It was odd, Jean thought, Mrs Huston was always there. Elderly and slow she may be; she was nearly ninety; but she always answered the door. Not today. Jean knocked again, and waited. Nothing.

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Jean had got to know Mrs Huston when she had gone to work for Dr Thomas Blake, Lucien's father. They had struck up a friendship of sorts. Jean would listen as she told stories of her girlhood, life before the turn of the century, when horse drawn carriages roamed the streets of Ballarat and Melbourne, the only entertainment was the music hall and the yearly fair. A simpler time, she had remembered.

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It worried Jean so she wandered round to the back of the house to see if she could see anything through the kitchen window. She didn't like snooping but this was an exception. She peered through the window then through the keyhole in the door. She could just make out something on the floor, moving. Had the old lady had a fall?

'Mrs Huston!' Jean shouted, 'Mrs Huston! Have you fallen?!'

She vaguely heard a grunt, the door was locked and Jean knew she would not be able to get in that way. Back to the window.

Jean looked round, was it open, even just a little, she may be able to get her fingers in and unhook the bar? Damn! It was closed. She looked around the ground, and found a good sized stone.

'Mrs Huston!' Jean shouted again, 'I'm going to break the window and climb in!'

Jean took a deep breath and hit the glass in the corner, she didn't want to send a shower of glass over the old lady and she had to get all the glass out or she would end up cut. It didn't take long for her to clear the frame and reach in to undo the clasp that held it closed. Now all she needed was something to stand on, to give her the height to climb over the sill. There was a chair across the garden; Mrs Huston used to sit and sun herself in the afternoon; it was about as far as she went these days. Jean dragged it across to under the window and set it solidly down. Jean's skirt wasn't the best thing to be wearing when climbing in through a window, but she could now get up and see exactly what was going on.

It was as she thought. Mrs Huston was lying on the floor, on her side. She was in her nightgown and robe, a water glass was smashed beside her. The old lady's head moved and she blinked in recognition as Jean leant over the window sill.

Jean heaved her slight frame up and sat on the edge. She looked down, the sink was full of glass. The window next to her would open and give her double the amount of room to swing her legs through. She reached up, turned the lock and pushed the other window open. She swung her legs through and sat with her feet over the sink. She inched along and sat over the draining board. Thankfully Mrs Huston was as tidy as herself and the board was clear of any dishes and pans. Lowering herself down to stand, Jean kicked a stray piece of glass into the sink and then sat on the edge of the board and jumped onto to the floor.

'Oh, my dear.' Mrs Huston whispered, 'you haven't hurt yourself, have you?'

'Don't worry about me,' Jean smiled, stroking her cheek, 'let's have a look at you. What happened?'

'I really don't know.' Mrs Huston moaned, 'but I can't get up and my hip hurts, most dreadfully.'

'I'm going to ring Dr Blake and the ambos,' Jean stood up, and went to the hall, grateful that, after initial reluctance to have the phone installed, Mrs Huston had agreed, even if it was only to call for the doctor.

'Lucien,' Jean heaved a sigh of relief, he hadn't gone out to the station, yet, 'could you come to Mrs Huston's. She's had a fall.'

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Back at the house Lucien listened to Jean explain what she had found,

'Right, keep her warm, I'll be there as soon as I can be.' Lucien put the phone down and went to get his bag and car keys.

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Jean phoned the ambos then went into the bedroom and took a blanket off the bed. She returned to the kitchen and gently lay the soft cover over the old lady.

'Thank you, my dear.' Mrs Huston managed a small smile, 'it was a bit chilly last night.'

'Ever the mistress of the understatement, Mrs Huston,' Jean gave a small laugh, 'it was cold. Good job your robe is fairly warm.'

Mrs Huston reached slowly and took Jean's hand. 'Indubitably.'

'Dr Blake will be here soon.' Jean soothed, of all things she didn't want her friend to fall asleep, not now, not now there was a chance she would survive.

'Such a kind man.' Mrs Huston observed, 'and such a good looking one, too.' She winked.

'Mrs Huston!' Jean gasped, 'I don't know what you mean!'

'Oh indeed you do.' She smiled again, 'and he thinks you're a pretty woman, which would be right.'

'Oh, Mrs Huston,' Jean teased, 'I do believe you are matchmaking.'

'Don't make the same mistake I did, dear.' Mrs Huston's face suddenly looked sad, 'I didn't take the chance I was offered, I missed my chance to marry again, all because I was too concerned about what the gossip would be. Gossip is fuelled by jealousy, and jealous minds are not worth bothering about.'

Jean blushed. It was true, she was fond of Lucien, well more than fond of him and it was also true that the gossips were part of the problem.

'Got you.' Mrs Huston smiled again, 'I knew it.'

Jean giggled, 'You are terrible, Mrs Huston.' She squeezed her hand.

'At my age, who cares!?'

Jean heard the crunch of tyres on the drive and went to open the door. She smiled at Lucien just a little more warmly than usual.

'She's through here,' Jean led the doctor through to the kitchen, 'she seems fairly chipper, but is in a lot of pain.'

'Right,' he crouched down beside the elderly lady. 'Now then, Mrs Huston, what have we been up to?'

'I don't know about you, Dr Blake,' she quipped, 'but I appear to have had an argument with the floor.'

'When did it happen?' Lucien started to gently examine her. There was no apparent damage to her head, but when he tried to straighten her legs she gave an agonised cry.

'Ow! Last night,' she gasped. 'I came to wash my glass before I went to bed, and then, I really don't have a clue.'

'Did you trip, perhaps?' Lucien wondered, looking round to see if it were possible.

'If I did, it was over my own two feet.' Mrs Huston suggested.

The ambos arrived and, after Lucien had given his patient a strong painkilling injection, she was taken to the hospital.

'Now, Mrs Beazley, housebreaker,' he raised his eyebrows, 'have you cut yourself, anywhere?'

'No,' she grinned at him, amused at his diffusing the tension between them, 'you get off, I'll arrange for the window to be repaired and clean up the glass.'

Lucien knew better to take over that chore, but warned her to take care. He didn't want to find her in a pool of blood.

'I'll see you at home,' She saw him out of the door and set to work.

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After seeing that the window was replaced and the kitchen cleaned until there was no sign of any glass shards, Jean set off home. She assumed the wet feeling in her shoe was water from cleaning, and the stinging sensation was just her shoe rubbing, both of which she would deal with when she got home, it wasn't far.

She was passed by Dr Blake, on his way home from seeing that Mrs Huston was well taken care of and that her hip surgery would take place later that day.

'Jean,' he called out of the car window, 'care for a lift.'

'Thank you, Lucien.' She got in and sighed.

'You alright?' He asked, concerned, her brow was creased as if she was uncomfortable and she had been walking less purposefully than usual.

'Sore foot.' She admitted, 'I think my shoe is rubbing from the water I must have sloshed into it.'

'Oh, want me to take a look?' He offered.

'No, thanks,' she smiled her gratitude at his thoughtfulness, 'once I get home and take my shoes off I'm sure I'll be fine.'

'Well, if you change your mind...' He pulled the car onto the drive and went round to open the door for her.

'I'll let you know.' She grinned and walked, or rather, hobbled, into the house.

Lucien locked the car and followed her into the house, to find her leaning against the wall holding her shoe in her hand and staring at it. He looked down to her feet and saw that one, the one whose shoe she had just removed, was covered in blood. She looked up at him, almost shame-faced,

'Er, I think...' She went ashen and slowly slid down the wall, just missing sitting on the floor as Lucien swept her up into his arms. He carried his unconscious housekeeper into his consulting room and lay her gently on the examination table. He guessed it was probably shock more than anything that had made her faint, she hadn't lost enough blood for that to be the cause.

Briefly noticing how absolutely delicious she looked, with her lashes bouncing of her pale cheeks and the gentle rise and fall of her chest, he started to look at her foot. He would have to remove her stocking. Now, should he cut off the part that was hindering his treatment, or should he risk undoing it from her suspender? The decision was taken out of his hand as she stirred and started to return to consciousness.

'Mmm..' she moaned, even that was music, 'what...?'

Lucien went to her head and smiled, gently.

'You fainted.' He stated simply. 'You must have got a piece of glass in your shoe and the wet you thought was water was blood.'

'Oh,' She tried to sit up.

'Stay there, Jean.' He touched her shoulder, 'for now all I need is for your stocking to be removed. I was just wondering how much trouble I would get into if I undid your...' and he waved his hand in the general direction of her upper thigh, and coloured slightly.

Jean smiled softly and reached down to lift her skirt and save him the trouble. He turned, to save her any embarrassment. He heard her gasp, slightly, and turned. The stocking top was now at her knee just below the hem of her skirt and she was lying back down, still very pale. It had obviously been more of an effort than she expected.

Dr Blake donned a pair of surgical gloves and rolled the stocking down her small, but well defined calf and off the neatly turned ankle. He gently peeled it off her foot, putting it to one side, wondering if she would be able to salvage it.

He proceeded to gently wash the foot and smiled as it twitched.

'You're tickling me, doctor.' She whispered.

'Sorry,' He smiled, he'd be interested in finding out which other parts of her were ticklish, one day, but for now...

He located the sight of the injury, there was a tiny piece of glass still in the wound which he had to remove with a pair of tweezers.

'Sorry, Jean,' He apologised 'this may hurt a little.'

She winced as he probed and tried to pull her foot away.

'Jean,' He looked up at her, 'I really am sorry, but I must get the glass out or it will set up a dreadful infection...' He let the implication hang in the air.

She nodded and bit her lip, silently telling herself not be a baby! She managed to keep the tears at bay until he had finished, put a butterfly strip over the cut and a neat bandage to keep everything tidy. He stood up and washed his hands then went to the 'head' end of the couch and looked down at her. There was the hint of tears in her eyes as she looked up at him and tried a small smile.

'Thank you, Lucien.' She whispered as he helped her sit up, and gave her a glass of water.

'You're welcome.' He realised she was holding his hand, but didn't know how that had happened. He cleared his throat, 'Now, walking on that foot isn't going to be easy, and getting a shoe on near impossible, for a couple of days.'

'I suppose I'll have to hop.' She teased.

'You could,' he agreed, 'but that could be difficult in the kitchen.'

'There's dinner to make.' She exhaled, sadly, 'I can prepare it sitting at the table but...'

'...or we could have fish and chips.' Suggested Lucien, surprisingly realistic, for once.

'I suppose we could.' She perked up a bit, he thought, 'we haven't for a long time.'

'Well it is only us.' He put his hands in his pockets, then took them out again, 'I'll take you to the couch and then, would you like a cuppa?'

'Oh, Lucien,' she smiled as if he had just offered her diamonds, 'that would be lovely.' She would have to let him carry her, she supposed, or help her hop. He moved to the side of her and swiftly and expertly scooped her off the table. She squeaked and put her arms round his neck. As she looked at him she knew that Mrs Huston was right, what Lucien would call a 'wise old bird', he was rather handsome. He smiled down at her, what lovely blue eyes he had, they seemed to twinkle with mischief. It's not that she hadn't noticed before, but now she seemed to appreciate it more, since that dear old lady had pointed out the blindingly obvious...that she was avoiding the situation because of the gossips!

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They drank their tea and discussed Mrs Huston and what would happen to her. Lucien said they would do a hip replacement, it was a nasty break and it was all they could do, then she would recover from the operation and go to convalesce. When she was mobile enough she would probably be sent home.

'She's a bit old for surgery, though, isn't she.' Jean was concerned about her friend's strength.

'Mm.' He agreed, 'but there is no other way to treat it. She's bright enough in herself so maybe she will cope. What she will need is a friend, someone to visit her and keep her spirits up.'

'I don't think she has any family,' Jean passed her empty cup to him and shifted her position on the couch so she was leaning against the arm, 'or many friends. She's just about tied to the house.'

'You take her out, don't you?' Lucien asked, he was sure Mrs Huston was one of Jean's 'projects', in that she was someone who Jean took to town for her shopping or for a cup of tea in a cafe.

'Occasionally,' Jean admitted, 'but with this foot I'm in no position to drive or walk, am I?'

'You will be by the time she leaves hospital,' Lucien offered her hope, 'but for now I'll drive you to visit her.'

'Thank you, and will you take me to her house,' Jean smiled at his generosity, 'she'll need her toiletries, at the very least.'

'That's a good idea.' Lucien stood up and took the tea tray out to the kitchen. He looked round the kitchen, neat and tidy as usual, he couldn't leave the pots, could he?

'Want me to wash the tea things?' He asked hopefully.

There was no answer, he turned and looked into the living room, Jean was asleep. Now, while she looked adorable, her head tilted to lean against the back of the couch, she only had a cut to her foot, not a serious injury, so Lucien was instantly on his guard. Why, in god's name would Jean have fallen asleep at this time in the afternoon? He left the tray and went over to her. She did not have a fever, her colour had returned to normal and her breathing rate was as it should be. It was very unusual for the indomitable Jean Beazley to nap during the day, so why? Jean moved her head away from his hand and she murmured something unintelligible to him. He was sure that all it was, was sleep, so he went into his room, the nearest, and took a blanket off the bed. He carried it to the living room and draped it over her. Satisfied she would be alright he went back to the kitchen and washed the tea things, dried them and put them away. He returned to the living room and sat opposite her watching her sleep.

Her sleep was not untroubled. In fact he was sure she was having a bad dream. He should know, he had them often, too often, but why would Jean have unpleasant dreams? She never gave any indication of disquiet in her life, apart from losing Christopher before she had been able to make up from their last argument, and Jack, her youngest son who she was estranged from. So maybe he didn't pay enough attention to her worries. She rarely talked about Jack or Christopher and yet...why would she? Why would she talk about something that wasn't his business? Or...maybe it was his fault, he never asked, he never showed interest in her family, but she asked after Li and his granddaughter. Lucien, he told himself, you are a class A idiot. Jean is, is...

'Bloody hell,' he whispered, not wishing to wake her, 'without her you are nothing,' He told himself. He stood up and wandered to the window and stared out over the garden, her garden. It was only a small cut to the foot, nothing life threatening, and yet, to him it was as if she had been shot through the heart. He heard her sigh and turned. As she had shifted onto her side and slide down the couch the blanket had slipped to the floor. He went over and placed it back over her and pushed a stray curl off her forehead. He was sorely tempted to kiss her forehead, it wouldn't be unusual, he often gave her a peck on the cheek or a kiss to the forehead when she cleared the fog from his thinking, but this time, if he did, it would be because...

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Jean recovered enough to eat the fish and chips he bought, but he wouldn't let her get up and do anything at all, not even sit on a chair and dry the dishes. When she had woken she had said nothing about any dreams she may have had but was embarrassed at having fallen asleep.

'Are you having trouble sleeping, Jean?' He asked her, after they had eaten and were ready for their evening drinks, 'only it is unusual for you to nap during the day.'

'A bit,' she admitted, 'just recently.'

'Is something bothering you?' He handed her a sherry and sat beside her.

'It's nothing, I'm just being silly.' She tried to brush it off.

'I had a letter, from Christopher, last week.' She told him, which had surprised her, he usually rang if he had anything important to tell her, 'he's being posted, to Vietnam.'

'Oh,' he looked at her, she was tearing up, 'I'm sure he'll be fine.'

'It just...it brought back memories.' She whispered and turned her face away, ashamed of the tears.

Lucien watched her for a moment. Jean didn't cry in front of him, usually. The last time she had given in was when Jack had left after the Dennison case, then he had felt he almost overstepped the line, between employer and employee. Since then that line had blurred and they were friends, much closer than they were then. He put his drink down and gently putting his hand under her chin, turned her back to face him. She bit her lower lip, much like a child would do, trying to keep her tears from falling.

He took the glass out of her hand and wrapped his arms round her, letting her lean against his chest and soak his waistcoat with her tears.

'I'm sorry, Lucien.' She eventually lifted her head, 'I...'

He kissed her forehead, slowly and deliberately, then looked at her, to see if she minded. She didn't appear to, she didn't move away. In fact she lifted her face so she could kiss him back, just at the corner of his mouth.

His beard tickled her, she quite liked it.

He looked at her, surprised. She looked suddenly shy until he smiled then gently touched her lips with his.

They both became aware that something in their relationship had changed, just in the time it took for him to attend to her foot, something had happened.

She lay her head against his chest, warm and strong, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat was soothing. She felt him relax against the back of the couch and she relaxed into him.

For how long they stayed like that, neither knew but unfortunately Jean knew she had to move; the earlier cup of tea, the water with her meal were all taking their toll on her bladder. Unromantic it may have been, but she would have to get herself upstairs, and the easiest way was to ask Lucien if he would mind carrying her up. She would be heading for bed about this time, anyway. She sighed.

'Jean?'

'Sorry, Lucien,' she gave a wry smile, 'I must go upstairs,' she hoped he'd get her meaning.

He grinned, 'Of course, you need your rest.' He wasn't going to embarrass her by referring to her need, and he too knew that she would usually have made preparation to retire for the evening by now.

He stood, then bent down and lifted her into his arms and carried her up the stairs. At the top of the stairs he gently stood her on her uninjured foot.

'Is there anything else, Mrs Beazley?' He inquired politely.

'That will be all, thank you, doctor.' She replied with an almost cheeky smile, 'goodnight.'

'Goodnight.'

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Going to make you wait! Again it should have been a one shot...