The Baby Scandal(25)

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.