"Everything alright? Things seemed a little tense when I called," Frank Carlyle was new in town but far too perceptive for Lucien's tastes already. Still, he felt like he had to tell someone. Sometimes he didn't even know what he thought himself till he put it into words.

"I've just met Jean's husband," Lucien said.

"She's married? And you…"

"He was thought to have died in the war, fourteen years ago," Lucien said. "As far as either of us knew he did, until late last night."

"Oh," Frank said. "Well, I am sorry. What are you going to do?"

"I have absolutely no idea," Lucien said, staring out the car window as the lake came into view. And that was the absolute truth. But Frank's next comment made Lucien turn his head with haste.

"He hasn't been seen in 14 years and you've just left him alone with her all day?"

Lucien had wondered about Christopher's story, to be sure, but Jean had seemed more than happy to usher Lucien out the door. Still, something deep and primal stirred within him.

"Jean wouldn't have married anything but a good man," Lucien replied.

You're right," Frank said, appraisingly, "she clearly only has a heart for fine, upstanding citizens."

Lucien laughed dishearteningly. "Yes, well, she didn't like me much at first."

Frank raised his eyebrow as though he was unconvinced. "Haven't heard much good about her youngest son, either."

"What are you saying, Frank?" Lucien's voice had a tinge of annoyance but it would be more truly classed as impatience. He needed to hear what Frank was trying to say.

"I'm saying Jean Beazley may have a reputation as a strong, upstanding woman. But don't confuse her morals with her heart. Hearts make their own choices."

Lucien didn't know if that made him feel better or worse. But he didn't have much time to reflect on that. Frank pulled the car up alongside several others as the crime scene investigation was well underway. Charlie nodded his head at Lucien. He'd gotten in last night while Jean and Lucien were in the middle of remaking Mattie's bed and heard a truncated version of last night's events. He

"This girl was found in the lake?" Lucien asked, stepping carefully through the brush. A girl lay, face up, on the rocky shore.

"No, we thought so at first," Charlie answered. "She was left near the water but not quite in it."

"Ah," Lucien said. That seemed correct. A quick glance told him she wasn't bloated as he'd expect if she'd spent much time in the water.

"Do we have an ID on her?" Frank Carlyle asked.

Charlie shook his head. "Not yet. No identification on her. We're working on it."

Lucien knelt down at the girl's side. She was young, with dark hair and fair skin dusted with freckles. He thought of Mattie in London and his heart went out to this girl. She had clearly gotten in with the wrong people.

"Any thoughts on cause of death?" Frank asked.

"She was bound," Lucien pointed to her wrists. "And these here," he pointed to slash marks on her chest, "look more like torture than a result of struggle. And what's this, here?"

Lucien pointed to the lobe of her right ear. There appeared to be a notch missing. "Curious," he said. "But I can't make out cause of death yet. I'll need to get her on the table."

Frank nodded and gestured for men to come do just that. Lucien held up a hand to keep them at bay a moment longer. Something about this girl seemed familiar, and it wasn't that her coloring reminded him of Mattie. But no, it couldn't be. He gingerly pulled back her shirt collar, exposing a scar on the right shoulder. It was. He let go of her shirt with a sigh, then pushed himself to standing and allowed her to be lifted onto a stretcher.

"Charlie, get working on the ID," Frank said. "Start calling…"

"No need," Lucien interrupted. They both turned and looked at him, questioningly.

"Charlie, does she look familiar to you?" Lucien asked.

"No, I… should she?" Charlie started to follow the body but Lucien gestured for him to stay. "You saw her under very different – and difficult – circumstances."

Charlie still looked perplexed so Lucien contined.

"This girl's name is Ivy Douglas."

The ride back to the station was a quiet one. Lucien filled Frank in on who Ivy Douglas was, briefly. He found himself withholding key bits of information that may reflect even more poorly on Jack. Now, of all times, he needed Jack kept out of the investigation if at all possible. Jean had enough to deal with.

Once he'd finished talking to Frank he let his mind wander back. Was it just two nights ago that he'd been out looking for that girl's mother? Was it just before that long night that Jean had taken him in her arms? He'd gotten through Changi prison due more to his mental strength than his physical strength. They'd broken his body while he was there, but his mind was under his control. He could direct it at will. He could cast it somewhere entirely different, back to happier days with his daughter, forward to a future not yet realized. But no future he'd considered was as beautiful as the one he had recently begun to imagine with Jean. And no amount of self-discipline could prevent him from replaying every moment of her kissing him. The way she hung onto his lip was as real as if it were happening just then. Warmth coursed through his body. His eyes closed remembering her hands on his hips and the look in her eyes as she sent him out the door. He may have been impressed with Jean's wit and her strength when he first met her, but he had no idea who she truly was, how much there was to her. He had no notion of how fully he would become hers.

And then the car pulled into the station. He pulled himself back to the present. He couldn't see very far ahead into this future that was so altered from what he'd imagined. But he would do the next right thing. He strode purposefully into the station.

"I need to get a hold of Danny Park in Melbourne," Lucien said.

A constable handed him the phone a moment later.

"Doc," came the friendly, familiar voice.

"Danny, how are you?" Lucien asked.

"Just fine, Doc. Everything alright?"

"Well, yes. Ah," Lucien had delivered difficult news many times, both as a doctor and in wartime. He had a way of accessing other people's emotions while shutting down his own at the same time. Both skills failed him, now. "Danny, the thing is, last night, Christopher Beazley… ah," he hesitated before saying that Christopher came home. No matter how good a man he wanted to be right now he couldn't quite say it. "Knocked on the door. I promised Jean I'd let you know."

He'd expected shocked silence, but this was Danny. "Uncle Christopher! But he's dead!"

"Apparently not," Lucien said, calmly. He ran a hand over his face. He'd need to get off the phone quickly.

"How's Auntie Jean?" Danny said.

"Thrilled to have her husband home, I imagine."

Now the silence resonated.

"I should come see her," Danny said.

"I think she assumed you'd want to see your uncle. But uh, the house is a bit full at the moment. Give us some time to shuffle things around."

Lucien would have loved to see Danny's wide smile. But he assumed Jean's sons were coming as well, and he needed to get a handle on things. And he didn't yet know what Jean wanted. He'd talk with her tonight.

"You okay, Doc?" Danny asked.

"Yes, yes of course. Just a long night and a difficult case this morning. All is well. This is happy news! I'll be in touch soon, Danny."

When Danny hung up the phone in Melbourne he immediately pulled open his desk drawer and withdrew pen and paper. He dashed off words as quickly as he could, then reread, hesitated briefly, then sealed the airmail envelope. He handed it to one of the few people actually beneath him in rank at the station.

"Send this to London as quickly as Royal Mail makes possible," he said.