Getting Acquainted

Chapter Eleven

After shopping and eating dinner, they decided on an early night so they could go running in the morning. Neither moved when this was decided, since there was still the question of who was to sleep where. Margaret was happy to let fate decide that they must share, but she was less happy to have to be the one to voice it, as the hostess. "Er," she began, unsure of how to go on.

"Er," Iain nodded, a smile playing across his face. He could guess very well what was about to come.

She sighed. She had a strong feeling that he knew exactly what she was going to talk about. "If you know, why do I need to say it?"

"I don't really know, but if I think logically I expect something that could very well be introduced like that." He might introduce the subject this way himself.

"Nice. As I was saying..."

"Er..." Iain provided helpfully.

"Er ... yes, thank you, Iain. Now, about the beds..." Margaret looked as studiously bored as she could possibly look.

His grin only widened in response. It was indeed a very tedious matter. One had better pretend it was something that happened every day.

"Will you just finish what I started to say?" she asked as a last resort.

"You are a bed short and you haven't done anything about it yet," he summarised, still eminently helpful. He had not done anything either, but this was her house.

"Oh!" she cried, turning red for fear she was coming across as a flirt. "That's not fair. I did try, but there's nothing we could do. I did think."

Iain leant back on the couch. "Maggie, I don't like seeing you squirm. Just fast-forward to the conclusion. I won't mind. I will go with any decision you make."

"We must ... share," Margaret said solemnly.

He pretended to gasp loudly. "I won't be able to sleep!"

She hit him with one of the pillows on the couch. "Stop it! Why not?" Even though he was baiting her, she was curious enough to ask.

"I fear it may turn out like one of those sleepover parties that my sister sometimes had. I thought girls were like normal people, but they talk throughout the night. Every five minutes they ask Iain? Yes. Are you awake? Ye-es. Giggle, giggle, giggle. Why are you asking? Oh, nothing. Giggle, giggle, giggle."

Margaret's response was to giggle too. "How often did you do that?"

"What do you think? Only once. I didn't last the night."

"What, they came for you?" she asked immediately, imagining all kinds of things.

"The things you think of!" he said with a snort. "No, they didn't come for me. Maybe a few years later they would have, but I told my mother I'd never chaperone again." He still did not know how his mother had ever been able to come up with that idea. It was completely ridiculous.

"But I won't behave like that." She amended that right away when she thought she might giggle. "If I do, you may tell me to shut up. Wait! Better! You go to bed first. I wait fifteen minutes until you're probably asleep and then I'll go to bed. Deal?"

"See that it was nonsense?" Margaret asked as soon as the alarm had sounded. She was always awake right away and in this instance even more so because she remembered Iain was there.

Iain rubbed the sleep from his eyes so he could have a proper look at her. "Are you continuing a conversation I held with you in my sleep?" He could not place her comment at all.

"No, I'm saying it was nonsense that you were worried about not sleeping. You were asleep when I got into bed." She had been very quiet and careful. Because he had been asleep already it had been relatively easy for her to fall asleep as well. There had not been any distraction in the form of conversation and because of Ailsa she was already used to hearing someone else breathe.

"I was actually worried that I might unconsciously bother you. That's why I was afraid that I'd stay awake." He had been flippant about it the night before and he was afraid to ask about it now. "Did I?"

Margaret had not experienced anything that could remotely be classified as bothering. "Not at all. Did I?"

"I don't think so." But he had been asleep and he had not noticed anything.

"Good! Let's go running. Oh, your hair."

Iain smoothed it down, fearing it might look funny. "What about it?"

"It looks sweet." Margaret rolled out of bed and ran towards the bathroom as if she was being chased. She splashed cold water on her face.

"What did you say, Margaret?" Iain asked. He thought her hair looked rather nice as well when it was messed up by sleep, but she had run away so fast that he had not got a good chance to look at it.

She was not going to repeat what she had said. "You're not supposed to chase me."

"Goodness. I thought that was why you ran away." He leant against the doorpost, studying her.

She rubbed her face dry with a towel. "So I sleep in a t-shirt."

"Really?" He was still taking his time to notice that, actually, but perhaps he had better sound surprised.

Margaret gave him a mock glare. "But you're not supposed to look."

"I could turn away in disgust if you want," he offered. "But I'd be acting and you'd be hurt." He winked at her and walked away, taking off his pyjama shirt.

She stared after him. "What was I doing again?" she asked herself when he disappeared from view.

They ran for an hour and then Margaret pushed Iain into the bathroom. "I'll make breakfast."

"I can do that too."

"I can do that faster. Now go." She skipped off to the kitchen and started making breakfast, humming to herself. It was really nice to go running with Iain. It was really nice to make breakfast for Iain. It was also really nice to think about all that.

He surprised her by putting his arms around her from behind when she was staring into the frying pan. "The bathroom is all yours."

"Oh!" She had not expected him so quickly. Apparently she had really wasted much time thinking about him.

"I'll finish this here." He noticed that not much had been accomplished here while he was showering. She had been a little too preoccupied.

"You're fast." Margaret's thoughts still had to catch up with reality and with the unexpected embrace -- not that she minded.

He let go of her instantly, as if she had been referring to that. "Sometimes."

She decided to be fast as well, but when she returned the table was already set and everything was ready. That was nice too. "You take such good care of me, Iain. You at least are able to cook without being distracted by thoughts of how nice it is to..." There were many things she had thought about. She did not know which one to mention.

"To what?"

"To cook breakfast for you, actually," Margaret smiled. "It was so nice that I got distracted."

He smiled back. It was almost an understatement on her part that she had been distracted. "I got distracted too, but I was able to cook at the same time."

"By what?"

"You want me to say you."

"I don't!"

"Well, rest assured. I would never have mentioned it if it hadn't been you."

She was fascinated and excited. "But I wasn't there."

"You are the only person, of course, who can think about someone who's not in the room," Iain said with a very serious nod. "For other people this is far too difficult."

"Well...of course I think you can. I wouldn't be marrying you otherwise."

"Is that the only reason?" He blew out some air in an indignant manner.

"No..." Margaret stifled a grin when she thought of another reason, one she could not mention yet. It was not even a primary one. It was merely a bonus reason.

Iain was perceptive. He leant forward encouragingly, smiling his most inviting smile. "Tell me, Maggie." He knew she would not, but he could still tease her by asking.

"No, no, I cannot. I'll tell you when we're married if I still remember then. Oh, that's stupid. Of course I will," she said when she saw his eyebrows shoot up. "It was just a bad thought I had."

He regarded her pensively. "I notice that you seem to have bad thoughts a lot, Maggie. This was the second time you mentioned having one. Although they may be good, depending on who features in them. And I noticed you grinned rather..." He broke off, pretending to search for a suitable description.

That was a sentence she was never going to finish for him. "You featured in them. I guess that makes it good for you."

"I'll give you my opinion if you tell me."

"Iain, don't look charming. It won't work."

"In a sense it already did, if you found that charming." He was happy with that too.

"It was a bonus reason, all right?" Margaret concentrated on her food.

"Then it's something you discovered in the last twenty-four hours," he said shrewdly, wondering what it could be.

"Have we known each other longer than that?" Margaret commented with a sarcastic snort. Rather a lot had been discovered in the last twenty-four hours. She wished him luck trying to sift through the multitude of impressions and discoveries.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" He would give up asking, not wondering. It was far too much of a challenge to give up on trying to identify the bonus reason.

"No, but if you do it again, I shall not protest, even though you might think I will. That is as far as I am willing to go on both accounts. For the time being," she added, in case her mind might be changed tomorrow.

Chapter Twelve

"Do people know you live here?" asked Iain after they had conducted their first business of the day and they were driving back home, the car loaded with clothes and other things they had been able to gather in a short amount of time. Some people had stared, but none had been overtly surprised at seeing Margaret. They might just as well have been staring for another reason. He did not know whether it had meant anything.

"Some do." She never liked to think of numbers. It was not important. Usually it took only one person to make or break one's day anyway. Fortunately it did not often happen that people approached her and most often they were university students who wanted to share that they too had found a particular contestant extremely stupid. She could deal with that -- if she remembered the contestant in question, which was not always the case.

"I was wondering if they now knew..." Especially the ones who had seen where they had gone, who had seen that Margaret had taken a man to see a registrar. There could not be many reasons why she would want to do that. Ninety-nine out of a hundred would assume she wanted to marry him.

"Some might." It could not be avoided and she had not taken any special pains here to avoid it. Such measures never made for a happy life. "But I don't think I'm interesting enough to talk about. I've been all over town with Ailsa and no one seems to care if I behave normally, because that's boring. I'm sure it's boring as well if I want to get married to someone nobody knows, unless there was something wrong with you, but there isn't."

That reassured him somewhat.

She giggled. "I made a website for myself with false information and it says I live in Scotland. Maybe it makes people think I'm not me if they see me here. The webmistress -- me -- regularly receives emails from helpful viewers who've seen me around there, up to all kinds of mischief, when in reality I was at home reading."

"Bad girl." He wondered if and what she replied to those people.

"Yes, know what you're getting yourself into," she teased.

"I know that." He had not seen anything so far that had made him want to reconsider. On the contrary.

"By the way, there's an interview that still has to be published in which Ailsa spills the beans." Life might change after that and there might be some more -- hopefully temporary -- attention. It was something that could not be changed and she would have to take it in stride.

"Ailsa?" Iain had not thought she would let Ailsa speak to anyone, least of all an interviewer.

"Yes, big mistake, but I had no choice. She was ill, so I had to do the interview at the flat in town that I use, instead of somewhere neutral. I didn't want to be too far away. During the interview she came in saying she was about to throw up, so ... er ... now the journalist knows about her and more. I can't switch between modes that quickly. I think I was too nice." Taking care of Ailsa had taken precedence over protecting her privacy. She had comforted her daughter regardless of how revealing this was to anyone.

"There's no such thing as too nice." Iain smiled at her face. He could imagine the situation. It would have been a bit stressful for Margaret, he would think, but he was glad to hear she had chosen the right thing. "Did you ask him to keep silent about it?"

"No. That never works. It answered the question he had, which was why I didn't want to go abroad to do foreign versions of the show, about which people had been speculating already rather wildly. I had the answer sitting my lap and it was a very simple answer. I didn't go into detail about anything. But I think I was unexpectedly ... er ... kind."

"Because you are. It's good." It was, whatever people were going to make of it.

"Really? What if he keeps bugging my management to ask me out? That is insane. I don't pay attention for a second and people want to take me out on dates." She sounded incredulous at this stupidity. "I don't do dates!"

He laughed outright now. No, Margaret did not do dates. She only did marriage. "Oh. But that means you're nice when you don't pay attention. When you don't make an effort to scare people away."

Margaret was not so sure she was nice. "Is it? If I remain tactful until the nice article has appeared in print? He might still change it if he is petty about being rejected." That was rather calculating of her. If he was not already talking to people to find out more, he would certainly do that then. This bothered her sometimes, until she became rational and asked herself which bad things could happen.

"Well, you can turn him down for a good reason now. You can be as nice as you like from now on, because you'll always have a good excuse not to go: me." Iain placed his hand on her leg reassuringly. "And I think you were not too nice, but you were just yourself."

"Oh, that is really distracting when I'm driving," Margaret muttered. She did not want him to take his hand away, yet she really could not drive properly like this. She left the motorway at the first parking opportunity, which was fortunately very near.

"Where are we going?" he asked when she parked. Maybe she needed a break.

"Oh, Iain! You touch me and you expect me to continue driving? I can't." She felt rather foolish about that, but she had said a similar thing once and he had been kind to her then. It was better to be honest than to blame any accident on it afterwards.

"Sorry." He should have reckoned with that possibility, knowing Margaret. He had withdrawn his hand before he remembered that she had only mentioned that she could not drive, not that she did not like his touch, and that they were now standing still. Now was the time to put his hand back, so he did.

"No, don't be! I'm the idiot here." Margaret grabbed a map and fanned herself. "As if I've lived life in a glass shell. I haven't. People have put their hands there and I felt nothing, only indignation and I could order them to take it away. I must really be an idiot."

"It's the kind of idiocy that intrigues me. Shall I drive?" He gave her leg a tentative squeeze. Margaret's reactions still intrigued him.

"With one hand on my leg? You can't drive like that."

Maybe that was not exactly what he had in mind, but he did not say so. It was too amusing a notion to dispel. "Sure."

"You need two hands."

"That's a bit hard to accomplish in a driving position," he snickered, imagining putting both his hands on Margaret's leg. She would hit her head against the roof.

Margaret imagined the same. "What ... ?" Her fanning movements increased in intensity. She would not survive.

He laughed. "You can't drive if you're fanning yourself with a roadmap either. I'll drive." He was still more controlled.

"Is that safe?" As she spoke she wondered why it should not be. She had seen him drive before. It was perfectly safe to be in the car while he was driving, although back then this had not been an issue. She did not think he had been distracted then.

"I don't know yet." He loosened her seatbelt as well as his, to show that he was serious about this. She could sit beside him and calm down. "Get out."

Margaret obeyed, since he was with the police and could probably be trusted in traffic. She met him outside the car. "What are you going to do?" she asked a little anxiously in case he was not going to care about traffic rules after all.

"Drive. But first..." He opened his arms. He was not going to drive with one hand or even without hands.

She fell into them -- amazingly. There were things that one got used to very quickly. "You're making fun of me. Not that I blame you, but..." He was allowed to make fun of her, but she wished she could return the favour. It would make her feel more equal.

Iain squeezed her very tight when it felt like a much better hug than the previous times. "Mmm. What was that bonus reason?"

The time was not yet right for telling him, yet his question vividly reminded her of the matter. It was not good. "Oh, that is low ... break down my defences in the hope that I'll slip up..."

"Your defences are broken down?" he asked in a calculating voice. It was always good to know that this could be accomplished by a hug -- a few hugs, rather. He would not say he had managed to do that with the first one, now that he could tell the difference.

"What?" she shrieked, panicking. "What are you going to do?" She was not ready for a large-scale attack on her defences.

"Nothing, as long as mine are still up." He smiled at her. There was no need to worry for her. Only for him, perhaps. "Now, let's move on. We have a deadline." The registrar's office closed at twelve, but their interaction could be continued at any other time. They were not in a hurry there.

They got back into the car. He took her hand and laid it on his leg, then drove off. After a few seconds her removed her hand, carefully placing it on her own leg. "I see what you mean, Maggie. That still needs a bit of work." Or was that practice?

She studied him. "Why don't you like that?" She had found it interesting.

"I didn't ask you that question." And he did like it, but it was too distracting at this moment. He was less capable at answering than he was at observing.

"But you didn't have to," she commented. He had known without having to ask. She was different. Her emotions were a little easier to read, she thought, no matter how many efforts she made to prevent that.

"Do you?" Iain thought he was obvious enough.

"You're faking something," she concluded. "Either you pretend not to be like me to reassure me, or you pretend to be like me to reassure me." The fact that he wanted to reassure her was good, but she would also like to know why. Her options were unfortunately opposites. She leant towards one, but she could not be certain.

Her conclusions amused him, especially because she thought he was faking or pretending something. That was not really true. It might merely appear that way. "You know which one."

Margaret would like a confirmation of her suspicion, but knew she would not receive any. She had to make do with cryptic answers. Still, she was clever and if she thought carefully she would know what he meant. He could switch from gentleness to indifference, which was odd. He was gentle when reassuring her, but indifferent about himself. She nodded, making knowing noises. Nobody was indifferent about himself.

"Sounds bad," he said, referring to the noises. He wondered if a conclusion had been reached.

"Oh yes," she nodded again. "I'm almost on to you."

The threat amused him. What would happen then? "It was about time."

She agreed with that, but had a tiny comment. "You could have helped me along a bit."

"I did. I gave you clues," he protested. That they had been rather cryptic was not his fault. Clever women got what they deserved.

Chapter Thirteen

"When was that ball, did you say?" Margaret had been looking out of the window at the passing landscape, reflecting on Iain's character. He was awfully mysterious about it. There was no need for such reticence, since she was not going to change her mind about marrying him no matter what he did not say. Perhaps he liked to be the subject of guessing games.

"The fourth Friday from now." That was in a little more than three weeks.

"We'll be married by then." Margaret was enjoying herself already, imagining that she was introduced as Margaret Scott, shocking people all around because they would never have expected it of Iain. They would be so surprised. They might even be impressed with him.

"What are you planning?" asked Iain, who saw a wicked smile he trusted very little. Since his mind was still on the touching business, he could not help but wonder what she was going to do to him at the ball. He realised that was probably not the direction her thoughts had taken.

"To be married. You won't have brought Margaret Maxwell then, but Margaret Scott." She repeated that name a few times in her mind. It sounded awfully good.

"I thought you might want to remain Margaret Maxwell," he said hesitantly. He would never presume that she might change her name to his.

"Why?" The name came with the deal.

Iain shrugged. "Because that's how people know you."

"As if I care about them. It's all or nothing for me. You know I'm quite peculiar about these things. I was wondering. By then, could we dance and be touched, since we cannot drive and be touched now?" She might like to mark her territory as well, which would not work if he shrank from her touch, or vice versa.

"If you lead." He did not even know what sort of dancing there would be, because he had never gone.

"Why me?"

"Because I can't. I've never had time to take lessons." That was not something he actually regretted.

Margaret did not think he would have taken them even if he had had time for them. "I agree. It's a bit too frivolous to spend time on."

Iain did not know whether she was mocking him. He glanced aside, but could not detect anything but seriousness.

"But it does not place us at a social disadvantage in this case," Margaret continued. "I think we might be otherwise engaged anyway." If they were the only ones not dancing she would have plenty of time to mark her territory, in whatever way took her fancy in three weeks.

He saw her smirk, a bad sign. "I don't want to know."

"Yes, you do. You'll be involved."

He could not resist. "How?"

"Oh ... it just occurred to me that if I become Mrs. Scott, I will really become Mrs. Scott and Mr. Scott will be made aware of that," she said dreamily.

Mr. Scott muttered something. "You know, Maggie, if I had to choose between your hand on my knee and your fantasies, I might be driving more safely with the former."

Margaret giggled. "It's good then that I don't precisely know how I'll express my Mrs. Scottness yet. I still have three weeks." It would come to her at some point. She should not get ahead of things yet.

With their second business taken care of, they could return to Iain's house. Surprisingly, there were children in the garden. Margaret looked at them in wonder, since there did not appear to be anyone with them and they were rather small to be left alone.

"My nephews," Iain explained. "Some of them." They were about two and four and ran towards him when he got out of the car, the elder first and the younger hobbling after him. They started to tell him two or three incoherent stories at once.

Margaret, telling herself not to look because that might give her ideas that were still unfeasible, walked on in search of Ailsa, who emerged from behind a large plant now that her playmates were no longer interested in looking for her. "Hi darling. I've brought all your clothes." There was little chance of Ailsa going back home to sleep there anyway.

"Thank you, Mummy." Ailsa let herself be hugged and kissed. "What did you do with Iain?"

"Nothing," Margaret said almost guiltily. She should not interpret Ailsa's question in that particular manner. Her daughter would not be asking about the hands and other things.

"But you went away with him."

"We had to arrange to be married." She was very sure she had provided that information before she left, notably to Mrs. Scott. Had people here been speculating about something else? The colour crept back up onto her cheeks again. "I missed you, you know, but it would have been so boring for you."

"Why do you have to arrange that?"

"Otherwise they won't let you get married. You have to make an appointment first."

"Stupid."

"Yes." Margaret quite agreed. She could understand why it was necessary, but it took all the romance out of it completely, especially for people who were going to have a private wedding anyway. "So we had to go away, because we have to get married. What have you been up to? Have you had a good time?" It looked as if Ailsa had found herself two young friends.

"I was playing with Daniel and Tommy." She gestured at the two little boys who were still talking to Iain. "Granny is babysitting them. There's a baby too."

Margaret wondered if she should tell Ailsa her real grandmother would never visit here, but that was information she could still keep from her. It might only make her concerned. "But..." She looked at the boys. They were busy with Iain now and Ailsa was forgotten. "They're busy. Will you help me unload the car?"

"What's in it?"

"Your clothes." She walked towards Iain and got the key to the house from him, while he took the two small boys back to his parents' house to see if they had planned anything for lunch there.

Chapter Fourteen

Iain returned without the boys just when Margaret had dumped everything at the bottom of the stairs, not knowing which room Ailsa wanted because she said she had not yet made up her mind. When Ailsa had figured that out she could take it all upstairs herself and put it away.

"My mother asked you to come over for a second. I don't know what for," he said. "Maybe to talk about me?" In all likeliness he had not given enough information in his mother's opinion, although he had passed on the date of the wedding and he had asked if she could be a witness. He had known she would say yes, because he had picked a day on which she never had any fixed appointments.

Iain looked a bit afraid and Margaret laughed. "I'm sure it's not that bad."

"Would you tell her I behaved?"

An interesting thought struck Margaret. "Are you afraid of your mother?" Perhaps his mother had interrogated him and not received any answers -- which somehow made her feel less inept -- and now Mrs. Scott wanted to do it via Margaret. Iain might be afraid she would tell his mother what he could not or did not want to say.

"No, but..." He turned and lifted up a suitcase with clothes. "Ailsa, where do you want me to put these?"

Margaret grabbed him by the waistband of his trousers. He should not spoil Ailsa. "Let her do it herself. She's eleven."

"It's a bit heavy."

It was the perfect excuse, in her eyes. "You just want to get away from --"

"You? Never," Iain said with a charming smile, but he did not stay.

Iain soon learnt that he would not have an easier time by escaping Margaret or his mother to help Ailsa. He carried her suitcase upstairs while she followed with something lighter, but then the interrogation began.

"I want three little brothers as well," she remarked. "They're so sweet, especially the baby. I wouldn't mind if you had one." She gave him a suggestively sweet smile.

"Ask your Mummy," Iain replied stoically. "Which room had you picked?"

"But you said you'd do your best!" she complained.

"Yes." He had indeed said that, but since then he had also discovered something. "But it's really hard. Which room?"

Ailsa did not buy that excuse. "Your sister has three babies. And she is younger. And your brothers have babies. And they are younger."

Apart from the fact that it had very little to do with age, he also noted another matter. She knew his entire family tree. "How do you know all that anyway?"

"I spoke to Grandma."

"What did she say?" He feared the worst. They had been conspiring, no doubt about it.

"That sisters were probably out of the question." Ailsa sighed in disappointment. "She said you'd have boys."

Iain rolled his eyes at the idea of a household full of scheming women, even if they were little Margaret clones. Perhaps he might indeed prefer boys. They would be less intent on seizing power. "Why don't you two get it into your head that I don't even have a wife? No wife, no babies. Which room?"

"I thought you were half married today?"

Who had told her that? It must have been Margaret. "That still doesn't mean half a baby. Which room?"

"Why is it hard?"

Contrary to Margaret, Ailsa would not stop her interrogation for fear of having to reveal too much. She had nothing to hide. Iain sighed long and hard. Perhaps he should outline the problem in a simplified manner and shut her up. "Well, you see ... your Mum is very pretty."

"Really?"

He did not know whether he was being fooled here. Perhaps he should not overestimate eleven-year olds and he should not assume they were baiting him. Perhaps a daughter really did not know how pretty her mother was. "So she makes me nervous."

Ailsa always had a simple solution. "Maybe you could tell her that so she could try to be less pretty?"

"No, she should not be less pretty. I should be less nervous. I should -- which room had you picked?" He tried to get back to the task at hand. He put down the suitcase and gave her a questioning look.

"Can I have the attic? You might want to have all the babies' rooms nearby."

He did not want to ask which babies or how many. It was best to ignore the comment altogether. "There's a lot of rubbish in the attic that we'd have to get rid of first."

"I can do that," she said brightly.

Iain did not think that such a good idea. Dragging furniture up and down two flights of stairs was an even worse idea. "I think you'd better choose a normal room first. By the time space becomes an issue you will want to paint your room something other than pink anyway and you can move into the attic if you still want to." There was no telling if and when space might become an issue.

"So I can't have the attic?" Ailsa seemed to accept that decision.

He thought Margaret would think him very good for not giving in. She was opposed to spoiling Ailsa. "No."

"Oh well. I'll have the empty one then. But what about the --"

"No," he said emphatically, whatever she had been about to ask. If he was wrong in cutting her short, she would try again. But he thought he was not, because he did not even see a pout, only a smirk.

Margaret went over to the other house, wondering why she was needed. Surely Mrs. Scott could and would have asked Iain all the questions like how it had gone and which date they had picked. There was nothing more for her to add.

"How did it go?" asked Mrs. Scott, who was in the kitchen setting the table for lunch. The two small boys from the garden were sitting at the table, as well as a baby in a high chair. "Not the business; he already told me."

That question caused Margaret a moment's thought. Too much had happened to be summarised in a single sentence. She had to settle for the most important thing. "My parents appeared," she said flatly. Someone still had to give her an objective and impartial analysis of that visit.

"Oh dear. I hope they didn't interrupt anything." Iain had of course neglected to mention this. He had stuck to the basics and left the rest out completely, which had caused her to be curious.

Margaret looked as if things that could be interrupted were only done by other people and not by her. "We just don't get along." She wondered if people from a family who obviously all got along would even understand this. They might think there was something horribly wrong with her character because she did not appreciate her own parents in the same manner.

Mrs. Scott suppressed a smile at Margaret's initial facial expression. It would be uncalled for in this case, given what she said after that. "I'm sorry to hear that. It wasn't a successful visit then?"

Margaret sat down at the table, where the baby sat waiting for his grandmother to feed him. Margaret picked up the spoon and put it in his mouth. If she did this instead of Mrs. Scott, she would at least have a distraction in case she was asked a question she did not want to answer right away. "Iain told them they were not welcome in his house."

"What did you think of that?" Mrs. Scott asked. It had again been spoken very flatly, as if Margaret was afraid to have an opinion on it. Her familiarity with Iain was such that she could not imagine him saying this to people without a reason, nor that he would decide for anyone that it was better not to see her parents again. If Margaret continued to be this communicative, she might have to ask Iain what had happened.

She was undecided and shrugged. "He didn't want to see them treat me badly." That was a bad thing to say, because any listener would receive an immediate bias. She was also not the type to imply that treating her badly was possible. She would like to be impervious and disliked herself for not succeeding.

"If he said they did, then it was probably true," Mrs. Scott said when Margaret did not sound convinced of that. She was curious. They must really have treated Margaret badly if Iain had found it necessary to say something so drastic.

"It might be my fault."

"And it might not be. I can't tell. I wasn't there, but you're obviously not happy about the visit."

"She treated me like a little girl and asked me impolite questions -- all in my opinion, naturally." Margaret calmly continued to feed the baby. The other two children were drinking. Fortunately they were too young to understand what was being discussed. "You don't want even one of your parents to drop in while you're having tea with your...er...friend, but both...that is worse. I might have been touchy as a result."

"Having tea?" Mrs. Scott inquired before she could restrain herself.

Margaret ignored her tone. "From mugs! Not from proper expensive tea cups!" She smiled at the baby, a very cute little boy. "Luckily there are people who don't care what they are fed from, aren't there?"

Chapter Fifteen

It was a tricky situation. She wanted to talk and she did not. Or rather, Margaret wanted someone to evaluate the situation, yet she knew better than to think her account was objective. She could never sketch anybody a good picture. It would always contain a bias.

There was a frown on her face when Mr. Scott appeared. She was not certain that she wanted to discuss it in front of him. It might appear as if she were asking for pity if she mentioned this to everyone. Besides, Iain's father did not seem to care if he was making her uncomfortable. She had no idea what he would say.

"Aha, I see young Mrs. Scott has been put to work," he greeted her. One always had to try new ways to needle people, especially if they reacted so funnily. She had practically denied all involvement with Iain yesterday and then taken him home for the night, so he was curious what her perspective on the matter was going to be today.

Here she was alone and feeding a baby. His wife might have put her up to that, but he did not think so. There had to be at least some free will involved.

Margaret missed the baby's mouth and he began to yelp. She comforted him with a new spoonful. He had every right to protest against her distraction. Getting fed was the most important thing in his life and nobody should take that any less than absolutely seriously. "In three weeks," she said quietly. Iain's father ought to know how these things worked and that it could not be done in a day, yet he had not sounded disapproving of her entry into the family.

"That doesn't give anybody much time to plan anything," he commented, supposing there must not be a party. He had never assumed Iain would want one, but the speed with which this was going to be arranged did surprise him a little. The overly cautious Iain had found himself an equally overly cautious woman, but it did not lead to double caution -- on the contrary. A double negative made a positive.

Margaret shrugged. "What's there to plan? I'm getting married for myself, not for others." There was not much she had to plan for herself that was connected to the actual ceremony. She would perhaps find a nice dress among those she already had, but that was it. This was between her and Iain. She could feel herself begin to smile when she thought of that.

"And your parents?" asked Mrs. Scott, returning to their conversation. It did not seem likely that Iain wanted them there if he had told them they could not come to his house. She did not know how Margaret felt about that. She might not have appreciated the interference.

"They don't know," Margaret said with another shrug, no longer smiling. "I suppose they'll find out at some point. I was too upset to tell them."

Upset? That was telling. "So it wasn't your fault after all?" Mrs. Scott was quick to deduce. She had already guessed this a little, but it had to be said for Margaret's sake. Iain would never have taken any action if Margaret had been to blame.

Margaret carefully wiped the baby's mouth and chin when he spit. She took her time. "Maybe not. I thought we had it sorted, but again, maybe not. Everything was bad yesterday: I have Mickey Mouse coat hangers, I have no friends, I might not take good care of my niece, I do an awful show she doesn't watch, secretly I have lots of men because I'm on TV, I don't serve my guests out of the beautiful china I got from her. Then she calls me hostile. I really wonder why. Surely there was no occasion for me to become hostile at all." Her voice had gradually slipped into the sarcastic accent she used on television. She sighed when she feared she might be frightening the baby. "Iain is very good." And that should be her final note.

"Surely they did not say so?"

"I say so." Margaret stood up to rinse the jar of baby food in the sink. "He tried to get my mother to say yes to favourable things about me, but she didn't. The second time she thought she had better agree to make him stop, but the first time she consciously evaded the question. So..." She sat down again. "Why should they care about my marriage?" She even managed to sound cheerful.

Of course Iain was good, Mrs. Scott thought proudly, she had raised him, but she had not known he would have tried to get Mrs. Maxwell to say favourable things about Margaret. He had never liked injustice, though. She wondered why Mrs. Maxwell had not taken the easy way out while speaking to a stranger. If a stranger offered compliments about a child one was supposed to agree. It was much easier than changing the subject, even if one did not agree. "He wasn't exaggerating, was he?"

"You must be proud of her," Margaret repeated. "And she replied that she didn't watch the show. But she'd just called it awful, so I don't know if she watches it. I know Iain has never seen it, but he obviously thought she shouldn't call it awful. Maybe it is. I don't know."

"I've seen it," Mr. Scott offered. "Maybe she just doesn't get it. Maybe you've inherited your brains and your sense of humour from your father."

"I don't know about the sense of humour," she said doubtfully. "He never says much."

"Who are you?" the bigger of the two small boys suddenly asked Margaret. He was sitting next to her and when nobody spoke he took the opportunity to ask her.

"Margaret."

"Auntie Margaret," his grandmother corrected. That was easier than explaining it later after Iain and Margaret were married.

"Uncle Iain brought you," said the boy. "In a car. I saw that. We played with Ailsa."

She had seen that. "Hide and seek."

"Do you want to play?"

"I thought I'd stop by to see how the children were doing," Kirsty said to her mother when the latter opened the front door. "Tommy was a bit quiet this morning. I thought he might be coming down with something."

"Really? You didn't say that this morning when you dropped them off." Mrs. Scott let her in, assuming she came for something totally different. She did not mention that Tommy had been perfectly all right -- Kirsty would know that. This was only a feeble excuse, otherwise she would simply have come in through the back door like everyone else.

"I forgot."

"Well, have lunch with us then. You don't mind, do you?" She gave her daughter a shrewd glance.

"How's Iain's little distraction?" asked Kirsty, when there was no mention of having lunch with the guests. She had not stopped by to have lunch with her parents or even with her sons.

It was hardly still little. She was not going to comment on that to Kirsty. Her daughter could be sharp enough without having received extra information. Iain deserved some protection, even if he had been just as bad in the past. "You'll see." She turned to walk towards the kitchen.

"Oh Mum! Don't you really have anything to say in private?" Her mother could at least give her personal opinion of the affair.

"I thought you came for Tommy?"

Kirsty waved impatiently. "That was just an excuse."

"Oh?" Mrs. Scott feigned ignorance. "For what?" She felt rather smug for still being cleverer than her daughter.

"You told me she was still here. I'm curious. Mum! He took four weeks off. That has never happened before, so she must be a very big distraction and yet is staying with you and Dad. Why? You don't leave that sort of person in your parents' house. You make sure you get her out of there as soon as possible." Nevertheless, from criticism and evasive answers Iain had given her in the past she had deduced that he had odd notions, so it was really no wonder. It was more remarkable that Margaret had gone along with them.

Mrs. Scott was glad to hear how much she was appreciated. She laughed. "I'm sure that if he wants you to know, he'll tell you. He didn't tell me."

"You're his mother. Of course he didn't tell you. But you know anyway because you don't sound at all like someone who is still wondering about that."

"No, I'm not wondering. They'll arrange it just the way it suits them. Why should I interfere? I have first-row seats. Now Kirsty, can we go to the kitchen? They might have finished their lunches if you take so long to take your coat off."

Kirsty was not fooled. "Dad would not start lunch without you. Tell me more!" But she knew it was futile.

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