I must be honest I am not sure about this chapter, but I wanted Derek to have a secret for Lucien to find out. It just grew as so many of my stories do.

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Lucien's first action the following morning, after breakfast and a quick kiss with Jean before the rest of his family came into the kitchen, was to prepare himself for a meeting with Derek. He had asked the hospital to send the daily notes to the house ready for him to read as soon as he returned and he sat in the study to read them.

Derek seemed to have phases where he was not aware of his surroundings, more than before Lucien left. He seemed to be having time relapses where he was back in the POW camp and was surly, and if a nurse came in he flirted and flattered as he had done when he was in Singapore, with Mei Lin. Then there were times he just stared into the far distance not acknowledging anyone.

Lucien leant back in his chair and ran his hand over his head. The doctors' opinions were that he was probably having a series of mini strokes and they had noticed his hand-eye coordination was not as good as it should be and his hands were losing grip strength.

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"To be perfectly frank, Dr Blake," the hospital physician mused, "I think he needs to be transferred to somewhere where he can be nursed for the remainder of his life."

"Well, he certainly can't go back to active duty, even a desk bound post," Lucien agreed, "so retirement on medical grounds. I shall go and tell him what I found out, in Singapore, and see how he takes that. I found high level corruption, but my father in law was not a willing participant."

"He kept going on about you bringing Mei Lin ..?"

Lucien nodded.

"... Mei Lin back to see him."

"Mei Lin was my wife, she was killed when the hospital was overrun," Lucien sighed, "he really is not well. Before I left he blamed me for her death."

"That's what I thought, so ..."

"Memory gone, or going." Lucien shook his head, sadly, and went into Derek's room, prepared for a battle of words.

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Derek greeted him like a long lost brother, asked what he was doing there and how his family was.

"Just a simple country doctor, these days," Lucien smiled, "family's doing fine."

"Good, good," Derek smiled, "now, when are they going to let me out of here, do you know?"

"Derek," Lucien hated passing on bad news to a patient, but Derek had to know, and as he seemed lucid, if not quite up to date, now was a good time to explain to him what was wrong with him, "Derek, how are you feeling?"

"Er, alright, I think," the patient tipped his head, "bit fuzzy headed, and I can't remember why I am here. Keep dropping things."

"Well, it would appear you are having little strokes, bleeds on the brain," Lucien felt he could sit on the bed and talk to him as an old friend, as well as a patient, "that is why you can't grip things as well as you should be able to, and it would seem your memory is affected."

"Well, you're good at putting folk back together ..." he looked hopeful.

"Physical injuries, yes," the doctor agreed, "but I can't operate and stop what is happening to you. You need a quiet life, Derek, retirement, a hobby."

"Bloody hell!" Derek pushed himself up against the pillows, "I can't retire! Too much to do, insurgents, spies are all around us!"

"Calm down," Lucien patted his arm, "I'm sorry, Derek, but the army won't take you back, not like this. Time to take it easy, leave it to the young men."

"You're in with them, aren't you! An agent, contacts in Singapore, I'll bet that's where you've been!"

Lucien stood up and shook his head, Derek's thinking was even more muddled, he seemed to have forgotten he had wanted Lucien to go to investigate the Chen family business.

The doctor that Lucien had conferred with came in, concerned when Derek had shouted. Lucien drew him aside.

"His mind is going, he can be perfectly reasonable then when he is challenged, or told something he doesn't want to hear, becomes agitated and irrational. I am concerned that when he has an outburst like this, his blood pressure raises and puts pressure on the weakened blood vessels in his brain."

"You told him he has to retire?"

"Yes, that's when he started on about insurgents, even accused me of being an agent," Lucien put his hands in his pockets, "time to find a place for him. I'll contact the army."

"Did he mention your wife?" the doctor whispered.

"No, so don't remind him."

"Right."

"It's best if nothing raises his blood pressure, because of the weak blood vessels in his brain."

"Of course, perhaps a mild sedative?"

"If he becomes agitated, yes, I'll write one up."

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Whatever Lucien's feelings about Derek and Mei Lin, he was saddened that the Major had come to this - consigned to a retirement home where he was effectively waiting for death. While Derek was around the same age as Lucien this was an old man's illness the only explanation could be head injuries during the war. He stood at the nurse's station staring into space oblivious to the people around him.

"Dr Blake?" a nurse tapped him on the shoulder, "can I help you?"

"Hm, what?" he blinked, "oh yes, sorry, miles away." He took a prescription pad and wrote up the medication for Alderton, "if the Major gets agitated ..."

"Very well," she took the pad and tore the sheet off it, "I'll put it with his chart."

"Thank you, now I'd better go and talk to the army and see where we can place him."

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The need for a safe and comfortable place for Derek to see out his last days was not easy to find , and in the end not necessary. Lucien visited him daily, as his doctor, and while most days he was quiet, sullen and had returned to blaming Lucien for Mei Lin's death there were a couple of times when he had to be sedated. Each time he became agitated Blake ordered another x-ray, and each time another lesion appeared.

Alice was on her way to pass on a pathology report to another doctor when she heard shouting. Derek's voice she recognised but the other voice was a woman's and she sounded frightened. She joined another nurse and doctor in the race to get to the room and see what had upset him.

In the room Derek had hold of the nurse's wrist and was screaming at her, demanding to know where she had been, that everyone thought she was dead. Alice pulled up short, it was obvious what was going through his mind; the nurse was Chinese, one of the few in the hospital, and he, in his cloudy mind, thought she was Mei Lin. The doctor didn't know the history of the patient, he, like Alice, was just passing, the other nurse knew he was a veteran of the war but not the full story so Alice felt the need to step in.

"Major Alderton, let Mrs Blake go!" she went to the nurse and put her arms round her shoulders, "she has duties to attend to."

The nurse looked confused, Derek gasped and released his hold allowing the nurse to step back and away.

"I suggest you find the Major's doctor and perhaps arrange his medication," Alice moved the nurse away, "I shall speak to Dr Blake." She turned her attention to the shaken nurse, "come with me, Nurse, let's see if we can find a cup of tea."

"Dr?"

"Dr Harvey," Alice smiled, "come along."

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Outside, Alice asked the nurse at the desk to phone Dr Blake and ask him to attend Major Alderton, as he had had an 'episode', and steered Nurse Chong into Sister's office.

"Take a seat," she patted her shoulder, "I'll organise a cuppa."

Tea organised Alice let the minutes pass while Nurse Chong composed herself.

"Why did he call me Mei Lin?" she sipped the tea slowly, "my name is Jiao."

"Dr Blake's wife was Chinese," Alice could at least tell her a little of the history, "Major Alderton knew them, both, well. Mrs Blake died in Singapore, working in the hospital when it was overrun by the invading Japanese forces. He has some problems with his memory, I'm afraid, because you are similar looking to Mrs Blake ..."

"I understand, I think," she smiled, "it is sad, that these men, who only fought to protect their country and its people should come to this and other anxieties. Perhaps it would be better if I do not attend to the major, I do not want to upset him. This country gave my parents safe haven when they left their home country."

"You are very understanding ..." Alice patted her hand then turned her head as there seemed to be somewhat of a commotion in the corridor, "excuse me."

There were medical staff all around Derek's bed, shouts for adrenalin and oxygen and a doctor was using CPR. It was loud and busy, Alice knew what was happening and stood back, surplus to requirements. It was all over by the time Lucien appeared. Derek had had one final massive stroke and died as he arrived.

"Lucien," Alice stopped him, "it's all over, he's gone."

"What happened?" he ran his hand over his head.

"He thought Nurse Chong was Mei Lin," she drew him aside as the nursing staff tidied up and prepared to lay Alderton out, "he grabbed her and shouted at her, wanting to know where she had been. Obviously Nurse Chong fought back, she would, she didn't know the story, your wife ..."

"I understand," he sighed, "is she alright?"

"Shaken, but I told her why the major had reacted the way he did." She paused and watched his face for a reaction, "I'm sorry Lucien, I know he was your friend, once but," she inhaled, "perhaps it is better this way, that he doesn't sit in a retirement home. He was not an old man, really."

"You may be right, there, I would hate to have lived a half life, as he would have done."

"Did he have any family, they should know?"

"His parents are both gone," Lucien sighed, "his mother died after an illness, though I don't know what, Derek wouldn't talk about her. His father died just before the war started, they came from Newcastle, New South Wales."

"No siblings?"

"Not that I know of, or that he spoke of," he sighed, "I suppose the army will arrange his funeral, I'll speak to them."

"Of course."

Lucien took one last look at the man that had been his friend, in spite of everything, and wandered slowly home.

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Lucien was very quiet for the rest of the day. He had a few patients to see in the afternoon, but other than that he had only his thoughts for company. The girls were at school and Jean had taken his father for a stroll near the lake before surgery so it wasn't until dinner time that he was able to pass on the news.

"I am sorry, Lucien," Jean touched his arm, "he was your friend. It's a sad way to go."

"Better that than consigned to a nursing home," he recalled Alice's words, "I'm waiting for the army to tell me if he had any family I didn't know about."

"I suppose they will deal with everything," she passed him his plate, "the funeral, his will."

"Should do," he agreed.

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Derek had been gone two days when the army phoned Lucien for some help. It seemed he had a young daughter, living in Newcastle. She was at boarding school and they only knew because the school had contacted, or tried to contact, Derek about the fees for that year, which had not been paid.

Looking into his bank account they saw the payments going out for the previous academic year but this year there had not been enough to cover the cost. His army pay had gone into a different account and they wondered if they should pay the fees from there.

"Did he make a will?"

"We can't find one," the clerk sighed, "so, now we know he had a daughter we assume she should get everything."

"Has she been told?" Lucien ran his hand over his head, wondering if some young lieutenant had been sent to impart the news and frightened the poor girl to death.

"No, not yet," the clerk shook her head, "we are hoping to get the headmistress to tell her, better it comes from someone she knows."

"Quite, but what I don't understand is why he never said anything about her, to me, or Mei Lin. Is there something wrong with her that he was ashamed about?" Lucien wondered if she was mentally deficient or physically deformed. Derek was not one to suffer imperfections in anyone. He had once seen a child with leg callipers and huffed that such babies should be consigned to homes or done away with. Lucien had been horrified, all life was sacred, had a purpose, to him.

"Not as far as we know, the school is just a boarding school, not a 'special' school."

"Are you alright with me coming over to go through his things, I might find something that helps us?"

"Well, we are a bit shorthanded, in the office," the clerk sounded relieved, "so it would be a great help, if you would."

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Lucien sat surrounded by Derek's personal items. His clothes were gone through to see if there was anything in the pockets, just odd bits of change, then set aside to be sent to an op shop, the things he had with him when he had shot Wellaway he pushed to one side. They had been thoroughly searched by Bill Hobart and nothing had been found that pertained to his family life. There was a diary for 1939 that had the usual doctor's and dentist's appointments, dinner engagements - most of them at the Blake's house - and a folded up piece of paper tucked inside the back cover. He unfolded it and found it was a birth certificate for Helen, born to Agnes Ford; housemaid was given as her occupation; and Major Derek Alderton, seventeenth of August 1939. The child must have been conceived over the Christmas period of 1938. So, Derek had bedded one of the maids and Helen was the result. The poor child would be coming up on her sixth birthday! Six! That was no age to send a child to boarding school.

In an old shoe box Lucien found some correspondence, a couple of old birthday cards from his father. There was no mention of his mother in the card, so it must have been sent after she died. The faded date on the envelope could just be made out - 1933.

"Poor kid," Lucien muttered to himself, "all alone." He felt a wave of responsibility wash over him. Now he had a name, an address for the school and if Derek hadn't made a will perhaps he could help the girl deal with that legal minefield.

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"I wonder if Derek mentioned you to her," Jean sipped her sherry, "even if he didn't mention her to you." She drew her brows together, it didn't make sense to her why he hadn't told anyone about his daughter, where was her mother?

"It's as if he didn't want anyone to know she existed," he stared into his glass, "as far as I know he never married, just lusted after my wife. This child may well be the result of a fling when he was home for R&R."

"Poor thing," Jean sighed, "so young." She couldn't imagine having sent Mary off to a boarding school at the age of six. "I wonder who looked after her until she was old enough to go to school," she mused.

"Mm," Lucien agreed, "well, I told the army to pass my name on to the school, if it will help." He watched her for a reaction.

"We have the room, Lucien," she smiled, knowing what he was thinking.

"We'll have more children than Mount Clear," he smiled.

"Do you think she will want to stay at the school, in Newcastle?" it occurred to Jean that the least change might be the best for her, but her age played on her mind.

"That I shall leave up to her, though she is a bit young to be making such decisions. The fees need to be paid out of Derek's account, the army are doing that for this year."

"Do you know when Derek last came to Australia?"

"He came over whenever he could, to see his father, until he passed. I thought he seemed quite close to him." Lucien took a swallow of his whisky, "I suppose at the time I was a little jealous, perhaps I should have made more of an effort."

"Don't start that," she huffed, "you and your father have mended the bridges, look forward, Lucien, dear, not backwards."

"Of course, you are quite right, dear Jean," he smiled and leant forward to kiss her cheek.

"Is that all you can manage?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Well, if you put it like that," he took her glass out of her hand, "how about this," and he took her into his arms and kissed her most thoroughly, leaving her pink and breathless. And speechless!

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Helen Alderton sat and listened while the headmistress told her, quite gently, that her father had died. The words floated by her as if in a dream as Miss Hobson told her he had been ill, from injuries received while in captivity.

"Your fees have been paid, for this year, dear," she carried on, "so you can stay until then. After that who knows."

Helen mused on this. Her father barely spoke to her, her mother had committed suicide when Derek had abandoned her at the end of the war, and it was he who had sent her to this school. They weren't particularly kind, it wasn't a top school, but good enough. The fees had been paid by her father but he had never acknowledged her, not even a birthday or Christmas card.

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Ten days or so later, a letter arrived for Helen. She was most surprised, she didn't get mail, usually. She assumed it was something to do with her father, and took it to the dormitory to read. She turned it over in her hand and examined the postmark - Ballarat. She'd never heard of the place, though she could see it was in the State of Victoria.

She opened it and stared at the unfamiliar, but careful, hand that flowed across the page.

"Dear Helen,"

Lucien had written. It had taken him a few days before he decided it was right that he contact the young girl, at least to let her know there was someone who knew her father and was willing to speak to her.

"Dear Helen,

My name is Dr Lucien Blake and I knew your father. I offer my condolences on his passing.

Your father and I were in the army together but he never told me about you. If you need any help or advice please do not be afraid to ask.

Again, my condolences,

Lucien Blake."

It wasn't the best of letters and his handwriting was difficult for the six year old to decipher, he thought, but he felt he had to reach out to her.

At first Helen was upset, that her father had never said anything to his friend but this Dr Blake sounded kind. She would talk to her teacher about this. She had no idea what would happen now, if she would have to stay at the school or go to an orphanage.

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"So," the head teacher folded her arms and stared at the collected members of staff, "what do we do about the Alderton girl?"

"We can't throw her out," one shrugged, "her fees had been paid, haven't they?"

"Just."

"She's a sweet little thing, though rather reserved for a six year old," another smiled, "she should be found a family."

"And I suppose I just put out an advert in the paper, do I?" the head sniffed.

"No, of course not," the other widened her eyes, "but at this rate she will be raised by the school."

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While the school were discussing Helen's future as if she were a piece of furniture one had grown tired of, Lucien was deep in thought. He lay in bed thinking on Jean's remark that they had 'the room'. They did, but another child, at this rate they would have a full family before they were married and he rather liked the idea of having at least one more child, with Jean. He loved Mary, and was very fond of Sylvia but at this rate his house would turn into the local orphanage. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to actually meet the child, he couldn't visit her father's sins on her. Perhaps he should take Jean with him, a weekend in Brisbane.

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"Lucien!" she shrieked when he put the idea to her, "what will people think?"

"I shall give them a piece of my mind, if they so much as whisper anything," Thomas huffed, "me and the girls will manage just fine, now go and meet the poor child."

"We can't" she insisted, "I can't leave you all, on your own."

"Mum we'll be fine," Mary smiled, "we can all cook, Uncle Matthew could always come round and check on us."

It took some work but Jean was finally persuaded to go with Lucien to Brisbane, if, and only if, she and he boarded the train separately.

"If you insist," Lucien sighed, "I'll book our rooms," he stressed the plural, "somewhere nice."

Jean eyed him suspiciously but had to give in on this.

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The head teacher told Helen her father's old army friend had decided to come and visit her, see if she needed anything. She was to be polite but not to ask for anything she wanted.

"You have clothes and are fed, Helen," she looked down on the child, "you do not really need anything else."

"Except a mummy and daddy," Helen muttered. She remembered her mother, not a very happy mummy, but at least she had kept her warm and well fed and the money her father had sent kept them in a little flat that was neat and tidy. She never met her father, her mother just said he was in the army and lived in another country, though she couldn't remember which one.

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Lucien could sense Jean's nervousness as she sat opposite him in the railway carriage. He had quietly assured her, the previous night, that he did not have an ulterior motive for taking her away to Brisbane, just that he though a female presence might help the child, that and he wasn't sure how to speak to a six year old.

As the miles flew by he told her a little about his experiences of boarding school. It hadn't been too bad, but he had missed his mother. He did go home for the holidays and was able to keep in touch with his friends, such as Matthew, but he wondered who in their right mind would send a six year old to boarding school and then, to all intents and purposes, forget she existed.

"What I don't understand is why he didn't say anything to you. You were his friend." Jean pursed her lips, "it's as if he was ashamed."

"Derek didn't think babies that were born with disabilities should be allowed to live," Lucien frowned, "I wonder if she has a birth defect of some sort."

"Really?" she leant forward, "do you really think that? Would he really have been so callous?"

"Oh, yes," he grunted, "he saw a child with callipers once and said it shouldn't have been allowed to live."

"Oh, Lucien," tears filled her eyes, "that's awful."

"Yes, it is, isn't it?"

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The hotel was grander than Jean would have thought of booking for herself, but not so grand that she was overwhelmed. Anyway, if she was going to marry Lucien, sometime in the future, then she would have to get used to such luxuries. He had been as good as his word and booked separate, but double, rooms on the same floor. Each room had its own small bathroom and a little sitting area.

Jean unpacked and washed the travel grime off her face. She repaired her makeup and waited for him to call for her, to take a stroll in a nearby park. They had about an hour before dinner, enough time to stretch their legs and see if they could find the location of the school.

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Lucien managed not to whistle when Jean entered the dining room for dinner. He wasn't sure what a housekeeper would have tucked away in her wardrobe suitable to wear for dinner in a smart hotel, but there she was, in a beautiful silk dress. The silk he had bought her suited her perfectly; she must have been sewing in secret for days. The dress fastened with four buttons at the front, double breasted, had a shawl collar and sleeves that ended just below her elbows. the skirt was full, but not too full, and supported by a net underskirt. Her waist was nipped in by a narrow belt. It rustled as she moved, he was utterly entranced.

He almost forgot to stand as she approached the table and in his haste he nearly sent his chair flying. Jean hid a giggle behind her hand.

"Jean," he pulled her chair out for her, "you look stunning."

"Thank you, Lucien," she allowed him to seat her and smiled. She had given herself a good talking to before she went down the stairs, about how she had nothing to be ashamed of, she was correctly dressed for dinner in a hotel of this standard and Lucien would not allow her to be embarrassed. Furthermore, nobody knew her there.

Jean chose a light meal from the menu; a light salmon starter, followed by a chicken main dish and a strawberry and meringue dessert. Lucien had ordered a light floral white wine that went perfectly, though she only had the one glass.

They passed the time talking about life in Ballarat; it seemed easier away from the town and the gossips; her life before she had gone to work with Thomas, Christopher and his abandoning of her. He didn't comment on Christopher's lack of moral fibre or sympathise with her. He didn't think she would like that, sympathy, after all this time. He told her more about his life in Edinburgh and Singapore, how he had met Mei Lin and how the war had come to them. He stopped short of telling her about the camp, that was not dinner conversation.

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Lucien escorted Jean to her room and kissed her gently.

"Goodnight, Jean," he smiled, "sleep well."

She looked at him, coyly, but still unsure. Usually they kissed on the couch in the studio, quite passionately, this was rather restrained and she wasn't sure she liked it, much. Of course, if she invited him into her room, things could very well get out of hand. At home she had plenty of wicked thoughts about her and Lucien and would lie in bed at night imagining his hands on her, everywhere. Not very catholic thoughts.

Another couple passed them and looked, Jean blushed and unlocked her door. Suddenly their floor seemed to get rather busy so to try and appear as if everything was quite normal she gentle touched his arm and he followed her.

"I don't like being stared at," she murmured to his raised eyebrows. "We were getting those kind of looks ..." she hoped he got her meaning.

"I understand," he smiled softly, but, he nodded over to the small couch, "as we're here ..."

The couch may have been small but it was quite adequate for their needs. They went further than they did at home, more buttons were undone and Lucien's hands strayed above her stocking tops and inside the top of her dress. He had taken his jacket off when they had sat down and she had removed his tie and undone enough shirt buttons to get her hands on his chest and feel the hairs over the muscles that were very much recovered since he had come home.

She could feel him through his trousers, very much aroused but common sense and experience told her this would not go well for her if she gave in to their desires. If only she had thought to sneak some 'supplies' from the surgery before they left. She gasped as he undid her bra and slipped his hand round to cup her small breast and pass his thumb over her nipple, raised and hard as a pearl. She groaned, a sound he found erotic and almost enough to have him disgrace himself.

"God Jean," he breathed in her ear, "I want you so much."

"Lucien, we can't," she whispered, as if the walls could hear and would tell their secret, "last time ..."

"It would be alright, sweetheart," he reached into his trouser pocket, "really," he showed her the packet he had pulled out of the cabinet at the last minute.

"Lucien," she squeaked, but she had had the same thoughts so she couldn't be angry, really. At least this time it would be in a comfortable bed, not the barn or wherever Christopher had pulled her into. She pulled him down to a searing kiss, that he took to mean 'yes'.

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She woke tangled with his naked body and sighed. Letting Lucien make love to her had been more than she could ever have imagined. He had filled her both physically and emotionally with all he was. Though they had continued to undress each other none too slowly the subsequent loving was slow and deep. He had entered her slowly, marvelling in her heat and wetness, looming over her, drinking in her beauty, her slender body, neat breasts; that were now marked; and slowly and deliberately set up a rhythm that increased as she urged him on. She shattered first but he was quick to follow with a final thrust. He felt her tighten around him and hold him as long as she could.

When his arms had finally given out he had rolled to her side and pulled her over him letting her drift off to sleep before he slipped out to the bathroom and sorted himself out.

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The bath eased muscles she hadn't used in many a year and she smiled as Lucien called through he was off to his own room to prepare for the day. She was a little sore, Lucien was more ... better ... endowed, than Christopher had been but she was sure she would get used to it, with a little more practise, maybe that night? She knew she had crossed the line she had drawn for herself, where she would not sleep with him until they were married, and they wouldn't be able to, at home. Perhaps they should visit Helen more often.

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Lucien checked left and right out of the doorway and practically ran down to his own room. He was inside before anyone else appeared. He grinned. Maybe he shouldn't have been prepared, maybe he should have left it at the chaste kiss at her door but he didn't and he was prepared. He showered, cleaned his teeth and dressed. A different suit, clean shirt and tie, hair tidied into place he was ready to escort Jean to breakfast and to put his wicked thoughts about her to one side, if he could. He had thought she would be a little shy, cautious perhaps in her love making, but he couldn't have been further from the truth. Jean had been a willing lover, embraced everything he gave her. He wondered if she would be so willing again, perhaps that night.

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Again Jean gave herself a stern talking to, what they had done was not what they should have done, true. However, if she confessed, privately, to god then perhaps she would be forgiven. People in Ballarat would always look down their noses at her because she had become pregnant out of wedlock, had divorced the father and was not living with two widowers, one of whom was the most eligible bachelor in town.

"Really, " she told her reflection, "you can't do right for doing wrong, so ... take what life has to offer, Jean. Lucien wants to marry you, one day you will be Mrs Blake and you will not be pregnant when you take your vows." She nodded her head stiffly and pursed her lips, "breakfast, last night has given you an appetite." She grinned and tossed her head as she left the bathroom and gathered up her jacket, as Lucien knocked on the door.

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For such a small building the school was quite imposing. Jean supposed it was the dark brickwork and deep-set large windows that made it such. They had looked into the type of school it was, a boarding school taking in children from the age of five to sixteen, mostly children of those serving in the armed forces which only allowed a certain amount towards fees. The head teacher, a Miss Gallagher, was prim and tight-lipped as she stood on the step waiting to greet Dr Blake and his companion. He hadn't said he was bringing anyone else with him, it must be his wife, she thought, as the morning sun caught her wedding ring.

"Dr Blake, Mrs Blake," she nodded, "please, do come in."

Lucien opened his mouth to say Jean was his housekeeper, Mrs Beazley, but a gentle pressure on his arm told him to keep quiet.

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The office was quite large, surprisingly well furnished, somewhere to work comfortably in, away from the chatter of the children.

"So, I believe you knew Major Alderton," Miss Gallagher sat at her desk.

"We served together," Lucien nodded, "Singapore."

"I see," she pursed her lips, "well, he just enrolled Helen here and that was all we saw of him. He said her mother had died and he was a serving officer with no other way of caring for a child. She spent Christmas here, with me."

Jean shuddered inwardly, that can't have been much fun for the child, she thought.

"Well, as Major Alderton has no other family, I thought, perhaps ..." Lucien tailed off.

"We thought it would be an idea if she knew something about him," Jean took over, "knew she wasn't alone in the world. If she likes perhaps she could spend the holidays with us, we have other children." Miss Gallagher didn't need to know those children were her daughter, his daughter and a foster child.

Jean's face gave nothing away and Lucien just smile benevolently.

"Perhaps she would like to come out for lunch with us," Lucien offered, "it being Saturday."

"I suppose so," Miss Gallagher hummed, "not too late back, though, no later than five, supper then evening prayers."

"Lovely," he beamed.

Miss Gallagher rand a bell and when the little maid appeared told her to fetch the Alderton girl and have her dressed to go out.

"Ma'am," she bobbed and hurried away.

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The maid tidied Helen's hair and adjusted her uniform so it didn't look as big as it was. The clothes the girl had arrived with were too small for her and she wore only the uniform supplied by the school. She plopped her hat on her head and took her by the hand.

"What does he look like?" Helen asked in a whisper.

"Oh, he's very handsome," the maid smiled, "looks really kind. His wife, well I suppose that's who she is, the woman with him, is pretty."

Just at the foot of the stairs and out of earshot of the head teacher's office she bent down and whispered in Helen's ear.

"If he asks you if you want to go and live with them say yes, Miss Helen," she looked around conspiratorially, "it's got to be better than here."

"Oh, Lizzie, should I?" Helen's eyes grew round, "would I be happier?"

"Well you're not happy here, love, are you?"

Helen shook her head, Lizzie was the nearest thing to a friend she had, hid all the things that were wrong, the wet bed sheets on the occasions she had a nightmare, the missing socks that had been pinched by the other girls who looked down on her or ignored her.

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Jean and Lucien looked round as the door opened not knowing what to expect. In walked the maid with a small child in tow. The child was tiny, her uniform obviously meant for her to grow into, which made her look smaller. One sock had slid down her leg and she looked down at the floor. They could see her hair was auburn, curly and tied in lopsided bunches.

"Head up child," Miss Gallagher grunted, "posture. And pull your socks up!"

Helen pulled up the errant sock and looked up. She had quite the scattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose and beautiful green eyes. She had none of her father's looks, which, Lucien found, pleased him. With auburn hair, freckles and green eyes she could easily pass for a child of his and Jean's.

"This is doctor and Mrs Blake, they would like to take you out for lunch." Miss Gallagher sniffed, "mind your manners."

Helen bobbed like a servant.

Lucien stood up and held out his hand to her, "it is so nice to meet you, Helen."

Helen took his hand and ventured a small smile, Lizzie was right, he was handsome, like a prince from a fairy tale.

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Helen smiled as she lay in bed. Uncle Lucien and Auntie Jean, for that is what they had suggested she call them, had taken her to a small restaurant for lunch where she had been allowed to choose her meal and, joy of joys, had ice cream for dessert. They had gone for a walk, answered all her questions and Lucien had been quite complimentary about the man who had slept with his wife, Jean thought, describing him as a brave soldier who had been cruelly treated.

"We wondered if you would like us to come and see you again, Helen," Jean bent down as they headed back to the school, "we'd like to visit, but only if you want us to."

"Really," the green eyes were as round as saucers, "you would come and see me again?"

"Of course, and," Lucien whispered, "if you like, you could come and stay with us, during the holidays."

Helen flung her arms round him and buried her head in his midriff. Jean stifled a giggle.

"I take it that's a yes, then" he laughed.

"Oh please, Uncle Lucien," she gasped, "can I?"

"Next term break, we shall come and collect you," Jean agreed, "it's quite a long train journey for a young one."

"Thank you, thank you," she hugged both of them, "thank you."

She had told Lizzie all that had happened and Lizzie gave her a calendar to mark off the days until Dr and Mrs Blake came to collect her.

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They had seven weeks, Jean cuddled against him in bed, seven weeks before Helen came to stay for the term break, and in that seven weeks they had decided they would marry.

"Do you think we can?" Jean asked, kicking off her shoes, "that quick."

"Registry office," he opened his arms to her, "doubt we can get church, but ..."

"Right," she leant against his chest, "legal, no more of these," she reached into his pocket and lifted the condoms, "civil wedding will be fine."

"Are you sure, your faith ..." he stopped trying to undo the buttons on her blouse, "I thought ..."

"Lucien," she sighed, "I love you, I want to be your wife and even though we said we would wait, and tongues will wag, we've rather put the cart before the horse, this weekend."

"True, my dear," he continued his quest to undress her, and she hers, "let's see what we can do when we get home."

After that, they had stopped talking and concentrated on loving.