A/N - Two chapters in two days! That is definitely a record for me

Bridget informed me last night that she would be uncontactable for the entire day today as she was going shopping for dresses with Jeremy's wife, Magda. This left me feeling strangely at a loose end that made me wonder what I did with my weekends before I got together with Bridget. However, the answer formed in my mind almost before the question – I worked. And if the work became monotonous, I would attend functions with my colleagues.

Feeling that I had rather neglected my parents of late, I thought that I had best take the opportunity to take a trip down to Grafton Underwood, in order to let my father engage in what I believe to be his favourite past time – beating me at golf. Despite the number of golf games I have had to attend through work, at which the other lawyers try to show how 'fun' they are by the ridiculous cartoon character golf club covers they have, and usually someone from corporate law gets drunk and drives a golf buggy into a lake, I am, put simply, quite appalling at golf. This is a fact that my father never stopped delighting in pointing out, wherein, I suspected, lay the majority of his enjoyment of the game.

"Finally something you aren't good at Mark," he would shout over his shoulder as he strode off down the fairway, leaving me to scrabble truculently in the bushes looking for my ball.

After we returned back to my childhood home, my father received an urgent phone call from Colin Jones and had to pop over there, still dressed in his plus fours and Pringle jumper – an outfit that would be quite respectable had my mother not sewn a Scottie dog patch onto the jumper.

My mother laughed fondly to herself as she watched my father storm off down the drive in the direction of the Jones', tucking a bottle of whisky under his arm surreptitiously as he did so. She absentmindedly brushed the dust from a dried flower arrangement that sat on the sill of the diamond leaded windows before turning back to me smiling and sitting down on the sofa,

"I wouldn't worry, I had a call from Pam earlier, telling me how her television career is really taking off again. I expect Colin has been having a good old stew over it and needs someone to talk to. Come and sit with me, Mark," she said in the soft voice that she had always reserved for me since I had been a child, patting the sofa as she did so. I moved from my current position of leaning against the fireplace, where I must confess I had been standing, moodily contemplating why my father must always beat me quite so convincingly at golf, and sank down into the squashy floral sofa. My mother grasped my hands, turning to me

"Oh Mark, you do look well. I haven't seen you look so well in ages. And it's so nice to see you in such a lovely colour, that jumper really suits you,"

I looked down to red jumper I was wearing – another of my mother's specials. I would imagine that were you rather poor of sight, you might take it to be a Lacoste jumper, which I must confess, would not be to my taste but would at least, be preferable to this. In place of the small crocodile that adorned the popular brand, my jumper instead sported a teddy bear, dressed, inexplicably, as a clown. I felt slightly shamefaced that I had only put it on in the car on the way over to my parent's house, and had instead worn a light jacket for playing golf. As I had replaced it with the jumper, I had shot my father a guilty look, mumbling that the jumper restricted my swing to which he just snorted and tapped the side of his nose to indicate that it was our secret. Having seen the clothes that my father wore on the rare occasions that he was allowed to choose his own outfit, I suspected that the animal festooned golf sweaters were not his idea of high fashion either, yet neither of us mentioned it out loud out of respect to my mother.

"Yes," she continued, "you've lost that tired look that you always seemed to have recently. I'll bet that Bridget is looking after you well is she? Lots of home cooking? Pam tells me she was quite the little chef when she lived at home"

I tried to mask my amusement at this, both at the fact that my mother thought me quite incapable of looking after myself despite my being (in my opinion) a quite adequate cook, and that she was under the illusion that Bridget was able to produce anything more complicated than a microwave pizza. My mother took my smile as a sign of affirmation and beamed back at me. I wondered idly what other claims the ever-optimistic Pamela Jones had made to my mother pertaining to Bridget, and vice versa.

"Now Mark," she carried on blithely, "you will make sure you are nice to Bridget, won't you?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, mother," I replied, quite bemused and slightly horrified at what she could possibly mean.

"You know Mark, nice. Treat her nicely," she enunciated as though I were ten. "You know, make sure you're always punctual, tell her she looks pretty, don't mess her about,"

"Tsk, mother," I squirmed in embarrassment, rather as though my mother was correct in her treating me as a ten year old, although I felt greatly relieved that my mother was not talking about anything less innocent.

"Oh I know, I know, that's how I've brought you up to behave, and I'm sure you do, but I just thought I'd better mention it as her parents are, you know 'friends of the family'," she finished in a dramatic whisper, as though she were expecting Pamela to jump up from behind the sofa at any moment.

"Mother, I fully intend to treat Bridget in the manner that she deserves. The fact that her parents are friends of yours is irrelevant to that,"

"Well yes, I wouldn't expect anything less of you, but you know how embarrassing it was for the Wickhams down the road when their daughter got divorced. You know – Lydia – she was married to the vicar's son. Your father and Colin always used to sing that 'Son of a Preacher' to her when they'd had a few sherries."

'Yes, and the bottle of whisky they have more than likely drunk in Colin's shed rather like naughty school boys,' I thought dryly, whilst marvelling at the fact that my mother imagined that I knew the minutiae of life in Grafton Underwood as well as she did, despite my having lived in London for the greater part of the last decade putting me at a considerable disadvantage to her secretary of the neighbourhood watch status.

"But things are going well between you?"

"Well yes, although it is early days mother," I replied cautiously, feeling my cheeks start to turn a colour not dissimilar to my jumper.

"I know, but you just seem so much happier, more at ease than you ever were with that…..other woman," she stumbled slightly on her words, knowing my reluctance to even think, let alone say aloud my ex wife's name. "That's why I thought you might like this."

Her eyes sparkled as she took something from her apron pocket and slipped it into my hand, with a deftness that hinted at the long hours she spent playing cards. Despite her gentle appearance, my mother was a ruthless and skilled card player that left my father and myself bereft of pennies only a few minutes after her expert dealing of the cards. Only my elder brother, Peter could come close to matching her, and I remember watching in astonishment at the speedy exchange of cards and muttered instructions between the two of them as they played. I felt the small velvet box in my hand and turned it over to examine it. I gasped slightly as I opened the box, looking up at my mother in surprise. Inside was a beautiful antique square cut diamond engagement ring, set in platinum, with delicate filigree work.

"It was your grandmother's," she explained. All at once it looked familiar to me. A lump appeared in my throat.

"Don't worry, I've had it cleaned," she chuckled "I know you might think it's a bit soon but I thought you'd like it, just in case,"

"Why didn't you give it to me before?" I asked, quite forgetting to protest that I wouldn't be needing it any time in the near future.

"Well for one thing, your grandmother was still alive and I did think it would be somewhat callous of me to prise it off her fingers," she laughed again before giving me a look that let me know that she understood what I meant, and continuing "But even if it had been in my possession, I would not have given it to you. It is too precious and you know I always had my doubts…before. Besides, I doubt it would've been to your ex wife's tastes."

We both sat in silence for a moment – me thinking of the modern monstrosity that my ex wife had chosen for her engagement ring; my mother doubtless thinking of the night that, unable to bite her tongue any longer she had asked me exactly what it was I saw in my ex wife, as she found her to be a dreadful cold fish and a rather rude and standoffish one at that. The irony of the fact that this opinion could have quite easily been given to Bridget about me, did not escape me.

"Well, what about Peter? I mean, he is the oldest and he has been with Caroline considerably longer. I don't want him to be put out."

"Oh no," she patted my arm reassuringly, "I wouldn't have any worries on that score. He told me at Christmas that he has already bought a ring for Caroline – he's been carrying around with him for quite some time apparently."

As I let this happy news sink in, I realised that I had little in the way of arguments against my keeping the ring remaining. Snapping the box shut, I tucked it into my pocket, smiling at my mother as I did so.

"Gosh Mark, you must be in love. Either that or you really are losing your powers of persuasion. Because I imagined that it would be at least twice as hard to convince you to take if. Now would you like some tea?"

As she went to fetch us both a cup of tea, my hand sought out the small velvet box in my pocket again. Turning it over and over in my hand, I tried to think what it would be like to be married to Bridget.

A/N – The next chapter was meant to be the Law Council dinner but now I think there needs to be a bit of Mark/Bridget fluff first as there hasn't been nearly enough so far!