Note: PRAISE BE! Series two has officially begun on TV here in the UK. AT LAST! In honour of the occasion, have a cupcake.
Summary: Gold asks Moe for Belle's hand in marriage. Again, a lot of people wanted to see this one!
Whiskey Cake
Gold sat in the driver's seat of the black BMW, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and wishing he could open the bottle of Glenmorangie in the glove box for a little Dutch courage. He was parked outside a respectable-looking semi-detached house some hundred miles away from his own home, and he was waiting for the right moment. He'd been waiting for the right moment for a good twenty minutes now, and no doubt the neighbours were starting to wonder what in God's name he was doing.
He was seriously considering giving up and going back to Devon. After all, he and Belle were both consenting adults. It wasn't as if they couldn't get married without Moe's permission; it wasn't as if he needed to ask for the keys to her chastity belt.
No, Gold told himself crossly. He was going to do this properly.
Asking a man for his daughter's hand in marriage never got any easier, no matter how much experience one had. He'd never admit it, but he'd nearly fainted before facing up to his first father-in-law-to-be. It had taken him several attempts to speak to Liz's father, the first few failing because he had got blind drunk beforehand and said would-be fiancée had had to take him home to sleep it off before he could embarrass himself. By the time he had actually got through the meeting in one piece, Liz had been left in no doubt of what he had been trying to achieve. At least this time, downing the whiskey was absolutely not an option, but there were still at least twenty different ways in which he could make a fool of himself. Gold tried to rationalise. On the one hand, he was twenty-six years older and wiser now than he had been then. He had a respectable career, rather than being just out of training, earning a fraction of his current salary and living above a dry-cleaners. On the other hand…
He was still rehearsing what he was going to say once he actually left the car when a knock on the passenger window startled him. Gold tuned to see Moe French peering through the passenger window with a look that was partly confused, partly amused, and partly reserving judgement.
On the other hand, Moe was about a foot taller than he was, and infinitely broader, and he was holding a pair of secateurs that were rather sharp looking. Gold opened the window.
"Good morning, Mr French," he said, as brightly as he could manage, which, he admitted, wasn't that much.
"Where's Belle?" Moe asked. He peered into the car, looking at the boot rather suspiciously as if he expected to hear his daughter's muffled screams for help.
"She's on a library training course all week," Gold said.
"Did she send you with a message?" Moe asked drily.
"She, erm, doesn't know I'm here," Gold admitted. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell her."
Moe raised an eyebrow. "Right… Gold, you've been parked outside my house talking to yourself for nearly half an hour. D'you want to come in?"
Not really, Gold thought to himself. He was nice and safe and not likely to be castrated with a pair of secateurs if he was in his car. He could very easily stick it in reverse and run away at the first sign of violence on Moe's part. On the other hand, he was never going to get anywhere if he simply fled the scene in panic like he was tempted to do, and the idea of having to make the entire journey again was not a particularly favourable one.
So he let go of the steering wheel, took his foot off the clutch and, however reluctantly, got out of the car, bringing the whiskey with him. He followed Moe into the house that had been Belle's childhood home, and took the offered seat at the kitchen table.
"Now, in my experience," Moe began, "men normally only visit their girlfriends' fathers without their knowledge for one of two reasons. Since Belle's already had her birthday and Christmas is still over six months away, I doubt it's the 'please help me plan a surprise for her' option. So I'm assuming it's the other option. Then again, you and Belle could never be accused of being normal. So tell me, are you here for the reason I think you're here for?"
Gold took a deep breath to try and avoid his words coming out as one long, incomprehensible jumble and being made to repeat himself.
"I would like your permission to marry your daughter, Mr French."
"I thought that's why you were here." Moe put a cup of tea down in front of Gold and exchanged the whiskey for the sugar bowl. He unsealed the cap and took a sniff of the spirit. "Good stuff, this. Excellent choice for a bribe." He added a dash to his own mug and sat down opposite Gold.
Gold, who never normally took sugar in tea, added three spoonfuls for want of something to do with his nervous fingers. He held the older man's gaze, willing him to say something. Anything. At this point he'd take a flat out refusal over the heavy silence that was gradually enveloping the room. The silence was the worst part. Gold knew human nature; he'd said as much to Moe on the first occasion that they met, by accident. He knew that silence in circumstances such as these was not necessarily a good thing.
"Well, my answer really depends," Moe said levelly.
"On what?" Gold managed, rather glad when the words didn't come out as the squeak they could have done.
"On whether or not your intentions are honourable." Moe calmly sipped his tea. "You know Belle's been married before. And you know the circumstances that led to her very short engagement."
Gold nodded, unsure where this was going.
"Gary married Belle because he felt – well, his family felt – that in the circumstances it was the honourable thing to do," Moe continued. "And it was. It was the honourable thing to do. But not necessarily the best thing. We all found that out with hindsight. So, Gold, my question to you is, are your intentions honourable, or good? Because I've learned my lesson, and I won't allow Belle to be coerced into wedlock if she doesn't think it's a good idea, no matter how honourable the intent is. It ruined her life once, and it won't happen again."
Gold finally found his voice, which had been hiding in the back of his throat somewhere during Moe's grave speech.
"Belle's not pregnant," he blurted out, and immediately regretted it. Not subtle, Gold, not subtle… However blunt, the words did seem to make Moe relax slightly. Gold took a deep breath and continued. He felt that at this moment in time, less was more, and the less he talked, the more likely he was to succeed instead of metaphorically putting his foot in it, so he chose his words carefully.
"I want to marry her because I want to marry her, not because I have to marry her."
Moe frowned and waved the secateurs, which he had not let go of once during their exchange.
"If you hurt her, I will hunt you down with the most painful gardening implements I can find and you'll never look at a T-handled dibber in the same way again," he said.
"Understood," Gold replied weakly. "But you'll have to fight my aunt for castration rights, she's already threatened me once." Moe gave a snort of laughter and with it the tension in the room began to break. "Mr French, I love Belle and want to spend the rest of my life with her. That's pretty much it."
Moe sighed and sipped his laced tea.
"Belle and I have always been close," he said. "I know her inside out, or I like to think I do. She can certainly read me as easily as one of her books. I have to say it, she's more alive with you than she ever was with Gary." He laughed again. "Really, I'm the last person who should judge. I know exactly how you're feeling. I had it worse, I was only six years younger than my prospective father-in-law." He reached across, holding out his hand. "Welcome to the family."
Gold shook it and took a gulp of tea to calm his nerves. He was instantly reminded of why he didn't take sugar and grimaced, looking longingly at the whiskey standing on the table between them. He'd forgotten what Belle had said, way back on their first date – there was the same age gap between them as there had been between her own parents. He mentally kicked himself for worrying that Moe would baulk at the idea of a middle-aged man wanting his beautiful young daughter.
It hadn't been so bad. It could certainly have been an awful lot worse.
Now all he had to do was ask Belle.
You are welcome to Google a T-handled dibber to see precisely why and how one could be painful…