4 February 1960
"Well," Jean said. There didn't seem to be anything else to say; the gauntlet had been thrown, such that it was, and Lucien had not picked it up, and Jean knew then that her hopes had been for naught, and her decision had been the right one.
"Good night, Lucien," she added, sitting the whiskey glass down on the sidetable and marching smartly from the room. That had been a stroke of boldness on her part, taking his whiskey; she'd told him she needed the courage, but it had taken more courage to reach for his decanter than the whiskey itself would ever give her. But she'd wanted it, wanted to stand there with him and sip his whiskey and see what he might have to say for himself. Only he'd said nothing at all, and she found herself wishing she could erase the whole sorry incident from her mind.
For the briefest of moments the whiskey burned through her veins and she paused in the doorway, wondering if he might chase after her, wondering if perhaps she ought to throw caution to the wind and ask him outright what it was she wanted to know of him, but she had not drunk enough to excuse such madness and she shook off that hesitation, slipping out into the corridor and up the stairs. She thought she might have heard him answer good night, Jean as she went, but if he had he'd spoken so softly she couldn't be sure she'd heard him at all.
Down the corridor, up the stairs she went; she closed her bedroom door smartly behind her, and rather than collapse back against it as she longed to do she began to strip out of her clothes, readying herself for bed.
The thing was done, the plans had been laid, and Jean had made her choice. When Christopher first asked her to come to Adelaide, to help look after Ruby and the baby, Jean had been uncertain, wavering between the duty she felt to help her son, and the longing that had kept her trapped in that house in Ballarat for so long. Things had been changing, of late; she and Lucien had shown more and more of themselves to one another, and she'd thought maybe. Maybe this was it, the moment when her fondness for him and his affection for her might tip over into something else, something wonderful. There was no doubt in her mind that he felt some affection for her; he'd very nearly kissed her that day in the sunroom, and then later they'd stood together in the garden, and he'd spoken to her of the future, of her dreams, spoken to her so softly her heart ached to think about it. now He must have felt something; she certainly had not been unaffected by the warm touch of his hand against her cheek. It had shaken her to her very core, standing there with him, his hand holding hers, his fingers brushing away her tears, his voice promising her that she could have what she wanted, whatever it might be.
It was him she wanted, the way she knew she ought not want him. His tender hands, his broad shoulders, his handsome face. His laugh, his wild heart, his unbridled passion. She wanted a piece of that passion for herself, wanted to take it and let it make her just as reckless as he. She wanted to be reckless, but she had been afraid for too long, and fear stayed her hand. The fear that he had only been kind, the fear that should she make her wants known he would confess he did not feel the same, the fear that she could not ever be the sort of woman who could capture and then keep his interest. What she needed, more than anything else, was a sign from him.
The invitation from Christopher had felt almost like a gift, in the beginning. Some men needed to be provoked into making advances, and while Lucien was not known for restraint he had been so, so reticent with her that she had come to suspect he might be one such a man. She'd thought that the risk of losing her might make him reach for her, but he had done no such thing. He had not tried to change her mind, had in fact been so preoccupied of late that he hardly even looked at her. The time had come when she could not put off giving Christopher an answer any longer, and without some indication from Lucien that he wanted her to say she had, at last, agreed to go to Adelaide.
And now the moment had come, and she'd told Lucien she meant to leave him, and though he looked a bit wounded by the thought he had not tried to dissuade her. That had been the moment, Jean knew. If he truly cared for her, if he truly did not want her to leave, that was the moment when he would have spoken, but he had done no such thing.
And you have your answer now, she told herself, slipping into her nightdress, preparing for bed. For the first time in days she felt at peace with her decision. She had no intention of staying somewhere she wasn't wanted, and she could not bear to be in Lucien's presence a moment longer, knowing that he did not care for her half so much as she'd thought. It would be better for them both in the end, she thought, if she were to leave. She could start again fresh somewhere else, and put aside this foolish infatuation, and he could continue on his merry way without her there to hold him back.
It's the right choice, she thought as she slid beneath the sheets, laid her head down on the pillow and tried to fight back the tears that threatened to spill from behind her tightly closed eyelids. She had prayed for a sign, and she knew that she had received one. She just wished, with all her heart, that her sign had told her something else.
4 February 2010
"All right?" Nick asked quietly as his car rolled to a stop in front of her house.
"Yeah," Jen said, refusing to look at him. If she looked at him now her resolve might waver, and that was the last thing she wanted to do to either of them, to give them cause to hope where hope could not be found. The choice had been made, and Jen knew she couldn't take it back, however much she might want to on nights like this when the world seemed grim and full of terror and Nick was warm and quiet beside her.
"Want me to walk you to the door?"
There was no hint of innuendo in his voice; the offer was a sincere one, made with her safety in mind. They were coming off a shitty case with a murderer who'd taken a shine to Jen, and even with their suspect behind bars she was still a bit jumpy. The man had stalked her, left threatening messages on her phone, a dead rabbit on her doorstep, and the whole cluster had exploded that afternoon in a shootout that had left Jen's car damaged and her hands shaking. But she was safe now, and she knew it, and she did not listen to her heart, begging her to take his hand and drag him into the house with her, to fall asleep safe and comforted in his arms. The moment for such intimacies had come and gone, and it would be cruel to ask such an indulgence of him now.
"No, it's all right," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow."
She dared to glance at him, and saw his jaw working the way it did when he had something he wanted to say that he knew she didn't want to hear.
"See you tomorrow," he said.
It was the closest thing to a dismissal she would ever get from him, and so she smiled at him once, wearily, and left him there, stepped out of the car and made her way up the pavement to her front door. Nick stayed right where he was until she was inside, until the porch light turned off. That was just his way; he was always looking after her, even after she'd broken his heart.
"Shit," she sighed into the stillness of her house. It was too quiet, and she'd endured too much stress lately, and the loneliness settled heavy on her shoulders and left her jumping at shadows. Maybe it was time to get another cat, but every time she thought about going to the shelter she remember what happened to Jerry, and stayed home. It wouldn't be fair to inflict her life on an innocent creature, one who hadn't signed up for this.
Slowly she drifted through the house, leaving a trail of clothes from the front door to the bathroom. It didn't matter if she made a mess, left her things to wrinkle on the floor. Nick liked things tidy, but Nick hadn't been inside her house in weeks, and probably never would be again. The thought sent a fresh wave of grief surging over her; it was too quiet, without his gentle voice in her ear, but it made her think about his house, too, about the renovations he'd only half completed, about how when the work was finally done she'd never get to see his vision come to life. Maybe she would, if he had the whole team over to celebrate, but it was a milestone they were meant to celebrate together, just the two of them, and if everyone else was there she wouldn't be able to tell him honestly how proud she was of him, wouldn't be able to remark on all the work he'd done without someone else realizing just how much time she'd spent in his house without anyone else around.
Stop it, she told herself. She tried to focus on getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth, washing her face, but her thoughts kept going back to Nick. Had it been the right choice? She asked herself for the hundredth time. Regulations said she couldn't have Nick and the job, that she would have to choose between them, and she'd made her choice. Chosen the job for both of them, thinking that neither of them would be happy without the work. Nick had offered to transfer for her but her mind was already made up and that only scared her worse, the thought of him giving up everything for her, and resenting her for it in the long run, wondering what he was doing trading his career for a woman. Leaving him the way she had, sitting in that car with him and hearing him come as close as she knew he ever would to telling her that he loved her and breaking things off with him anyway, it had hurt like hell but she told herself it was just the ripping off of a plaster. Better to get it over with, and quickly.
Whether it was the right choice or the wrong one didn't matter so much now, she thought as she slipped beneath her duvet, sighing as the weight of the day began to slip away. It was done, and there would be no changing it. He'd never trust her with his heart again, not after the way she'd shattered them both. At least now they could still work together, at least they hadn't been discovered and forced apart. Surely this was better, she thought; at least this way she could still see him, speak to him, every day. At least he hadn't had enough time to grow tired of her, and cast her aside.
But she was still alone, and there was scant reassurance to be found in the rationalizing of her conscious mind, and a tear slid silently down her cheek as she lay there in her bed, a bed that felt empty as a grave without Nick beside her.