Jean took the tea to the studio, she could hear Mrs Huston,

'...of course I used to see you around the house when I came to see your father.' She was telling Lucien, 'but you were always kept out of the way, probably with your mother, in here, or with the nanny and housekeeper.'

'I don't remember having a nanny.' Lucien was now sitting in a chair. Jean served the tea and sat down to listen, watching him try to process the memory.

'Your mother didn't want you to have one but your father insisted,' Mrs Huston relaxed in her chair, 'so she doubled up as a housekeeper. Actually you had more than one.'

Lucien leant forward, elbows on his knees, 'Go on.' He urged.

'Your mother was,' how to say this without upsetting him, 'temperamental, the artistic side of her I suppose. Your father was desperately in love with her, fascinated and slightly frustrated. These things couldn't be hidden from all his patients. She adored you and he felt she cosseted you. Being a military man he wanted you to grow up strong and manly.'

'A lot of these things I knew or remembered, I suppose,' Lucien told her, 'things I have found since I opened the studio and of course going through dad's things, how she liked to party, and things people say, those that knew her, like Doug Ashby, how everybody respected dad but loved my mother.'

'A good analysis, doctor,' she smiled. 'There was one housekeeper, Genevieve; you don't mind do you?' When he shook his head she continued, 'Genevieve really didn't take to. Slightly older but, I don't know, there was something about her. Very secretive, always peered round the door before admitting us patients, as if she was afraid of being caught doing something she shouldn't. She was the only one who wasn't live in.'

'Oh,' Jean wondered how one could be a nanny and a housekeeper and not live in, 'so she had her own home?'

'Yes, apparently a widow.' Agatha sipped her tea and thought. 'I was a lot younger then, you must remember, but this woman struck me as the wrong type of person to look after a child, a toddler. We would see you in town, shopping, well, trailing behind her really, bored; or being walked in the park. Most children connect with their nannies, but not you with her. She must have lasted a year. One day, when I came up to the house for an appointment. I will never forget the noise. Your mother shouting in French and English, absolutely incandescent with rage, your father trying to calm her. Something about the housekeeper who your mother had sacked that day. I kept hearing the word 'thief', and references to jewellery, and a painting.'

'Do you think that it was that painting?' Lucien pointed to the portrait in question now on the couch waiting to be hung properly.

'Could be.' Mrs Huston agreed, 'your father said that she had so many in the studio, she must have overlooked it.'

'Lucien,' Jean had sat listening with interest, 'all these diaries; do you think your father documented these incidences?'

'Well, just looking at the first few,' He picked one up, 'highly likely. Until today I hadn't really looked at them, I just thought they were medical notes, but having looked at this one, they aren't.'

'There's an awful lot to read.' Mrs Huston observed.

'You busy?' Lucien grinned at her.

'Not today.' she smiled back.

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They spent the rest of the morning reading diaries. Agatha would discuss some entries, telling the story as she remembered it. It appeared that Thomas Blake had put his frustrations down in his diaries, but through it all, his love for Genevieve never wavered. Their entire married life was documented right up to the day she died. After that the entries were perfunctory, 'wrote to the boy', 'L back for the holidays,' 'Lucien in trouble, again, too much like his mother', nothing detailed.

Jean made sandwiches for lunch, fruit, tea and cake.

It was Jean that found the entry they were looking for.

'Lucien, listen,' Jean raised a diary at him, dated 1912, 'Genevieve has sacked the housekeeper, again. She claims she has lost a necklace, one she calls the daisy chain, and a painting she has recently completed of Lucien. We rowed about it, one of many. She has never liked Mrs Reynolds, says she sneaks around and does not love L. I admit there is something, but she does the job, her cooking is good and Lucien is clean and fed. G molly coddles the boy, he will grow up soft at this rate.'

'Interesting,' Lucien mused, 'still don't remember her.'

'You were three, dear,' Jean reminded him, 'and there's more. Genevieve can't find the eternity ring I gave her after Lucien was born. Must see if she has dropped it in the bedroom. Will ask the new housekeeper to keep an eye out. Either she was right about Reynolds or she is stupendously careless. Also claims that a blouse, a book of French poetry, and her new kid gloves are missing, lilac ones if I remember rightly.'

'I can't understand why she would take a painting of someone else's child. It's only of sentimental value. The jewellery could be sold, the blouse and gloves worn, but that would be risky, she could be seen in them.' Lucien sat back and tapped his fingers together.

'Well, dears,' Agatha said, 'if you found the painting in the junk shop perhaps that's where you should start. The old man who used to keep it, before his grandson took over always recorded his finds, house clearances, things he bought. I, er..' she coughed, 'I sold Geoffrey's wood working tools, well, they were no good to me.' She scoffed slightly at the thought of wielding a hammer herself.

Jean stood up, realising the time, 'I will just ring the hospital, tell them you're staying for dinner,' she looked at Mrs Huston, 'that's if you'd like to?'

'Oh, Jean.' Agatha was touched at the thought, 'but surely you have enough to do.'

'Easy enough,' Jean smiled, 'it's a stew, so a few more veggies will soon bulk it out. I don't suppose Charlie and Mattie have eaten properly for a week. The extra veg will do them good.'

'In that case,' Mrs Huston smiled, 'I'd love to.'

'I'll run you back afterwards.' Jean turned to Lucien, 'unless...'

'Yes?' He looked perplexed, 'Oh yes,' the penny dropped, 'perhaps if I do it, your doctor, you know.' He smiled cheekily.

'A good idea, Dr Blake,' she agreed.

As he walked out of the studio he turned, '...and if you've known me since I was a tot, perhaps you'd better call me 'Lucien'.'

She smiled, Jean laughed, '...and maybe I can get Charlie to call me 'Jean'.'

'Don't bet on it!' He called over his shoulder.

'Charlie?' Agatha queried.

'Sergeant Charlie Davies, he lodges here with Mattie.' Jean told her.

'Is that the young policeman I've seen dropping her off occasionally?'

Jean tried to hide her surprise, 'Yes, that'll be Charlie.' She headed to the kitchen to start the dinner, wondering if she had missed something on the way to her own nuptials. She always considered them to be like brother and sister, but not the way Mattie was with Danny, more considerate to each other. No matter, dinner needed doing, first.

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Agatha wandered through as Jean was putting the stew in the oven, even with peelings on the table, on a sheet of newspaper and utensils in the sink, the room was tidy and ordered.

'Can I help you with anything, dear?' Agatha made her jump.

'Goodness, you gave me a start.' Jean put her hand to her throat. 'It's all done, just need to wash up, then back to the diaries.'

'Well, you wash, I'll dry.' Agatha picked up a tea towel and smiled.

Jean thought she'd cause more offence at refusing the offer so she set to and Agatha dried the pots and put them on the table.

'This is important to the doctor, isn't it?' She asked quietly.

'It's important to both of us.' Jean turned, 'Lucien missed a whole chunk of his childhood when Genevieve died and he was sent away to school.'

Jean started to put the dishes away and get out the plates ready for dinner, then they went back into the studio. Lucien joined them from the study. He let them know that the hospital were happy with Agatha being out beyond curfew and picked up another diary. This one detailed how she had reported Mrs Reynolds to the police and a very young Doug Ashby had dealt with the case. Nothing was found at her house and a thorough search of the Blake's home also revealed nothing. The case was closed, but never really solved.

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Over dinner Jean and Lucien brought Charlie and Mattie up to speed on their investigation so far. Mattie was intrigued but unfortunately she was busy for the next couple of days. Charlie, however, was free next day and suggested he take Mrs Blake to the junk shop for a proper look round and to see if the inventory books could be looked at. It would be unlikely that an eternity ring had been sold to them, that would surely have been the jeweller, but the daisy necklace, maybe the book of French poetry could have gone there; the blouse and gloves would have been worn.

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Lucien drove Mrs Huston back to the convalescent home where she was chivvied along to her room.

'I'd like to come over tomorrow and have a good look at her,' Lucien told the nurse in charge, 'it maybe is that she is ready to go home. She managed around our home today, including the stairs.'

'I do hope she wasn't a bother to you, doctor,' the nurse worried, 'she knows her own mind.'

'She was a pleasure to have,' Lucien beamed, 'lovely to hear stories of long ago. She was one of my father's patients you know, even knew my mother.'

'Really,' the nurse raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. 'Well, perhaps you're right, time for her to go home. She will, of course , need a home help.'

'My wife has said she will pop in each day,' Lucien said, 'they are good friends.'

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Jean was in the bath when he got back. Mattie and Charlie were watching something on TV, he didn't take much notice, they pointedly ignored him. He turned and tiptoed up the stairs and tapped on the bathroom door,

'Jean, 'he whispered rather loudly, 'need your back scrubbing?'

'Lucien!' She giggled, 'what about...'

'...Mattie and Charlie?' He slipped round the door, 'watching TV.' He took his jacket and waistcoat and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Taking the sponge he leant her forward and slowly massaged her shoulders and down her back.

'Good?'

'Hmm.' She murmured as the other hand stroked her breasts and down over the unmistakable curve of her belly, only noticeable when she was naked.

'Get in,' she urgently whispered, 'come on.' The way his hands were stroking her body had increased her desire for him and even though the young lodgers were downstairs she wanted him, there and then.

He gave a wicked grin and undressed, climbing in and sitting facing her invited her over to him, lifting her up and on to him, he entered her. Their steady rhythm made the water slosh round them until the release, Jean bit her lip to stop her cry of passion and then fell on him giggling at their rash behaviour.

'Good God, woman,' Lucien gasped, 'you're insatiable.'

'Not complaining are you?' She grinned at him, pink with exertion and the warmth from the bath.

'No, definitely not,' he smirked back, 'in fact, I think we need a bigger bath!'

'And another bathroom,' she tipped her head to look at him, 'near our room?'

'A splendid idea.' He nodded. 'Now, how do I get downstairs?

Jean reluctantly got out of the bath and wrapped the towel round her. She took her robe off the back of the door and slipped it over the top. She turned to him,

'You finish off, and I'll get your robe.' She opened the door.

'What?' He whispered, 'on my own?' He didn't see the smile on her face as she slipped quietly down the stairs and into their room.

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Somehow Mattie and Charlie managed to keep a straight face when the two appeared, separately, in the living room, both having bathed. Charlie poured the drinks and they sat and worked out what they would do the following day.

'I'm going to see Mrs Huston and arrange for her to return to her home.' Lucien leaned back, content with life, 'I'll check the house, Jean, to see if anything needs to be done first.'

'Sounds like a good idea.' Jean agreed, leaning against him on the couch, 'When you fix a day, I'll give it a clean and stock her up with groceries.'

'Right, that's one job sorted,' He smiled, 'now, Charlie, you said you could take Jean to the junk shop?'

'If that's ok with you?' Charlie agreed.

'Well, I'd better show my face at the station and go and see Alice,' Lucien mused, today had been his last free day under agreement with Matthew, 'I have surgery this afternoon, so I'm probably going to be quite tied up. If I can, I'll meet you at the shop.'

'Lucien,' Jean risked looking up at him, wondering if she could do so without blushing, 'do you think the records of Ashby's investigation will still be in the flies, somewhere?'

'Of course,' Lucien smiled at her, 'good idea. I wonder how hard he tried to find out the truth?'

'Well give how he felt about your mother, ' Jean mused, 'I would have thought it would be a good reason to be in her company.'

'True,' Lucien looked far away, at least Doug hadn't acted on his feelings, 'I'll see if I can find them.'

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Lucien drove Jean and Charlie into town and then headed off to the convalescent home the next morning.

The owner of the junk shop recognised Jean as the one who relieved him of the painting that no one else would give house room to. He couldn't understand it, but maybe she would take some of the more dated things nobody else wanted.

'Good morning,' Jean smiled her most winning smile, 'I don't know if you remember, but I was in here a couple of weeks ago?'

'I do,' you bought that picture,' he decided against offering his critique of it, she obviously liked it.

'I did,' she smiled again, 'a wedding present for my husband, Dr Blake. I recognised it as his mother's work. We are surprised it was here; we understood that all her work except one piece in the gallery, was still at home in her studio.'

'It's been here since grandfather had the shop.' the owner smiled, 'he did house clearances as well.'

'So I believe,' Jean was looking around now, 'a friend of mine told me that he used to keep records of where he got his stock from.'

'Ye e s' He was more guarded now.

'It's a long story,' Jean was going to have to be careful how she phrased this, 'but when the painting disappeared Dr Blake's mother was having trouble with her housekeeper, accused her of theft. Some other things went missing and we wondered, if at all possible, could we have a look at his records.'

'Well, I..' Hell, had his grandfather been dealing in stolen goods?

'There's no chance you will be charged with receiving, 'Charlie interrupted, 'we are just interested in locating the objects. Your grandfather probably had no idea they were stolen.'

'...and it was a very long time ago.' Jean added.

'Right,' the man seemed a little relieved, 'well the record books are all in the back, what year are we talking about?'

'The items went missing in 1912,' Jean said, 'but, of course, if he got them in a house clearance then anytime from then on. I suppose,' she laughed, 'we'll have rather a lot of reading to do.'

'Do you know what you're looking for?'

'A daisy necklace, a book of French poetry, an eternity ring, a blouse and a pair of lilac kid gloves.' Jean reeled off the list, 'we don't expect to find the blouse and gloves, the ring probably went to the jeweller's but the rest...'

'Right then,' He led them through to the back where he had a little office and shelves of ledgers all in date order.

'Goodness!' Jean's eyebrows shot up, 'what a lot of books, you use the same system?'

'I do.' He agreed, 'I still get visits from the cops when stuff goes missing, but I suppose it's bound to happen.'

'Yeah,' Charlie agreed, 'sorry about that, but...'

'I don't mind,' he smiled for the first time, 'it's probably the only way the owners will get their things back. Mind you, if I hear there's been a break in I'll take the stuff for appraisal and give your lot a ring.'

'Oh,' Charlie's face lit up, 'it's you, is it? Sergeant Davies, we talk a lot.'

Ned was usually sent to pick up or look at the items in question.

'You're the voice on the end of the phone,' He grinned, 'good to meet you.'

They shook hands.

They each took a book from 1912 onwards and started to read. Given that Lucien's birthday was in March, Jean started at that month in 1912 and ran her finger down the exquisitely written columns. Each item was detailed, the date it was brought in, by whom and the date it was sold and to whom.' She found the entry for the painting, and noted that it had been sold to a Mrs J. Beazley, with the date she purchased it. She smiled. Nothing else that they were looking for seemed to have been taken in with it. She supposed this would reduce suspicion. She also noted it had been brought in by a Arthur Reynolds. There was a note above his name, 'on behalf of mother, Mrs Millie Reynolds.' That must have been the sacked housekeeper.

The door went and the owner, now known as Bert, went to see who was in the shop.

'Good morning,' The man raised his hat and smiled. 'I'm looking for my wife and Sergeant Davies.'

'Dr Blake, I assume.' Bert held out his hand, 'they're in the back, going through the ledgers.' He led him through and Jean looked up and smiled.

'I've found the entry for the painting,' She offered her cheek and he obligingly kissed her. She showed him the entry, he raised his eyebrows.

'So she had a child?' He muttered.

'So it would seem.' Jean looked at him as he thought.

'Well, he's not someone I know, how about you, Jean?' She'd been in Ballarat longer than him, given his absence during his sojourn in Europe and the Far East.

'Doesn't ring a bell.' She agreed, 'but maybe if we look back in your father's records, see if he had a patient by that name.'

'Sounds like a good idea.'

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Bert's grandfather seemed to start a new ledger at the beginning of each year, and there were never more than two to a year. By the time they had got to 1916, they were all gasping for a cuppa and Jean needed to get back to make lunch and prepare for surgery. Bert was enjoying the mystery so he said they could take some ledgers and he would carry on looking in the shop.

As they left the shop, Jean wobbled a little and gripped Lucien's hand.

'Are you alright?' He asked, concerned, putting his arm round her waist

'Mm, just a bit light-headed.' She smiled, but he noticed she looked a little pale, 'haven't had my morning biscuit.'

'So that's how you keep going.' He smiled and pulled her to him just that little bit tighter. Charlie noticed the interaction but decided against commenting, Jean was not noted for eating between meals, so...he put that thought out of his mind, he'd discuss it with Mattie later.

She laughed, she'd been putting shortbread in his pocket almost since the day they had met. Talking of which...

'Have you got any shortbread left?' She asked quietly.

'Think so, would it help?'

'Yes, please.' She took the half stick of biscuit and nibbled it discreetly, she didn't approve of eating in the street.

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Charlie put the kettle on while Jean went to freshen up, it was rather dusty in the shop. Lucien caught her at the bottom of the stairs,

'Come into the surgery,' he whispered, 'let me give you the once over. I've not even taken your blood pressure since we got back.'

She wasn't going to argue. Not doing such things meant she didn't have to think about being pregnant and therefore didn't give away their secret. Generally she felt quite well, but had noticed she needed a biscuit mid morning; just the one!

'I'm sorry, Jean.' He sat her down and wrapped the cuff round her arm, 'I should take more care of you, but...'

'Keeping it quiet means neither of us notice.' She smiled, 'as long as I have a biscuit mid morning I'm fine. I can get a little hungrier when I'm pregnant and if I leave it too long I get light headed, that's all.'

He finished the blood pressure check and removed the cuff, leaning over to kiss her as he did. 'It's fine.'

'Do you kiss all your patients, doctor?' She raised her eyebrows at him.

'Only the very beautiful, pregnant ones.' He smiled at her, 'and there's only one of those on my list.'

She giggled back.

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As Jean and Lucien would be busy for the afternoon, Charlie said he would look through the ledgers and let them know if he found anything. He found the books strangely interesting, seeing what people threw out or had in their houses when they passed on, and also what people bought, that was even more of an eye opener! Such as the person who seems to like collecting old wood working tools or the one who bought a tea service, that was not complete.

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Will they find what they're looking for? Dragging it out a bit, aren't I?