Even as it happened, he knew everything would change.
Whisky and Jean had been his two great consolations since returning to Ballarat, and he thought he knew them both so well. His trusted friends, one leading to oblivion and one to clarity.
But then Jean broke, and he saw inside her shell. She cried hot tears over Jack, her weakness, her failure. And as Lucien held her in the sunroom, he closed his eyes on their friendship. Something raw, something painful replaced it, and when he opened his eyes again he recognised it as desire.
Holding her face gently, he looked at her with longing, tempted to kiss her, but saw fear in her eyes. Maybe love, but fear too, and the warning that it was too soon.
And then she was gone, relieved perhaps to answer the phone, while he looked over the garden. It would be his other trusted friend he would turn to tonight.
