7 August 1959
Lucien made his way to the Lock and Key on Friday evening with a spring in his step. It was just so bloody, marvelously wonderful to be home again; he'd enjoyed dinner with Matthew Lawson the day before, and Mrs. Penny had arrived in the morning, served him tea and toast and fussed over the state of his laundry in a delightfully maternal sort of way. He'd begin seeing patients the following week, and there was always a mystery right around the corner, and he intended to spend this evening in Jean's company. Nothing could be finer, he thought to himself, than to be in a familiar, comfortable place, to be cared for by people whom he cared for in turn, to feel as if there was a purpose to his life. Without Jean and Matthew he was certain that his daughter's rejection would have broken him in two, but they had made Ballarat a safe place for him to land, had welcomed him back and reminded him that all was not lost; they had both of them, in their own way, reacted to the news of Li's disapproval with a cautious optimism, reminded him that he had a chance to write to her, a chance, still, to put things to rights. All was well, and all would be well, that's what he told himself.
That's why he ventured out to the pub; though he would have liked, very much, to tumble once more beneath the bedsheets with Jean what he wanted more than that was simply to speak to her. To spend an hour, or two, sitting beside her, talking softly of their children. He wanted to tell her about Derek Alderton, the man he had been and the man he had become, and he wanted to hear Jean's counsel. He wanted to make her laugh, and see the sparkle of her eyes. If she had been any other woman he would have invited her out for a nice dinner, would have strolled with her arm-in-arm in the park, perhaps dared ask her to join him at home for a nightcap after, but she was not just any woman, and so he must meet her on her own ground, according to her rules. He would do so gladly, eager as he was for the chance to see her, and so he came to her with a pocket full of shillings and a heart full of hope.
It was hard to tell, he thought as he stepped through the door, as the little bell tinkled merrily above his head, whether the pub was doing good trade or not. There were three gentlemen sitting at the bar, and no more than six at the tables scattered round the room, though there were seats enough for thirty in that place. Elizabeth was behind the bar, and Lorraine was sitting at a table with a grey-haired gentleman, smiling at him warmly, but none of the other girls were anywhere to be found. Perhaps that was all the evidence he needed, as regarded the state of the pub's trade that evening; Jean had a dozen girls beneath her roof, and if he only saw two of them here it stood to reason the others were occupied, in which case business must have been going very well indeed.
He did not look around for Jean, for he knew there was no need; she would be installed, as ever, in her little booth in the corner, watching the evening's progress with a careful eye. No doubt she had marked his arrival, and he smiled as he approached the bar, thinking of Jean, and how completely he adored her.
"A pint, Elizabeth, if you'd be so kind," he said winsomely when he reached the bar, when the girl behind it gave him a smile.
"Of course, Doctor Blake," she answered, already moving to pour him a glass. "I've a message for you, now you're here," she added, one hand on the tap, one hand on the glass, her eyes watching him curiously.
"Is that right?" Lucien asked, intrigued. Was Jean not in the corner booth after all, then? He supposed he could turn his head and look to find that answer for himself, but he didn't; he wanted to hear what Elizabeth had to say.
"Maureen said that if you turned up tonight, I was to tell you to tread softly." She nodded discreetly towards the corner where Jean usually sat.
"Did she say why?" Lucien asked, perturbed now. It was not Maureen he had expected to leave a message for him; as far as he could recall he'd never said more than two words to the girl. Why should she offer him such a warning, he wondered, and would it spell an unhappy end to this evening he had looked forward to with such enthusiasm?
Elizabeth shrugged. "I've no idea," she said. "Just...be extra sweet tonight, Doctor Blake." She smiled as she handed him his glass, leaning over to add in a conspiratorial whisper, "we're all on your side, Doctor Blake. We think it's wonderful, you and Jean."
Before he could question her further another gentleman claimed her attention and Elizabeth danced away from him, left him to turn, somewhat wild-eyed, and make his way across the pub towards Jean. Tread softly, he thought to himself. Was Jean unhappy? Had something happened to make her cross? And if it had, was it something to do with him? Had he offended her in some way? He dearly hoped not; they'd had such a lovely time, the day before, and he'd rather thought they'd even had a breakthrough, of sorts, when Jean confessed to wanting him, when he did his best to satisfy that want with all of himself. The warm, tender way she'd welcomed him, confessed to missing him, held him close had made him think that maybe, possibly, there might be a chance of him being more than a customer to her, in the future.
"Good evening, Mrs. Beazley," he said as he drew level with her booth, found her sitting with her knitting, the way she liked to do in the evenings. There was, as ever, a cup of tea and a biscuit close to hand, but to his surprise he found there was also a sherry glass sitting in front her, still full. It was not her habit to drink in the evenings; in point of fact he could not recall having ever seen her with anything other than tea, and he did not know what it meant, that she should make such a change now. He very nearly sat beside her there and then, but Maureen had urged him to caution, and he remembered how things had been in the beginning, when he never sat without being invited, and so held himself back.
Jean looked up at him for a moment, and he felt his trepidation only growing. There was no soft smile on her face, no crinkling warmth in her bright grey eyes, no indication whatsoever that she was pleased to see him. She only frowned, a furrow forming between her brows that he liked not at all.
"Good evening, Doctor Blake," she said, a bit coolly. Such treatment was so wildly different from the reception he'd received the day before that it left Lucien feeling a bit dizzy, and he shuffled awkwardly on his feet, unaware of the manner of his sin but knowing he must have done something to perturb her.
"Might I join you?" he asked carefully.
"I think you'd better."
It was all the welcome he was going to get, and so he sat heavily beside her, plucked the hat from his head and placed it on the bench at his side, remembering how she'd disapproved of him setting it on the table.
"Jean-" he started to say, started to ask what was bothering her, but she cut across him at once, her voice low and yet full of fury.
"I don't know what games you're playing at, Doctor Blake, and I don't care. I want no part of this. I won't have you bringing trouble to my door."
Lucien turned to stare at her, utterly flummoxed. Beside him Jean was all but vibrating with a quiet, seething rage; he saw her hands tremble, but in the next second she had folded them in her lap, hidden them from view.
"I don't understand," he said, very slowly, trying not to let his anxiety and his urge to defend himself run away with him. Games? He thought. Trouble? He didn't have the first idea what she was talking about.
"Your friend Derek Alderton came to see me," Jean hissed, and then Lucien's own hands began to shake, and he was forced to place his glass down upon the table at once as fear filled him. When Matthew had mentioned Derek's return the night before Lucien had wondered whether Derek had come to see about their unfinished business, whether he could expect a visit from his erstwhile friend, but he had never imagined, not for a moment, that Derek might come here, that he might cause some sort of trouble for Jean. The possible forms that trouble might take were varied and terrible to consider.
"What's he done to you?" Lucien demanded at once, a bit more sharply than he'd intended. "Did he hurt you, Jean? I swear I didn't-"
Jean raised her hand in a gesture that asked for quiet, and Lucien caught himself, stemmed the flood of his words while she looked at him, carefully, appraisingly, as if she were searching his face for some sign of dishonesty. After a moment she sighed, and leaned back against the booth, relaxing ever so slightly.
"So you do know this man?" she asked after a moment.
"Yes," Lucien answered at once. "We served together, during the war. But we've had a falling out; there was some trouble a few months back. Jean, I haven't spoken to him in months, I didn't even know he was back in Ballarat until Matthew told me last night and I certainly never dreamed he'd-"
Beneath the table Jean reached out and placed a gentle hand on his thigh, and once more he forced himself to fall silent. He did have a tendency to get carried away, when emotions were high, and it seemed Jean did not want his flood of words just now.
"He knows, Lucien," she told him softly. "About you and me. He knows you've been to see me, and he knows how much you've paid."
"How?" Lucien asked, dumbstruck at the very thought. He had told absolutely no one; Matthew didn't approve, he knew, and it wasn't as if he had many other friends in whom he would confide such a secret. Jean's work was illegal, and Lucien would not confess to his knowledge of it, would not dare risk her safety, her security by being so lax. Besides, his own reputation stood to suffer, as Matthew had pointed out to him many times in the past, and he was too comfortable in Ballarat to lose what little stability he'd gained.
"I was rather hoping you could tell me," she said. "You really didn't know?"
"Jean, I swear to you, I had no idea. He's dangerous, and I would never knowingly put you in danger, my darling."
The frown returned; he had forgotten himself, had let the endearment slip from his lips as natural as breathing, and he could tell from her expression that Jean did not approve of that, either.
"Did he threaten you?" Lucien asked quickly, wanting to put his lapse in judgement behind them, hoping to erase it from her mind, though he could tell by the way she looked at him then it would not be so easy, for her to forget that he had called her darling, that he spoke to her far more fondly than any customer should.
"Not at first," she said slowly. "He didn't mention you at all, in the beginning. He tried to...buy me, for a night. He offered rather a lot of money."
"How much?" Lucien regretted the question the moment it passed his lips, and a wry sort of expression crossed Jean's face, told him at once she had no intention of telling him just how much Derek had offered.
"Rather a lot," she said primly. "When I refused him, that's when he mentioned your name. He mentioned my son, too. He knows where Christopher lives, knows about his family, what unit he's assigned to. He was not...he didn't say outright what he might do, but he made it very clear that things would not go well for me, if I refuse him. He said he'd come back, and he told me not to tell anyone. Have I been wrong to trust you, Lucien?"
Her eyes were wide, and scared, and Lucien's heart constricted as she spoke. The very idea of it, Derek coming to this place, trying to buy himself an hour with Jean - the thought of his hands on her pale thighs, his breath on her neck, her hips beneath him - turned his stomach. And knowing now that he had threatened not only Jean but her son, that young man she loved so fiercely, the most important person in her world, set hatred churning within him. This place, this pub, this woman, should have been safe, should have been sheltered from the damage his past might cause, and yet Lucien had brought this grief to her door, and hated Derek, for being the harbinger of this disaster, and hated himself, for not protecting her from himself. She had risked so much, in opening herself up to him, and he wished he could have been better, for her sake. She did not deserve this.
"No," Lucien said at once, earnestly, covering her hand where it still rested against his leg under the table. "I will keep you safe, Jean," he told her then. "It's me he wants. I'll find him, and we'll sort this out between us. I won't let him hurt you, or Christopher, I swear it."
Jean smiled at him softly, sadly, and he knew then that she did not believe him.
"When did you see him?" Lucien asked. If Derek meant to come back Lucien intended to spend the evening sitting right next to Jean, would not dare let her out of his sight, not until morning came and he could go to the base himself, and dispense with the problem of Derek Alderton for good. How he would do such a thing he did not know, but he would gladly have strangled the man with his own two hands, in that moment, for threatening Jean, for the part he'd played in the death of those two soldiers at Anzac Day, for the way he had forgotten the ties of brotherhood between them and sanctioned the murder of Lucien himself.
"He just left," Jean said, and Lucien's heart threatened to pound its way out of his chest, then, so great was his distress. "About half an hour ago."
"Damn it all," he muttered under his breath. It was too late for Lucien to try to access the base; he would not be allowed through the main gate, and even if he managed to sneak through the fence he had no idea where to find Derek, and could not risk spending the evening sneaking around the base, avoiding the MPs. If Derek had left, with a promise that he would return, he almost certainly would not put in another appearance tonight. But what if he sent someone else? What if someone was even now watching the booth where he sat next to Jean? He'd warned Jean not to tell anyone, and she'd gone and told Lucien immediately; what if that news made its way back to Derek?
"What is it?" Jean asked him, her eyes searching his face, no doubt having taken note of his distress.
"It isn't safe for me to be seen with you," Lucien confessed. "Derek may have someone watching the pub. I don't think anyone's close enough to hear us now, but I can't be sure. We need to talk about this, Jean, but I don't think this is the time or the place."
Jean's gaze darted around the pub, no doubt taking note of the faces she saw there, how far away they sat, whether anyone was paying them too much attention. Long years of training in her chosen field had left her keenly observant and righteously cautious, and Lucien gave thanks for those traits now.
"They're all regulars, Lucien, I don't think we have to worry about them," she said softly. Lucien took that as a point in their favor, but just because there was no apparent threat now didn't mean that one wouldn't come walking in the door any moment, and Lucien couldn't bear to take that risk.
"Is the back door locked?" He asked her then.
Jean nodded.
"Good," he said. "Keep it that way. I'm going to leave -"
Jean started to protest, but he cut across her at once.
"I'm not going far," he said. "I'm going to watch the front of the pub. Ring Danny, and have him come and watch the carpark. I'll pay his wages for the evening myself."
"And then what, Lucien? You and Danny can't stay out there all night, every night."
"First thing tomorrow, when it's light, I'm going to have a talk with Major Alderton," he told her grimly, and Jean paled, her hand tightening its grip upon his thigh.
"Lucien-"
"I won't have this, Jean. I won't have you in danger. This is between him and me, and you never should have been brought into this."
"Promise me you'll be careful," she whispered to him then, and he wished, oh, but he wished he could kiss her in that moment, could pull her into his arms and hold her tight, and never let her go.
"It will be all right," he promised. "I won't let anything happen to you. But I do have to go, now, just in case someone's watching. Behave as you normally would. I'll be right outside, and I'll keep an eye on you."
He started to rise but her hand on his leg stopped him, pulled him back down at once.
"You will tell me, won't you?" She said. "When this is over, you will tell me what this is all about?"
"I promise," he swore. "You deserve the truth, Jean, but now is not the time."
"All right, then," she said, and withdrew her hand at last. "You come back to me, Lucien Blake," she added.
Lucien smiled, relieved in some small part to know she did not hate him, had not written him off entirely despite the danger he'd brought to her door.
"Wild horses couldn't keep me away," he said, and then he rose, and left, setting his hat on his head and beating a path back towards his car. He had a plan, now, and a sense of righteous fury filled him; Derek had gone too far, in threatening Jean, and Lucien would not let such behavior go unpunished.