Alice had to admit she was no lover of flying - especially long haul.

Melbourne to Singapore, Singapore to Heathrow - two days of travelling enclosed in a tin can. She had borne it stoically, Matthew had tried to keep her occupied, but they were in public and she would have preferred to be occupied in another way.

Finally they had landed and Alice was glad she had heeded Lucien's advice and put her thick sweater in her hand luggage and carried her winter coat onto the plane. Now she was glad of both garments as flurries of snow settled, then melted, around them.

"Ok, love?" Matthew stole a look at her tired face.

"Hm...?" she blinked, "my body thinks it's bedtime."

"We've got some time before we get to your sister's," he waved his stick at a passing taxi, "today and tomorrow."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxThe hotel was well appointed but not expensive. They were to stay two nights with a day for sightseeing in London before heading up to the Winterley estate by train.

While Alice and her sister had corresponded regularly since their mother had passed away and she had enjoyed the time they had spent together in Ballarat, she was unsure about spending a month in such close quarters.

Matthew tipped the porter and closed the door on the small suite.

"Alone at last," he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her and nibbled her earlobe.

"Mmm..." she leant back against him.

"Bath?" he moved and kissed the back of her neck. A bath would relax her, and if he offered to scrub her back and massage her shoulders who knew where that would lead.

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It led, eventually, to a very satisfied pathologist and a rather smug Chief Superintendent of Police fast asleep in the large and rather comfortable bed.

She shifted and turned onto her side, pushing her bottom against her husband. His hand went over her abdomen and he splayed his fingers over the little secret. It had to be a secret, it was too early to tell anybody and this was the third time - the others had come to naught, sadly, and it had caused her to wonder about her usual feelings about children. Losing the first early had upset her more than she thought possible, though she was completely taken aback that she could conceive. The second, had her realising that she wanted to have a child, to complete her and Matthew's union but this would be the last time. If this one failed they would take steps to ensure she never had to go through the pain of such loss again. She had decided that, as a doctor, she knew far too much, about the possible reason for such losses, and it hurt that she could not do the most natural thing in the world, have a pregnancy go to term. This time, however, she had confided in Matthew that, although she was worried, she felt different: the bouts of morning sickness that she hadn't suffered the first two times and the incredibly tender breasts were the two major changes she noticed.

Her hand covered his and she smiled.

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A light afternoon tea followed by a short stroll through a park helped restore the natural order of things and she began to look forward to their month in England. They wandered through a market where Matthew bought her a soft, warm scarf and gloves. A stall was selling roasted chestnuts, which were quite a surprise and neither were sure how they felt about them, but soon, despite the freezing temperatures, they were warm inside and out.

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They had a light dinner in the restaurant before retiring early, the change in time zones still affecting them.

They both slept well, Alice draped over Matthew's chest, snuffling sweetly. They had drifted from the relationship they had when her mother died to living full time together, then one Saturday drove to Melbourne with Jean and Lucien and formalised their union. When Jean asked why, thinking they were perfectly happy as they were, Alice had just said it seemed like a good idea at the time. And it had turned out to be so, a very good idea. Alice knew she was accepted by the Blake's and their close friends but now she was accepted by the town; nobody looked sideways at her, this odd woman who cut up dead bodies and, when Lucien wasn't available, attended crime scenes. This stranger in their midst who had only ever wanted to be accepted and left alone to be who she was, not to try to be what her mother wanted - another put upon, downtrodden wife. Matthew was different to all the men she had ever known, in that he loved her for being different, her sharp brain and dead pan humour had him smile more each day than he had for years and he didn't mind that he had to do most of the cooking. No, they were meant to be together, convention be damned.

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There was a light covering of snow on the pavements and tyre tracks in the snow, the following morning. Alice sat on the window seat nursing a cup of tea looking out at the rather lovely sight. She had woken early, feeling a little nauseous and decided that rather than wait until it overtook her and she was actually sick she would ring down for some tea, which they had been assured was available twenty-four hours a day, and sit and sip some, slowly. It seemed to do the trick and she allowed herself to relax and smile as Matthew snored softly in the bed. She hoped that she wasn't afflicted too often at her sister's as they had no immediate plans to tell Liz she was going to be an aunt in the not too distant future.

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They spent the day wandering the capital, taking in a few of the sights and buying a few little souvenir type gifts. They found a little restaurant for a light lunch and spent the afternoon in the National Gallery. Alice remarked, wryly, that the only thing missing was an 'Etienne'.

"You'll have to have a word with Lucien and see if he is willing to offer one," Matthew grinned.

"He probably would," she laughed softly, thinking fondly of her colleague and his late mother's work.

"Yes, the one he tried to have hung in the Colonist's," he had told her of the incident some years ago and she found Jean's reaction, to gift it to the local gallery, amusing ... a portent of things to come, and they had.

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The train journey the following day was not too long, and once out of London was scenic and for the latter part of the journey the landscape was snow covered in most places. The fresh snow glistened in the morning sunlight and all seemed rather magical and peaceful.

"It's so different," Alice murmured, "to the journey between Ballarat and Melbourne."

"Wonder what it's like without the snow," Matthew put his arm round her, "sheep and cows in the fields, I suppose."

"Probably," she leant into his shoulder, "green patchwork."

"Does Liz get much snow, where they are?"

"Sometimes, they have been snowed in before," she looked worried, "hope it doesn't happen this year."

He thought this had more to do with being trapped rather than being late back for work. He kissed the top of her head and squeezed her just a little.

"We'll be alright, love," he reassured her, "don't go worrying about something we can do nothing about."

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A porter helped them with their luggage, wheeled it over to Lady Winterly's car, accepted the tip and touched the peak of his cap as he wished them a Merry Christmas.

Liz smiled broadly at them both and hugged Alice.

"You look wonderful, Alice," she turned to Matthew, "marriage obviously agrees with you."

"Thank you, Liz," Alice returned the hug, "it does, when you find the right person."

"Matthew," Liz smiled at him warmly, "I know it was you who persuaded my sister to take this trip, I'm so glad you did." She opened the car doors, "now let's get you to the house, the boys are dying to see you, especially David."

"Is he still as macabre?"

"Worse, if anything," Liz eased the car onto the road and started to drive up the road, "he started picking up dead birds and suchlike round the estate not long after we came back and was positively ecstatic when they had to dismember a frog at school."

"Dissect, Liz," Alice corrected her, "do they do that at his age?"

"Apparently he snuck into a science lesson for the older boys," she laughed, "nobody noticed because he was so good at it. The teacher was new and thought David was as well, a new boy in his class."

"Sounds like he's a lot like his Aunt," Matthew grinned.

"Too much," she agreed.

"Not fair," Alice pouted, "he's just got an inquiring mind."

"Yes, well," Liz stopped at a junction and waved as a farmer driving a tractor trundled slowly past, "we wish he would 'inquire' a bit more seriously about his mathematics and English."

"He's not going to be able to work as a pathologist without those subjects," Alice noted, "shall I have a word?"

"Oh please do," Liz sighed, pulling across the junction and taking the car up a less than well maintained road, "sorry about the bumps; David will listen to you, I hope. We get told, 'Aunty Alice this and Aunty Alice that."

"I only met him once," Alice's eyebrows raised, "and I never have that impact on children, not even Amelia, and I know her better."

Liz had only just pulled the car up, in front of the house when David came hurtling out, followed at a more sedate pace by his father balancing little Mary on his hip, and Charlie, trying to be a grown up twelve.

"Aunty Alice! Aunty Alice!" David shouted, "come and ..."

What, she didn't know, as his father caught his shoulder and stopped him mid sentence.

"Your aunt has only just arrived, David," he admonished, "you must wait and let her settle in, besides you know how to greet guests and that's not it, is it?"

"No, sir," David pouted, "sorry."

Alice hid a smile behind her hand as she alighted from the car. Philip held out his hand to her,

"Alice, how lovely to see you again," he bent and kissed her cheek, "you are looking well."

"Thank you, Philip," she smiled and returned the greeting, "it's good to see you, too."

He turned to greet Matthew, with a firm handshake and smile, "hope the force can do without you, Matthew."

"I'm sure they can, but Bill Hobart will keep things in order." He offered his arm to his wife and they followed their hosts into the house.

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Liz showed then to their room; large and comfortably furnished, with a bright log fire burning.

"The bathroom is just next door," she waved her hand to the right, "all yours, the family have another at the other end of the landing. I'll leave you to freshen up, come down when you're ready."

Alice sat on the bed and kicked her shoes off. She tried to hide the yawn, but she was at the stage of needing a short nap in the afternoon, as her body got used to the extra drain on her resources.

"Why don't you lie down for a while," Matthew stood in front of her, "I'll just say it's the travelling, the time difference."

"I'll be alright," she hummed, "Liz won't believe you, anyway."

"Will Philip?"

"He's a man, it won't occur to him, the real reason."

"Then why don't you tell Liz, hm?" he ignored the crack of his knee as he crouched down in front of her, "you have Jean, at home, and even though you haven't told her yet you will do soon."

"Oh, Matthew," she stroked his cheek, "I don't want to get hopes up; hers, mine, yours ..."

"She'll probably be more concerned that her sister; who never lets anything get the better of her; is unwell, or struggling ..." he caught her hand, "please."

"I ..." she angrily brushed away a tear, "oh, hell."

"You need another woman to talk to," he pushed up, "lie down, that's an order, I'm going to ask Liz to come up and talk to you."

Sometimes, when Matthew got authoritative with her she giggled, sometimes she huffed and sometimes, like now, she agreed he was right, just not often. She allowed him to help her undress to her slip and settle her on the bed with a thick blanket and eiderdown over her. He kissed her temple and left her to sleep.

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"Hello, Matthew," Liz looked up from adding another log to the fire, "where's Alice?"

Seeing that she was alone he decided to come clean, sure that Alice wouldn't, well, not clearly.

"Taking a nap," he leant on his stick, "she's at that stage, she tells me she'll be alright in a couple of weeks, when she's past the three month stage."

"What?!" Liz's eyebrows shot up, "you mean ? Crikey!"

"Yes, but she isn't making it public," he sat down, "she's had two misses, early on and is a bit ..."

"Scared she's going to go through it again," Liz stood up and dusted her hands off, "understood."

"It's the last time she goes through this," he grunted, "I don't want her to suffer again. It hit her harder than she thought it would, especially the second time; for someone who was not keen on children she has ... oh, I don't know," he ran his hand over his head, "I think she sees it as a failure, and Alice doesn't fail at anything."

"Never did," Liz agreed, "well, I'll pop up and see if she's comfortable, have a little chat."

"Thanks, Liz. At home she confides in Jean, on female matters, but not even Jean knows about this one."

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Liz pushed the door open gently, not wanting to wake her sister if she was asleep - she was - so Liz contented herself with making sure the fire was not going to go out and left her to it. She would talk to her later.

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There was no quiet moment that Alice and Liz could talk. David pulled his aunt aside and started to babble on about the things he had found on the estate and what he had done with them. The old carcase of a crow he had boiled up and removed the flesh and feathers, leaving him with a skeleton. The cook had screamed so loud that Liz had heard her in the drawing room, when she found him using one of her saucepans.

"It's one of me good ones, too, my lady," cook had huffed, sitting down and fanning herself with her hand, "I can't use it for food, not now."

David was told he would have to pay for a new pan out of his pocket money and made to apologise to cook.

"But, mum," David moaned, "it's the only way to get to the skeleton."

"That's enough, David!" she held his arm, "you should have asked, me or your father, and also cook, she may have had an old pan you could use."

"I do have a battered old one," cook admitted, "use to use it to cook the cat food," she reached over to where the pans hung from a rack, "here, you can use this one. Cat's long gone."

Lady Winterly had rolled her eyes, there would be no stopping him now.

"Thanks, cook," David's eyes gleamed, "now I can do some more."

"David!"

"... and, er, sorry, an' all that," he looked down.

Cook bit the inside of her cheek to stop the smile. She was fond of David but cooking old crow carcases down, well, that was a bit much.

"Right, well, Master David," she hummed, "not while I'm cooking meals, alright?"

"Right-ho!"

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Alice listened to him and agreed that was the best way to get a clean skeleton and she would be happy to look at it in the morning.

"Not now, David," she patted his hand, "dinner time is not the time to discuss such things."

"Oh, ok," he shrugged.

Matthew gave her a small smile, how often had they talked about murder at the dinner table at the Blake's house, discussing the why's and wherefore's of some poor person's demise?

"So, how are Jean and Lucien?" Liz cut Mary's dinner for her, "still doctoring and investigating, I assume?"

"Yes, they are." Alice smiled, "the practice is doing very well, and they now have Amelia living with them to get her ready to start school."

"Oh, Amelia's parents ...?"

"Christopher is in the army and he and Ruby, his wife, don't want to put Amelia in a boarding school so she is living with her grandparents." Matthew laughed, "she wraps Lucien round her little finger."

"I bet Jean's got her card marked," Philip mused.

"Oh yes," Alice agreed with a giggle, "but she's gentle about it, and really Amelia isn't a difficult child to look after."

"We should all be so lucky," Liz smiled.

"Indeed," Matthew agreed, wondering if their child would be as amenable.

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"Where's Aunty Alice?" David looked behind Matthew the following morning, "oh, er, good morning, by the way."

"Good morning to you, David," Matthew smiled, "Aunty Alice is, that is, she will be down presently."

Liz understood and nodded, "I'll take her some tea, how does she take it these days?"

"Not too strong, a little milk and half a spoon of sugar," he raised his eyebrows.

Liz asked the maid to set a tray, perhaps two cups, she would go and have a chat with her sister.

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Alice was sitting in bed, pale and a little shaky. Matthew had suggested she ask Liz if there was any way she could have access to tea at odd hours.

"You know it makes you feel better," he had sat on the bed and stroked her hand.

"I don't want to be any trouble," she sighed.

"I think Liz will be upset if she can't make your stay more comfortable," he insisted. "Now, I am going down, and I shall speak to Liz, and possibly keep David out of your way."

At the thought of David and his boiling down of a crow carcase she shot out of bed and ran to the bathroom. Matthew shook his head and followed her to stroke her back and have a glass of water ready for her.

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Liz pushed the door open and stepped in, with a tray of tea and biscuits.

"Hello, old thing," she smiled, "Matthew thought you might like some tea, and I thought perhaps some ginger biscuits, and some plain ones."

Alice pushed her hair back and tucked it behind her ear.

"Was that your cure-all?" she sighed.

"Now, come on Alice, as a doctor you should know of the settling properties of ginger, and you need to drink, if nothing else." She sat on the bed and set about pouring tea while waiting for Alice to say something more.

"I know Matthew told you," Alice took the cup and saucer and waited while her sister poured a second cup for herself. "I'll be fine soon, couple of weeks, maybe, and it doesn't happen every day."

"Good," Liz shuffled to sit next to her and set the plate of biscuits between them. "Remember how we used to do this when we were young, after Uncle Len left, when we could be just us, sisters together?"

"...'til I left." Alice sipped the warm drink.

"I didn't blame you," Liz hummed. "Now, about you, dear Alice, pregnant ... I never would have thought you would."

"Me neither, then I caught and ... well I began to want it, but we have decided this is the last time ... Matthew has said he will go and ... I'm sure you get my drift."

"He's a good man, Alice, you are a very lucky girl."

"Girl!" Alice raised her eyebrows, "I'm too close to forty, I shouldn't be even thinking about it, much less trying."

"You'll be fine, I know it," Liz took her hand and squeezed it affectionately, "you are Alice Lawson, nee Harvey, you always come out on the right side of whatever life throws at you. Is this one different ... to the others?"

"Yes, much." Alice nodded, nibbling a ginger biscuit, "I wasn't sick with the other two, and my breasts ... they are so tender!"

"Welcome to my world," Liz laughed, "I could barely tolerate my bra in the first weeks."

Alice laughed with her and somehow she felt things would be alright, with Liz and Matthew to help her through the next month. Then, when they got back to Ballarat, Jean would support her and Lucien would attend to all her medical needs.

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Liz made arrangements for Alice to have tea by the simple act of finding her an electric kettle for the bedroom, and the things she would need to make an early cup, plus a small tin of biscuits. She was now able to appear at breakfast and persuade David to leave the pathology until the afternoon. She wanted to get to know Charlie more, he was the quieter of the two boys, studious, and always drawing ... mechanical drawings, buildings and vehicles. His sketches were neat and precise with no unnecessary lines. She saw him as an engineer, perhaps, or an architect.

Matthew had taken her outside for a walk, after breakfast one morning. Liz was organising Christmas day and the Boxing Day hunt, Philip was finishing a commission, a silver watch for a neighbour who wanted something special for his daughter who would turn twenty one over the holiday. David was off round the estate looking for carcases to boil, though Alice had mentioned he only had a small saucepan so he would have to leave the larger cadavers, and Charlie had wandered off with his sketch book.

With everybody else occupied Matthew had suggested they get some practice in and take Mary out with them.

"Perhaps we can help her build a snowman," he wrapped her scarf round her neck, "it's unlikely we will get the chance with ours. We don't get much snow in Ballarat."

"I suppose so, how do we go about it, though?" she pulled on a pair of gloves, and then bent to help Mary with her buttons and wellington boots.

He shrugged, "we shall have to think about the pictures we have seen, and work it out that way."

The morning was crisp and bright, the first taste of the sharp air had eyes and noses running but Alice felt more alive than she had recently. They found a suitable spot at the front of the house to build a snowman. The gardener had cleared the drive and there were drifts of snow ready to be put to better use. Mary, so often a quiet little girl, ran around collecting small handfuls of snow and patting them around the base and as high up as she could reach, which, admittedly, was not far. She giggled when Uncle Matthew lifted her up to pat some snow on the shoulders.

"How do we make the face?" Alice stood back to study the shape.

"Carrot!" Mary laughed.

"Well, that will do for the nose," Matthew set her down, "what about the eyes and mouth?"

"We usually use coal," a soft voice behind them murmured. Charlie had wandered up to see what was amusing his little sister.

"Right," Matthew scratched his head.

"I'll get some, come on Mary," he held out his hand and she happily took it, twittering on about a carrot for the nose.

"Yes, yes, Mary," the boy nodded, "I'm sure cook will have a carrot."

Matthew and Alice watched them, Mary doing a clumsy skip in her boots and Charlie holding her tight to stop her falling. Matthew reached to hold his wife's hand and rubbed it between his to warm it.

"Your gloves are wet," he whispered.

"I believe that usually happens," she muttered, "when wool comes into contact with snow."

"Shall we see if we can have some hot chocolate when we've finished?"

"Mmm ... that sounds lovely," she smiled, chocolate was a favourite of hers. "Look, here comes Charlie and Mary," she looked over his shoulder.

Mary was waving a carrot and Charlie had a small basket of coal. Perhaps he could be persuaded to join them for the final part of the build.

Matthew lifted Mary so she could push the carrot into the head and Charlie passed her two pieces of coal for the eyes.

"Why don't you do the mouth, Charlie?" Alice suggested gently.

"It's yours and Mary's," he held out the basket.

"We're quite prepared to share, Charlie," Matthew set Mary down, "that's what families do, isn't it?"

Charlie thought for a moment, he usually had nothing to share, felt he was too grown up to play most of the time, and was not interested in David's hobby. He would see that Mary was safe, but she was almost as quiet as he was. He sighed and stepped forward to set a perfect curved line of small coals under the carrot.

"Perfect," Matthew praised him.

"Picture, Charlie!" Mary squealed, "take picture!"

"Do you have a camera, Charlie?" Alice asked, "or should Uncle Matthew get ours?"

"I think ours has run out of film," Charlie shrugged, "but if you get yours I'll take a picture ... if you want."

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Liz had watched out of the study window, smiling at Alice building a snowman and glad that Charlie had joined in. He was so solitary she worried about him, it was good to see him apparently playing. When she saw Matthew limp back to the house, the cold must affect his knee, she thought, she caught him in the hall.

"Hot chocolate and a fire in the parlour, Matthew," she whispered, "when you've finished."

"Lovely," he smiled, ignoring the ache in his knee, "just got to get the camera, Mary wants a photograph."

She watched him head up the stairs and when he came down she passed him an old hat and scarf, "for the snowman."

"Right," he laughed, "I suppose I should have thought of that."

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Alice sipped the hot chocolate and gazed into the fire. Matthew was sitting in one of the chairs at the fireside, positioned so his knee was closest to the heat. Liz was right when she thought the cold affected it, but it had been worth it, to see Alice do something as simple and almost childlike as build a snowman. Charlie had taken some photographs that they said they would have printed and send to them.

"I'm sure Mary would like that," he had murmured.

"Charlie," Alice fell into step with him as they headed back into the house, "would you show me your sketchbook, I'd love to see what you draw."

"Really?" he looked surprised, "nobody else seems interested."

"I find that hard to believe," she smiled down at him.

"They're always sorting David out," he sighed, "he is a bit ..."

"... lively?"

"I suppose you could say that," he agreed, "he gets into trouble a lot, here and at school."

"Your mother said he doesn't pay attention to his English and mathematics," Alice recalled what Liz had said in the car, "I said I would have a word, if he wants to be a pathologist ..."

"That might be a good idea, our parents haven't had much success," Charlie shrugged, "I'll get my sketchbook ..."

"Lovely, hot chocolate in the parlour, Uncle Matthew said."

With Mary sitting on Matthew's knee listening to him read to her, Alice patted the couch next to her, inviting Charlie to sit with her.

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"Oh Charlie," she smiled, "these are really lovely, so precise and neat, you have a talent."

"Oh, er thank you," he blushed, "don't tell David I sketched his crow skeleton, will you?"

"If you don't want me to," she turned a page that showed the drawing of one of the windows in the local church, "this one is particularly fine."

"Do you think so," he became animated, "is there a job, making these windows, only ..."

"Stained-glass window maker? I'm sure of it, quite an art I should think," she patted his hand, "for churches, large houses, repairs and remakes. Your father is a watchmaker and jeweller, he would know."

"I er, well, when he has time ..."

"Oh Charlie," Alice was saddened he couldn't ask Philip, but ..." do you want me to have a word? If I show him your sketch book ..."

"He's busy," Charlie shrugged.

"A father should never be too busy to listen to his children," she tutted, thinking how Lucien would always listen to Amelia, once remarking he was in loco parentis and always had the time to answer her questions.

Matthew had watched out of the corner of his eye, Mary had dozed off on his knee, and determined that he would always have the time to listen to his child, answer his or her questions if he could - be interested in what they had to say.

"My teacher's don't set much store by them," Charlie sighed, "they say I am wasting my time and should be thinking about engineering, but really I would like to do something like this. I like drawing mechanical things but nobody would stop and stare at them, like they do with the windows or paintings, would they?"

"They might," Matthew observed, "if they were presented as a piece of art, rather than a schematic"

"Art is a very subjective thing, Charlie," Alice noted, "not everything is to everyone's taste. I'm not keen on Picasso, anyone who puts two eyes on one side of a face has a somewhat warped view of the human form, to my mind."

"If I look at a painting I like it to look like what it's supposed to be," Matthew agreed, "let me see your book," he held out his hand. "See this one, here, " he showed the drawing Charlie had done of a clock movement, "this is lovely, and if it were put in a frame would do very nicely as an artwork."

"Do you think so?" Charlie's eyes widened at the thought his pictures could be shown, "I never thought of it like that."

"Thought of what like what, son?" Philip strolled in, he had heard something about hot chocolate and his hands were cold.

"Oh, er nothing, father," the boy stuttered.

"It must be something to have your aunt so interested," he helped himself to some of the remaining hot chocolate and sat opposite Matthew, on the other side of the fireplace.

"She was just looking at my sketchbook," Charlie blushed.

"Ah," Philip nodded wisely, "the infamous sketchbook ... well?"

"Charlie has some talent, Philip, for drawing," Alice passed it over, still open at the movement.

"Hm ... " he took a sip of his drink and a long look at the picture, "you're a bit of a dark horse, lad," he looked up at his increasingly nervous son, "this is a decent bit of work."

"Really?"

"Really, but ...you thought I set store by what your teachers say, eh?" Philip turned a page, "well, I do, it's true, but they never told me how good you were, and you keep the book to yourself. I suppose it's drawings like the clock movement that makes them suggest I steer you towards engineering."

"I suppose so," Charlie hummed. "Father," he said after a pause, emboldened by having his assertive aunt nearby, "I don't want to be an engineer, I was wondering if I could perhaps think of something like stained glass windows," he waited for a reaction, "not just drawing or designing them, but making them as well."

"Son, I want you to find your own way," Philip continued to flick through the book, "true you will take over the estate one day, and it isn't cheap to keep up, so we'll talk about it, when you are a little older. I shall keep an open mind, but, seeing as you know your way around a clock mechanism how about you spend some time in the workshop with me, eh, maybe you will have a talent for watch making or jewellery, what say you?"

"I'd like that very much, father," Charlie stood up and offered his hand to his father, "perhaps I could design a piece for you."

"Advanced stuff, son," Philip laughed, "but no harm in you having a go, is there?"

"No sir," Charlie was visibly cheered by this and rather glad he had been given the push by Alice.

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"Talented children," Matthew smiled as he and Alice lay in bed, snuggled under the thick blankets and quilt after a round of gentle love making, "wonder what ours will be like."

"Bossy, sharp, strong-willed ..."

"Beautiful," he added, "because she will be just like you."

"She is it, Superintendant?" Alice laughed softly, "it may be a boy, handsome, like his father."

"Actually, love," he kissed the top of her head, "I don't care what we have, all I care is that both of you are alright, and she - or he - grows up to be loving and loved, gentle and kind."

"What if," she swallowed, "what if there's something wrong with it? What if he isn't right in some way?"

"Then we will love him, or her, and give him the best life we can," he pulled her close, knowing how hard it was for her to even contemplate some abnormality in the child she carried, "but, Alice, there will be nothing wrong with it because you are the mother."

"The others ... that's probably why they didn't ... the body's way," she sniffed.

"Don't think about it," he held her tight, "don't worry about a thing, I have a good feeling about this one."

"You had a good feeling about us, didn't you, all those months ago," she tipped her head to look at him. "And those feelings are still good?"

"Even better," he assured her, "I love you Alice, very much."

"I love you, too," she sighed.