I was asked by a few people for a sequel to Girl Stuff, with Fraser and Thatcher at the Vecchios' for dinner, so here it is - maybe this'll teach people to ask me for stories!
Usual disclaimers etc.
Nik
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They sat together in the parked car, watching the lights of the house, saying little. Fraser was waiting for her, patiently but expectantly, and he had taken the precaution of driving them himself. It was an unspoken but unmistakable warning: no escape was possible.
"So..." They both knew she was stalling for time. "Who's going to be there?"
"Not everyone. Ray, of course, and Mrs Vecchio, Francesca, Maria, Maria's husband Tony and their children."
"Oh, boy." Meg forced herself to breathe deeply, evenly.
"You know, it's not that bad," Fraser told her encouragingly, with his usual inability to lie convincingly. "I admit that I was a little... overwhelmed when I first met them, but you're better prepared, and you know Ray and Francesca already."
She stared at him in frank disbelief. "I thought you were trying to make me feel better." She sighed, and put her hand on the door. "Come on, then, before I change my mind."
He had to hurry to catch up with her as she strode up to the house. Characteristically, once she had made the decision to go, she was charging headlong into the root of her anxieties. Her face was set, braced for anything; hardly the usual expression of a dinner guest. He smiled under cover of darkness, and bent to speak to her, earnestly. "You know, Meg, if you do feel like things are too much for you, you could always semaphore me."
For a brief second, she pictured herself and Fraser, arms flailing like manic windmills, in a horde of oblivious Vecchios. 'Subtle' and 'semaphore' were not compatible words. She gave him her tight, deceptively patient smile, the one that people who knew her fled from in droves, and said sweetly, "Do you know what I love most about you, Ben?"
He was impervious to that smile, and matched it with an amused one of his own. "What?"
"Not your sense of humour."
He laughed, softly, a rarity for him. "You're going to be fine." He touched her shoulder lightly, and pressed the doorbell.
They heard an immediate reaction inside the house, voices raised suddenly in excitement, but there was a long pause before Ray opened the door. He smiled at them, seemingly unaware that a small child had a death grip on his right leg. "Hey, Benny," his grin widened and grew impish, "Meg. Come on in." He managed to walk reasonably normally, casually ignoring the ballast on his leg. "I hope you're hungry; Ma's been cooking all day."
They followed him inside, but the Canadians both stopped short at the threshold of the living room, unnerved by the sight of the Vecchio clan staring fixedly at them. Mrs Vecchio approached as Ray began the introductions, hugging Fraser enthusiastically and kissing him on both cheeks. "So, Benton, this is your fiancee..."
She turned her beam on Meg, all warmth and welcome. Heartened, Meg smiled back, and held out her hand. Mrs Vecchio ignored it to inspect her thoroughly from head to toe. Deciding in her favour, she suddenly engulfed her in her ample arms, chattering all the while in Italian. Meg, smothering, turned desperate eyes to Fraser, but he could only shrug helplessly.
The detective's mother eventually stepped back, holding her at arm's length to study her again, obviously waiting for a response. Meg gave her a bewildered smile, apologetic; the only words she had caught were "cara" and Ben's name. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."
Mrs Vecchio looked confusedly from her to her son. "But Ray told me you speak four languages."
"Well, yes, but none of them is Italian."
"Oh." Mrs Vecchio stared at her, vaguely disappointed. Meg glanced back at Fraser for support; he raised an eyebrow and shrugged again, almost imperceptibly. Ray caught the exchange and stepped in to rescue them. "Now they're here, we can go eat, hey, Ma?"
His mother brightened again and took Meg by the arm to lead her into the dining room, unceremoniously pushing her over-eager son-in-law aside. "Meg first, Tony, she's our special guest tonight."
"You're such a pig," Francesca glared at him. "Don't you have any manners?"
"Hey, don't speak like that to my husband!" Maria flared, shifting her baby from one hip to another. "Tony, go get the high chair."
"Here you are, Meg." Mrs Vecchio gestured at one end of the table. "You sit there, and Benton, you can sit at the other end, so we can see you both."
Ray sniggered as Meg cast a silent appeal at Fraser, and then turned back to Mrs Vecchio. Grasping at straws, she tried, "I thought we'd be sitting together...?"
"That's so sweet!" Frannie gushed, her hand over her heart, as she led Fraser inexorably away. "Isn't that sweet, Ray?"
"Yeah," he laughed dryly. "Really touching."
"No, no," Mrs Vecchio was shaking her head, knowingly. "I want to be able to talk to you. If you sit together, the world could crumble and you wouldn't notice. Raimondo! Help her to her seat!"
He obeyed, pulling out her chair with an exaggerated flourish. "Here you are, Inspector."
She glowered at him, but sat; there weren't many options. From where she was placed, the entire Vecchio family had her in full view. It was alarmingly like facing a firing squad. Something tugged at her sleeve, and she looked down to see some of Maria's children staring intently at her. She smiled at them, trying to look friendly and relaxed, and that seemed to be their cue to attack.
"Uncle Ray says you're a Mountie, too. Do you have a hat?"
"Well, yes, I do..."
"Do you have a siren on your car?"
"Why aren't you wearing it?"
"I'm off-duty, and as an inspector..."
"Do you have a wolf, too?"
"Do you have a gun? Have you ever killed anyone?"
"You're Fraser's boss, right?"
"I'm his superior officer in the force..."
"So you can tell him what to do? Did you tell him to marry you?"
"Actually, no, we..."
"Aunt Frannie's in love with Fraser. Are you going to fight her?"
"Dominic!" This was from Francesca, outraged.
"Can you make him do anything you want?"
Meg looked around at the Vecchios, trying to follow the tangled threads of heated conversations, while at the opposite end of the table, Fraser smiled disarmingly back at her. "That's a very valid question," she muttered darkly, conceding defeat with the children.
Someone handed her a large plate of food. She was about to serve herself and pass it on when she realised in dismay that it was her serve, and that there were more dishes in the middle of the table, waiting to be eaten.
"So, Meg," Mrs Vecchio smiled encouragingly at her. "How are the plans for the wedding going?"
"Oh, er..."
"And your dress! Tell me about it!"
"Actually..."
"Ma!" Maria gestured towards the other end of the table in warning. "Fraser's here; he's not supposed to know about it."
"Oh, why not," Tony demanded through his food. "He's gonna be paying for it."
Francesca gave her brother-in-law a scornful look, informing him loftily, "Meg has a career of her own, you know."
"Well?" Mrs Vecchio was aglow with curiosity. "Tell me about the dress."
Meg studied her plate, pushing pieces of food around, and hoped her voice was too low to be heard. "I won't be wearing a dress."
No luck; the Vecchios were used to holding conversations in the familial equivalent of the Blitz. Ray's mother gaped at her. "Not a dress? What will you be wearing?!"
I'm not ashamed, I'm not. I earned that uniform; I'm proud of it. But her voice was still a little diffident as she confessed, "My dress uniform."
Mrs Vecchio threw her hands into the air in horror, exclaiming loudly to some saint, but the children loved it.
"So you're going to wear your hat?"
"Will you have a gun? Are you going to shoot anyone?"
"Are you going to shoot Aunt Frannie?"
"Meg, you know what? Our cousin is a dressmaker. I bet she could make you the most beautiful dress," Maria said persuasively. "She did our confirmation dresses - I could get the photos..."
"No, really, Maria, I've decided on..."
"Your uniform?! You can't wear that!"
"Why not?" This was Frannie, leaping to Meg's defence; Frannie, who had wept, begged and shouted at Meg for the last week trying to convince her to wear the traditional white gown. But Meg was just grateful not to be attacked en masse by the Vecchio women. She saw Ray open his mouth, a look on his face that she knew well, and surreptitiously hit him with a bread roll to stop him from stirring Frannie.
"Oh, Francesca, who cares what you think - Meg, you've got to have a proper gown."
"Maria, I'm not the frothy white dress type. I'd feel like..."
"Like a milkshake!" Dominic supplied helpfully.
Meg smiled at him. "Yes. Exactly." But her smile wavered when the children expanded on the theme.
"Like a thickshake! Thick, get it?"
"Thick as a brick."
"Two planks."
"Thick-thick - hey, does Fraser know he's marrying a moron?"
Ray choked on his ravioli, and Meg, annoyed, pegged another bread roll at him. The children caught on; war-whoops and screams of "food fight!" pierced the air, and it took a bellowed command from their grandmother to settle them down.
Maria shook her head fondly, the dress forgotten. "You get along so well with them, Meg. You know, I bet you make a great mother. Here." She dumped the baby unceremoniously in her lap. "Practice."
Meg, who had frozen instantly, stared back at her, wild-eyed. Ray cracked up, and even Fraser had trouble concealing a smile. Tony looked up from his meal long enough to tell his wife, "I think she's going to drop her." He turned to Meg, advising her. "You shouldn't do this with your own kid, you know."
"Oh, shut up, Tony," Maria spat at him venomously, and did a complete about-face to smile encouragement at Meg. "Ignore him. You're a natural. It just takes some time."
"No; I think Dad's right," one of the boys insisted, eyeing Meg curiously. "Hey, if she drops the baby, can Uncle Ray use the siren when we take her to hospital?" The other boy laughed loudly, showing Meg a mouthful of half-chewed pasta. Frannie hit him, hissing at him to watch his table manners.
"She can't eat and hold the baby, Maria," Mrs Vecchio chided her elder daughter. "She needs to eat. You need to eat." She nodded sagely at Meg. "Too thin! You're going to starve your baby, it's not good. Eat, eat!"
"I am, thank you..."
"That's eating? Benton, she's a skeleton. You should take better care of her. Tony! Pass Meg the bread. Eat, Meg! For the baby."
"No, I..."
"What?" Frannie looked at her anxiously; she'd helped with the cooking. "You don't like it?"
"No!" Alarmed, Meg hurried to reassure her. "It's fine, it's delicious. I'm just full..."
"You haven't tried the ravioli," Maria told her. "It's Ma's speciality, it's great." Without waiting for a response, she grabbed her plate and heaped a generous serve on it. Meg took it back, apprehensively; she'd already eaten more than she was used to, trying to avoid offending the Vecchios.
Frannie, eager to please, placed a platter in front of her. "Fraser said you liked stuffed eggplant..."
Tony perked up, looking up from his heavily-laden plate. "Hey, pass it here. I'll have it."
"No," Frannie told her brother-in-law sharply. "I made it for Meg, not you."
"She doesn't want it!"
Frannie turned big brown eyes on Meg, doing a very good kicked-puppy impersonation. "Don't you want it?"
Not proof against her appeal, Meg took the dish, staring down at its contents in despair. Tony impatiently called for her to hurry up, earning himself a resounding slap from Frannie even as she watched, hawk-like, for her verdict.
She sighed, and decided to change tack. I'm a liaison officer; I'm an expert in international diplomacy, aren't I? She gathered together her professional confidence, smiling pleasantly at the Vecchios, and said, politely but firmly, "Thank you very much, and I do appreciate the effort you've all gone to, but I really have eaten as much as I can."
She did get a reaction; I suppose I should be grateful they listened. For a split-second, the silence, in the middle of Vecchio mealtime pandemonium, was overpowering. Even Tony stared, his mouth hanging open to show its contents. And then they started talking again, all at once, completely undeterred by anything she'd said.
"Such a little thing, Benton. She should eat more - you should make her eat more."
"Well, Mrs Vecchio, I think she..."
"If you don't want it, give it here."
"Maybe it's the baby; my stomach never knew what time of day it was. I know what'll help - Ma! Do you have any of that herbal tea left?"
"That's a very good idea - Raimondo! Go make Meg some tea."
"Ma, she doesn't want any."
"She doesn't want the eggplant either, so will someone pass it this way?"
"Oh, shut up, Tony!"
"Just make her the tea, Ray. You'll feel better with some herbal tea, Meg."
"Ma, Maria, she doesn't want the stupid tea!"
"Yes, she does, don't you, Meg?"
Meg didn't trust herself to respond. Ray made the mistake of looking at her, and suddenly capitulated, hurrying to the kitchen before he started laughing aloud. With him gone, she was left with an ally too polite and soft-spoken to be of any help, and the onslaught of Vecchio hospitality escalated. Abruptly, ignoring yet another proffered dish from Mrs Vecchio, she stood, mumbling something about helping Ray, and fled to the kitchen.
He was doubled over the bench, struggling to keep his laughter silent. He saw her enter, and laughed harder, under no illusions as to why she was there. "I tried," he pointed out when he was more controlled.
"I know. Thank you." She leaned against the counter, wearily, watching him as he set the kettle to boil. "Tell me this, Vecchio. Is your family just acting up for my benefit, or is this what they're really like?"
He paused in the pantry, debating his answer. "Which would make you feel better?"
"I don't know," she admitted. He opened a tin and held it out to her. She fished out a tea bag and sniffed it, pulling a face at the smell. "You know what? I don't even like herbal tea."
"Neither do I." He grinned. "But I'm not the one Ma told to drink it."
She winced, dumping the bag unenthusiastically into a cup. They heard footsteps, and then Fraser, eyes wide with strain, was with them, trying not to look overwhelmed. Ray made a great effort not to laugh again. "Benny, what are you doing here? The guests are supposed to stay at the table."
"I was checking on... I was concerned that..." He cleared his throat uncomfortably at Ray's sceptical look, and gestured at the stove. "I think the water's boiling."
"Oh, right." Ray quickly took the kettle off the heat and poured water into the cup, which he presented with a flourish to a less than grateful Meg. "So what are you doing in here?"
"Things were..." Fraser struggled for a tactful phrasing. "Things were getting a little much."
Meg groaned, and Ray laughed. "What are they up to now?"
"Well, they've started discussing the baby at some length. Just as I left, they asked me what names we've chosen."
"Names?" Meg was panicked. "Already? I'm not that pregnant!"
"Inspector," Ray said as though he really wanted to know. "How can you be 'not that pregnant'? Are you only slightly pregnant?"
"Oh, shut up, you know what I mean!"
"So what are you going to call the baby?"
"Shouldn't we be getting back?" Fraser said hastily.
Ray rolled his eyes. "So this is the strength and might of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police? Marshall your forces, Mounties. The Americans are camped out at the pass." He laughed, at his joke, at them, at the whole situation, and went whistling back to the dining room.
Meg and Ben were left to exchange weary looks. "You said it wouldn't be that bad," she reminded him. He shrugged, apologetic.
"I had no idea, I'm sorry."
"And since when do I like stuffed eggplant - or any eggplant?"
He had the grace to look contrite, she gave him that. "You have to understand the context of Francesca's question... I couldn't very well tell her, after she'd put so much effort into it..."
"You moron, Ben. You are such a soft touch..."
"You could have told her I was mistaken." He smiled artlessly at her.
Glowering balefully, she lifted the cup to her lips and cringed at the smell. He laughed, taking it from her, and poured the tea down the sink. "They won't know. You'll just have to eat more to make them think you've drunk it."
She groaned, and he put his arms around her, comforting her. "It'll be okay."
"I told you they'd eat me alive."
"It'll be okay," he repeated, smiling into her hair.
"No, it won't. We're in here alone. Francesca is going to think we're 'sweet' again."
He froze, and she looked up to meet his horrified eyes. "Maybe we should go back."
They left the kitchen, reluctantly. The Vecchios were staring at them again, hushed and expectant, with the exception of Tony, whose eggplant had him engrossed. Instinctively, Meg and Ben moved closer together for protection, and Frannie exclaimed sotto voce, "See, I told you! Isn't it gorgeous?"
They cringed; Meg's courage was draining away rapidly, and Fraser gripped her hand firmly to keep her from escaping to the kitchen again.
Suddenly, providentially, loud screams came from the street outside. Ray could have described the Mounties' reaction without looking, and he rose from the table while they exchanged fervently relieved glances. Ben and Meg managed to pause just long enough to politely excuse themselves from the Vecchio family before bolting for the door, Ray laughing as he followed. "Cowards!"
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Nicola Heiser
Nicola Heiser died on 24th October 1997, and is greatly missed by her friends and fans of her writing.