The Waterfall Of The Moon. Anne Mather

the small restaurant adjoining. As usual he had mentally put her in her place, and her appetite had depleted alarmingly.

      After a consultation with Marco, Patrick decided upon Lobster Thermidor, and rather than spend a lot of time studying the menu, Ruth said she would have that too.

      After Marco had gone to attend to the arrangements, Patrick lit a cheroot, and said: “I'm sorry if you thought I was rude just now. But it is five years since I've seen Marco, and Italians are such gregarious people.”

      Ruth shrugged. “That's all right.” She was feeling so miserable that even his apology meant little to her.

      “Do you like this place?”

      “I've never been here before.”

      “The food is excellent.”

      “Good.” Ruth played with her glass, avoiding his eyes.

      “What's the matter?” He frowned. “You've become morose. Why? I thought you wanted to come out with me. You seemed bright enough when I called for you.”

      Sighing then, she looked up. “I'm perfectly all right. And I shouldn't have come out with you if I hadn't wanted to.”

      “Fine. Then let's behave as though we're enjoying ourselves. What sort of wine appeals to you? White burgundy – hock?”

      “I don't really mind. You choose.”

      He studied the wine list with frowning concentration. She knew she was annoying him by her attitude, but she couldn't seem to help it. It was ridiculous behaving like this. She had looked forward to their lunch together, and she was letting her own stupid emotions spoil it. If he wanted a casual companion then it was up to her to behave that way, or otherwise he would find himself some other girl more than willing to take what he was prepared to offer with no strings attached. And the idea of him with another woman was not to be considered.

      Putting her glass aside, she said: “I'm sorry.”

      He looked up now. His eyes considered her broodingly. “Are you?”

      “Yes. I'm afraid I've been behaving rather childishly. Forgive me.”

      He raised his dark eyebrows. “Why have you been behaving childishly?”

      His question startled her. “Just put it down to pure bad humour,” she suggested lightly, but she sensed he was not wholly deceived.

      “Very well. Now, shall we decide upon the wine?”

      The meal was delicious and Ruth made a good imitation of enjoying it. But all she really did was push her food round the plate and put a couple of choking mouthfuls into her mouth. The wine helped to wash it down, and she managed to keep his attention distracted by talking about Venezuela and the problems of life in a foreign country.

      They left the restaurant just before three, and Ruth stood waiting while he buttoned his coat and put up his collar. A chill wind was blowing and there were particles of snow in the air. It was a day for hugging firesides and she wondered what he intended to do now.

      “Come on,” he said, taking her elbow between his gloved fingers. “I'll take you home. I have to meet a business colleague at four.”

      “Oh, I see.” Ruth ignored the hollow sensation inside of her. “Well, I can get a taxi if you'd rather.”

      “I have time,” he said firmly, and they walked swiftly along the street to where the Mini was parked.

      The traffic took all his attention at this time of the day, and they hardly spoke until they were turning beneath the arched entrance to the mews where Ruth lived. He stopped the car by the door and Ruth turned to him politely.

      “Thank you for taking me,” she said, rather stiffly. “I enjoyed it very much.”

      “Did you?” His smile was ironic. “I'm glad. So did I.”

      Ruth opened her door and slid out, half expecting him to do the same, but he didn't.

      “Good-bye, then.”

      “Good-bye.”

      He inclined his head and then leant across to slam her door before turning in a semi-circle and driving away. She watched his brake lights appear at the entrance to the mews and then the Mini disappeared from view. Taking a deep breath, she opened the front door and went inside, running up the stairs to her room without stopping. When there was a knock at her bedroom door a few minutes later, Ruth was face down on the bed, sobbing her heart out.

      The door opened a fraction and Mrs. Lawson's kindly face appeared. “Miss Ruth?” she said wonderingly. “Why, miss, whatever's the matter?”

      Ruth lifted her head reluctantly. “Nothing's the matter,” she denied chokingly. “Oh, please, Mrs. Lawson, go away and leave me alone …”

      If Mrs. Lawson informed Ruth's father that she had come back from lunch in a rather distressed state, he was tactful enough not to say anything, and Ruth was glad. By dinner time she had composed herself again, and the very last thing she wanted was to be reminded of the afternoon.

      Instead, she devoted the whole evening to her father, talking energetically about one subject after another, anything to keep thoughts of Patrick Hardy out of her mind.

      Towards the end of the evening, her father filled his pipe, and then said: “How does a trip to the States appeal to you?”

      Ruth looked at him in surprise. “The States? Why?”

      “I've been invited by Don Hamilton to go and take a look at his operation out there. It's a coast-to-coast organisation, so it will be a long trip. How does it grab you?”

      Ruth rubbed her palms together. “I don't know,” she began slowly. “How long would we be away?”

      “Three – maybe four months. I thought we might take a holiday in Mexico while we were over there. You've always wanted to visit Mexico, haven't you?”

      “Yes, yes, I suppose so.” Ruth ran her tongue over her upper lip. “But three or four months! That's an awful long time.”

      “You think you'll be bored, is that it? Me working all the time. No companionship for you. Well, how about asking Julie to come along for the ride?”

      “Julie?”

      Ruth was stunned. She couldn't help it. The idea of leaving London at this time was totally abhorrent to her, and although she knew it was crazy, she couldn't help it.

      “Can I think about it?” she asked, at last. “I'm not being ungrateful, but you know I don't mind staying here while you're away.”

      “I know that, lass. And I know Mrs. Lawson's more than capable of looking after you. But you've been looking a little peaky since your weekend in Wiltshire, and I thought you needed a complete break.”

      “Oh, I'm all right.” Ruth got to her feet. “It's just the weather, that's all.”

      “Well, you think about it,” adjured her father, puffing strongly at his pipe. “I think I should be ready to leave in about ten days, so you've plenty of time.”

      Ruth did think about it. She lay awake nights wondering what to do. It was almost a week since she had had lunch with Patrick Hardy and sooner or later she would have to make a decision. She had mentioned the trip over the phone to Julie, and while she had sounded thrilled at being invited, right now she was becoming more deeply involved with Peter Forrester, and had no wish to go away for four months leaving the field free for someone else.

      And then one afternoon, when Mrs. Lawson was out shopping and her father was at the office, the doorbell rang, and when Ruth went to answer it, expecting a tradesman, she found Patrick Hardy on the door step.

      She was immediately conscious of her appearance, well scrubbed jeans and a skinny-ribbed sweater, her hair caught back with an elastic band for tidiness as she attempted to clear out the contents of her bureau in the bedroom.