The Waterfall Of The Moon

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.

“Hello,” he said, his voice as attractive as ever. “May I come in?”

“Of course.” Julie stepped back and they stood together in the minute hall as she closed the door again. “Er – won't you come upstairs?”

She led the way, hoping the seat of her trousers was not too faded. She had had them since she was at school and had a certain sentimental attachment for them. So often her father bought her new things when they were not necessary, and Mrs. Lawson's nieces benefited from being given Ruth's older clothes. But she had determinedly kept the jeans and wore them around the house.

In the drawing room she indicated a chair. “Won't you sit down?”

Patrick did not immediately comply. He was viewing her appearance with apparent interest, for he said: “Am I interrupting something?”

Ruth tugged the elastic band off her hair, wincing as it brought several hairs with it, and shook her head. “Nothing important,” she replied. “Will you have some tea? Or something stronger?”

“Nothing at the moment, thank you.” Patrick walked across to a cubist painting on the wall. “Is this a Picasso?”

“It's a print. Papa has the original put away in a safe.”

Patrick shook his head. “What a waste!”

“It's a very expensive painting. The insurance people wouldn't cover it without extensive burglar alarm systems, and as Papa wouldn't agree to those …” She shrugged. “How are you?”

“I'm fine.” He turned back to her. In dark pants and sweater, a thigh-length, black leather coat overall, he looked curiously alien with his distinctive tan. “How about you?”

“I'm fine, too.” Ruth sought about in her mind for something to say and fell back on the most obvious. “It's terrible weather, isn't it?”

He glanced towards the sleet-drenched windows. “I suppose it is. I'm quite enjoying it.”

Ruth nodded, giving him a nervous smile, and he went on: “You're wondering why I'm here.”

She shrugged. “Do you have a reason?”

“Of course. Did you think I was at a loose end and drove here on the off chance of filling in the afternoon?”

Ruth linked her fingers together. “You might have done.”

“Well, I didn't. I rang this morning, and when I could get no reply I decided to come round.”

“I see.” Ruth considered this. “Both Mrs. Lawson and I were out shopping this morning, I'm afraid.”

“Yes, I gathered that.” His tone was dry. Then he sighed. “Will you have dinner with me this evening?”

Ruth was astonished. “I – I –”

“I know it's short notice, but – well, actually I wasn't going to see you again.”

Ruth quivered, “No?”

“No.” He frowned. “After the last time, it seemed obvious that our association wasn't going to work.”

“Why not?”

He moved his shoulders restlessly. “You – seemed to want – more of me than I was prepared to give,” he replied, and she went scarlet.

“And – and now?”

He bent his head. “I guess these things don't always work out the way we'd like them to.”

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