"Darling, you're not... !"
"Which is why we...well, jumped the gun a bit... and got married!" Her voice was thick with a cer¬tain unnatural gaiety which fortunately her parents ap¬peared not to notice.
"You're married!" The exclamation, uttered in iden¬tical tones of shock, was shrieked in unison, and Ruth raised miserable grey eyes to them.
"I know it's an awful shock..." she said, wringing her hands. "I wanted to say something ... but..."
"But, darling, where is he?" Her mother had reached out her hand to Ruth's and was now patting it com¬fortingly across the remainder of their lunch.
"That's the thing..." Ruth took a deep breath and pleaded with God that she really was doing all this to s pare her parents, whom she loved more than any¬thing. So could He please not strike her down just yet with a bolt of lightning? "He was called away on an urgent matter and he could be gone for weeks... months, even...that's why we rushed into things..."
"Oh, darling, where?"
"Where what?" Ruth looked blankly at her parents. "Where has he gone to do his reporting? Is it one of those war-torn countries?"
Ruth, not wanting to get too technical over the de¬tails, sought refuge in a forlorn expression and ex¬pressed a heartfelt desire not to talk about it.
It was to become her refrain as the days lengthened into one week, then two. Twice she called the office, and the second time she called after hours, leaving a brief message that they should perhaps start thinking about her replacement. Her conscience was unquiet as it was, and lying into an answer-machine somehow seemed less unforgivable than lying to her boss.
Her parents, having ridden the shock of their daugh¬ter's pregnancy, had taken to proudly announcing it to all and sundry in the parish, wistfully explaining that the father of the baby was out of the country, risking life and limb for the freedom of others.
Wherever she went she could not escape the well wishes of one and all and constant questions as to her husband's whereabouts.
After a week and a half Ruth had resorted to briefly explaining that her beloved husband was out of tele¬phone contact due to the precariousness of his situa¬tion. In time, she knew, the fracas would fade, and she personally couldn't wait. Telling the lie had been mon¬umental enough. Maintaining it threatened to drive her to an early grave.
She was quietly skulking at home, putting the fin¬ishing touches to the roast leg of lamb she had pre¬pared for their supper, when she glanced through the kitchen window at the sound of a car crunching up the gravel drive to the house.
A childhood spent in various vicarages had inured her to this...unexpected visits from parishioners at the least appropriate times. Many was the time when grace would have been said and knives and forks raised, and the doorbell would ring.
Her brain half registered the fact that she would now have to stop her preparations and make social small talk for half an hour or so until her parents returned from doing their rounds. She had a fleeting impression of a big car in a dark color, then the doorbell went. Several short, sharp rings that had her clicking her tongue in annoyance and hurriedly drying her hands so that she could rush to get the door.
She pulled it open, wondering which of her father's elderly fan club members had become so demanding, and the welcoming smile on her face froze.
Her facial muscles, now in a state of paralysis, were quickly joined by the remainder of her body. "Surprised?" The smoky, sexy voice that had not too long ago been capable of turning her legs to jelly, was cold with contempt. "Did you think that I wouldn't come looking for you? Did you think that you could run away without explanation and I'd just accept it?" Ruth gave an involuntary squeak of horror. What was he doing here?
He should be ...he should be ...he should be in some war-torn country, incommunicado, possibly for ever. The possible ramifications of her elaborate lies carne
home to roost with terrifying force and she held onto the doorframe to stop herself from collapsing.
She had to get rid of him before her parents re¬turned.
"Inside!" she hissed, pulling him in and then peering outside to see whether there was anyone about. The vicarage, thankfully, was well out of range of passers¬by, by virtue of its location, set in three acres of sprawling gardens, but there still always seemed to be someone, somewhere, hovering.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, shutting the door and hitting him with the full force of her desperation. She placed her hands squarely on her hips and did her best not to be destabilized by the cold blue eyes looking at her with avenging rage.
Having spent the past three hours in a car, battling with traffic and an eminently unhelpful map, Franco was in no mood for reasonable discussion, even though reasonable discussion was precisely what he had told himself he wanted when he had set out earlier that afternoon.
Naturally, as soon as she opened the door and he saw the face that had driven him crazy for the past few weeks, any possibility of reason had flown through the window. He had been engulfed in a black, smoldering anger that he could feel physically waft-ing from his body in waves.
It was infuriating enough that he had found himself here, running behind some damned chit of a girl, when every bone in his body had told him that he should just leave the wretch to get on with her life, wherever she chose to live it and with whom. He had never had to wage war with his better judgement and it still galled him to admit that he had lost. He had just not been able to let the things go.
Even more infuriating was the fact that a less re¬morseful visage he had yet to encounter. If she had been wrapped up in self-pity and regret, ruing the day she walked out on him, ready to plead for entry back into his life, then leniency might have crept in some¬where, but she looked every bit as angry as he felt. And allied to that anger was something else, some¬thing he couldn't put his finger on but which could only mean one thing: another man. It was a possibility he didn't dare even contemplate.
"What do you want?" she repeated, casting anxious glances behind him to the closed door.
"Expecting someone, Ruth? My replacement, per¬haps?" He gave her a twisted smile.
It occurred to Ruth that arguing was not going to win the war, nor was it going to get rid of him, and get rid of him she must, so she smiled sweetly and forced her posture to relax into something a bit less uptight.
"Look, this isn't a good time. Perhaps if we arranged to meet up later. Maybe tomorrow."
"I'm not going anywhere until you answer one or two questions." He pushed himself away from the door and strolled into the hall, looking around him with frank curiosity. "So this is where you live."
"How did you find me?" Ruth glanced at her watch and followed a few paces behind him.
"You must have forgotten. You mentioned where you lived the very first time we met. It didn't take long to trace your full address." He turned around and looked at her. "Why did you up sticks and leave? I won't begin to tell you how disappointed everyone at the office is with your behavior. They became wor¬ried about you, you know, when they kept telephoning your London number and got nowhere. They had no idea where you lived, because, happily for you, your parents' address had never been recorded on your ap¬plication form. They all assumed the worst about your mother."
Ruth blanched. I'm sorry...I didn't mean to..."
"To what, Ruth?" His voice was like a whiplash. "Lie? Deceive people who trusted you? Run away be¬cause you couldn't handle what was happening be¬tween us? Because that's why you ran away, isn't it?" His blue eyes bored into her until she felt giddy. So far she had experienced no morning sickness during the pregnancy, but right now she felt very nauseous indeed.
"No. You don't understand." She was almost weep¬ing now. "You must go. Please!"