This story is another version of 'What happened in Adelaide?' It's an attempt to work out how they got from the tentative hand holding at the end of 3.8 to the more confident, more tactile relationship in 4.1. There are just so many unknowns! Let me know what you think, please.

She hadn't really expected him to come. She'd hoped, certainly, but not with any genuine expectation. Lucien just wasn't like that. He constantly rushed from place to place, 'preoccupied' he called it, and Jean always seemed to be way down his list of priorities.

So when he didn't arrive to see her off on the bus to Adelaide, she was certainly not surprised. Perhaps not even very disappointed; her life would be so much simpler without him in it. Sadder, but simpler.

And therefore, when the bus stopped and Lucien leaped on, she was lost for words. She didn't even feel pleased, at first. She just felt shocked, and maybe a little scared. But that look on his face...there was no mistaking that. He wanted her. Suddenly there were a thousand possibilities for the future, and no certainties at all.

"Jean, I..."

"Don't say anything, not yet," she interrupted him. If he didn't say it, she wouldn't have to respond. She needed time; a space to catch her breath and face the complications of a future with Lucien.

But she did take his hand. He seemed nervous, unsure if it was alright to touch her, yet usually he touched everyone; a touch on the cheek, a hand on their back. Perhaps he was as uncertain about this as she was.

And there was comfort in holding his hand, and excitement too, and against her better judgement she welcomed the ache inside her.

As the miles drifted by, they leaned together, his arm round her shoulder, their hands clasped on his knee. Slowly they unwound, and started to relax into each other.

"I didn't think you would come," she said into the silence between them. There was no reproach there.

"I'm sorry," he replied. Sorry for being late, sorry for taking her for granted, sorry for not saying something sooner, sorry for not speaking out even now. She nodded, and he pressed his lips again to her hair in a nearly-kiss, the most he dared for now. They lapsed back into quietness.

Once she had fully recovered from the shock of his arrival, Jean tentatively risked a sideways glance. He was watching her, smiling slightly, and she could see that he was waiting for her to be ready. She took a deep breath.

"How are you going to get home?"

He smiled to himself. Ever practical Jean.

"I don't know. I hadn't really thought about it. I didn't think I'd actually get on the bus at all." He touched her cheek and she looked up at him. "I thought I might persuade you not to get on it either."

At that she straightened up and looked at him curiously. "I see. I've promised Christopher, Lucien. I can't just not go."

He nodded and pulled her a bit closer. "But will you come back afterwards? I've been hoping you would. I don't want to lose you."

"We'll see," she replied. It wasn't that she didn't want to go back with him, but she was still unsure what she would be going back to. There was so much they needed to talk about - but not now.

Jean glanced around at the other passengers. "Can we talk about this later? Not here." She indicated the people around them with a nod of her head.

"Of course," he agreed, though he was struck by the irony that they had had weeks, even months, of privacy at home without talking freely, and now that they were both ready to do so, they were in a place too public for Jean's nerves.

She seemed happy enough for him to hold her though, and he spent the rest of the time until they stopped for dinner with his arm around her shoulders. His fingers traced the pattern embroidered on her dress sleeve, while he breathed in the scent of soap on her skin. She smelled faintly of home, in a familiar way that made him smile and close his eyes in contentment.

When the bus stopped Lucien stepped off and turned back to her, offering his hand to steady her on the steps, and then oh-so-casually he kept hold of her hand, leading her towards the restaurant. It was crowded with travellers and unattractively noisy.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, looking around for an empty table.

"Not really," Jean replied, "but maybe..." She waved in the direction of the toilets, and headed towards them, letting go of his hand. His hand felt empty without hers, and he roused himself to try to solve the problem of dinner.

When Jean returned he was holding a paper bag that clearly contained some food, and a bottle of lemonade in the other hand.

"Let's go outside," he suggested, and Jean followed. She struggled to keep pace with him as he strode along the path, and she found herself reaching out to him, slipping her hand through his arm. It felt surprisingly natural as a gesture, but the unfamiliar contact sent a jolt through both of them.

Lucien came to a halt suddenly, realising he had been walking too fast, and wanting to prolong the contact between them. But Jean pulled her hand away quickly; she was rather shocked at her reaction to just holding his arm. Surely it wasn't that daring?

They settled on a nearby bench and Lucien opened the bag, holding it out towards her. She took a sandwich and began to eat, glad of something ordinary to do. They shared the sandwiches and lemonade, passing the bottle between them and taking turns to drink. Even that felt new and intimate.

"Would you mind if I stayed in Adelaide for a few days?" he asked. "I could see some of the sights, and maybe we could see each other a little too. I could find a hotel."

"You don't have any luggage," Jean protested, but without any real conviction. "Do you have enough money with you to stay in a hotel?" She knew she couldn't invite him to stay at Christopher and Ruby's house.

"Enough for a night or two, till I can get to the bank at least. Anyway, I have a friend who has just borrowed £500 from the bank, so I could always ask her to lend me some." He gave her a rather cheeky look and Jean coloured with embarrassment. It was shaming enough that she'd had to ask him to be guarantor.

"A friend?" she replied rather archly. "Let's hope she's a good friend then."

"She is," he replied. "But, Jean, you know you are far more than that to me, don't you?" He kissed her briefly on the cheek, no more than a peck, really.

She nodded. She slowly slid her hand through his arm again and shuffled a little closer to him on the bench.

"I'm glad you came in the end. It would be lovely if you stayed in Adelaide for a day or two, but you'd better phone home so no one worries."

Her hand squeezed his arm gently. He felt solid, reassuringly so. She had to admit to herself that she had wondered what it would be like to hold him deliberately, and to touch him more than in passing. Now she knew, a little, and she knew she wanted more.

She kept her hand on him as they walked back to the bus. Once they were seated again he took her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. A few days in Adelaide; he hoped that would be enough time to convince her how he felt, and that all this was possible. He knew he loved her, but their lives would have to change to make this work.

And she hadn't said enough for him to be really sure what she felt. Her hand linked through his arm had been new though, and gave him hope.