an uninspired heroine

Title: Mrs. Pollifax and the Family Connection
Author: anenko
Fandom: Mrs. Pollifax novels
Summary: Mrs. Emily Pollifax found herself facing an unexpected dilemma.
Disclaimer: Dorothy Gilman owns all things Pollifax related.
Note: A yuletide fic for bookchan.



Mrs. Emily Pollifax found herself facing an unexpected dilemma.

When Carstairs had first contacted Mrs. Pollifax about a job in Albania, Mrs. Pollifax had hardly paused to think before agreeing. Mrs. Pollifax had experienced Albania rather intimately--from the middle of a herd of goats, she recalled with a dash of humour only time, distance, and a good many baths could provide. Carstairs had said only that a man named Lulash had contacted the CIA, suggesting that he had information of the greatest importance--information that he was willing to share with Mrs. Emily Pollifax, enthusiastic gardener, loving grandmother, and part-time CIA courier.

Lulash had been one of the many fascinating and sympathetic people Mrs. Pollifax had met since walking into the CIA and requesting a job as a spy. She had been terribly naive, but Carstairs had seen something of note in her. It had been a whirlwind adventure that had found Mrs. Pollifax first in Mexico, and then in an Albanian prison from which she had eventually led an escape. Despite being her guard, Lulash had been a very nice young man. He had been interested in hearing about American democracy, Mrs. Pollifax recalled fondly.

"Good," Carstairs had said when Mrs. Pollifax agreed, "because Bishop is already on his way."

Mrs. Pollifax was very fond of Bishop, and had prepared herself for his arrival by stocking up on muffins. Mrs. Pollifax was also very fond of her son Roger, but had not been prepared for his visit. Mrs. Pollifax's children were usually very busy with their own lives, and she would have liked to be able to enjoy his visit in leisure. However, Mrs. Pollifax had never intended for Roger and Bishop to meet, and she had to admit to some small degree of trepidation.

After all, Carstairs was a strong believer in secrecy, and Roger had always been a very insightful child. Roger had so far avoided asking any difficult questions about Mrs. Pollifax's frequent and wide-ranging travels. Mrs. Pollifax didn't look forward to lying--even by omission--should Roger question Bishop's presence too deeply now. Mrs. Pollifax had cultivated a not inconsiderable talent for prevarication during her time with the CIA, but lying to her own child was certainly not comparable to a battle of wits with rogue spies and potential terrorists.

And so it was on a snowy December afternoon that Mrs. Pollifax's separate worlds collided, very politely, in her kitchen around a plate of blueberry muffins. Bishop fell upon the muffins with a nearly rapturous expression. Roger gave him a startled look before laying claim to his own portion. Mrs. Pollifax watched on in amusement as the two men ate their way through what had seemed to her to be a very large plate.

Roger rocked back in his chair and studied Bishop thoughtfully. "Ghastly weather out there," he said. "Mother's muffins may be good, but they aren't that good."

"Blasphemy," Bishop said. "I'm sure that Mrs. Pollifax's muffins could bring a man back from the dead. They've certainly revived me."

"You do look a bit rumpled," Roger said, eyeing Bishop curiously. "Where did you say you came from?"

"I didn't," Bishop said affably.

"I invited Bishop to celebrate Christmas with me," Mrs. Pollifax said with cheerful finality. "He doesn't have any family nearby, and you and Jane are both so busy with your own families. It seemed like a very neat solution. Muffin?"

"I couldn't possibly," Bishop demurred, and plucked the last muffin from Mrs. Pollifax's offered plate. "Mrs. Pollifax, you are a gift from God. I haven't eaten this well since. . . since the last time I visited you."

"You're well acquainted with my mother?" Roger asked.

"Oh, yes," Bishop said. "We met through the Garden Club. Mrs. Pollifax gave a very stirring presentation about the night-blooming cereus." Bishop lifted his shoulders in a modest shrug. "I may not look it, but I'm passionate about gardening."

Mrs. Pollifax smiled. Trust Bishop to remember that she had successfully raised a night-blooming cereus. She had no doubt that he remembered the speech she had given, as well. It had been a very good speech, Mrs. Pollifax thought. The Garden Club had given her a standing ovation.

Roger was smiling, too. "Mother does collect the oddest of friends," he said. "And from the most surprising of places. Mexico, Bulgaria, Istanbul. . ."

"Travel is good for the soul," Bishop said.

"It's certainly done mother a world of good," Roger agreed. "She's happier now than she has been in years. Don't worry--I'm not going to ask--but I think I have you to thank for that, Mr. Bishop, at least in part."

"That is a very insightful young man," Bishop said once Roger had excused himself. He sounded thoughtful.

"Roger has a family," Mrs. Pollifax sternly reminded Bishop.

Bishop grinned at her, unrepentant. "Force of habit, Mrs. Pollifax," he said. "The Agency is always on the lookout for new talent, and if he takes after his mother at all. . ." Bishop paused, and then laughed. "Even Carstairs' heart wouldn't be able to take the strain if he had two Pollifaxs getting into trouble in exotic locations throughout the world."

"Speaking of which," Mrs. Pollifax reminded him. "I hear that you have news from Lulash?"

"And what news it is, Mrs. Pollifax!" Bishop leaned over the table conspiratorially. "A week ago, we received a message through one of our usual channels. . ."

---

"Where does she go?" Jane complained. "A woman mother's age traipsing around the world whenever the urge strikes!"

Roger adjusted his hold on the phone's receiver, and looked down at the letter written in his mother's looping handwriting. "I'm taking a short vacation with friends. I'll be back within two weeks," the letter said. Roger smiled.

"She's happy, Jane. Let mother have a bit of fun for once."

Jane's sniff of distaste was audible even through the phone. "I don't know what kind of fun mother can possible have in such primitive countries. Really, Roger!"

"I think she manages just fine," Roger said.

"You would," Jane said with a sigh of resignation. "You're both impossible."