Jean and Lucien decided not to tell the children they were thinking of formally adopting them, in case it didn't happen. Lucien's first appointment, after his rounds at the hospital, was to contact his lawyer and arrange to discuss the issue. They both knew that anyone over thirty five was deemed too old by Family Welfare, Jean was only twenty five, but Lucien was now thirty seven and if they were to go through Welfare they would be instantly dismissed without thought for the children or the fact that he was their legal guardian.

"And don't forget to go to Curtis' cricket team try out," she warned.

"Right, of course." He patted down his jacket, looking for his keys and frowning. Jean held them up in her hand. "Ah, thank you," he kissed her cheek and headed out to the hospital.

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Lucien called in at the lawyer's office on his way from rounds, just on the off-chance, he said.

"Oh, Dr Blake," the secretary smiled, "he's with a client at the moment, but if you have the time to wait …"

"I have nothing pressing," he checked his watch, "surgery's at two."

"Would you like a cuppa?"

"That would be lovely," he sat on a chair and picked up the day's copy of the Courier.

He had just started to drink the tea when the office door opened and Jock Clement came out.

"Ah," he smiled genially, "young Blake, isn't it?"

"Lucien Blake, yes," Lucien corrected him, he didn't like being called 'Young Blake' he felt like a child.

"Jock Clement, knew your parents," he held out his hand, Lucien couldn't ignore it. He might check with Ashby. Inspector Ashby, he knew, was a friend of his parents, he barely remembered Clement.

"Lucien? What can I do for you?" the lawyer looked past Clement, not one of his favourite clients, and smiled at Blake.

"Family matter," he stepped round Clement, "can we …?" he indicated the office, this was not for anyone else's ears.

"Come in."

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"So, Lucien, married life ok?"

"Wonderful," Lucien grinned, "bloody marvellous in fact."

"Delighted to hear it, so what family matter?"

"You know I came home with six children in tow, only one of which was actually my child?"

"Yes, it was remarkably generous of you," his lawyer nodded, "is there a problem?"

"Not as such, the guardianship is legal but it was something that happened at school yesterday. Curtis, the eldest, has been asked to try out for the cricket team, all good and I wholeheartedly approve, but one of the lads said he didn't have a father to ask permission of, that I was only, in his words, 'some bloke who took him in'. Jean and I were wondering, actually it was her idea, if we could legally adopt them. The consulate still have had no one come to claim any of them; we know May and Suyin's parents are dead, it's Curtis, Will and Lottie that may have living parents somewhere."

"So, how long have you looked after the children?"

"Nearly three years."

"I see, and you haven't asked Family Welfare?"

"No, you see, I'm over thirty five, Jean says they won't look at someone my age as a prospective adoptive parent."

"Jean?"

"Twenty five."

"Ah," he hummed. "So, what you want me to do is find a sympathetic family court judge and do it all privately …"

"… and legally," Lucien added.

"That goes without saying, Lucien," the lawyer smiled. "I don't see a problem, not really. As you say, it has been three years that you have been their legal guardian and you want to make it permanent. There are so many displaced children from the war, you taking five on is a small dent in that number, but an important one. Leave it with me, I'll see what judges are available and what they think. Do the children know what you want to do?"

"No," Lucien shook his head, "we thought it best not to tell them, not yet."

"And if it can't be done?"

"I am still their legal guardian," Lucien frowned, "I promised them … where they were was hell. May wouldn't have survived another week, I couldn't leave them, not there, and, truthfully, I quickly came to love them as if they were my own."

The lawyer thought there would be a lot of people hurt if this didn't go right, not just the children but Lucien, and likely Jean, even though he hadn't met her.

He told him he would let him know if it could be done, and when.

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Lucien thought Curtis acquitted himself rather well in the cricket try outs. He was a decent batsman and a very good spin bowler. He ruffled his hair when he came over after speaking to the sports' master.

"Well done, son," he grinned, "you are pretty good, y'know."

"D'ye think so, dad?" Curtis glowed with pride, "which do you think I'm best at, batting or bowling?"

"You're good at both, not that I'm much of a judge, but I reckon you're a bowler, a spin bowler too."

"That's what he said, and he said he'd like me on the team, if you agree."

"I most certainly do, shall we go and talk to him?"

"Best had, you have to agree, he says."

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"Lucien Blake," Lucien held his hand out to the master.

"Davidson, sports' master." He shook Lucien's hand. "You are Curtis' father, yes?"

"Guardian," Lucien couldn't lie, "but he calls me 'dad'."

"So, you agree to Curtis joining the team, we could do with a bowler like him?"

"Absolutely," he nodded, "do I have to sign something?"

"No, verbal agreement, though we will need you to sign if we go out of town."

"No worries. So unless you are playing now, I'd best take him home for dinner."

"No, try outs only." He turned to Curtis, "you did well tonight, Curtis, good to have you on the team."

"Thank you, sir," Curtis grinned.

They headed back to the car, Curtis swinging his bat. "Thanks for coming, dad," he grinned.

"My pleasure, son," Lucien unlocked the car, "I played a bit, in my youth, more of a batsman than a bowler. I look forward to seeing some matches."

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

Curtis grinned, it gave him a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach, not unpleasant, a feeling of belonging.

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Lucien told Jean what the lawyer had proposed when the children were in bed.

"That sounds hopeful," she hummed, "I mean they took the surname Blake for the purposes of registering at school, it would be nice for it to be their name. We could use their birth names as middle names."

"You've been thinking about this, haven't you?"

"I'm afraid I have. Curtis James Adamson Blake, William Louis Aubert Blake, Charlotte Anne Walters Blake …"

"Suyin and May?" he watched her thinking, "they don't have surnames other than Blake."

"I thought maybe Suyin Mary, and May Elizabeth Genevieve, for their grandmothers?"

"I think that's perfect," he smiled, "thank you."

"For what?"

"Including my mother."

"Who else?" she snuggled close, "though it does mean I shall have to think harder for our own."

"You're not, are you?"

"It was bound to happen, lover," she grinned, "we haven't taken precautions, and we don't just sleep in the bed, do we?" she giggled.

"No, and that rug has seen some action," he kissed her softly.

"Naughty boy," she pushed up and straddled him.

"You didn't put up any resistance."

"Nor do you," she stroked the emerging bulge in his trousers.

"You're a wicked woman, Jean Blake," he pulled her close and slanted his mouth over hers.

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"It would be lovely to wake up to," she stood at the window of the studio that looked out over the garden.

"Hm?" he nuzzled her neck.

"If we make this our bedroom," she smiled and continued. "We could have very light drapes for a little privacy over the windows, though we aren't really overlooked, unless next door really crane their necks."

"I suppose we are going to need more space, when the baby goes into its own room."

"I was thinking of the one we currently use, or the one I used to have."

"All the children upstairs?"

She nodded, "yes, I think so, depending on how this one sleeps." She stroked her belly, not showing yet.

"Bathroom?"

"The side room your mother used to use to clean her brushes. It already has the pipework, but I'll check with the plumber; enough room for a loo, basin and shower."

"D'ye think so?"

"It won't be huge …" she stopped, "phone."

Lucien gave the nape of her neck a quick kiss and went into the study to take the call.

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"Blake," Ashby grunted over the phone, "sorry I was away when you left your question."

"About Clement?"

"Yes. Stay away from him, Lucien. He's dangerous."

"Dangerous?"

"He always wants what someone else has. Your mother, for example, he was besotted with her and he was the one who was on call the night she fell ill with appendicitis. He said she died on the table …"

"What about dad? Surely he would have wanted to do the op?"

"He wasn't there. He'd gone home, one of us would escort her home. Your mother liked a party, you know what your father was like …"

"What are you telling me, Ashby?" a cold stone had settled in him.

"There was never any proof, Lucien, your father refused an autopsy and it was a closed casket, he said he didn't want you to see her."

"But surely he saw her?"

"If he did he never said."

"Well, thanks, Ashby," Lucien sighed, "it was just when I saw him at the lawyers …"

"What were you doing there?"

"Family business. He was so bloody patronising, called me 'young Blake', makes me feel ten again, and not in a good way."

"As I said, give him a wide berth."

"I will."

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Lucien explained to Jean about Clement, and why he had asked Ashby about him.

"And now, I don't know what to think, it doesn't sound right – that dad shouldn't see her, for the last time or authorise an autopsy."

"Why should he, Lucien, Clement is a doctor, your father would have no reason to doubt him would he?"

"| suppose not, but appendicitis would have been coming on for a few hours, surely, and if she felt unwell she would have told my father." He frowned.

"You'd have thought so, if as you say, it wouldn't be that sudden." She sighed. "You won't do anything rash, will you? With Clement?"

"Rash, me?" he tipped his head back and huffed, "Why Jean, what must you think of me?"

"Huh," she sniffed, "you know what I mean. If Doug Ashby has told you to steer clear, for once, do so." She warned.

"I will," he hummed and wrapped his arms around her, "but if he comes near you …"

"Then you can be my knight in shining armour." She kissed him lightly.

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Jean didn't think he would have to be her 'knight in shining armour' soon, or indeed at all. She gave no further thought to Dr Clement as she continued in her daily life, seeing to the children and to the surgery kept her very busy and updates from the lawyer on the adoption.

Then suddenly Jock Clement was everywhere. He was in the newsagents', at the post office, even around the market. He never approached her, or attempted to speak to her, but he was there.

At first Jean didn't bother too much. She usually had May with her as she shopped, sometimes her mother would join her, so she knew she wasn't alone.

Until the day she was on her own.

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Mary had offered to look after May while Jean went to the market. She wanted fruit and vegetables, to place orders for the meat and to have a look at things she would need for the baby. It was too early to buy them and she had a cot, bassinet and pram, but it never hurt, so Mary told her, to be prepared.

She had seen what she needed to see as regards baby paraphernalia and was heading to the butcher's when he finally spoke to her.

Tipping his hat politely, he introduced himself as a friend of the family.

"Knew Thomas," he grunted, "and of course Genevieve."

"I never met Mrs Blake," she hummed, "but everyone knew Dr Thomas."

"Ah, yes, young Blake well?"

"My husband," she stressed the word 'husband', "is well thank you. Busy, as always."

"Wondered if he'd thought of joining the Masons."

"I don't think he has given it any thought," she sighed, "why?"

"Well, worthy men of the town, y'know, contacts …"

"That would be up to him."

"Hm."

It was obvious to Jean that Jock Clement had no idea how to conduct small talk with someone's wife. She wondered if he had ever married.

"Well, you must excuse me, I have things to do before surgery. Good day to you."

He tipped his hat in reply and watched her head into the shop.

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Jean made light of it when she told Lucien Clement wondered if he was planning on joining the Freemasons.

"Why?"

"He thought you might need the contacts of 'worthy men of the town'," she stirred her tea.

"And why did he bring this up, with you?" he frowned.

"I have absolutely no idea, darling," she smiled, "but he has no idea how to make small talk. Did he ever marry?"

"Not a clue," he shrugged, "and frankly, Jean, I don't really care." He didn't tell her he had designs on his mother. Further conversations he had had with Ashby told him so, that he was besotted with her. Everybody who attended the same dinners and dances as his parents, all the men apparently respected his father, but loved his mother. None of them did anything about it, though.

They didn't talk of Clement in front of the children, they didn't think it was important, or at least Jean didn't. But it gnawed at Lucien, what Ashby had said about his father not being at the party with his mother, that he wasn't the one to do the appendectomy, that it was a closed casket apparently because he didn't want Lucien to see his mother. He didn't remember his father being that kind, and anyway, if she had died as was said, she would just have looked as if she was sleeping.

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While Jean was dropping the children off at school the following morning he drove down to the cemetery. His mother's grave hadn't been properly tended in many a year, his father's only a few years old next to her. He must have left instructions, Lucien thought, that he was to be laid to rest next to his love. He wiped some of the lichen off the stone, revealing her dates and that she was wife to Thomas and mother to Lucien.

He squatted down at the edge of the grave. "So, maman, what happened? Did you really have appendicitis? What really happened at that party and why did dad leave you there?"

He ran his hands over the tufts of grass and weeds, he would have to sort this out, make sure she had flowers, his mother deserved flowers.

He stood up and looked around. He needed to talk to someone about how he could find out anything about his mother's death, there must be notes somewhere, his father's old files, perhaps?

"Heard you were interested in Clement," a voice broke his thoughts. He turned.

"Neville Franklin," the man offered his hand, "friend of your parents."

"Ah," Lucien frowned.

"Oh not in that way, fellow Mason. Saw them regularly at the dinners, until your mother sadly passed."

"What happened? Were you there that night?"

"I was, bad do," he sighed, "Clement came out of another room, it was just him and your mother, he was besotted with her, followed her round like a puppy, she hated it. He closed the door and said he'd called for an ambulance, Mrs Blake had collapsed – he said."

"Nobody else saw?"

"Wouldn't let anyone in, said she wouldn't want us to see her like that."

"And dad?"

"Gone home, I was to see her home, nothing unusual in that. Your father wasn't one for late nights, your mother enjoyed a party so one of us would escort her home."

"I don't believe she had appendicitis," Lucien blurted out, "she would have had some pain before that evening, she would have told dad."

"You'd know," Franklin nodded, "I'm not a doctor, and I haven't had appendicitis."

"He's started talking to my wife, she says he doesn't know how to make conversation with a woman and though she would deny it, I think it unnerves her. Did he ever marry?"

Franklin shook his head, "no one measured up to your mother, I heard he wanted her to enter into an affair with him. I doubt she told your father, that Gallic stubbornness."

"She wouldn't …"

"No, Lucien, she wouldn't. She often said your father was a philistine, but he was her philistine and she loved the both of you, fiercely."

They parted with Lucien thinking there was a lot more to his mother's death than any knew, except for Clement.

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"So, what's your thinking?" Alice noted the weight of the liver he had taken out of the body on the table in the morgue.

"That somehow he killed her, poison or physically attacking her."

"Wouldn't she have screamed if he'd attacked her?"

"I expect so, mother was strong, stubborn but I do remember her and dad having loud arguments, that always ended in kisses and hugs. Franklin said she loved us both, fiercely."

"If I could have some soil from near the coffin I could test for poisons." She passed him a pair of tweezers to extract the foreign object in the lungs.

"Bullet, .38 I think."

"Revolver?"

He shrugged. "Murder, whatever way you look at it. What did he do, this old chap?"

"Retired ambo, Reginald Simms." Alice looked at the notes that had come in with the body.

Lucien began to close up the body, there was nothing else to say, Simms was shot, at close range, judging by the powder burns on the shirt.

They finished off, signed the paperwork and pushed the trolley into the fridge.

"So," Alice leant against the counter and folded her arms, "what do you want to do?"

"Pardon?"

"About your mother."

"I want to know the truth, Alice. The more I think about it the more I doubt the story that she had appendicitis, she would have been feeling unwell for at least a few hours beforehand, so why go to a dinner?"

"Can you get me a sample of the soil, as close to the coffin as possible?"

"And?"

"I can test it for poisons," she pushed off the counter.

"I'll try, about six feet down?"

"Or five should be enough."

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It wasn't easy. He took a long thin piece of piping and pushed hard into the earth in the middle of his mother's grave. Withdrawing it slowly, he found what he hoped was soil from the top of the coffin and tipped it into a small specimen jar for Alice to do her tests on, the rest of the soil further up the pipe he discarded. He stood up and dusted his hands off. The grave looked even sorrier the second time, it needed cleaning. Perhaps the stonemason would be the one for the job.

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"Another gunshot wound, Blake," Ashby sighed. "This one is still breathing."

Lucien headed at top speed into the Accident Department and to the cubicle where his patient was waiting. A nurse was cleaning the wound and soothing the man.

"Albert Cousins, Doctor," she stepped back, "aged 74 years. Staggered in with this wound. Says he was shot."

"Thank you, nurse," he looked at the man. "Hello, Albert, I'm Dr Blake, shall we have a look?"

The bullet had entered through the shoulder, missing vital blood vessels though there was much blood. Lucien numbed the wound and removed the bullet, apologising for any further pain he was inflicting.

"No worries, doc," Albert winced. "I'm just glad he was a bad shot."

"Not close up, then?"

"Not really. From my front door, I was up the hall."

"Did you see who it was?"

"Oh you bet. Bloody Jock Clement." He fairly spat the name out.

"Clement?!"

"Yeah. Wanted me to keep my mouth shut if you came a-callin'."

"Albert, I don't, or rather, didn't know you until now, why would I call on you unless you were a patient of mine?"

"About your mother."

"Nurse, would you bring Mr Cousins a cuppa, I think we have a lot to talk about."

The nurse left with a short nod, Lucien finished tending to the wound and assured Albert he would be fine. "Now, what's this about my mother."

"The night she left."

"Left, my mother died after a failed appendectomy."

"No, she didn't doc. That was the story Clement put out, what he told your pa. Me and Vince Parker were the ambos that night. He called us to the Masonic Hall, a woman had collapsed and needed to be taken straight to his consulting rooms …"

"His consulting rooms, not the hospital?"

Albert shook his head.

"The woman, we knew who it was, she was well known about the town was Mrs Blake, was unconscious, dress all torn and a split lip, looked like she'd been in a fight."

"So, you took her to his consulting rooms?"

Albert nodded. "He made us promise not to say anything to anyone about what we saw, otherwise he'd make sure we never worked again, and our families would suffer. We both had young 'uns, doc, and he was holding a revolver at the time. But we knew it was wrong, and when we heard she'd passed we didn't believe it, that's why we both say she left."

They paused while the nurse passed Albert a cup of tea, and one for himself.

"The funeral?"

"They're still operating. I think the director is still the one that did her funeral. Your dad was angry, that day, and many days after."

"I remember, but I was ten at the time, and I just thought he blamed me. He blamed me for a lot of things."

"Sorry, doc."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Albert, I understand that his threat was to you and your family."

"He was a doctor, we just assumed he'd take care of her, y'know, like you've just done for me."

"I need you to tell the police what you've just told me, Albert. If Clement finds out he didn't kill you … what was your mate called, the one you were with that night?"

"Reg Simms."

"Oh, Albert, I'm sorry, he died, from a gunshot wound." Lucien patted his shoulder, "his family, your family?"

"Reg's wife is out of town, visiting their grandkids, Castlemaine. My wife died two years ago, our boy's in Sydney."

"I want you to tell the cops, Ashby and Lawson, all that you've told me, then we'll get you out to your boy. They'll tell Mrs Simms if you can give us an address or a number?"

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Albert trusted Lucien to see him safe. He agreed to give a full statement to Matthew and he would be taken to Sydney by a police officer, for his safety on the journey.

Lucien asked for an exhumation of his mother.

"What?"

"After what Albert has just told us, Matthew, I need to see my mother's body, skeleton. Albert said she had a split lip, that doesn't go with appendicitis, she was assaulted. I'm going to dig through dad's old notes and see if I can find her details."

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All Jean could do was be there. Hold his hand and love him while he tried to find out what really happened all those years ago. He found the notes and was surprised to find she was a diabetic, that she had a miscarriage when he was two years old and her cause of death, appendicitis.

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Lucien paced while they lifted the coffin from the grave. The wood was crumbling, the small metal plaque rusted.

"Blake," Matthew's voice was surprisingly soft and tender. He'd known Genevieve as a kind and gentle soul, who was always happy for him to spend time with her son, she welcomed him into the house and showed him the gold leaf floating up to the ceiling on the thermals from the fireplace.

Lucien stopped pacing and rubbed his palms down his jacket. He nodded to the men to lift the lid.

"Bloody hell!" he bellowed. "it's empty!"

The coffin held only stones, enough, he thought, to mimic the weight of his mother.

"Where is my mother, Lawson?" he ground his teeth.

Matthew scratched his head. The only person who knew the answer to that question was currently sitting in one of their cells after being arrested for the murder of Reg Simms and the attempted murder of Albert Cousins. He was refusing to answer any questions until his lawyer was present. Lucien had told Ashby that they had the same lawyer.

"It's up to the lawyer, Lucien," Ashby sighed, "whether he wishes to represent him or not. He could assign the case to someone else."

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The lawyer had said he had no room to take on another case, which was partially true, he was dealing with the adoption of the children brought back from the war. He suggested another lawyer who was very good and would serve Clement well. This he told him on a flying visit to the cells.

"Sorry," he shook his head, "I have a very heavy caseload at the moment. This other chap is available and willing to take on your case."

It was that or represent himself, Clement frowned.

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"I want to talk to Clement," Blake glared at Ashby. "The coffin was full of stones."

"Stones!?"

"Yes, stones, no body, I want to know what happened that night," he thumped the table. "Where is my mother? What did he do with her at his consulting rooms? Ashby, Doug, you knew them, you were there?"

"I was, so was Franklin, but we neither of us saw her after he called for the ambos."

"One, the one that he didn't kill told me he threatened them, said if they said anything it would be the worse for their family. They were scared, and I understand that, we parents will do almost anything for our children, won't we?"

Doug Ashby nodded, he had a daughter, his only child, and he too would do anything for her, but within the law. He knew it probably wasn't a good idea to let Lucien see Clement, but if he didn't open the cell maybe they'd get away with it.

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"Where is she, Clement!?" Lucien growled, "where is my mother?" He grabbed the bars of the cell. "What did you do to her?!"

"You wouldn't understand," Clement sneered, "your father didn't. He had no breeding …"

Lucien steamed and gripped the bars. "You know nothing about my father, he loved her and she loved him."

"Love! Pah! Love has nothing to do with it, it's breeding that matters, and he was not born to have such a woman as Genevieve."

"So you didn't even love her, you just coveted her! What did you do with her, you snivelling little bastard!"

Clement wouldn't answer, it was a secret he would keep, but not to make him angry or to rile him, it was simply because he didn't know what happened to Genevieve after the ambos had taken her into his consulting room. By the time he had finished threatening them and pushing them out of the door, Genevieve had disappeared.