Jean sat on the edge of her bed and looked at her hands. In spite of years of washing and cleaning she had managed to keep the skin soft, the nails neatly trimmed and polished, all in all, a good job. The gold ring on her left hand still shone. She touched it, fingered it, twisted it round; there was a little scratch, probably from working on the farm, a sign of a life lived. She took hold of the ring between her thumb and forefinger of her right hand and slowly drew it to the end of the finger on which it rested. Her thoughts drifted back to the day Christopher had placed it there, in the Church of the Sacred Heart as the sun made patterns on the floor from the stained glass windows.

She took the ring off and placed it in the centre of her palm, so small, a circle of life, the beginning and the end.

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Mei Lin had been gone two months and life had almost returned to normal. Almost, but not quite: yes Lucien still had cases to solve, autopsies to perform, surgeries to keep. Jean looked after the house, fed Charlie and Lucien, tended her begonias and the garden, ran the gauntlet of gossip in Ballarat: but there was a silence, a piece missing from the jigsaw that had been slowly put together, only to be broken by Alderton's subterfuge, his dirty dealings.

Lucien was trying to obtain a divorce but it was going to take some time, he was frustrated, he couldn't resign himself to the wait. He loved Jean, he adored her, he wanted her on his arm, next to him in bed, beside him, but without a divorce it couldn't happen. He wouldn't give in to temptation, to sully her name, make the gossip come true. His only comfort was that she had assured him she would wait.

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Jean was a frustrated as Lucien, she had come so close to being loved by someone again. She believed him when he said he loved her, wanted her to be his wife. She let him hold her when they were alone in the house, she welcomed his passionate kisses and returned them but something always held her back. Tears soaked her pillow at night as she thought of the time they had wasted, time when they could have made the gossip true

As he had left that morning for the morgue, she had kissed him as had become usual. Another letter from the solicitor had only depressed him more, another delay, difficulties with the Chinese lawyer Mei Lin was using, and although he had smiled as he left it had been a half hearted smile. Jean's heart broke a little bit more every time she saw him hurt.

He had been gone all day, the house had been quiet. Too quiet, a quiet that made her think on her life up to now and her life that could be from now on.

She had gone upstairs to put some laundry away, before she put the dinner out, just her and him tonight.

Opening her wardrobe to hang up a skirt and blouse her gaze shifted to a yellowing box on the lowest shelf. She took it out and lifted the lid. Under the tissue lay her wedding dress, the one she had worn all those years ago. White lace, virginal and pure, made by her mother.

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She heard the door open and Lucien call her name. She looked at the ring in her hand and placed it on the top of her dress. she put the lid back on and placed the box back in the bottom of her wardrobe. Smoothing her skirt she drew her shoulders up and sighed.

In the hall she greeted him with a kiss, which he deepened.

'Dinner's almost ready.' She stated, softer than usual, lingering in his arms.

Lucien smiled and kissed her forehead.

As she put the plates on the table he noticed her ring was gone.

He stopped her, taking her hand in his,

'Jean?' He looked into her eyes.

'Lucien...' Suddenly shy she let him take her into his arms, words no longer seemed necessary.

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I'll leave the rest to your imagination.