Though her eyes were centred on the small monitor, Sarah could not help but feel a sudden crushingly hard squeeze of her shoulder; a grip pressured to the point of pain. Exclaiming softly, she turned to see Mycroft's hand grasping her upper arm so hard his knuckles were bone-white.
"Mycroft," she brushed his fingers with her own. "That hurts."
"Apologies," he murmured, instantly releasing his hold, his attention still entirely focused on the flickering screen. The dark background filled with an inverted V of light within which a pale and unmistakable shape flexed and wriggled.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Doctor Mandal shook her head as she realised her oversight. "I forgot to turn the sound on; here you are."
Instantly, a soft, fast thudding filled the air around them, a double-echoed drumbeat of raindrops.
"I've never heard him so clearly before," Sarah had never heard so loud a heartbeat; the other scans had been more about foetal development ... but this time ...
"He's a fine, big boy," Anna Mandal smiled as she moved the wand to show the baby's face more clearly. It was still a little blurry in places, but the overall clarity was astonishing. "He has very long legs ... see?" she moved the wand to focus on the curled-up legs and feet which did look long in relation to the rest of the torso.
Might be a high-jumper with those legs ...
"Given the measurements and the consistency of development, I'd say you're between twenty-eight and twenty-nine weeks; the expected delivery date of December thirty-first is looking very good. I think you'll only need one more scan and Doppler study in about six weeks, just to make absolutely sure everything's exactly where it's expected to be. Unless there's a problem, we'll simply assess growth by measurement from now on."
On the monitor, the baby stretched, opening and closing his hands. There was a simultaneous movement immediately beneath Sarah's skin. She laughed, delightedly.
"You are able to download a print from this scan?" Mycroft's voice was fractionally husky and he seemed tense. He cleared his throat in a business-like manner.
"Oh, I think we can do a little better than that," the obstetrician smiled. "This scan has been recorded from the beginning. I can have it downloaded to a DVD before you leave."
Nodding, Mycroft inhaled slowly. "Not an experience I had ever thought to have," he turned back to meet Sarah's eyes as she lay on the high bed beside him. "Quite extraordinary, in fact."
I'm going to have a son, Sarah mused to herself as she took the handfuls of wipes that Doctor Mandal handed her and removed the worst excesses of the gel as she sat up. "To be honest, I always thought I was going to have a girl, but there we are," she smiled brilliantly. "And he'll be here in a couple of months' time," she smiled again, sliding off the bed. "It seems unbelievable."
"You realise my mother will be insufferably smug about the entire thing?" Mycroft helped Sarah find her balance. "Neither of us will ever be able to win an argument with her in the future about anything."
"And you are happy it's a boy?" not concerned in the least about Lillian, she watched his face carefully, the memory of those clenched and whitened knuckles still sharp and vaguely unsettling.
Mycroft breathed deep and blinked slowly, lifting a fine strand of hair from her face and tucking it behind an ear. The expression on his face was not one Sarah could recall seeing before. The tall man looked mid-way between stupefaction and triumph.
"I thought it would be more of an intellectual experience," he said, a touch breathlessly. "I imagined I'd see an image on a screen ... but the reality ..." he looked down and shook his head a little. "That I have been party in some small way to the creation of a completely unique new human being ..." he sighed, meeting her eyes again and smiled ruefully. "I may be over-reacting somewhat."
Sarah watched his eyes. You're going to be a daddy ... nothing's an overreaction. "Would you like to have a cup of tea?" she patted his hand understandingly. "Just let me get dressed; there's no rush for me to head down to Eynsford right away."
Mycroft paused, thinking. "There's a small café not far from here that serves a proper afternoon tea," he said, pulling his phone from his jacket. "Shall I reserve a table?"
Wondering what kind of café required booking a table, Sarah nodded, ducking in behind the curtain to clean her skin more thoroughly and put her clothes back on.
Both their cars were outside, but Mycroft suggested she leave the Mazda where it was, and he would return her to collect it after they'd had some tea, at which point she could head immediately down to Lambeth Bridge and thence across the river to the A2. If the traffic wasn't too horrendous, she'd be back at the Kent farmhouse in just over the hour, so there really was no rush. Agreeing, Sarah made sure she wasn't parked in a metered zone, then saw she was in a resident's only area.
"Not to worry," Mycroft spoke to his driver who immediately handed out a small square card emblazoned with the lion and unicorn crest of Her Royal Majesty's Government. "Just pop this on top of your dashboard and none of the authorities would dream of looking twice," he smiled meaningfully. "It won't be for very long, in any case."
Seeing there were a number of other spaces in the same area and expecting they'd be no more than a half-hour or so, Sarah acquiesced. She quite fancied a cup of tea herself, truth be told.
Inside the plush interior of the Jaguar, Mycroft extracted a thin plastic package from his breast pocket containing a single silvery disk. He held it up between finger and thumb.
"Are you sure you don't mind me taking this?" he asked. "I can have a copy made while we have tea and return the original to you immediately."
"Mycroft," Sarah smiled at his new-found deference. "I've had several scans and I really don't need to see the recorded highlights," she took the disk from him and tucked it back into his pocket. "Keep this one for as long as you want."
The car had exited Harley Street, turning left into Wigmore Street, but it was a matter of seconds only before it turned left once more, into the top part of Regent's Street and Langham Place.
"Some café if it's around here," Sarah muttered, pausing as the car pulled into the majestic stone portico which announced to the worldly visitor that they had arrived at The Langham Hotel.
"The Palm Court offers a rather splendid afternoon tea," Mycroft smiled as he helped her from the car. It was only as they were walking through the brilliantly polished brass-handled doors that Sarah realised he'd tucked her hand into his elbow. But the expression on his face was so uncharacteristically carefree and light, she didn't have the heart to bring reality into the equation and pop his balloon.
Escorting her up a small flight of Carrera marble steps through the Lobby and beyond into the large and immensely plush tea-room, the Head waiter leaned forward to hear Mycroft's murmured words, before showing them directly to a very pleasant and secluded table. While there were already signs in the city beyond that Christmas was a matter of weeks away, inside the hotel, there was an ageless elegance, with demure, tasteful shades of cream and taupe.
"I've never been in this hotel, though I've been to a number of others in the chain," Sarah smiled as the waiter pulled out a wide leather armchair for her. "The Asian Langhams are particularly attractive, and I think I stayed in the Boston one, last time I was in Massachusetts."
Ordering the standard afternoon tea, Mycroft leaned back in his comfortable chair and looked at her face. "How do you feel?" he asked.
Uncertain why he'd ask such a question, Sarah gave him a puzzled smile. "I'm perfectly fine," she said. "How about you?"
"I feel ..." Mycroft stared up at the ornate ceiling. "Ever so slightly giddy, actually," he inhaled slowly and lifted his eyebrows, rubbing his temple with the ball of his thumb. "Everything feels a little sluggish and hyper-real. Shock, I'd say."
Frowning now, Sarah wondered what on earth they were doing having tea if he felt unwell. "Do you need to go home and lie down? We don't have to be here if you're feeling funny," she made as if to stand.
"Sit, sit," Mycroft waved her back down. "Tea and food will help," he brought the hand across his face. "Clearly the experience was more affecting than I had first thought."
Well, it was the first time he'd seen a scan of the baby. Sarah remembered her first scan. She smiled. "I think you'll live."
"Are you going to tell Mummy it's a boy?"
The waiter arrived with two perfectly beautiful tiered Wedgewood china cake stands. On one was a range of dainty but artful sandwiches and the other contained the crown jewels of cake-confectionary. Everything looked far too good to touch, let alone eat. Pouring them both tea and adding slices of lemon at their request, the waiter left them in peace. Mycroft made the first move and bit into something with smoked salmon and what looked like whipped creamy cheese.
Sarah sipped her tea and went straight for a frothy piece of cupcake which turned out to be white chocolate mousse. It was divine. Outrageous, hedonistic and utterly divine.
"So, are you?" Mycroft held his teacup and watched her face.
Licking her lips free of any residual cake, Sarah sipped her tea again. "I think," she began, thoughtfully. "That, if you like, I'll leave it to you," she said. "I've honestly never bothered about gender; I don't think it's the least bit important. I believe each person is special in and of themselves. Gender is a secondary attribute in my mind and we're all a bit of both, in any case," she paused, licking the tip of her thumb to capture the very last taste of chocolate. "But I think your mother will be thrilled to know it's a boy and I further think that she'd be even more thrilled if she were to hear it from you rather than me," she added. "Don't ask me why I think so, I just do." That Mycroft would also find the idea thrilling was something she left unsaid.
"You'd let me have that privilege?" Mycroft sat very still. "You already know my family so well?"
"To me, it's only knowledge, not even really a privileged knowledge," Sarah shrugged, finishing her cup and leaned forward to pour a second, but Mycroft beat her to it. "I realise now that the reason I'd never asked about the child's sex before was that I never really considered it in the least important, but clearly it's more than that to you and, I think, to your mother."
Biting into a second sandwich, Mycroft chewed and looked serious as his eyes stared into space and his mind flew back to the small room with the high bed and the Doppler-echo of thudding raindrops. "I think it's probably to do with the symbolic continuance of the male line," he said. "Though that must sound absurdly antiquated and reeking of patriarchy."
"I think it's a little too late now to start finding your political correctness," Sarah laughed, before pointing at a rolled up cake that looked like a mini Swiss-roll wrapped up in marzipan. "What do you think that is and why have they painted pink roses all over the outside?"
"I have absolutely not the slightest idea, nor, frankly, can I be bother to think," Mycroft lay back in the big armchair and closed his eyes momentarily as a smile moved the shape of his face. He leaned forward again and stared unseeing at the plates on the table, his hands dangling over his knees. "I'm going to be a father," he sounded wholly mystified.
"Apparently." Sarah observed dryly as she continued drinking her tea, the corners of her mouth refusing to remain straight. She tweaked an eyebrow. "Perhaps you should see a doctor."
Sitting back in his chair, Mycroft treated her to a more normal, mildly critical glance. "I'm not about to have a fit of the vapours," he lidded his eyes and sipped more tea as he examined a blue and white iced confection that resembled the north face of Everest. "Though I think I need more sugar," he said, breaking off a small piece of the hard icing and trying it for palatability. It was crunchy and terribly sweet and precisely what he wanted. "We also need more tea," he sat back, catching the eye of a passing waiter who immediately nodded and veered off towards a set of large swinging doors.
Sarah felt she'd try something from the savoury plate and dallied with a morsel of olive bread, pesto, pine nuts and the thinnest wafers of fresh parmesan. It was sinfully good. She would have to make some olive bread when she was down in Kent just so she could repeat the experience.
A fresh tray of tea things was delivered immediately after the old ones had been removed in a most efficient manner. The hot bite of fine tea and lemon, delicious food and the fact that Mycroft was, for once, out of his comptroller personality and behaving almost like a normal human, left Sarah in a strangely good mood.
"Yes," she returned to their earlier conversation. "You can make the announcement if you'd like," she smiled over the rim of her cup. "I'll put one of those decadent bottles of your fizzy in the fridge and you can phone them up tonight or tomorrow night and we can all have a little celebration," she lifted her eyebrows, realising that until last week, the possibility of such an event would not have been among her wildest fantasies.
"Tonight?" Mycroft nibbled another small piece of the icing, nodding slowly as he revisited plans and schedules in his mind. "Around eight-thirty to nine?" he nodded again, deciding. "Yes ... I arrange something."
"Then we have a plan," Sarah finished the last bite of her sandwich, sighing. "In which case," she said. "I should think about making a move, though oddly, I find this place strangely comfortable."
"Mummy likes the Langham too," he wiped his fingers on a heavy white napkin. "Not that she stays in town very much these days, but when she does, this is where she prefers to be."
"Not at your place?" Sarah frowned a little. "That surprises me. I'd imagine your mother being quite keen on hanging around with her eldest son."
"Precisely the reason I prefer her to stay here," Mycroft shook his head. "I have almost no time for a conventional family life, nor, quite honestly, am I the sort of man suited to such a situation."
Regarding him with a non-judgemental gaze, Sarah nodded and stood. "Mycroft," she waited until he had also risen to his feet and their eyes were almost level. "You have great taste in cafés, but you come out with the biggest load of cobblers at times," she raised her eyebrows and gave him something his mother might describe as a 'look'. "You had one glimpse of a baby carrying your DNA and your brain went so dippy, you've had to overdose on sugar to stop yourself from falling into a heap. Don't tell me you're not the family type; I won't believe it for a second." Picking up her bag, Sarah straightened her back. "Driving's going to be fun, though I'll probably have to stop and stretch at least once."
"And I can't get you to change your mind and let one of my people drive you down?" Mycroft stood and watched as she got her things together, a bothered look on his face.
"I'll be perfectly fine," Sarah headed for the doors. "It's only an hour. I'll survive for an hour."
Jack was already outside the Langham's tall portico as they walked down the wide stone steps, clearly summoned by some form of telepathy. Holding the rear door open for Sarah to slide inside, he looked to Mycroft for instructions.
"Back to Ms Lawrence's parked car, if you would, Jack," he murmured before sliding into the back seat beside his passenger.
The return trip to Marylebone was as short as the outward journey and Sarah was relieved to see there were no large white papers stuck across the front of her windscreen. Returning the postcard-sized crest to Mycroft, she felt suddenly awkward, as if unsure how to leave him.
"How are you feeling now?" she asked, searching his face. His colour was better and his shoulders had lost the unusual tension she'd noted back in the clinic. "I assume the sugar did the trick?"
"You're going to make a rather spectacular mother, you know," his smile was benign as he held open the Mazda's door for her to clamber in. "Brave, resourceful, clever and eminently practical. Your son will be a fortunate child."
"Your son too," Sarah smiled as she closed the door between them, lowering the window. "I'm more or less just transport at this point," she smiled.
A look of whimsy crossed his face as Mycroft regarded her in the driver's seat. "The car suits, I see."
"The car suits very well, though we need to have a talk about what constitutes a rental," Sarah raised her eyebrows, though she was in too good a mood to say anything more. "I'll see you down in Kent at some point?"
"Yes," he nodded, sliding both hands into his trouser pockets. "That's the plan, though I can't say exactly when."
"I dare say your mother will enjoy bending your ear about all sorts of things now," Sarah waggled her eyebrows as she activated the sat nav, only to see the route down to Eynsford had already been plotted for her. Sighing with mock resignation, she belted up, starting the car. "Carry some sweeties in case you have a relapse," she laughed, waving as she checked all her mirrors and pulled out into the road. Heading towards Park Lane and eventually, down across Westminster Bridge, Sarah found the traffic reasonable until she hit a series of red lights on the main road through the Elephant and Castle. The weather was still dry, but night was already drawing in. By the time she got down to the farmhouse, it would be completely dark. However, other than some congestion at New Cross Road, it was clear driving all the way down the A20 and she saw the first sign for Eynsford at the Sidcup Bypass. Just over ten miles to go.
###
Ensconced once again in his Whitehall office, Mycroft slid the silver disk into an inconspicuous slot just beneath the top of his desk and flipped open his laptop. In an instant, the scan of the baby replayed itself from the beginning, this time with the rapid, echoing double-beat softly filling the air from the start. He watched the amorphous shape focus and solidify and take on recognisable qualities and form. The baby stretched and flexed as if he was impatient to be born and keen to begin life in the larger world beyond his current nursery. The man's eyes were captivated by every flicker of movement, each twitch, every wriggle.
This is my child. There is part of me in every part of him. I am going to have a son.
His eyes scanned the shape of the face, the curve of the closed eyelids and the cherubic mouth. He watched the fingers as they curled and uncurled; the tiny nails, the long legs tucked ergonomically underneath the tiny body like some ancient Himalayan mystic.
And Sarah had given him the task and privilege of sharing the news with his parents. They would be ... they would both be ... His mother would be torn between weeping and wild elation. Father would be stoic at first, not wanting to let his joy out too easily and risk being considered something other than British. They would both be as stunned as he had been. Sarah had no concept of what this news would mean to them. Mycroft swallowed. A telephone call would not suffice. He tapped his intercom.
"Anthea, a moment if you will."
###
The lights were bright when she pulled the Mazda into the farmhouse drive, the front door opening just as she pulled the car neatly to one side of the house.
"Welcome back, my dear," Bill looked overjoyed to see her, even though she'd only been gone a couple of days. "Let me take your bags inside."
"I've brought a few, but they're not big ones; I wanted to be able to carry them myself."
"I'm under the strictest of instructions not to let you lift a finger," he stood tall and stared down at her with lidded eyes in what he probably imagined was a commanding manner. Sarah thought he looked like a silver-haired teddy bear. "So just go in inside and tell my wife what it is you would like for dinner; I believe she's fully prepared to slaughter the fatted calf on the slightest excuse."
Sarah wondered who had given the order that she wasn't to carry anything: Lillian or Mycroft? Both of them seemed the take-charge type.
"Come in, come in," the lady herself was all but dancing with excitement in the doorway. "Did you have a good drive? Did you get everything done that you wanted? How was the scan? Is everything alright? Did Mykie look after you like I told him to?"
Not yet in the house and Sarah felt her eyes widening at the barrage of enthusiastic questions.
"Now, Mother," Bill came in behind them, two bags in each hand. "Let the girl be. She's probably had a very busy day already and doesn't need to have a third degree from us on top of it all."
"Yes, my darling," Lillian was already sliding an arm around their guest's back, giving Sarah a sideways hug. "Of course, you're right. I'm just so pleased to see our girl back again."
Our girl. Sarah felt a sudden burn in her eyes. The Holmes's were such kind people.
"I come bearing gifts," she said, smiling and turning as she saw Bill returning with the last of her bags, one of which was a black, square-ish duffle. "Oh, let me have that one, please," she stepped forward, taking it from his hand. "There's things in here for you."
"There's no need to get us anything, you know that," Lillian was already in the process of making tea. "Are you hungry? Is there anything in particular you'd like for dinner?"
"I'm not starving, actually," Sarah plonked the bag down onto a handy chair. "Mycroft treated me to afternoon tea at the Langham which was very thoughtful of him."
"I do love that hotel," Lillian bustled about clinking teacups and small plates. "One of the last bastions of civilised living in London, if you ask me," she paused. "But you absolutely must eat something," she added, frowning and sounding mildly concerned. "I made mushroom soup for lunch, and there's a decent amount left. How would you feel about some of that and some hot crusty bread, hmm?"
"Perfect," Sarah stretched her back which was aching. "I may need to organise another of those massages tomorrow," she mused. "My back's been aching all day."
"Driving around in cars is not the best thing for a pregnant back," Lillian poured tea, sounding like the world's authority on the topic. "How was the scan? Everything as it should be?"
I'm going to be a father ... Sarah heard Mycroft's dazed voice in her head and smiled. "Everything was absolutely fine," she said. "The baby is growing like a weed and has definitely put on some serious mass since the last scan. My doctor was pleased with the way I was looking so much better too."
"Just as I said," Lillian sat, regarding the younger woman over the rim of her teacup. "All you needed was some time to relax and let your body catch up with all the things it was missing," she smiled triumphantly. "I knew it."
"You should write a book about your maternal experiences, my love," Bill returned, taking his seat at the kitchen table. "The BBC might make it into a television series."
"Oh shush," Lillian returned to the stove where a small saucepan was heating the soup. "When do you need to go back for your next appointment?"
"Six weeks," Sarah sat back as a steaming soup bowl was placed in front of her at the kitchen table. "And then back up again in time for the big day," she closed her eyes at the sublime taste of the soup. "Everything tastes so much better down here," she sighed, pulling apart a warm chunk of fresh bread and dipping some of it in the soup. "Anything exciting happen while I was away?"
"Well, Olivia Stave-Gordon came to call, as I well suspected she might," Lillian sat down at the table and watched Sarah eat. "That's some of her bread you're eating."
"It's fantastic," Sarah nibbled another piece. "I may have to make peace with the woman and get her recipe," she paused. "Which reminds me." Standing slowly, she moved across to the black duffle, digging inside for two packages. A heavy oblong and quite obviously book-shaped one for Bill and a squashy square package for Lillian. "I saw these and immediately thought of you, which means you were meant to have them."
"That's how things work, is it?" Bill smiled as he accepted the book, unwrapping the paper and putting his reading glasses on to see the smaller print below the title. "Sweet Dreams," he read, peering back at the young woman over the top of the frames. "Something I should know about?"
"It's got a really good recipe for Turkish Delight," Sarah grinned as she polished off the last of the bread and started on the soup. "I know you like it."
"Oh, and how lovely!" Lillian shook the Liberty gilet flat. "What an adorable piece of tweed," she murmured, feeling the soft woollen weave between her fingers. "Perfect for around the village. How very generous of you, my dear," she leaned over and kissed Sarah on the cheek.
About to point out that the gift was minor in the face of everything she'd already received from the both of them, they all paused at the sound of a car pulling into the drive.
"Well, who could that be at this hour?" Lillian waved Sarah back to her soup and Bill back to his book as she went to investigate who might want to visit them after dark.
"Mummy and I spent the last day cleaning out Mycroft's old room," Bill rested the big book on the table. "I said we'd already waited far too long for him to decide what to do with all his old stuff, so we boxed up all his school books and things and rehoused them in my shed," he said. "Then Mummy took a good couple of hours up there swearing quite creatively at things as she dusted," Bill dropped his voice. "Though I felt it best not to inquire at what, exactly," he grinned softly. "There's a bit more room up there for you and your things now though," he added. "Though if the stairs ever start to get too much, just say the word and we'll whisk you into the downstairs guest room."
"The stairs are no problem at ..." Sarah's words tailed off as Lillian returned from the front door in the process of unwrapping a very tiny clear plastic box that she held carefully in both her hands. Her face was strangely blank.
Bill rose to his feet. "Mummy?" he asked, immediately concerned. "Whatever's the matter?"
Shaking her head, Lillian simply passed the plastic box to her husband over Sarah's head. Lifting his reading glasses back up to his face, Bill examined the almost weightless plastic cube, seeing nothing inside, except ...
"Oh," his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He sat suddenly, as if strings had been cut. "Oh my goodness."
Staring first at Lillian and then her husband, Sarah was about to demand to know what was going on, when she saw Mycroft standing in the kitchen doorway, his arms full of a very large bouquet of flowers. The expression on his face was one of unmitigated satisfaction. Bill turned the cube so that Sarah could see inside. It was a pair of tiny baby's bootees. Blue ones.
"It's a boy," Mycroft announced formally, walking closer. "Sarah gave me permission to tell you after her visit to the clinic this afternoon and I was about to telephone ..." his mouth twitched. "However, I felt the occasion merited slightly more than a phone call."
Walking over to where Sarah was still seated at the table, he laid the flowers in front of her, watching her face and her eyes. "Thank you," his smile was so genuine, she felt her eyes burning again. Leaning down, he placed a soft kiss on her cheek. "This means so much to my parents," he murmured.
"Oh Mykie," Lillian pressed a hand across her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, my dearest Sarah," she whispered. "This is ... this is so wonderful ... Bill and I are just so ..."
"Well done, my dear," Bill cleared his throat and dropped his glasses to the table. "Very well done indeed."
"This is something you might want to add to the family photo-album," Mycroft reached inside his jacket, pulling out a stiff A4 envelope. Inside were several static prints from the downloaded scan, each one showing the baby in a different position. "There's no doubt he's a boy," he added dryly, handing over the final print to his mother.
"Oh, Sarah," Lillian reached for the younger woman, hugging her gently. "Thank you so much for this; it's the most marvellous news."
Having to blink her eyes clear, Sarah sucked down a deep breath. This was all a little intense and she cleared her throat. "I think Mycroft just wanted an excuse to be a bit of a drama queen," she explored the flowers covering half the table in front of her. Red and peach and white roses; Orange Ilex berries; the green-white of Amarylis and rusty Calla lily. The fragrance alone was stupendous, but the colours ... Looking up, she saw he was still watching her with those dark blues eyes of his, so like her own. "You've gone completely mad, you know," she smiled. "But these are gorgeous flowers, so your madness is to my advantage."
"I confess to still feeling a little giddy," Mycroft smiled, walking to the refrigerator and pulling out the special bottle of non-alcoholic Moet he knew his parents would have been keeping in there. Collecting a handful of slender glass flutes from the glass-cabinet, he removed the cork with a minimum of fuss and shared the bubbling golden liquid between them. "A toast," he handed a glass to Sarah and one to his mother as Bill reached for his own. "To the next generation," he offered simply.
"I drove directly here from London," Sarah noted after she'd sipped the wine, as delicious as it ever was. "And the motorway was fairly clear, so I made reasonable time. Even so, I've not been here more than half-an-hour," she said, looking at her wristwatch. "And I know you said you were returning to your own office ... you must have flown down to get here this quickly," Sarah raised both eyebrows, an amused expression on her face.
"We ... that is, Jack, may have used the special blue lights upon occasion ..." Mycroft sipped champagne and adopted an expedient innocence.
"Which is ethically and morally wrong of you," Lillian sat down and opened the diminutive plastic box, extracting the bootees, tiny even in her small fingers. "Though I think I can forgive you this once for abusing the power of your office," she added, her eyes filled with the miniature knitted items. "Have you thought of a name yet, Sarah?"
A name? Sarah felt her eyes open wide as the glass froze in her hand. There had been dozens and dozens of names and yet not a single one had stuck, not that she'd really made any sort of conscious choice in the matter since she hadn't known before today what kind of name she might even need to consider.
"I ...well, I ... Not really," she shook her head in all honesty. "Of course, I've had lots of different names go through my head, though none of them felt quite ... right," she looked up in time to see Mycroft hiding a faint smile behind his champagne glass. "None of the modern names really appeal, though there are a number of European boy's names I can consider now, of course."
"Lots of good, old-fashioned boys names out there," his emotions back on the level, Bill was once again seated at the kitchen table as Lillian was digging out her largest vase for the flowers. "Some good British ones, too. Enoch ... Jacob ... Zackery ... Joseph."
"All of which are biblical and hardly Anglo Saxon, father," refilling everyone's glass, Mycroft disposed of the empty bottle. "If that was your intention."
"Well, I think there are some lovely old names," Lillian half-filled a monster crystal vase with water, sliding the entire bouquet in as it was. Sarah could arrange it as she pleased in the morning. "Some really nice names from the States, if you were feeling in a Colonial frame of mind," she paused, thinking. "Thaddeus is rather lovely, I always thought. And Vaughn," she added. "Then, of course, there's Chandler ... Nixon's quite nice too."
Nixon?
As one, Sarah and Mycroft met each other's horrified gaze.
"Not Nixon, Mummy," he paused, watching Sarah struggling to keep her face straight. "And I'm fairly sure none of us need to supply any names at all; whatever Sarah selects will be fitting."
There was the faint sound of a car engine pulling up outside the farmhouse and Mycroft looked thoughtful. Jack was still in the Jaguar outside, having elected to stay in the warm car and read a few chapters of the latest popular thriller to hit the bookshops. Therefore, it was a second car. Glancing up at the large wood-framed clock on the kitchen wall, he saw that the hour was indeed growing late for visitors.
"Expecting anyone?" he asked quietly, turning his head to look at his mother.
"We weren't expecting you, and we certainly didn't think anyone else would be out here at this time of the evening," Lillian was already on the way out to the front door. "Edward's nice too," she called back over her shoulder. "How about Angus?"
There was the distant noise of the door being opened and Lillian's faint exclamation of surprise and welcome. The firm sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Mycroft looked suddenly weary.
"What about Angus?" Standing in the centre of the warm kitchen, swathed in a long, dark coat and peeling leather gloves away from his long fingers, Sherlock Holmes stared around, his gaze inevitably coming to rest on the unexpected stranger in the family bosom.