15 August 1959
The mid-afternoon sunlight slanted in cheerily through the curtains on his window, and Lucien lay tangled up with Jean in his bed, naked and satisfied and utterly at peace. It had been, he thought, quite the best possible day he could have hoped for. After breakfast they'd taken their tea to the garden, and chatted quietly about their children, and Jean had confessed shyly to a private dream of moving to Adelaide, to be closer to her oldest son and his young family. Though the thought of Jean leaving his side was almost too painful to contemplate Lucien had answered her encouragingly, for it warmed his heart to know that she had such dreams, that she did not see herself spending the rest of her life in the pub. And Adelaide wasn't such a terrible place to be, he'd told himself, and in fact he could picture them getting along quite well together in a little cottage close to the sea. It was foolish, he knew, to think such things, but he thought them just the same - and was not foolish enough to voice his imaginings to Jean.
They'd played dominoes in the parlor, and danced together, laughing, and he'd toured her through the home's extensive book collection, and come rather close to opening the doors to his mother's studio, just so he could show it to her. No one had set foot in that room for nearly forty years, but for some reason the thought of Jean there comforted him, and did not terrify him. Not today, he'd told himself. We have so little time. But she'll come back, one day, and I can show her then.
While Lucien had entertained thoughts of a quiet lunch of toast and eggs Jean had insisted on cooking for him; she'd gone through his larder with all the cool efficiency of a drill sergeant, and whipped up a beautiful meal for the two of them to share, smiling all the while. I want to, she'd told him. Let me. And so he had let her, had sat at the table - for while she was happy to be cooking she was adamant that he would be more hindrance than help - and chatted comfortably with her and sipped at a tall glass of cool water, trying not to think too long or too hard about how lovely it might be if they shared all their meals this way, together. After lunch he had once more helped with the washing up, and it was then they lost their restraint; she had looked so beautiful, standing there in his kitchen, and he could not keep his hands to himself. He'd kissed her neck, and she'd sighed, and they'd fallen together once more, stumbling across the short distance from the kitchen to his bedroom tugging at one another's clothes until they fell naked into his bed and wound themselves in and around one another, until they were sated, until they were free.
And now they lay, together. They had passed rather more than an hour together in his bed, but it was still only just gone three o'clock. Plenty of time left, he thought, for them to hold on to one another. Plenty of time left to talk, to dance; perhaps he might even change his mind, and show her to the studio after all. And when the sun had sunk below the horizon and they were exhausted they would fall asleep together once more, and nothing could be finer than that.
But first, he thought, they had some business to attend to. It would be better, he knew, to discuss Derek and his plans and how best they might manage him now, while the sun was still shining, while they were happy and safe and wrapped up in one another. Ghosts and shadows walked in darkness, and he did not want to lend them the strength of the night; they were more easily banished in daylight. And besides, they only had one night left, and Lucien did not want to risk sullying their evening with talk of doom and betrayal. Here, now, they were warm and content, and no calamity could touch them. They could make their plans, and once satisfied they could set aside such bleak thoughts, and enjoy one another for however much time they had left.
"I suppose we should talk about Major Alderton," he said slowly. He was lying on his back, and Jean was pressed hard against his side, one of her lean legs thrown over his thigh, her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder, her fingers drawing nonsense patterns against the skin of his chest. She was lovely and warm, and he adored her completely.
In response Jean just hummed, and Lucien took that as permission to continue.
"Where to begin," he mused. How could he explain Derek, his connection to the man, the way their lives had been so deeply intertwined, the way Derek had fallen into madness? She deserved to know all of it, he thought, deserved to know why she'd been singled out, why this man had brought trouble to her door, but Lucien's tongue felt heavy in his mouth, his throat suddenly choked by the grief of a life that had long since passed him by.
"Start at the start," Jean told him softly. "Who is this man, Lucien?"
I wish I knew, he thought glumly, but she had the right of it, and so he took a deep breath, and began. While Jean listened in silence he told her how he had met Derek in Singapore, and how they had become fast friends. He told her of the chaos he and Derek had caused together, running amok through the city, two young men with the whole world open at their feet. He told her how Derek had stood beside him when he wed Mei Lin, how he had been named godfather to Li, and seemed to take his position seriously. He told her, too, of his suspicions, the way he feared Derek and Mei Lin had grown too close, how Derek had always seemed to focused on her, and how it worried him, and he told her how the Japanese invasion put an end to all such concerns. He told her, his voice trembling, of the camp, how they had been starved and beaten, how he had been thrown in a too-small cell for forty unbearable days and how in that time Derek had seemed to lose all desire to fight back against the injustice of their circumstances. He told her of the bayonet that had nearly spelled the end of Derek's life, and how he had patched up that wound, and how he feared Derek had never forgiven him for trapping him in the world of the living. Haltingly he told her of what had come after, the grim years they'd spent doing intelligence work in Asia and how Derek had exploded when he announced his intention to retire, and leave his old friend behind. And then, at last, he told her of Anzac Day, and Sergeant Hannam, and the lads suffering radiation poisoning. By the time his tale was through his throat was parched and his heart was heavy; how could it be, he wondered, that a man he'd once counted as good as his own brother could have fallen so far into darkness?
"Thank you," Jean said softly, running her hand in gentle, soothing circles over his stomach. "I know it must be difficult for you to talk about all this."
"You deserve to hear it," he told her truthfully.
"I still don't understand why he came to me, though. What could he hope to gain?"
That was, Lucien thought, the biggest question of all.
"He wants me to rejoin the service," Lucien said, but he was only thinking aloud; he did not know, truly, what Derek was about. "It was all he wanted to talk about when I saw him at Anzac Day. He's convinced that the trouble in Indochina is going to engulf the whole world, and he wants every resource he can find to throw at that problem. Maybe he thinks if word gets out about you and I then I might lose my job and have to come back to him."
"I don't see how him purchasing my services could incriminate you," Jean pointed out.
"No," Lucien agreed, his mind racing. "No, I don't understand that either. Maybe it isn't my career he wants to ruin. Maybe…"
His voice trailed off as a terrible thought took hold. Had Derek not inserted himself into Lucien's relationship with his wife once before? Was he trying to do the same again? To what end?
"Maybe what, Lucien?" Jean prompted him gently.
"Maybe he thinks that if he...spent some time with you, and I found out about it, that would be enough to put me off you. Maybe he thinks if I fell out with you I wouldn't want to stay in Ballarat."
Jean shifted slightly, propped her head up on his chest and looked at him, grey eyes wide and searching. Spellbound by the beauty of her Lucien reached out and ran his fingers through her soft hair, thinking all manner of things he was loath to say aloud.
"Would you really leave, if you fell out with me?" she asked him seriously, her expression troubled.
"I think I would consider it," he confessed. He had thought perhaps that might be reassuring to her in some way, to know how deeply he cared for her, but her frown only deepened, and he rushed to explain himself. "I don't have many ties to Ballarat, Jean. Matthew is a good friend, but he's just about the only friend I have, apart from you. I took on my father's practice to fund my search for my daughter, and I've found her now. The house is nice enough, but I could live very comfortably in just about any city in the world. I've always been fond of London. I might consider leaving, if it weren't for you. But I would never, ever rejoin the service. That part of my life is behind me. I've no interest in following someone else's orders."
Jean smiled, a bit sadly. "No," she said. "I don't suppose you do." She dropped her chin, pressed one tender kiss against his chest, and then rolled back into the shelter of his arm. "So what do we do, then?"
What do we do? He thought. He could hardly keep watch over the pub all night and day. They would have to devise some plan, some way for Jean to signal to him that Derek was there, to buy him enough time to get himself down to the Lock and Key - perhaps with Matthew in tow. There had to be some way, he thought, to protect Jean; if she threw Derek out he might not go quietly, and whichever lad she had on the door when Derek came back might be strong enough to manage him, but then again he might not, or Derek might come armed, or he might come in the middle of the day, when Jean had no security at all. There were too many possibilities, and he had no idea how to account for them all.
"Would your budget stretch to hiring permanent security? Could you keep someone on the door round the clock?"
Jean grumbled, but when she spoke she did not protest. "I could manage it," she said. "I might have to hire another lad or two, but that could be arranged."
"Right," Lucien said grimly. "Here's what I'm thinking. You tell the lads what Derek looks like, and you tell them as soon as he walks in the door they're to ring me here. If I don't answer, they're to ring for Matthew Lawson. We'll come at once and apprehend him at the pub."
"Lucien-"
He was on a roll, and barely heard her attempt to interrupt him, his voice rushing ahead with the fury of his own thoughts.
"We'll need to buy some time, so that Matthew or I can get there to help you. If he comes during the day, it would be best if you arrange to see him again that night. Tell him the same thing you told me, appointments only. If he thinks he's going to get what he wants that may satisfy him, and it would give us enough time to get in position to apprehend him. If he won't wait, or if he comes at night, you ought to take him straight upstairs, that way-"
"Excuse me?"
Lucien was not so caught up in his plans that he did not notice the hint of steel in her voice, and he blanched, wondering how he had offended her and how best to make amends.
"If you can keep him occupied-"
"Keep him occupied?" Jean repeated icily, and in the next breath she was sitting upright, pulling the sheet up with her to cover her breasts, an expression of towering fury upon her face. Too late Lucien realized what he had done, why she was cross, and too late he realized just how grievous a mistake he had made.
"Jean, darling-"
"Don't call me darling," she said, her eyes narrowed. "After everything you've just told me about this man, you want me to entertain him? You want me to take him into my home, into my bed, to risk myself and my girls -"
"I hardly think he'll attack you if he's-"
"If he's otherwise occupied?" she spat. Lucien had never before seen Jean quite this angry, and he was shaken to his very core by it, left feeling wretched and terrible for having been the cause of such anger, however unwittingly. In truth he had not thought his plan through; he had envisioned Jean taking Derek upstairs and himself rushing in only moments later, but Jean had seen what he could not, that once she was alone in her bedroom with Derek he would expect certain things, could not be put off indefinitely, and Jean would be left to carry on with the terrible charade until backup arrived. Of course Lucien did not want Derek's hands on Jean's skin, Derek's head on her pillow, did not want Derek within a hundred miles of his beloved, but he had spoken in haste, and he was paying the price for it now. Jean rolled away from him sharply, taking the sheet with her, casting about until she caught hold of her knickers. It might have been humorous, the sight of Jean trying to tug her knickers on while keeping the sheet wrapped around her body, but for the waves of pain and hurt radiating off her, pain he knew he'd caused.
"You think it's no great sacrifice for me to go to bed with him, just to buy you enough time to come barging into my home, and then what, Lucien? Are you going to pull him off me? Are you going to start a brawl right there in my bedroom?"
With her knickers securely in place she'd reached next for her bra, and as soon as it was fastened she let the sheet drop, and tugged on her skirt, her movements quick as lightning, punctuated by furious words he could not interrupt.
"I have not been with anyone else in ten years, Lucien. I chose you. Do you have any idea what you're asking of me?"
"I know," Lucien rushed to defend himself, hoping desperately there might be some way to soothe her ire and salvage their afternoon. "I know it's a lot to ask, Jean, but we need to keep him contained, away from the base, and you might not even have to-"
"I might not," she said, zipping her skirt up smartly. Her shoes and blouse were in the corridor outside his bedroom, and she had not bothered with her stockings or slip, stood with her hands on her hips, beautiful and wounded. "But you wouldn't care if I did, would you? I gave you a gift, Lucien. I gave you more than I've ever given to anyone else. But now I see I made a mistake. You're the same as all the rest, and as far as you're concerned I'm just a whore."
Tears gathered in the corners of her magnificent eyes as she spoke, and as she delivered that final blow she turned and began to walk away from him.
"No!" Lucien said emphatically, all but leaping from the bed, giving no mind to his own nakedness. Jean was moving quickly, had reached the doorway already, and to his horror he saw her pause there just long enough to pick up her bag, as if she did not mean only to leave the room, but to leave the house entirely.
"No, Jean, that's not it at all," he said, chasing after her, "I would never...I have never thought of you that way."
By the time he reached her she'd made her way into the corridor, paused long enough to slide her feet into her shoes even as she slipped into her blouse and began to fasten the buttons with shaking hands, staunchly refusing to look at him.
"You've paid to have me, Lucien," she said grimly. "And you'll let this monster have me, too, if it gets you what you want. But I'm the one to blame. I should have known better than to hope."
"Jean, please," Lucien gasped, thunderstruck by the finality of her words, utterly devastated by how quickly they had gone from holding one another to falling apart. Had they not just spent a beautiful day together? Had they not drifted from bliss to bliss, content with one another? Was it only an hour before he'd been dreaming of living with her in a little cottage in Adelaide? How could it have all fallen apart so quickly? And how the bloody hell was he supposed to make it right again? Desperately he reached for her, but Jean jerked back from him, denying him this one last chance to touch her.
"I'll put a lad on the door," she said heavily. "And we will ring you, if Major Alderton comes back. You can sort the rest of it out on your own. I don't want to see you in my pub again, Doctor Blake."
"Jean, please," he begged, wretchedly; he knew he must look a fool, naked and slack-jawed from the sudden reversal in their circumstances, but he could hardly bear the thought of her walking out that door, hating him as she seemed to do now. "Please, let's just talk about this."
"I let us get too close," she said, and though she was clearly still angry there was a note of regret in her voice that quite broke his heart. "It was always going to end between us. The time has come to face facts. I don't take customers anymore, Doctor Blake."
And then she stepped away from him, and made her way towards the door.
"At least let me drive you back," he said, grasping for some way to hold her in place, some chance to let her ire cool, some means to continue their conversation, something, anything, that might keep her with him, just a little while longer.
"I know my way home," she said softly, and then she reached for the door, and Lucien did the only thing he could think of in that moment.
"I love you, Jean," he said, softly, for he did, and he knew she needed to hear it. The words seemed to freeze her in place, her hand upon the door knob, but only for a moment.
"I know," she whispered, and then the door was opening, and she was stepping through it, and in a moment Lucien was alone once more.