Set between 3.8 and 4.1. Something to hopefully lift the spirits after 4.3. Thanks to Aussiegirl41 for the Aussie-ing up of the story.
She told him: "Don't say anything. Not yet." Because it was so new, so painful and wondrous at the same time, she didn't want to hear it as words.
The miles rolled under the bus. Their bodies swayed together with the motion. His fingers tickled at her hairline, his lips whispered along her brow. Only when the sun began to set and the interior dimmed, did he speak.
"I am so happy."
"Yes."
The bus stopped at Horsham for dinner and to change passengers. He followed closely down the aisle and when she stumbled on the stairs, he caught her about the waist. He was a tactile person who often touched her, but now it was changed. Or perhaps her senses were heightened? The heat of his hands through her dress, his fingertips lingering on her hips before releasing her.
There had been a few other Ballarat residents aboard. They watched her and Lucien avidly as they entered a nearby cafe together. One, Hugh Callen from the hardware store, greeted them. "Let's take this table," he offered.
"Thanks, but Mrs Beazley and I need to discuss something," Lucien said smoothly and guided her away to a table for two in the back.
Her heart skipped a beat. It was still too soon. But he only asked her what she'd like to eat and ordered their meal. Then queried about Adelaide.
"I've never been," he told her.
"You've never been? That surprises me." Who was the woman speaking to Doctor Blake? She could feel that her eyes were wide, staring at him as though she had just met him. She had to remind herself to blink.
He focused on his teacup's contents. She'd seen him in every sort of mood, but he'd never appeared nervous to her. He quickly licked his lips. His hand was shaking as he lifted the cup to drink thirstily. "No, I haven't," he choked out.
"There's a lot of churches," she said doubtfully.
That broke the tension. He chuckled. "Are you saying that I won't like it?"
"Perhaps you'll find something else of interest."
"I think that I shall."
He was looking at her in that way. The new way. What she'd seen in his eyes as he'd come down the aisle towards her seat.
As soon as their plates were placed on the table, her appetite fled but she chewed automatically and swallowed the sawdust that was her meal.
Thankfully, the stop was short, and they were called back aboard the bus. In the darkness, they eased close and wrapped their arms around each other. She nestled under his chin and breathed in his scent. It was all familiar—the laundry flakes and starch on his shirt, the wool of his waistcoat, the carbolic soap on his hands—but now it was hers alone.
"You're right," he murmured in her ear. "There's nothing to say."
X
The smell of the sea woke her. The bus had entered Adelaide. It wouldn't be long now before the journey was over. She'd slept easily, more deeply than she had in years, her cheek against Lucien's heartbeat.
"Will Christopher be here?" he asked quietly.
"Yes." She sat up and straightened her hair. The bus was slowing and the other passengers stirred as well.
"I'll find my own way then."
She supposed that he should. It wouldn't do for her to bring him along to babysit. Confused, she found her bag and flipped open her compact. Her uncertainty looked back in the small mirror. She powdered her nose, wiping away the sheen of the warm evening. After applying a fresh coat of lipstick, she said, "Alright. If you'd rather."
"Do you know a good hotel?"
She glanced at him. "You don't have any clothes," she noted.
He gave one of his quick, charming grins and her heart contracted; a surprising sensation. She'd ignored and suppressed such reactions for years and their release was making her light-headed. She gripped his arm for support.
"I'll ask the Commonwealth Bank for a draft to be sent over from my branch. For now I have enough money to get a fresh pair of shorts and a toothbrush."
She remembered that he was a survivor and didn't press. When she made her way down the aisle, he stayed on their seat. She disembarked and returned Christopher's embrace warmly. She sensed Lucien's gaze through the window as her son gathered her cases and they moved away from the bus. She didn't look back.
At the army barracks, Christopher and Ruby's little double brick cottage was a scene of disarray. Entering via the back door, she needed to dodge several buckets full of dirty nappies and a baby's cry filled the air. Ruby appeared, her dark hair stringy and lank, circles under her eyes, and cradling her infant daughter.
"You're here then," she said disagreeably.
And so began Jean's stay.
X
She slept in Amelia's room to be near her charge. She had the heavy cleaning done within a day and the baby started upon a regular schedule.
Ruby was able to bathe and catch up on her movie magazines. Her spirits restored, she began to snip at Jean.
"I'll pop downtown to the shops then," Jean said with forced brightness. "I've got a list started, if there's anything that you want."
"Let me drive you, Mum," Christopher said, rising from his chair.
"I won't hear of it," she told him, holding up her hand. "I could use the fresh air. And the tram is so close."
She'd recommended the Mayfair Hotel to Lucien. Sensible as always, she did a bit of shopping before strolling past, head high. She didn't want to look eager. Then she saw him lounging on a bench out front of the hotel and that odd sensation overcame her again. Giddiness? She hadn't felt like this since she was fifteen and would pass the Beazley farm every day, flipping her hair back at what she hoped was an opportune moment.
Lucien's eyes were closed, his face cast up to the sun. But his head snapped around and he grinned at the sight of her. He must have recognised her familiar step and this pleased her greatly. He stood to meet her.
"Jean—"
She took his outstretched hand. "Have you seen any of the churches yet?" she asked breathlessly.
His thumb rubbed across her palm. "Not likely." His head tipped. "But I will with you."
She found herself actually blushing. To cover, she began to briskly walk down the street, but his long strides were able to keep up. He took her parcels despite her protests that they weren't heavy.
Glancing him up and down, she said,"Look at you," being a bit of a scold. "I don't know if we can go inside the churches with you like that."
He had not bought a fresh suit. Instead, he worn a blue linen open-necked shirt and pale yellow trousers. He looked younger and somehow refreshed.
Not bothering to cover his glee, he replied airily, "Such a shame, eh?"
No one knew them here. They could walk hand in hand, satisfied with themselves. He asked about the baby and Christopher, seemingly as an afterthought. She could always tell when he forcibly reminded himself to extend the pleasantries. It was not that he didn't care. It was just that his focus was elsewhere. She filled him in, but kept it short.
They wandered past a large impressive cathedral and into a park. "Have you been down to the sea yet?" she asked.
"No. I've been waiting for you," he murmured, leading her under the shade of a copse of trees.
His arm went around her waist, and she stepped into his embrace. Their contact was with same hands, on the same bodies, but now all was charged electric. When his lips pressed to her throat, she became this man's lover.
The rasp of his beard on her neck; he'd mark her. The forbidden thrill made her tremble. Her palm to his chest; through the thin fabric, she could feel the heat of his skin. Mouths finally meeting, gentle, damp, his moustache tickling her lip and making her giggle—had he ever heard her giggle before? High and bright like this?
"Jean," he whispered, urgent.
"Don't say it," she answered, and kissed him again, welcoming the invasion, returning the caress of his tongue. His shirt was trapped in her tight fist, and her knuckles brushed bare skin. It shocked her into a gasp.
He burrowed into the crook of her neck, nosing aside the collar of her blouse. When his lips touched her collarbone, her gasp deepened to a moan. After years of fighting the impulse, she squeezed his wide shoulders, her nails biting. Then her fingers laced through the short hair at the back of his head, guiding his mouth lower—
A throat cleared behind them, a grumpy sound. They leapt apart. A sour-faced gardener peered into their hiding place.
"I think we should tour St. Peter's," she said, patting her hair back in place with shaking hands. "It's the closest."
She dared to look at him. He was staring at her, as though seeing her for the first time and perhaps he was.
Glancing at her watch, she said with regret, "But I should get back."
"Will you come again?"
"Are you going to stay in Adelaide?" she asked, unsure. "Your patients..."
"I could do with a holiday, don't you think?" He gave her a tentative smile.
"You'll need to get some bathers."
He laughed. She'd always loved his laugh, she realised. When she heard it.
"I shall," he said, still in a good humour.
"But you'll have to go at some point," she said, squaring her shoulders.
"Let's not think about that." Again, he asked, "Will you come again?"
After picking up her forgotten shopping bags and straightening her bag's strap on her arm, she gave a short nod.
X
She did come again. They'd meet among the gum trees, fall into each other's arms, to kiss and touch. She would think of his nearby hotel room and how easy it would all be. Instead, she invited him to Christopher's for tea.
Ruby watched Lucien with avid curiosity. Christopher remained mostly quiet. Lucien played with the baby as much as he would be allowed by the fussing parents. The sight of him with a dark-haired girl made Jean decide this had been a bad idea.
When he'd left, she went into the back garden for some air. She hadn't smoked since before she was married, but she wished for a cigarette now. Christopher joined her, puffing on a forbidden fag, making her irrationally irritated.
"Should you be doing that?"
"Leave the nagging to my wife," he said, sounding tired.
She harrumphed.
"What was that all about, Mum?"
"What do you mean?" she asked, even though she knew.
"Doctor Blake. Showing up here on holiday, three days after you left his employ to help your family."
"We're old friends."
"You know what people say about the two of you—"
She turned on him. "You are my son. Of all people, I expect you to show me some respect—"
Her flushed face and sharp tone had a definite effect. "Bloody hell, Mum, you're in love with that nutter."
"I'm going to check on Amelia," she said shortly, striding back to the house.
"I just don't want to see you hurt," he called after her, but there was defeat in his voice.
"I shan't be." She stopped. "Lucien would never hurt me." She was somewhat surprised to realise that she believed it.
"Will you be staying?" he asked.
"You need me," she said and went inside.
X
Ruby turned out to be smarter than Jean had ever given her credit for. She'd seen Jean and Lucien together, had noted how often Jean 'went to the shops', and certainly she'd wormed more details about Jean's past with Lucien out of Christopher.
"My Chris loves having his mum here," she drawled while Jean poured out tea for them the next afternoon. "And that blinds him to some realities."
"Really." Jean sat across from her at the table. She jiggled Amelia's bassinet, earning a pleased gurgle from the baby.
Ruby watched with sharp eyes. "You're still a vital woman with good years left. He only sees his mum."
Sipping her tea, Jean waited.
"If you were to want to return to Ballarat, I'd understand."
Ruby's fickle nature had always exasperated Jean. She remembered how Ruby had strung Christopher along, with another boy dangling at the same time. Then Christopher had received his officer's commission and he'd won the prize. Perhaps now that the laundry was all caught up, the floors mopped, and the baby's midnight feedings set, the crisis had passed for Ruby and Jean was underfoot in the small house.
"Of course you'll always have a home here if you wish, Mother Beazley," Ruby rushed to say when Jean didn't answer.
Jean hated when Ruby called her that. She stroked Amelia under the chin and the girl made an attempt at her first smile. She smiled back.
"I appreciate all that you've done, please don't get me wrong."
"You're welcome," Jean said dryly.
"But I wouldn't want to stand in the way of your happiness."
Jean squinted at her daughter-in-law. She actually sounded sincere.
"Happiness takes many forms," Jean said.
"And being a martyr will give you no happiness," Ruby said briskly.
Jean started to protest, then stopped. If anyone knew the rewards for selfishness, it would be Ruby.
X
This day, they met at the beach. He was turning brown from the sun, his beard more silver and his hair blond.
A long walk along the shore, the breeze swirling her hair into a wild nest, until they found a remote spot among the hassocks. Lying on the sand to finally have a cuddle and kiss. And more. Legs twining, hips shifting together, impatient at their clothing, his bare chest under her palm as it slid beneath his shirt, his hand tugging loose her blouse, stroking along her spine until his questing fingers found her brassiere strap—
She rolled onto her back and stared into the blazing sun.
"I'm sorry," Lucien rasped in her ear. He tenderly tried to sort her wayward curls. She knew it was hopeless and pulled his hand down to hold between her own.
"I should get back to Ballarat," he said.
It had been over a week. The happiest days of her life. "Yes."
"I can't ask—"
"Why not?"
He tipped her chin to look at him. "Can I?"
"You may," she said breathlessly.
"I'm not worth the fuss—"
"If you talk like that, you'll make me reconsider," she said impatiently.
"So you've made up your mind already."
"I'm tired of doing what I should do, I suppose."
"Alright," he said slowly.
She rolled on her side to face him. "Perhaps I should do something that I want to do."
He cupped her cheek and kissed the corner of her mouth, the tip of her nose, the edge of her brow.
"Weren't you going to ask me something?" she prompted.
"I don't think so. I prefer that you make up your own mind. I'll go home to Ballarat. I have to hope that you will follow. But if you don't, I'll understand."
He could truly drive her batty sometimes.
Then he said: "May I say those words now?"
She was lost. "What?"
"I love you, Jean."
"Silly blighter." She bit her lower lip, fighting back tears.
"In no way should that affect your decision."
His smugness made her want to slap his shoulder. Instead, she scooted tight to him, and tucked her head under chin. That was her favourite place. "I love you too," she whispered.
X
She saw him off at the bus station, kissing him goodbye like any woman parting from her fellow.
"I won't say that I'll see you soon," he said. She could tell that he was retreating once more behind his distant manner, but she ignored it.
"Take care of yourself," was all she said and gave him another kiss.
Once she returned to the cottage, she set about arranging things. She found a young Italian woman with strong forearms for washing loads of nappies, possessing just enough English to understand her orders but not enough to grasp Ruby's jibes, and a large mole on the end of her nose to keep Christopher from looking further and seeing her curves. Jean had intended to stay with Camilla and help her through the first week or so when she received an urgent phone call from Mattie in Ballarat. The line cut out at an awful moment.
"There's...an accident...Has been hurt terribly. He may lose his leg."
Jean fell into a chair, clutching the receiver, unable to speak.
"Are you there, Jean?"
"Will he live?" she finally gasped.
"Lucien was able to save him, yes...no surgeon..."
"Lucien? It wasn't Lucien?"
"...Matthew...car ran him down..."
She felt ill, loathing herself for the relief that washed over her. "I'll come at once," she said when she could speak again.
"Not necessary...Lucien thought...to know."
"I'll be on the next bus," Jean promised.
X
Perhaps it had been a dream, she'd told herself all the way back to Ballarat. To have lived in the same house with a man for years, everything proper, fighting gossip constantly, only to find herself in his arms one day, kissing him back as passionately as he kissed her? It was madness.
Then she met his gaze down the distance of a hospital corridor. It was no fantasy. But now there were questions in everyone's eyes. Questions that she couldn't answer. Deflecting with her own queries about Matthew's prognosis, Mattie's family, the milkman's problems with his favourite cow.
But she couldn't allow Lucien out of her sight. She was a schoolgirl with a crush, a blushing bride at the altar, a fan waiting at the stage door for an autograph. And he glowed like a movie star, his chest more puffed out than usual. They were behaving utterly ridiculously and there was no way to stop.
Her first dinner home was impossible. Mattie could barely eat as her head swivelled back and forth between them. Jean told the younger woman every detail of her granddaughter, the weather in Adelaide, the lovely gowns in the shops, on and on. For once, Lucien stayed mostly silent, simply watching her with the gobsmacked expression.
The instant that they laid down their forks, Mattie leapt from the table, hurried the wash up and then feigned exhaustion. "Off to bed for me!" she said brightly, nearly running from the lounge.
The room fell into silence.
"Dr Hackney left me notes on my patients," Lucien said awkwardly. "I should—"
"Of course, of course," Jean said. "I think I shall bathe. The bus ride is so dusty, as is lying under a motorcar."
They exchanged smiles.
He said suddenly, "You know, I've ordered a new auto. Beryl Routledge recommended a model."
"Did she?" Jean turned away.
"She tried it on with me," he explained, going a bit pink.
Jean looked at him blankly. Now he felt the need to confess every woman who flirted with him? That was something for her to look forward to.
"I'll have that bath then." She left him standing alone in the lounge.
Despite her lingering in the bathroom, they met in the corridor outside her room. She was at a disadvantage in her dressing gown and slippers.
"Goodnight, Lucien," she said as she had hundreds of times before, hand on her doorknob.
"Goodnight, Jean," he replied but this time he pulled her into a kiss. She sighed, drawing deeper into his mouth. Her hands tugged at his waistcoat, frustrated. Buttons were undone, his shirt and vest pushed up. His belly quivered under her touch.
She shouldn't have encouraged him. He cupped her bottom through the thin silk, pulling her tight to him. His teeth grazed at her throat, tongue soothing in their path, his beard burning. She's be marked again, and Mattie would see—
"Lucie," she murmured.
"Yes, I know." Frustration made his voice thick.
"It's different here," she explained. They were pressed against her bedroom door. Mattie was in the next room and even though Jean was certain that nothing short of the house burning down around them would bring the young woman out, she still felt uncomfortable.
"Yes, I know," he repeated, in that petulant schoolboy tone that he could do so well.
She had no idea where they went from here. She'd returned to his house, she'd put her apron back on, but how did they live their lives? As it was before? That seemed unimaginable, not with his hand curved to her hip as it was, but she simply couldn't become what everyone had always assumed she was.
"Goodnight," she repeated, opening her door.
He leaned into the doorway but didn't cross the threshold. Another kiss, but chastely to her cheek. "I know," he said once more, as though they were the only words he possessed anymore.
The click of her door, Lucien's footfall fading down the hall. She sat at her dressing table. Her hands shaking, she brushed her hair until it crackled. She was a naturally tidy person who sorted everything out for others. She must sort this as well, damn the pain.
She decided to put her week with Lucien away, like she'd placed his gift of a jade and gold brooch in her jewellery box. She supposed that she should feel sad or unsettled, but instead she was bright with life and love. Her eyes shone back at her in her mirror, her cheeks were flushed, her lips still moist from his kiss.
She had this precious thing, his adoration, to wear over her heart just as she could his brooch. She still didn't need to say anything. Not yet.
~ end