Thank you very much, 'Tis The Fairy, for your helpful review and I hope that this chapter lives up to your expectations. I'm dedicating this chapter to Rosslyn and JessTheGeek, two lovely reviewers. This chapter does focus a little less on humour, but there is some good plot progression and, as requested, more Stewart.
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Inside the conference hall Nicola Murray stood presiding over teams of journalists, camera crew and representatives from a variety of groups linked to the family unit in British society. She was announcing her initiative that would investigate how accurate the assumption the nuclear family was predominant and the ways in which family life would change in recent years. The Secretary of State was clearly at ill ease and stumbled over her wording several times during the first half hour minutes. Her eyes didn't even venture towards the seething Malcolm Tucker, standing at the back of the room, because she knew that he would be wearing his bollocking face and simply couldn't deal with it at the moment.
"And so with this information, the government will be well equipped to... better equipped to deal with the, um, the way in which families of all shapes and sizes can be taken into account in policy." The final slide on her presentation appeared belatedly on the screen as she clicked. It couldn't have gone worse and Malcolm knew that the opposition would pick up on the poor delivery of the initiative. "I'll take any questions you have now." Nicola gave a forced smile in an attempt to appear at ease, only highlighting her own discomfort. A couple of rows from the front, Angela Heaney raised her hand and Nicola indicated that she should speak.
"Secretary of State, you say that upon the conclusion of the report, which you predicted will conclude in ten months from now, the government will utilise the information gathered to better serve families in the form of policy?" Nicola nodded. "Are you certain that a Conservative government would do so? After all, if Labour are voted out at the next general election this could be a gross misuse of the taxpayers' money, something that should be considered carefully in this economic situation." The faux smile slipped from Nicola's face and her eyes darted towards Malcolm. Surely she saw that this was a good opportunity to dig a hole for the opposition- they would be hounded with allegations of being out of touch if they ignored the report. Several moments passed until he nodded slowly, fury etched onto his features due to the fact that several people had turned to note what the Secretary of State was staring at with such intent.
"No- I mean yes, we won't be wasting money and we will, of course we will stay in government." Angela Heaney smiled her inscrutable Mona Lisa smile, which didn't make Nicola feel any better about giving her an answer. There was nothing more to be done with Nicola for now and so he went out to wait for her in the car. The question and answer session continued for another tense ten minutes during which time Malcolm had plenty of time to consider everything that the minister had done wrongly, in particular drawing attention to him. He didn't turn around as she got in and fastened her seatbelt.
"Malcolm, I don't think it's that bad, do you?" He ceased filing through his blackberry and considered this point.
"You know, when little kiddies with fucking AIDS or cancer come out with something like that it would warm my fucking heart, if I had one, but when you say that it just makes me realise how much of a fucking disgrace your are when it comes to this job." Why the hell did he even bother? The remainder of the journey passed in something close to silence, Nicola's infrequent sniffing the only noise in the car.
****
Despite the scandal that had surrounded her less than twenty four hours ago, Natalie Ward sat relaxed at her desk and had just emailed Peter his suitably scathing response to Nicola Murray's press conference when her phone rang. An unknown number was flashing on the screen. Quickly putting her laptop into hibernation, she answered.
"Hello?"
"Hello darling, did you miss me?" An increasingly familiar Scottish accent made its way into her ear. Although she knew logically that nobody else could hear his voice, Natalie was extremely wary about her recent infamy being rekindled, especially if she was seen talking to Malcolm Tucker inside the office.
"You! How did you get my number?" Laughter sounded on the other end of the line. "I'm going to kill Ollie." As though making good on her threat, Natalie began to make her way outside- it didn't feel right talking to the government's spin doctor within the sanctity of opposition walls.
"However much as I'd love to see Harry Potter, without the fucking special powers and female fan club mind you, getting eviscerated, I feel I should tell you that the blame lies solely with your lovely, paranoid self." Natalie could have kicked herself for giving him access to her blackberry; there was no telling what he could have found if he had her phone number. She was reminded that one must always be on guard with Malcolm Tucker.
"That wasn't bad insofar as backhanded compliments go, particularly not from you. What do you want now?" There was no question that he did want something.
"You watched all of the conference, I presume? Of course you did; it's like a fucking stuttering car accident; you can't not look at it." Natalie nearly fell headfirst down the stairs in shock; the government's spin doctor was admitting imperfection to a member of the opposite camp. Such an admission was surely calculated.
"A- Are you sure you should be telling me this?" Malcolm gave an audible sigh, perhaps exasperated by the delicate attempt to remind him where they stood, and perhaps because he was tired with DoSaC.
"Listen, could you be an absolute fucking angel and not draw to much attention to it?"
"There's about as much chance of that as an altar boy surviving a night unmolested in the Vatican." Waiting for an angry string of expletives and a dialling tone, Natalie wandered aimlessly around the pavement.
"Should've known, eh?" Still he didn't hang up.
"Yeah..." This was the most disquieting call she had since the last time her mother had phoned and asked about her lack of social life and the soul destroying nature of politics.
"Well you're just as talkative as a fucking dead parrot."
"I'm... sorry?" Why was he still speaking to her? It was so bizarre that it might just fall in line with reality.
"How are things in die Fuhrer bunker?"
"Well, I followed your advice and everything seems to be back to normal... how's your day going?" There was surely no harm in considering this performance of stilted semi-politeness. After a moment's hesitation she decided against asking if he had managed to escape the eyes of the media and ignored the beginnings of guilt. Unlike Malcolm, she didn't have the power to help.
"Fanfuckingtastic. Soon I'm going to have to pack my factor fifty hack repellent lotion and swimming trunks for Eastbourne." Considering the amount of strain Malcolm would be under to ensure that the massive PR exercise was a success, Natalie realised, the distinct lack of enthusiasm he displayed was only to be expected. Keeping an entire cabinet of MPs in the clear would take more finesse and strength of will than she could imagine any human being capable of maintaining on a daily basis.
"Can I ask why you're having the party conference there?"
"Truthfully I haven't a fucking clue seeing as it's about as fashionable as deciding to black up in the middle of fucking Harlem. Listen, I'm glad everything's sorted, okay? We'll talk later." The line went dead. Natalie gave her phone a bemused look before pocketing it and returning to the office.
****
"'Yes Minister at Westminster'- that's from the Guardian, 'Help Me, You Tucker'- the Sun, surprisingly, 'Murray Reveals Lack of Initiative', the Times are actually pretty good at this, and from the Daily Telegraph we have 'Minister-'" Ollie tossed the evening papers onto Nicola's desk one by one and she closed her eyes, interrupting his spiel.
"This isn't the time, Ollie. Tomorrow Malcolm is going to slaughter me slowly and painfully and I'd just like to go home and enjoy my last day on earth with my unsupportive fucking family." Watching Nicola looking so defeated Ollie felt slightly sheepish. He decided to attempt to offer some form of comfort in order to ingratiate himself with the minister.
"Right... would you- would you like a lemon zinger, Nicola?" She gave no response.
"Okay..." Ollie left the small office as quickly as he could without appearing to break into a run. He rounded the corner and headed towards the coffee machine only to see Malcolm Tucker drinking from a steaming polyester cup. "Hello Malcolm, seen the papers yet?" Ollie winced only slightly as he caught the brunt of the Scotsman's glare. "Stupid question."
"Never mind stupid fucking questions, what about well and truly fucking stupid answers?" More irate than usual, Malcolm stormed over towards the minister's office. "What is this, fucking minister protection services? She's getting a royal bollocking whether you like it or not, Glenn, so get out of my fucking way before I ram the evening papers so far down your throat that you'll be shitting headlines." Nicola appeared behind her defender, placing a pacifying hand on Glenn's shoulder.
"Malcolm is all this really necessary, only I-" Ollie almost jumped out of his skin as Malcolm interrupted her.
"YES! All this is absolutely fucking necessary when you manage to stutter and stammer your way on to the fucking front page and drag my name up there with it. Congratulations, Nicola, because now the whole of Great Britain knows that without me you're about as much use as an insensitive, retarded Councillor Troi aboard the political equivalent of the USS Fucking Enterprise." Glenn decided to give in and wisely stepped out of Malcolm's way.
"Why is this my fault? You're the one that insisted on coming along in the first place." Malcolm's eyes widened, giving him the appearance of being mentally deranged to the point of borderline psychotic. He struggled to process what Nicola was suggesting due to the magnitude of his fury.
"My fault- MY FUCKING FAULT? No, you were not supposed to look in my fucking direction, you were supposed to fucking... pretend I didn't exist for about an hour, which by the way I know is one of your dearest wishes so why you failed to do something so obvious, so simple, is beyond me." Shaking his head as though he could banish the seed of doubt Nicola had planted, Malcolm continued. "You are supposed to understand everything you announced, because the general public so foolishly believe that you are the brains behind this despite the fact that a fucking paraplegic sloth is probably quicker than you are." The minister looked crestfallen, and as he opened his mouth to continue reprimanding her, the realisation that his name could have remained out of the spotlight with just a little foresight on his part hit Malcolm like a tonne weight. As the realisation that he had screwed up dawned, the stream of insults died on the tip of his tongue. Wordlessly Malcolm turned and made his way towards the stairs, leaving a shocked silence in his wake.
****
Life continued and after a couple of weeks, Malcolm ceased to second guess his every move and accepted his mistake as a one off. Nobody from DoSaC felt the slightest urge to rock the boat by mentioning it, and so the incident passed without further mention. The party conference passed with a million little problems, none of which surfaced thanks to a Herculean effort on Malcolm's part along with a series of threats, lies and machinations that would have made Machiavelli proud. Only once did he snap and punch Glenn on the face, but even that was better than any of his charges making any fuck ups.
After the conference passed Malcolm was more than happy to return home, albeit only for six hours of sleep, a shower and a change of clothes before leaving for Number 10. There was something cathartic about returning to the advancement of numerous plots and intrigues. After a morning spent in a meeting with Tom and then setting things straight at the Home Office, in other words putting the fear of God into the minister that was rumoured to be planning a leadership bid, Malcolm decided to go out and continue cultivating his latest insurance policy. He filed through the contacts on his Blackberry.
"Hello, Natalie?" There was a pause during which he imagined her greenish eyes widening in surprise as she tried to think of something to say. "I told you we'd speak again."
"Yes, well there was no way of telling if you actually meant it."
"Are your lot prepared for the conference?"
"Of course we are after your performance- as an aide I don't want things to get all rushed and stressful for my superiors because I'd rather avoid being hit." Malcolm grimaced as he was reminded of his spectacular lapse in self control.
"You can't prove anything."
"There's no smoke without fire." He bit back the acerbic reply on the tip of his tongue and ignored her impish teasing tone, remembering just how useful Natalie would be to him. She laughed without a hint of the sneer Malcolm knew he would be giving, were their situations reversed. "My God, you really did hit him; I hadn't believed it at first. What happened?"
"Do you really want to know?" There was a moment's confused hesitation before she answered.
"Well, yeah." Malcolm had a surprising impulse which he decided to follow- such inclinations were invariably a gamble, but paid off spectacularly more often than not.
"Then have dinner with me when you get back from Brighton, and I'll tell you everything." The words had left his mouth half processed, and the sense of frustration was almost a taste in his mouth.
"Malcolm, I- I just can't." The Insurance Policy sounded flustered, as though the suggestion had gotten under her skin. He knew that this could either be very good or truly dreadful, and that the stakes had just been raised. It was exactly the response he had expected but Malcolm knew he could change her mind with relative ease.
"Why the fuck not?"
"Because... because I..." Natalie sighed. "Malcolm is this dinner as in dinner of is it just dinner?"
"It sounds like you've been spending too much time with that mincing fuck Stewart." It wasn't going to be difficult for her to believe that it wasn't a romantic request, all things given, nor that he was ignorant of the significance of dinner style dinner. "Trust me, after a couple of days running around after Mannion you'll need something to look forward to. I was thinking Chinese, but if you'd prefer something else..."
"Alright then." He couldn't suppress a smile as everything fell into place. "This is a terrible idea, but if it's anything like last year's party conference then dinner with you will probably be a welcome distraction."
"Good luck out there. Keep Peter on a short leash, yeah? What with all the queers there he'll be more excited than a blind man in a fucking fish market."
"Lovely analogy... Bye." Malcolm's feeling of immense satisfaction at a job well done drained as he registered the caller ID on his ringing blackberry: Fatty. It was going to be a long day, but then every day was.
****
It was with more attention than he would ever usually have done so that Malcolm watched the Shadow Social Affairs speech, and he had to concede that it was slightly less awful than he had anticipated. It was a shame that the girl whose career he was probably going to bomb in the event of his own ever needing a boost was actually competent, which was more than could be said for quite a few advisors on both sides of the divide. Still, until it was curtains for Natalie he could enjoy her. No longer did Malcolm entertain any delusions about it- she was perfectly lovely and he could use her in more than one way. For whatever reasoning the girl had agreed to have dinner with him, and that in his view made her perfectly fair game for anyone cunning enough to take advantage.
"Sam," he called through the double doors, "Sam could you get me the number for a Chinese? A good one, mind you- I don't really fancy eating the fucking dog's bollocks." Used to his unusual requests, Sam answered with something that he took to be assent, and sure enough after a few minutes a box appeared on the screen of his desktop announcing that he had a new email. Listed were four Chinese restaurants within minutes of his house, all of which had good reviews that his PA had quoted in the message. Malcolm minimised the draft of Tom's speech that he was looking over and considered- he hadn't specified the area he wanted the food from, and Sam had made a reasonable assumption in selecting shops so close to his home. It hadn't been part of the plan to bring Natalie to his place, but giving her a glimpse into his life could work to his advantage.
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"What was the point of this conference?" Stewart paced leisurely across the carpeted floor of Peter's hotel room and waited for his audience to answer. After days of his mind numbing talks on synergy and the culmination of her visit to Brighton, Peter's speech, Natalie was beginning to ask herself the same question. "I want each of you to close your eyes and think about whether or not you've achieved the goals you set yourself when we arrived."
"Are you- are you being serious, Stewart?" Peter was wearing his slightly confused expression that reminded her vaguely of a severely depressed Eeyore. Stewart inhaled deeply before answering the member of the shadow cabinet.
"Peter, we agreed that this was an opportunity for you to connect with the general public and for you to continue to do that successfully, you need to give me positive energy. I'm currently feeling a lot of negative energy from you, and if you don't change your attitude then I'm going to have to start a team building exercise, an-"The threat of another space hopper race or something equally beneath his dignity was enough to spur the one time cabinet minister into gear.
"Alright, alright." Peter clenched his eyes closed and Phil followed suit, adopting a similarly tense pose in a subconscious effort to mimic his idol. Emma rolled her eyes before shutting them and finally Natalie followed suit, shifting to get comfortable- they were going to be here for a long time. "That's good, Natalie. I'm loving the Buddha positioning." After a moment it occurred to her that Stewart was referring to her crossed legs and she resisted the petulant temptation to alter their position. Phil coughed. Someone scratched.
"And chillax. Peter, what was this conference to you?"
"Erm...a way to put myself back in the public eye" He tried to give a discreet look to Emma as though to ask if this was the kind of answer Stewart wanted.
"Peter, are you trying to highlight your own emotional ignorance?" The advisor was met with blank stares from his colleagues. The connection between emotion and relevance in politics wasn't one that she could make with ease, but Stewart looked completely shocked by the apparently controversial statement.
"What?" Emma looked as baffled as Natalie felt.
"I'm sorry Stewart, but I don't quite follow what you mean." Instead of watching Peter struggle, Natalie picked at a loose thread at the duvet and tried to think of what else her boss could do to connect with a modern audience.
"As a minister you should be an emotionally intelligent man, now please try and act like it." She gave a delicate shrug as Mannion looked to her for help, and Phil simply shook his head when their boss turned to look at him. "Do you actually look up any of the links I send you, any of you?" The silence answered for them. "Peter, what personal goal have you set for yourself?"
"This conference I would have liked to reassert my relevance in daily politics and I feel that I have done so to some degree." Stewart nodded thoughtfully, stroking his chin.
"Emotionally you are mensa, Peter. Humble as well as hopeful- just what we need."
"Thank you Stewart, and now that we've.... bonded over the conference," the strategic use of a buzzword to make Stewart more receptive to his message reminded Natalie that Peter was a politician, "I think it would be a good idea for us to see how the press received my speech, don't you?" Phil made a dive for the remote controller of the television.
"I'll just go and get my laptop." Seeing a window of opportunity open, Natalie sprung from the bed and moved out of the room before Stewart could object. She walked to her room at a perfectly relaxed pace and sifted through the inbox of her phone. Tapping her painted nails against the buttons she replied to Emma's 'How shit do you think this will turn out?' and almost dropped the phone as she saw that there was a text from Malcolm Tucker. There was an address, presumably the restaurant he was planning on taking her to, and a time, 7 p.m.
Ever since he had invited her out for dinner she had felt mildly dazed- dinner with Malcolm Tucker was not an every day occurance. He hadn't specified what kind of dinner it was, but it was a combination of curiosity and a rare display of capriciousness that motivated her to reply back and confirm. What were they going to talk about over dinner? They worked for different parties, had different ideals and there was a generational gap the size of the Grand Canyon. Despite this, Natalie couldn't help but anticipate a break from Stewart's endless pep talks and Peter's inability to actually do anything without a hand holding. Shaking her head, she slid the electronic key past the receptor and glided into her hotel room, determined to stop thinking about her plans for the evening.
****
The speech had been well received in comparison to Nicola Murray's, and that was the only thing that mattered in politics. All during the train ride home she watched the responses from the main news channels and checked the comments on Peter's site to gauge where he stood with the general public. Every so often her mind would wander to Malcolm Tucker and she would try yet again to fathom his indecipherable motive for asking her to dinner. It seemed surreal that once her train reached the station she would be getting a taxi to wherever it was they were going to eat and spending her evening with the government's safety raft. It wouldn't matter if anybody heard about this because nobody would believe it; Malcolm was legendary for his aggressive behaviour and intense loyalty to the government he served- social niceties were not something anybody could imagine him caring about, and spending his free time with an employee of the opposition, the enemy camp, was more ludicrous still.
The train ground to a halt and Natalie pulled the handle up from her little suitcase, moving out onto the platform. She was rejuvenated by the fresh air rippling past as the train pulled away and she headed for the taxi rank. Opening the door to the nearest one, Natalie slid into the passenger seat and rested the travel case across her lap as she gave the address to her flat.
"Back from a trip somewhere?"
"Brighton. It was alright." The remainder of the journey passed in silence broken only by the light background music and chatter of BBC Radio 2. "Can you wait here while I put this inside?" The cabbie nodded and she climbed out onto the pavement, running up the stairs. Keeping a taxi downstairs was an extravagance Natalie wasn't used to, and it was partly in her excitement to be back at the flat, and partly because she was conscious of the meter raising the price of her journey. With a familiar click the door unlocked and the quiet inside her home let Natalie know that Phil and Emma still hadn't made it back. Being alone, completely without company, had become almost a luxury after spending the last year of her life almost constantly surrounded by people. She dumped the case on the floor of her bedroom and as she started back towards the door caught sight of her wardrobe, left ajar from the hasty packing for Brighton.
Before she had time to process the action, Natalie had slipped out of her tailored suit to replace it with a pair of jeans and a smart casual top, impulsively reaching back to release her hair from the comb that was causing the beginnings of a headache. As she caught sight of herself in the mirror, dressed as she would be for any outing with friends, it occurred to Malcolm would think she had made an effort for him. She almost laughed aloud, banishing the thought and then froze, realising that the taxi was still waiting. Never before, even on the days it had looked as though she was going to be late for work, had Natalie made it down the stairs so quickly.
"Going somewhere nice?" She relayed the address given in the text message.
"I'm going for Chinese." The driver caught sight of her applying a fresh coat of lipstick in the rear view mirror.
"With a friend, or..." Natalie snorted.
"Just a friend, and barely even that." The taxi slowed, but all that she could see on the street they were on was a row of nice looking houses on each side fronted by gardens. "Why are you stopping here?"
"This is it, see?" He gestured towards the house they were parked in front of and sure enough it was the right house number. Natalie reached into her purse and handed over enough money to cover her fare. "Have a good time."
Clutching her purse, she stood and exited the taxi, night air cool around her. She couldn't help but look back as it pulled off. Her only option now was to investigate the house, which was most definitely not a Chinese restaurant. Had Malcolm sent her on a fool's errand? The thought filled her with rage, and so it was that Natalie pulled back the gate with slightly more force than necessary and made her way along the garden path leading up to the front door. Before she could knock the door, it swung open to reveal Malcolm Tucker, and her poised fist fell limply to her side.
"Natalie, I was beginning to wonder if you couldn't find the fucking place, come in." He stood back and allowed her entry to what she now realised to be his house.
"What's going on, Malcolm? You said we were going to meet at a Chinese." He raised his eyebrows and looked at her, still stood on the doorstep, as though she was a confused elderly relative.
"I asked you to have dinner with me, but I didn't specify where. You agreed anyway." Malcolm placed a hand on her arm and gently pulled her inside, closing the door behind her. Still bewildered, she didn't resist. "Now you're here we might as well make a fucking start on dinner, eh? It got here a few minutes before you." He disappeared down the landing and into another room, voice drifting along the corridor. The thought that she was standing in the home of the Malcolm Tucker was simply too strange for her to process. Moments later he reappeared in the doorway. "You coming or what?" Her legs obeyed the government's main strategist and Natalie followed him into the living room. As though waiting for someone to jump out and shout 'April Fool!' she stood by the bookcase covering the wall and took in the broad range of titles in the vast collection, eying the tasteful decor and variety of sculptures. A Rolling Stones CD played in the background.
"Alright, this may leave your arteries as furry as the fucking hybrid offspring of a bearded homeless man and his dog, but I have it on good authority that it's going to taste fantastic." She trailed after the sound of his voice and followed Malcolm through the kitchen into what she now saw to be a dining room. He set two final plates of steaming, greasy Chinese food between the two set places. Natalie sat opposite him and watched as Malcolm forked steaming noodles, rice, spring rolls and the traditional Oriental delicacy of deep fried chips onto his plate. With incredible restraint Natalie nibbled on a prawn cracker and tried to make sense of her current surroundings. "It would have been really fucking impressive if I'd cooked all this, but then you'd have to check it for poison." She ceased chewing, feeling slightly queasy. Malcolm laughed uproariously at her shocked expression and she spooned some of each dish onto her plate, feeling slightly foolish. The familiar greasy taste of chow mein noodles was comforting, and after a couple of mouthfuls she felt calm enough to speak.
"So, why did you hit Glenn?" Malcolm's hand paused midway to the sweet and sour sauce, and the look that he gave her reminded Natalie that she'd stepped into the lion's den.
"Julie Price." So it had been her.
"What, did the pair of you get lonely or something? Decide that what happens in Eastbourne stays in Eastbourne?"
"Have you seen her? She looks like she's been beaten half to death with the ugly stick then had it shoved right up her arse. I can do a bit better that that thank you, darling." Natalie shot him a challenging look as if to answer 'if you say so', but it faded as she recalled the "dinner" issue.
"You know that this doesn't mean anything, right? It's just dinner." He frowned and ran a finger around the rim of his glass.
"You... you think I'm trying to pick you up?" His eyes were unreadable.
"Well, what are you doing then?" Both of them successfully evaded giving a direct answer.
"Have dinner. Meet someone I don't find completely fucking despicable, which in case you haven't noticed can be pretty difficult in this line of work." It actually did seem like a plausible explanation- it wasn't only Malcolm who was frustrated by the incompetence of those around him. The amount of time Natalie found herself spending with people she couldn't stand was a sobering thought to her.
"So I'm only marginally despicable then- good to know, I suppose. Now why did you two fight over Julie Price?"
"Tom needed something for his speech."
"Tom... As in Tom Davis- the Prime Minister?" Malcolm fixed her with the most withering glance he could muster whilst attempting to fill a prawn cracker with rice. Nothing had prepared him for how green, how fresh to the whole thing Natalie was.
"No, Tom the fucking friendly neighbourhood child molester."
"Point taken. I just... didn't expect you to call him Tom. He's the Prime Minister."
"Christ, and what do you call the leader of your party?"
"God, usually. Sometimes Yahweh- that's just for a bit of variation. But he doesn't associate with the lowly minions like me. I reckon I need to make it to at least Stewart's level before that happens."
"No. For starters you're too fucking posh to pull off being a hippie."
"Thanks, Malcolm."
"Well you are."
"Is that what tips the scales and puts me in the outer fringes of Camp Despicable, then?"
"Maybe." They finished the meal without further discussion. "Will you stay for coffee?" Natalie considered the wisdom of his offer. She was surprisingly relaxed with Malcolm, which was slightly disconcerting, and there was no way she could afford to let any information cross sides.
"I can't." The look Malcolm gave her suggested that he knew perfectly well why she was leaving and that he found it mildly amusing.
"Suit yourself. I'll phone you a taxi."
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