The bank manager sat behind his desk and tapped his fingers. This woman, this lawyer he was faced with was more than she seemed. He had always believed women had their place – and it wasn't in the legal profession. She sat before him, smartly dressed, perfectly made up and coiffured, nails polished and a steely glare that he usually employed on his junior clerks.

"So," Vivi passed over the papers signed by Saul Rivers, "Mr Rivers has signed over his estate to his children to be held in trust until each reaches the age of twenty-five. I am acting for the children and ask you to release the funds to myself and a financial advisor to be invested for their future."

"Well, I don't know," he hummed, giving the papers a cursory glance.

"Well, I do," she glared. "The papers are witnessed …"

"… by you, I see," he intoned.

"Do you want another witness, I could call Inspector Lawson, he was there …" her eyes narrowed. "All I want is a meeting with you and the financial advisor to finalise the details."

The conversation went back and forth between the two with Vivi barely able to contain her anger.

"Look," she stood up, "if you don't release the funds I will have no choice but to get a court order, I will give you until tomorrow." She grabbed the papers back and stormed out of the office.

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She didn't know why but she drew up outside Bill's house. She should have gone home but she had offered to help Bill sort out the house after six weeks absence and reckoned the physical exercise would blow off her temper.

"Hey," he greeted her with a smile, "oh," he noticed her expression, "what's up?"

"That bloody bank manager," she growled.

"Ok," he pulled her towards the garage, "let's work off that anger, eh?"

"What?"

Inside the garage was a punchbag that boxers would use. A mat underneath and a pair of gloves hanging on a hook.

"Jacket off," he stood behind her and lifted the garment from her shoulders. "Now, ordinarily I'd suggest vest and shorts, but …" he cleared his throat, "well, maybe not today."

He bandaged her hands and slipped the gloves on to them.

"Shoes off," he looked at the stylish heels she wore.

She did as asked and looked at him.

"This is how I work off the anger," he hummed, "now, stand like this."

He positioned her with gentle touches, "and, go!"

He moved as quickly as he could with a dodgy knee, and stood behind the bag and held it.

"Hit it hard, Vivi!" he encouraged, "it's the bank manager, or Rivers or Tyneman!"

"Ugh!" she grunted.

"Lead with your shoulder," he leant into the bag.

On she went until she didn't think she couldn't throw another punch.

"Good," he smiled, "stop now."

She slumped to the floor, drenched in perspiration and breathing heavily.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded.

He unlaced the gloves and helped her up.

"Thank you," she gasped and wrinkled her nose.

"Shower," he ignored who she was and thought of her as one of the junior constables he had taken under his wing in the past.

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She let the warm water of the shower wash over her, head to toe. It had felt so good to take out her anger on the bag, but now she didn't know what she should do about her sweat-soaked blouse, or other clothes. She could get away with wearing her skirt and knickers, maybe her longline bra …

"Robe on the back of the door!" he called through, equally as concerned as her.

"Thanks!" she called back.

"Um," he grumbled through the bathroom door, "there's a clean shirt in the bedroom, if you need it." He scuttled back down the landing before she could respond.

She smiled.

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He fiddled about in the kitchen, setting the kettle to boil, putting out mugs, milk and sugar and wondering why Vivi had come to him in such a state. True, she had offered to help him clean the house, but he hadn't thought she would come straight to him after seeing the bank manager.

"Bill?" she stepped, barefoot, into the kitchen, "thank you."

He turned; she had on her skirt and his shirt, the one he had left on the bed for her, it looked good on her, he thought.

"Er," he blinked, "well …"

"Sorry," she approached the table, "I was just so angry, I didn't know where I was going and I ended up here."

"What happened?"

"Oh that bloody bank manager," she looked down, "sorry, but he makes my blood boil."

"Did he refuse to give up the money?"

""He didn't want to meet with the advisor, or to release the funds, and he didn't like that it was my signature as the witness. Bill," she sat down, "I haven't done anything illegal, heck, I'm a lawyer and a good one, if I do say so myself and I'm connected to a well-known family here, in Ballarat, and I won't sully their name …" she began to get more agitated.

"Hey," he went over to her and put his hand on her shoulder, "you have done nothing wrong. Rivers signed over his money, nobody hit him, nobody beat him into submission, a word or two was all it took, strikes me as him at the bank is syphoning off the interest. Best let your man look into it."

"Thanks, Bill," she relaxed.

"Tea?"

"Yes, please. Then perhaps I can take out my temper on the cleaning."

He laughed, "yeah, you can have the rugs and carpet beater, if you like."

"What, no vacuum?"

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They cleaned, dusted, polished and washed until all was as the late Mrs Hobart would have done.

"How the heck does Jean do it?" she flopped onto the couch, with its freshly plumped cushions.

"She doesn't leave it six weeks," he grunted, flinging a duster into the sink.

"You might have something there."

"Look, Vivi, you must be hungry, 'cos I am, I've nothing exciting in …"

"I know what you've got in," she teased, "but we're both shattered. How about I go out for fish and chips …?"

"In my shirt?" he raised his eyebrows and gasped.

"My jacket will cover it, so …?"

"Yeah, why not."

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Fish and chips eaten, two bottles of beer drunk and very little clearing up to do, Vivi and Bill sat on the couch – replete.

"Did anyone say anything?" he asked, gesturing to her – his – shirt.

"Not that I heard, and who the heck cares …?"

"I don't want any bad talk about you, you're good and kind." He went slightly pink.

"Bad talk about me, I can cope with that, it's bad talk about the family I take issue with. Ma and pa have been kind to people round here, Lucien has come back and is helping so many who can't afford him, and Jean is the best sister-in-law any woman could wish for." She huffed.

"Well, I'll put a stop to any I hear," he agreed, "they've been good to me, and you have."

"You are a good man, Bill Hobart," she patted his chest playfully, "I know you keep that close and I won't tell anyone you are a softie - deep down."

"Awh, Vivi," he grumbled, "only my mother knew that."

"She raised you well. And now, I should go, I have that meeting with Hitler tomorrow."

"Good luck. Thanks for all your help, today," he stood up with her.

"A pleasure, thanks for the use of the punchbag."

"Anytime," they were at the door, now.

"I might take you up on that." She smiled and reached up to stroke his cheek. He caught her hand, ever so gently and kissed it.

She felt scared, but at the same time not afraid, confused as he dipped his head and placed his lips softly on hers. She wanted this, but the memory of what she had looked at the previous night, in the mirror, invaded her mind – yet she couldn't stop him, didn't want to stop him. It was an involuntary thing, the opening of her lips, the allowing him to slip his tongue into her mouth, the taste of the beer they had drunk; she sank into his kiss, drank him in then his hand slipped down her side, down her damaged side and she gasped and pushed him away.

"Bill …" she almost sobbed.

"Hey, I'm sorry …"

"No, it's me …" she took the hand resting on her side.

"Vivi …"

She stepped back and opened the door.

"Vivi," he pulled her back, "it's ok, I know, I understand, I think."

"Bill," she looked at him, "it's just … no one …"

"That is not who you are," he pulled her close, "you are more than that …" he was suddenly grateful for all the reading he had done in hospital, it gave him an idea of how a woman, a woman with marks, scars, might feel – scared, scared he would be repulsed by the sight. Much as he might want her it had to be on her terms, when she was ready – he would wait. But, "this," he stroked her head, "this is who you are," he touched over her heart, "this is the woman who cares, who fights, who stands firm, who tells the world they don't have what you have."

"And what do I have, Bill?" she sniffed.

"Family, friends … you have me. I have your back, Vivi," this was the most emotional Bill had ever been, the deepest he had ever felt, it was not the person Ballarat knew, but it was the person he wanted Vivi to know.

She leant her forehead on his chest and sighed. Taking a moment to calm herself she realised he was right, but now was not the time, she wasn't quite ready. She looked up and gave him a watery smile.

"Thanks, Bill."

He kissed her cheek and let her go to the car.

"Drive carefully!" he called after her. She waved, and was gone.

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Thomas was surprised to see Edward Tyneman strolling down the street as if he owned the place. As far as he was aware, Patrick had sent his son to work in the printing shop of the Courier. Rumour had it that when he wasn't at work he was at home with his parents and improving reading material. Thomas thought it was Susan, Patrick's wife, who was left to pick up the pieces of her son's poor judgement in the Evie Simons case. Vivi had confirmed that the compensation had been paid into an account to cover Evie's university fees but Edward looked far too smug, in Thomas' opinion.

He passed Matthew and Bill ambling out of the bakers; it was around lunchtime; it was good to see the two men give Edward a hard stare that had him cross the street to avoid him

"Gentlemen," Thomas nodded.

"Doc," Bill grinned, "lovely day."

"Indeed, how are you, Sergeant?"

"Good, thanks, glad to be back at work."

"You take it easy," Thomas warned, "Lucien won't be happy if you undo all his good work."

Bill saluted and grinned.

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Vivi and the financial advisor came out of the bank, having finally persuaded the manager to release the funds from Rivers' account complete with all the interest that he hadn't originally added. Vivi was going to get in touch with the bank head office and ask then to investigate him; when she told the manager she was going to do this, he went pale.

"At least you warned him," her friend hummed.

"I have a feeling he's going to be the poorer for it."

"You think?"

"I expect he targeted accounts of people who wouldn't look too closely, or indeed accounts like Rivers' that are not active."

"You could be right," he agreed, "well, if you can get the Inspector and your brother and sister-in-law's signatures on the paperwork and send me a copy, I'll deem that a job well done, Vivi. A pleasure working with you."

"And you, Austin, thanks for your help."

She watched him get into his car and drive off towards the outskirts of town. Her plan was to go over to the station and get Matthew's signature and then head up to Lucien's in search of signatures and at least a cup of tea.

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Wandering along the street she saw a familiar back in a policeman's uniform, and with him another familiar figure.

"Inspector Lawson!" she called, "Inspector!"

"You're being called, Boss," Bill hummed, recognising the voice instantly. "I think Miss Blake needs you."

Matthew thought she probably needed Bill, Lucien having mentioned his thoughts about the two. He turned round, making a comment about it to Bill would not go well, he thought.

"Miss Blake?" he smiled, "what can I do for you?"

"Hello Matthew, Bill," she cleared her throat, "I need your signature on these trustee forms. We've got the little Hitler at the bank to release the funds and add on all the interest he's been withholding."

"Come over to the station," he nodded in that direction.

"I don't want to interrupt your lunch," she pointed at the two bags from the bakery.

"I'll get you something," Bill turned, "you've done the same for me, when I was in the hospital."

"Thanks, Bill," she smiled, not afraid to admit she had visited him.

Matthew said nothing, not even when Bill headed back to the bakers without asking her what she would like.

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Matthew sat reading the trust documents, only because Vivi insisted; he trusted her and was happy to sign wherever she wanted him to.

"You need to have some idea of what's expected of you, Matthew," she teased.

"You gonna make your brother read it?"

"Maybe Jean, she can tell him to sign it if she's happy with it." She laughed.

Bill knocked on the office door and with a nod from Matthew walked in.

"Ham, cheese and tomato, Vivi?" he passed the bag over to her, "and an apple turnover."

"Oh lovely," she grinned. "Could I have a glass of water, please, the bank manager didn't offer tea."

"Obviously forgot his manners," Bill grumbled, "we have tea …"

"Water, please. The tea here is usually stewed – according to Lucien."

"He could be right," Matthew agreed.

"Water it is, then, Boss?"

"I'll chance the tea."

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With the signatures done, and witnessed, Vivi got up to leave.

"How's Alice?" she asked, "only I haven't seen her for a while."

"She's ok, Blake wants her to take it very easy." He frowned.

"Matthew?"

"It's ok, Vivi, she's taking care after the last do. Lucien's seeing her every week, even though she'd got three months to go"

"Still working?"

"Part time. She hates it but knows it has to be done. She takes paperwork home and only goes into the hospital to do any tests, or take notes for him in the morgue; she can sit to do that, and she's with a trusted medic." His face was etched with worry.

"Lucien'll look after her, Matthew," she smiled softly.

"I know." He ran his hands over his head.

She left him thinking, which she thought wasn't good. She'd get these forms up to Lucien and Jean and leave them to be signed; she could also see if there was any movement on the adoption.

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All was as usual, chez Blake. Genevieve was with the two older children, Jean was feeding the babies in the high chairs, Thomas was preparing for surgery – she let herself in.

"Hello!" she called down the hall, "only me!"

"Auntie Vivi," Peter grinned.

"Hello, godson, how're you?" she patted his head.

He took her hand and pulled her down to the living room, "see," he pointed at some pictures, "we draw."

"How lovely," she smiled, not having any idea what they had drawn, but, she reminded herself, they weren't three years old yet.

"Vivi," Genevieve looked up from helping Millie keep the crayon on the paper, "is everything alright?"

"Fine, ma," she waved at Jean in the kitchen, "got the papers for Jean and Lucien to sign for the trust fund, and I thought I'd see if anything was happening on the adoption."

"Audrey phoned, she is just waiting for a court date, her supervisor is away for a week or so, so she thought she ought to get the ball rolling." Jean called through.

"While the cat's away?" she raised her eyebrows.

"No, she was told to see to it, so she's just following orders. She has told the director and he said if she can't see any reason why we can't adopt to get on with it."

"Oh, right, well, let me know if you need me."

"I'd be glad to have you with us, Vivi," Jean wiped Jacob's face, "just as a safety net."

"And I'll be glad to help. These two need you, they seem so settled."

"They are, I think. Millie's nightmares are so much less, now."

"That's good, and it's a point to make if need be."

"I thought so. Tea?" Jean lifted Jennifer out of her chair and set her on the floor. "Come on, young man," she did the same to Jacob.

"Please."

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All seemed well with her family so Vivi thought she ought to go home and look at the post she had left in the hall the previous evening, and any more that had arrived. All important letters and documents were sent to the office so apart from the rates and telephone bills there shouldn't be anything desperate.

She was right, rates, electricity, gas and phone bill, altogether. Why? Why on earth did they all arrive at the same time? Not that she couldn't afford it, it was just a big hit on anyone's bank balance.

The last one was a hand-written, or scrawled, envelope that she didn't think would contain anything complimentary and part of her thought she should just throw it. She looked it over and felt it for any strange lumps and bumps. Nothing, and no postmark, either, so it was hand-delivered. It wouldn't be the first time she had received unpleasant mail, even death threats during certain cases so she thought she was prepared for whatever it held. She sat back and fanned herself with it then thought she could always go and beat the punch bag again, if it was really bad.

It was just unpleasant, 'why would anyone want to be seen with an ugly cow like her?' She shrugged; someone must have seen her with Bill, maybe him coming to her house, or when he took her out to dinner. Well, that was Bill's choice to be seen with her, if he was happy then so was she, and after last night she thought he was – even if she did take fright. She put the note to one side – one never knew if there would be more and if so she would have to have the evidence to show Matthew – or Bill.

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Vivi paid her bills, went to her office each day, ignored the hate mail, she didn't even bother to open most of it and spent time with her family. Lucien continued to mow her grass but Bill returned to his weeding and pruning and deadheading. She had the adoption to see through, now that a date had been decided for a hearing, to make sure Lucien and Jean were prepared for any questions they may be asked.

"There shouldn't be any problem," Audrey had called to talk to them about the day in court. "You have the room, even a second bathroom …"

"… it's between the two main downstairs bedrooms," Jean sighed, "the only place we could put it, but it left us short of storage space."

"Yes, but you've had it done," Audrey smiled, "that shows you are willing to do what is necessary for everybody's comfort. Anyway, that aside, the children have enough room to sleep and play, there are plenty of adults and they are learning a second language."

"… absorbing it, really," Lucien commented.

"Isn't that the best way?"

He nodded his agreement.

"You've looked after them as if they were your own, even breastfeeding Jacob," she smiled at Jean, "all the while you run a business from home."

"And what about Jack?" Jean frowned.

"What about him, he doesn't live here," Audrey shrugged, "I've done a background check, it's all in order. You are Ballarat born and bred, both of you, well respected round the town, no record of trouble with the police … I have every confidence."

Everyone knew Jean would be devastated if the children were taken from her. Millie called her 'maman', because Peter did, she supposed, Jacob was just beginning to burble 'mama' and 'papa' – both were settled.

Vivi asked if she could see the papers that had been sent to court.

"Of course," Audrey smiled, "I expected no less, here's a copy for you." She handed over an envelope, "take your time and call me if you want to talk about it."

"Thanks, that's lovely," Vivi agreed.

"My pleasure."

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Vivi looked through the document, underlined a few comments she would like to clear up with Audrey, such as the note that Jean's son, Jack, was living and working in Melbourne.

"Found him, apparently working in a factory, keeping his nose clean, according to the manager but doesn't want anything to do with Jean. Hence, the phrase, 'estranged' – it's enough, isn't it?"

"We'll probably get away with it. If the factory are happy …"

"They say he's a good worker."

"I'm sure Jean will be pleased about that."

"What happened?" Audrey lay her hands in her lap.

"Product of a father who goes away to war and doesn't come home. Christopher was killed in the Solomons, Jack needed a firmer hand than Jean could give."

"Ah, like so many others," she sighed.

"Yes."

"I don't see it as a problem, he's cut himself off from Jean, and I assume from his elder brother – Corporal Beazley said he hadn't heard from him. "

"So, it should just be a box ticking exercise?"

"Hopefully. Depends on which judge we get, some are more open to adoptions, some like to make it difficult."

"Well, let's hope that doesn't happen. Jean and Lucien, and all the children, plus grandparents should show a united front, and help to keep the children in check."

"I'm impressed that Dr and Mrs Blake have taken them to their hearts, as well."

"Pa can be a bit of a crusty old bugger …" Vivi smiled, "but ma has always been a gentle soul and very loyal. Did you hear about the time one of the other doctors in town decided he should have her and tried to get her away from pa, even going to the extent of poisoning pa?"

"I think I read something in the papers."

"Ma had suffered him for forty odd years, ever since they came to Ballarat when Lucien was a baby. He thought pa wasn't good enough for her, ma told Clement that she was not interested in him or the doors he said he could open for her, as an artist. Anyway, he was sent to jail and then in there he met a man who was being sued for divorce by my client and charged with white slavery …"

Audrey's eyes widened.

"… seems he couldn't stop doing what he'd been jailed for in 1929, the two of them came up with a plot to stop me in my tracks and sent me a letter bomb. Well, it was only meant to hurt, not kill me, it's left me with burns …" she waved her hand down her left arm, "… and a strong desire to work here instead of Melbourne and get close to my family."

"Oh my goodness. I think the children have a strong family to take them in, a family that firmly believes in justice."

"We do."

Vivi felt that all would be well in the adoption, Audrey seemed to believe that the children would be brought up well, with love, taught good manners, right from wrong and to see the best in people.

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The letters continued. Not regularly so Vivi couldn't wait and see who was delivering them, but they were getting increasingly nasty, focusing on her burns and relationship with Bill. Somebody must be watching her, but there was nothing to see. Bill came on his days off and worked in the garden, she would prepare a light lunch for them both, they would wash up the pots and he would kiss her good-bye. It was more than a kiss on the cheek, these days, it was a long kiss and, sometimes, took her breath away. Always inside the house, not near a window so they couldn't be seen. She rarely went to his house, only if she was angry enough to need to use the punchbag, knowing that curtains twitched and there was probably a little gossip.

The latest, why did she open it, was really cruel. It referred to her burns, again, that she knew no one had seen except Lucien and Jean, she still wasn't ready to let Bill see them, her mother and father hadn't even seen them. Even if someone was looking through her windows they wouldn't see, her robe had long sleeves, her pyjamas also and her bedroom had voiles over the windows and was at the side of the bungalow where she wasn't overlooked.

It made demeaning comments about her and Bill, about him being so desperate to find a woman that he had to hook up with a scarred and repulsive human being. The last comment –'repulsive' made her blood boil, it hurt, it was if someone had turned a knife in her. She cried, she cried for the first time in months for the pain and disfigurement she had hoped to put aside since Bill had taken an interest.

She didn't know who to go to. Should she go to Jean and pour her heart out – but she was a busy woman and although she had let Jean cry on her shoulder years ago that was when Jean wasn't her sister-in-law with four children and a business running from the house. She could go to Matthew and instigate a criminal investigation or she could go to Lucien – or she could go to Bill and … she could go to Bill and the punchbag.

The punchbag, and Bill, won out.

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"Hey, Vivi," he grinned, then his face fell, "what's up?" his voice softened.

"This," she threw the letters at him.

He led her into the house and scanned through the letters.

"Awh, jeez, Vivi," he sighed, "why didn't you say?"

"'cos I didn't think it was important, I thought it would go away if I didn't react."

"Vivi …"

"I was busy, Jean, Lucien, the adoption … Bill, it didn't seem important, it was juvenile …"

He could see she was still tense, "punch bag?"

She held up a long-sleeved T-shirt and loose trousers.

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"Tea?" he lifted the pot as she came back from her shower.

"Lovely," she smiled and rubbed her hair with the towel.

Bill had held the bag while she punched away her anger.

"You know I'd best train you properly, before you hurt yerself."

She shrugged and took the cup of tea. "You read them?"

"I did," he sat down and poured himself a cup, "I can see why you ignored so many of them, but why didn't you alert the boss? At least let him know someone was watching you?"

"Bill," she sat back and ran her hands through her wet hair, "I am not overlooked, you know that, the times I come to see you are rare – sorry about that …"

He shrugged, he'd rather go over to her home for the precise reason she didn't come to his house – it was secluded.

"… so how anyone has seen the …" she waved her hand down her arm, "I don't know."

"They probably haven't," he hummed, "the case was widely reported in the papers though no details of the damage. I suspect whoever it is has an imagination."

"Imagination?" she gasped.

"Vivi, I haven't seen the burns, I can only imagine how much damage was done to you, all I know is you were burned. There are plenty of pictures of burns victims, if you know where to look."

Vivi sighed, this was the one thing she had wondered about, how much did he know. She put her mug down and went into the living room. When he made to follow her she held her hand up, an indication she wanted privacy.

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In the cool of the living room she stood and looked out at the garden. She traced her fingers down the front of her blouse, let her fingers stray into and under her collar, feeling the ridges of the burnt flesh. Bill should see this, he should know what people thought they knew. She undid the buttons of her blouse and let it slide to the floor. Standing in her skirt and corselet she knew exactly what was on view, but … now Bill had to see and for Vivi he had to see past it.

She picked up the blouse and held it behind her, turned, tipped her chin and went back into the kitchen.

"Bill?" she whispered.

He turned and gasped, then with two or three strides he was by her side, she was in his arms and his lips were on hers.

"God," he gasped, finally stopping the kiss, "you're beautiful."

"But …" she looked down to her shoulder.

"What? I've told you before, that is not who you are," he helped her into her blouse, "I love who you are, not what you are."

"Bill …"

"Now, what are we going to do about whatever little drongo is sending these notes, eh?" he smiled and kissed her forehead.

"Um …"

"The boss?"

"You make him sound like a mafioso," she laughed.

"Nah, he'd run rings round 'em."

"So?"

"We show them to Lawson, then we put a watch on your house – not uniform – someone who is not connected with the force."

"Such as," she sat down at the table.

"Do you have a cleaner?"

"Not daily."

"Can you have her do daily?"

"I suppose so," she hummed. "I'll ask her, but what should she do?"

"Just take a note of who drops off any mail. Postie has a unform so she'll know if it isn't real mail. Then she can take a note of who else drops off."

"Alright, I'll put it to Matthew."

"You see that you do, or I will," he tried to look stern but she only smiled. "Right, bet you're hungry after that," he waved at the garage.

"Kinda works up an appetite."

"So, I've got some chook, and some spuds and onions …"

"You're a better cook than me, Bill, what do you want me to do."

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They washed the pots and threw the cloths over the taps.

"I suppose I ought to learn how to cook," she smiled and took her drink to the living room.

"Why? We eat well at your place."

"We eat mostly what Jean sends." She pouted.

"What did you do, in Melbourne?"

"Ate out, bought in, and brought stuff from Jean when I was over," she smiled. "I'm not very domestic."

"I only do plain," he sat next to her, "I eat out if I want special."

"Plain is good, that was tasty."

He shrugged, they fell silent.

She finished her drink and stood up, "I best go," she hummed.

"Why?"

"Er … neighbours." It was a weak excuse, but valid nevertheless.

"Oh …" he looked disappointed.

"Bill," she leant in to him and kissed him softly, "your neighbours know I'm here, the car is outside and I won't have anything said about you. Perhaps you could come by, tomorrow, and plant something – if you're free?" she smirked.

"Yeah," he smirked back, "I think there's room in the back border for some seeds."

He kissed her at the door, held her close and told her she was beautiful.

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Once upon a time, when he was young, Bill Hobart would never have considered sleeping with a woman who wasn't his wife but that meant so much to him. He hadn't saved himself for marriage, he'd had his moments, some of his girlfriends had been a little too willing and those that weren't he hadn't forced himself on – he respected women. Vivi wasn't untouched, he didn't expect her to be and he had heard the stories but she was a single woman, with a strong sense of who she was and he thought maybe someone who didn't want to be controlled. He didn't want to control her, had never wanted to control a woman in the way so many men he came across in his line of work seemed to want to. His father hadn't controlled his mother, he rather thought it was the other way round, their marriage had seemed more of a partnership, like the Blakes – they worked together for the children, for the surgery. He'd seen Lucien change nappies, play with his children, make a cuppa … and he was happy, Jean seemed happy, and the senior Blakes seemed happy. He liked that idea.

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It being Saturday, Vivi wasn't in the office and Bill had a rare weekend off, so she fully expected him to arrive with some seeds or seedlings for the garden. She had food in, his preferred beer and a little paperwork to do. She wondered if she should keep an eye on her post box at the end of the drive but didn't fancy the idea of staring down the drive all morning. She had a mirror hanging in the hall, near the door and wondered if she angled it she would be able to see without having to spend all morning there. She could see down to the box as she sat in her study.

It was a good view, she even saw Bill as he arrived, a box of plants in one hand, and sauntered up to the door.

"Hey," she smiled.

"You got second sight," he bent forward and kissed her lightly.

"No, come …" she pulled him into the house, "see …" she showed him the mirror and where she had been sitting.

"Smart," he nodded. "Any joy?"

"Not yet."

"Right, well, I've got some plants to fill in the gaps and some paper daisy seeds for that odd corner …"

"I'll finish my paperwork and bring you a beer, about an hour?"

"Sounds good to me," he turned to head down and through the kitchen, she patted his backside.

"Miss Blake," he turned with mock severity.

"Sergeant?" she laughed.

He shook his head and carried on, today could be interesting, he thought.

She turned back into her study.

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A flicker from the mirror had her turn round and look. It was the postman, dropping off a couple of letters. She didn't think they'd be particularly important, she wasn't expecting anything but she might as well go and collect it. Her drive wasn't long, just long enough to park the MG on with room for one more small vehicle, if she pulled her car right up to the bungalow. She put her hand on the door handle and looked again – there he was, the person who, she assumed, was harassing her with cruel and vindictive letters. She watched him put an envelope into the box and leave; he was in no hurry, not thinking she would be on alert, and with Bill having walked he had no idea she had company.

She quietly opened the door and stepped out then ran, down the drive.

"Hey, you!" she shouted, "come here, you little …"

He turned round and started to run, but Edward Tyneman wasn't built for running and before he had got to the main road she had caught him and pushed him hard enough to have him fall face first into the dirt.

"Sergeant!" she put a foot on Edward's back, "Sergeant Hobart!"

In the garden Bill stood up and brushed soil from his hands. That was Vivi's voice and she only called him by his title when they were either in public or if she needed his help.

By the time he had run round to the front of the house she had hauled Edward up and pulled one hand up between his shoulder blades.

"Ow!" he squealed, "you're hurting me!"

"Bloody hell," Bill took him from her and pushed him towards the house, "you go and call the station, Miss Blake," he growled, "have someone come and get him. You, lad, are under arrest for harassment."

"Me?" Edward gasped, "I haven't done anything."

Vivi pulled the letters from her box and waved the last one in the air. Again it was crudely addressed and without a postmark. "I have the others," she hissed.

"Can't prove it," he sulked.

"I'm sure we can find someone who can match your handwriting to these," Vivi hummed. "I'll make that call, shall I, Sergeant?"

"Miss," he nodded and pushed Edward down into a kitchen chair.

"Don't move." He ordered and went to wash the soil from his hands.

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While they waited they tried to get out of Edward why he thought he should write such letters. What had Miss Blake ever done to him?

"You spoiled everything," he grunted, "my father is making me pay for that girl's university course."

"Perhaps you shouldn't have had printed lies about her that called her reputation into question and then lied under oath. You were lucky not to be jailed for that alone." She pulled the rest of the letters out of the drawer in her desk and added the latest to the pile; she did not open it.

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Two constables arrived in answer to Vivi's call and handcuffed him.

"Charge, Sarge?" one asked.

"Sending malicious mail."

"Ok."

"Who's on today?"

"New man, Inspector Munro," the other answered, propelling Edward to the car.

"See you down there, just got to finish washing …" Bill watched as they bundled a protesting Edward into the back of the car, his parting shot – "My father will hear of this."

"He will," Vivi agreed, "and I don't think he'll be particularly pleased."

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Bill washed and put his shirt back on, covering up the broad shoulders Vivi liked to admire from the kitchen window.

"Come on, then, let's see what this Munro fella's about, eh?" he indicated she should precede him out of the house.

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Down at the station Inspector William Munro was surveying what he thought was his new domain. He was to share the running of the station with Inspector Lawson and not to upset the apple cart – Top Brass considered Ballarat a gold standard station with an excellent clear up rate and good standing within the community. They would like to keep it that way. Matthew had asked for special leave when the baby was born and as Alice could go into labour anytime in the next two months due to the problems she continued to have they knew it could be sudden, and they couldn't leave the station without a senior officer.

"Who's this?" he looked up from the desk.

"Edward Tyneman, sir," the constable kept a grip on the handcuffs, "charged with sending malicious mail to Miss Blake."

"Tyneman?"

"Sir, Mr Patrick Tyneman's son."

"And Miss Blake?"

"A lawyer, she prosecuted him for libel involving a young lass here in Ballarat. He also lied in court."

"Ah," Munro nodded. He'd met Patrick once, and knowing his standing in the town had hoped to curry favour with him, maybe get invited to join the Masons. Charging his son wouldn't help him there – he thought.

"Nothing to do with me," Edward wriggled in the constable's grasp.

"Miss Blake is bringing the evidence down, sir, with Sergeant Hobart."

"What's Hobart got to do with this?"

"He was doin' Miss Blake's garden when she caught him leaving the last letter, sir." The constable wondered how he would feel about Hobart being at Vivi's house, though everyone knew he did the garden and nobody really cared.

"Why was he doing her garden, as a lawyer I would have thought she could afford to employ someone and not use one of my officers?"

The constable didn't think Inspector Lawson would like Bill being referred to as one of Munro's officers, for a start, and what Bill did on his day's off was his business – as long as it wasn't a criminal enterprise.

"She had trouble getting someone that wanted to do the garden and not spend time staring at her." He knew that was common knowledge.

Munro thought it was because Vivi was attractive, he didn't match Miss Blake with the lawyer who had been attacked in Melbourne some time back.

"I see," he hummed, though he didn't really.

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"After you, Miss Blake," Bill held the door open for her. They had discussed Munro in the car, neither knew him so they had an open mind.

There was something about the man sitting where Matthew usually sat. He didn't immediately rise as she entered, which Matthew did, he looked up, thought about it and then, as Miss Blake was tidily dressed and lightly made up so appeared to be someone he should have on his side, he pushed his chair back and stood.

"Miss Blake?" he held out his hand.

"Inspector Munro," she took his hand.

"What can you tell me? Why has Mr Tyneman been arrested?"

Vivi placed the letters on the desk, "these letters have been coming to my house for some time now." She sat where the constable pushed a chair and rewarded him with a sweet smile. "At first I didn't pay them much attention, in my line of work you get used to people not agreeing with you. But they became increasingly unpleasant and unkind. I showed them to Sergeant Hobart and I was going to show them to Inspector Lawson …"

"Why wait for Lawson?"

"Because I know him and I didn't know you had been brought in, Mr Munro, and once Sergeant Hobart had seen them the obvious line to follow was his senior officer – Lawson."

"Hm," he grunted.

"How sure are you that these are written by Mr Tyneman?"

"I saw him putting this in my box this morning, and he does have an axe to grind. He shouldn't, but he does."

"What have you done to him?"

"Nothing, directly, I acted for Miss Simons over the libellous comments he had printed in the local paper. Miss Simons won her case and Mr Tyneman's father, Patrick, is paying her university fees as compensation. Edward did mention that his father is making him pay the money back." Vivi folded her arms.

Munro opened a letter at random and read it. He had to agree it wasn't pleasant or kind. This letter was one that intimated she was in an inappropriate relationship with Sergeant Hobart because he was desperate enough to consider her as a girlfriend – with her burn damage. It was also less than complimentary about her appearance. He thought Edward must either be blind or very jealous, Vivienne Blake was a very attractive woman.

"Aha," he hummed, "I remember now, you're the lawyer that was sent a letter bomb, last year?"

She nodded.

He looked at her but she had dressed in her usual careful way to hide the damage.

"This letter, Miss Blake, Hobart, implies you are in a relationship," he waved it in the air and looked at the both of them.

"I don't think my relationship with Miss Blake is anything to do with this person," Bill kept his cool, not knowing Munro. If it had been Lawson his language would have been a little more colourful in spite of Vivi being there.

"Sergeant Hobart is kind enough to do my garden for me, Inspector …"

"He took you out to dinner …" Edward blurted out.

"So have plenty of others," she turned and tipped her chin a little higher, "it's called having friends, Edward. You'll be accusing me of having an affair with Dr Blake next …" she frowned.

"Well …" he grunted before he could think it through.

"Dr Lucien Blake is my brother, you idiot, Dr Thomas Blake is my father, are you implying incestuous relationships in the family?"

Edward blushed and looked down.

"Where is he?!" Patrick's loud voice preceded him into the office. "Are, there you are boy," he glared at his son, "I was told you were late to the print room and now here you are, in trouble again!"

"Patrick," Vivi smiled sweetly.

"Miss Blake, Sergeant Hobart and …" he looked at Munro, "Inspector Munro. What has Edward done?"

"He has been accused of sending malicious mail to Miss Blake," Munro stood up.

"Let me see," Patrick wiggled his fingers and Bill placed one letter in his hand. "That's his handwriting," he grunted, "can't tell you how often we've told him to tidy it up. How many times have we told you to stay away from Miss Blake, boy?" he turned to his son. "Stop whining, you did wrong and were lucky not to be jailed for contempt of court." He turned to Vivi, "I apologise profusely for my son's actions …"

"It's not you apology I want, Patrick," she interrupted him.

"… no, and you will get one from my son, and if he bothers you again he will be cut off without a shilling. Now, if it's alright with you, I'll take him back to work, his curfew is at the end of the day and if I hear of him out and about you can do what you will with him."

"As Edward seems to be fixated on other people's sex lives," she straightened her back, "real or imagined, perhaps my brother could prescribe something to dull such feelings."

Bill turned away and smirked, two or three others in the office covered their sniggers with fits of coughing.

"Do you want to take it any further, Miss Blake?" Munro watched her, cool headed, calm, no wonder she was considered one of the best lawyers, with that completely unreadable expression anyone being questioned by her would be blind-sided.

"Only if he bothers me again, Inspector," she held out her hand for the letters, "I will hold onto these, just in case."

"As you wish." He handed the pile of letters back. "Edward, you are under caution from now, good behaviour, no more harassment; this will go on your record regardless of the withdrawal of formal charges."

Patrick hauled Edward out of the chair, nodded to Vivi and the others and dragged him out of the office, slapping him over the back of his head for good measure.

"Thank you, Inspector," Vivi stood up, "I'll be off."

"Miss Blake," he nodded, "Hobart."

"Back on duty day after tomorrow, sir," he nodded and let Vivi leave first.

"Right." He watched them go and wondered how much there was in Edward's accusations; still they were adults, consenting adults.

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"Well, what do you think?" Bill held the car door open for her.

"Of Munro?"

He nodded.

"Not sure, yet. I admit I would have preferred Matthew but as long as he puts this on Edward's record I'll reserve judgement."

"Right."

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Bill finished the planting and tidying in the garden, they ate a light lunch and went for a walk round the lake. He escorted her home and they went inside for a cuppa.