The Baby Scandal(4)

Ruth, more relaxed now that she had  something aside from him to  concentrate on-namely the brimming plate of  divine food in front of  her-lowered her eyes and said to her forkful of  chicken and vegetables.  "No, you wouldn't. I'm not one of life's  memorable women." Her parents  had always told her that she was  beautiful, but then all parents said  stuff like that. She only had to  look in the mirror to know that she  simply wasn't flamboyant enough ever  to cross the line between being  reasonably pretty and downright sexy.

She couldn't be sexy if she tried.

He didn't say anything.

Unusually  for him, he was finding it hard to keep his eyes away from  the woman  sitting opposite him, her soft face down-turned as she tucked  into her  food without inhibition.

He couldn't remember the last time he  had been in the company of a  woman who still had the capacity to blush.  They could laugh, they could  flirt, and they were adept at revealing  enough of their bodies to  incite interest, but when it came to the  hesitant air of innocence that  this woman in front of him possessed,  they none of them could have  captured it if they tried.

And it  was this dreamy, uncertain shyness that had aroused him almost  from the  minute he had clapped eyes on her. He broke off to eat a  mouthful of  food, but his eyes slid back to her face of their own  volition.

He  had a ridiculous urge to impress her. To say something or do  something  that would make her look at him with the hot interest he had  become  accustomed to in members of the opposite sex. He watched the way  her  blonde straight hair slipped across her face as she ate and the  way she  tucked it casually behind her ears. She looked about bloody  sixteen! He  must be going mad!


"You never told me," she said,  interrupting his thoughts, which were  veering off wildly into the arena  of sexual foreplay. "Are you from  Italy?" She blushed and smiled. "Silly  question. Of course you are with  a name like yours. How long have you  lived in London?"

"Most of my life. My mother was Irish, my  father was Italian." What, he  wondered, would it feel like to reach out  and touch that peach-smooth  face? The thought fascinated him. He  realised that he wasn't eating and  shoveled some mouthfuls in while his  mind wandered away again. What  would her body look like? It was  difficult to tell underneath her  demure calf-length skirt and neat white  blouse. He toyed with the  fantasy of divesting her of both, very, very,  very slowly, and he could  feel himself stiffening at the thought of it

This was ludicrous! He was responding like a teenager who had never touched a woman in his life before!

"How  exotic!" she responded, and it occurred to him that, however  damned  exotic she might find his ancestry, it wasn't quite enough to  distract  her from the business of eating. In fact, he thought with a  twitch of  resentment, she seemed a lot more interested in the food than  she did in  him.

"There's no need to show polite interest," he said abruptly, and her grey eyes registered dismay at his reaction.

"I am interested," she protested, unnerved by the sudden brusqueness in his voice. She was boring him.

Of  course she was. How could a gauche woman like herself ever hope to   capture the interest of a man like him, all glamour and fast-lane   living. "The food's wonderful, isn't it?" she volunteered tentatively,   feeling her way towards a topic that might smooth the undercurrent that   seemed to have inexplicably developed.

"I can see that you've enjoyed it," he said wryly.

Ruth  gave a sheepish smile. "I have a very unladylike appetite, I'm  afraid."  She had managed to eat every mouthful, and if she had been in  the  company of anyone else would have happily bolted down some dessert  as  well. Instead, she closed her knife and fork, declined pudding and   accepted coffee.

"I guess you read what was in that letter I sent  to your boss," he said  casually, eyeing her over the rim of his cup. He  had pushed himself  away from the table so that he could sit at an  angle, crossing his long  legs.

"Not really," Ruth answered. "I mean I scanned it..."                       
       
           



       

"But still managed to get a pretty good idea of what I was trying to say."

"I don't think that Alison would approve of my discussing something that was meant for her eyes only," Ruth eventually told him.

"I  shouldn't trouble your head with such concerns," he dismissed. "I   intend to have a little talk to the entire staff. Sales have picked up   since we took over, but not enough. I've read what the three journalists   have written over the months...have you?"

"Oh, yes," Ruth said enthusiastically.

"And...? What's your verdict?"

She  couldn't quite understand why her opinion should be of any concern,   considering her lowly status in the company, but there was an  interested  glint in his eyes, so she sighed and said slowly. "I think  it's all  been good. But I suppose there's a little element of having  lost the  way. I mean," she said hurriedly, "their articles are so  varied that  there's a bit of doubt as to what sector of the market the  magazine is  supposed to appeal to. Not," she felt compelled to add,  "that I'm in any  position to criticize."

"Why not?" he asked bluntly, leaning  forward so that his elbow was  resting on the table and his eyes bored  into her like skewers.

"Because I'm not an editor."


"But you care about the company enough to want to see it improve?"

"Of  course I do!" When she had joined it had been a fledgling firm, and  was  even now, and consequently, loyalty was abundantly given by  everyone  who worked in it.

"Enough to do your little bit?" he asked, leaning forward yet further.

"Naturally I do my best... I can't write, if that's what you mean...but I help out..." She looked at him, bewildered.

"Good!  Just what I wanted to hear." He signaled for the bill but kept  his eyes  on her face. "Because I have a proposition to put to you..."

"What?"  There was enough of a predatory expression on his face to give  her a  clue that whatever he had in mind was not going to be to her  liking.

"I'll discuss it with Alison first, but, yes...it's time for a few changes, and you could be right where it matters..."

CHAPTER TWO

When  she arrived at work the following Monday morning, it was to find  Alison  in her office, door shut, which was a rare phenomenon, and, even  rarer  still, an atmosphere of hushed efficiency amongst the staff who  had  managed to pole up for work at a quarter to eight-an hour before  their  due starting time on a Monday, this was always limited to a  handful,  which increased as the week progressed.

She walked across to  Janet Peters, one of the editors, opened her mouth  to ask what was going  on and, before she could get the question out,  was greeted with a  series of facial movements and twitches that left  her a little confused.

"Are you feeling all right, Jan?" Ruth asked, concerned, and in reply Janet crooked her finger for Ruth to lean forward.

"Guess who's in with Alison..." she hissed. "Hence the unnatural deathly quiet in this place..."

"Franco  Leoni, owner of Issues?" Ruth hazarded, and then grinned when  Janet  fell backwards in her chair and stared at her with profound   consternation.

"How did you know?"

"I knew...because...I  am possessed of strange mystic forces that leave  me with the uncanny  ability to see into the other realm." She giggled  and played with the  blunt edge of one of her plaits, a sensible  hairstyle that kept her hair  away from her face though unfortunately  made her look no older than  twelve.

"Be serious!" Janet said sternly, by which time they had  been joined by  three others and the atmosphere was drifting inexorably  back into  cheerful, noisy confusion.

"How did you know?" Jack  Brady asked, sitting on the desk and giving  her a frank and open stare.  Jack Brady, who looked only slightly older  than twelve himself, with his  freckles and thick fair hair, specialized  in frank and open stares  which fooled no one but the uninitiated.

"He came here on Friday night, just as I was about to leave. Scared me to death as a matter of fact."

"Was  that," Jack asked, frowning and tilting his head to one side,  "before  or after he asked you to lie prone on the desk so that he could  have his  wicked way with you?"