Getting Involved

Section Fifty-One

The following morning Lisa Randall found the two men already in the kitchen, discussing the case over a cup of tea. "How long have you been here?" she demanded. And how many interesting things had they discussed without her?

"A few hours..." Iain teased. She would berate him if that were really the case. "But seriously, this is our first cup. And I swear Paul was here before me." He had found him going over Clarissa's papers, so naturally he had joined him and it had developed from there. After a while they had thought of making tea.

"Only because I knew he'd be up early. It's an interesting case you've got there," Paul commented. "Lots of oddly parented women."

"I never said anything about that." Iain frowned. It was true, he supposed.

"No, but that's what I concluded. Interesting case. Too bad the body was a very straightforward case. It wasn't very challenging."

"Do you always have to bring up dead bodies over breakfast, Paul?" asked Lisa, who immediately felt nauseous at the thought of challenging corpses. She had met him over exactly such a dead body and she preferred to remember the meeting and not the reason for it.

"There's no food on the table yet!" he protested. "Oh come on, don't be squeamish. It could have been much worse, I meant. He could have had hidden bruises that you'd have to investigate. Now it was very clear. Someone chucked that thing into the bath and the only available person with a motive was the ex-daughter. Fast case."

"We need the will," said Iain. "That would make her motive absolutely clear."

"And you don't think she destroyed it?" Any sane person would, but it was a fact that not everyone was either clever or sane.

"I'm hoping she didn't. As stupid as it sounds, some people need to look at it over and over again to feel good." He clung to that hope.

"She does sound mildly narcissistic. So, maybe, but I do bodies and not minds. And you've searched the house?"

"Not the entire house. It was too big. I'm going to have that done tomorrow if she hasn't told me by then. It could be anywhere. It would be nice for Anna Edmondson too if she inherited the money her father finally wanted her to have. Apparently he had always known she was his daughter, yet under the previous will she hardly got more than the son of his cousin."

"Maybe he didn't like her mother, or thought that having an illegitimate child would be bad for his image," Paul suggested.

"Come on, they all have them." Iain referred to people in the public eye with his comment. His prejudice had not been disproved by Nigel and Clarissa, nor by Catriona Maxwell.

"We don't. You don't. Margaret doesn't," said Lisa to reassure him. "And she never will."

Margaret woke up to find a Barbie doll beside her, clad in silky pyjamas. She was certain that it had not been there the night before. Ailsa had stopped by to give her this companion, or protection. After she had played with the doll for a while, not wanting to leave her bed yet, the door was opened quietly and Ailsa entered with a breakfast tray.

Margaret smiled. She usually got breakfast in bed the first morning of the holidays, but that was always at home and she had not expected to get it here.

Ailsa had not forgotten about their habit. "Oh good," she said. "You're not asleep anymore! I was hoping you weren't."

The tray was placed on a table that Margaret was sure she had covered with clothes before going to bed. Her clothes were now hanging neatly over a chair. Many preparations had been carried out unbeknownst to her. It was touching.

Ailsa waited for Mrs. Scott to bring in the pot of tea that she had not dared to carry on her tray. Then, a contraption was attached to the side of the bed and placed over Margaret's knees, to put the tray on. "See, Mummy? We need one of these. You'd spill far less tea if we did."

"Aren't you having breakfast?" Margaret eyed her tray. It was too full for her. Perhaps it meant to serve all three of them. She could not possibly finish it on her own.

"I don't eat much in the morning," said Mrs. Scott. She had done as she was bid to do by the girl, with the tray and the tea. The earnestness had amused her, but she could see it had almost rendered Margaret unable to eat.

"Eat, Mummy," Ailsa urged. She had taken care to find all kinds of delicious things.

Margaret bit her lip and swallowed. All right, she would try. "But you must help!"

Iain had not been allowed to borrow Randall for the Sunday and he had not allowed himself to be persuaded to stay, so he spent the day at the police station working on his report and sorting through all the data without distractions. It was good that no one else was in; it saved him enormous time not having to go out to lunch with people.

He worked hard all day and managed to process everything so far. Usually it took him far longer because he worked at his leisure, but he had got the fanciful idea to take some time off after finishing the case and as soon as this idea had taken root, he felt less and less like wasting time on the useless administration that he was always required to handle. All he would have to do now was add to his existing report and fill in some last forms.

He was informed that Poppy had been visited by her lawyer, but he supposed that would not alter much since she was already denying everything anyway. It could only get better. The lawyer might even advise her to confess because that looked better, although he did not count on that and for the time being it remained wishful thinking.

Section Fifty-Two

On Monday evening Margaret reviewed the past two days. They had walked the dogs, they had played games and baked a cake. It did not sound like much, but a walk with the dogs quickly turned into half a day's excursion if there were things to be done on the way, such as feeding ducks, climbing trees and picking berries.

She had heard that Mr Scott was due home on Tuesday and she awaited his return with some trepidation. Iain's mother was a dear, but she had no idea what his father would be like or how he would look upon these unexpected guests in his house. She had asked her hostess, who had assured her he would only be intrigued. If he was anything like Iain, one would probably have trouble noticing anything else.

Margaret wondered if Mr Scott knew they were here or not. There had been phone calls, but she had never been mentioned to the people who had been on the other side of the line. Perhaps there had not been any need. She might have gone home by the time Mr Scott returned on Tuesday.

Mrs. Scott had discovered by looking out of the window that Iain had slept at his house on Sunday night, but he had been gone very early. She had found a pile of clothes in the bathroom when she had gone over to check and she wondered why he had not announced his presence. She assumed this was connected to her two guests.

Margaret had preferred not to accompany her into Iain's house because it would feel like spying. She had been interested, though. "I hope you didn't wash them?" she had asked, not focusing on the pang of disappointment she had felt upon hearing he had been nearby without coming over. He had probably not finished the case. He would keep his word.

"Wash them? Oh no. If he had wanted that, he would have asked. Besides, if I had ever started doing that he would never have learnt." She had three sons and one could not be too indulgent with them. She had taught them to take care of themselves and that included doing their own laundry.

"Learnt?" Margaret had been appalled that apparently Iain had needed to learn to wash his clothes.

"Yes, that there's no such thing as a laundry fairy. I'm happy enough that he changes his clothes. That he throws them on the floor is his own business. It's his own house." He would take care of it when he felt like it. She had looked at Margaret with interest to see how she was taking it. Margaret would not condone a lazy man if she did not even condone a lazy child. Ailsa had been surprised to hear that she always did the vacuum-cleaning all by herself. Apparently she was put to work at home.

Margaret had taken it very well, but she had realised she did not actually know Iain, the private Iain, very well if she had never even imagined that he would be doing laundry. How could she be so sure they had this thing to pursue?

The question had plagued her for the rest of the day. "I don't know Iain very well," she said when Ailsa had gone to bed. The topic could not be discussed in front of the girl, because she had her own criteria for liking Iain and they were not completely the same as Margaret's. "But he seems to know me better." He always seemed to know what she was going to say or do and she had no clue about him.

"Does it bother you?" Obviously it did.

It might. "What is this based on anyway?" she asked in dissatisfaction. "Whatever it is." She was growing very concerned about not having been contacted yet, even though he had been nearby. He would forget about her. Rationally she dismissed these feelings as nonsense -- he was busy -- and she disliked herself for having them.

What she had been fearing was going to happen -- she would be here, waiting, and he was never going to come. She would be a fool. Nothing was worse than being that kind of fool. Margaret could laugh at herself for other sorts of foolishness, but not this.

Mrs. Scott had seen them together only once. It was not enough to form an adequate judgement, as much as she would like to after two days with Margaret and as much as her suspicions about Iain tended in a certain direction. It even fit that he had been home without informing them. He might have seen she was here. He would know what her car looked like, so he would have known whose car that extra car was. He had avoided Margaret on purpose by coming and going so stealthily and she would wager that was not because he was indifferent.

Kirsty had said that Margaret affected his case. If Kirsty had said that to her mother, she would also have told her brother, who might now be trying to remedy this. No Margaret before the end of the case? That would make sense. He would be distracted if he saw her again.

She had been amused at how Margaret had studiously avoided being the first to bring up the subject of Iain up to now and at how she had been interested nevertheless when he had been mentioned. She had never really taken the baits, but circumvented them with sharp or flippant remarks. Generally they were of the kind that did not invite further discussion, unless you had absolute confidence in yourself.

What all of it was based on was something Mrs. Scott could not tell Margaret. "You'll know in a year," she said reassuringly. Or a month. It could be settled very soon if that case was over.

"Why are you nice to me?" Margaret asked. "I don't understand. My parents would not do this and I'm not even your son's girlfriend." She blushed a little. It might sound as if that was her goal. "All he said to me was that he'd find me, but I don't even know what for. I'd be disappointed if it was just to tell me how the case had ended, but I'd be frightened out of my mind if he came and said he wanted to marry me."

The friendliness with which she was treated puzzled her. She was not used to it. Unfortunately her own parents would be very wary and suspicious of any friend she brought home, even if she was not interested in them romantically. It was just a characteristic they had. They would ask her questions about this person -- nosy, probing questions that were not relevant in any way and never would they let someone stay with them.

Iain's mother did none of this. She was nice and friendly, and apparently she did not care that she did not know precisely what was going on. Margaret was determined to be more friendly in response, even when she felt cornered. She could not always vouch for her manners.

"There are other options," Mrs. Scott said cautiously, trying not to laugh, even if Margaret obviously rolled her eyes at herself and invited others to do that as well. "But of course he wants to marry you." And another little granddaughter was welcome too. The rest of her children were only capable of producing sons. All her hopes were fixed on Iain.

"That's insane. I don't want to marry insane men." Margaret sunk away in a contemplation of her own reactions to the man. He could not possibly want to marry her after two days, but did she? She supposed that after some time one formed an image of a partner in one's mind, disregarding the fact that many people never seemed to be able to find the right partner. She might well know she was going to marry him, although as long as she remained in doubt it was better not to embark on anything of the sort.

After Margaret had gone to bed as well, the doorbell was rung. She heard it and tiptoed to her door, but she immediately felt guilty for spying. Going by the sounds that reached her it was not Iain, but probably his father or one of his brothers. Although she was curious, she had to wait until the next day to meet the new arrival, assuming he was staying.

Quickly she went back to bed so she would not be tempted to sit at the top of the stairs to eavesdrop on what was being said about her -- if anything was being said at all. It was rather presumptuous of her to think so. Why should she be one of the topics they discussed? They might be more interested in each other.

For someone who liked to keep things under control it was very difficult not to wonder what they were talking about downstairs, presumptuous or not. People would never imagine that she could actually be considering to sit on the landing. They would assume that she was above caring about people's opinions, but she felt like a child who had been sent upstairs just when things downstairs were becoming interesting. It would be highly embarrassing to be caught hovering on the landing in her pyjamas. When she had been a child the fear of detection had never bothered her, but adults could get away with far less. For them it was not the natural thing to do, for some reason.

Margaret wondered why not, but she drew the covers a little more tightly around herself so she would not be tempted to leave her bed again.

Section Fifty-Three

Mr Scott did not have to wait until the next day to meet the guest, because his wife put on a video and told him to look closely. "Your new daughter-in-law," she said as she pointed at the good fairy.

"I could live with that," was his laconic reply.

"Don't you want to know anything else?" she asked when he seemed more interested in the box than in the video itself. She had expected a little more curiosity.

"You're showing me a video. I thought that was as clear as you were going to get." Mr Scott rewound the video to the entrance of the good fairy. "I can live with that if he can," he nodded at the screen. "But is this the same woman he picked up on a case, or are there others I should know about?"

"Oh, it's the same one."

"And they're not already married, are they?" He had only been gone for a few days, but with all this news it felt like at least a year. He did seem to be in the right house, with the right wife, but something had apparently happened to one of their children that made him doubt all that -- a bit.

"Oh, not yet."

"But," he looked at her closely, "the occasion is not far off?" She had to be withholding information from him.

"Who can say..." She was deliberately vague, enjoying the moment.

"I was hoping you could. I'm feeling rather puzzled. I'm really not comforted at all by your implication that the occasion might well be tomorrow." Perhaps he was back with the wrong family after all, or he had been in a coma for a long time and no one had told him that.

"Oh, nonsense. You have to give notice. It takes a few weeks." She supposed that was plenty of time for everyone to get used to it, should it happen. As yet there was no clear indication that it might.

"Then I'm not comforted at all by your implication that notice may be given tomorrow, for all we know."

"I doubt that," said Mrs. Scott. "He's not back yet."

"I'm not comforted at all by your implication that is all that is keeping him from giving notice." He was not at all certain that he could be amused as she was by the fact that Iain seemed to have lost his head over a woman. They had to prevent the boy from doing something stupid.

"I'm sure he's not comforted by that either." She smiled.

"Did she wave her little wand? What did she do?"

"I don't know. I wasn't there." She wondered if he was really there, but he was probably talking nonsense because he was tired.

"Was she wearing that?" He gestured at the television.

"What do you really think, Stuart?" his wife asked.

He did not answer that. "Is she a local?"

"No, but she was at the house of a local who was murdered. Well, not exactly local, but still within Iain's area. He was rich, but I'd never heard of him."

"What was she doing there?" All sorts of bad scenarios occurred to Mr Scott, casting the good fairy in roles ranging from the murderer to the victim's wife or mistress. He could not find any role that he approved of in relation to his son.

"Tutoring his daughter."

"In witchcraft?"

Margaret was no longer awake when Iain arrived, but his parents were. "You look bad," his mother said critically when she saw his hollow-eyed face, even though she was very pleased to find that he visited them first. "You haven't slept enough." She also doubted that he had eaten properly, which might be the reason why he came here. A mother still equalled food. That was a conclusion that sobered one up nicely.

"No, Mum." He was tired and hungry and had more interest in the refrigerator than in defending himself. She would not give up if he contradicted her anyway.

"Is your case over?" his father asked.

"Yes." His part in it was over and he had taken four weeks off. He was too tired to talk about that now, but his answer spoke for itself, he thought. The case was over. That meant he had solved it. It also meant that he had worked during the weekend and was now entitled to at least a day off -- but that his intentions of being a normal man meant that he would take that day and more was something his parents might not be able to guess yet.

"Look into your own fridge," his mother chided him, pushing him away from hers.

"But it's empty," he protested, allowing himself to be pushed away. Quite possibly he still had a raw onion and some butter, but that would be it. There was not much one could make with that. His mother should have food in the house. She had people to feed. He did not.

"I have a young guest who likes to bake," she said significantly. She had sent Ailsa over with the key after she had baked another cake and she had told her to place it in the refrigerator, expecting that Iain would return to sleep there again since he had obviously returned from the case and she did not think he had another place to sleep.

"Oh. And there's something in my fridge?" He felt flattered that someone had thought of him.

"Yes. And breakfast at ten tomorrow." It was always around nine, but if she said that, he might feel the need to set his alarm and he would be better off sleeping. He would never sleep past ten, rarely past nine and he knew it. He would not set his alarm if she said ten o'clock.

"Here?" With Margaret and Ailsa and both of his parents? He would rather be interrogated in court. Why could he not be allowed to meet Margaret in private? He did not mind waiting until after breakfast to see her, as long as he could see her without an audience.

"No, in the garden. Of course it will be here!" She kissed his cheek. "Good night. Don't think about it." It would be all right. What was he thinking? She was going to behave herself. She had not saved her cross-examination for his return, because she had had two whole days to do that.

"You terrified the boy," Mr Scott observed when Iain had left through the back door. "On purpose!" He was much amused by his son's sudden retreat. Was this the hope of the police force, unfazed by criminals but scared to death by a freckled young woman who was good at waving a silver wand and smiling angelically?

"Well, that's fun," she apologised. "I've tried it with her too. She's not easily flustered, though, but she becomes sharp and caustic if you venture into uncharted territory." At least, that was what she had concluded. There was no sharpness when Margaret was at ease with the questions or with herself.

She had not known her before. She did not attach any significance to the smiles that lurked behind Margaret's expression now and then and the extra caution she observed when certain topics came up, except the usual interpretation one usually had for that.

"Do you mean Margaret Maxwell is not really a good fairy? Good God, the entire country will be shocked." Mr Scott pretended to be one of the most shocked people.

Mrs. Scott was surprised. "How did you know it was her anyway? I never told you." She had not thought it would be easy to see for someone who did not know, given that she was dressed up.

"A good detective looks at the blurb of the video." He waved the box at her. "I quote: he meets the good fairy (Margaret Maxwell) ... No wonder. But why did he send her away? I'd be much amused if I came across Miss Maxwell on a case, especially if there were stupid people around and there generally are."

Section Fifty-Four

Iain had finished the case so quickly that he ought to be proud of himself, but there was something he was concerned about. Something had happened at work that gave him reasons to fear Margaret.

The cake in his refrigerator was delicious, but as he ate it he could not help but remember what had transpired earlier that day, before the case had come to an end.

"Mr Scott?"

He turned. "Yes?" It was one of the secretaries, the one they always appointed to arrange things. He looked at her with a sense of foreboding. His agenda was full without extra activities and he was hesitant about any extra activities in the coming period anyway. To prevent any from cropping up, he had decided to take some time off, more than he had ever done. It would leave him free to pursue other matters -- or people. He had no time for what she was about to ask.

The secretary flashed her loveliest smile at him. "I heard you just took four weeks off and you haven't returned your form for the Annual Summer Ball."

"Oh." Yes, he had completely forgotten. Or rather, he had completely forgotten that he had intended to forget about it. When was it again? Right after those four weeks, probably. He should have taken five weeks, but he had wanted to save some for later in the year.

"Will you come this year? The form is due next Friday."

He had never been to the Ball. There had always been a demanding case as an excuse. This time his case had just ended and they both knew that. "Oh...I think I lost the form." They were always quite strict about forms being returned on time, because of the food they had to order. He was off for four weeks now, so he could never manage. He did not have to tell her he was not going abroad. It was none of her business where he would be.

"Mr Scott..." The secretary's eyes meaningfully travelled to the door to the office of his boss, Divisional Commander Superintendent Brown. "Mr Brown already asked..."

"Does he want to dance with me?" Brown was a snake if he played it via Sylvia. If he wanted anything he should ask for it personally.

"No, but he asked specifically whether you would attend, because apparently you never do." The Superintendent had given her specific instructions.

Iain rolled his eyes. "I might not enjoy it." That was an understatement. He was going to hate every single minute he was forced to spend in a room where people danced.

"The Superintendent says you have to take part in social activities now and then."

The Superintendent was not related to him in any way. It was none of his business. "Sylvia, I am part of about fifty teams and taskforces. We hardly sit in silence there. I'm not going to waste my one free night on a ball, even if you or the Super fear for my social life." Ironically he had a much more interesting social life lined up, but he could not say so -- unless they allowed him to forfeit because of it. Did they think he would spend four weeks gardening?

"It's not that he fears; it's just that, you know, if you ever reach his position you're going to have to," she said cautiously, not wanting to imply that he was certainly up for promotion at some point. It was not unthinkable, though, because the Super had hinted at that.

"Is that it?" Iain wished there would not always be so many other things involved, but he realised very well that if in several years from now he should be promoted, he would not be able to get out of such events either. It was a miracle that he had managed up to now. The higher you came, the worse it got. "If that is the only reason for people to attend, why do we bother at all?"

"The fun things are to keep people motivated, sir."

"If it's not fun for me, how does it motivate me? But damn it. Give me a form and I'll fill it in right away to make you happy," he said with a grunt. He would prove that he did not enjoy it.

She held one in her hand already and handed it to him with a pen.

"I really dislike people who embark on something with an absolute conviction of success," he muttered.

"You're bringing someone, sir?" The secretary was surprised when she checked if he had filled in the form seriously and not written the name of a cartoon character, which some officers kept finding funny to do every single year. Nobody knew anything about his private life, but they all assumed he did not have one. "You circled the partner option, but you did not add a name."

He had deliberately not added a name. "Not necessary." He could not do that. He had not asked her yet, but he should keep the option open. What if he had to go and she wanted to come?

"Would you please add a name? She won't be allowed in if you don't."

He thought sarcastically that a Police Ball really needed such stringent security matters, but it probably had to do with the free food on offer that they did not want anyone else to eat or even see. Community money. And of course she wanted a name so she could gossip. He should probably ask Margaret first before he indicated that he would bring a partner or spouse, but he felt cornered and thoroughly disgusted. He quickly scribbled down Margaret Maxwell in an almost illegible scribble, thrust the form into her hands and went back to his office, casting a silent prayer to heaven for Margaret's approval.

That had been at 9:15 and by eleven it had leaked out all across the building. DCI Scott was mocking the Summer Ball and the Superintendent by saying he would take Margaret Maxwell as his date. They all knew that could not be real and they all knew he had never gone, so this was another attempt to get out of it, returning the form to pacify his boss, who would not instantly know he was having his leg pulled.

Especially the officers who had repeatedly wanted to attend as the likes of Mickey Mouse or Donald Duck understood this scheme perfectly. Margaret Maxwell was after all a sort of Mickey Mouse, too unreal -- as an untouchable television personality -- to be a serious choice, but for another Scot she would be the obvious sabotage option. She was the ultimate Scottish non-choice for a date, of course.

It did not occur to anyone to think DCI Scott might consider bringing a serious date, not after his performance in the previous years and his all too obvious irritation this year when Sylvia had cornered him. And reputedly he had almost slept here in the past few days, so how could he possibly have a woman? No wife or girlfriend would have let him.

Iain had not realised this, not until he went for another coffee, completely unprepared.

At the coffee machine he was greeted by cheers of amusement. "Good one, sir! The Super will love it. He might not even know till you don't show up!" said one of the men assembled there.

"You'll have to introduce Margaret Maxwell to my date, Lara Croft!" said someone else. That invited more cheering and suggestive snickering.

"Couldn't you have picked another Scottish hottie to put on your form?" asked another.

"Woohoo! Peters, you don't actually think Margaret Maxwell is a hottie, do you?"

"Nah, a block of ice is more like it!"

"Tell us, does she do it for you, sir?" They laughed, as they were very sure she did not. "Can you melt her? What happens then?"

"It's good she doesn't know you put her on your form! She would tear you apart!"

Iain suffered more such comments as he waited for his cup to fill. They had taken him by surprise, though he would never show it. He betrayed no reaction other than a forced smile, but when he took his cup away and made to return to his office he said, "I'm glad it amuses you."

After this Iain spent half an hour staring at his desk, ignoring the odd comment that was still thrown at him by passing colleagues.

What was Margaret going to say? Would she, like the men said, tear him apart?

He had immediately been punished for not asking her permission. She had every reason to tear him apart. He had landed himself in a fine mess. He could not exactly imagine her coming with him -- they did not have a relationship yet, after all -- and showing up alone or not at all was bound to get him into trouble.

On top of this he was asked to see the Superintendent, who was not well pleased with what he perceived as a personal affront. Of course, the entire station now snickered behind his back, thinking he would not realise DCI Scott was leading him on.

He ranted and raged and Iain was silent.

The extracurricular aspects of the job were important to someone in his position and with his potential. He ought to be thinking of his career and promotion opportunities. It was absolutely amazing that he gave this no thought whatsoever. And to be disrespectful of senior officers by such mockery was not a good thing, which he ought to have understood, but since he did not, the Superintendent would not mind explaining it to him very clearly.

Iain did not even seriously consider telling the Super that he might really bring Margaret. Like all others, the Super would not believe it. He could not even mention her -- she did not know anything about this.

It was in a very dark mood that he exited his boss' office.

It was in an equally dark mood that he went to bed, even though he had just eaten an entire cake.

Section Fifty-Five

Margaret came out of her room to take a shower and walked straight into a gentleman wearing green Wellingtons. That was the first she saw of him. "Oh!" she yelped when she looked up. He looked far too much like Iain, but then older. She could not decide between relief and shock.

"The good fairy," he said with a nod. Even in a bathrobe with her hair down that was plain to see.

"Where?" Margaret looked behind herself, just a little taken aback. Obviously she had not missed the video lying around downstairs. She always noted what people had lying around, especially if those were things they watched or read. "Your wife may fit the bill more than I do." Good fairies had manners, for instance. She seemed to have lost hers, although she valiantly told herself to make a good impression. Being complimentary about his wife was a good start.

He smiled and introduced himself. "I'm Stuart Scott, Iain's father."

She groaned instead of saying who she was. He probably knew anyway and there was this more pressing matter to comment on. "Why don't you say you're your wife's husband?" She was not staying with Iain, but with his mother, who ought to be their point of reference. Why did everyone have to focus on the man? It was rather unnerving to be confronted with the man this early. She could handle her private thoughts on the matter, but to have others bring him up just to see what she would say or do was unsettling.

"It's a matter of perspective. From my perspective, you are Iain's --"

"No, no! I don't belong to anybody, thank you very much." Margaret shot into the bathroom before he could finish his sentence. A cold shower sounded delicious. Not until she had locked herself in did she wonder if she had been impolite.

After a cringing sequence of flashes during which she visualised herself in several situations related to Iain, she opened the door again. Mr Scott did not seem to move fast, because he was still hovering. Perhaps he had counted on her to reappear. "I forgot to say my name is Margaret," she said to him. "And I forgot to ask just what I am of Iain's."

He cackled evilly, although any sound he would have made would have been considered thus by Margaret. "You seem like a dangerous woman to cross, Margaret."

Her instinctive reply would be to cry out and ask what he meant, but she remembered her manners and then forgot them again instantly. "He is much nicer than you are." As she closed the door of the bathroom with dignity, the last thing she heard was another evil cackle.

The shower would have to be extra cold now. She wondered if she could step out again to apologise for implying he was not nice or if this would weaken her position even more. She was not in luck this morning. There were days when everything just came out wrong, no matter how hard you tried.

At a quarter to nine, Iain awoke and after about fifteen minutes he deemed himself sufficiently refreshed to get up. He shaved and showered, then went downstairs. It was not yet ten o'clock, but he thought he might just as well check if he could speak to Margaret before breakfast. If she had gone running again she would certainly be up.

He approached the house, looking up towards the guest room. The curtains were still drawn and no one looked out to see him.

Nobody was in sight, not even in the kitchen where the table was already set, and not even the dogs. They would not all have gone out to walk them, so where was everyone?

Vaguely dissatisfied, he sat down in the sitting room to practise what he was going to say. He did not know whether he had anything personal to say to her or if she even welcomed anything personal. Perhaps he had better start out by telling her about the end of the case. It would be counterproductive, he feared, to begin by suggesting they might be married at some point. She might reply by saying he hardly knew her and to that he would only be able to admit that she was right.

So, what did one say to a woman? He did not want her to disappear. Perhaps he could say that. If he did not think about this carefully beforehand he would end up saying nothing, or he would end up saying something that scared her. On the other hand, during the case he had never been at a loss for words. He should just sit and wait without thinking, and let her do most of the work. Margaret was hardly a modest maiden who needed to be courted.

Iain revised this opinion a few seconds later. Some form of courting was required. He should be nice, but not too nice. She would not like too nice. She would not like not getting any opposition. As for modest, surprisingly enough she was extremely modest.

"Oh, Margaret yelped again when she found him. She had come here to look for Ailsa, who had mysteriously disappeared along with the rest of the household. It had unsettled her a bit that Ailsa might have gone to walk the dogs with a strange man, even if he was Iain's father, but perhaps she had simply gone down to the bakery with Mrs. Scott. At any rate, Ailsa must not have seen Iain or she would have stayed with him.

She looked at him. "Where did you come from?" Obviously he had come from his own house, but when had he arrived there? He had not been last night's visitor. She had not run past his house that morning, deliberately not. She had not wanted to be that desperate.

He got to his feet and stared at her, very pleased that they were alone during this first meeting. His pleasure was tempered by the footsteps he heard on the stairs, but they went into the kitchen. He thought she did not mind seeing him, but her evident nervousness was rubbing off on him. It was such a difference from her investigative behaviour, which had been confident.

"Speak to me," Margaret urged. "Before your parents come in." There had been footsteps, so her theories had been wrong and someone was still in the house. Chances were that they had seen Iain approach and they were now all hiding, waiting to see if he was going to take her into his arms. She took half a step back.

He still said nothing, fearing that he might be interrupted by that other family member just when he had begun to speak and they would either hear or he would have to start all over again at another time.

"Tell me about the case." That was a safe topic. He should speak to her or else she might scream in frustration. "I'm not something to stare at; I'm something to talk to," she clarified in case he was not aware of that. She had not done anything special about her appearance, except for devoting a little more attention to appearing neat and tidy and consequently well-mannered.

His honesty forbade him to ignore the matter of the Summer Ball until a safe moment came up. He had to speak to her about that first so he would not be a coward. The case could wait. "In a minute. First I have to tell you that I did something you're not going to like."

"What's that? You didn't solve the case?" She was prepared to say he should not have sent her away, because she would have been able to help him.

"No, I did, but ... Can I sit beside you?" It might make matters easier if he sat down, although more difficult if he did so uninvited.

"Is this something I have to hear sitting down because I would otherwise fall over?" she inquired, taking a seat. She had never fallen over before, so she was tempted to say she was rather stable.

"Maybe." He sat down next to her, but not too closely. He should not push things too fast. "Listen. I got myself into a mess and I'm really sorry."

That did not sound good. "For yourself or for me?" she asked quietly, but she was immensely curious.

"For you. We have an annual ball and I've never been to it. This year's event is coming up soon and the Superintendent got it into his head that I should get used to attending, for ridiculous reasons, so he sent a secretary my way to persuade me. I was so annoyed that I gave in. I thought I'd do it properly and indicate that I'd bring a partner, but I wasn't giving any thought to you, actually." He did not want to look at Margaret, but he had to.

Margaret had been listening closely and wondering just what was so bad about attending a ball, but when he had divulged the rest, her mouth opened slowly before she began to speak. He had not been giving any thought to her. Just who had been thinking of then? "You were thinking of another woman?" As she spoke she realised she had no claims on him and he might take any woman he desired, whatever her feelings might be. "I'm sorry. You're allowed to take anyone you like, of course." But it was painful to consider that he would go with someone else and her voice was soft.

Iain looked shocked when he saw the effect of his thoughtless words. He had not intended them like that, but it had not occurred to him that they might be interpreted differently. "I was thinking of you! But not of you. Just your name. I mean I didn't stop to think what you'd say about my writing down your name on the form as my partner. Well, I did, but...I mainly thought about my own irritation." He grasped his knees with his hands, so they would not stray to reassure her that he had meant well.

"Oh." She had trouble processing this. He had indicated on some form that he was bringing a partner to a ball and she was that partner. Yet he perceived a problem somewhere. What was it then? At first sight this did not seem to be very problematic at all. "And you now think I don't approve?"

In other situations she might not like to have things decided for her, but in this case she could not find any objections. How could she, if he was even repentant?

"You shouldn't. I didn't ask you anything." She had every right to be very angry with him now. He should not be deciding things for her, but he should ask her first. She was probably making sure her outburst of anger was going to be justified.

"Oh Iain!" When she heard how that sounded, she coughed and bit her lip. The last thing she wanted was to sound like that. It might lead to all sorts of scary things. It was better to be humorous. "I'd imagined our first date a bit differently," she said in a small voice, trying not to laugh at his distress. She was his chosen partner, not someone else. That was good. Excellent. That was far more important than asking her if he could put her name down when she was not even around to give an answer. Efficiency was his motto, he had said. This had been efficient.

He could not believe she was so unconcerned and gave her an uncertain look, still half expecting an outburst. "You, independent woman extraordinaire who prefers to make up her own mind, are not angry?"

"Why should I be?" The corners of her mouth curved up into a smile. He wanted her. He wanted to take her to a ball where she would unmistakably be his partner for everyone else to see. "And I really don't know why I allow you to mock my independence. Why should I be angry?"

"Because I didn't ask you if you wanted to come." He repeated it more slowly to see if the message came across that way and if it had merely been a matter of phrasing.

"It's just that ... some things ... outweigh ... other things. And I think I once told you I reserve my emotions for worthier things." Her knee touched his by accident, but she left it there. "So...you're taking me?" she asked cautiously. When was this going to happen? It had better not be today. She had nothing with her to wear to a ball. "It's not tonight, is it?"

Iain shook his head. They had four weeks. "There's another problem." He should warn her about the dangers attached to accompanying him. It was not a danger she could not handle, but it was fair to warn her all the same.

"We'd have to share a car?" She was up to that. If he asked, she would tell him it would be tough, but doable. She had no objections to sharing cars with men she was not married to. Or sharing couches, for that matter -- strictly sitting upright, that was. She slapped herself mentally and blushed.

Iain looked strangely at her blush. She seemed embarrassed, even though he had thought she was teasing. "Is that a problem?" He did not know what he would do if it was. His understanding did have its limitations. Then he remembered they had already shared a car.

Margaret looked away. "I think my naughty thought was a problem, but never mind. It had nothing to do with cars, before you get any sort of really bad opinion of me."

He looked interested, but restrained himself. "All right. I won't ask about your thought or why you think I'd make any connection to cars. I'll go on. Filling out the form was only the beginning. It got worse. Remember that this happened at the police station."

As he had said that very ominously, she was curious. "Ye-e-s?" What was that supposed to tell her? Filling out forms untruthfully was some sort of offence there?

"Your naughty thoughts are one thing, naughty thoughts of police officers are another," he said in a solemn voice.

She held her hands before her mouth and gasped dramatically. "Oh Iain! You? You shock me!" She did not want to think about police officers and their naughty thoughts.

He rolled his eyes at her. "Stop that, Margaret. I don't have them. My colleagues are the bad ones. But...they don't think women could like me and they don't think men could like you." That, he realised, was badly phrased again. All he meant to say was that they would be excited if it happened.

Margaret was offended on his behalf, but first she had to get her immediate thought out. "Then they should be happy we're hooking up together." As that matter was far from being settled, she continued talking very quickly in case he would voice an objection and say it was never going to happen. "But what do you mean, women don't like you? What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. I think." He worked a lot and perhaps that was why his colleagues thought he had a problem. He could do like they had done or still did, which was to devote most of his spare time to chasing women, but he did not think that could lead to anything good.

She would agree with that. "And what's wrong with me?" That was easier to answer.

"Nothing. But the others were mocking you."

"What did they say? And where do the naughty thoughts come in?" Did any of them have naughty thoughts about her? "Wait. Tell me about the insults, but leave the lusty stuff out of it. Obviously I get sick fan mail," she explained. "I don't want to know about lusty stuff at all. It's not my thing."

He hesitated and then told her some of the things they had said, leaving the lusty things out as requested. She would probably be familiar with what they could say. The worst that could happen was that she would vent her thoughts on some of those nitwits.

Margaret listened and did nothing of the sort. "And let me guess, you said nothing to correct them?" she asked very thoughtfully. She could not imagine him doing so, at any rate. He would probably think it was not worth the bother.

"No." What could he have said? They would not have believed him, or they would have mocked him instead. Perhaps she would have liked him to defend her. He realised he had entertained the vain hope of taking her so she could prove them all wrong. She was too quiet now -- she would not want to come anymore.

She digested it and then slowly began to chuckle. "Wouldn't it be funny if you really brought me?" That would put them in their places! They would not believe their eyes if he showed up with her. Would they feel stupid for having doubted him?

Iain was still cautious, although this was the last time he was going to say it. "Margaret, I did not ask you to come. I don't deserve to get off that easily."

She shrugged. "You could not have known they would misinterpret you. I can't blame you for what they made of it."

All right, one more time. "But I don't deserve it."

"Yes, you do." She smiled. "Ask me now then. I will restore your colleagues' faith in your attractiveness." He was perfectly capable of finding a woman who was willing to accompany him and the woman did not even have to be an ugly troll.

"It was actually yours they called into question."

"Am I pretty, Iain?" That she was satisfied with her looks did not mean the population at large would have the same opinion. Perhaps Iain's colleagues would not think her anything special and she would not succeed at poking their eyes out.

"I'm sorry," he said immediately. "I didn't mean to imply you weren't attractive. That was not their point. It was --"

"I know." It was her outspokenness and her attitude that turned rather many of them off because it frightened them. "But am I pretty?"

He looked into her eyes. "Yes."

"With my lovely green dress and my mouth shut, won't I make you a good companion?" she asked. Her green dress was by far the nicest. Being able to keep up the silence was probably wishful thinking, but she had least had a good intention and that was what it all started with. Perhaps he did not want to go because he did not like balls, but she would show him it could be all right.

Her eager and honest expression and her soft voice made it impossible for him to speak immediately. "You're very different when it's just you and me," he noted.

Margaret looked a little frightened of being different, because she knew exactly what he meant. "I don't like being sweet. Where's your mother?" She desperately wished for someone else now.

He did not understand that. "What do you need my mother for?"

"I'd like her to interrupt us." She felt like a silly teenager and she was not even doing anything wrong. People did this every day and they went much further than simple talking too. She should never have asked if she was pretty if she could not handle the reaction.

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