Two weeks went by. Two weeks of being snapped at and avoided and scolded. Lucien wasn't quite sure what to do. Jean had saved his life from Sergeant Hannam; he knew the man would have been able to kill him without difficulty had Jean not intervened. And now she seemed to regret her kind act.
The events of that evening went through Lucien's head over and over and over. Jean so calmly standing there, commanding that Hannam let him go, her whole countenance full of power like he'd never seen. She was a formidable woman, he knew. She had always intrigued and intimidated him, despite her small frame and feminine ways. But this was more than just a strange habit of leaving the house at odd times and standing out in the moonlight. How had she done that? How had she managed to make Sergeant Hannam give up like that? Lucien had never seen anything like it. A man like Hannam did not give up. A man like that did not let anything come in the way of carrying out his orders. And if his orders were to kill Lucien Blake in order to protect Derek Alderton and the army's plans, Lucien should have been dead.
Lucien had tried to ask Jean about it, but of course she evaded him. He'd attempted to work his way up to it, to get her engaged in conversation about the surgery or something for the household, but she had started to grow curt with him after the first few attempts. Once, he'd flat out asked her what had happened with Hannam, and she had given him a curious look and simply replied, "You were there, Lucien." And that was that.
In truth, he was less frustrated with her attitude towards him now than he'd been back when Dad was still alive. She'd been busy and disapproving, and he'd found her stodgy and interfering. At the time, he'd resented the presence of others in his life and his world. Now, he had grown used to her care and concern. And he appreciated what she did for him. He liked having her there. He liked watching her work. He liked talking to her—when she wasn't being snide with him, at least. And he liked that she was in his life. Truth be told, perhaps he liked her presence a little more than he should have. After Hannam had been arrested, Jean had looked him over to make sure he wasn't hurt. At first, he'd been flattered by that kind care of hers. But there was a sort of fire in her eyes as she regarded him. Her fingers held his chin and her expression had turned hungry. It seemed laughable that she might be anywhere near attracted him in as he was to her. Now that was a flattering thought. But very silly, he knew.
Lucien reached his breaking point, though. He made himself a cup of tea after a morning patient appointment and went out to the garden to check on Jean beating the rugs on the clothesline with a broom handle. She had a scarf tied around her nose and mouth, and the way her whole body moved with the force of her actions was entrancing. The 'thwump' sound of broomstick on rug was a testament to the power she produced from that tiny body of hers. It was actually quite impressing. But he called her attention before he could get carried away staring at her. He asked if she was doing alright.
Jean turned and removed the scarf, looking at him with an expression of daring, as though she wanted him to question her. And she said, "Where's my tea?"
He stammered for a moment, trying to find a suitable excuse, but she just put her scarf back on and returned to her task. Properly chastised, Lucien went right back to the kitchen and made her a fresh cup. Jean barely said three words to him the rest of the day, choosing only to snip at him about the broken vacuum cleaner.
The last Lucien had checked, he did not have a nagging wife. He had an employed housekeeper to take care of the house. How as he to know that he was expected to buy a new vacuum cleaner or make tea for her or any of the thousand other little tasks he apparently was wrong to assume Jean took care of herself.
In the end, he went to Mattie, practically on his knees, humbled into asking what he could do to put Jean in a better mood.
"Well, she likes being taken advantage just as much as the rest of us," Mattie told him sarcastically.
Lucien wasn't sure what to do with that. Was he taking advantage? He certainly didn't mean to.
Mattie went on, "Of course it could just be that time of the month or perhaps the stars have aligned…"
"I'm trying, Mattie," Lucien admonished, displeased over her teasing. "I've never had so much trouble with any woman before!"
"Lucky you," Mattie quipped.
He sighed in exasperation. "What I mean is, I've never really had a housekeeper before. My father employed one to do the cooking and cleaning when I was a boy, but she did not live here, and I didn't interact with her much at all, since I avoided coming home as much as possible. And we had three servants in Singapore, but my wife managed all of that. And since the war, I've lived in army accommodations and boarding houses. At first, Jean was bothered that I didn't respect her rules and let her do her job properly. And now it seems I've swung too far, and I've clearly made assumptions and ended up on her bad side again."
Finally, Mattie took pity on him. "It's your house, you're supposed to make sure it has all the materials she needs to care for it. That means buying a new vacuum when the old one stops working and helping her empty the bag or whatever else she needs. She might be your housekeeper, but it is your house. I know you pay her, but you've got to take some responsibility for it, too."
"I can't say I can imagine Dad helping Jean replace a vacuum bag," he mused.
"Your father also didn't create so much chaos for her to worry about either," she pointed out in return.
Lucien gave a small chuckle. "Yes, you're probably right about that. I'll go out and get Jean a new vacuum today."
"But don't use that to get out of getting her a proper gift though," Mattie warned.
He frowned. "How do you mean?"
"Well, I know she's annoyed at you for taking advantage of her, but I was here this time last year as well so I know that…well, Jean gets a little moody at her birthday. It's on Thursday."
That certainly changed things. But it gave Lucien the perfect opportunity to do what he should to make it up to her. Things were delayed and distracted quite a bit when one of the young police constables was bitten by an Asian pit viper in the crashed car of a dead man. Jean was a great help at the boarding house with those travelling salesmen, with Claire and Frank Connolly, and with everything else. And when it was all over, he knew he needed to set things to rights.
He knew immediately, somehow, what he wanted to give her as a token of his appreciation. He'd never imagined parting with that particular item, but it felt right that Jean should have it. Even though she'd been so short with him as of late, Lucien could not forget the way she'd saved him from Hannam nor the way they had found their kinship in the horrible loss caused by the war. Though he'd not even known her a year, Lucien felt somehow like Jean was a connection to his past. She knew hardship. She knew grief. She knew loneliness. She knew them all as well as he did. And she knew this town where he was born, and she had known and cared for his father. Despite her moodiness and strange ways, Jean was a part of him. It did not make much sense, thinking it through, but Lucien had always placed a high value on his own intuition. And this felt right.
Lucien knocked on her bedroom door, and when she bid him entry, he came inside to find her darning a shirt at her vanity table.
"Is it safe to come in?" he asked warily.
She gave a comical little gasp. "Perhaps," she teased.
A better mood. She was smiling, at least. That was a nice change. "I just wanted to say thank you," he told her.
Jean gave a small, sincere smile and a little nod. Lucien entered her bedroom, suddenly feeling very much like an intruder. He did not fit in here, this space that was hers. The pink walls and the floral bedspread. Everything was elegant and dainty and small, and Lucien Blake was none of those things. But he pressed on despite his discomfort, sitting down on the edge of her bed beside where she sat.
Lucien pulled out the small wrapped box from his pocket. "Erm, happy birthday for tomorrow. I hadn't forgotten," he said, handing her the little parcel.
Jean looked at him with a mix of confusion and amusement and surprise. "Lucien," she said, her voice laced with emotion.
He encouraged her to take it. He'd wrapped the thing himself, though he did not tell her that. The wrapping was white with green leaves and he'd tied a pale pink bow around it, hoping she would like that. She took the box from him and began to unwrap it. It was clear that the both of them were feeling a bit nervous and uncomfortable with the whole thing, but the more nervous Jean got, the more confident Lucien felt. She'd not been very nice to him as of late, regardless of the justification for it, and hopefully this little kindness from him would go a long way to mending whatever damage he'd done to warrant her attitude. That was his hope, at any rate. He had wanted to thank her, sincerely, for all that she did for him. And she did so very much.
She opened the box and found the jade and diamond brooch inside. Her red painted fingers brushed the surface of it with awe. "Oh, thank you," she breathed. "It's beautiful. Was it hers?"
Lucien had not expected her to ask that question, but she was perfectly entitled to do so. She knew better than anyone his strange schedule; she knew he'd not had time to go to a shop to purchase this item. It was only right to suspect that it may have belonged to his wife. But thankfully it had not. "No, I, um, I bought it before the Japanese invaded, and I…I thought it might make a good present one day. Indeed it has."
And that was the truth. He had bought it, intending to give it to Mei Lin. But he had kept it, holding on to the hope of the past. Back when there was still hope to be had. Jean, though…Jean deserved to have it. She was the perfect recipient of this beautiful bauble. She who had known pain as he had, she who felt to him like a link to his past and a doorway into the future. Without his knowing it, Jean Beazley had healed him. And he wanted to thank her for it.
Oh there was still plenty of work to be done, Lucien knew. He was by no means perfect, and he knew he'd do something to stuff it up again in no time. And there was still so much he did not know about this lovely woman sitting here beside him trying to hold back her tears. He wanted to give her this gift to thank her for being a friend to him, to give her something beautiful that she might enjoy, to celebrate her birthday as she deserved, and to hopefully show her that he was trying, in his own way, to be better. For now, this was all he could do.
Lucien stood and swallowed back the lump in his throat to tell her, "Happy birthday, Jean." And with that, he walked out of her room, leaving her with her gift. He hoped she would enjoy it.