Twenty-seven years earlier:
Genevieve woke slowly. Her face hurt, her whole body ached, her private parts were sore. The last thing she remembered was Jock Clement slapping her and forcing himself inside her. She was humiliated, frightened and now she had no idea where she was. She hadn't screamed, if she remembered correctly, he'd hit her before she could get a sound out.
She'd always hated Clement; from their first meeting when Thomas had proudly introduced his beautiful continental wife to the wider Mason's 'family', wives and husbands, people who did good deeds around the town; Clement had eyed her up and down, mentally licking his lips. She'd noted he was one of the few who was unmarried but unlike the others he had followed her around the parties, made sure she always had a drink, much of which she poured unseen into a plant pot – diabetes and too much drink was not a good mix – but she could still act a little tipsy. Thomas wasn't one for late nights and would often leave her in the care of Doug Ashby or Neville Franklin, both of whom were kind, considerate and respectful and saw she was taken home a couple of hours after her husband. But this night they must have missed Clement taking her into a room and closing the door. This time, because of her refusal to enter into an affair with him, he was going to show her that crossing him was never a good idea.
He forced his mouth over hers, pushed her against a wall and began to tear at her expensive evening dress. His hands were everywhere but he kept his mouth over hers, even when she bit down hard on his lip, to silence her. He threw her to the floor and as she opened her mouth to scream he back-handed her causing her to blackout even as he pushed her skirts up, tore off her undergarments and thrust inside her.
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She could hear his threatening voice to others as she pushed herself slowly up into a sitting position. She was on a stretcher, he must have called the ambulance, but she had no idea how he had hidden her state of undress. She looked slowly around her. There was a full-length window leading onto a garden, the key was in the lock and she was sure if she was quick and quiet she would be able to escape before he could return.
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She closed the window behind her and followed a path that fortunately led her to a road.
It was a long walk, in bare feet; cold in her torn dress that she now noted had splashes of her favourite Burgundy which made her look, she supposed, like a drunk. She certainly felt that way.
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"Drunk again, Genevieve," Thomas looked out of one eye as she stumbled into the bedroom.
"I am not drunk, Thomas," she sat down heavily on the bed, "Clement forced himself on me."
"Don't be ridiculous, he's a Mason," he growled and turned on the light. "Look at the state of you, woman, how many saw you like this, who saw you home?"
"I walked, Thomas," she began to cry, "in my bare feet, alone, from his house. Clement … he knocked me out, must have called an ambulance – ask Mr Ashby."
"You drink too much," he snapped, "get washed and get to bed, I'll tell the boy you aren't well."
"Why would I drink too much, Thomas," she shook his shoulder, to no effect, "I am carrying your child, the second child we have hoped for and you think I would do that, with the diabetes as well. Thomas, Thomas! Look at me, Thomas, I beg you!" But he turned over and switched off the light.
How could he not believe her? She never got drunk, she never drank all the wine Clement poured for her, never! She was just a good actress, and now it seemed, too good. She headed to the bathroom and surveyed the damage. If Thomas didn't believe her then maybe a time apart would bring him to his senses.
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Nobody noticed the woman boarding the train as anyone special. She had packed a small valise, put on travelling clothes, a hat and scarf and walked out of the house half an hour after Thomas had dismissed her accusations. Pausing to look in on her beloved son and hoping he would understand when she returned, she left the house.
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"She was taken ill," Thomas just grunted when his ten year old son asked where his maman was, the following morning. When he had woken to a cold bed it was the first question on his mind. He'd ring Clement after Lucien had gone to school.
"Will she be alright?" his lip trembled, Thomas despised emotion in a man, or a boy.
"Don't know, eat your breakfast and go to school."
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"Sorry, Thomas, she came back to the hospital, collapsed with appendicitis," Clement had to make up a story when he got a call from Dr Thomas Blake the following morning, asking if he knew what had happened to Genevieve the previous night as she was not at home. He now knew that she had run away. "I tried, but she went on the table. I've arranged with the funeral parlour … best not to see her, she fell quite badly."
Thomas surmised that Genevieve had gone to the hospital, maybe she had been ill, after all. There was nothing he could do, he was angry, with her, but really with himself, for dismissing her state as drunkenness. Now he was without the only woman he had ever really loved and a boy to bring up.
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Lucien was beside himself with grief, made even worse when his father told him to 'man up' and locked the studio. The funeral went by in a blur, a funeral for a coffin of stones – Thomas never knew. He sent Lucien away to school and fell to a life of surgeries, autopsies and misery; dying a lonely and bitter old man. Not even the pride he felt in Lucien's achievements, the worry of him being held captive or the joy of becoming a grandfather could break through his bitterness and regret. He never went back to the Masons.
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Genevieve had a small flat in Melbourne she habitually used when she went to set up exhibitions at the galleries or she and Thomas used for a night at the theatre so she went there. She lived lived quietly with her baby girl, her paints and a cat for company, unable to find a way back to her husband after she had read of her own death. She made enough with her paintings and teaching art to keep body and soul together, to keep her daughter fed and clothed and wrote regular letters to her son that she never posted. She kept them with her will to be passed to him in the event of her death. When, years later she read of Thomas' death she wondered if she should go home, back to Ballarat to tell Lucien all that had happened.
Thomas would never know now, the longed for second child was a girl and she had named her Mireille, after her own mother.
Mireille was dainty with a shock of golden hair that was a daily reminder for Genevieve of her son, Lucien. Genevieve saw that she went to a reasonably good school and managed to get into university to study English Literature. She now taught the subject in a grammar school in Melbourne and lived, still, with her mother.
Reading through the paper one day, she noted court cases coming up and one intrigued her. An adoption case. A Dr Lucien and Mrs Jean Blake were applying to adopt children abandoned during the war, and did anyone know of the parents, the names were listed for Curtis, Will and Lottie. Of course she didn't but she made some enquiries about Dr Lucien Blake, who was he, where did he come from …?
All the details were held at the court, in the file ready for presentation on the day. She smiled and told how she wondered if this was her long lost son, no need to say why he was lost to her, and if so she would perhaps like to get in touch.
It had to be Lucien, her darling boy.
She took the letters out of the box and posted them.
Then she told Mireille – everything!
"You mean, maman, I have a brother?"
"You do, cherie, and I loved him so much, as I do you. It hurt so much to leave him but your father, well, he was so angry that night … I had planned to go back, but …" she sighed.
"Maman," Mireille reached over the small dining table and squeezed her hand, "from what you tell me, today, he was a good man but conflicted. That said, he should have listened to you, checked you over to see if you were hurt. However, we've had a good life, together, you and me, and maybe Lucien will want to see us?"
"I do hope so," Genevieve smiled softly, "I will write to him and wait, that is all I can do."
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"Lucien," Jean handed him his post, "there's quite a large one, here, otherwise, the usual."
"Oh, right," he hummed and turned the large parcel round in his hands. He couldn't feel any wires or switches so decided Clement hadn't sent him a bomb. He still hadn't got over the stones in the coffin or that Clement wouldn't tell him what happened that fateful night. "Wonder if it's from the court."
"Could be, but we're due there the week after next." She stroked her small bump that showed she was indeed carrying his child.
"OK?" he pulled her to sit on his knee.
"Very much so, darling," she kissed his temple.
"I'll deal with the boring stuff first," he lifted the small selection.
"Tea?"
"Later."
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She wandered in about an hour later, having made some biscuits with May's help, set some bread to prove and put some bills ready to post.
It was a distressing sight. His tie was undone, he was cross-legged on the floor and there were letters and cards all around him; and he was sobbing; great gulping sobs wracked his body as he read the last letter, the one Genevieve had explained to a grown man what had happened that fateful night, the night she had left home.
"Lucien!" she nearly dropped the tray, "oh my love, what on earth…?"
He waved his hand over everything. "She … maman," he blew his nose, "maman is alive. She didn't die that night, oh Jean …" he handed her the last letter and waited while she read it.
"Oh Lucien," she sat down opposite him, "and a sister, oh darling, and they want to meet … "
"I must, Jean, I have missed her so much and dad was …"
"A product of his time, Lucien, though he should have been kinder to your mother, to not believe her …" she shook her head, sadly.
"She wasn't ill, much, but I do remember, before she died, that she wasn't well some mornings, I suppose, after this," he pointed to the letter she had just read, "it was morning sickness. I just don't understand why dad wasn't more sympathetic."
"We'll never know, he could just have been half asleep, he could have been tired of her not coming home with him, but as he always left that to Ashby or Franklin, it was probably regret. However, Lucien, I see that he didn't know about Clement's subterfuge, that he lied when he said she had died on the operating table. That was to save face, and he thought he was in the clear, he would never be charged with the rape of your mother."
"After her miscarriage, when I was two," he started to gather up the letters and cards, "I suppose they thought there wouldn't be another child, but you would have thought if she was pregnant he would have at least given her a quick check up. Liking a party and drinking are not necessarily one and the same thing."
"No, and if she was a good actress, she could fool everyone."
"Do you mind if I go and meet her on my own, first?" He held her hand, "I feel it would be better. The onslaught of six children might not be a good idea. Then I can introduce you and …"
"Write to her, or phone and arrange your meeting, darling," she smiled.
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His palms were sweaty and his heart was racing as he waited in the small café his mother had suggested. They had asked questions of each other over the phone, just to be sure they were who they thought they were – to each other. With each answer came the confirmation each needed to set the meeting in place.
It wasn't busy, but there were enough customers for them to be seen as just another table to be served.
The door opened, he looked up and there she was. Older, obviously, hair and clothes in a more modern style to those he remembered but still Genevieve Etienne Blake. With her a girl, slender, loose, fair waves around her shoulders wearing a dress he thought Jean would wear, if she weren't five months pregnant. He stood up, Genevieve smiled and suddenly they were embracing, her whispering 'sorry' over and over again.
"Maman," he held her at arm's length, "oh my god! Come, sit down," he pulled out a chair and turned to the girl with her. "I assume you are Mireille, my sister?"
"Well, I am Mireille, so I must be," she held out her hand, "so, you're my brother, are you?"
"Seems that way, I'm so very glad to meet you." He took her hand and shook it politely, then Mireille drew him into a tight hug. "Hello, big brother."
"Petite soeur," he smiled.
Over a light lunch, they each told their stories with Mireille asking questions. Sometimes Lucien would squeeze his mother's hand, sometimes she would squeeze his but there was so much joy amongst the sorrow in their stories.
"I think we'd better leave," Lucien noticed the café owner hovering.
"Come to the flat, Lucien, we can continue there, and you can show me these photographs you say you have."
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He liked the flat. It wasn't large but it was enough for an artist and her daughter. Genevieve shooed the old black cat off the couch and went to make coffee.
"You grew up here?" he asked Mireille, while their mother was in the small kitchen.
"Yes, cosy, isn't it? What's your house like?"
"Large, rambling, the studio has been altered, there is a room for me and Jean and a small bathroom, with six children and another on the way … you will come over, won't you, both of you?"
"You bet," Mireille grinned, "I'd love to see the family homestead."
"We can put you up, at the moment, there are two rooms left," he laughed, "honestly, dad would be horrified at all the children running around."
"Shouldn't you check with Jean first?" Genevieve appeared with a tray, "she'll be doing all the work, I expect," she raised an eyebrow at her son, he just grinned.
"I do help, maman," he pouted, Mireille burst out laughing.
"More than your father ever did," she muttered.
He nodded in agreement.
"I was just telling Mireille how we've converted the studio into a small suite for me and Jean, dad locked it up after Clement told us you had died. We opened it up just after I got home. The children sleep upstairs but we have a couple of rooms empty, mine and the pink one – that was Jean's when she first came to us."
"And the garden?" it had been one of her favourite places.
"Jean and the children have made it lovely, we even have a peach tree as well as the apple tree I used to climb. Matthew comes around occasionally and Alice, she's a colleague and a friend."
"So, let's see if I approve of your new wife?"
Jean had set the photographs in an album and they sat drinking the coffee while he named all the children, showed a picture of him and his first wife and then a wedding photograph of him and Jean.
"I have a copy for you, we thought …"
"It's lovely," Genevieve took it, "it shall sit on the mantel here," she set it in the centre of her mantel-piece – pride of place. "Jean looks lovely, young and vibrant."
"She's beautiful, I can't describe how much I love her."
"You are happy, Lucien?"
"Even more so now," he agreed, "and Clement will know that you live, that we will prosecute …"
"Non!" Genevieve shook her head and scowled, "I will not have him charged with the assault. You said he will hang for the murder of that poor ambo …"
"He will," Lucien growled, "but he should have this added."
"If you insist on doing anything, you may take me to see him in the cells. Just so I can smile at him and tell him he didn't break me. He broke your father, for what he did, he denied you a mother, but he didn't break me and that is my revenge."
Lucien looked at her.
"She's right, Lucien," Mireille nodded, "he would have known maman left Ballarat and probably thinks she died in poverty, he knew he hurt our father and you, particularly you and he's probably lived with the fear maman might turn up and show him for the liar he was. But if she shows herself in Ballarat, at the cells, that's going to burst his inflated ego."
"I still think he should face legal retribution."
"This will be more fun," Genevieve grinned.
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"… so that's what maman plans to do," he passed Jean her evening sherry, "go and smiled broadly at him."
"He won't be the only one who gets a shock," she hummed, "Ashby for one."
"Yeah, I suppose it would be a good idea to tell Matthew what happened as well."
"Well, we didn't tell him about the letters she sent, so, yes, I think we ought to tell him."
"And Alice, even though she hasn't met her, she helped."
"It might be a good idea to have them over for dinner, explain everything, to the children too, they have another grandmother, and an aunt."
"They have your sister."
"She hasn't been over to meet them, won't let Amy and Danny come over to mum and dad to meet them, honestly, Lucien, Maggie seems to be trying to cut herself off from us."
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"Looks like another big announcement," Li hummed as she watched Lucien and the boys moved and extend the table.
"Grumps?" Suyin looked hopeful.
"Dunno," Li shrugged, "ask dada."
"Dada," Suyin pulled his trouser leg.
"Hello pet, what can I do for you?"
"Is Grumps coming?"
He and Jean had wondered if they could get her parents round the table as well as Matthew and Alice and Genevieve and Mireille.
"Seated, no," Jean shook her head, "set the table along the wall, we'll have a buffet type meal. Suyin and May can use the coffee table, might as well have the whole family together."
They had told Mary and Albert what had transpired after Lucien had the coffin opened and they had been most sympathetic, with Albert offering to give Clement a piece of his mind wrapped up in his fist.
Now Lucien had told them the good news.
"That won't be necessary, Albert," Lucien and smiled broadly, "maman wants to go and see him and smile sweetly. Should scare the life out of him."
"Right," Albert frowned.
"My mother isn't a big woman, but she is fiercely protective, like Jean, she will take him down several pegs."
"Bit like my Mary as well, then."
"Quite."
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Doug Ashby rubbed his eyes, blinked, and looked again. The woman he saw alighting from the train looked very like an older Genevieve Blake. But it couldn't be, she died, nearly thirty years ago, he was seeing things, it must be the memory of Lucien having the coffin lifted and opened that had set such a silly idea in his mind. He straightened his uniform jacket and headed out of the station. He was on duty and Lawson would want to do the handover before he finished his day shift.
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"Plans, Lawson?" Ashby looked at the tidy desk and neat files.
"Blake's asked me up to the house. Jean says I need feeding up." Matthew grinned.
"How's he doing, after the grave …?"
"Ok, he seemed pretty chipper on the phone," he admitted, "had a day in Melbourne to find out stuff, he says. I'll tell you if you need to know."
"Cells ok?"
"Clement still grumbling, but he's staying here until the trial."
"I never thought he'd do something like that, and we don't know why he'd kill a harmless old man."
"I reckon it's to do with Mrs Blake," Matthew sighed, "just seems too coincidental to me."
"You could have something there. Well, if Blake has any useful information …"
"Like I said, I'll let you know."
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Matthew had said he would collect Alice from the morgue at the end of his shift. They had got closer since the Blake's wedding, but couldn't be said to be courting, or dating; they were just good friends who indulged in a kiss or two.
He opened the door and saw she was alone. He tiptoed up behind her and kissed her cheek.
"Matthew," she didn't turn round, "have you finished for the day?"
"Sure have, time to go and find out what Blake's been up to."
"I wonder what it was that sent him to Melbourne so quickly." She took off her lab coat and replaced it with a light jacket.
"My guess is, because the Clement case was in the papers, along with the history, someone had some information."
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By the time Matthew and Alice arrived Genevieve and Mireille had settled into their rooms, washed off the travel dirt and been introduced to Lucien's new family. Mireille and Jean had hit it off almost immediately and Genevieve found her daughter-in-law to be welcoming, practical and loving.
"You took on so much, Jean," she smiled, "coming to look after six children …"
"Seven!" Li called across the room, "daddy's as much a child, with his experiments and wild theories that drive Uncle Matthew mad."
Genevieve threw back her head and laughed. "Alright, seven children."
"Once I had met them, the decision wasn't hard to make," Jean admitted, "they are easy to love."
"I see that," she agreed. "I like what you have done with the studio, it was always my space, mine and Lucien's. He spent so much time with me while I painted."
"I feel a little guilty now," Jean hummed.
"Don't. I have my place in Melbourne, though I have wondered if I should come back, after Thomas died."
"The run of heart attacks, maman, would overload the hospital," Lucien smiled. We haven't told anyone yet, we'll tell Matthew tonight, he can tell Ashby, if he wants to, or we can wait until you go and see Clement."
"You are a naughty boy, my son," she laughed, "I don't know where you get it from."
"Well, I had two parents and dad wasn't noted for his sense of humour so I suppose it must be you," he roared with laughter.
Mireille helped Jean set out the buffet while Genevieve got to know the children. May and Suyin were quite happy to sit on her knee while she talked with the older children, young teenagers, and she told them how proud she was of Lucien that he was able to keep them safe and love them as his own.
"He's been very kind, to all of us, Mrs Blake," Lottie smiled.
"Why don't you call me Mémé?" she took her hand, "Mrs Blake is so formal, and grandmama is very long, don't you think. Mémé is a kind of pet name for a grandmother."
"Oh, well, that would be lovely," she looked round at the others, "we'd like that, very much. I don't think any of us remember our grandparents, but we have adopted mum's parents too."
"Bien," Genevieve patted her hand, and looked at the others, "they will be here tonight?"
Will nodded, "and Uncle Matthew and Dr Harvey."
"I knew Matthew as a boy, he and Lucien were thick as thieves."
"He said they were good mates," Curtis agreed.
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"Lucien!" Jean called through, "door!"
"On my way," he grinned at his mother, this would be fun, he'd even entertained the idea of her opening the door, but he didn't want to be dealing with a medical emergency if she did.
"Matthew! Alice! Good of you to come."
"Pass up one of Jean's meals, are you mad man?" he laughed.
"Come on in, there's someone I want you to meet."
"From Melbourne? I wondered what you were doing there."
"Nosy, Matthew …"
"I'm a copper, Blake, comes with the territory."
Lucien just tipped his head and led them down to the sitting room, "Mireille," he touched her shoulder, "meet my best mate, Matthew Lawson and Dr Alice Harvey, Matthew, Alice, meet my sister, Mireille …"
"Your sister!" Matthew choked, Alice slapped his back, "but …"
"And Alice, can I also introduce you to my mother, Genevieve Etienne Blake."
"Lucien?"
"It's a long story, but it does explain why the coffin was full of stones."
"Lucien has told us so much about both of you," Mireille smiled, Genevieve went up to Matthew and hugged him, "how lovely to see you again, Matthew," she smiled.
"But how?"
Lucien passed over Genevieve's letter and let them read it, it was easier than telling the story and there were some things they had left out when telling the children. Matthew's face darkened, Alice bit her lip.
"So Clement lied?" She frowned.
"To all of us, to the whole of Ballarat, really," Lucien nodded.
"How could he do such a thing?"
"Because Jock Clement wants what he can't have, in this case maman, but he never got her, he just ruined three lives."
"He didn't ruin mine," Mireille shook her head, "though I never got to meet my father, so he denied me that …"
"… or mine, not in the end," Genevieve agreed, "though I would have preferred Thomas to know his daughter, but we have had a good life, and now it is better. Lucien's life was damaged, we all agree with that, but he too is here, and he has so much." Li went and stood next to him, taking his hand.
"And we have more now, Mémé and Aunt Mireille."
"I have such a big family, now," Mireille laughed, "before it was just maman and me."
"Lucien never did do anything by halves," Genevieve mused.
Matthew laughed. "So, Mrs Blake …"
"Please, Matthew dear," she held up her hand, "I think you're quite grown enough to call me 'Genevieve', don't you? You too, Alice."
He cleared his throat, "Genevieve, what are your plans?"
"Well, I thought I'd pop into the station and say hello to Doug Ashby, tell him it wasn't his fault, and then go and tell Clement that he didn't break me."
Fortunately there was a knock at the door which gave Matthew time to regain his composure and process this idea.
Jean brought her parents down to the living room and let Lucien introduce his mother and sister. They knew the original story, who in Ballarat didn't, and thought it was a good idea that Genevieve should go and, in Albert's words, 'put the final nail in his coffin, which wouldn't contain stones'.
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There was much talk and laughter during the evening as everyone got to know each other. When Suyin and May began to tire, Genevieve helped Jean put them to bed, tucking them in and wishing them sweet dreams.
"Thank you, Jean," she whispered, "for saving Lucien."
"He saved me, too," Jean smiled, "I was supposed to marry someone else but he got married to someone he met during the war; actually it was a shotgun wedding, so I came here, to work for him, to care for his children and see to the surgery and house. I love him, Genevieve, deeply, for all his imperfections, I just wish his father could've seen the man he has become."
"I loved Thomas, for the same reasons you love Lucien, I never stopped loving him, even after he dismissed my state that night. I would have liked to have come home, to have him meet Mireille, but I couldn't find a way."
"I understand." Jean squeezed her hand, "but you are here now, and I hope we will see much of you, and Mireille."
"You will, I may come back, I will have to think about it," she tipped her head.
"And Mireille, though this is not her home?"
"I don't know, but even if I do she can have the flat. I will be fine if I have my family and my paints."
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Genevieve and Mireille were in awe of the way Jean organised the children the following morning. There was an array of breakfast dishes that the older ones helped themselves to, and they washed their own pots up afterwards.
"Morning!" Jean called cheerfully, "it's very much help yourself in the mornings," she placed bowls of cereal in front of the two youngest children, "there's tea, or coffee if you wish, orange juice – please, join us."
"Tea will be lovely, Jean, thank you," Genevieve sat next to Lottie while Mireille found a space between the boys and helped herself to a slice of toast."
Lucien sauntered in and kissed his wife.
"Morning all," he grinned. "This is a sight I thought I'd never see."
"Bacon and eggs?" Jean just smiled, she felt the same.
"If there's any left."
She nudged him with her elbow.
"Anyone else?" she turned round to the table, but they were all happy with what they had, though Curtis got up to make some more toast.
"So, what's the order of the day?" he poured tea for himself.
"You have rounds at ten," Jean glanced over at the calendar, "then you can take your mother to the station to see Ashby and Clement."
"Why would you want to see Inspector Ashby, Mémé?" Lottie frowned. "Or Mr Clement, he's a horrible man."
"I knew the Inspector a long time ago, as for M'sieur Clement – you are too young to know, safe to say I intend to give him the fright of his life."
Lucien raised his eyebrows and grinned, he was, in an odd way, looking forward to that meeting.
"Mireille?"
"You're welcome to come into town with me," Jean smiled, "mum and I usually go to the market with May, there's a nice little café we could have light lunch in."
"We could meet you there," Lucien agreed. "Or, how about I treat you to lunch at the club?"
"Not with May dear, not even Cec Drury will bend that far." Jean shook her head.
"Is M'sieur Drury still there?" Genevieve asked.
"He is, it's his fault I'm a member, he insisted I join. Drive Patrick Tyneman up the wall."
"You were never what could be described as friends, cherie."
"True."
"His father was such a kind man, you know. Is Patrick married?"
"He is, he and Susan have a boy, Edward. Same age as Will, but he's at school in Melbourne so we don't have to suffer him."
"He is rather like his father," Jean agreed, "Susan is a bit of a snob, but I'm too busy to bother about that."
"I think I will come with you, Jean, see where Lucien grew up."
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As Matthew wasn't on duty that morning he hadn't warned Ashby of Genevieve's return, but he would have loved to have been a fly on the wall when she was escorted by Lucien into the office.
The sergeant on the desk was too young to have heard of her, but as he knew Dr Blake well he just waved them through.
"Doc," a constable nodded.
"Ashby in?"
"In an interview, shouldn't be long," he hummed, "oh, here he is."
Ashby must have been just behind Lucien and Genevieve and wondered who the woman was. She was obviously not Jean, even from the back she was older. Elegantly attired in a beautifully tailored grey blue suit, nipped in waist, slim skirt with a kick pleat at the back, smart blue court shoes, complimentary coloured hat, gloves and handbag, he assumed she must be a witness to a crime.
"Ah, Ashby," Lucien turned round and smiled, "Clement has a visitor."
"A visitor?" he frowned, who on earth would want to visit that man.
"Bien sûr, Inspector," Genevieve turned and smiled, Lucien said she always knew how to make an entrance, "good morning, Mr Ashby, you are looking well."
Doug's jaw dropped, he held on to the edge of the nearest desk. "Genevieve? I mean, Mrs Blake?" he blinked, "but …"
"He lied," she tipped her head, "just that, he lied."
Lucien handed Ashby the letter, a constable offered Genevieve a seat and they waited while he read, and re-read the letter.
"Well, I'll be blowed," Ashby was never one for cursing, especially not in front of such elegant company. "And Thomas?"
"Believed everything Clement said," Lucien huffed, "and maman couldn't find a way to tell him about Mireille, that she was safe."
"That's why you asked Lawson over last night?"
"'fraid so," Lucien admitted. "I left it up to him whether or not you were told before we came in this morning."
"So, why do you want to see Clement?"
"To show him he didn't break me."
"He broke Thomas."
"I know, and he hurt my son, denied my daughter a father, and I don't want him charged for what he did that night. Mireille is Thomas' daughter, I was already pregnant that night, and didn't drink anything like the amount of wine you all thought." She raised her eyebrows.
"You pretended?"
"Always, M'sieur Ashby, diabetes and too much drink are not a good mix."
"You fooled me."
"And Thomas, sadly."
"I'm sorry, so sorry that you couldn't find a way back, it would have been good for him, to know you were alive."
"I know, but I couldn't. I saw the papers, the report of my passing, and knowing Clement would deny what he did, and that Thomas didn't believe me that night, because he was a Mason …"
"That doesn't make him perfect, none of us are."
"You are human, he is just an animal."
"Right, well if you insist on seeing him, I'll take you down. I take it you're coming too, Blake?"
"Absolutely," Lucien offered his arm to his mother, "if he puts a foot wrong …"
"I'm not opening the door," Ashby grunted.
"Shame."
"Lucien," she warned.
He just shrugged.
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"Visitor, Clement!" Ashby called.
"Better be that damned lawyer, useless though he is."
"Non, M'sieur Clement," Genevieve stepped into view, "it is I, Genevieve, the woman you raped all those years ago."
Clement's reaction was much the same as Ashby's though he added anger to his shocked expression.
"You?"
"Oui, c'est moi."
"But you left, ran away, like cowards always do."
"M'sieur Clement," she put her hand on Lucien's chest to stop him intervening, "you are the coward. You preyed on a woman, much smaller than you, one you assumed you had got drunk enough to overpower. But I wasn't drunk, I never was. However, your actions caused my husband to disbelieve me, he thought a Mason would never do what I accused you of, so, yes, I left. You broke him, you denied my son his mother and you denied my daughter her father. Oh yes," Clement's mouth had dropped open again, "I was already carrying a child when you assaulted me. You are a vile excuse for a human being, an insult to the male of the species, but you haven't broken me, M'sieur, I am probably all the stronger. But you have killed a man, one of the men who carried me to your surgery, I believe, and tried to kill another, you will hang for that. You will never have power over me, which is what you wanted, you will be forgotten over time."
"I'll fight you in court." He hissed.
"No you won't, I won't be having you charged for your assault on me … "
"Then I shall sue you for defamation of character."
"But she hasn't defamed your character," Ashby pointed out, "didn't you hear her say she's not having you charged for the assault.?"
"That would not be a good idea, M'sieur, because if you do, the whole story will come out; not just that night, but all the times you tried to have me enter into an affair with you, all the times you plied me with drink so you could have your way with me though as a doctor you would have known it was not good for my health in the amounts you poured for me."
"But you were drunk, you were always drunk."
"Non, M'sieur, but the plants may have suffered." She smiled sweetly. "Now, I must go, I am having lunch with my daughter-in-law and youngest grandchild, the joys of having a family, something you will never know. Goodbye, M'sieur Clement, I doubt we shall see each other again." She turned on her heel and swept out, followed by her son and Doug Ashby.
"Do you think he will sue, for defamation?" Lucien frowned.
"He's power hungry enough to try something so stupid," Ashby sighed, "hopefully his lawyer will turn him away from it. Genevieve, I am so sorry I wasn't more attentive that night, I didn't notice him take you out of sight."
"As he probably planned," she hummed, "it was not your fault, or M'sieur Franklin's, or Thomas', no, it was all his."
"Come on, maman, I think a detour via the club will do you good." Lucien patted her hand, "thanks, Doug. Let me know if there are any developments."
"I will, but he will hang for this, the evidence is overwhelming, the ambo that survived is willing to testify that he saw Clement at his front door and that he fired the revolver at him. He intends to plead not guilty but there will be no need for you, Genevieve, to attend."
She tipped her head and smiled.
As they walked away Ashby called after her. "Genevieve, may I let Franklin know?"
"If you wish," she turned and smiled, "keep the letter, it's easier to read it than tell it."
"I'll make a copy, if it's ok with you. Then we can both have a copy, you never know, you may need it."
"I doubt it …"
"Thanks, Doug, again, I'll keep it safe." Lucien interrupted her.
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Lucien set Genevieve at a small table in the Colonist's Club and went to the bar.
"You're early, Dr Blake," Cec Drury looked up from cleaning glasses.
"Glass of burgundy, please, Cec, a beer and whatever you fancy. Come and meet my companion." Lucien paid for the drinks and led him over. Genevieve kept her head down, but Cec could see it wasn't his wife, so who was he treating at this hour of the day?
"You'd better sit down, Cec," Lucien indicated he sit opposite the woman and as he did so Genevieve looked up and smiled.
"M'sieur Drury, how lovely to see you again."
Cec took a mouthful of his beer wishing it was a large whisky and blinked.
"Mrs Blake?"
She just nodded.
"How?"
"Long story, Cec," Lucien hummed, "I'll tell you some day, save to say, maman didn't die in the operating theatre, Clement lied to save face when dad called to ask where she was the morning after that party. Dad hadn't believed what she accused Clement of when she did get home so …"
"I thought if I left, just for a short time, he would realise I was telling the truth. I couldn't find a way to let him know I was alright, and when I read of my passing it was too difficult. I had a baby to give birth to …"
"A baby!?"
"A daughter, it turned out to be, Mireille, she is Thomas' daughter, and I didn't drink as much as everybody thought, most of it went into a plant pot."
"It was Jock Clement that kept your glass filled," Cec mused, "I think I know what he did to you, without you having to say it, what a …" he cleared his throat, "… well, he's for the noose, for murder. Will you …?"
"Non, not unless he carries out his threat to sue me for defamation of character. I've just been to see him, so he could see I am not broken."
"You look extremely well, I must say," he smiled.
"I am, and I have so much, a family, all those grandchildren, and another on the way, so much more than I could have imagined."
"So, why come back now?"
"I read the papers, Lucien's adoption case was noted, asking if anyone knew the parents of those children he has taken to his heart, and I thought now I should at least make contact. Jean and Mireille get on very well, she is a lovely girl, I am so happy for my son."
"Will you come back?"
"I have to think about that, M'sieur, but it is possible."
"There will be many that will be happy to have you home, ma'am."
"Yeah, I better let the Clasby sisters know," Lucien laughed softly.
"I should very much like to see them."