Lucien made sure everything was tidy and put away in the kitchen before he too headed for bed. He left a note on the table for Charlie, telling him to make his own breakfast if Jean wasn't around as she had hurt her foot and was having trouble walking. He finished in the bathroom and stood outside her bedroom in his pyjamas and robe, a room he had only once entered, to tell her he didn't need a housekeeper. The door wasn't completely closed so he pushed very gently, just enough to see the bed. She was asleep, so that was good. The covers rose and fell with her breathing, her dark curls spread out over the pillow; when had she discarded that awful hairnet? One hand was balled into a fist at the side of her head the other over the covers, flat against her stomach. Her sweet mouth was slightly open and her dark lashes formed a half moon against her cheekbones. To say she was lovely was an understatement, to him she was an angel, and he didn't believe in such things! No artist, modern or classical, venetian or French, had ever imagined something so absolutely captivating, in fact he didn't think the English language had an adjective to describe Jean Beazley. If it did he couldn't think of it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jean's dreams were a mish mash of Christopher Snr and Lucien, in which she argued with both, both said sorry, but only Lucien stayed. Her vision of her late husband was of a man walking away into a mist. Lucien, however, stayed. Sometimes holding her hand, sometimes just standing in front of her, but always there, always arms ready to hold her and protect her. Then Mrs Huston would appear,

'Go on, dear,' urging her to take what life was offering her, 'love him.'

Behind her were the gossips, but she couldn't hear them, just Mrs Huston telling her to love the doctor, and Lucien calling her name. The gossips faded.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lucien lay on his back staring up at the ceiling. The image of Jean asleep floated in front of him. He closed his eyes and succumbed to sleep, strangely relaxed, unafraid of the dreams that would come. Jean smiled at him and beckoned with her hand. He felt her touch him, lean against him and move as if in a dance, a waltz. The music he had played that evening took him to a place long ago, where he was surrounded by military colleagues, but the woman in his arms wasn't Mei Lin, it was Jean, and she was gazing deep into his eyes. They seemed to dance among the stars, he in his dress uniform, her in something fine and gossamer light, jasmine flowers in her hair, the perfume assaulting his senses.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jean woke at her normal time and stretched. Her foot pushed against the covers and she jerked it back with a sharp intake of breath. She lay back and waited for the ached to melt away; as it did she thought back to the previous day, and not in a practical sense. He had been gentle, caring but not forward. You couldn't call a kiss to the forehead, 'forward'. Her kiss to the corner of his mouth, now, that was forward, at least that's what her mother would have said; but given the lack of information Jean had when she first entered into marriage, looking at a boy was forward!

'Right! Jean,' she told herself, 'get moving, before the doctor comes to see if you need a hand.' Although, no bad thing, she thought, blushing.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Charlie was just plating up some scrambled eggs when Jean hopped into the kitchen. He turned and grinned at her, mainly to hide his surprised at the fact that she was downstairs and the obvious exertion at hopping from the stairs to the kitchen.

'Jean, good morning,' He slid a chair out for her, 'er, the doc said you'd hurt your foot.'

'Cut it on some glass at Mrs Huston's.' Jean lowered herself into the seat and smiled, to show she was quite alright.

'Tea?' Charlie put cup in front of her.

'Thank you.' She sat and sipped the drink as Charlie did what she usually did. Neither noticed Lucien standing at the doorway, watching, Jean mainly, but watching the scene play out. He coughed.

'Mornin' doc,' Charlie greeted him cheerfully, as he set down some bacon and egg for Jean.

'Good morning, Charlie.' Lucien grinned, 'and good morning to you Mrs Beazley.' He sat next to her, 'I hope you've not put any pressure on that foot?'

'Hello, Lucien.' Jean smiled back at him, 'no, I haven't, I hopped.'

'How is it?' His voice softened.

'Sore,' Jean admitted, as she started to eat.

'Right, I'll be off then,' Charlie cleared his throat and left the table. 'See you later.'

'Hm? Oh yes,' Lucien dragged his eyes away from Jean, 'see you later, Charlie.'

'Bye, Charlie,' Jean called after him. She turned to Lucien, 'Charlie's left your breakfast on the stove.'

Lucien got the message and took his plate off the pan where Charlie had left it to keep warm. They ate in silence and Lucien took the plates to the sink. He started to wash up. She hopped over to the end of the table and scuttled a chair next to him so she could dry.

'I'll have a look at that foot when we're done here.' He said, more addressing his words to the wall than her.

'As you wish.' She smiled but he still didn't turn, the formal comments were a tease. She had thought he might wish to check the wound and so had not bothered to put stockings on. It was something she only did on the warmest summer days, feeling rather underdressed if she did so, and it was warm enough today. Besides, it's not as if she would be going far!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The dishes dried, Lucien put them away. Jean smiled at his new found domesticity, but declined to comment and embarrass him.

'Right, Mrs Beazley,' He became suddenly masterful, 'let's get you into the consulting room.' And he swept her up into his arms.

'Lucien!' She squealed, 'I can hop, you know.'

'Far too strenuous, my dear,' he grinned, he rather liked holding her in his arms, 'and not a good idea in a heel, you might turn your ankle.'

She put her arms round his neck as he strode through down the hall, authoritatively, pushing the door to his surgery open with his foot and then gently placing her on the examination couch. Jean reluctantly let go.

'Now,' he smiled benevolently at her, 'let's just undo this bandage and see how we're doing.'

He pulled a stool to the end of the couch and gently unwound the bandage. He'd never really looked at her feet before, not even the previous day when he had tended to the wound. They were neat, the nails were immaculately trimmed and polished. The skin was soft. There was a line where the sun had caught her foot, showing where her shoes sat. He risked looking at her shin, up towards her knee, the same colouring from sunny days when she had not covered her legs and walked around town, or from days on the farm. He cleared his throat, he was getting away from the job in hand. And in his hand was the foot that had the cut that he was supposed to be attending to, and not letting his mind wander to her legs!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She watched him. His touch was so light and tender, and she tried not to move as he tickled her while removing the bandage. She could see his eyes wander up to her knee, an act that would have normally got him a scolding. She found she liked the attention, it was not lustful, or indelicate, just rather sweet.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

'It looks to be healing nicely.' His voice broke through her musings, 'I'll put a fresh bandage on it and look at it again tomorrow.' He applied the clean bandage and resisted the urge to kiss her foot, tempting though it was.

Jean sat up and dangled her legs over the edge of the couch. She tipped her head to one side and looked at him. There was an atmosphere in the room. Not unpleasant, no indeed, in fact it was charged with electricity. Jean wasn't quite sure what would happen next, there were things she had to do, that she could do, sitting down; there were things that she would like to do, sitting down, there were things...

'What were your plans for today?' Lucien spoke quietly, watching her watching him.

'Hm?' She realised she was miles away, 'Oh, the usual, dusting, vacuuming. I don't think I can use the vacuum like this but I'll managed to dust. Shopping...we need food. Then there's surgery this afternoon...and I wanted to go and see Mrs Huston.'

Everything seemed to hang in the air.

'Right...' Lucien knew that for her to do nothing was unheard of, and she'd probably go mad sitting knitting or sewing all day. 'Ok, dusting, I'll allow. Perhaps, if you give me a list I could pick up what we want, after I've been to the hospital to see how Mrs Huston is.'

'Alright.' Jean agreed this could work, 'but what about surgery?'

'I'll think about that.' He straightened his waistcoat, 'Now, where shall I put you?'

'Living room, please,' she would let him carry her there, 'then can you get me the notepad from the kitchen phone and I'll write the shopping list; and the duster?'

Lucien knew there were times over the next few days when he would be able to hold her, carry her upstairs or from one room to another, but realistically it couldn't go on forever. He scooped her up and carried her to the living room, setting her down on the couch while he went to get the things she had asked for.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jean managed to dust the living room, by leaning on furniture and hopping or swinging herself around the room. It was hard work, harder than she expected it to be, frustrating. She tried putting a little weight on her foot but it was badly bruised and the ache was persistent. It had only just subsided when Lucien returned with the groceries.

Under her direction he put everything away and then made them both some tea. While the kettle was boiling he went back out to the car and returned with his hands behind his back.

'What have you there?' Jean looked suspiciously at him.

'Well, while I was with Mrs Huston,' He smiled, just, 'who, by the way, is doing very well, I had a sudden thought.'

He brought his hands round, a pair of crutches dangled there.

'Oh!' Jean raised her eyebrows.

'I just thought it would be a little bit easier for you to get around the house; not up and down the stairs; but round the kitchen and...' He faltered.

'That's not a bad idea,' She smiled, 'it's actually more tiring going from couch to chair or table, hopping. I'll be able to admit your patients, too.'

'So, it's alright then?' He almost sighed with relief.

'Show me how to use them.' she stood up.

There followed some laughter as Jean got used to swinging herself between the medical aids, but she very soon mastered the technique, even if, in the back of her mind, it meant he would no longer have an excuse to carry her around.

Jean found she could just about manage with one crutch round the kitchen, which gave her a free hand to carry items from the cupboards to the table. It was in this manner that she was able to prepare a sandwich for lunch for the pair of them. Doing something she was used to made her feel much happier and when Lucien complemented her on her speed she smiled with pleasure. He still insisted on washing up and she still scuttled a chair over to dry the dishes but he could see how much better she felt.

'Can I visit Mrs Huston?' She asked as she finished the last plate.

'Yes, you can.' He smiled, 'you said you wanted to go and get her toiletries, which she says she would be grateful for, and a fresh nightgown.'

'Oh good,' Jean scuttled the chair back to the table and retrieved her crutches. 'Before or after surgery?'

'Before, I think.' Lucien had thought about this, 'my first patient is at two, so If I take you over soon, you can have a good natter while I see her consultant and get his prognosis.'

'I'd better get ready,' Jean stood up, 'I'm a bit slower than usual.'

'Don't you dare try to use those crutches on the stairs!' Lucien stopped her and swept her up into his arms.

Jean pouted, although she hadn't planned on trying that, she was just going to go as far as the bottom of the stairs and go up on her bottom; but, on balance, this was much nicer!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jean and Lucien collected Mrs Huston's things from her house and picked up her post. She noticed a knitting bag at the side of her chair and asked Lucien to pick that up, too, it would keep her occupied during her stay in hospital.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mrs Huston's face dropped when she saw Jean come into her room, swinging herself confidently on her crutches.

'Oh my dear!' She gasped. 'What have you done?'

'Oh, it's nothing.' Jean smiled and made light of her injury. 'I must have got a piece of glass in my shoe, bit of a cut and sore. Soon be mended.'

Lucien brought the small suitcase in and placed it by Jean.

'I'll be back in about thirty minutes,' he said, 'if that's alright with you ladies?'

'Lovely, thank you, doctor.' Jean agreed, then turned to Mrs Huston, 'I've brought you your toiletries, a fresh nightgown and your knitting.'

'Thank you, dear.' Mrs Huston smiled at her, 'but tell me, what really happened?

'Well,' Jean never kept secrets from the old lady, she was like a mother to her in many ways, 'I must have knocked or kicked a small piece of glass into my shoe when I was cleaning up. I thought it was just where my shoe had rubbed, with me sloshing water about.'

'So how did you get home?' Mrs Huston was worried, 'surely your foot...'

'Oh, I walked part of the way, then Dr Blake passed me an offered me a lift.' Jean grinned, 'it was only when I got home and took my shoe off that I realised that the wet in my shoe was blood.'

'My dear girl,' Mrs Huston grasped her hand, 'how awful. What did the doctor do?'

Jean laughed, she wanted to know the whole story, the penalty of living alone, she supposed, any story was worth hearing.

'Well,' Jean wondered whether to admit she had passed out and thought she better had, she wasn't sure how much Lucien had told her, 'I fainted, so he must have carried me to the surgery and put me on the couch.'

'You fainted!?' Mrs Huston looked sideways at her, 'farm girls don't faint, Jean.'

Jean giggled, 'I can deal with any blood but my own.' She admitted, 'Anyway, the doctor has cleaned and dressed the wound, won't let me put any weight on it, so...please don't let this get around... he carries me upstairs and between some of the rooms. The crutches are to help me get around when he isn't there.' She looked at her friend's face, trying to see if she was going to tell her she was a wanton young woman!

'Oh, how delicious,' Mrs Huston laughed, 'of course you protest, loudly.'

'Oh, of course!' Jean went pink.

Mrs Huston tried to dig a little deeper, tried to find out if anything else had come of this unfortunate situation, but Jean was not going to tell her how she really felt about being tended to by Lucien Blake, not until she was sure she didn't have to keep her thoughts to herself.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lucien helped Jean over the gravel on the drive and let her into the house. They had fifteen minutes before surgery was due to start, just enough time for a cuppa and freshen up. Lucien carried Jean upstairs while he made the tea. She made her own way downstairs, just to show she was capable. She couldn't act the wilting violet forever, or at all, really. He wouldn't believe it, anyway.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Apart from the raised eyebrows and the constant questions, surgery went as it should do. Jean answered the door with a smile as usual and brushed off her injury as nothing to worry about, Dr Blake was looking after her and she hoped soon to be off the crutches.

She had to admit, to herself, that she was glad when her receptionist duties were over for the day, and she could get back to preparing dinner, with a little help from Lucien; Charlie would be back from work, Mattie was away at her parents, so it would just be the three of them tonight.

'Alright?' Lucien asked as he closed the oven door, 'no comments?'

'One or two, but nothing nasty.' She smiled, 'a couple of raised eyebrows, but, what's a girl to do when she's hurt and her boss is a doctor?'

'Precisely,' He smiled. 'Now, to the couch, I think, unless there's something you need doing here?'

She pushed herself up, but he swung her up into his arms, again. She giggled,

'Lucien,' she hissed, 'suppose Charlie comes in.'

'You're injured,' he carried her through, 'what am I supposed to do, make you crawl?'

'I could ho...' She tried to say 'hop' but her mouth made such a delicious 'O' he covered it with his.

Both looked surprised and a little embarrassed as he placed her gently on the couch. As he removed his hand from under her legs she caught it and held his hand. He looked so full of remorse for taking advantage of the situation and she didn't want him to, in fact, she'd quite like him to do it again, kiss her, that is. She lifted his hand to her face and lightly, almost a breath of wind, kissed his palm then lay her cheek against it.

'Jean,' he breathed and looked deep into her green eyes, 'I...'

'Shh.' She whispered, not moving, just staring into his shining, blue eyes.

He sat on the edge of the couch, next to her and moved his face closer to hers. His hand moved round to the back of her head, fingers pushing gently through her curls. He felt her hands now move round his torso and, as the gap closed between them, her fingers ruffled the hair at the back of his neck and their lips met in a gloriously deep and passionate kiss. Breathing heavily they eventually broke apart and leant their foreheads together, smiling and blushing.

'Oh, Dr Blake,' she sighed then melted against his chest. She felt his arms wrap round her and his chin rest ever so gently on the top of her head.

He closed his eyes as her perfume flooded his senses and the feel of her body against his held promise of more than a kiss.

The mood was broken, suddenly, by the front door shutting and the sound of police boots on the hall floor. They pulled apart and as Jean looked up at him she wiped traces of her lipstick off his mouth. He pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and removed the rest. With a cheeky smile he moved away, looking for all the world as if he had just been checking her temperature.

'Charlie?' Jean called, 'is that you?'

Lucien left her and went to check. The sight that greeted him was not one he wanted to see. Charlie had a huge black eye emerging and a split lip.

'What happened to you?' Lucien was astounded at the appearance of the young officer.

'Couple of bludgers causing a ruckus on the club steps.' Charlie mumbled, 'Mr Drury wouldn't let them in so they tried to kick the doors in.'

'Anyone else hurt?' Lucien looked more closely at the injuries.

'Nope.' Charlie moved his head away, 'the bludgers are fine, Bill and the Boss took 'em down to the station.'

'So you were the one who waded in this time?' Lucien smiled, 'come on, let's get those seen to.' He preceded him to the surgery waving at Jean on the way past.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Charlie ate his dinner as best he could, he'd had a good thump to his jaw and it was sore. No teeth would be lost, fortunately, but he'd be on soft food for a couple of days. Matthew had said he was to have some time off to heal, he couldn't go out looking after the good folks of Ballarat like that.

He went to bed quite early. Jean smiled as he trudged out of the kitchen and headed up the stairs. Lucien looked at her sadly. Having Charlie around would surely curtail their burgeoning romance.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

So, how will Lucien and Jean get some alone time now?