"He'll have the one glass of wine!" Ruth interceded fairly running across the sitting room and positioning herself next to Franco, with one hand resting warningly on his arm. "But then he really mast be on his way. Mustn't you, darling?" She smiled up at him and he shot her a ferociously questioning look.
"Wine would be terrific."
"Oh, we haven't even introduced ourselves!" Ruth's mother came forward, looking lovingly at her daughter and then transferring her affectionate gaze to Franco.
She had a naturally expressive face, quick to smile, and her readiness to see the best in everyone lent her a quality of endearing appeal that few could resist.
"I'm Claire, and that portly chap over there, who absolutely refuses to go on a diet, is my husband Michael."
"I would happily go on a diet, my dear, but I know you would be offended." He winked at Franco. "Loves to cook...couldn't bear it if she had no one to experiment on."
"And Ruth has taken after her in the culinary aspect," Franco said smoothly, patting the hand that was still resting on his arm and then giving it a squeeze that was unnecessarily firm. "Hasn't she?"
"The way to a man's heart!" Claire said, laughing.
"Now, cheers to the both of You!"
Ruth, on orange juice only, knocked back her glass with determined speed and then offered a bright smile to no one in particular.
"Now, darlings, I expect you want to spend the last few minutes together, so Dad and I will leave. I know we've only exchanged pleasantries," Claire said seriously, proffering her cheek to be kissed by Franco, "but I just have a gut feeling that you're going to make an absolutely wonderful son-in-law. Isn't he, Michael?"
"He'd better! Or he'll have me to answer to!"
If Franco was flabbergasted by the revelation of his status, Ruth thought with reluctant admiration, he hid it well. He smiled, murmured one or two polite things, shook hands and then, as soon as her parents were out of the room, turned on Ruth, dropping all semblance of civility.
"Like to tell me what the hell is going on? I feel as though I've walked into a madhouse..."
Her hand dropped from his, arm and she nervously took a few steps backwards.
On the plus side, her parents had not breathed a word about her pregnancy. Uncertain as to whether the expectant father knew or not, they had, luckily for Ruth, opted for discretion and silence.
On the minus side she now faced the uphill task of explaining the inexplicable and, on top of that, persuading Franco to leave with only a fuzzy explanation as to why her parents thought that he was their son-in-law.
"Well?" he growled in a menacing voice, taking three steps forward to match her two. Ruth backed into the sofa...and half fell into a sitting position, watching warily as Franco took up position next to her, uncomfortably close.
It seemed like only yesterday that they had not been able to keep away from each other, touching, feeling exploring. In another sense all that seemed like an eternity away, part of some youthful game which she had now abandoned for good.
It hurt just to look at him, to breathe him in, to remember.
"Don't even think of fainting on me," he warned silkily, "or I'll have your parents running in here, and by God I'll drag an explanation out of them as to what the heck's going on around here. So, if you've got any sense at all, you'll keep your wits about you. Got it?"
He stretched his arm out along the back of the sofa and edged threateningly close to her.
"Must you?" she breathed unsteadily.
"Must I what?"
"Come so close."
"Why, is this the same Ruth talking? The Ruth who couldn't get close enough to me? The Ruth who once begged to be touched when we were in a restaurant so that...we ended up having to leave before the meal was finished?"
"P...Please," Ruth stammered.
"Please what?" He looked at her grimly, loathing himself for the way those limpid grey eyes could make his stomach clench into knots' even though he knew that he had been taken for a ride.
"Explanation time, darling," he said softly, shifting into the sofa and flashing her a humorless smile.
"And, contrary to what your parents seem to think, I have all the time in the world to listen to what you have to say." He crossed his legs and folded his arms behind his head. "So many questions," he murmured. "I hardly. know where to begin. Care to help me out there?"
Ruth, frozen into petrified silence, did not respond.
"As I guessed. Well, having come here on a quest to find out why the hell you ran out on me for no apparent reason, I now find that a veritable nest of more interesting questions have sprung to life. For instance, why do your parents think that I'm their son-in-law?"
"Because...because..." Ruth stared down at her entwined fingers. She could hear her heart thudding madly in her chest, the desperate boom, boom-boom of someone whose options were fast running out.
It was worse than rotten luck that Franco had remembered the one tine she had uttered foolishly; the town where her parents lived. And that he had traveled all the way from London on an explanation seeking mission to soothe, his ego. If he had telephoned she knew that she would have fobbed him off, or at least arranged to meet him somewhere very neutral, where there was no chance of her sweet and blissfully ignorant parents putting in an appearance.
"Because...?" Franco prompted silkily. "I'm all ears." There was a thread of sheer menace in his voice that sent a shiver down her spine.
"Because they...it's all a mix-up," she finally said, clutching at the faint hope that he might believe her.
She looked at him evenly and he' sighed and shook his head.
"It's no good, you know."
"What's no good?"
"You trying to lie to me. You just can't do it. Your face gives you away. So why don't you just stop beating about the bush and tell me the truth? Or else your parents are going to find it very perplexing indeed that their daughter has led them to believe that I'm in some frantic rush when in fact I'm still sitting right here when supper's served."
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and Ruth realised that he was enjoying all this, enjoying having her at his mercy. She supposed she had done the unforgivable-walked away from a man who had probably never suffered the indignity of being dumped in his life before.
"I suppose..." he drawled with shark-like relish, 'that I could always ask your good parents to tell me what this is all about..."
"No! Okay, I'll tell you." She took a deep breath and then said in a rush. "They think you're their son-in-law because I told them that we were married..."
"Well, obviously that's why they think I'm their son-in-law. The question is why have you lied to them?"
He looked at her narrowly, at the slender hands twining miserably on her lap, at the impossibly fair hair framing her delicate face, at the varying shades of color tingeing her cheeks, giving away her discomfort.
Well, quite frankly, she couldn't be too uncomfortable for his liking. Something was afoot. All would be revealed in due course, but, for the while, he was remarkably content to watch her squirm under his questions and beady-eyed gimlet stare.
It was all the more satisfying since...against all reason, considering the way she had walked out on him without a backward glance...he still had a compelling desire to touch her, to stroke her, to make love to her.
Thank God her parents were in the house. He had a sickening suspicion that if they hadn't been he would have been sorely tempted to let his hands and mouth do some of the arguing on his behalf. Which would have inevitably met with rejection. It was a thought he found impossible to contemplate.
"Please go," Ruth whispered, without bothering to try and think of a reasonable explanation. There was no reasonable explanation. All she could do now was to appeal to his better nature, and she knew that he had a better nature. Despite his air of formidable self-confidence, and despite the fact that he had an uncanny talent for appearing utterly and calmly in control of every possible situation, she knew that he was kind and humorous and thoughtful in ways that could be incredibly unexpected.