Can't Repeat the Past (Teacher or a Leader sequel)

[kissofdeath]

Sweet! IS there going to be an all-out fight?

[Katheryn Mae]

I agree with kissofdeath - I do hope there's a bit of jealously between the youngest ones ... seeing Jean and Deirdre are getting along very well.

Excited for more - now that I've finished POMJB. ;D

[dianahawthorne]

Chapter Fifteen


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As always, dedicated to kissofdeath and KristaMarie. Thanks to tabbyhearts for helping me come up with some of the ideas used in this chapter. Thanks are owed to kissofdeath who suggested the fight scene.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Surprisingly, the month that Teddy’s first wife and children stayed with them went very smoothly, except for one drastic event.

One night, a week before the visit ended, Kieran attacked Duncan in the living room.

“I HATE YOU!” Kieran screamed, punching Duncan in the face. Duncan staggered backwards, bringing a hand up to his nose, which was bleeding profusely. Kieran approached him again, fists cocked, and knocked Duncan down. Edward, Brendan, and Connor held him back, while Jean knelt over her son. He was unconscious.

Deirdre grasped her son by his shoulders. “Kieran, why did you do this?”

“I hate them,” he spat out. “I hate all of them. That bitch,” he said, pointing to Jean, “is the reason that Dad left us!”

“Your father did not leave us – I left him. And Jean was not the reason that I filed for an annulment. Your father had affairs with many other women, not just Jean,” Deirdre said. “Go up to your room.”

“Fine,” Kieran spat, and raced up the stairs. Deirdre turned to Jean.

“I’m sorry, Jean,” she said, kneeling next to her. Duncan was still unconscious, and Jean held a handkerchief to his nose to staunch the bleeding. Edward went to telephone the doctor while Siobhan went to the kitchen, coming back with a few rags and a basin of cold water. She handed them to Jean, and she dipped one of the rags in water, wiping the blood off his face. He began to stir, opening his eyes.

“Duncan, darling, are you all right?” Jean asked him, stroking his hair. He tried to stand up, and Jean helped him, bringing him over to the couch.

“I’ve called the doctor,” Edward said, coming back into the room. “Duncan, are you all right?” he asked. Duncan nodded.

“I’m sorry for Kieran’s behaviour,” Deirdre said.

“It’s all right,” Duncan replied. “I’m sure that if our positions were reversed, I would have done the same thing.”

“It was still wrong,” Deirdre said. “I’m going to go talk to him.” She left and went up to talk to her son.

“Are you sure you’re all right, darling?” Jean asked, stroking his hair. He rested his head on her lap and began to cry.

“Why does Kieran hate us?” he asked her.

“Oh, my darling,” Jean said, letting her own tears drop onto his hair. “He resents the fact that when Deirdre divorced your father, he married me. It’s not your fault, sweetheart.”

The doorbell rang, and Edward got up from the couch to get the door. It was the doctor, and Duncan sat up. The doctor began his examination.

“Your nose is not broken,” he said. “Just keep it iced. And you don’t have a concussion, luckily. Just rest and take it easy for a few days,” the doctor finished. Edward walked him to the door.

“Why don’t you go up to bed, hmm?” Jean said. “I’ll bring up your dinner.”

“All right, Mum,” Duncan said, and they began to walk up the stairs. They met Deirdre and a very ashamed-looking Kieran on the stairs.

“I’m sorry, Duncan,” Kieran said, looking down at the ground.

“It’s all right, Kieran,” Duncan said. Jean and Deirdre exchanged a slight smile.

“Did the doctor say that you’re all right?” Deirdre asked.

“Yes; he said to take it easy for a few days, though,” Duncan replied. Deirdre nodded.

“I’m glad,” she said. Deirdre and Kieran stepped to the side to allow Jean and Duncan to finish walking up the stairs. They entered Duncan’s room, and he kicked off his shoes, climbing between the covers.

Jean smiled softly at him and turned to leave.

“Mummy?” he asked. She turned. Duncan hadn’t called her Mummy in years.

“Yes, darling?”

“Will you stay with me?” he asked, looking just like a little boy. She smiled softly at him.

“Of course, my dear,” she said, sitting on the side of the bed. He smiled at her and closed his eyes.

“I love you, Mummy,” he said.

She began to cry. He and William had grown up so fast. “I love you, too.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Deirdre and her children left a week later. Kieran had kept to himself during that last week, despite apologising to both Jean and Duncan again. Deirdre and Jean bade each other goodbye and promised to write. During the month that she had stayed with them, Jean and Deirdre had forged a surprisingly strong friendship. They were both very similar women and had a lot in common – not the least of which was having loved the same man.

Despite Jean and Deirdre’s surprising friendship (which certainly made their visit much more pleasant), Jean was somewhat relieved to have their house to themselves again – and to have Edward to herself.

Her poor husband had felt quite neglected by his wife during the past month, as she and Deirdre always seemed to be talking. Jean wanted to make it up to him, so they went out for a quiet dinner.

“I know that we just came back from our honeymoon, Edward, but I was thinking that we could have a weekend away,” Jean said. “We don’t even have to leave Sydney – we could stay in a hotel somewhere, just have time for ourselves.”

He smiled at her. “That sounds nice,” he said. “Why don’t we just stay at the Dunkirk? That way we’ll be close by in case the boys need us.”

She smiled at him. “I can’t wait. Then we’ll go tomorrow?” she asked, for the next day was Friday.

“Tomorrow,” he agreed, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand.

The next afternoon, as planned, Jean and Edward checked into the Dunkirk Hotel for the weekend. As soon as they stepped into their suite (Edward had insisted on reserving a suite for the two of them, though they would only be there for two days), Edward set the bags down and Jean wrapped her arms around him, kissing him passionately. He broke the kiss and pulled out of her embrace to close the door. Edward turned back to Jean, who was smiling sheepishly.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just need you so much.”

His eyes grew darker and he strode towards her, picking her up. She giggled, wrapping her arms around him, and he dropped her onto the bed.

They hadn’t made love in over a month, and Jean had needed him so desperately. Quickly unfastening her dress, she shimmied out of it and let it drop to the floor while he undressed as well.

As soon as he finished undressing himself, he joined his wife on the bed and pulled her towards him. She stroked his face gently.

“I love you, Edward,” she whispered, and he smiled down at her.

“I love you, Jean,” he replied, lowering his mouth to hers. She moaned, wrapping her arms around his neck, and rolled him onto his back so that she could straddle him. She lowered herself on top of him and moaned again as she began to move on top of him.

“Oh, God, Edward,” she gasped as she began to come. “Oh, yes, yes, YES!”

He began to come as the force of her climax caused his, and he gripped her hips tightly, bringing her down on top of him. Finally, they both collapsed in each other’s arms, utterly spent.

“Oh, my darling,” he whispered, stroking her hair as she leaned against his chest. She propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him.

“Did you like that?’ she asked him, smiling coyly down at him.

“You know that I did,” he said, cupping her cheek. She smiled again.

“I’m glad – so did I,” she said. She leaned back against his chest, snuggling up to his warmth. “I love you so much,” she whispered.

“I love you, too, Jean,” he replied, kissing the top of her head. “I love you too.”

The rest of Friday passed very quietly. They ordered room service for dinner and had a relaxing night, making love once more before drifting off to sleep. They were both exhausted from the past month. They woke up quite late the next morning and ordered room service for breakfast. While they were waiting for their breakfast, Jean had a bath.

She must have dozed off, as she was woken up a half-hour later by her husband.

“Ready for breakfast, Jean?” he asked, and she nodded drowsily. He helped her out of the tub and she dried off, slipping into her dressing gown. She then joined her husband in the living room for breakfast.

After breakfast, Jean went back to bed – she was so tired, so, so tired... she didn’t know what was wrong.

Jean slept right through lunch, only waking up in time for dinner.

“Are you feeling all right, Jean?” Edward asked her. She wasn’t looking very well. He leaned over and felt her forehead – she was burning up.

“No, not really,” she said, lying back against the pillows. “I’m sorry, darling, but would you mind terribly if we just went home?”

“Of course not, dear,” he said. “Just rest and I’ll pack up our things.”

“I’ll call the boys and let them know we’ll be coming back soon,” Jean said.

Three hours later, Jean and Edward returned home, and Edward called for the doctor. He examined Jean, and concluded that she had bronchitis. She was told to stay in bed for at least a week and avoid any strenuous activity.

Jean felt awful – not just because she was sick, but because she had to cut her romantic weekend with Edward short.

As soon as the doctor left, Edward brought Jean up to their bedroom, making sure she was comfortably ensconced in bed, before he went back downstairs to bring her up some tea. She was asleep when he returned, so he left the tea on her nightstand, before joining Duncan and William downstairs.

“I’m going to the grocers to get some food,” Edward said.

“All right,” the boys replied.

“I’ll be back shortly,” he said, and, with a nod to the boys, left the house.

While he was crossing the street, a car came out of nowhere and struck Edward down. The driver of the car jumped out and rushed towards Edward, who was unconscious. The man ran into the grocers and called an ambulance; an hour later, Edward was admitted to the hospital, still unconscious.

A nurse called the house, having found the phone number in Edward’s wallet. Duncan answered the telephone.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Hello, is this the home of Edward Lloyd?” the nurse asked.

“Yes. Is something wrong?” Duncan asked.

“Mr. Lloyd was hit by a car earlier this afternoon; he is at the Sydney Hospital,” the nurse said.

Duncan nearly dropped the telephone. “We’ll be right there,” he said, setting down the telephone.

“Who was that?” William asked, looking up from his book.

“Edward’s in the hospital,” Duncan said, his face pale. “Get your coat – I’ll get Mum.” William nodded shakily, and Duncan rushed up the stairs to his mother’s room.

“Mum!” he said, throwing open the door. She looked up from her book.

“Yes, darling? What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Edward’s in the hospital,” Duncan said. “We have to go now.”

Jean got out of bed, trembling. “I’ll get dressed. Get your coat and call a cab.” Duncan nodded and ran back downstairs. Jean got dressed very quickly, not even bothering to look at what she was wearing, then rushed downstairs. The cab was waiting, and she grabbed her pocketbook off the table.

The ride to the hospital, though it was only ten blocks away, seemed to take years. As soon as they arrived, the Lloyds rushed into the hospital. Jean went up to the desk.

“My husband Edward Lloyd was brought in,” Jean said, clutching her pocketbook with white-knuckled fingers.

The nurse looked down at the intake sheet. “He’s in surgery at the moment,” she said.

“Surgery for what?” Jean asked anxiously.

“Shards of glass from the accident were embedded in his eyes, other than that, he’s fine,” the nurse said. “He’s in surgery now to remove the glass. You’ll be notified when you can see him,” the nurse said, dismissing her. Jean walked shakily back to her sons.

“He’s in surgery,” Jean said, sitting down between Duncan and William. “Shards of glass got in his eyes from the car accident; the doctors are removing them now. He wasn’t injured other than that...” Jean burst out into sobs, and her sons embraced her.

They waited for hours, Jean nervously twisting her handkerchief in her hands. Finally the doctor came in.

“Mrs. Lloyd,” the doctor called out, and Jean hurried over.

“Is my husband all right?” she asked.

“The surgery went very well – we were able to remove all the glass. However, there is only a very slim chance that he will ever see again,” the doctor said.

Tears slipped down Jean’s face. “Can I see him?”

“Yes; he’s in room 213,” the doctor said, and Jean turned back to her sons.

“I’m going to see Edward. Stay here,” she said. “I love you both.”

“Give Edward our best wishes, please,” Duncan said, and William nodded.

“I will,” she said, and followed the doctor down the hall.

They stopped outside Edward’s room, and Jean took a deep breath before entering the room. Her husband was sitting up in bed, a bandage wrapped around his eyes.

“Edward?” she asked, stepping into the room. He turned his head towards her.

“Jean? Is that you?” he asked. She stepped further into the room, sitting down in a chair next to his bed. She took his hand.

“Yes, it is, sweetheart,” Jean said, holding his hand up to her cheek. “Oh, my darling,” she whispered, tears trickling down her face. She rested her head against his chest. “I am so glad that you are all right.”

“I’ll never see again, Jean,” Edward said flatly. “I’d hardly call that being all right.”

She looked up at him. “You’re alive,” Jean said, “you’re alive, and everything will be fine.”

“I don’t want you to stay with me, Jean,” Edward said.

“What?” she cried. “Why not?”

“You deserve better than me – you always have – and especially now that I can’t see anymore,” he said.

“How can you think it, Edward?” she asked him, shocked. “I love you!”

“Jean, I don’t want you to be shackled to a cripple for the rest of your life,” he said.

“I won’t allow you to sink into self-pity, Edward Lloyd,” Jean said in her best teacher voice. “I married you – for better and for worse, in sickness and in health, remember? I said it, and I meant it. I love you, Edward, and we’ll work through this. I don’t care if you never regain your sight – I love you.”

He squeezed her hand tightly. “I love you, too, Jean.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three weeks later, Edward was released from the hospital. Jean went to bring him home, while Duncan and William helped prepare the house for Edward’s arrival.

Jean couldn’t help but feel that it was her fault – if she hadn’t gotten bronchitis, they would have been at the hotel, and Edward would not have gotten hit by the car. But she tried hard to push those feelings of guilt away, as she did not think that her wallowing in self-pity would help Edward recover.

The boys would be boarding at Riverview during the week from now on, to make it easier for Jean to take care of Edward. They would come home on weekends.

When Jean and Edward finally returned home, she carefully helped him out of the cab and then paid the driver. William and Duncan rushed out of the house to help Edward up the stairs.

Finally, Edward was ensconced in his and Jean’s bedroom, and Jean went downstairs to bring up some lunch. She carefully, lovingly fed him, and when he was finished, Jean brought the tray back downstairs.

“Would you like me to read to you?” she asked him when she returned. He smiled.

“All right,” he said.

“What would you like me to read?” she asked.

“Something Scottish,” he said. She smiled down at him lovingly, though he could not see it.

“How about ‘What Every Woman Knows’?” she suggested, and he nodded. She walked over to the bookshelf and pulled out the copy of the J.M. Barrie play. Kicking off her shoes, she curled up next to her husband; he wrapped his arm around her. It was just like before his accident.

She began to read. “Act one. James Wylie is about to make a move on the dambrod, and in the little Scotch room there is an awful silence befitting the occasion. James with his hand poised--for if he touches a piece he has to play it, Alick will see to that--raises his red head suddenly to read Alick's face. His father, who is Alick, is pretending to be in a panic lest James should make this move. James grins heartlessly, and his fingers are about to close on the 'man' when some instinct of self-preservation makes him peep once more. This time Alick is caught: the unholy ecstasy on his face tells as plain as porridge that he has been luring James to destruction. James glares; and, too late, his opponent is a simple old father again. James mops his head, sprawls in the manner most conducive to thought in the Wylie family, and, protruding his underlip, settles down to a reconsideration of the board. Alick blows out his cheeks, and a drop of water settles on the point of his nose…”

She finished the play and closed it, setting it down on the nightstand. She then curled up next to her husband again and smiled as he stroked her hair.

“I love you, Edward,” she whispered.

“I love you too, Jean,” he replied. “I love you so much.”

[Katheryn Mae]

Wow - that was great! Now back to algebra ... then back to humor fic ... amazing again! Can't wait for more - is there more?

[dianahawthorne]

Yes, there is more, don't worry!!

[Katheryn Mae]

Yay! Adding humor fic now!

[kissofdeath]

DUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDDDDDDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Totally didn't see that coming!

[dianahawthorne]

Chapter Sixteen


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As always, dedicated to kissofdeath and KristaMarie.

Parts of this chapter are inspired by Lexwing’s story “Atherton Hall”, a Jane Eyre fanfic.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Edward did not adjust well to the loss of his sight, regretting that he could no longer surprise Jean with little gifts or gestures. He couldn’t even make a cup of tea, let alone go out and get her a present. She had to take care of him now, and he felt awful that she was reduced to that. When they married, he had promised to take care of her, and now he couldn’t even do that.

Jean did not mind taking care of him – she relished it. He had taken care of her for so many years, and now it was her turn to show him how much she loved him – which she did; she loved him so much.

Though he hadn’t been seriously injured other than becoming blind, he had some new scars on his chest and abdomen as a result of where the car hit him. He refused to let her see him naked – when she helped him to bathe; he had her draw the bath, then had her leave the room. He was ashamed – even though he couldn’t see the scars, he could feel them. He didn’t want his wife to see him like this.

This went on for three months, Jean indulging his requests for privacy. Finally, however, she had had enough of his self-pity.

“Edward,” she said when they were in bed one night, “Why won’t you let me make love to you anymore?” she asked him, blushing despite the fact that he could not see.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, turning away from her.

“Please, darling, why don’t you want to speak to me about this?” she asked him, embracing him from behind. “You know that I love you,” she whispered, kissing his shoulder.

“How can you, Jean? How can you love a scarred, ruined man?” he asked her sadly.

“Edward, you are not a ruined man,” she said sternly.

“I notice that you didn’t say that I wasn’t scarred,” Edward said bitterly.

“That doesn’t matter to me, Edward – I love you. Your scars – though I’ve never seen them – don’t, and won’t bother me, darling.”

He turned to her slowly, looking down at her with his sightless eyes. She raised her hand to his cheek, caressing it softly, and brought her other hand to his pyjama top. Slowly, slowly she unbuttoned the top and had to bite down on her lip to keep herself from gasping at the large scar that ran the length of his chest.

“I told you – ugly,” Edward said flatly.

“No,” Jean said, tracing the scar with gentle fingertips, then with her lips. She could feel him growing hard against her abdomen, and she smiled. Hooking her fingers in the waistband of his pyjama trousers, she pulled them down, licking her lips at the sight of his proud erection. She took him into her mouth, running her tongue along his head.

“Oh, God, Jean,” he groaned, groping blindly for her. “Oh, oh, Jean!” he cried out. She could tell that he was getting closer to release, and she finally pulled back from him. Taking his erection in hand once more, she straddled him, beginning to move on top of him.

“Edward, Edward, Edward!” she cried out as she felt him come. She joined him a few moments later, then collapsed in his arms. “Oh, my darling,” she whispered.

“I love you, Jean,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”

Jean snuggled up to her husband, sighing contentedly as he wrapped his arms around her. She kissed his chest.

“I love you, too,” she replied.

They woke up early the next morning, Jean going downstairs to fetch breakfast. When she brought it back upstairs, Edward was sitting at the small table by the window, dressed for the day for the first time in months.

“Good morning, Jean,” he said, hearing her come in.

“Good morning, darling,” she said cheerfully, setting the tray down on the table. She kissed his cheek lightly. Breakfast – well, any meal time – was difficult, as Jean had to carefully “show” Edward where the food was. This morning they made it through breakfast without any difficulties, and when Jean returned from bringing the tray downstairs, Edward suggested that they go to the park.

“All right,” Jean said. “I’ll pack up a blanket, hmm?” He nodded, and she pulled a tartan blanket from the top shelf of their wardrobe and tucked it into her bag. She helped Edward into his coat. “Ready, darling?” she asked; he nodded; and they made their way to the park.

After strolling through the park for a bit, Jean spread out their blanket. They settled themselves on the blanket, Jean resting against his chest.

“I don’t feel that you’re very happy in Sydney,” Jean said.

He sighed. “I don’t know. I suppose that I’m becoming disenchanted with the city,” he admitted.

“Why don’t we take a house in the country?” she suggested. “Get away from the masses of people.”

“What about the house?” he said.

“We could rent it out,” Jean said, gaining enthusiasm for the idea. “The boys are living at school now, and they could come out on the weekends. Oh, Edward, it would be marvellous!”

“All right, darling,” he said, nuzzling the back of her neck. “We’ll get a house in the country.”

And they did, purchasing a small, four-bedroom house about an hour outside of Sydney. Jean took great pleasure in decorating their new home, making it cosy and welcoming – a true home.

Edward was far more comfortable in the country than he was in the city – far happier, too. Away from the hustle and bustle of city life, his spirits rose, and he fully recovered – mentally, at least – from the accident.

Edward was able to get outdoors far more – Jean and Edward took long walks around the countryside, and, as they had their own land, Edward was able to sit outside by himself while Jean was doing the shopping or tidying up. They didn’t have a maid or a nurse there, because Jean wanted to take care of Edward herself.

Life was so simple there, and people were so friendly. The day that they moved in, a dozen of their neighbours came over to introduce themselves, bringing food as well. They were invited over to at least half a dozen parties for the upcoming weekend, but they turned down the invitations, as the boys were coming.

When the boys arrived, Jean and Edward’s next-door neighbours, the McFaddens, stopped by. They had two sons as well, who were Duncan and William’s age. Niall was Duncan’s age, and Brian was William’s age. Their parents, Douglas and Bridget, were originally from Glasgow, Scotland, but emigrated to Australia twenty years ago. Their sons were born in Australia.

While Niall and Brian took Duncan and William around the town, Jean served tea to Douglas, Bridget, and her husband outside on their verandah.

They talked quietly amongst themselves, Jean holding her husband’s hand throughout the conversation.

When they were finished with the tea, Jean and Bridget brought the tea things into the kitchen and began to wash up while Edward and Douglas sat outside, talking.

“Why did you move from Sydney?” Bridget asked. “I’m sorry if that’s an impertinent question.”

“Edward was hit by a car several months ago,” Jean explained. “He lost his sight. Living in the city wasn’t conducive to his recovery, so we decided to purchase a house in the country.”

“Oh, I am sorry,” Bridget said. Just then, the boys tramped in. Jean smiled fondly at her two sons.

“Hello, darlings,” Jean said. “Would you like some tea?” she asked, and they nodded.

Jean poured the tea into the teapot, then placed a set of plates, cups, and silverware, along with a plate of biscuits, on a tray.

“Thanks, Mum,” Duncan said, picking up the tray.

“Thank you, Mummy,” William said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Lloyd,” the McFadden boys chimed.

Jean smiled at their retreating backs.

“Is Edward their father?” Bridget asked.

“No – Edward and I have only been married about six months. I was married to Edward’s cousin, Teddy Lloyd, before I married Edward. He died nine months ago.”

“Oh, my dear!” Bridget exclaimed. They had finished washing up and were now seated at the small table in the kitchen.

“It’s all right,” Jean said. “We hadn’t had a happy marriage for quite some time – he was quite a philanderer,” she explained.

“Well, Edward seems quite a reliable man,” Bridget said.

“That he is,” Jean said, smiling contentedly. “That he is.” She shook herself out of her reverie. “How did you and Douglas meet?” Jean asked.

“We went to school together in Glasgow,” Bridget said. “We moved here, to Australia, after Douglas was offered a job at a school here.”

“Oh, he’s a teacher?” Jean asked.

Bridget nodded.

“I used to teach,” Jean said, slightly wistfully. “In Edinburgh. That’s how Teddy and I met.”

“You were very much in love with him,” Bridget observed, and Jean nodded.

“I was, yes. But he was not a good husband – Edward is,” Jean said, sighing. The clock chimed, and Jean looked at her watch. “I suppose I should start dinner. Would you all like to stay and join us?”

“Oh, thank you, but I have a roast in the oven at home,” Bridget replied.

“Another time, then,” Jean suggested. “Next weekend?”

“That would be lovely,” Bridget said, standing up. “I’ll collect the boys.”

“All right,” Jean said, standing up and following Bridget into the parlour.

“Time to go, boys,” Bridget said. They groaned. “Get your things; I’ll get your father.”

Jean and Bridget walked into the garden. “We’re going now,” Bridget said. She turned to Edward. “Thank you for having us,” she said, turning to Jean and Edward. “We’ll see you later.”

“Goodbye,” Edward said, reaching out sightlessly to shake Douglas’s hand.

The McFaddens left, and Jean and Edward went inside to spend some time with the boys. Edward, Duncan, and William talked about school while Jean prepared dinner.

The rest of the weekend was quiet and relaxing, and, on Sunday, Jean drove the boys back to school. Edward had insisted that she drive them back, not have them take the train. He had a surprise for Jean. With Douglas and Bridget McFadden’s help, he had arranged for a rose garden to be planted around their verandah. Jean loved flowers – roses especially – and he hoped that she would like the garden.

By the time Jean returned, the garden had been finished. They had purchased climbing Scots roses, Jean’s favourites. When she arrived home and pulled into the driveway, she gasped. Edward was sitting on the verandah, sipping tea. Surrounding the verandah were rose bushes, trailing up the sides.

Jean stepped out of the car, her mouth open, and took in the sight of the verandah. The roses were not in bloom as of yet, as it was still winter in Australia. But she could tell that they would look lovely in the spring, when the roses bloomed.

Jean walked up the steps of the verandah. “Oh, Edward,” she breathed, looking around. “Did you do all of this for me?”

He nodded. “Do you like it, dear? They’re Scotch roses, your favourite.”

“Oh, Edward, I love it,” she breathed. “How... why...” she trailed off, looking around her again.

“You’re always talking about a garden, so, with Bridget and Douglas’s help, I arranged to have the garden planted,” he explained.

“Oh, I love you, Edward,” Jean whispered, sitting on the couch next to him, bringing his hand to her cheek. “Thank you, thank you so, so much.” She rested her head on his lap, looking out at the rose bushes, as he stroked her hair. The sun began to set. “Let’s go inside, hmm?” she suggested, sitting up.

“All right,” he agreed, and Jean helped him up. They went into the house, and Edward sat down at the dining room table while Jean prepared them a quick dinner.

After dinner, Jean and Edward went up to bed, where Jean showed Edward just how much she loved his surprise.

Edward truly missed his sight when they made love – he missed being able to see her. She was so beautiful when she came, oh so beautiful, and he loved to watch her. But now that he could no longer see, he was forced to try to remember just how she looked when she came, though he knew his memories was faded compared to how she really looked.

At least he hadn’t lost his other senses – he could still feel her satiny-smooth skin against his, taste her kisses, hear her soft voice, smell her scent – like lilacs and rose petals. And he was lucky that he had not been more seriously injured. He just wished that he could see her again.

[Katheryn Mae]

*wipes away tear* As someone said of ADMM - "Such loyalty" - I love it!

[dianahawthorne]

LOL just wait until the next chapter (it's almost finished!)

[Katheryn Mae]

Yay!

[dianahawthorne]

Chapter Seventeen


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As always, dedicated to kissofdeath and KristaMarie. Again, some ideas for this chapter are borrowed from Lexwing’s Jane Eyre fanfic, “Atherton Hall”.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two years passed, and Duncan graduated from Riverview, passing all of his A- and O-Level exams. Duncan had decided to attend St. Andrew’s University, in Edinburgh, to study law. Jean did not was him to go – it was still hard for her to accept the fact that her baby boy had grown up, but she allowed him to go. He would be living in her old flat, which she still owned, all these years later. Jean wished that she could go with him, to help him settle in, but Edward needed her here with him.

So Jean drove her eldest son to the dock to bid him farewell.

“I love you, Duncan,” she whispered, hugging him tightly, crying.

“I love you, Mum,” he replied, a few tears slipping from his eyes.

She held him at arms’ length. “Now, I expect you to write at least once a month, and call as often as you can.”

“I promise,” Duncan said. “I love you, Mum.”

“I love you, my darling,” she said. He reluctantly pulled away from her and gathered together his things. He boarded the ship, and Jean stood at the dock, waving as the ship pulled away. When she could no longer see it, she slowly walked back to the car and drove back to the house.

Later that night, safely wrapped in her husband’s arms, she cried for her son.

“We’re so lucky that we still have William,” Jean said once she had stopped crying.

“Yes, we are,” Edward said, stroking her hair softly. “We are.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Duncan had arrived in Edinburgh, he moved into his mother’s old flat. It hadn’t been lived in for nearly twenty years, so he had his work cut out for him, cleaning-wise. When Jean and Teddy had married, she had not brought most of her things with her, and so, while he was cleaning out the flat, he found many things – clothes, books, letters, and photographs.

He found dozens of photographs of his mother when she was young, long plaits hanging down her back. Quite a few of those pictures featured his mother and a tall, dark-haired man in uniform. He looked on the back of the photograph, and, in his mother’s neat handwriting, he read “Me and Hugh, just before he was deployed to Flanders.” He wondered who Hugh was – he would have to write to his mother to ask her.

And he found dozens of letters from someone called Gordon Lowther – love letters. He would have to ask his mother about him, too.

It took awhile, but he finally had cleaned the flat and made it a fit place for him to live. He did love the flat – it was quite close to St. Andrew’s, and he didn’t have to pay rent. And, for some peculiar reason, it felt like home, though he had never been there before.

He loved Edinburgh; the bustle of the city, the climate, the people – it was so different from Australia. He loved St. Andrew’s – it was a marvellous school, and he was learning a lot. And he had met a wonderful girl, whose name was Helen Lowther. She was just a few months younger than he was. She was beautiful, with burnished gold hair and beautiful, dark brown eyes. She was a few centimetres shorter than he, and was very slender.

They began seeing each other seriously, and, a year later, she brought him to meet her parents – Gordon Lowther and Heather Lockhart Lowther.

When Helen and Duncan arrived at Cramond, they were brought into the sitting room by the housekeeper. Gordon and Heather were seated on one of the couches, but stood when they entered the room. They embraced Helen, then turned to Duncan. Both Gordon and Heather were taken aback by Duncan’s appearance – he looked just like Teddy.

“Duncan Lloyd,” Duncan said, shaking Gordon’s hand, then Heather’s.

“Gordon Lowther,” Gordon said.

Duncan’s eyes widened. “Gordon Lowther? You taught with my mother, didn’t you?” he asked. “Jean Brodie?”

“You’re Jean’s son?” Gordon asked faintly, sinking down onto the couch.

“Yes,” Duncan said.

“How is she? And where is she?” he asked, indicating for Duncan to take a seat. He did.

“My mother is fine; we’ve been living in Australia for the past twenty years,” Duncan said.

“And your father?” Gordon asked.

“He died a few years ago, of liver cancer,” Duncan said. “Did you know him as well?”

“Yes, we all taught at Marcia Blaine. Heather did, too,” he said, smiling at his wife.

“That is a coincidence,” Helen said, squeezing Duncan’s hand.

The rest of the day was spent in conversation, talking about old times. At the end of their visit, Gordon asked Duncan if he could speak to him for a moment. Duncan agreed, and they went for a walk in the garden.

“I was in love with your mother for a long time,” Gordon said.

“I know,” Duncan said. “I’m living in her old flat, and when I was cleaning it out, I found your letters to her.”

“I wasn’t very kind to her near the end of our relationship, though,” Gordon said. “I had been courting Helen as well, and when I proposed to her, she accepted. I had proposed to your mother many times, but she had always turned me down. So I married Heather. I didn’t tell your mother, but your father told her, so she confronted me. I was sorry for hurting her – I had loved her, and I still love her, nearly twenty years later. What I’m trying to ask you is, well, is she happy?”

Duncan smiled slightly. “She is. She remarried a few months after my father died, and Edward – who was my dad’s cousin – loves her very much. They are very happy together.”

“I’m glad,” Gordon said.

“Gordon?” Duncan asked.

“Yes?”

“I’d like to ask your permission to marry your daughter,” Duncan said.

Gordon looked at him. “Do you love her?” he asked.

“Yes, with all my heart,” Duncan replied without hesitation.

“You have my blessing, then,” Gordon said.

Two days later, Duncan Edward Brodie Lloyd proposed to Helen Lockhart Lowther, and she accepted his proposal. They were twenty years old.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

With Duncan and William both away at school, Jean and Edward spent much of their time with each other. One day, a year after Duncan had left for Edinburgh, Jean and Edward had received some exciting news.

He had had an appointment with his doctor in Sydney, and Jean drove him to the appointment. She was called in to the office during Edward’s appointment.

“Jean, I am regaining my vision – in my right eye, at least,” her husband said happily.

“Oh, my God – really?’ she exclaimed, clutching at her heart.

The ophthalmologist nodded. “Yes, the eye had actually not been seriously damaged. The scar tissue was what was preventing Mr. Lloyd from seeing. But now that the scar tissue is receding, he is able to see.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jean asked.

“I wanted to make sure that it wasn’t temporary,” Edward explained.

“He’ll have to wear glasses for the time being, but his vision has returned in his right eye. In time, it might return in his left eye as well,” the ophthalmologist said.

Jean embraced her husband. “Oh, I am so happy,” Jean said, tears streaming down her face.

A few hours later, the Lloyds returned home, Edward wearing his new glasses. When they arrived and got out of the car, Edward scooped his wife up in his arms and kissed her. He carefully carried her up the steps of the verandah and up the stairs to their bedroom.

He laid her out on the bed and sat down next to her, caressing her cheek softly.

“I love you, Jean,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over her lips.

“I love you, Edward,” she replied, taking his free hand in hers. “I love you so much.”

He began to unbutton her dress, baring her body to his eyes. “Oh, my darling, darling, Jean,” he replied, “You are so beautiful.”

Jean smiled softly at him. “You think so?” she asked.

“Oh, yes,” he said, caressing her cheek. “Oh, so beautiful.”

She pulled him down on top of her, and, gently taking off his glasses, rolled him onto his back and showed him just how happy she was that he had his sight back.

Later that afternoon, while they were lying in bed, the telephone rang. Jean sighed and leaned over to pick up the telephone.

“Hello?” Jean said.

“Hello, Mum,” Duncan replied.

“Duncan, darling! How are you?” Jean asked.

“I’m well. Mum, I’m engaged,” he said, and Jean dropped the telephone. She scrambled to pick it up.

“I’m sorry, darling – dropped the telephone. You’re engaged? To whom?”

“Her name’s Helen. You know her parents, Mum – Gordon Lowther and Heather Lockhart,” Duncan said.

“Do... do they know that you’re my son?” Jean asked.

“Yes, they do, and they’re fine with it,” Duncan said. “Listen, Mum – we’re going to get married at Christmas here in Edinburgh, at Cramond Kirk. Can you, Edward, and William make it?” he asked.

“Yes, we can – oh, and we have some wonderful news, Duncan!” Jean exclaimed. “Edward’s vision has returned!”

“That’s wonderful!” Duncan said. “I’ve got to go, but give him my love. I love you, Mum,” he said.

“I love you too, darling. I’ll write to you to let you know when we’re coming in,” Jean replied.

“All right. I’ll try to call you in a few days,” Duncan said.

“I love you,” Jean said again.

“I love you, too, Mum,” Duncan said, and hung up the telephone.

Jean turned to her husband.

“Duncan’s engaged?” Edward asked. “To whom?”

“To Helen Lowther – the daughter of my former lover, Gordon Lowther,” Jean said, sinking back against the pillows. “They’re getting married at Christmas, at Cramond Kirk,” she continued. “We’ll have to get tickets,” Jean mused, staring up at the ceiling.

“Are you all right?” Edward asked Jean.

“Yes – well, no. I can’t believe that Duncan’s getting married, and I can’t believe he’s marrying Gordon’s daughter,” she admitted. “Did I ever tell you that he once thought that Duncan was his child?” Jean asked.

“No, you hadn’t told me that,” Edward said.

“Yes, he did. Sandy sent him a letter saying that I was pregnant with his child – I wasn’t, obviously, but he thought so at the time,” Jean replied. “We – Teddy and I – informed him that it was not the case.” She rested her head against her husband’s chest. “And now my son is marrying his daughter – completing the cycle,” Jean said.

“Are you unhappy about his choice of a wife?” Edward asked her.

“No... it’s just, well, I don’t know how I feel about seeing Gordon again. I haven’t seen him in nearly twenty years,” she explained.

“I’ll be there for you, Jean – I’ll always be there for you,” he said.

Jean smiled up at her husband. “I love you, Edward,” she said.

“I love you, too,” he replied.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three months later, Jean, Edward, and William arrived in Edinburgh a week before Christmas. Duncan met them at the dock.

“Hello, Mum,” Duncan said, embracing her. “Hello, Edward; hello, William,” he said, shaking his stepfather and brother’s hand. “The Lowthers are expecting us at Cramond for dinner; you’ll be staying with them.”

Jean clutched her husband’s hand tightly.

“I’ve parked the car over here,” Duncan said, leading them away from the ship. They piled in, and Duncan drove them to Cramond.

Nothing had changed in the past twenty years – Jean felt like she had travelled back in time. If her husband had not been there, holding her hand, she would have sworn it was 1932 again.

They were shown into the parlour by the housekeeper – the same housekeeper that Gordon had had twenty years ago. Gordon, Heather, and Helen were seated in front of the fire.

“Mum, Edward, William, this is my fiancée, Helen Lowther,” Duncan said proudly, wrapping his arm around her waist.

“Pleased to meet you,” Jean said, shaking the girl’s hand. The girl looked just like Heather had when they had taught together all those years ago.

Jean turned to Gordon. “Hello, Gordon,” Jean said softly, extending her hand. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Hello, Jean,” Gordon replied, taking her hand and squeezing it lightly. Jean turned to Heather.

“Hello, Heather,” Jean said.

“Hello, Jean. Won’t you have a seat?” she said, and Jean nodded, sitting down on one of the couches. Edward joined her, wrapping his arm around her waist.

“Oh, Gordon, Heather, this is my husband, Edward Lloyd,” Jean said.

Gordon and Edward shook hands. They made quite uncomfortable small talk for several minutes, Jean trying to avoid Gordon’s gaze. She realised that the couch that she was sitting on was one of the places where they had once made love. Finally, dinner was called, and Jean’s thoughts were torn away from days past.

Unfortunately, dinner was just as uncomfortable an affair. Jean engaged Duncan’s fiancée in talking about the wedding in an effort to prevent any conversation with Gordon. Edward and Gordon avoided each other’s gaze throughout the meal. Duncan and William talked about their studies. After dinner, the housekeeper showed them to their rooms, and Jean fell asleep immediately, emotionally exhausted by the day.

The next morning, the Lloyds and the Lowthers met for breakfast. After breakfast, Duncan took Edward and William to see the church, while Heather and Helen went for Helen’s dress fitting, leaving Jean and Gordon by themselves.

“Would you care to go for a walk, Jean?” Gordon asked, and she agreed. They strolled on the beach, arm in arm, just like they had for the first time twenty seven years ago.

“This is bizarre, isn’t it?” Jean said. “Our children marrying each other.”

“It is,” Gordon agreed. He turned towards her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I still love you, Jean – twenty years later and I still love you.”

Jean sighed. “I know, Gordon,” she said.

“You never did love me, did you, Jean?” he asked her sadly.

“I did,” Jean said. “I did love you for a time – but I loved Teddy more,” she said apologetically.

“Do you still love me?” he asked.

“Yes, I do – but I’m not in love with you, Gordon – I’m in love with my husband,” Jean said. “Aren’t you in love with Heather?” she asked.

“Yes, of course – but you’ve always held my heart, Jean Brodie,” he said. “From the first time I met you, you’ve held my heart.”

Jean smiled sadly up at him and rested her hand on his chest. “I give you back your heart, Gordon Lowther,” she said, and he took her hand in his.

“One last kiss, Jean?” he asked her, and she nodded, stretching up to kiss his lips. She pulled back from him a few moments later.

“Let’s go back,” Jean suggested, and he nodded. They walked back to the estate, arm in arm.

Later that night, Jean told Edward about her conversation with Gordon.

“I can’t believe that he’s still in love with me all these years later,” Jean said.

“You are so wonderful, Jean – how could anyone not be in love with you?” he asked her.

She smiled up at him. “Well, I am in love with you, not him,” Jean said. “I love you so much – and I told him that.”

“I love you too,” Edward said, kissing his wife softly.

A week later, Duncan Edward Brodie Lloyd and Helen Lockhart Lowther were married at Cramond Kirk. Jean cried throughout the entire ceremony, devastated that her oldest son was now married, and at such a young age. But she was happy that her son was happy and that he had found such a lovely woman to marry – for Helen was a wonderful girl. She hoped that they would be happy together.

Two days after the wedding, after Duncan and Helen had left for their honeymoon in Italy, Jean, Edward, and William boarded their own ship back to Australia. Jean was quite relieved – she had not felt comfortable with Gordon around – they had too complicated a history together. And Edinburgh was no longer the Edinburgh she had known, all those years ago. She was no longer comfortable there, as much as she hated to admit it, and she missed Australia. She missed her home, her garden, her neighbours, but, most of all, she missed spending time with Edward, just the two of them.

Almost as soon as they had returned to Australia, William had to go back to Riverview. Jean was reluctant to let him go – he only had two more years there, then he would be off to University as well. She could only hope that he would choose to remain in Australia, though she doubted that he would. Jean suspected that he would go to Edinburgh, to St. Andrew’s, like his brother.

A few days after they had returned to Australia, Jean received a parcel from Gordon.

“My dear Jean,

It was so wonderful to see you at our children’s wedding. You are still as beautiful as you were twenty years ago.

I found this just after you left, in one of the boxes that I had in the attic, and I thought that you’d like to have it back.

All my love,

Gordon.”

Jean opened the parcel with trembling fingers, wondering what on earth it could be. It was the sapphire brooch Gordon had given her twenty seven years ago, on her birthday.

“What’s that?” Edward asked, coming up behind her.

“A parcel from Gordon,” Jean said. “It contained this brooch – I had lost it at his estate over twenty years ago. He’d given it to me for my birthday the first year of our relationship,” she said.

“He loved you very much, didn’t he?” he asked her, and Jean nodded.

“Yes, he did – once,” Jean replied. She tucked the brooch into her jewellery box.

“Did you love him?” Edward asked.

“Yes, once,” Jean admitted. “But not nearly as much as I had loved Teddy, and not nearly as much as I love you,” she said.

“I’m glad of that, my sweet,” Edward said, stroking her hair. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Jean said, wrapping her arms around him. He bent down and captured her lips in a tender kiss.

[Katheryn Mae]

I love it. Edward can see and Gordon and Jean are on good terms, or so it seems, thanks for the update...even if you're doing a wonderful job at updating.

[kissofdeath]

OMG! I cannot believe I missed TWO updates!

Sry, chicka! stupid RL issues.......

Totally loved them though! Any chance of a "Hot Millions" update?

[dianahawthorne]

Chapter Eighteen


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As always, dedicated to kissofdeath and KristaMarie.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Duncan and his new bride returned to Edinburgh after their honeymoon and began their studies again. They were still living in Jean’s former flat. One night, Helen discovered a box of letters from her father to Duncan’s mother and began to read them.

The first letter was dated September 12th, 1932.

“My darling Jean,

Yesterday was so wonderful; the best day of my life. You are so beautiful, so perfect. I am so lucky to have you in my life. I was wondering if you’d care to spend next weekend with me at Cramond. Perhaps we could take the boat out again. And I’d like to take you out to dinner, if you are agreeable.

All my love,

Gordon.”

The next letter was dated September 19th, 1932.

“My dearest Jean,

This weekend was so lovely, utterly perfect. I do love you, Jean – you are the most wonderful person in the world. Will you consent to spending next weekend with me? I hope that you do. And I know that this is a bit presumptuous, but I was wondering if you would care to spend Christmas with me here at Cramond. I would very much enjoy that, my dear.

All my love,

Gordon.”

Duncan came in and saw his new bride reading her father’s letters.

“So this is why my father looked so peculiar when he realised that your mother was who she was,” Helen said, brandishing the letters.

“Yes, that’s why,” Duncan said, sitting down on the bed next to her.

“So, our parents were in love once, long ago,” Helen said, leaning back against the pillows.

“Yes, a long time ago,” Duncan said. “Your father told me about it.”

“When?” Helen asked, propping herself up on her elbow.

“Before I asked his permission to marry you,” Duncan replied.

“And you didn’t tell me?” she asked.

“Helen, how was I supposed to tell you? Oh, darling, your father told me that he was once in love with my mother; they had a sexual relationship for five years before your father abandoned my mother for your mother?” Duncan asked sarcastically.

Helen smiled sheepishly at her husband. “I’m sorry,” Helen said. “You’re right. I am sorry.”

Duncan smiled down at her. “It’s all right,” he replied, kissing her on her forehead. She snuggled up to him.

“I love you, Duncan,” she said.

“I love you, too,” he replied.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

William graduated from Riverview two years later and indeed went to St. Andrew’s, like his brother. Duncan and his wife had graduated the year previously, and they had purchased a house near his in-laws. Duncan had graduated first in his class, and was offered a very lucrative position at a prestigious law firm, which he accepted. Helen had studied music, and began teaching at her old school, Marcia Blaine.

William moved into their mother’s old flat and began attending St. Andrew’s, studying international affairs. He planned to follow in Edward’s footsteps and become a member of the Australian Parliament.

And in Australia, Edward regained his sight in his left eye as well. Though he still needed glasses – he was seventy, after all – he was able to see out of both eyes. Jean was thrilled, as was Edward.

And three months after Edward regained his sight, Duncan and Helen found out that she was pregnant. Helen, who had been teaching at Marcia Blaine for only a year, resigned in order to dedicate her time to the baby. Jean and Edward once more travelled to Edinburgh and stayed with Heather and Gordon, this time for three months while they waited for the birth of their grandchild.

While they were staying at Cramond, Duncan brought over the box of letters that Gordon had written starting thirty years ago, returning them to Jean. He also brought over the photographs, the books, and the clothes, knowing that Jean would want them back, which she did. In the months that they spent with the Lowthers, Jean went through every one of the letters.

Gordon came across her sorting through them later that day, when both families were out.

“What are those?” Gordon asked her, joining her on the verandah.

Jean looked up at him. “The letters that you wrote me,” Jean said.

“You’ve kept them all these years?” Gordon asked, and Jean nodded.

“Duncan found them again; they were in my flat,” she said. “He found these photographs, too,” she said, handing him a stack of photographs. He joined her and began looking through the photographs.

The first one showed them during that first Christmas they had spent together. They had used Gordon’s camera, which had an automatic timer, to take that picture. They were standing in front of the Christmas tree, his arm wrapped around her waist. She was looking up at him adoringly.

The next picture showed them standing in front of the Coliseum in Rome. They had travelled there over their summer vacation the year after they began their relationship. A tourist had taken the photograph of them.

The next photographs in the stack were taken at a photograph booth in London, where they had gone during their Easter break during the second year of their relationship. The first photograph was of them smiling demurely; the second was of Jean blushing as Gordon kissed her cheek; the third was of them kissing lightly; and the fourth and final photograph was of Jean and Gordon’s heads resting against each other, both of them smiling.

“We had a good relationship, didn’t we?” Jean said. “I mean, despite all the secrecy.”

“Yes, we did,” Gordon said, smiling softly down at her.

“Remember when we had those pictures taken?” Jean said. “It was such an awful day out, raining buckets, and we were running back to our hotel when we saw the photograph booth and decided to get our picture taken. That was a lovely trip, wasn’t it?” Jean asked him, and he nodded.

“It was,” Gordon said. “I was so glad that you convinced me that we should go.”

“And Italy, of course,” Jean said. “Italy was magnificent.”

“Yes, it was,” Gordon agreed. “We had some wonderful times.”

“We did,” Jean said, “We certainly did. Italy, London, and here – we did have some wonderful times.”

“Do you remember the first time we made love, Jean?” Gordon asked her. She nodded.

“Yes, I do,” she said. “You didn’t want to at first, but I eventually persuaded you.”

“I just didn’t want to take advantage of you,” he said. “I couldn’t believe that you wanted me. Why did you begin our relationship, Jean?” Gordon asked her curiously.

“I was attracted to you,” she said.

“There was something else, though, wasn’t there?” Gordon said. Comprehension dawned on his face. “It was something to do with Teddy Lloyd, wasn’t it?”

Jean nodded, blushing embarrassedly.

“What was it – your real motivation for beginning your affair with me?” Gordon asked.

“Teddy had painted my portrait,” Jean began. “At the end of my first year teaching. We made love, and, the next morning, he left while I was still asleep. I left his studio and fled to Italy and Egypt. When the school year began again, he confronted me, trying to get me to go back to his studio to see the portrait. I did not want to – I believed that he didn’t love me – and I made up an excuse, claiming that you had invited me to Cramond. So, in order for my excuse not to be a lie, I persuaded you to invite me for the weekend. I’m sorry, Gordon,” she said. “I was attracted to you – that wasn’t a lie. And I did love you.”

“So it wasn’t all a lie, then, Jean?” he asked.

“No, it wasn’t,” she said. “A lie might have been my motivation for beginning our relationship, but it wasn’t my motivation for continuing it.”

“And you turned down my marriage proposals because...” he trailed off.

“Because I knew that we wouldn’t be happy together in the long run. And because I knew that I didn’t love you enough to make you a good wife,” she said. “I loved you, Gordon, I did; and I was in love with you for a time, but I loved Teddy more. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, Jean,” Gordon said, caressing her cheek. “I was lucky to have you in my life for such a long time.”

Jean smiled up at him. “I was lucky to have you, too,” she whispered. “You were so kind, so loving to me,” she continued. “I didn’t deserve you.”

“Of course you did,” Gordon said. “It was I who didn’t deserve you – especially the way I treated you at the end of our relationship.”

She shook her head. “It’s all right,” she said. “Let’s just remember the good times we had.”

“All right,” Gordon said.

Later that night, after dinner, a knock sounded at her bedroom door. Edward was downstairs, talking to Heather.

“Come in!” she called. Gordon stepped inside, holding a box.

“I thought that you’d like to see these,” Gordon said, setting the box down. She opened the box, revealing her letters to him.

“Thank you, Gordon,” she said. “I would like to look through them again.”

He smiled down at her. “Good night, Jean,” he said.

“Good night,” she replied. He bent down to kiss her cheek, then left the room, closing the door behind him.

She took a stack of her letters to him out of the box and opened the first one, dated September 14th, 1932.

“Dear Gordon,

I, too, enjoyed this weekend immensely. And of course I would like to spend next weekend with you. Perhaps we can have another adventure on the sea. I would also love to go out to dinner with you this weekend. Perhaps we could go out to dinner on Friday and then spend the rest of the weekend together. I would enjoy that very much.

Yours truly,

Jean.”

She set that letter aside and picked a random one from the pile. It was dated December 4th, 1932.

“Dear Gordon,

I cannot wait until Christmas break begins – I am so glad that I will be spending the holidays with you, instead of on my own. It is so nice to be with you, Gordon – you make me feel so loved, so special, so wonderful. I can’t wait until Christmas – I’ve found a wonderful present for you, one that I think you’ll enjoy.

Only four more days until Christmas break begins!

Love,

Jean.”

What had she given him for Christmas that year? She looked up at the ceiling and smiled as she remembered. She had bought him a lovely antique gold pocket watch, as well as a rather... revealing negligee, one that they had both gotten hours of enjoyment out of. She smiled. It had taken some time, but he had become quite a good lover – not nearly as good as either Teddy or Edward, but close.

That Christmas, he had given her a beautiful pair of sapphire earrings and a matching necklace. They had spent much of that Christmas snuggled up together. It had been an unusually cold winter, so they had just cuddled in bed, under layers of blankets. And they warmed up by making love; hours upon hours in bed...

Her husband came in, and Jean pulled herself out of her reverie.

“What are those, darling?” Edward said, beginning to change into his pyjamas.

“The letters that I wrote to Gordon nearly thirty years ago,” Jean said. “You know that Duncan brought over the letters he had written to me earlier today, as well as some old photographs,” she said.

“Oh, yes,” Edward said, joining her in bed. “I’d like to see the photographs, if you’d care to show them to me, that is,” he added.

“Of course, darling,” Jean said. She rummaged through the nightstand and pulled out a stack of photographs. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and she snuggled up to him.

“When was this?” Edward asked, pointing at the first picture. Jean was very young, long hair hanging down her shoulders. She was wearing a school uniform.

“That was when I was thirteen,” Jean said. They saw a few more pictures of her youth when they arrived at a picture of Jean and Hugh.

“That was Hugh, my first love,” Jean said, gently tracing his features with her finger. “He was killed on Flanders Field.”

There were a few more pictures of Jean and Hugh, then pictures of Jean and Gordon. They came across one picture of Jean standing alone at the beach, smiling at the camera. She looked absolutely radiant.

“When was this taken?” Edward asked her. Jean turned the photograph over.

“Cramond; my birthday, 1934,” Jean read.

“You look absolutely gorgeous in this picture,” he said.

“And I don’t look gorgeous normally?” Jean asked him teasingly.

“Of course you do,” Edward said, kissing her. “You know that. But you do look beautiful in this picture, too.”

Jean smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

“Perhaps we can have it enlarged and then hang it up at home,” Edward suggested, and Jean nodded.

“That would be nice,” she agreed. She set the photographs aside. “Good night, darling,” she said, leaning over to kiss her husband good night. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Jean,” Edward said, kissing her again. He took off his glasses and set them on the nightstand before turning off the lights. Jean snuggled up to her husband, smiling contentedly as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her close. But when she fell asleep, she dreamed of her birthday, 1934.

Her birthday was on June 21st, and school had let out for the summer. Gordon had planned a small celebration in honour of her birthday at his estate. She had spent the night before with him, and he brought her breakfast in bed the morning of her birthday. After breakfast, they had made love, then had gotten dressed. They then went for a walk on the beach, which was when Gordon had taken that picture. She was smiling, laughing even, as she turned towards him. He hadn’t told her that he was taking the picture, and that was why that photograph had captured the way that she had been. It had captured her in the height of her prime, had frozen a snapshot of time when she had been in love with him.

After their walk, Jean and Gordon had returned to Cramond for lunch – Jean and Gordon made lunch together. It took quite a long time to make lunch, as Gordon kept distracting her – nuzzling the back of her neck, allowing his hands to linger on her waist... he was very amorous that day.

Finally they managed to finish lunch, after which they made love on the couch. They both tried to make it upstairs, but he couldn’t resist her any longer. She had flirted with him throughout their lunch – allowing her tongue to graze over her lips far more than necessary, rubbing his legs with her feet, smiling seductively at him. Once they were finished with their lunch, Gordon pushed back his chair and scooped her up in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and began to kiss him passionately.

They had to walk through the living room to reach the stairs, and, as her tongue sought entrance to his mouth, he moaned. He couldn’t continue any further, he wanted – nay, needed – her so much. He laid her down on the couch and she pulled him on top of her.

“Oh, Gordon,” she sighed as he began kissing her neck. She pushed his shirt off his shoulders, then got to work on his trousers while he unbuttoned her dress. Jean moaned, arching her back, as he trailed kisses along her collarbone. He stopped, and she groaned in disappointment. He looked down at her, and she smiled up at him.

“I love you, Gordon,” she said.

“I love you, Jean,” he replied, and entered her.

Jean moaned, wrapping her arms around him.

“Oh, God, Gordon!” she moaned. “Oh, yes, yes!”

“Jean, Jean, my darling, darling, Jean!” he yelled. “Yes, Jean!”

She climaxed, holding him tightly to her, and he joined her, allowing his weight to rest on top of her.

Jean stroked his hair as he nuzzled her neck.

“I love you, Gordon,” Jean whispered. She did love him – not as much as he loved her, but close enough.

“And I love you,” he replied, kissing her on the lips. “Happy birthday, my darling.”

She smiled up at him. “Thank you,” she whispered. They lay there, limbs entangled, his head resting against hers, and fell asleep.

In real life, Jean woke up as the sun streamed through the windows. Edward was getting dressed, but he turned to her when he heard her stir.

“Good morning, Jean,” Edward said. She smiled up at him, her cheeks flushed red. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said.

He looked at her a bit strangely. “You look flushed,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He stroked her cheek lightly.

“I’m a bit warm, I suppose,” Jean said, getting out of bed. She got dressed, then turned back to her husband. “Ready for breakfast?” she asked, and he nodded. They walked downstairs. Jean pulled him aside for a moment before they could enter the dining room.

“I love you,” she whispered, kissing him on the lips.

He smiled down at her. “I love you, too.”

They then went into the dining room, joining Gordon and Heather for breakfast.

Later that afternoon, Edward and Jean went for a walk on the beach.

“Edward,” Jean began. “Do you think that we could move back to Edinburgh, so that we could be closer to the boys and our grandchild?”

He smiled down at her. “I was going to suggest that to you, my dear,” he said. “Of course we can. We can start looking for a home right away.”

“Thank you,” Jean said, smiling up at him.

“Of course, darling,” Edward said, caressing her cheek.

“I can’t believe that we’re going to be grandparents,” Jean said.

“Nor can I,” Edward said.

“I can’t believe that our children are all grown up... it seems like just yesterday that they were born.” Jean had always referred to her children as “their” children, for while Edward was not their biological father, he certainly was more of a father to them than Teddy had ever been.

“Time has gone by so quickly,” Edward agreed.

She smiled up at him once more. “I love you, Edward.”

“I love you too, Jean,” he said, and they began to walk back to Cramond.

[kissofdeath]

aww, that was sweet.

I don't know why but there's something about Helen I don't like. Any chance of a battle between Jean and Helen?

[dianahawthorne]

Chapter Nineteen


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As always, dedicated to kissofdeath and KristaMarie. Thanks are due to kissofdeath for helping me out with this chapter.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jean and Edward began looking for a house to purchase, finally deciding on a small two-bedroom house in the heart of old Edinburgh, a few blocks from where she and Teddy had lived when they were first married. It needed quite a bit of redecorating, so they continued to reside with Heather and Gordon. After they purchased their house, they sent a telegram to Douglas and Bridget McFadden, informing them of their impending move. Jean would miss them terribly – she and Bridget had become very close over the past few years. But she did want to be near her children and her grandchild.

After their grandchild was born, Edward and Jean would fly back to Australia, pack up their things, then take a ship back to Edinburgh. Their house would be ready by then. They still had two months to wait for their grandchild to be born.

Late one night, a week after Jean and Edward had purchased their new house, Heather and Gordon were in bed, making love. After they climaxed, Heather lay wrapped in her husband’s arms.

“I love you, Gordon,” Heather whispered, rubbing his chest lightly.

His eyes were closed as he stroked her hair. “I love you, Jean,” he replied.

Heather sat straight up in bed. “Jean?” she asked, scooting away from him. “Why did you say that, Gordon?” she demanded.

Gordon sat up too. “Heather, I didn’t mean it,” he said, reaching out for her. She backed away from him.

“I thought that you loved me, Gordon,” Heather said, beginning to cry. “I thought that you didn’t love her anymore.”

“I do love you,” Gordon said. “I love you so much, Heather.”

“I notice that you didn’t say you don’t love her,” she spat that word out, “anymore.”

Gordon dropped his eyes, then raised them. “I love you, Heather,” he said. “I do.”

“I thought that you were no longer in love with her,” Heather said. “I can see that I was wrong. Has our marriage really been a lie?”

“No, of course not, darling,” he said, reaching out to caress her cheek. She pulled back once again.

“Can you look me in the eyes and say that?” she asked.

“I love you, Heather,” he said, looking into his wife’s eyes.

“Tell me that you don’t love her anymore,” Heather demanded.

“I don’t love her anymore,” Gordon said, not looking into her eyes.

“You do,” she whispered. She got out of bed and wrapped herself in her dressing gown.

“I’m going to the guest room, and I don’t want you to join me, Gordon,” Heather said. “I need to think.”

He watched her leave, then stood up. He went to his closet and pulled down a small cedar box, opening it. He took out a pile of photographs, all of them of Jean. He went back to bed, crawling between the covers. He then slowly went through the pile.

The first photograph was of Jean sitting on the verandah, reading a book. He had snapped the picture just as she looked up at him, smiling. He traced her features with a gentle finger. Setting that photograph aside, he picked up the next one.

Jean was lying in bed, wearing a rather skimpy negligee. She was smiling seductively at him, her blonde hair tousled becomingly, the negligee revealing her well-shaped legs. Jean was holding a sprig of mistletoe in her delicate fingers. He remembered that day – the first Christmas they had spent together. She had given him a lovely antique gold pocket watch, one that he still wore to this day. He had given her a pair of sapphire earrings and a matching necklace. Jean had kissed him passionately.

“I have another present for you, Gordon,” she said, smiling at him. “Give me ten minutes, then come up to the bedroom.” She gave him one last smile before walking up the stairs.

He waited quite impatiently, watching the time tick by on his new watch. Finally the ten minutes were up, and he bounded up the steps to his bedroom. Opening the door, he was greeted with the most beautiful sight he had ever seen – Jean Brodie, resting atop the sheets, wearing a revealing white silk negligee. She looked gorgeous – leaning against the propped up pillows, Jean’s golden hair shone in the dim light. She was holding sprig of mistletoe.

“Oh, Jean,” Gordon breathed, standing still, trying to burn that sight in his memory forever. “Oh, my darling.” He approached her slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I never want to forget this moment, Jean,” he said. “You are so beautiful.”

“Why don’t you get the camera?” she suggested. “That way you’ll always have a picture of this time – this time when I love you and you love me.”

He nodded and went downstairs once more to get the camera. When he returned, he snapped the picture, then abandoned the camera on the dresser in favour of making love to the beautiful woman in his bed.

The next photograph that he turned to was of them in London. It was raining, so she was nestled in his arms. He had wrapped his raincoat around her, protecting her from the rain. They had had the doorman of their hotel – they had stayed at the Savoy – take the picture of them. Jean was looking up at him, smiling, her golden hair wet, rain streaming down her face. He was smiling down at her too, a drop of water settling at the end of his nose. After that picture had been taken, they had returned to their suite. Jean had insisted that they both take a long, hot bath, as they were soaked to the skin. And after their bath, they had snuggled under the covers of the bed and had made love.

They had registered as husband and wife when they stayed at the Savoy, Gordon remembered. And he had so desperately wanted to be her husband, yet she refused him. She didn’t want to get married yet, she had said, marriage would only mean that she would have to give up her teaching. And they were living as though they were married, anyway – she cooked for him, kept his house tidy, and shared his bed. The only thing they lacked to make this a marriage, Jean had often said, was a ring. And she refused to accept his ring, refused to accept his proposals, refused to make their relationship officially a marriage. But when they travelled together, they always registered as husband and wife, and Gordon was quite content to pretend.

The next picture was one that he had taken of Jean on her birthday, the second year they had spent together. They had taken a walk on the beach, walking hand-in-hand for the beginning. She had the urge to run into the water – just up to her ankles – so she dropped his hand and kicked off her shoes. Standing in the surf, she had turned to him, laughing, just as he snapped that picture of her.

Jean was such a wonderful person, a marvellous lover, and so, so beautiful. He had loved her with all his heart – still loved her so much. He couldn’t help himself – even though she had never loved him as much as he had loved her, he still loved her.

He turned to the next photograph, which was of Jean sitting in his lap, resting her head against his chest. They had used the automatic timer on his camera in order to take that picture. Even twenty years later, he remembered how it felt to have Jean’s body cradled in his arms, remembered what her kisses tasted like, remembered what her voice had sounded like as she moaned his name.

But he loved his wife, too – they had made such a comfortable life for themselves and their daughter. Life with Heather was safe, predictable – but also a bit boring. She was utterly conventional – in work, in life, in bed... She liked the things that she knew, and she was not at all adventurous – not like Jean.

He was a quiet person too, and boring, he supposed, by Jean’s standards. Now that he knew why she had stayed with him for so long, it made sense. Especially during the last months of their relationship, he had had the feeling that he was boring her. He never was enough for her, though he had tried – that was why she hadn’t loved him enough to marry him.

Gordon was tired, so he collected the photographs and put them away in his closet once more, not wanting Heather to see them. He needed his wife back – he loved her (well, not as much as he loved Jean), and he didn’t want her to leave him, especially as he knew that she wouldn’t leave Edward for him. He had had his chance at a relationship with Jean, but she hadn’t loved him enough to marry him. At least they had had four wonderful years together.

He would still love her forever, but he knew that her love for him had disappeared twenty years ago, when he had cast her aside for Heather. It had been his choice, and he would stick to his decision. Making up his mind, he padded softly down the hallway to the guest room where his wife was. The light was still on, and he knocked on the door.

“Gordon, if that’s you, I don’t want to talk to you,” said his wife.

“Heather, please,” Gordon begged him. He heard her sigh, then heard footsteps walk to the door. The lock turned, and his wife opened the door.

“What do you want, Gordon?” Heather asked him bluntly. Her face was streaked with tears.

“Can I come in, please, Heather?” he asked, and she nodded reluctantly. He stepped inside and she closed the door behind him.

“What do you want?” she asked him again.

“Heather, I won’t lie to you and tell you that I don’t love Jean Brodie anymore – I do. But I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you, Heather – I love you so much,” Gordon said.

“Oh, Gordon,” she sighed. “Is that true – you’d rather spend the rest of your life with me rather than with her?”

“Yes, it is,” Gordon said, and though it wasn’t true, he lied, looking her straight in the eyes. He needed her to believe him, for he did love her.

She smiled, her face lighting up. She had needed to hear him say that he loved her, because she loved him so much. She did not know what she would do without him.

“Oh, I love you, Gordon,” Heather said, wrapping her arms around him.

“I love you too, Heather,” he replied, bending down to kiss her. “Let’s go back to bed, hmm?” he suggested, and she nodded. They quietly walked back to their bedroom and fell asleep.

Unsurprisingly, relations between Heather and Jean became strained, though Jean did not know what to attribute that to. She suspected Gordon had let something slip about their past relationship. Thankfully, she had told Edward everything about her past affairs, so she did not have to worry about Heather telling Edward about them, if that was indeed what it was about.

Jean had been open with Edward from the beginning of their relationship, something that she was grateful for now. Gordon obviously had not been as open with Heather as she had been with Edward.

Yes, things had become very uncomfortable between Jean and Heather.

Finally, finally, their grandchild was born. After twelve hours of labour, Helen Lockhart Lowther gave birth to a baby girl, whom they named Heather Jean Lloyd. She was beautiful, with brown hair and blue eyes. They had the baby christened at Cramond Kirk, and, after the christening, Jean and Edward flew back to Australia.

It took the Lloyds three weeks to pack up their things, even with Douglas and Bridget’s help. But, while Jean wanted to return to Edinburgh, to her children and to her baby granddaughter, she did not want to see Heather Lowther for a long time. Hopefully this separation would help Heather get over her unresolved issues with Jean.

And Jean did not want to leave Bridget and Douglas behind – they had been good friends for the past five years. But Edinburgh was her home, though it had changed so much.

Finally it was time for Edward and Jean to leave for Edinburgh. They had sold their house in Sydney and were renting out their other home in Australia. Douglas and Bridget drove them to the dock to say goodbye. They promised to visit at least once every two years.

So Edward and Jean boarded the ship that would bring them to Edinburgh. During the next three weeks, Jean and Edward spent all of their time together, much of it in their rooms. They also took long walks around deck, talking.

Jean spent a lot of time writing letters as well. She and Jenny, her former student, had kept up a steady correspondence ever since they met each other once more on the ship to Edinburgh about twenty years ago. Jenny and her husband and daughter had come to visit quite often, but once their daughter Jean had begun school, it was no longer practical for them to come to visit. But Edinburgh was far closer to London than Australia was, so Jean would be able to see her far more often. And Monica Maclaren, another of her former ‘Brodie girls’, lived there too – she was still an actress with the Royal Court Theatre. Jean was looking forward to seeing them both again.

And she made up her mind to go to the nunnery and see Sandy Stranger, the girl who had betrayed her, again. She had written a book of psychology, called “The Transfiguration of the Commonplace”, which Jean had read. It was about her. Jean felt compelled to go visit her, to get some closure at long last. The nunnery was not too far outside of Edinburgh and, as soon as they arrived, Jean would go.

Jean had often wondered what it was about her that caused so much chaos. She had no clue what it was in her that inspired men to love her and women to hate her – well, most women, at least. Not Jenny, nor Monica, nor Bridget McFadden; nor, surprisingly, Deirdre. But Heather despised her, as did Sandy, as did all of her female colleagues from Marcia Blaine – especially Miss Mackay. Perhaps Sandy could give her some insight on what it was that made women hate her so much.

When they arrived in Edinburgh, Jean and Edward set up their new home. The decorators and contractors had finished, so all they had to do was arrange their furniture. It still took them a week to finish moving in.

Once they had finished arranging their furniture, Jean drove into the country to see Sandy, or Sister Helena of the Transfiguration, as she was now known, at the nunnery. When she arrived, she was shown to the visitor’s room. She had not given her name, but had requested to see Sister Helena. After a few minutes of waiting, the door opened, and Sandy entered the room. She stopped dead when she saw her visitor.

“Hello, Sandy,” Jean said calmly, remaining utterly composed. Sandy looked so much older than she had the last time Jean had seen her – age had been much less kind to Sandy than it had been to Jean. The bit of Sandy’s hair that emerged from her wimple, that hair which used to be as black as ink, was now heavily streaked with grey. Even at the age of fifty nine, Jean’s hair was still blonde, with only a few white hairs. Sandy was only thirty eight years old, but she looked Jean’s age.

“What are you doing here?” Sandy asked.

“I came to see you, Sandy,” Jean said. Sandy sank into a chair.

“Why?” she whispered.

“I know that it was you who threw that rock through the window, hoping to kill me,” Jean began. “And I know that it was you who tried to kill Teddy by setting our house on fire. Why, Sandy?” she asked. “Why do I inspire such hate in you?”

Sandy shook her head. “I was in love with you, Jean,” she whispered. Jean’s eyes widened.

“Oh, Sandy,” Jean said, utterly shocked.

“I was so unhappy, so utterly unhappy, and I wanted you to suffer for that. I hated that you were happy!” Sandy began to cry, and Jean stood up, wrapping Sandy in her embrace.

“Oh, my dear,” Jean whispered, resting her head against Sandy’s. “I am so sorry.”

Finally Sandy got control of her emotions, and Jean sat back down in her seat.

“Why did you never tell me?” Jean asked her, compassion written in every line of her face.

“I couldn’t,” Sandy whispered, looking down at her folded hands which were resting in her lap. “I couldn’t bear your rejection.”

“Oh, Sandy,” Jean sighed. “You should have told me.”

“You would have rejected me,” she whispered.

“But I would have helped you work through it,” Jean said.

Sandy met Jean’s eyes, which were full of sympathy.

“I’m sorry, Jean,” Sandy whispered.

“It’s all right, Sandy,” Jean replied. She stood up. “I should go,” she said, and Sandy nodded.

“Thank you for coming, Jean,” Sandy replied, wiping away tears.

“You’re welcome,” Jean replied.

“Will – will you come again?” Sandy asked, sounding lost and helpless.

“If you’d like,” Jean replied.

“I’d like for you to come,” Sandy admitted. Jean smiled.

“I’ll bring my husband next time – he was fascinated by your book,” Jean said.

“Teddy?” Sandy asked.

Jean shook her head sadly. “Teddy died several years ago. I’m now married to his cousin, Edward,” Jean said.

“Oh,” was all that Sandy could say. “And your child?”

“Teddy and I had two children,” Jean replied. “Duncan and William. Duncan is now married to Gordon Lowther’s daughter.”

Sandy chuckled, laughing for the first time in years. “That’s quite ironic,” Sandy said in between giggles.

“It is, isn’t it?” Jean said, beginning to giggle herself.

“Thank you for coming, Jean,” Sandy said again, once they had both stopped laughing.

“Of course,” Jean replied. “I’ll see you soon.” Jean left, looking back once more at Sandy. As Sandy smiled back at her, she could see the young girl who had once been in her care.

[kissofdeath]

awww! That was a sweet update! Especially that last sentence!

[Katheryn Mae]

Wonderful ... and there's still more I'll bet. I agree, the last sentence was beautiful.

[micha]

Wow - congratulations: a real stroke of genius to come up with this... (don't want to spoil ...so I don't go into detail ). I am utterly convinced - although I was so surprised it almost threw me off my chair! ;D

[kissofdeath]

Jan 12, 2009 5:40:44 GMT -5 micha said:

Wow - congratulations: a real stroke of genius to come up with this... (don't want to spoil ...so I don't go into detail ). I am utterly convinced - although I was so surprised it almost threw me off my chair! ;D

What were you so surprised about Micha? Di always writes something amazing, esp. in her POMJB fics. I fail to see what was so surprising.

Perhaps my young mind currently addeled with sleep-deprieveness has placed my intelligence far beneath your much older,possibly, superior one. Would you care to elaborate on what you found so shocking? I'm sure Di is as curious as I am for your reasoning.

[micha]

Jan 12, 2009 6:19:57 GMT -5 kissofdeath said:

Jan 12, 2009 5:40:44 GMT -5 micha said:

Wow - congratulations: a real stroke of genius to come up with this... (don't want to spoil ...so I don't go into detail ). I am utterly convinced - although I was so surprised it almost threw me off my chair! ;D

What were you so surprised about Micha? Di always writes something amazing, esp. in her POMJB fics. I fail to see what was so surprising.

Perhaps my young mind currently addeled with sleep-deprieveness has placed my intelligence far beneath your much older,possibly, superior one. Would you care to elaborate on what you found so shocking? I'm sure Di is as curious as I am for your reasoning.

Sandies reason for "hating" Jean took me by surprise - after I've read it, it made so much sense that I know I shouldn't have been surprised, but well - being so much older (as you had to pick on my age, which I really hate btw.) I am probably not so quickwitted as you all And being surprised doesn't mean I found it "shocking"!

[dianahawthorne]

Katheryn Mae: Don't worry, dear - this isn't the end. Next chapter is being written.

kissofdeath: I'm very glad that you think I always write something amazing That made my morning!

micha: Thank you for your review! And glad that you thought Sandy's reason for hating Jean made sense. I actually mentioned that Sandy was in love with Jean in chapter 11 of "A Teacher or a Leader?". I've copied the paragraph below.

"Sandy was unhappy because she was in love with Jean Brodie – Jean Brodie, who was in love with Teddy Lloyd. She had been jealous that Jean had thought that Jenny should be Teddy’s lover – Jenny, while pretty, had no other redeeming qualities. She was jealous of Jean’s love for Jenny – that jealousy had been eating at her for years, ever since Jean had said that Jenny was a part of herself. That was why she had betrayed her – jealousy; sheer, unadulterated jealousy. She wanted Jean to suffer, but Jean was not suffering as she deserved. Sandy needed to change that."

[micha]

Seems I read Chapter 11 too fast to let it sink in properly, I only noticed the jealousy but not the love ...

[dianahawthorne]

Jan 12, 2009 11:39:06 GMT -5 micha said:

Seems I read Chapter 11 too fast to let it sink in properly, I only noticed the jealousy but not the love ...

It's fine. Thanks again for your review!

[dianahawthorne]

Chapter Twenty


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As always, dedicated to kissofdeath and KristaMarie. This is the last chapter, though there will be an epilogue.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

While Jean and Edward reacquainted themselves with Edinburgh, Heather cleaned her house from top to bottom, wanting to purge the house of the presence of Jean Brodie, the woman who still held her husband’s heart. She even cleaned rooms that she knew Jean had not been in during this visit – but, for all she knew, Jean could have been there before. She wanted absolutely every particle of Jean Brodie to be erased from their house.

While cleaning their closet, Heather came across a cedar box on top of one of her husband’s shelves. Curious, she picked up the box and opened it. It was full of photographs, all of Jean Brodie.

Absolutely horrified, but unable to look away, Heather Lowther looked through the photographs. There was one of Jean reading; one of her in nothing but a negligee; spread across their bed – THEIR BED! – Jean on the beach; Jean and her husband snuggled up together, his raincoat wrapped lovingly around her; Jean sitting in her husband’s lap; Jean and Gordon standing by a Christmas tree... Jean, Jean, Jean! They were all of Jean – that wretched woman. Heather had been indifferent to her when they taught at Marcia Blaine together, but now she hated her. She had bewitched her husband, stolen his heart, and Heather despised her.

She ran downstairs, where her husband was playing the piano, clutching the photographs. She threw them violently at him.

“You lied to me, you bastard!” she screamed, tears streaming down her face. Gordon picked up the pictures and his face went pale when he realised what they were.

“I didn’t lie to you, Heather,” Gordon said.

“Then what the bloody hell are these?” Heather cried, brandishing the photographs.

“They’re just mementoes,” Gordon said, standing up from the piano bench, approaching his wife.

“An entire box full of pictures of Jean Brodie?” she shouted.

“I told you that I still loved her,” Gordon said. “But I love you, too,” he continued. “I do, I love you, Heather.”

“Then why do you still have pictures of that... that bitch?”

“Because I loved her,” Gordon said. “Because we had four wonderful years together. But, Heather – I love you, and what we have cannot compare to what Jean and I had,” Gordon said. It was true – what they had was safe, reliable; what he and Jean had had was exciting, bold.

“I want you to get rid of these photographs,” Heather said, taking deep breaths to keep from getting hysterical. “I want you to drive over to HER house tomorrow and give her the photographs. Make sure that Edward is there. I want him to know about your affair with Jean – every detail of it. I want him to know what his slut of a wife got up to before they were married. And I promise you, if I ever find ANY pictures of her in this house again, I will leave you.”

“All right,” Gordon agreed. He didn’t want to give his photographs of Jean away – they were all he had left, besides his memories, of those magnificent four years. But he would give Jean the photographs in order to keep his wife happy – he didn’t know what he would do without her.

The next day, Gordon drove over to Jean and Edward’s house. Jean opened the door.

“Good morning, Gordon,” Jean said, surprised to see him.

“Good morning, Jean,” Gordon said nervously. “May I come in?”

“Of course,” Jean said, stepping back from the door. He entered her house, clutching his box of photographs. She led him to the parlour, where Edward was reading the newspaper. He looked up.

“Good morning, Gordon,” Edward said. “What brings you here?”

“Heather found these, Jean,” Gordon said, handing Jean the box. “She wants me to give them to you. And, Edward,” Gordon said, turning to Jean’s husband.

“Yes?”

“She wants me to tell you that Jean and I had an affair from 1932 to 1936,” Gordon finished.

“I know,” Edward replied calmly.

“You know?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes. Jean told me,” he said, looking over at his wife, who was holding the small cedar box on her lap. She returned his gaze, smiling slightly at him.

“Oh,” was all that Gordon could say. “Well, that’s all, then,” he said, turning to leave.

“I’ll not come round for a while then, shall I?” Jean suggested, and Gordon turned back around, a grateful smile on his face.

“That would be for the best, I believe,” he said. “Thank you, Jean.”

She returned his smile, and he left their house.

Jean then opened the box, revealing all those pictures of her, the ones that had been taken so many years ago by Gordon.

“Oh, my goodness,” Jean breathed, taking them out of the box.

There were so many pictures, some of them of her and Gordon – in London, the rain soaking them both to the skin, snuggled up in his lap, standing in front of his Christmas tree; and dozens of pictures of her alone, only a few of which she had copies of already – her on the beach, reading a book, spread out across his bed seductively, a sprig of mistletoe in her hand (“Why don’t you get the camera?” she had suggested. “That way you’ll always have a picture of this time – this time when I love you and you love me.”), standing in the kitchen of his estate, sleeping on the couch... Jean looked up at her husband.

“What are they?” Edward asked.

“Pictures... of me,” Jean said. “I can’t believe he’s kept them all these years...”

“You kept all of his letters and the pictures of you and him,” Edward said.

“Yes, but not consciously. I mean, they were sitting in my flat for over twenty years – it wasn’t as though I brought them with me to Australia. I had forgotten about them, you know. But this... he obviously still cherished them.”

“And who wouldn’t cherish something that reminded him of you?” Edward said, caressing her cheek. “Jean, you are everything that a man could want – gorgeous, intelligent... you have so many virtues that it is impossible to list them all. You are a dream come true for any man,” he said.

Jean abandoned the photographs, choosing instead to kiss her husband passionately.

“I love you,” she whispered as her lips brushed against his.

“And I love you, Jean,” he replied. “I’m so glad that you are my wife.”

“As am I,” she whispered. “As am I.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

True to her word, Jean stayed away from Cramond, spending much of her time with her new grandchild – when she was sure that Heather would not be there. But one day when she was taking care of the baby while her son and daughter-in-law were out, Heather stopped by.

“Where’s Helen?” Heather asked Jean, who was cradling the baby in her arms.

“They’re out for the day,” Jean said cordially. “Would you like to come in?”

Heather looked torn – on one hand, she wanted to spend time with her granddaughter; on the other hand, she did NOT want to spend time with Jean.

“All right,” Heather agreed, and stepped into the house.

“I need to bring Heather – the baby, I mean – up for her nap,” Jean said. “I’ll be down in a moment.”

Heather nodded, not wanting to speak to her. Jean walked up the stairs to the nursery and tucked her granddaughter into her crib. Heather fell asleep almost immediately – she was a very easy baby, just as Duncan had been. Jean then went downstairs to join Heather.

“Would you like some tea, Heather?” Jean asked politely.

“Jean, I’d like to talk to you,” Heather said, ignoring the question. Jean nodded, sitting down in an armchair, and braced herself. She suspected that this would be about her former love affair with Gordon.

“Did Gordon give you back the pictures?” Heather asked.

“Yes, he did,” Jean said.

“And did he tell Edward about your affair?” she asked Jean.

“Yes – not that it mattered. Edward had already known about all my previous relationships,” Jean said.

“How did he know?” Heather asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“I told him,” Jean said.

“Why?”

“Because I wanted him to know who I was – my history has shaped who I am, and he deserved to know my past,” Jean replied.

“Oh,” Heather said.

“I’m sorry that Gordon never told you about our relationship,” Jean said.

“So am I,” Heather said. “Who began your relationship?” she asked Jean.

“I did,” Jean admitted.

“And who ended it?”

“He did,” she said. “To marry you. He does love you, Heather.”

“Then why did he still have photographs of you?” Heather demanded.

“For the same reason that I still have his letters,” Jean said. “We were in love for a time – four years – and I look back upon that time with fondness. I’m sure that he does as well. But it’s over now – it’s been over for nearly thirty years. They are just memories, Heather,” Jean said. “They don’t mean that he doesn’t love you – he does.”

“But he admitted to loving you still,” Heather said.

“And I love him still – but I’m not IN love with him anymore,” Jean said. “He’s in love with you, Heather, and he needs you so much.”

Heather smiled softly. “Really?” she asked.

“Yes, really,” Jean said.

“Thank you, Jean,” Heather said.

“You’re welcome,” Jean replied.

After their talk, Heather was not nearly so hostile to Jean anymore, though they were still not friends. Jean didn’t believe that they’d ever be friends. But at least Heather was civil to her again, and that was all that Jean could ask for.

Though Heather was now civil to Jean, Jean stayed away from Cramond as much as possible. She did not want Heather to get angry at her again. Instead, Jean went to London to visit Jenny and Monica, Edward accompanying her.

Jean had wanted to surprise Monica, so she did not let her know that she was coming. She and Jenny purchased tickets for Monica’s newest show – she was playing Aline Solness alongside Laurence Olivier’s Solness in Henrik Ibsen’s “The Master Builder”. Jenny had told Monica that she would be stopping by after the show, but had not told Monica that Jean would be there too.

After the show, Jean and Jenny went backstage to Monica’s dressing room. Knocking on the door, it was opened almost immediately by Monica. She didn’t see Jean right away, as Jean was standing behind Jenny.

“Hello, Jenny,” Monica said, embracing her friend. She looked over Jenny’s shoulder and saw Jean.

“Miss Brodie?” she gasped, and Jean nodded.

“Hello, Monica,” Jean said.

“Oh, Miss Brodie!” Monica exclaimed, hugging her.

“Call me Jean, dear,” she told Monica. “You were wonderful tonight,” she said.

“Thank you,” Monica said. “Won’t you come in?” Jean nodded, and she and Jenny stepped in to Monica’s dressing room.

They chatted as Monica changed out of her costume.

“I’d like to take you both out to dinner,” Jean said. “My husband would like to meet you, Monica.”

“All right,” Monica agreed. They went to Claridge’s, where Jean and Edward were staying, for dinner. Edward was waiting for them in the hotel restaurant – he had not accompanied Jean to the theatre in order to give her some time alone with her former students.

Dinner went very well, and Jean and Monica were able to catch up on the past thirty years. Though Jean and Edward would be leaving the next morning, she promised to come back to London soon to see both of her girls.

“It was wonderful to see you, Monica,” Jean said, giving her a hug.

“You too, Jean,” Monica replied.

“I’m so proud of you,” Jean whispered, giving her former student a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you, Jean,” Monica said, blushing.

“I’ll see you soon, all right?”

“All right. Good night, Jean,” Monica said, and she and Jenny left Claridge’s.

Jean and her husband went upstairs to their room.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Jean said as her husband changed into his pyjamas.

“Of course, darling,” he said, joining her in bed. “I enjoyed it.

“I’m glad,” she replied, snuggling up to him. “Good night.”

“Good night, Jean,” he said, kissing her lightly. They drifted off to sleep.

[Katheryn Mae]

I love it! I can't believe only the epilogue is left! *mopes*

[dianahawthorne]

Epilogue


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The very last chapter in what has been my longest piece of work to date! Hope you all enjoy.

As always, dedicated to kissofdeath and KristaMarie.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few years later, William graduated from St. Andrew’s and took a job working as an assistant to Roland MacNab, the Member of Parliament for Edinburgh. His boss was quite kind to him, and treated him like a son. William advanced quite quickly, as he was a very diplomatic and kind person. And, while he was working for Roland, William fell in love with his daughter Kathleen. After courting her for three years, William proposed to her, and they were married a year later.

During that time, Helen and Duncan had another child, a boy, whom they named Edward Gordon Lloyd. Duncan and Helen agreed that it was only fair that this time, Duncan’s family name should come first. Heather was slightly upset, thinking that it had been Jean’s idea to honour her own husband rather than Heather’s husband, but Jean had had nothing to do with it – it had been Helen’s idea.

William and his bride had two children as well, both girls, whom they named Margaret Natalie and Judith Olivia. They settled in London, as William’s work was based there.

Jean and Heather never did become friends, as Heather remained jealous of Jean all the years of her life. They got along well enough, for the sake of their children and grandchildren, though they never enjoyed each other’s company.

In 1969, when Jean was nearly seventy and Edward was eighty-five, the train they were travelling on from London to Edinburgh crashed, a result of brake failure. They were both killed instantly. Everyone was devastated.

At their funeral, dozens of people came – her family, former students, Douglas and Bridget McFadden, Deirdre and her children... it was amazing to see how many people’s lives had been touched by that one extraordinary woman.

In her will, she left her worldly goods to her two sons, their wives, and her grandchildren, aside from a few small bequests to her girls (Monica, Jenny, and Sandy), Bridget McFadden, Deirdre, Heather, and Gordon.

She specified one particular thing in her will: that the manuscript her husband had written, entitled “The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie”, be published. And it was.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Five years after her death, Heather visited Jean’s grave, placing a small bouquet of roses by her tombstone.

“Jean Margaret Brodie Lloyd,” it read. “Loving wife, loving mother. O Flower of Scotland, When will we see your like again?”

Edward’s gravestone was next to hers, simply reading: “Edward William Lloyd. Loving husband, loving father.”

“I’m sorry, Jean,” Heather whispered, staring at her grave. She stood there for a few moments longer before turning away. It had taken her nearly forty years for her to forgive the woman who had had such a hold on her husband’s heart, but finally she was able to let go and move on.

It began to rain, the raindrops making dark splotches on Heather’s coat, but still she stared at Jean’s gravestone. Finally, however, she turned and left the cemetery, driving back to Cramond. She went to the bedroom she shared with her husband and opened the letter that had been left to her by Jean.

“Dear Heather,” it began. “I am sorry to have caused you so much pain for so long. I never meant to steal Gordon’s affections from you, and I am sorry that I did. But know that he does love you, and that is why he chose you over me. I wish that we could have been friends, Heather, but it wasn’t meant to be. I’m sorry, once again.

Sincerely,

Jean Brodie Lloyd.”

Heather then opened the package that Jean had left to her, revealing a beautiful sapphire necklace and matching pair of earrings. There was a note enclosed.

“Gordon gave these to me many years ago, but I know that he always meant for the woman he loves – you – to have them.”

Heather began to cry. She had misjudged Jean, and she would never get the chance to tell her so. She had been so stupid all those years, allowing jealous to corrupt her view of Jean’s character. But now, five years after Jean’s death, she was able to realise that Jean had been a kind, loving person, despite her many flaws.

“I’m sorry, Jean,” Heather whispered again. She folded up the letter to put it back in the envelope. Before she could put the letter away, some writing caught her eye.

“I forgive you,” it read, in Jean’s neat script. Heather smiled softly.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you.”

THE END

[KristaMarie]

I have tears in my eyes- both from the epilogue content and because this is over! It was absolutely lovely and you did such a great job! I am very honored that you dedicated this to me- thank you!

[Katheryn Mae]

That was just beautiful. I must read it again when my parents don't have the news playing in the background to give a proper review.