The air was warm, the moon was full, she couldn't sleep. Rising from her bed she grabbed a cardigan and a towel and snuck out of the back door and down to the lake.
Jean loved swimming, she loved the feel of the water lapping against her toes at the water's edge, the coolness flowing over her like a soft, silk blanket, the silence as she ducked her head under the surface, and on nights like this – it was perfect.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
She stood at the edge of the lake and let the water lick at her toes; it was almost erotic, sending shivers up her legs and to her centre.
She threw off her cardigan, then her nightgown and dived naked into the cool, clear water. The water stroked her, caressed her, wrapped her in its soft, silky, delicate touch.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
He had come to think. He had graduated from Medical School with honours, highest in his class and still his father wasn't happy. He sat down and pulled at the grass at the edge of the lake. He wasn't a saint, he never said he was, but he had studied hard, played hard and enjoyed himself on the other side of the world. Now, he had thought he would come home, find a post in a hospital, perhaps, and maybe even settle down sometime in the future. He threw off his jacket and lay down to look at the stars in the clear night sky.
A sudden splash broke his thoughts. He sat up and looked across the water. There were ripples on the surface then a hand broke through and disappeared again. He stood up and kicked his shoes off; whoever it was was in trouble, he thought. He stepped into the water, waded in until he had to swim. The hand appeared again, he swam towards it.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Her foot was caught in something and she couldn't get it free. She pulled but all it did was tighten around it, and the more she struggled the tighter it got. She couldn't hold her breath much longer, she was going to drown, and she wouldn't be found for years. Then … a hand touched her face and pulled it round to show her there was someone who was going to try and rescue her. Lucien Blake!
His hand slid down her side, down her leg to the trapped foot. He could see it was a rope, tied round a long canvas bundle. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his trusty penknife, the one Matthew Lawson had given him for a birthday present, when they were young enough to go camping and catch fish for their dinner – the halcyon days of youth – he carried it everywhere. He sawed frantically at the rope holding her ankle as he felt her begin to go limp. The rope gave way, she floated upwards and he went with her. Breaking the surface she coughed and drew in a ragged breath. He held her, keeping her head up.
"Steady," he trod water, "easy now, let's get you to the shore."
She let him pull her on her back to where he had left his jacket. When he could stand he lifted her out and carried her to dry land and wrapped his jacket around her.
"Wait here, I have to go back down, there's something down there."
"I know," she croaked, "I saw, a bundle …"
"Yeah," he smiled at her, "you'll be alright."
"Thank you."
She watched him swim out again and dive down. It seemed an age before he bobbed up and dragged whatever it was over.
"I think it's a body," he gasped. "How are you?"
"I'm alright," she shivered, "thanks to you. What were you doing out here?"
"Thinkin'." He sat next to her, "I've just finished my medical degree but it would seem it's not good enough for dear old dad."
"Dr Blake?"
He nodded, "you know him?"
"Not really, we see Dr King. But everybody knows your father. Didn't you get a good mark, in your degree?"
"Honours, highest in my class, top of the country, but still …" he sighed. "What's your name? I ought to know who I've just rescued."
"Jean Randall, and thank you, I'd have drowned if you hadn't had a row with your father." She shivered again.
"Cold?"
She shook her head.
"Shock," he hummed, "may I?" He went to reach into his inside jacket pocket. "You didn't wear a swimsuit!" He pulled a flask out of the pocket.
"I never do," she whispered. "My nightdress and cardigan are over there," she pointed across the lake to the trees where she had started her swim from. "You didn't strip." She looked at his wet clothes.
"I didn't think I had time," he offered her the flask. "Whisky, just a sip …"
"Oh, I've never …" she took it and sniffed, shrugged and took a small mouthful. She coughed as it hit the back of her throat. "Wow!" She handed it back, "so, what's in the bundle?"
"Body, I think, judging from the shape, I best get the coppers, and you home."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Use our phone," she got out of the car, "to call the station."
"How will you explain …" he waved his hand down her damp clothes.
"The truth, it usually works."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The truth did work though Jean did get into trouble with her parents, for skinny dipping in the dead of night.
"The police are on their way, to the lake," Lucien put the phone down. "I'm sure you will be fine, Miss Randall," he smiled, "and thank you for the use of the phone."
"I'll see you out," Jean smiled, "I'll be right back, mum," she stopped her mother from following.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Thank you, again, Dr Blake," she smiled.
"You can call me Lucien," he sighed, "Two doctor Blakes might be a bit much for Ballarat to handle."
"And you can call me Jean."
"Say, Jean," he shook her hand, "would you be free for a coffee, in the morning?"
"I suppose so," she hummed, "I can do some shopping for mum and meet you somewhere."
"The café by the library?"
"Alright."
"Ten thirty? Tomorrow?"
"Yes, I can make that."
She watched him leave, even if she didn't have some shopping to do she could make up an excuse.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Now, you stay away from the likes of him," her mother caught her before she went back to bed, "he's not for the likes of a farm girl. Christopher Beazley will do for you."
"But mum," she scowled, "he's only interested in running a farm, he's not interested in me."
"He's asked your father for your hand, he's agreed. You marry him …"
"But I don't want to, and nobody does that these days."
"The two farms will join together, it's been agreed. Now get to bed."
Jean tossed and turned. She didn't want to get married, not yet. She was too young at seventeen. And she didn't want to be a farmer's wife, she wanted to be someone, to make something of herself first, before she even considered marrying anyone at all! Why couldn't Christopher marry her older sister, instead?
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Mrs Randall thought nothing of Jean offering to go and get the flour she needed, and the rest of the shopping. It would give her time to discuss with Mrs Beazley when they should have the wedding and who should be on the guest list. This was what her parents had done for her and she had had a good life with Jean's father. She'd learnt to love him as Jean would learn to love Christopher. Jean's sister was walking out with another farmer and they had already discussed marriage, but it was not widely known outside the family. And they hadn't told Jean because she didn't like the Parkes boy, and made no secret of it. They had no idea why. They would be horrified to know he had tried to force her to have sex with him last harvest supper. She had fought back and scratched his face, then she had heard her sister and him in Edith's bedroom one night. The walls were thin and the headboard banged as Daniel thrust into her. Jean may have only been sixteen at the time but she was not stupid.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
She found Lucien where he promised he'd be. He was reading the paper apparently ignoring all that was going on around him.
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"
"Miss Randall," he stood up and pulled out the chair, "how lovely to see you. You are well?"
"Thank you, Dr Blake, I am, and you?"
"Tickety boo," he grinned, "shall I order?"
"Please, er tea for me, if you don't mind."
"Not at all."
"So," he lowered his voice, "you didn't get into trouble, did you?"
"A bit. I've been told to stay away from the likes of you, apparently a farmer is all I can expect and they have arranged for me to marry Christopher Beazley," she scowled.
"Arranged?"
She nodded, "like my grandparents did for mum."
"A bit antiquated, if you don't mind me sayin'."
"I don't, I agree with you."
They drank there tea, Lucien wondering how he could help her, if he could help her. She was obviously very unhappy about being forced to marry this Beazley boy, and she was young for that. And he thought she was more than a farmer's wife, she was brave, reckless to go swimming alone at night.
"What happened about the body?" she broke into his thoughts.
"Oh, dad's doing the autopsy, then the cops'll start to investigate. They have to see who it is, and how he died. Dad's not said anything, says I wouldn't understand and anyway, it's nothing to do with me."
"You found the body …"
"I know," he rolled his eyes.
"I have to go," she stood up, "I have to get this shopping back to mum before she gets suspicious. Thank you, Lucien."
He helped her into her jacket and walked with her to the door.
"Don't suppose you fancy another nighttime dip, do you?" she smirked.
"Tonight?"
She nodded.
"Not skinny dipping?" he raised his eyebrows.
Jean smiled and left. She didn't have a swimming costume, and she couldn't go and get one, she'd wear a step-in.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Lucien didn't have a swimming costume, either, he would settle for his singlet and boxers, even if Jean decided to swim naked.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Dinner with his father was, as usual, strained. He really didn't know what he'd done wrong but he had decided he would leave Ballarat and travel, perhaps. He had a legacy from his grandparents his father had no say in. He had reached the required age and it was up to him what he did with it. Travelling seemed like a good idea, he wondered, briefly, if Miss Randall would like to travel. However, if she did, they would probably have to get married, and like her, he wasn't ready for that, not yet, though Jean Randall would be high on his list of women he could see as his wife. Monika Parker, who he had just split up with, was too much of a snob, easy to get into bed, but otherwise she didn't have much going for her, other girls were not really his type, to concerned with status, social climbers, no, Jean Randall was much nicer, smarter than any of them. But he wasn't ready to marry.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Lucien filled a flask with tea, wrapped clean undergarments in a towel, slipped his whisky flask into his jacket pocket and, just in case, a couple of condoms with it. He didn't think it was likely she would have sex with him, but it didn't hurt to be prepared.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Jean slipped out through her bedroom window, leaving a body shaped lump in her bed, and ran down to the lake. She had dry knickers in a towel and a flask of cocoa for afterwards. She wondered if Lucien would bring his whisky with him, she wouldn't mind getting used to it.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Lucien saw her arrive at the same spot as the previous night and hurried to meet her.
"I wasn't sure you'd be able to get away," he grinned.
"Through the bedroom window," she placed her bundle on the ground. "you?"
"Oh, just walked out, dad was in his study, I expect he heard the door go." He dropped his things next to hers.
Jean took off her cardigan and started to life her nightdress over her head, Lucien swiftly turned away.
"It's ok, I don't have a swimsuit but I have a step-in."
"Right," he cleared his throat and turned round, "well, I haven't got any swimming togs either, so it's undies for me too."
Jean ran in, laughing. He stripped quickly and followed her.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
They laughed, splashed, dived and swam until they were quite tired then struck out for the shore.
"You swim well," he stood up and passed her her towel.
"So do you, but I won't be able to do this forever," she towelled her hair then sat down on the floor. "The wedding is set for six months from now."
"And …?"
"I don't want to get married, to Christopher, not ever, and I don't want to get married yet anyway. I'm seventeen, Lucien, I want a life! I want to do something other than farming …"
"To travel?" he sat next to her.
"Oh god, yes!"
"And your parents?"
"I'm a farm girl, Lucien, I'm not supposed to have dreams."
"Everyone can dream, Jean."
"Do you?"
"Of course," he offered her his flask, "of running my own surgery, using those skills I strove to learn. Of having a family, eventually, of finding someone to love, like my father did my mother, it's only me that he didn't get on with."
"I bet you were noisy, and inquisitive and your mother was expected to keep you out of the way."
"That's about it," he nodded.
"Cocoa?" she lifted her flask.
"Ok."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Lucien looked at the letter. He was still trying to convince his father he was a good man, that he had the potential to be a good doctor but also looking for partnerships in surgeries anywhere but Ballarat. He spent as much time as he could with Jean, walking, night swimming, even a picnic one day.
"Do you ever see the lad you're going to be married off to?" he asked one lunchtime.
"Mum invites him to tea, or dinner, but we are always chaperoned, and he and dad talk about the farms." Her shoulders dropped. "What am I going to do, Lucien?"
"Would you consider running away, with me, if I can find a surgery somewhere?"
"But what would I do if I did that?"
"What can you do? What things are you good at, apart from swimming?"
"I can bake, cook, sew. I used to be in the church choir, when they didn't have enough boys and I can hit the high notes."
"Perhaps you should be a singer."
"Don't be daft," she laughed, "how would I get to do that?"
"You just need a break."
"Well, I'm not going to get that here, everybody knows me, mum would be horrified; she thinks girls that go on the stage are loose women."
"And you're not, loose, that is."
"Absolutely not, that's my sister."
"Edith?"
"Aha, I've heard her, in her room with that Parkes boy she's going with. She sneaks him in through her bedroom window and they have sex. The head board bangs on the wall," she giggled.
"Don't your parents hear?"
She shook her head, "they're at the other end of the house."
"You don't like him, do you?"
"Daniel Parkes tried to have his way with me last harvest supper. I kicked him and scratched his face."
"Oh Jean," he sighed and squeezed her hand, "I couldn't imagine doing that to you, or any girl."
"I know, or you'd have done it by now."
"Are you ok to go swimming tonight?"
"Yeah," she nodded, "usual place and time?"
He leant over and kissed her cheek, "of course."
"I'll bring the cocoa, you bring the whisky." She only ever had a little splash into her cocoa but it was something her parents would never allow.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Lucien lifted the letter off the hall table. It had a Manchester postmark and appeared to have been posted five weeks ago. He looked at the name of the sender on the reverse of the envelope and quickly tore it open.
"Dear Lucien, or should that be Dr Blake?
Well, old son, I have a proposition for you. How are you fixed for work? I know you were going back to Oz to your dad, but you said it wasn't going to be easy, a fractured relationship, you said. Anyhow, my old mate, I have taken over a surgery in a small village on the outskirts of Manchester, close enough to get patients from around about and, well, Lucien, I need a partner and I wondered if you would be interested. I've looked around, even interviewed some chaps, but I need someone nearer my own age. I know it's a long way to come, on what is basically a whim, but … well telegram me with your decision, eh?
Best regards
Tom Chase."
He sat in the living room and grinned. This could be it, for him. And, maybe Jean? Could, would she go with him, married or not? His father wasn't going to let him work there, he'd told him so, there was nothing to keep him in Ballarat, apart from Jean, and she wanted to travel, to avoid an arranged marriage. He'd ask her, tonight.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
He was early. He set down a blanket, his towel and dry clothes, and stripped ready to swim. The nights were getting cooler now, as Autumn began, but if he, they were to go to England it would be the beginning of Summer.
"Hey," she snuck up behind him and sat next to him. "Penny for them?"
"Hey yourself," he grinned. "Jean …" it was now or never. Now or he would walk off and leave her to the marriage she didn't want. "… you know you want to travel?"
"Oh Lucien," she paused in taking off her nightdress, "I can just afford the bus to Melbourne."
"I've had an offer, a partnership in a surgery, I wondered …" he took a deep breath, "I wondered if you would like to come with me. As a friend, if that's all you want, but I can buy your ticket, and your passport …" he swallowed and watched as she finished taking off her nightdress and folding it neatly, giving her the time to think.
"Where?" she whispered.
"England."
"England!"
He nodded.
"When?"
"I've got to telegram Tom back, he's the doctor who's asked me. We studied together, well, he was the year above me, but we got on well together. Then, I suppose it'll be the first ship out of Melbourne."
"And what would I do? I can't live off you."
"Truthfully, Jean, I don't know. All I know is that you won't have to marry Beazley, and I will take care of you, Jean, I won't abandon you in a strange country."
"Can we swim, while I think?"
"Whatever you want, Jean."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
She floated lazily, gazing up at the stars. "England," she murmured.
"England," he confirmed, "Manchester, just outside."
"It's a long way."
"True."
"And you don't want anything from me, except for me to pay back what you spend?"
"Not even that, if it's difficult."
"Where will we stay?"
"I guess we'll have to find a house, or a flat. I have to confirm, first, but I can ask, in the telegram. So …?"
She turned her head and smiled, "yes," she dropped her feet and trod water, "yes, Lucien. Take me away with you."
"Marvellous," he grinned, adopting the same, "I'll telegram in the morning and sort out passage. Can you get a day in Melbourne? You need a passport."
"What do I need?"
"Birth certificate, photo, just the head …"
"I can do that."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
They sat on the blanket and drank the cocoa and talked about what she could possibly do in England, once they got there. She shivered and pulled her cardigan round her shoulders.
"You're cold," without thinking he pulled her close.
She cuddled closer and somehow they ended up lying on the blanket, kissing. She'd never been kissed like that before, well, actually she'd never been kissed. Maybe a tentative kiss on the lips from a boy at school and Christopher, once or twice, but he didn't try anything like this. It was wonderful!
Lucien was quite surprised at her reaction, she didn't shy away. She opened her mouth to let his tongue in and wrapped her arms round him. All sense told him to stop, before they went too far, but all sense went as she cuddled closer and pulled him against her.
He broke the kiss," Jeez, Jean," he gasped.
"Don't you want to?" She blinked away a tear.
"Of course I do," he kissed her forehead, "but not here. Somewhere out of Ballarat, somewhere with the things you deserve, soft sheets, silk, champagne …"
"Silly," she laughed.
"On the ship, I'll get a suite …"
She decided she could wait, and it was nice that he thought she was special enough to get those things for her.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
She managed to get her birth certificate out of the desk drawer, and headed to the station. She had told her mother that if they insisted she was to marry Christopher she would like a day to herself in Melbourne, perhaps a little shopping.
"After all, I won't get the chance, as a farmer's wife."
Mrs Randall agreed and saw her off on the early morning train. Lucien had gone on ahead, saying he would meet her off the train and they would go to get her passport.
"Remember," he had told her, "you're not twenty-one yet, so you should have a letter from your father giving you permission to travel."
"How the hell am I going to get that?" she hissed.
"Get me a sample of his signature …"
"Lucien!"
"Do you want to come with me?"
"Are you sure that's the only way?"
"Pretty much, unless you have an idea."
She had to admit she hadn't.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Your father couldn't come with you?" the clerk looked at her.
"No sir," she smiled sweetly, "he's running the farm, see, so he wrote this letter." She handed over the letter Lucien had written, complete with a mud smudge on the side.
"Right, well, it'll be ten days. Collect?"
"Oh, yes, I'll collect it." She nodded. "I like to come and do some shopping."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Alright?"
She took his arm and smiled. "Now, I told mum I was doing some shopping, so I had better go back with something."
"Ok, lunch first, I think, then wherever you want to go."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
They spent a lovely day in the city, with Jean buying some lingerie she wouldn't let Lucien see because she planned to wear it on the ship. Then she bought a new blouse that she could show her mother and he bought her some expensive lingerie and nightwear that he had every intention of seeing her in.
"Honestly, Lucien," she blushed, "when am I going to wear that."
"Jean, my grandparents left me quite a legacy, I intend to treat you to all the things I think you should have. Now, let's go and see if we can book a suite on a ship to England."
"Remember, I have to wait ten days before my passport is ready."
"Right, so three weeks, maybe?"
"Something like that."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
They booked to sail two weeks hence.
As they left the booking office a man in Captain's uniform caught them.
"Did I hear you say you are a doctor?"
"Sir, Dr Lucien Blake," Lucien raised his hat, "Miss Randall, my companion."
The Captain raised his eyebrows but this might sort out a problem he had.
"I need a ship's doctor, for the voyage you've just booked on," he looked them both up and down and thought they seemed a decent pair. "Free passage … for you both."
"I've booked a suite," Lucien frowned, thinking this was a bit too much to take for free.
"Fine, I need a doctor, you need a suite …"
"Ok where do I sign?"
With the required paperwork signed and Lucien now formally part of the ship's company for the voyage to England, and no more, he and Jean headed out of the office wondering on their luck.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
When she got home Edith was sitting sobbing at the kitchen table and Mrs Randall was screaming all the names she could think of to call her daughter, Jean thought it was most unlike her mother to swear and to call names.
"What's going on?" she put her handbag down and took off her hat.
"Edith's gone and got herself in the family way, the little slut."
"Well," Jean tossed her head, "I'm not surprised."
"What do you mean by that my girl?" her mother turned and glared at her.
"Daniel Parkes spends many a night having sex with her," she looked at her sister, "the head board bangs against the wall. Don't you use johnnies?"
"Jean Randall, you were raised a proper catholic!"
"So was she." She tossed her head at Edith. "Anyway, want to know why I can't stand him? He tried to force me, when I was sixteen, that's how he got those scratches down his face."
"Well, she'd going to marry him, whether they like it or not, and we might as we'll bring your wedding forward, to the same day."
"No!" Jean stamped her foot.
"You've got a month, the banns will be read this Sunday, for both of you. I don't want you getting yourself in that way, with Christopher."
"Mum! He hasn't even kissed me, let alone made advances! Anyway, I won't, not without a ring on my finger." She crossed her fingers behind her back.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Tom's got us a little house," he held her close, they hadn't even got into the water that night. "We've got time."
"When we go to get my passport can that be when I leave here?"
"Yeah, of course. I'll find somewhere to stay for the week. What's your excuse going to be?"
"Shopping, for my wedding night, there's no time to make my trousseau, not now. Mum's sorted the wedding dress for me, Edith has to wear her Sunday best." She sighed, "I do feel guilty, Lucien, but I won't be railroaded into a marriage of convenience, just for the land."
"I know, and I agree with you. From what you tell me, Christopher doesn't seem really interested in you."
"No, he doesn't even make an effort to speak to me."
"How long have you known him?"
"Most of my life, but we've never been friends. He liked to throw acorns at me, and push me into the hedge."
"Does he go out with other girls, has he ever?"
"Not that I've noticed, he spends time talking farms with my dad, and working the land with the farm hands."
"Pub?"
"No, I don't think so."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Christopher had much the same opinion of the marriage as Jean had. His father had told him it would expand the farm and he would learn to love the girl. His mother told him he was lucky, Jean was pretty, always well turned out a good cook, and didn't go around with other boys.
"It's ok, we'll still see each other," Dennis stroked his face, "and maybe it's a good thing, Chris."
"Suppose so, but, I'll have to have sex with her, and I really don't like it."
"Tried it, have you?" Dennis raised his eyebrows.
"Once, with a girl in Bendigo."
"Not good?"
Christopher shook his head.
"Come tonight," Dennis smiled, "to the cottage."
"Beer?"
"Yeah."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
That night, as Jean was handing her suitcase out of her bedroom window to Lucien, Dennis and Christopher were drinking their beer before indulging in other activities.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Is that everything?" Lucien placed the suitcase by his feet.
"I haven't got much, my toiletries will fit in my bag tomorrow." She leant out of the window and kissed him.
"I'll meet you off the train. Don't miss it."
"I won't."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
She left the letter on her dressing table, propped up against the mirror. She couldn't just disappear, until now her parents had been good parents, if a little strict and this just explained why she was leaving, because they wouldn't listen to her when she tried to talk to them. Now with Edith's transgression, her mother had less time for her. Her mother had challenged Daniel Parkes about his assault on Jean but he just insisted she was lying because she was jealous.
"Jealous? Of you!?" Jean spat, "I wouldn't go with you if you were the last man on earth!" and she'd stalked out of the room, head held high.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Got everything?" her mother asked, meaning her purse.
"Aha," she nodded.
"Enjoy yourself, don't buy anything too racy."
"Mum!" Jean rolled her eyes, kissed her cheek and headed out of the door. At the end of the drive she took a long look back at the house she had lived in since she was born. One day she would be able to come back, in the meantime she told herself she had to write to them, let them know where she was and that she was alright.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Lucien paced the station platform. He'd rented a little holiday cottage for the week thinking a hotel would have to be rather seedy to let him sleep with his girlfriend. Also if her parents came looking for her she would be harder to find.
She waved frantically from the train and as she stepped down he lifted her up and swung her round.
"You made it," he gasped, wide eyed.
"I said I would," she laughed, "I left a letter."
"Good idea."
"What did your father say, about you taking the partnership?"
"Not a lot. Just asked if I was running away from an angry father."
"You would be, if dad knew," she slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. "Where are we staying?"
"A cottage. They're mostly empty at this time of year, and only seedy hotels would let a room to an unmarried couple."
"So, it's just us?"
"Yes, is that ok?"
"Perfect."
And it was.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The only meal they cooked was breakfast, he took her out to dinner in small restaurants and lunch in cafés, they walked in the gardens and went round the art gallery where he told her all about his artist mother.
But it was their first night together that she would remember for the rest of her life.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
She wasn't nervous about staying in a cottage with him, she trusted him to only go as far as she wanted, but she had to be sure they wouldn't make the same mistake as her sister.
They sat by the fire in the small living room. She had explored the cottage, two bedrooms, in case she didn't want to sleep with him, but in the main bedroom he had made the bed with the silk sheets he had promised her, and in the living room he had put champagne in a bucket of ice.
"To us," he raised his glass.
"To us," she whispered.
"I'm glad it's too cold to swim outside." He muttered.
"We could have lit a fire, but I suppose they wouldn't let us in the gardens here."
"No, but …" he got up and headed into the bedroom, returning quickly with a blanket. "… we can sit on the blanket, in front of the fire."
"Like we did by the lake?"
"Yes."
"So," she put her glass down, "perhaps we better dress as we did then."
"You mean …" he gulped as she stood to undress.
She smiled.
"Do you need some help, only usually you have your nightdress on."
She tipped her head.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
They lay on the blanket, just as they did on those nights by the lake; they kissed and cuddled, as they had ever since he had stopped them before they went too far, the night he told her she should have silk sheets and champagne and, because he insisted when they did 'go all the way' she should have these things, on those nights he had used his fingers and his tongue to bring her to a climax and she had pumped him and he had exploded his seed over her step-in. But now they were on their own, away from Ballarat, on a rug in front of a crackling fire that gave them the only light, and there were silk sheets waiting.
He had carried her to the bedroom and lay her down on the bed, turned down ready by her. They had undressed each other, kissed and touched until he pulled her over him.
She raised an eyebrow.
"You'll have control," he smiled, "at your own pace."
Everything for her comfort, she wriggled, his erection was trapped between them and he was well endowed, she had taken another good long look, but she knew, from their nights by the lake.
"Protection," she whispered.
"Nightstand," he turned his head but let her reach for the condom, take it from the packet and roll it down his length.
She lifted up and positioned him at her entrance then slid down it. There would be no spotting, that had happened when he used his fingers, and because of those nights she knew what to do. He pushed into her, she met his every stroke, slowly at first then faster, harder until she threw her head back and tightened around him as he gave a final thrust and roared as he climaxed, she screamed his name and fell onto him.
"Ok," he whispered, drawing soft lines up and down her spine.
"Mmm," she hummed, and let him slip out of her, "are you?"
"Oh yes," he pulled the covers over her while he went to dispose of the condom.
They dozed, he held her close, he would never let her go, none of his other conquests could hold a candle to Jean Randall, and one day he would make her his wife but for now she was wriggling her bottom against his half hard member … it wouldn't be long before they were making love again.
This time he took her the way she had first expected him to and she climaxed just as hard.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Wisely, Jean had not told her mother it was Lucien Blake she had run away with. Just that she was leaving, leaving Ballarat, Australia.
"… you and dad just won't listen. I'm too young to marry and when I do it won't be to Christopher Beazley. I know you said I would grow to love him, but I doubt that would ever happen. I won't be bartered for a few acres of farmland, mum, it's not the nineteenth century; I want a life, I want to do something other than be a farmer's wife. I'll write when I'm settled.
Jean."
Mrs Randall was furious, incandescent with rage, one daughter in the family way before marriage, the other a runaway. She would never be able to hold her head up in town, again.
"Who is she with?" Mr Randall took his shotgun out of the case.
"I don't know, I didn't know she was seeing anyone. She never went out anywhere."
"Well, when I find out, I'll kill him." He growled.
"If whoever he is gets her in the family way she'll marry him, whether she likes it or not."
"Keep an eye on Edith, don't want her gettin' any ideas."
"Oh I will."
By the time Edith and Daniel Parkes were married, Jean and Lucien were enjoying the luxury of a suite on an ocean going liner, and Lucien wore his Ship's Doctor's uniform.
"Very handsome," Jean smiled when he first put it on.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The voyage was without incident. Lucien had a few cases of mal de mer, bumps and bruises and the result of a fight on the foredeck. They strolled around the decks arm in arm, dined with the Captain and other invited guests and visited ports when they docked to take on supplies and passengers left or joined the ship. She sent a postcard to her parents from Port Said saying she was about half way through her journey to England and would write again when she was settled there.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"England!" Mrs Randall shouted, "she's gone to England!"
"She did say she was leaving the country," Mr Randall huffed. "Well, her bed …"
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"No singing for you tonight, Miss Shaw," Lucien put his torch down, "nasty case of tonsilitis you've got there."
Miss Shaw just nodded, she had no voice to speak to him with, let alone sing.
"I'll let the Captain and orchestra know," he got the medicine out of the cupboard.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The leader of the orchestra swore, briefly. "We have no stand in, don't suppose you know of anyone on the crew, do you?"
Lucien thought for a moment, "not on the crew, give me half an hour, I might have someone, but she'll need some tender persuading."
He'd heard Jean sing alone to the radio in the little cottage before they set off on the long voyage, and when they joined in the singing on the ship, he'd see how she felt about singing with the orchestra, in public.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Lucien," she squeaked, "no!"
"Come on, you've got a great voice, and you know all the songs. Besides, this could be the break you need."
"Trust you to remember that conversation," she grumbled, "but, singing in front of an audience who expect a professional …"
"A professional singer is one that gets paid for it …"
"And will I?"
"Honestly, I didn't ask." He held her hands, "why don't I take you to the rehearsal room, we can talk there."
She followed him, reluctantly, and he introduced her as Jean, just Jean, nobody needed to know she was sleeping with the Ship's Doctor, she was just someone he knew.
"She hasn't sung in public, but wait 'till you hear her," he grinned.
The conductor looked her up and down, pulled a piece of music and pushed it at her.
"Try this," he grunted.
Jean didn't read music but she did know the song.
"Here," Lucien took the paper and headed over to the piano. "May I?" he waited for the pianist to vacate the stool.
"You play?" Jean hissed.
"Yeah."
"I didn't know."
"No pianos round the lake, Jean," he smiled, "now this is the intro …" he played a few bars, "then you come in."
She tried a few phrases, he altered the key until they found the best one for her and she sang two or three old standards.
"Bloody good," the conductor agreed, "Bob's my name, I'll have to change the keys on some, but if you do those three and maybe two more." He handed her some more music, "take your pick, the ones you know best."
"Oh, really?" she flicked through the pages. "These two, I know them off by heart."
"Grand."
Lucien slipped his arm round her waist, "now, Bob, is it?"
Bob nodded.
"I think we need to negotiate a fee, don't we?"
"Oh, yeah," Bob sighed, "of course, so, Sally gets five pounds a night …"
"I think that would be alright," Lucien interrupted before he could drop the price because Jean wasn't a professional singer, "pound a song … for tonight."
"Don't let Sally know," Bob leant in and whispered, "but, well, you are good. Yeah," he straightened up, "deal." He held out his hand to Jean and then to Lucien.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Lucien," she hissed as they got back to their suite, "a pound a song?"
"Not enough?" he stopped halfway to putting the key in the door.
"Too much."
"Not at all," he shook his head, "you heard Bob, I think he'd have gone higher if we'd pushed him."
"Oh Lucien …"
"You've got a lovely voice, Jean, you'll go down a storm."
"What about Sally?"
"It's going to be at least two weeks before she should be singing again, otherwise she'll damage her throat."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
After a shaky start, Jean found her feet in front of the orchestra and did indeed 'go down a storm', as Lucien had predicted.
The same happened for the next week, with Jean learning new pieces and resting in the afternoons to be ready for her performances. At one point, Lucien wondered if he had done the right thing, he wasn't seeing as much of her as he had before.
"You did get me into this," she reminded him, "but it's only until Sally is ready to sing again," she tiptoed up and kissed him, "so, are you busy, now?"
"What?"
"I have the whole afternoon to myself, and I'd like to spend it with you, because, dear Lucien, I do miss you, really."
"I'm sorry, Jean, I'm being selfish. You wanted to make something of yourself, be somebody and when that opportunity comes along I get jealous."
"And I have made something of myself, and you are taking me away from a rotten situation, I'm never going to leave you, sweetheart, just doing this, now, is enough."
"For now," he sighed, letting her undo his buttons.
"Maybe, but you will always be my priority, Lucien."
"Really?"
"Aha, if I do sing again, when we are settled, it will be close by, no making it my life, my life is with you."
"But you're still only seventeen."
"That doesn't stop me loving you." She'd got him down to his trousers and singlet now. "So, are you busy?"
"I will be in a minute," he grinned, "now, where are those bloody johnnies?"
They were 'busy' for the rest of the afternoon, until she said she had to get ready for that night, and would he take her to the dancefloor during the breaks between her songs?
"I would be delighted."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Sally recovered enough to sing for the last week of the voyage and things went back to normal for Jean and Lucien. She offered him the cost of her passage and passport from her earnings, which were more than she could ever had imagined, but he reminded her the passage was free and he didn't want the money for the passport.
"You give me more than that is worth, my darling," he smiled, "keep it. Buy yourself something nice."
"Lucien," she hummed, "you know we have a week left on board?"
"Yes, love."
"And I said I would never leave you?"
"You did, and I won't ever leave you."
"Shall we make it permanent?"
"Pardon?"
"Permanent, as in get married?" her voice tailed off as she said it.
"At seventeen?"
She nodded.
"You are sure?"
"I am."
It had crossed his mind to ask her, but, as he said, she was only seventeen.
"There is nothing I want more, but where?"
"We dock in Gibraltar tomorrow, isn't there an embassy there?"
"I guess so." He stood up, "let me ask the Captain if it's possible."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Somehow it was possible. Lucien didn't want to know how the Captain engineered it but by the time they pulled out of Gibraltar harbour they were Dr and Mrs Blake. The Captain took a picture and said he would send it to them at the surgery, when he had it printed.
"I'll send you the negative, too, then you can have more prints made."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Not the big wedding you should have had," Lucien sighed.
"It was perfect." She smiled and rolled on top of him.
"You sure?"
"Oh shut up, Lucien," she slanted her mouth over his.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
They took the train up to Manchester where Tom would collect them and take them to their little house. Lucien had telegrammed to say he was bringing his wife with him, Jean insisted.
"I didn't even tell him I had a girlfriend," he grinned.
"Honestly, Lucien …"
"Well, I wasn't sure how to phrase it."
"Is he married?"
"I don't know, he never said."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Lucien Blake!" a man waved across the station platform.
"Ah, there's Tom," he lifted two suitcases, while Jean lifted the smaller one. "Come on."
"I hope the trunk made it to the house." She mused.
Lucien had insisted on treating Jean, wherever he could, even before they left Melbourne, and they had ended up having to buy a trunk for all the extra clothes they had.
"Should have. Tom'll know."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Blake, you old devil," Tom shook his hand enthusiastically, "and you must be Mrs Blake, how did a gorgeous creature like you hook this old reprobate?"
"Jean," she smiled and let him kiss her hand, "body in a lake," she answered his question.
"What?" Tom gasped.
"Tell you later," Lucien grinned.
"A trunk arrived for you yesterday," he slung their suitcases in to the boot of the car, "left it in the house."
"Thanks, we were wondering."
Jean watched the countryside go by and listened as Tom told Lucien all about the surgery, that it was small, but he had a lot of patients, hence the need for a partner.
"We need a receptionist too, but I thought we could both interview for that, someone to make appointments and do the accounts. Trouble is the young ones run off and get married and the old ones are grumpy – I've tried."
"I could do it," Jean turned round. "I know how to do accounts, my parents run a farm …"
"Really," Tom narrowly missed a car parked on the side of the road, "we'd pay you, of course."
"That would be nice," Jean smiled.
"You sure, love?" Lucien looked at her. When she said she wanted to make something of herself he didn't think being a receptionist for a doctor's surgery was high on her list.
"Of course I am, dear," she nodded, "why not? I'm not going to run off and get married, because I already am, and I'm not old and grumpy, am I?"
"Old you will never be," he grinned, "grumpy, well, that remains to be seen, but up to now you have always been sunshine itself."
"Flatterer."
He shrugged.
"Well, here we are," Tom pulled up outside a small cottage with a garden that needed some work. "It's not a palace, but …" he pointed across the road, "that's the surgery over there. I live above."
