18 September 1959

Dear Lucien, the letter began, I must say I was quite surprised to learn you've settled down in Australia; you always spoke of the place as if it were some terrible provincial coffin you were desperate to escape at any cost. I am, therefore, not entirely shocked to learn that you wish to leave. As it so happens, there are several positions available at the London, including one on male surgical, where you could both practice as a surgeon and instruct student doctors. I recall from our Army days your penchant for explaining things and your patience with the noncoms; I think you'd be remarkably well-suited to the task. If you truly wish to come and join me here in dear old misty London I would be delighted to have you. It would be quite nice to sit and have a pint and reminisce about the old days, and more to the point, were you to join the staff you would bring their average IQ up to a tolerable level. I'll not bore you with the dreary details of my own life - my wife hates me, I suspect my daughter is a budding anarchist, and my son spends a worrying amount of time alone in his room - and will say simply this: if you wish to come, truly, tell me at once, and I can assist in arranging your introduction to the current head of male surgical, and provide you with a positively glowing (and not entirely fabricated) reference.

Hope you're well, old friend.

Sincerely,

Dr. James Hadderfield

As he read it Lucien could almost hear Jimmy's voice echoing in his mind, though it had been more than a decade since last he'd seen his old friend and former brother-in-arms. They'd been stationed together in Singapore, before the war, but Jimmy had been injured just before the invasion and was sent home to recuperate, and so was blessed enough to avoid imprisonment by a matter of weeks. They'd kept in touch, after - Lucien still fondly recalled the day they'd been reunited, Lucien himself still rain-thin and exhausted from his internment, and the way Jimmy had thrown all sense of English repression to the wind and embraced him as a brother - and as this new plan began to shape in his mind Jimmy seemed the logical person for Lucien to call upon for aid.

The seeds of this particular idea had been planted back on that quiet August morning when last he'd had Jean in his bed. They had talked softly together of how Lucien might leave town, were it not for Jean. His initial reasons for coming to Ballarat - to settle his father's estate and find some permanent residence from which he could send and receive mail, as well as a steady income with which to pay the private investigator who was searching for his family - no longer applied. Li had been found, Mei Lin was dead, and he had already worked through the legalities with his father's solicitor. There was no reason, he thought, to stay. Doctor Harvey would make a fine police surgeon, and Lucien quite liked the idea of handing his duties over to a woman. His patients could find other GPs, or perhaps he could sell his home and the practice to some doctor looking to make a fresh start. He would miss Matthew, of course, but he was not certain that one friend was sufficient enticement to keep him in this town.

More than that, however, he was certain that should he leave Derek Alderton would get wind of it at once, and abandon any designs he had on Jean. Lucien had more contacts in London, and therefore more protection from any of Derek's schemes. It would be, he thought, the neatest way to protect both Jean and his wounded pride. It seemed to be, he thought, the best course of action.

And yet as he sat at his desk, listening to Mrs. Penny puttering around in the kitchen, Jimmy's brief letter clutched in his hands, he was at war with himself, torn between what he wanted to do, and what he felt he must. Logic told him that any future with Jean was beyond his reach, that while perhaps he could attempt to apologize for his most recent offense it was unlikely that Jean would accept him. He had, however briefly, entertained some notion of showing her a better life, a different life, but he was not entirely certain she wanted a different life, and even if she did, he could not be sure she wanted it with him. Jean had made her choices, and Lucien was not one of them. To leave Ballarat behind for the culture and excitement of London, for the comfort of old friends and the potential for new ones, for the prestige of a position at the London and the challenge of teaching young trainee doctors, seemed to be the best possible course of action.

Logic could say whatever it would; his heart remained rooted in the soil of Ballarat, where he cared for his patients, was able to get to know them, to form relationships with them, rather than treating a revolving door of nameless faces. Ballarat was calm, and quiet, after a lifetime of noise and adventure and pain. Ballarat was the warmth of his father's house, the comfort of his mother's memory, the pleasure of a drink shared with Matthew, the satisfaction of solving the riddle of a murder, the dream of Jean, the potential for home.

Was he really prepared to give it up? He couldn't quite say.

Lucien was in the very act of reaching for the whiskey bottle when there came a timid knock upon his office door, and in the next moment Mrs. Penny had opened it and stuck her head through.

"Apologies, Doctor," she said, and strange, he thought, but she looked a little wild-eyed. What on earth could have left her looking so surprised and out of sorts? "There's a young lady here to see you. No appointment."

Now that was interesting. Lucien had no further appointments scheduled and Matthew had no need of him, and so he saw no reason to send this unexpected visitor away.

"By all means," he said, "send her in."

Mrs. Penny frowned, but did as she was told, holding the door open and gesturing for the young lady - who was apparently standing just beside her - to step through.

Lucien's breath froze in his chest as she stepped into view, as Mrs. Penny closed the door behind her. It was Maureen, the girl with a riot of auburn curls whom Jean favored above all the rest. He could think of no possible reason for her coming here; always before when Jean or one of her girls had need of him they'd rung him first, and he had gone to them. None of them had ever ventured to his office, and he had no idea what to make of her arrival.

"Afternoon, Doc," she said. There was a confidence to Maureen; it wasn't that she was arrogant or that she carried herself with an air of superiority, but she moved with easy grace, always kept her chin up, and always behaved as if she were the perfect equal of everyone around her, regardless of their age or station. She was self-assured, and clever, and he'd always thought he might quite like her, if he ever got to know her properly.

"Good afternoon, Maureen," he said, and only then did he realize that he did not know the girl's last name. Ordinarily he would have done her the courtesy of calling her Miss, but having no idea how to follow it up he was forced to use her Christian name. "Come, have a seat," he continued, gesturing to the two little chairs that faced his desk. "What can I do for you?"

She sauntered across the room and folded herself elegantly into one of the chairs, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap. She wore dark trousers and a smart blue blouse, and her keen eyes watched him intently, leaving him with the rather unpleasant feeling of being inspected under a microscope.

"Mrs. Beazley doesn't know I'm here," she began, and Lucien's curiosity rocketed to new heights. It had been a month since his falling out with Jean; had she told her girls? Had they perhaps noticed his absence, and remarked on it? Had Maureen come to give him a bollocking, or was she in need of his aid? He was desperately eager to learn what this was all about.

"We have a bit of a...delicate situation. You remember Lorraine?"

"She's the one with the dark hair? Cut short?" Lucien asked, gesturing as if to mimic the curl of Lorraine's neatly trimmed tresses. Maureen looked pleased that he recalled her, and he hoped that would earn him some piece of her favor.

"Yes," Maureen said. "She's in a bit of trouble. Not that sort of trouble," she added quickly, catching Lucien's look. "She's not expecting. But she's got...well. There's these little bumps. On...well. They're in a delicate spot. This morning she told me she's got a rush on her stomach, and her palms."

"Ah," Lucien said then, realizing why it was Maureen had come. It was an unpleasant reality for ladies working in their particular profession, the possibility of contracting some disease, and by the sound of it this one was likely syphilis. Jean had told him that she encouraged her girls to protect themselves in every possible way, but some of them, she'd said, were less confident and did not demand that the gentlemen wear protection. Without it, little problems like this one were almost inevitable.

"She needs a doctor. She didn't want to tell Mrs. Beazley because she's scared, but I've seen this before. I know she's in trouble, and Doctor King won't give us the time of day."

"If it's what I think it is, it is curable," Lucien told her. "We could manage it easily enough."

"Will you come, then?"

For a moment Lucien simply stared at her, aghast. He wanted to say yes, at once. He wanted to gather up his bag and a vial of penicillin and drive to the Lock and Key that very moment. But the memory of Jean's face, her grim expression as she told him that she did not ever want him to return, held him back. Would it not be unkind to fly in the face of her wishes? Could Lorraine not visit him here just as easily as Maureen had done, and spare both he and Jean the unpleasantness of his unexpected arrival in her home? He did not know what, if anything, Jean had told Maureen about their falling out, and he did not feel it was his place to tell her such personal things about her employer. How could he best care for Lorraine and keep from offending Jean still further?

"I know you fell out," she said softly, and his heart sank. It was somewhat reassuring, to know he did not have to explain himself to her, but it grieved him to wonder what she must think of him, given how things ended with Jean. "I want to hate you for hurting her but I know it's more complicated than that. She was...happy, when you were around. And she's been bloody miserable ever since. She hasn't said anything," she added, and Lucien wondered then how much of his own grief must have shown on his face, for her to read his thoughts so easily, "but she's quieter, now, and she just looks...sad. I think you ought to talk to her. And besides, Lorraine refuses to come. She's afraid she's going to lose her job, and she's afraid of doctors. You're the only one who could help her, but she'd see you here."

As a doctor, Lucien knew he had no other choice. Likely Lorraine was only in the early stages of her disease, and it would be critical to treat her now, before the symptoms grew more advanced. And she presented a risk to the community at large, should she continue to take customers; she could pass it to the men, who might take it home and pass it to their wives, or pass it to other girls in the pub who in turn passed it to other men, and he could very well soon find himself overrun with patients. If Lorraine would not seek treatment elsewhere, he had a duty to go to her, to intervene before things got out of hand.

And he wanted, more than anything, to speak to Jean again. If he came to the pub not to pester or plead with her, but with the noble purpose of caring for one of her girls, perhaps she would not dismiss him immediately. Perhaps he might have a chance, however slim, of restoring some of their good rapport.

It was a chance he had to take.

"Very well," he said. "I think it's best I come now, before she starts seeing customers this evening. Early intervention is key."

Maureen rose to her feet, then, having no doubt decided that their little meeting was at an end, and as she did Lucien suddenly wondered how it was she had come to this place, whether she had walked or if she had the means to drive herself. It was an awfully long walk from the Lock and Key to his front door.

"Thank you, Doctor," she said.

"If you'll wait just a moment, you can ride with me," he said, shuffling around in search of his case. She did not immediately answer, and he looked up to find her watching him with a curious expression on her face.

"That's very kind of you to offer," she told him with a wry smile. "I'd rather not walk, if I don't have to."

"It's settled, then," he said, hefting his case and crossing the room in search of the cabinet that housed his medicines. He was full of purpose now, and Jimmy's letter lay forgotten on the desk behind him.