The Little House. Philippa Gregory
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about what happens next.’
David had never learned tact. ‘What d’you mean: what happens next? D’you mean a baby?’
Ruth hesitated. ‘Eventually, yes, of course,’ she said. ‘But not right now. I wanted to work up a bit, you know. I did want to work for the BBC. I even thought about television.’
‘You always said you were going to travel,’ he reminded her. ‘Research your roots. Go back to America and find your missing millionaire relations.’
‘If I’m freelance that’ll be easier.’
‘Not with a baby,’ David reminded her.
Ruth was silent.
‘I suppose there is such a thing as contraception,’ David said lightly. ‘A woman’s right to choose and all that. We are in the nineties. Or did I miss something?’
‘Swing back to family values,’ Ruth said briskly. ‘Women in the home and crime off the streets.’
He chuckled and was about to cap the joke but stopped himself. ‘No, hang on a minute,’ he said. ‘I don’t get this. I never thought you were the maternal type, Ruth. You don’t really want a baby, do you?’
Ruth was about to agree with him, but again her loyalty to Patrick silenced her. She nodded to the barman to give them another round of drinks and busied herself with paying him. ‘You don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Patrick’s got this very established conventional sort of family, and he’s a very conventional sort of man…’ She looked to see if David was nodding in agreement. He was not.
‘They’re very influential,’ she said weakly. ‘It’s very difficult to argue with them. And of course they want us to move house, and of course, sooner or later, they’ll expect a baby.’
‘Come on,’ David said irritably. ‘It’ll be you that expects it, and you that gives birth. If you don’t want to have a baby, you must just say no.’
Ruth was silent. David realized he had been too abrupt. ‘Can’t you just say no?’
She turned to look at him. ‘Oh, David,’ she said. ‘You know me as well as anybody. I never had any family life worth a damn. When I met Patrick and he took me home, I suddenly saw somewhere I could belong. And they took me in, and now they’re my family. I don’t want to spoil it. We see them practically every Sunday…’
‘D’you know what I do on Sunday mornings?’ David interrupted. ‘I don’t get up till eleven. I take the papers back to bed with me and read all the trivial bits – the travel sections and the style sections and the magazines. When the pubs open I walk across the park to The Fountain and I have a drink with some people there. Then I take a curry back home, and I read all the papers, and watch the telly. Then if I feel energetic I go for a jog. And if I feel lazy I do nothing. And in the evening I go round to see someone I like, or people come round and see me. I can’t imagine having to be polite all day to someone’s mum and dad.’
‘They’re my mum and dad,’ she said.
He shook his head. ‘No, they’re not.’
He saw, as she turned away from him, that he had gone too far. ‘Sorry,’ he said. He shifted his barstool closer and put his hand on her knee. ‘Tell you what, come back to my flat with me,’ he said. ‘I’ll read last Sunday’s papers to you.’
Ruth gave him a wan smile, picked up his hand, and dropped it lightly in his lap. ‘Married woman,’ she said. ‘As you well know.’
‘Wasted on matrimony,’ he said. ‘That sexy smile of yours. I should have taken my chance with you when I had it, when you were young and stupid, before you found Prince Charming and got stuck in the castle.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘I’m very happy.’
David bit back the response. ‘Well, we both are!’ he said, lapsing into irony again. ‘What with our vivid emotional lives and our glittering careers! Speaking of which – what about our glittering careers? What will you do?’
‘I’ll look round,’ she said. ‘And I’ll do some local pieces for James. I can keep my hand in and they won’t look bad on a CV. What about you?’
‘I need a job,’ David said. ‘I can freelance for a week or so, but when the money runs out I need a pay cheque. I’ll be sweeping the streets, I reckon.’
Ruth giggled suddenly, her face brightening. ‘Walking them more like,’ she said. ‘A tart like you. You could pop down to the docks.’
David smiled back at her. ‘I try to keep my self-respect,’ he said primly. ‘But if you know any rich old women I could be tempted. What about your mother-in-law? Would she fancy a fling with a young gigolo? Is she the toyboy type?’
Ruth snorted into her drink. ‘Absolutely,’ she said. ‘You could pop out on Sunday afternoons and rendezvous in that bloody cottage!’
RUTH WAS LATE at the restaurant, and her high spirits evaporated when she saw Patrick’s sulky face over the large menu.
‘Sorry, sorry, sorry,’ she said as she slipped onto the bench seat opposite him. ‘I went out for a drink with David and I didn’t watch the time.’
Patrick’s bright blue eyes widened in surprise. ‘Well, thanks very much,’ he said. ‘I hurried here to be with you and then I sit here on my own while you go boozing with some guy from work.’
‘He’s just been made redundant,’ Ruth said. ‘And I was too.’
Patrick, who had been about to continue his complaint, was abruptly silenced. ‘What?’
‘I’ve been made redundant,’ Ruth said. ‘Me and David and someone else. We’re all out at the end of the week with a month’s pay in hand. They offered us freelance work.’
Patrick’s face was radiant. ‘Well, what a coincidence!’ he said. ‘Aren’t things just working out for us?’
‘Not exactly,’ Ruth said rather tartly, fired by David and by two double gins. ‘I wanted to keep my job; and if I left it I wanted to go somewhere better. I didn’t want to get the sack and have a baby as second best.’
Patrick quickly summoned the waiter. ‘D’you want spaghetti, darling? And salad?’
‘Yes.’
Patrick ordered and poured Ruth a glass of wine. ‘You’re upset,’ he said soothingly. ‘Poor darling. How disappointing. Don’t feel too bad about it. We’ll look round. We’ll find you another job. There must be people who would snap you up. You’re so bright and a damn fine journalist.’
Ruth’s mouth quivered. ‘I liked it there!’ she said miserably. ‘And I was doing some really good stories. I even scooped your lot a couple of times.’
‘You’re an excellent journalist,’ he said. ‘That’s why I’m so confident you’ll find work at once somewhere else…if you want it.’
As Ruth lifted her head to protest, he held up his hand. ‘Not another word!’ he said. ‘You’ve had a shock. We won’t talk plans tonight. Not a word about jobs or flats or cottages. Not a word! Let me tell you about the interview I did with Clark today – you’ll die.’
Patrick told Ruth a story and she laughed politely. Their food came and Patrick continued to lay himself out to please her. He was witty and he could be charming. Ruth, enjoying the mixture of red wine and gin, found herself laughing at his stories and capping them with stories of her own. It was midnight before they left the restaurant, and Patrick put his arm around her as they walked home together.
‘I