At that, he gave Ruth, who was busy contemplating this scene, a meaningful look, and she cleared her throat and said, in a high-pitched voice. "Actually, Mum, Franco might be able to stay for supper with us."
As expected, her mother's face broke into a radi¬antly pleased smile, and, without ado, she drew him into the kitchen and sat him at the table. From behind him she made lots of mouthing motions to Ruth which were clearly visible as Have you told him about the baby? and Ruth, unsure where things were going now, wore the baffled expression of someone conversing with a mad person and pretended to misunderstand.
What if he revealed everything? The marriage that never was, the love that didn't exist, the fling that had more to do with sex than anything else? Would her mother believe her if she then proceeded to talk about love and how meaningful it had been for her? Or would she emerge as a cheap tart who had fallen prey to stupidity?
For the millionth time her mind drifted away as she contemplated a future of parental disappointment and social ostracism.
She snapped back to the present to hear Franco charmingly informing her parents that he would be staying for longer than merely supper, and she shut her half-opened mouth with a snap.
"W...what did you say?" she stammered, looking at him and trying to work out what that self-satisfied ex¬pression on his face was all about.
"I said..." he smiled, catching her eye and beckon¬ing her over with his finger " … that my brief visit might well extend to something a bit...more substan¬tial." He patted his lap and Ruth blushed furiously, confused as to what that gesture was supposed to mean.
Out of the comer of her eye she saw her parents exchange knowing winks and was further mortified. "More substantial?"
The patting of the lap now bordered on a silent com¬mand, and Ruth reluctantly went across to where he was sitting and primly perched on his lap.
"Isn't it wonderful? Darling?" His lips nuzzled the nape of her neck and she brushed the tingling sensa¬tion away with one hand.
"Wonderful. Hang on, Mum, let me give you a hand with those things." Her heart was slamming against her ribcage. She couldn't figure out what he was playing at and her uncertainty was nerve-racking.
"So, how did you manage to wangle that?" her father asked, beaming. Both her parents were beaming. It was enough to make you sick.
"One or two phone calls," Franco said mysteriously. "After all, now that fatherhood is on the way, I can hardly leave my blushing bride to cope on her own, can I?"
"I wouldn't want you to abandon your duties," Ruth returned quickly, slamming the dishes on the table un¬til she caught her father's eye and adopted a less ag¬gressive approach to the table-setting. "After all, you know how stimulating you find what you do."
"Well, yes. Working as a top reporter in some of the most dangerous hotspots in the world is stimulat¬ing, but..." He reached out and stilled her frantic hand, stroking it and then giving it a gentle squeeze. "What could be more stimulating than being by your wife's side so that you can witness the creation of new life?"
"How long are you planning on staying?" Ruth asked, appalled by the way events appeared to be un¬folding. She took the platter of lamb from her mother and deposited it on the table.
"Oh, I think I can stay for at least a few weeks..."
"A few weeks?"
"That's wonderful!" Claire said brightly, giving her daughter a brief hug in passing. "Isn't that tremendous news, Ruthie?"
"But what about your...job?" She turned to her par¬ents and said, a little wildly. "Franco just does the odd bit of troubleshooting. In fact, he also works in an off...sorry, has a company."
"What company would that be?" her father asked, and Franco gave a self-deprecating shrug of his broad shoulders.
"Just a few small concerns ... one of them is practi¬cally a hobby, isn't it, my darling?"
"Won't those small concerns miss you if you stag¬nate here in the middle of nowhere for weeks on end?" Ruth hissed, infuriated by the smile tugging the cor¬ners of his mouth.
"Oh, I can pop up now and again to check on things! And I can bring my laptop here." He turned to her father. "Computers have shrunk the world, wouldn't you say? If I wanted to, I could probably do most of my business from one room in a house, provided I had the right equipment around me! Have computers reached religion as yet?" He settled comfortably in the chair with every appearance of someone getting used to surroundings they had no plans on leaving in a hurry.
"Dear boy..." her father leant forward, warming to his pet subject " … you'd be surprised. Bit of a com¬puter boffin myself, actually." He winked at his daugh¬ter. "Good to have a man around to discuss it with..."
CHAPTER EIGHT
It had been the longest dinner Ruth had ever endured. The lavish meal of roast lamb with all the trimmings appeared to be incidental to the main business of Franco winning her parents over.
Every mouthful of food had been punctuated with some fascinating evidence of wit and charm, and by the time she and her mother had begun clearing the table her parents had been hooked and reeled in like two helpless flounders.
She had tried her utmost not to catch his eye, but whenever she had she'd been rewarded with a look that promised a very long chat on the subject of her pregnancy.
At least, though, her parents, misinformed as they were, had not seen their illusions shattered, and for that she owed him a debt of gratitude. The question still remained: what happens next? she had no doubt that he would fill her in on that without sparing her feelings. Making life easy for her was not, she sus¬pected, at the top of his list of must dos.
And really, in a way, it was almost a relief to have everything in the open with him. Her decision to run away, necessary though it had seemed at the time, had encrusted her soul with a layer of ice and turned her into someone she didn't much like. Deception had never been a trait she admired, and to have succumbed so completely to it herself, whatever the circum¬stances, had made her feel sick inside herself.
She sighed and thought that the only passably good thing to have emerged from the evening was the fact that Franco would not be sharing her room with her. It had given her a surge of pleasure to say, with regret in her voice, that her bed, like the bed in the two free bedrooms, was of a single size. She didn't know if she had the strength to lie next to Franco's blatantly mas¬culine body without reaching out to touch him, and that would be a disaster. She had forfeited any passing claim she had ever made on his affections.
Right now he should be safely ensconced in the small bedroom down the corridor from her, with the sloping roof and the patchwork quilt. He was so tall that his feet would stick out at the bottom of the bed and he would probably spend the night tossing and turning and trying to get into a comfortable position. He was not accustomed to small dimensions. His bed in his apartment in London was of the king sized va¬riety. Enough room to hold a party.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, in this instance, the myriad rooms in the vicarage had mostly been turned into other things. One of the unused bedrooms had been turned into her father's office, one had been con¬verted into a sewing room for her mother, and another two housed various projects which the parishioners seemed to have on the go on a fairly regular basis.
It wasn't unusual for Ruth to stroll into one of these rooms and be confronted by a barrage of hand-knitted stuffed dolls, waiting patiently for some charity fair or other and staring at the door with blank, woolly eyes, or else a vast assortment of brightly colored cushions which seemed to be crying out for the addition of nu¬bile girls in harem outfits.