn't notice, as she was too focused on her task.
Lucien had to admit that he enjoyed the attention. The touch of her hand was gentle but commanding. He'd watched her in the sunroom with her plants many times and had to imagine she treated each beautiful flower with this same level of careful devotion.
"Alright, I don't dare cut any closer. You'll have to clean up the edges the next time you get a proper shave," she said, breaking the silence.
"How does it look?" he asked.
She smiled. "Very smart, I think. Changes the whole shape of your face. And now for your hair." Jean walked around him and indulged herself by putting her hands on his bare shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath her fingers. But she didn't dare linger. Instead, she started running her hands through his hair. Damp and lacking all the brill cream, his natural curl was starting to come through. "I don't think you need your hair cut," she announced.
"No," he disagreed. "It's starting to curl. It'll look very messy if I leave it any longer."
"Charlie's hair curls and he doesn't look a mess."
"Yes, well, Charlie is a young man who doesn't need to worry about looking like a savage wildman, what with the beard and the unruly curl. Isn't that what you said to me when I first arrived?"
"I meant run a comb through your hair, not chop it all off!" She sighed, unable to stop touching his barely-formed curls. "I don't think it would look too bad if you left it like this another few weeks."
Lucien suddenly caught on. "Jean, are you trying to tell me you like my hair with a bit of curl?"
"It is quite attractive. And now that your beard is well-trimmed, you don't look half the wildman you used to."
He smirked, feeling a strange sense of pride. "Alright then, I'll keep the beard short and let the hair…" He made a swirling gesture with his hand, indicating the curl.
"No, if you do want me to cut it, I will," she protested, suddenly feeling like she'd overstepped.
"Don't be silly. If you like it, that's all that matters. I cut it for you in the first place, after all."
"Did you really?"
"Yes, well, despite your constant nagging, I did find myself rather eager to win your approval in those early days. I saw you smile once, before Father died, and it turned a light on inside me. I knew I'd spend my life trying to bring that smile back," he confessed.
Jean was positively beaming. Perhaps that Lucien in the photograph had imagined falling in love with her. She couldn't help herself from crossing back around to stand in front of him and lean in to kiss him. He pulled her closer and onto his lap once again in order to deepen the kiss. But all of a sudden, she pulled away. "Oh!" she exclaimed.
It took Lucien a moment to blink back to reality. He saw Jean rubbing her hand on her face. "What's the matter?"
She smiled sadly. "I think perhaps there's a good reason your beard has been a bit long lately. I didn't realize it would be so much more prickly when it was short."
Lucien hadn't even considered that possibility. "Oh dear. Jean, I'm so sorry. Here, let me see." He took her hand from her face and saw the red irritation around her lips, the burn from his beard. "I am sorry, love. I suppose no more romance until it grows back, eh?"
Jean gave him one of her half-smiles. "Well, I think if we're very careful…" She leaned in once again and placed feather kisses all over his lips, doing her best to avoid the irritation from the rest of his face. "Oh, this is no good. And I can't have red blotches all over my face," she realized with disappointment. "Perhaps just before bed, that way the marks will go away during the night."
Lucien laughed and squeezed her tight. "You are by far the most brilliant and wonderful woman in all the world. And despite having it be a failed experiment, thank you for a lovely trim. I'm sure it looks very neat and clean, despite its utter lack of utility."
Jean just went back to running her fingers through his hair, happy to indulge a bit before she had to clean up and cook dinner.