It took a few days for Jean to settle back into the house. Sunny's cot was pushed into her room, though it was a tight squeeze, so she didn't have to keep getting up in the night to feed and change her. Dr Blake insisted she took a nap each afternoon, with the baby, until she had passed the official lying in period.

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She had to go and register Sunny's birth at the town hall and this would be the test, for her, that she could go into Ballarat without being gossiped about, too much. She also had to do some grocery shopping, they were fast running out of fresh fruit and vegetables.

"Ask them to deliver what you choose, Jean," Thomas suggested, "you won't be able to carry it and push Sunny."

"You know, doctor," she mused as she settled a fed and clean baby in the pram, "there should be some kind of basket affair under the pram, for mothers who do their own shopping."

"The trouble is, good prams like this are made for nannies to take their charges out. What did your mother use, for you?"

"I think she tucked the shopping round me," Jean smiled, "and carried her basket."

"I think Genevieve used to carry what she needed immediately and have the rest delivered," he stroked the edge of the pram, remembering a certain blonde haired little boy who used to lie there, "why don't you do that. Let the grocer and butcher know I would like to have the orders delivered."

"If you think that's best, doctor," she smiled, shyly. Things such as this were not usual for her. The last shopping she had done for him, towards the end of her pregnancy she had taken the car.

"I do," he patted her shoulder, "right, off you go, enjoy your walk."

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Jean had chosen market day to go into Ballarat, perhaps it would have been better if she had chosen a quieter day, but the market had stalls she liked to buy from, things like fresh farm eggs, home-made jams she hadn't yet learned to make herself. But first ... the registrar.

He was an officious little man, bent from years of slaving over a desk, small dark eyes peering through half moon glasses.

"Yes?" he questioned, low and solemn.

"I'd like to register my baby's birth," she whispered, her mouth dry.

He drew out a book of forms and lifted his fountain pen,

"Name?"

"Mary," she had thought about Genevieve for a middle name but decided it wasn't a name for little girls born to an abandoned mother, so, "Mary," she repeated, "her name is Mary."

"Mother?"

"Jean Mary Beazley," she drew herself up a little.

"Father?"

Christopher Beazley."

He looked up at her, then continued his writing.

"Address?"

She gave the doctor's address, after all she lived there, but she did blush, a little.

He passed her the certificate and she folded it and tucked it under the mattress in the pram, then headed out to continue her shopping and to pass the message to the butcher and grocer that Dr Blake would like his orders to be delivered after Mrs Beazley had selected the goods.

There were too many people around for anyone to notice her in particular. She chose a dozen eggs and a jar of orange marmalade from the stall she preferred, and tucked them out of the way of Sunny's feet, before turning to go to the butchers and green grocers.

"Jean?" she was tapped on the shoulder, "Jean, goodness, where have you been?"

It was a friend, of sorts, someone who had been around when she and Christopher were widely accepted to be courting. Jean hadn't been one of the group really, she hadn't gone into Ballarat in the evening, her parents wouldn't allow it, that was when Christopher went out on his own. They hadn't seen each other since before the wedding, Ruth having taken a job in Castlemaine.

"Oh," Ruth looked down at the pram, and the handlebar, "yours?"

Jean had never been more grateful for losing a glove, at least her wedding ring was on display.

"Yes," she answered, quietly, "Mary."

"How old, she's so sweet?" Ruth positively squealed in delight.

"Nearly a month," Jean put her hand gently on the sleeping child.

"So, you're up at the Beazley farm? "Ruth continued, "I heard they were selling."

"Yes, they are, and, no, I'm Dr Blake's housekeeper, now," Jean dearly wanted to go to the shops and head home.

"Gosh," Ruth's eyes widened, "come and have a cuppa, with some of the others, at the cafe."

"I have things to do, for the doctor," Jean made to turn the pram, "before surgery," she really didn't want to get into a heart to heart about where Christopher was, or that he had run away, and, she did need to see to the doctor's lunch.

"Right, well," Ruth shrugged her shoulders, "another time."

"Yes, another time," Jean smiled slightly.

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Jean selected the meat and vegetables, fruit and groceries she needed and the shop owners were only too happy to deliver for Dr Blake. It had been easier than she thought. She went to the florist to get flowers for the waiting room and the hall before heading back to feed both Sunny and the doctor.

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"I've just seen Jean," Ruth sat in the cafe with some of the others who had been friends at one time. "She was pushing a pram, what are you lot not telling me?"

"Well, you high tailed it off to the bank in Castelmaine, " one young man said, "thought you were done with us."

"Come on Geoff," she teased, "tell me all."

Geoff looked at her. He hadn't been too friendly with Christopher, thought he was a skirt chaser of the wrong sort. "Shouldn't really," he shrugged, "she got hurt bad, by him."

"Poor Jean, though she seemed ok, just now."

"Up to her to tell," he pressed his lips together, "but if ever I see him I shall beat him into next week."

Ruth could see she wasn't going to get anymore out of Geoff, or the others, but Christopher had obviously done something bad and then run off. Was the wedding ring for show?

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Thomas noticed Jean was quiet, thoughtful, when she came back from shopping. She put the eggs and marmalade away and took Sunny upstairs for a feed, before seeing to lunch for herself and the doctor. He didn't intrude on her thoughts, knowing that she would tell him, sooner or later. He had another issue to deal with - Lucien had written.

He was surprised to get a letter from his son. They hadn't parted on the best of terms which had distressed Thomas but he didn't know how to deal with someone who was too like himself, when he was young. It wasn't a long letter, more a note just to let him know his intentions.

Jean put out a bowl of salad, some cold meat, cheese and bread, and a jug of water.

"The butcher and greengrocer are happy to deliver any heavy orders, doctor," she handed him the cold meat, "today's order should be here just before surgery."

"See, I told you they would do it," he smiled, "you have nothing to be ashamed of Jean, no need to worry what people say."

"Really, Dr Blake," she tutted, "I'm not."

"Not even a little bit?" he teased.

"Alright," she smiled, "I met Ruth Short, well, she found me in the market. I haven't see her for a long time, since before I ..." she fingered her ring, "anyway ... it doesn't matter. She was meeting some others and asked me to join them, I didn't want to sit there, being interrogated, over tea."

"Ah," he nodded wisely, "I quite understand. I used to get that, except it was usually to meet someone, after Genevieve passed." He turned his attention to his lunch, with a sigh, "I received a letter from Lucien, today."

"Oh, I wasn't sure ..."

"He says he is going to join the army, as a medic," he paused, "he'll go in officer class, with that qualification."

"You don't want him to, do you?" she saw worry in his eyes.

"Not really, but," he put his fork down, "oh Jean, I don't quite know what to say to him."

"Don't be angry with him," she murmured, "he's your son. Why don't you ... sorry, none of my business."

"No, go on," he encouraged, "I trust you, perhaps, from a mother's point of view."

"Well, I would tell him I was proud of him, for qualifying as a doctor, that I understand he wants to do something worthwhile, and though I had hoped he would come home, perhaps help here, or take his skills into a hospital, I would wish him well, or good luck. Hope that he writes and lets you know how he's getting on ... something like that." She blushed at what she perceived as her audacity, it was not for her, his housekeeper, to tell him what to say in his letter to his son.

"Thank you Jean," he smiled, "perhaps I will do just that. I do want him to take over the practice, one day, but maybe he has to find his place in the world himself, or find his way back here his way, not out of a sense of duty."

"I know how hurt my parents in law are, over Christopher leaving," she sighed, "I'd hate for you to go through the same."

"You are such a sweet young lady," he murmured, "I'm so glad you found you were able to come to me."

She just nodded and turned her attention to her meal.

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Jean closed the accounts book and took it back to the study, for the doctor to check. While he now expected her to see to the accounts, send out the bills and receipts he would still check them each week. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, he did, implicitly, but he had seen to them for so long it was difficult to let go completely. She had a few letters to type, she was getting quicker, and then she would get on with preparing the vegetables for dinner.

Cooking for Dr Blake had started with the recipes she knew and gradually she had used Mrs Blake's recipe books and added some other, to her, more extravagant dishes. Tonight it was a beef casserole she had made yesterday. It was always better eaten the following day, thick and warming, with mushrooms, carrots and a generous half bottle of red wine. Dr Blake ordered his own wines and let Jean take what she needed for cooking. She had left enough for him to have a glass with his meal, and her half a glass diluted with water, she found it a bit heavy. She had been very surprised when he told her they would eat together in the kitchen, and that if he was having a glass of wine she was welcome to join him. At first she had refused the wine but, since Sunny had been born she had tried it and enjoyed one with her meal. It wasn't every evening, usually towards the end of the week, or if she had used it in cooking.

She took the dish out of the fridge and placed it in a low oven before checking that Sunny was alright in the pram and heading to her typewriter in the waiting room. There was no surgery that afternoon, the doctor was at the hospital performing an autopsy on a man who had been found in an alley the previous night. He had told her about it, telling her it was difficult to ascertain time of death as it was so cold at night, the body was almost frozen when it was found. He didn't really want to discuss murder cases with a young woman but she had asked why he was so down one evening and he had told her a young woman had been pulled out of Lake Wendouree and it appeared she had been beaten to death and then her body thrown into the lake to hide it. But she had listened, been saddened about the death and, when he had told her the name of the girl, said she knew her from church. She had told him who she saw her with and the police had taken it from there. His involvement stopped there, so she knew he would be home, for his dinner, at five thirty.

Jean had nearly finished the first letter when there was a knock on the door. She wasn't expecting anyone, perhaps it was someone for the doctor, but with no surgery ...

"Ruth!" she exclaimed, then remembered her place, "what can I do for you?"

"Just thought I'd pop by for a chat," Ruth smiled, "unless you're too busy, with the doctor."

Jean didn't like the inference, but if she sent her away she would turn it into something else, "I was just typing some letters for him, I suppose they can wait until later," she stepped to the side, "come in, I'll make some tea."

Jean had never had her own friends, who were few, to drink tea with her in the doctor's house, and she thought maybe she should apologise when he came home, for now, she thought she knew why Ruth was here.

Ruth followed her down the hall, noting how clean the place was, that the woodwork was polished and the flowers in the vase on the hall table were fresh. Ruth was the same age as Jean and she was the first to admit she would not be able to work as a housekeeper, she lived in lodgings in Castlemaine and had her laundry done for her. She knew Jean's mother had insisted she help out in the house and it would seem those lessons had come in handy.

She sat at the table and watched Jean make the tea, put out cups, milk in a little jug and a plate of, what appeared to be, homemade shortbread.

"You live in, then?" she asked lightly.

"Yes," Jean put the teapot on the table, "I have my own room, upstairs."

"Nice," Ruth observed.

"I work here, Ruth," Jean huffed, "cook and clean, am his receptionist, do the book-keeping ... it's not an easy life." Jean didn't find it a hard life, but she wasn't going to let Ruth know that.

"So, where's Christopher?"

Jean frowned, they still hadn't been able to find him, Dr Blake said she had been abandoned, deserted, and if he didn't return at the end of a year, she had grounds for divorce. She had been surprised, they were both Catholics and the church would probably throw her out if she divorced him.

"Geoff said if he saw him he'd beat him into next week," Ruth continued, "did he run out on you, Jean?"

Jean looked at her, she didn't know if she wanted to upset her, or was genuinely there to chat.

"His father insisted we get married," Jean sighed and slumped in her chair, "he didn't want to, we had the little cottage on the farm. He left when I was six months gone. Everybody knows we had to get married, though I did try to leave Ballarat before it became obvious, to all but Dr Blake ..."

She opened up about how Thomas had found her at the bus station, how he had taken her in, offered her a job, a home, talked to the Beazley's ...

"... so, I had nowhere to go. I came to ask him if the offer still held, and here I am."

"You look content, Jean," Ruth touched her arm, "are you?"

"I am, Ruth, thank you," Jean was much more relaxed now, "it works for both of us. There was a little gossip, at first, but that died down. I think it was the Clasby's and some of his other patients. I'm younger than his son, Ruth," Jean laughed, "he treats me as an equal, though that's hard to believe. Farm girls usually go on to raise the next generation of farmers."

"I'm glad, Jean, so now I'll tell you about what Chris got up to when he was in town, of an evening." Ruth sat back, she hadn't liked how Christopher treated Jean, seeing her as an innocent, sweet and slightly vulnerable to the handsome boy's charms.

"I have some idea," Jean admitted, "two up, other girls, drinking ..."

"Precisely, he tried it on with most of us girls, some succumbed," Ruth looked down, "do you remember his going home with a scratch down his cheek? You wouldn't have seen it 'til the following day."

"Vaguely," Jean tipped her head, "it happened a couple of times, he said it was an argument over two up or cards."

"One time it was me," Ruth blushed, "oh, don't worry, he didn't get the chance, that was what the scratch was for. I knew he was dating you, I don't double date, Jean. Others, well, I know he, well, you know what I'm saying, with Sally."

"Sally suddenly left town," Jean put her hand to her mouth, "oh heavens, pregnant?"

Ruth nodded, "silly girl, did something about it. She lives in Castlemaine, she came into the bank, where I work." Ruth leant forward, "she looks bloody awful, Jean, thin, miserable. I met up with her, for a cuppa, it made a mess of her, she'll never have kids now."

Tears sprang to Jean's eyes, Sally had been one she was closer to, nobody would tell her why she had left town, though she had begun to think.

"Poor thing," Jean sighed, "is she working?"

"Yeah," Ruth nodded, "cleans in a hotel."

They sat in silence for a while until Sunny decided it was her turn for some attention.

"She needs feeding," Jean smiled, "you can stay, if you want, while I see to her."

"Oh, alright," Ruth had thought she should leave Jean for some privacy, but her mother had shown her how to be discreet if another woman was around.

Jean changed the baby and took her to the living room, draping a blanket over her shoulder and Sunny while she fed her.

"I thought," Jean kept her eyes fixed on the baby, contentedly suckling, "I thought you were going to gloat, or gossip," she spoke quietly, "because I got myself into a situation."

"God no!" Ruth almost laughed, "there but for the grace and all that," she sat back in the chair and watched the young woman, "Jean he was never going to do right by you."

"I know," she sighed, "but at least they can't give Mary a label."

"What will you do, about Christopher?"

"I'm not sure," she was torn, between obtaining a divorce and an annulment, or waiting seven years or so and having him declared dead. "I suppose I shall just keep doing what I do, here, for the time being, it suits us both."

Sunny had finished feeding so Jean held her against her shoulder and winded her.

"Better, sweetheart," she murmured in her tiny ear. Sunny smacked her lips in satisfaction and closed her eyes for her next round of sleep. Jean deftly tidied herself up before draping the blanket over the back of the couch again and offering the baby to Ruth.

"Oh, can I?" Ruth's eyes widened and she smiled. "She's adorable," she gushed, "so tiny."

"She has her moments," Jean smiled, "usually in the middle of the night." She watched Ruth stroke the baby's head, the smattering of dark hair, not as dark as her father's, less of a reminder of him. "I don't regret it, not now," she continued. "I did, at first, angry at being stupid enough not to stop him. But he said if I loved him, I'd let him. Emotional blackmail, Dr Blake called it, and I suppose it is."

"I think he did the same with Sally," Ruth passed the baby back, "men," she huffed, "can't live with 'em ..."

Jean smiled and took Sunny back, placing her in the pram in the hall.

"I'd best be off, Jean," Ruth touched her arm, "I'm glad we had chance to talk, before I go back to Castlemaine."

"To the bank?"

"Yes, it's a good job, pays quite well and the people are nice."

"I'm glad for you, Ruth," Jean opened the door to let her out, "if you are back, at any time, it would be nice to see you again."

"I'd like that, Jean, you take care of yourself, and that little bundle of cuteness."

"I will." She watched Ruth walk down the drive and felt glad that all her misgivings about her had proved to be.

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Jean sorted the mail, some for the doctor, personal and some for the practice. There was one for her, from Castlemaine - Ruth had been gone a week, so she was surprised to get a letter.

"Dear Jean,

Just a quick note to say how lovely it was to see you. Thank you for the tea and chat. I will pop by again, I come along occasionally to see mum.

You are a lucky girl, Jean, I hope things continue to go well for you.

Your friend

Ruth."

As there seemed to have been no fallout from Ruth's visit Jean felt safe in her assumption that she did have a friend in Ruth.

She folded the dry nappies, put the ironing pile to one side to be dealt with and smiled to herself. Ruth was right, she was a lucky girl.

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Thomas wandered slowly into the kitchen, holding a letter and grimacing at it.

"Problem, Dr Blake?" Jean set the table for lunch.

"Lucien," he waved the paper, "he's going to Malaysia, Singapore to be exact."

"Oh," she waited to be enlightened.

"I don't like it, Jean," he sat down and sighed, "there are rumblings in Europe, and they are building a naval base in Singapore, countries are getting jittery again."

"I'm sure he'll be alright, doctor," she placed a bowl of vegetable soup in front of him and pushed the bread over, "though what they need a doctor at a naval base for I don't know."

"Quite, Jean," he dipped a piece of bread into the soup, "they will have their own facility, they must be bringing more forces in."

"Would you like to come with me to Mass, on Sunday," she hated to see him worry about his son, in spite of their angry words in the past the letters came often enough for them to start to heal the rift. While she knew he wasn't a frequent or regular church goer, perhaps it would help calm him.

"I might just do that," he smiled a little, "two prayers can't hurt, can they?"

"No, indeed," she saw him relax a little. She paid little attention to the goings on in the wider world, Ballarat had its own little issues for him to deal with. She felt safe in this corner of the world.

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The Beazley farm was sold. Jean's in laws came to tell her they were moving, out towards Bendigo. They sat and had tea with her - Dr Blake had not accepted an apology for Ruth visiting and said the any of her friends were welcome as long as it was at a sensible time of day, and she must offer tea and biscuits as she wished to do.

"We would like to keep in touch with you, dear," Mrs Beazley snr smiled, "we shall send you our address, perhaps you will write?"

"I will," Jean smiled, it wasn't them that had 'done her wrong', she mused, "and I shall try and send pictures of Mary, if you would like that."

"We would, Jean," she sighed, "we are very sorry, for Christopher's behaviour ..."

"Part of it is my fault, Mrs Beazley," Jean blushed, "I should have been stronger."

"Christopher could be manipulative, Jean," Mr Beazley frowned, "don't blame yourself. Look after Mary, she is your priority, and you seem to have a settled place here ..."

"I have," Jean nodded, "Dr Blake is a kind and generous employer."

"Good," he stood up, "well, we had better be off," he turned and looked at his wife, "come, dear, Jean will likely have work to do and Mary to see to."

"These are for you, well for Mary," Mrs Beazley handed her a parcel, "I hope you can use them."

The parcel felt soft and Jean concluded her mother in law had been knitting, whatever they were would be lovely.

"Thank you."

Jean watched them head out of her life and sighed. It wasn't just her Christopher had hurt, it was them too. She hoped wherever he was he was missing some of his old life, friends and family, but he would not be allowed back into hers. In seven months time, she would ask Dr Blake to help her secure a divorce and annulment on the grounds he had deserted her and had no intention of fulfilling the vows he made in church. She may never marry again, well, so be it, she had Mary, a good position - things could have been a lot worse, a lot worse indeed.