"Jean….Jean!" Lucien makes his way down the hall towards the kitchen following the scent of freshly baked Anzac biscuits. He is pleased with himself that he has made it home on time for dinner, first time in days. The current case has been consuming his time for the past week. Today came the break that they needed thanks, once again, to his clever wife's insight. "Jean, you were right once," Lucien stops abruptly, staring into an empty kitchen, no sign of an evening meal being cooked.
Stealing a biscuit, Lucien continues his search for Jean. Checking the surgery and study first, thinking she may have been deeply engrossed in paperwork when he came in the house. Everything is neat and orderly, a few messages on his desk but no sign of Jean. He gives a call up the stairs as he passes, nothing. The sunroom and gardens are empty.
He misses her desperately. He feels a disappointment that Jean isn't there waiting for his return home. He berates himself instantly for such thoughts. Why should she be waiting by the stove for me like a housekeeper? I've been out of the house more than I've been here lately. Good on her for going out.
Lucien takes off his jacket, hanging it on a kitchen chair. He slips out of his shirt which is still damp with sweat from chasing the perpetrator. The pants come off next, Lucien is sure he will be scolded for the grass stains and tear at the knee. He puts the clothes in the laundry, grabs another biscuit then makes his way through the quiet house to the bedroom. A quick shower and then maybe Jean will be home.
Once Lucien opens the bedroom door he understands why Jean wasn't anywhere to be found. Coming from the ensuite he hears music, the station Jean dials into when she is relaxing in a bath. He glances at his watch then the clock on the nightstand, convinced it must be later than he thought. The time is correct, just going on five. Concern for his wife now fills his mind. It is most unusual for her to soak in a bath this early in the evening.
Heading to check on his wife, Lucien passes her vanity. He notices Christopher's metals laid out in such a way that he knows Jean has been holding them. The boxes that protect them all year long pushed to the side. Of course, tomorrow is Anzac Day.
Lucien slowly opens the door and watches his love through the steam. She is reclining back, a loose curl trailing down her neck, eyes closed, a nearly empty glass of wine in her hand on the edge of the tub. The swell of her breasts breach the water, one foot dangling over the side moving to the music. She is a vision like no other to him. He knows he should say something to not startle her but no words come to his lips.
No words need to be said. Jean feels her husband's presence the moment he opens the door. Long gone are the days for modesty. When the song finishes she opens her eyes looking directly at Lucien. This man loves her for all her imperfections as she loves him.
"Your home early?"
Walking to the tub, Lucien removes the remainder of his clothes. "Not really. It's almost five." He gives her a deep kiss.
Jean Beazley would have jumped to attention at the hour and dinner not being on. Of course, Jean Beazley wouldn't be bathing at this hour, let along allow a naked man to join her in the tub without a second glance. But this isn't Jean Beazley, this is Jean Blake. This Jean moves forward as her husband takes the wine glass from her hand before sliding in the water.
Lucien straddles behind her. Jean wiggling her back into her husband's chest. He wraps his arms around her placing a large hand on her stomach as the other caresses her damp hair.
"What's the matter Darling?"
Spotting the fresh cuts on Lucien's knee, Jean does her best to steer the conversation in a different direction. "You've scraped your knee. I suppose that means I have trousers to mend? Did you at least catch the killer?"
"Yes and yes...Jean?" Lifting her chin so he can look into her eyes. "What's going on?"
"It's nothing Lucien." He feels her fingers weave into his, resting on her stomach.
"Jean...Your not?"
Jean has a confused look for just a moment. "Oh good heavens, NO, Lucien."
They sit listening to the music for another song before Jean speaks, knowing Lucien dare not speak first.
"Tomorrow is Anzac Day."
"Yes." Pausing a moment, Lucien understanding the importance of this day for Jean. "Are you marching?"
There is a hesitation before Jean finds her voice. "I'm really not sure. I don't know what I want to do."
"You march every year."
"I didn't last year." She says with a shrug.
"Considering we were in the Swiss Alps, I don't think that counts."
"It just doesn't seem right. Me, marching, wearing my dead….Christopher's metals, while you, my husband sits home." Her hand is gently rubbing the injured knee. "What will people say?"
"I thought you were long past caring what people say."
With a heavy sigh, "I am Lucien. But…"
"But what? Jean, you do what you want. To hell with the rest."
"That's just it. I don't know what I want to do. I have marched every year to honor Christopher's memory and I do honor it. I do remember but he has been gone twenty years." Pulling Lucien's arms tighter around her, the water quickly cooling. "You are my husband. You are my life. Sometimes I'm tired of being reminded of the past and I feel horrible about that. Then the next I'm afraid I'll forget."
"You will never forget him. And you shouldn't. He was your husband, the father of your children. Please don't feel guilty about that life you shared with him." Lucien can feel her body trembling whether it is from the cool water or the tears he cannot say. "You're shivering. Come on let's get out."
Lucien sits on the edge of the bed watching Jean put on her dressing gown. She makes her way over and climbs under the duvet. He is sure that there is no solicitous motives in his wife's movements. The chill of the water and the autumn evening drawing her to the warmth of the bed. He can read the turmoil in her head by watching her eyes. Those eyes tell him everything.
"Jean, would it help if I went with you?"
To this he receives a chuckle.
"I'm serious. I'll go with you." He climbs in the bed next to her.
There are tears in her eyes for her husband's tender words. "I know you are serious. But I can't, I won't ask that of you." Stroking his beard, she speaks in reflection. "Christopher, grew a beard once. I hated it. He kept it for a few weeks before he decided that kissing me was more important than proving me wrong."
"Want me to shave, Mrs. Blake?"
"Don't you ever." Smiling now at him. "You are such a completely different man than Christopher. I can't think of one thing alike about the two of you other than…"
"You!" Lucien interrupts, "He loved you, I know. And I love you more than anything. We have that in common. Now what were you going to say."
"You both are good men and well, love my cooking." They both laugh at that. They lay in the warmth of each other's embrace for a long while before the rumble of their stomach's get the best of them.
In the kitchen they talk about the case while Jean cooks eggs and bacon for a quick meal. They hear Matthew enter the house heading straight to his room. They know they won't see their friend tonight. Cases that involve abuse inflicted by father's are difficult for anyone but especially Matthew.
Lucien puts away the dish he is drying, feeling that it is safe to bring up the earlier conversation that has Jean feeling so conflicted.
"Maybe we should get out of town tomorrow. We could drive to the city or the Geelong?"
"You are sweet Lucien but you have hardly had any sleep for days the last thing you are going to want to do is get in the car and drive for hours. No, we will stay in town." Jean reverently kissing him.
"Do you know what you're going to do tomorrow?"
"How about this? If it's nice out I'll march. If it's raining I'll stay home." Jean having heard on the radio that there is a good chance of rain.
Lucien shakes his head chuckling. What have I done to this woman? "Ok, then, if it's nice and you march, I'll toss a coin. Heads I march with you, tails I stay home." Lucien thinking of the two headed joke coin he has in his desk.
"Fair enough. We'll leave it up to chance. And I promise I won't feel guilty either way." Jean crosses her heart.
"Perfect. Now can we go back to bed. I'm knackered."
"Hmm, shame." Jean says turning on her heels, adding a little extra sway to her hips.
Lucien growls, "bloody hell," wearing a wide grin. Yes, what have I done to this woman?