Chapter 38

As the train pulled into London at six thirty in the morning, Alan rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sipped the cup of tea brought by the attendant. He peered out of the grimy window at the drab, railway architecture with rain sleeting down and felt lost, waking up to find himself alone. Kirsty would be waking soon, feel for him, then find him gone. He wrenched his thoughts back to the present and yawned. He had had hardly any sleep for the last three nights and promised himself he’d get to bed early while in London. They took a taxi to the hotel, registered and stored their bags. They deliberately dallied over breakfast then Andrew left to call on relatives in the city. At the hotel desk he found that Farik Salamah had already arrived and was in the room next to his own. When he knocked, a dark, bearded man, about his own age answered. Alan introduced himself and was invited in. They talked for a while about ecology, job prospects after university and what they expected to do in Iraq. Alan introduced Andrew when he arrived and after agreeing to meet for a drink before dinner, they went back to their room and unpacked what they needed for their brief stay. They were to outfit themselves in tropical clothes on the Monday, have a talk from a foreign office official in the evening. Then their plane was to leave on Tuesday night.

He phoned Kirsty and her voice again raised his doubts about leaving. Later while he chatted to Andrew and Farik in the lounge bar, an attractive dark-haired woman in her late twenties joined them. She introduced herself as Dr. Dorothy Williams, and suggested that they call her “Dot.” From the conversation that followed Alan gathered she was highly qualified and knew a lot about Iraq and the topography of the region they were going to. She seemed to him to be somewhat aggressive and reminded him of a former girlfriend who’d been on an assertiveness course and had made his life a misery for a while afterwards, jumping down his throat at every sexist remark he made. Seemingly he made “sexist” comments far too frequently. The assertiveness had worn off after a while. With Dot however it was more, subtle. it wasn’t that she said anything, but she gave the perpetrator a look that left him desperately trying to think what remark of his had might offended her.

The men steered the conversation into safe channels and plied Dot with questions about Iraq and the area they would be visiting. Later, during dinner they discussed the Marsh Arabs and their way of life.

Alan excused himself early. In bed his thoughts returned to Kirsty. And he fell asleep thinking about her. He woke the next morning feeling fresher. After breakfast the party took a taxi to a large store in north London specialising in clothing and equipment for travellers going abroad. They arrived back at the hotel laden down. He sorted through the equipment. He liked the kit bag which was the rolling up kind, with transparent zipped compartments so he could see almost right away where everything was stored. He tried on the wide floppy hat, intended to keep the glare of the sun from his eyes, as with the sun almost directly overhead he’d been warned that sunglasses didn’t give full protection.

Before dinner, he phoned Kirsty and told her about the members of the party. “What’s the woman like?” she asked.

“She seems to know a lot about the region and is highly qualified,” he replied.

“But, what is she like?” persisted Kirsty.

Alan hesitated. “She’s a bit aggressive, she’s got dark hair.”

“Is she nice looking?”

She could almost feel his shrug, “I suppose so.”

“What age is she?”

“About the same age as Claire. How is Claire?”

“Fine, she’s out with Frank tonight. Is she married?”

“Who? Oh! you mean Dot. I don’t know. It was strange waking up in bed by myself.”

“Me too.”

“I’ll phone tomorrow about the same time?”

“I’ll be waiting Alan.”

“I love you Kirsty.”

“I love you too Alan.” After he hung up, Alan felt how unsatisfactory it had been, he missed Kirsty more than ever.

In the evening the Home Office expert, one Peter Seagrave, arrived. During his lecture he informed them that Iraq was politically stable, and Britain was friendly with the regime, despite the seizure of tubes supposedly intended to be used to make an Iraqi supergun and the recent Bazoft affair, where Bazoft, an “Observer” journalist had been executed for alleged spying and a British nurse, Daphne Parish, jailed for fifteen years. He told them that he could envisage few problems so long as they didn’t do anything stupid, such as photographing secret military equipment. He checked their documents and found everything in order. He agreed to stay for dinner when they had a less formal chat, during which he divulged that the American members had pulled out of the expedition on the advice of their government, due to some disagreement over arms sales. He assured them again that there was no possibility of political instability in the country. Reassured, they thanked him and retired to their rooms to get an early night.

Alan woke the next morning feeling less tired than he’d felt for days. After breakfast they packed and caught the tube to the airport where they registered and had their luggage thoroughly searched.

Since their flight was scheduled for late evening, they had almost a whole day to themselves. Alan watched Andrew and Farik amble off together talking seriously about the politics of the Middle East. He and Dot gravitated to each other, more from necessity than inclination, but after a while he was surprised to find that he liked her, as her aggressiveness only seemed to surface when she was with a group of males. Alone with Alan, she seemed to relax more. When he mentioned, he was going to visit the British museum, she asked if she could come along and Alan readily agreed.

They spent the rest of the afternoon looking around the museum then treated themselves to a slap-up dinner, realising it would be their last British meal for a long time. During the evening Alan excused himself when the time came to call Kirsty.

After endearments Kirsty told him she’d made out a chart to tick off the days until he came back.

“I’ll be back in time for Christmas,” he assured her.

“Have you found out any more about Dot?” she queried.

Alan considered. “Well she looks as if she’s married.”

He heard her sigh then she said she was getting on a lot better with Claire, and something made him suggest that he wished she would tell Claire about them meeting before. There was a pause. He could almost feel Kirsty reviewing her memories.

“I’ll think about it,” she replied eventually. He felt the negation in her voice, but something inside told him this was important.

“I think that it would make, a big difference to her attitude,” he argued, but Kirsty changed the subject. After many endearments Alan rang off after promising to try his best to phone from Baghdad.

When he returned, feeling sombre he noticed Dot eyeing him. “Something wrong?” she inquired.

He told her about Kirsty. “I hate leaving her,” he confided. Dot sympathised.

They caught the tube back to the airport to meet up with Andrew and Farik. At last their flight was called and again there was strict security and they were searched before being allowed to board the plane where Alan and Dot found they had seats side by side. There was a long wait and at last the boarding ladder was raised, the engines fired, the plane taxied and without knowing the exact moment, they were airborne.

Dot relaxed. She’d watched the way Alan’s face changed when he spoke of Kirsty. She wormed out of him the story of Kirsty and Claire, and feeling the warmth of her personality, he responded. He gave her his full attention and Dot in turn confided to him why she had really joined the trip to get over a love affair. For five years she’d been living with a man, who’d suddenly decided to up and leave her. Alan sympathised.

They were served a snack, and over drinks afterwards, talked about their lives and their loves, then finally tipped their seats back and settled down to sleep, lulled by the steady drone of the engines. Alan woke from a dream about Kirsty, which faded so quickly he couldn’t grasp even a faint memory of it. Dot was already awake. She excused herself and he realised she’d been thoughtful enough to wait so she could get past without waking him. When she returned he took his own toilet bag to shave and wash in the tiny toilet compartment.

They landed in Ankara soon afterwards. Where some passengers left, and others boarded. After refuelling, they took off, and were served breakfast as they were passing over Eastern Turkey with the sun rising. Dot pointed out areas of interest and alerted him when she thought they were flying over Iraq.

“There’s Baghdad.” Dot pointed.

Alan leaned over and watched as the haze in the distance solidified into buildings. As the plane descended He examined the vast sprawling city with interest. Modern concrete hotels competed with tall graceful minarets, and acres of grey, white or ochre houses. The city flashed by as they came down, then with a bump they landed. With growing excitement, he realised he was about to set foot in the land, known in the Bible as Sumeria, successively conquered by the Assyrians The Persians, Alexander the Great and the Mongols. A country with a written history going back to four thousand years before Christ, with towns such as Babylon and Nineveh. mentioned in the old testament.

As they alighted, the first thing he was aware of, was a blast of dry stifling heat that even in the early morning, seemed to be trying to suck all the moisture from his body. He grimaced at Dot. She grinned.

“This is cool, wait until noon, the temperature can soar well over the hundred degree-mark!”

Alan wished that he was wearing his light tropical clothes already as he crossed the tarmac, his jacket over his arm and blinking, trying to adjust his eyes to the glare of the sun. After collecting their luggage, they were met by an official from the university who expedited their passage through customs. He helped them load their luggage into the huge waiting car then they set off. When they reached the city. the official, in surprisingly good English, pointed out various landmarks and buildings of interest. They reached Baghdad university a short time later.

The official told them there were three universities in Baghdad, and the one before them was the oldest. When they were shown inside, Alan was amazed at the sheer spaciousness and opulence, and the elaborately carved arches and glazed floors.

They were met and welcomed by Professor Suleman who was the expeditions leader, head of the earth sciences faculty and dean of Basra university. He spoke perfect English.

Afterwards, with servants carrying their luggage, they were taken to the residential wing where Alan was flabbergasted at the sheer luxury of his room, with ornate furniture and a huge bathroom. He found they were to stay in Baghdad University for two nights while other members of the party were collected. They would then travel south to Basra University which was to be their main base. Meanwhile, they were free to explore the university.

Alan had a shower and changed into lighter clothing. Dot knocked on his door and they set off to find Andrew and Farik, but learned that they were helping Professor Suleman with the arrangements, so they wandered around the university. They had a short reconnoitre outside, exploring the streets, but not daring to go too far, as although Dot was dressed quite modestly in a high-necked blouse with an ankle length skirt and a head scarf, they still noticed men eyeing her askance and Alan felt her hand slip nervously into his. After a quick look around, they returned to the university for lunch.

They were shown to the staff dining room which was magnificently furnished with servants waiting at each table. They decided not to be too adventurous, especially when they saw exotic dishes being served at other tables, so with the help of Farik, who had joined them, they chose a chicken dish which they were assured would not upset their delicate palates. The university was quiet at this time of the year since it was the summer recess, and only staff and advanced students doing research were present. Alan considered phoning Kirsty but hadn’t worked out the time difference or what coins to use, and he didn’t have enough confidence in his Arabic to speak to the operator.

In the afternoon, Alan visited the university swimming pool, while Dot to her indignation, had to use a smaller pool, strictly segregated from that of the men, in another part of the building. Feeling cooler, he dressed and returned to his room.

Before long, Dot knocked and entered, venting her feelings, about “The stupid male rules in this sexist country.”

Alan tried to hide his amusement, but she caught the hint of a smile and flounced out complaining.

“You’re just as bad as the rest of your sex.” She’d obviously recovered by the time they gathered for dinner for she gave him a wry grin as she took a seat next to him. They were placed at a large table with the rest of the party who’d arrived.

After a speech of welcome from Professor Suleman they stood and introduced themselves in turn. Bruno a slightly balding Italian in his thirties, a Doctor Di Folco an older Italian with grey hair. Sven a Norwegian – a tall fair haired thoughtful looking man of about forty, and the French team – Paul and Irene Moreau, a man and wife in their thirties.

As they chatted. Alan became aware of the speculative look Bruno was giving Dot, and was amused by her reaction. She moved her chair closer to him, reached over to remove an imaginary speck of dust from his shirt, then chatted to him, smiling and touching his hand. Professor Suleman rose to address them again. He explained that the members from Basra were already at the base camp, an old fort on the shore of the marshes, getting it ready for their occupancy, and told them with a smile that they would have to “rough it,” since there wouldn’t be many of the modern conveniences they were used to.

After dinner they split into small groups, and since everyone spoke English well, it became the lingua franca of them all. Alan and Dot gravitated to the French couple and since Dot was fluent in French, and seemed to be striking up an acquaintance with Irene, he circulated around the other members of the party. He liked Sven, who spoke good English and was always smiling, even when talking or eating. He didn’t like the two Italians, though they smiled a good deal. He felt their smiles were ingratiating. and when he shook Bruno’s hand he had to stop himself wiping his own hand afterwards. The older Italian gave the impression he was doing Alan a favour, just listening to him. He chatted to them, nonetheless realising they would be together for a long time and would have to try to be affable.

Bruno asked, “Are you good friends with doctor Williams?”

Anxious to protect her from Bruno’s attentions, he replied, “We are very good friends”, at the same time giving Bruno a wink, and hoping he wasn’t damaging Dot’s reputation.

He talked to Professor Suleman who was a small birdlike man, and took an immediate liking to him. There was a tranquillity about him, and his eyes were those of a man who’d seen all the frailties of humanity and had come to terms with it, reminding Alan of his own father. Alan and Dot eventually gravitated back together and discussed their impressions of their colleagues. When Alan told her about his conversation with Bruno, she giggled and assured him that he’d done the right thing.

He woke early in the morning and had a swim. Breakfast consisted of little hard rolls with honey, and thick coffee in tiny cups. The tour disappointed him as he found much of the architecture dated from after the second world war and except for the smell and the heat he felt he might have been in any large British city. When they returned in the afternoon, Alan, with Professor Suleman’s help, booked a call to Kirsty for that evening.

After dinner, Alan, Dot, Paul and Irene, in the company of a guide, strolled around a part of Baghdad they hadn’t seen before. Alan drank in the smells, tobacco, spices, cooking odours and coffee all mixed into what he felt was an intoxicating melange, although he saw Dot wrinkling her nose. He was surprised to see many men dressed in what looked like western style pyjamas, some with dressing gowns over them. The men, everyone sporting a moustache, stood chatting on street corners or sat in the cafes, drinking the dark sweet coffee or playing dominoes.

He felt this was not the restraint he was used to in Britain, and that love, hate and passion were much closer to the surface in this country. Back in his room, Alan sat counting the minutes. Eventually the phone rang, and the operator told him in Arabic that his call was through. He thanked her without even thinking, in Arabic. His heart gave a leap when he heard Kirsty’s voice. They spent a long time in endearments before he even started to describe Baghdad and the university. She told him Frank had stayed a few nights and that Claire was much more pleasant. Alan eventually rang off, promising to write, but conscious of her disappointment when he told her he didn’t think he would be able to phone again. He began his letter right away, describing in detail the other members of the party, the university, his room, and the tour of Baghdad.

The next morning after breakfast, they collected their belongings and left for Basra. The coach was modern, and after stowing their luggage, they settled in comfortable seats for the long journey down the six-lane highway that went all the way to Basra and beyond. Professor Suleman and an assistant accompanied them and promised to comment on any places of interest. Just outside Baghdad they passed Ctesiphon, where the ancient palace of Sapor, built by Chosroes, a Persian ruler, was pointed out to them. They learned that Chosroes had founded a school of poetry and philosophy and introduced the game of chess to the western world. They stopped for lunch in Amara, a small modern city, then continued through Qurna where the two great rivers the Tigris and the Euphrates join, and become the Shatt al-Arab waterway. A short time later they reached Basra, were taken to the university and settled into their rooms, which were more like the rooms Alan was used to in Britain.

They were then given a tour of the city which Alan found much more interesting than Baghdad. It was not a large town, about a quarter of a million people, and it was ancient, as one would expect, being the home port of Sinbad the Sailor. It had many houses which dated back centuries and were mostly expertly renovated with beautiful ornately carved wooden doors. The town was criss-crossed by canals and waterways, with a great variety of craft of all sizes going about their business, to the accompaniment of shrill cries, greetings, and curses, as smaller craft were forced to give way to larger vessels. The lanes and streets were clogged with honking cars, bicycles and pedestrians, and vendors in tightly crammed stalls sold everything from live chickens to carpets. Pungent smoke from food vendors, spicy smells and noise were ever present. They visited some of the old bazaars, some of which had been in existence in the same location for hundreds of years. Alan got the impression that it would not have looked much different a thousand years ago. Industry, mostly oil related, was situated in satellite towns in the suburbs.

After dinner, which was lamb and tomatoes roasted on a skewer, they were treated to a lecture from an expert on the history of the region they were to investigate. They were told that the date palm was the main crop and there were over five hundred varieties. Dates had been grown in the region for five thousand years and at present there were over twenty-five million date palm trees in Iraq, mostly around the six thousand square miles of marsh. Every part of the tree was utilised. Dates and date syrup were canned, the leaves were used to make paper, the wood for carpentry and the bark fibre for making ropes. They learned that in the marshes were huge areas of reeds that from ancient times were used to make mats.

Alan had much to think about as the party split into small chattering groups. When he got back to his room, he started on another letter to Kirsty describing Basra, then fell asleep, wondering what new experiences the following day would bring.

He woke early the next morning to a cacophony of sound, cockerels crowing, chickens cackling and the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer from the tops of the minarets of the city’s mosques. On enquiry, he found that most households kept roosters and chickens in their gardens, where they acted as a general alarm clock, and the call to the faithful was repeated five times a day. He smiled, intrigued by the sheer oriental difference and decided he would try to immerse himself in this alien culture and extract as much experience as he could from his short stay.

Much of the day was taken up with organising the party into groups and allocating tasks to each. Dot and Alan were assigned to the group investigating the fish stocks and the water quality of the location and netting and counting the varieties and sizes of fish before moving on to a different site.

Dinner that evening was Masgouf, grilled fish from the river Tigris, eaten with samoon, flat unleavened bread, and followed by thick sweet Arab coffee. After dinner, Alan and Dot managed to borrow a guide.

During the tour the guide pointed out the parapet walls on the roofs, explaining that most houses had a terrace where the families slept. When Alan showed great interest in the guide’s information, asking him questions in unsophisticated Arabic they were taken, after a short walk, to the guide’s own house and introduced to his family which seemed to consist of males of various generations, although he did catch glimpses of several pairs of dark female eyes peeping out from dim archways. They were offered Chai, a kind of lemon tea, while the guide interpreted the questions from young and old directed at Alan, that he couldn’t decipher for himself. Although Dot was given tea, the males in the house didn’t seem to know what to make of her, and did not aim any questions at her, whether out of politeness or wariness, Alan didn’t know. When they were shown around the house. Alan again felt Dot’s fingers slip into his own. He grinned to himself. They were shown the terrace on the roof where the family slept, and he was surprised to see a television set against one wall.

The guide explained that most families didn’t retire until after midnight, having had a sleep in the middle of the day and many football matches were shown late. He further explained that Iraqis were mad about football, and matches were liable to start on any piece of suitable ground, with young and old alike joining in.

Before he left. Alan handed the males a packet of postcards of Scottish views which were received with apparent pleasure. Afterwards Dot confided that during the year she’d spent in Iraq she’d never even seen the inside of an Iraqi house!

In his own room, later, Alan continued his letter to Kirsty, glad at last to be able to supply her with his postal address, then settled down to sleep. wondering what the marshes and the base camp would be like.

At breakfast there was an air of expectancy, with the members of the party chattering and joking in an atmosphere of camaraderie. Then they packed, and loaded their luggage into a rickety old bus and set off up the highway from Basra, then turned off west onto a dirt road, which they soon left. After about an hour bumping along a rutted track, they arrived at the ancient fort that was to be their home for the next six months.

Alan’s eyes widened in amazement. But for the expanse of marsh and open water that could be seen in the background, the fort could have been taken from the set of a film about the foreign legion. It was a large two-storey building, built of mud brick, with a yard surrounded by a ten-foot high mud brick wall with a wooden gate where the rest of the party, smiling Iraqi students and university staff, were waiting for them.

Professor Suleman introduced everyone and Alan was assigned a dusky faced student called Warid, who helped carry his luggage into the building and showed him to a small room with a bed and a large chest against the wall. After Alan dumped his case and bag, Warid gave Alan a tour of the fort.

They started on the top floor which was a roof terrace where, according to Warid, those who found it too hot in their rooms could sleep. Alan looked over the expanse of marsh and lake visible from the roof, drinking in the scene

Mist was rising from the marsh and over the mist a rainbow bent over to drink from the water. Patches of reeds and small islands faded into the distance.

A patch of white caught his eye and he smiled, delighted to see a group of herons feeding in the water.

“It’s beautiful,” he remarked in Arabic to Warid who smiled, showing startlingly white teeth and explained that he belonged to a Madan tribe himself.

Alan decided to cultivate Warid’s friendship and try to learn as much as he could about this fascinating region and the way of life of the Madan, as the marsh dwellers called themselves. The second floor was the accommodation block. Alan was shown the toilets and bathrooms with showers, which were more than he expected, and were serviced by a large water tank in the roof, filled by a pump system. The ground floor contained the kitchen, dining room, meeting rooms and temporary but well-equipped laboratories. Warid explained that the fort was a relic from the days when camel caravans used the route and were preyed on by bandit tribesmen.

They wandered outside where Warid pointed out two long huts outside the walls which were to be used for storing specimens and stores. When Alan asked about the boats they would be using, Warid took him down to the shore. Moored to a short wooden jetty, were two large motor launches, a few dinghies and four long, black canoe type boats with a high curved prow and stern, which Warid explained were called mashhufs and were the traditional conveyance of the Marsh Arabs. Alan stroked the sides, and exclaimed at their beauty

Warid offered to teach him how to handle a mashhuf They strolled back to the fort asking questions of each other in mixed Arabic and English about their different ways of life.

Alan found Dot being shown around the fort by a young girl student who’d been assigned to her, and learned that the four of them were to form a survey team. Dot told him later that the girl Umm Yasin, had been surprised to be invited, as surveys like this were normally the preserve of males. It was only when she found that there was a single woman on the survey that she realised why she’d been chosen. Nevertheless, she was grateful as female students were usually only employed on office-type tasks or on carefully segregated and chaperoned trips.

A meeting was held in the early afternoon, finalising the areas assigned to each group, then they were taken on a tour of the marshes in the two launches.

They gradually left the mudbanks behind as they travelled deeper into the marshlands and began to pass larger patches of reeds and soon they were surrounded by them and had to navigate narrow waterways. The reeds were golden, about fifteen feet high, waving in the breeze and when in the middle of them, all that could be seen were the reeds and a patch of sky above. The reeds seem to deaden sound which was only broken by the chug of the boat’s engine. They passed groups of houses made of reeds, with buffaloes grazing on raised ground near them and long-legged chickens, squinting one-eyed at the vegetation.

Men and young children shouted greetings, but the women and older girls shyly twitched their headcloths over their mouths and noses, and all Alan could see were dark eyes curiously surveying the group.

He was starting to fall in love with the marshes, as if some distant memory was awakening. When they made their way back in the late afternoon, mist was rising from the warm water, and with the chirping of the birds and the occasional bellow of a buffalo from somewhere in the reeds, it was like a scene from a dream and he felt suddenly at peace with the world, as if in some strange way he had come home.

After dinner that evening, which was a delicious grilled fish dish, Warid offered to take Alan out in his mashhuf and advised him to wear only shorts as he would be in the water a lot. Alan had some experience of canoeing from university, but wasn’t prepared for the sense of balance and timing needed to handle this type of craft.

Before they set off, Warid had made him sit in the dead centre of the boat while he sat in the stern. Alan with paddle at the ready, automatically leaned to one side as he dipped the paddle into the water. The boat overturned despite Warid’s valiant efforts. When Alan got to his feet spluttering and wiping mud from his face in waist high water he found Warid already back in the boat. Warid showed him how to adjust his weight and almost made the boat turn somersaults.

After repeated duckings, Alan began to acquire the knack, with Warid sitting in the stern, helping.

As they tied up and returned to the fort, Warid with a broad grin declared. “You might be able to paddle the Mashhuf by yourself in a month or two.”

Excited about starting work the next day, Dot’s team sorted out a routine for sampling the fish population and testing samples of the water from various locations.

When Alan retired to his room he continued his letter to Kirsty, describing his adventures, yearning for her and almost feeling her presence. Still thinking about her he fell asleep.

Alan with Dot, Warid and Umm over the next few days, settled into the work of collecting samples from different areas. They were taken in the launch to the day’s location and dropped off with all their sample jars, the rowing boat and Warid’s Mashhuf. The first thing they did was lay specially shaped nets on the mud bed, then leaving things to settle, they collected and labelled samples of water and sediment at various depths from the other half of the area. They then came back to the first area, quickly raised the nets and noted the variety, size and number of fish before throwing them back. After interchanging the two areas, they repeated the process. They were collected shortly after lunchtime and then they spent the rest of the afternoon and part of the evening, analysing the samples and correlating the results.

The party travelled to Basra that weekend and stayed at the university, where Alan posted his letters to Kirsty and his parents. He tried to phone Kirsty but there were army exercises going on and the phone lines were reserved for army use only.

When they returned from Basra on the Sunday evening, they passed never-ending lines of army trucks, marching soldiers and tanks on tank transporters. Andrew reminded them of the danger of taking photographs and commenting on the army exercises too openly. Most of the group were glad to get back to the peace and quietness of the fort.

Kirsty was glad when it was five o’clock on Saturday as the shop had been busy all week. She found Alan’s letter when she got home, and retired to her room, away from Claire’s disapproving frown, to snuggle under her duvet and read it. She found the description of Baghdad and the university interesting, but the parts she read again and again were the private sections. She emerged, smiling radiantly to have a huge tea, much to Claire’s surprise.

Noticing her sister’s raised eyebrows, she explained. “I missed breakfast this morning, I felt a bit queasy.”

Alan’s parents came to visit on Sunday afternoon Claire was friendly and welcoming, but when she and Isobel after sizing each other up, went out to the garden for a private chat, she spoke out to the effect that she thought Kirsty was too young to have a serious relationship and she didn’t approve.

Isobel replied tactfully. “Although Kirsty is young, she has a lot of common sense, probably due to your influence, and anyway, what can we do about it, they are so much in love?” Claire sighed. They talked about less contentious matters.

Alan’s father had a long chat with Kirsty, during which she was puzzled as he looked at her skin and eyes and seemed to be almost sniffing her.

He gave her a huge smile and commented. “You look a bit run down!” She agreed.

“I’ve been a bit queasy lately.”

He grinned. “I think you should visit your doctor. There is a lot of your kind of trouble about.”

The Belfour’s left after inviting Kirsty and Claire to visit them in Edinburgh for a long weekend.

Claire couldn’t help but like Alan’s parents, despite having been prepared to dislike them. The father’s resemblance to Alan aroused emotions in her she thought had died. He had the same way of looking directly at a person and focusing attentively, and something about him inspired trust. She especially took to Isabel, who she thought was in some ways like herself, a practical, no nonsense woman They both appeared to approve of her, and when they complimented her on the marvellous job she’d made of bringing up Kirsty, Claire opened like a flower in the sun. Like most children, Kirsty had accepted Claire’s sacrifices as if they were her due, and only occasionally thought of being grateful. Not that Claire expected thanks, she had only been carrying out the responsibilities that had fallen to her. Still, it was pleasant to be appreciated.

After they left, Kirsty said with a hug. “Thanks Claire for welcoming my future in-laws.”

“They are very nice people.” Claire conceded, but got an angry look when she added. “It’s a pity Alan isn’t more like them.”

The next day Kirsty visited her doctor. Apologising for her vague symptoms, she mentioned that her future father-in-law, a gynaecologist had advised her to come.

“What’s his name?” the doctor asked and whistled appreciatively when Kirsty supplied it. “Dr. Balfour is well known. If he thinks there might be something wrong, I had better give you a good going over.”

After giving her several tests, the verdict was that she was in perfect health. “What exactly did Dr. Balfour say?” he asked.

Kirsty told him about him looking at her eyes and skin and saying there was a lot of her kind of trouble about. The doctor suddenly burst out laughing.

“Dr. Balfour is well known as a joker. Is it possible you could be pregnant?”

Kirsty admitted, “I could well be.”

After some intimate questions and giving the doctor a sample he told her he would get back to her in a few days, to let her know the result. She left him muttering to himself about how the old devil could have known just by looking at her.

Pregnant! Kirsty thought. The very word had a ring to it. She remembered in Edinburgh when she’d held Caira, she’d had an overwhelming urge to have a baby of her own. Her wildness in Glen Clova came back to her.

“I must have forgotten to rake my pill,” she murmured. She smiled.