Her laughter came bubbling up from below the surface and it tinkled across the apartment like the sound and fragrance of a bubbling fountain. It was a genuine laugh deep and hearty and just long enough to be enjoyed. Then she explained: "I'm sorry—not really sorry about laughing, I mean, but look, Peter, have you ever considered that you and I have been formally introduced by our grandson?"
"It sounds slightly indecent to me," grumbled Peter.
Marie shook her head. "If anything," she said quietly and sincerely, "is fait-accompli it is the very definite person of—our grandson."
"I'd been psychopathically avoiding that," he said. "Trying to ignore it."
"It looks," she began in a trapped voice, "as though we're stuck. If that bird is really our grandson, we might as well give in. Come here, Peter, and hold my hand."
He took her hand gingerly.
"You may kiss me, Peter."
"Thanks," he said dryly, "I'll keep your offer open until a more propitious date. Meanwhile, Miss Baker, I'll continue to feel slightly angry at being told what to do; when to do it; and with whom. Even though the Book of Acts is complete down to the final decimal."
Marie laughed cheerfully again.
He looked at her curiously. She stopped laughing. She leaned forward gracefully and offered him her right hand again. "Shake," she said.