Jean put Joy's laundry on her bed; Joy had thanked her for doing the laundry and had suggested she just put it on the bed and she would put it away. The familiar folder was there, papers spilling out of it. After finding Joy going through Lucien's war chest she had found it difficult to trust the young woman. Lucien, she had noticed, was increasingly distant from both of them. He avoided Jean and was less tactile towards everyone. Even his interest in Joy seemed to be waning. Jean was also noticing the level in the whisky bottle was going down faster than ever. This was a sure sign of stress.

The papers were enticing. Jean looked at them but she dared not touch them, but, surely, if she just looked at what was showing...

'Alistair North, Captain. Treated by Major Dr L Blake, died 8 July 1943.' Who...

A step in the hallway, Jean left the room with a pile of laundry she was distributing to the other rooms.

'Hello, Joy,' she greeted the young woman, cordially, 'your laundry is on your bed.'

'Thank you, Jean.' Equally cordial.

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Jean strolled into Matthew Lawson's office, she had some fresh baked shortbread for the men. It was a pretext; she wanted to speak to Matthew, the only person other than Mattie she could trust at the moment.

'Hello, Jean,' he grinned, noticing the basket that usually contained 'goodies'.

'Matthew,' she smiled back, 'I've been baking and thought you and your men would like some shortbread to go with your tea.'

'Well... oh Jean you shouldn't have, but thank you. Why isn't Lucien twice the size he is?' He laughed, there was a look on her face that said: 'A word, please. In private.'

'So, Jean, what can I do for you?' He showed her into his side office. He rarely used it but it was handy for more confidential discussions.

'Can you find out anything about a Captain Alistair North. He died on eighth July 1943. Apparently he was treated by Lucien.' Jean offered no explanation and Matthew didn't need one.

'Your ears only?' He opened his eyes wide.

'Please.' She rose from her chair and was gone.

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Two days later Jean had a call from Matthew, could she call round to the station, any time to suit?

Jean hesitated to leave Joy in the house alone but was anxious to find out what Matthew had learnt so she set a time and told Joy she was going shopping, asking if she needed anything.

'No, thanks Jean,' Joy called cheerfully from her room.

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'Ahh...Jean.' Matthew showed her to the small side office, telling Bill and Charlie he was not to be disturbed.

'Matthew,' Jean studied his face, he had that serious, Lucien's been up to something look, 'You've found out something I'm not going to like, haven't you?'

'Alistair North,' he indicated she should sit down, 'Captain North was Mrs MacDonald's elder brother. Quite a bit older, I guess Joy must have been a bit of a surprise. Alistair was twenty-three when he died. He was in the same camp as Lucien.'

'So...,' Jean paused, deep in thought, 'the papers I saw on her bed...No, Matthew, I didn't touch them, what I saw was on view' He had looked at her in shock, thinking she'd rifled through someone's private papers. 'Is she investigating Alistair's death, or Lucien's part in it?'

'I don't know, but I think I know who is going to come off worst.' Matthew wasn't sure if he could do anything, no crime had been committed yet. 'Keep any eye on him Jean, I have a nasty feeling he's going to need you.'

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Jean picked up a few inconsequential things in town to give a reason for he going out. She also picked up a bottle of whisky for Lucien. Much as she hated his drinking , this time she'd forgive him.

'I'm back,' she called as she walked through the door, giving Joy time to hide whatever she was doing. Right now Jean needed to act as if everything was absolutely normal while she worked out what to do. She needed Mattie, but couldn't use the excuse of a headache again. Lucien would think she was really ill and would insist on checking her over. She found Joy innocently sitting in the living room, reading a magazine. 'Tea?'

'Thank you, Jean, that would be lovely.' Just once, Jean thought, meanly, 'you could put the kettle on when I come through the door.' She knew she was the housekeeper but even Lucien made her a cup of tea occasionally.

While Jean was in the kitchen Joy took whatever was in the magazine to her room. She put it just inside the folder, marking the page with another sheet of notes.

Joy joined Jean in the kitchen and they sat in apparent companionable silence.

'Lucien and Mr Nicholson seemed please with your progress.' Jean felt she had to say something, the silence was awkward.

'Yes.' Joy smiled back, 'I still get backache, but that is to be expected. I guess it's just something I'll have to learn to live with.'

The sound of the key in the door alerted Jean to Lucien's return.

'There's tea if you'd like some,' she called, brightly.

'Thank you, Jean,' came his answer, 'In my study, if you wouldn't mind.'

'Alright.' She tried to sound as if it was totally normal for Lucien to head straight for his study. It wasn't; he usually came into the kitchen to say hello, and ask about her day; but he spent all his time hiding from both women, and even Mattie. 'Excuse me, Joy,' she got up, 'I'll just see to his tea.'

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Lucien was sitting at his desk, staring into space. He barely nodded to Jean when she went in and put the tea down in front of him. She watched him, his eyes, usually so bright and lively, were dull and sad, and she hated to think it, full of tears.

She sighed, it was heartbreaking to see him like this.

'Lucien,' she almost whispered his name, 'are you alright?'

'What, yes of course, why?' He almost snapped at her.

'You seem so...low these days.' She moved to his side of the desk, 'you know you can talk to me, if you need a sympathetic ear.'

He looked up at her, she was so... oh, what was the word? So...'kind' didn't do her justice. He struggled to fight the urge to bury his head in her breast and cry, sob like a child. He was losing Joy, possibly losing Jean and Mattie and he had no idea what to do, or indeed what he had done. So he did what he always did, snapped, avoided the issue and drank.

'It's alright, Jean, I'm just tired. Not sleeping well.' He turned his attention to some unopened letters on his desk, a dismissal.

Jean didn't believe him one bit. Yes, the bit about not sleeping well, he was having some awful nightmares and it was becoming harder to soothe him.

Jean left him and went to put his laundry away. The door was ajar, again. Lucien always closed the door, as if hiding something. She entered and put his laundry on the bed before turning to the chest of drawers. Her eyes scanned the room to light on the 'war chest'. It was open. It was never open, and things had been disturbed. The one time she had seen inside it, it was relatively orderly, but now it had almost been ransacked. Joy! She'd done it again! Jean was furious. Lucien would be apoplectic! She stood there looking at it, not knowing what on earth she should do. Should she feign innocence and ask Lucien if he had been looking for something, or should she confront Joy?

'Jean,' low and threatening, Lucien was standing behind her.

'Lucien,' she wheeled round, 'I...you know I would never, you have told me not to and I respect your privacy.' She knew she sounded desperate.

'Then who?' He was angry, very angry and scared, as if all his demons had flown out of the box at him.

'Lucien,' she took him by the arms, she never touched him like that but she needed his full attention, 'Last week, I caught Joy looking in it. I told her it was private and not to open it again. She said she wanted to know what had happened to you during the war. I told her not to ask questions and that you would say in your own time.'

Lucien looked at her in disbelief, but he knew Jean would never lie and she did respect his privacy.

'Lucien,' she took a deep breath and closed the bedroom door, 'Do you remember a Captain Alistair North. I know it's a long shot, you knew so many poor souls who never made it back, but it's important. Do you?'

A faint spark of recognition passed across his face, 'The name rings a bell, what has he to do with it?'

'You treated him in the camp,' she took him to sit down on the bed, 'he didn't make it.' She looked down at the floor. 'He was Joy's elder brother.'

'How do you know?' He couldn't believe Jean had been 'investigating'.

'I saw something on one of Joy's papers in her room. It was in plain sight, I didn't intentionally look. I saw the name and I asked Matthew to find out for me.'

'If she wanted to know about him she should have asked me' he said, 'I have all the details in a diary in the box.'

He leapt up and went to the box, throwing papers, books, letters and drawings on the floor. 'It's gone!' He stood staring down at the empty box, devastation on his face. All his dreaded memories now open for someone else to see, everything he wanted to forget but couldn't had been read by her.

'Why? Jean, why?' He buried his head in his hands.

'Only she knows that, Lucien,' she spoke so softly, so tenderly. Her heart ached for him, so much suffering. She rubbed his back, gently. She was aware this was perhaps not the actions of a housekeeper, more those of a much closer friend, but she couldn't just sit there while his world fell apart and not touch him, comfort him.

'I have to talk to her, Jean, I have to know why.' He stood up and straightened his waistcoat, decisively. 'I need my diary back, there's too much in there for her to see.'

'Why did you write it down?' Jean's voice was so quiet, so soothing, even in such a question.

'If I didn't I would have gone mad. I had to get it out of my head.'

He turned to her, 'Thank you Jean,' he whispered, 'Thank you for being my friend.' He leaned into her and very lightly kissed her cheek.

She stood as he left the room, then decided she'd better follow. She knew he wouldn't hurt a woman but his rage was now a quiet rage and he would use words rather than deeds to show Joy just how much she had wounded him.

Lucien didn't knock at Joy's door, he just walked in. There she was, sitting at the dressing table, writing, taking notes from what she was reading.

'You have something of mine, I'd like it back.' He spoke firmly and held out his hand.

She just looked at him, open mouthed, but did not hand back the book.

Lucien walked up to her and took it off the unit.

'Why, Joy? In God's name why would you want to read this?

'You killed my brother.' She said flatly, without emotion.

Lucien found the page with Alistair's death written down. 'It says here that Captain North died of a fever, infections from numerous wounds bullet and others.'

'You treated him,' she began to sound grimly furious, 'he died, you killed him. He promised me he'd come back.' Her voice rose, pain at her loss obvious to both Lucien and Jean, now standing in the doorway.

'A lot of men died in that camp. They had all told their loved ones they'd be back, not to worry, but they didn't go home. I spent so much time trying to fix them.'

'You should have tried harder!' Joy was screaming at him now.

Lucien finally let go of his tenuous hold on his composure.

'Do you want to know what they did to those of us who stole medicines, who stole fruit, who disobeyed orders!' As he spoke he threw off his tie, ripped his waistcoat and shirt off, buttons flying everywhere.

'Lucien!' Jean shouted, she wanted him to stop. She grabbed his arm but he just threw her hand off, knocking her to the floor in his fury.

He took his singlet off to reveal a muscular torso; his back was covered in scars. Knife wounds, whip lines the horrible reminders of the torture he had suffered in order to alleviate the suffering of his fellow prisoners.

Joy gasped, her hand to her mouth she sank to the floor. Tears flowed down her cheeks and she hugged her knees and began rocking like a child.

Lucien stood staring at the vision of a completely unbalanced woman, in the middle of a mental breakdown. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Jean pull herself up and realised he'd pushed her to the ground, and unforgiveable act in his mind. Moving over to her, he held out his hand to help her up.

'Oh, Jean,' as she came closer to him than she had ever done before, leaning her head on his shoulder, 'I am so sorry, how can you forgive me?'

'It's alright Lucien, I'm not hurt.' She leant over to the bed and pulled the cover off and wrapped it round his shoulders. 'Why don't you go and get another shirt on, or your robe?' She smiled a tender forgiving smile.

'Call the hospital,' he turned back to Joy, 'She needs specialist care.' Still thinking of others in spite of his own pain.

'I will, but you need to leave the room, now.' And placing her hand on his arm she led him out into the hallway.

Lucien almost shuffled off in the direction of his room while Jean made the call to the hospital. Giving enough detail for the right doctors to be ready for Joy, she replaced the receiver and went to quickly check on Joy. She was still rocking, in a kind of trance. Satisfying herself that Joy was in no danger, she closed the door and went to see to Lucien. She found him standing at the door to his room, gazing down at the contents of his war box, strewn over the floor.

'I'll put those away,' she touched his elbow and he jumped.

'Sorry, I was miles away,' he did his best to smile at her, and it wasn't a bad effort.

Jean crouched down and started to pick up the drawings trying not to look to hard at the images. The writing was easier not to read, she just piled the papers up, neatly and placed them in the chest. Closing it, she turned to Lucien who was still standing there. She hoped he wasn't going to have a mental breakdown too.

'Can I get you anything?' She offered.

'Err...no, thank you, I think I'll just lie down for a while.' He lay down on the bed, wrapping the cover around him. Jean went over to him and picked up his left foot,

'Since when, Doctor Blake, did we put out dirty shoes on the bed?' She took his shoes off and covered his feet with another blanket.

'Sorry Jean, it won't happen again.' And this time he really did smile, as his eyes closed.

'Sweet dreams, dear Lucien,' she whispered as she closed the door.

The ambulance arrived and Joy was given a sedative before being placed in the back and driven off to the psychiatric ward, where she would be assessed and her treatment and placement determined.

Mattie arrived just as the ambulance was driving off. Instantly alarmed she ran into the house,

'Jean! Lucien!' What had happened?

'Shh!' Jean appeared in to doorway to Joy's room, the folder in her hands She had determined she would burn it but she was going to look at what Mrs MacDonald had been writing first. If Lucien asked she would tell him but she wasn't going to show him.

'The ambulance, who...?'

'Joy,' Jean said simply. 'Come and have some tea, I'll tell you all about it and you can help me go through this paperwork.'

'Where's Lucien?'

'Sleeping, so be a little quieter, please.'

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They sat in front of the fire in the living room. As they went through each page it became obvious Joy had determined to find out about all the patients Lucien had lost during his internment, how they had died, what he had done to help. She had interviewed bereaved parents, been given photographs of the deceased, copies of the 'death notes'. It was a catalogue of pain. In her writing she was determined to ruin the man who she firmly believed had killed her beloved elder brother. Reading the words they knew they couldn't burn them, they would have to pass them to the doctors so they could see just how far into madness Joy had gone. All the while Jean told Mattie what had happened.

'I'll take them now.' Mattie help out her hands. 'We can't have them in the house for Lucien to find. I'll take her things too.'

Mattie left the house with everything that would remind Lucien of the bright seemingly smart girl he had briefly fallen for. Jean stripped the bed and remade it with fresh linen and a different cover. Well Lucien was wrapped in the patchwork one!

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Jean knew it would be some time before Lucien was fit to work properly. She had noticed the clasp on the box had a loop for a padlock so she bought one and fitted it one day when he was sitting in the garden. She took the key and put it in her jewellery box. She would let him open it when he was strong enough to stand the memories. She and Mattie ran the surgery, Lucien prescribed medication only for a couple of weeks solidly and then occasionally when he felt tired.

The nightmares returned with vengeance. Jean spent hours calming him, only returning to her room when she was satisfied he was past the worst of it. Lucien knew they were back and that he was waking her frequently. She said not to worry, but she might be a little late getting up sometimes, if he didn't mind.

Lucien still heard the voice in his dreams, telling him everything was alright and that he was safe, but he could never see the owner of the voice and it frustrated him.

One night the nightmare was particularly fierce. He was thrashing about, shouting, swearing. Jean leant over him, trying the usual words, but as she went to stroke his forehead he grabbed her wrist, tight. She gave an involuntary yelp which woke him.

'Jean?' he blinked 'What...it's you. You're the owner of the voice I can never reach. The one who keeps me safe.'

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Having said there would be one more chapter, I feel an epilogue is needed.