Jean set the tray of freshly made strawberry jam on the old table in the cellar. It was about time they had a proper clearout, she thought. There was so much of both her and Lucien's past lived down there, so much that hadn't seen the light of day for as long as she had been there, some for longer.
She put the freshly made jam on the shelves and brought the remaining jars from last year forward and stepped backwards, turning her ankle on the uneven floor. She reached out to steady herself, briefly knocking against an old glass demi-john.
The resulting explosion from the still fermenting cider resounded in the enclosed space and temporarily deafened her.
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Upstairs, in his study, Lucien stopped what he was doing and listened. He was sure he had heard a loud bang and a scream from somewhere in the house. He knew Jean had been jam-making and pouring hot jam into a cold jar could cause said jar to crack, but this was much more than that.
The door to the cellar was open; as he started to descend there was another bang and another scream.
"Lucien!"
All thoughts of safety fled from his mind as he ran down the steps to pull up short at the sight of Jean seemingly drenched in some unknown liquid and broken glass all around, and possibly on, her.
"Jean?"
"Your father's attempts at cider making," she stood trembling. "I forgot about it. We tried it and it was dreadful ... Lucien, I'm sure there is glass on me."
"Right," he ran his hand over his head, "don't move."
"Lucien," she huffed.
"Now, Jean," he approached gingerly, "I'm going to take a cursory look then I think the best idea is for you to take your clothes off ..."
"Lucien!"
"If there is glass in your clothes, anywhere, any movement may cut you." He reached over and took a piece of glass out of her hair, "see?"
"Lucien ..." she looked round.
"Jean ... darling ..." he smiled, "I have seen you undressed before ..."
"I know," she gritted her teeth, "but what if someone comes in?"
He shook his head and laughed, even soaked to the skin in sticky apple juice and covered with glass, his beautiful wife was worried about being caught semi-naked in the cellar.
"I have plenty of ideas for places to make love to you, but a dark and dirty cellar is not one of them. If you're good I might show you somewhere new ... later ... but first ..."
The cider had begun to dry; Jean felt sticky and the smell of old alcohol had begun to permeate the air.
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She was down to her bra, girdle and stockings; everything she touched she stuck to.
"That should be enough," Lucien hummed, "you need to keep your shoes on to protect your feet."
"I think they're stuck," Jean wrinkled her nose and reached for Lucien's outstretched hand.
"Thank goodness we have an en-suite," she muttered halfway up the steps.
"Only me!"
"Matthew!" Jean's eyes widened.
Lucien bit back a laugh and put his fingers to his lips.
"Wait here."
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"Matthew," he wasn't sure what to say. "Look, one of dad's demi-johns exploded covering Jean in rotten apple juice and glass ..."
"Gotcha," Matthew nodded, "I'll go and put the kettle on ..."
(Putting the kettle on was code for 'I'll get out of the way')
"Grand," Lucien watched him stomp down to the kitchen and as soon as he was out of sight turned to Jean and motioned her up.
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Lucien helped her out of her shoes, turned the shower on and suggested she remove the rest of her clothes under the warm running water. As the water flowed over Jean the sound of the occasional glass shard hitting the bottom of the bath could be heard. Jean peeled off her underwear, which Lucien dropped into the sink, then he removed his shirt and singlet and leant in to sweep as much glass out of the way of her feet. He tried to keep his mind on scooping the glass out of the bath and off the water cascading down Jean's slender, naked body.
"The cellar will need cleaning," she sighed.
"Let's deal with you first," he held out a large towel and lifted her out of the bath, "then we'll work out how to clear it up – together. Now, let me check you have no cuts that I couldn't see before."
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Lucien handed her her robe, satisfied she had come to no physical harm, though that didn't stop him holding her close and kissing her softly.
"Alright?"
"Strangely tired," she yawned.
"That'll be the adrenalin leaving your bloodstream; shock."
"Oh."
"Tell you what, I'll get started while you dress; I'm sure Matthew will give me a hand."
"You'll need bleach for the floor, we'll get ants if we don't get it all!" she called after him.
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"Your father kept a lot of ..."
"... rubbish?"
Matthew shrugged, it wasn't his place, really, to comment on his landlord's late father's hoarding habits.
"Seems dear old dad was a bit of a hoarder," he help up an old sphygmomanometer.
They tossed the broken glass into a bucket as they found it, and piled up the junk up to one side.
"Hey," Matthew pointed to the wall, "is that a window?"
They were under the surgery where part of the ground sloped to the back garden. The cellar was really just the empty space under the house; the floor had been levelled out with the foundations when it had been built by Lucien's father. It wasn't a large space and only really used by Jean to store the excess preserves she made and the wine rack which was neither large nor filled with expensive wines. The Bordeaux Mrs Genevieve Blake had had a taste for had gradually been drunk and not replaced; Thomas had not been much of a wine drinker and Lucien tended to buy the lighter white wines that Jean preferred. He occasionally bought a robust claret but only if the meal Jean was serving warranted it.
The little window had been hidden for years by an old examination table from the surgery, standing on one end. It had slipped sideways when Lucien was checking for further shards of glass, thus exposing the opening.
"Right," Lucien pushed hard against the window frame. It took several thumps with the sphygmomanometer case before it gave way, "let's push as much through as we can ..."
"Lucien?" Jean stepped cautiously off the bottom step.
"Ah, Jean," he smiled and stepped over the still sticky floor, "how are you feeling?"
"A little shaky to be honest," she let him kiss her cheek, "hello, Matthew."
"Jean," Matthew nodded, "how do you want to tackle the floor?"
"Bleach," she looked round, "you've sorted out a lot of stuff."
"We reckon we can push a lot through this window, here," he waved his hand to what they had already piled up as junk.
"... and the exam bed?" she raised an eyebrow.
"Er, yes, well ..." he scratched his head.
"Slide it up the stairs?" Matthew shrugged.
"Could do," Lucien agreed.
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"Tea?" Jean held up the pot as Lucien and Matthew returned from the bathrooms, showered and changed.
"Lovely," Matthew licked his lips, "that was thirsty work."
"Good job done, though," Lucien hummed. "I'll just drink this and then pop out for fish and chips, eh?"
"Thank you, both of you, for all you did," Jean gave him a grateful smile, "I was going to do a roast."
"Perhaps tomorrow?" Lucien asked hopefully.
She nodded.
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"Poor Jean," Alice frowned as Matthew recounted the incident and the clear-up he had helped with, which caused him to be later than planned visiting the pathologist.
"She was shaken," he agreed.
"How's the leg?" she put her drink down and looked towards his injured knee.
"Bloody awful," he groaned.
"Bet you didn't say anything to Jean or Lucien."
"No need to make them feel guilty," he shook his head, "I'm sure you can help, doctor."
Alice gave a wicked grin, "Trousers off, Superintendant!"