The Waterfall Of The Moon

“Of course.” Mrs. Lawson drew in her lips. “He doesn't work all the time, you know.”

“I know.” Ruth reached for the phone. “All right, Mrs. Lawson. Thank you.”

Joseph Farrell's office building stood in a side street off the Bayswater Road. The receptionist who answered recognised Ruth's voice at once and said: “I think Mr. Farrell's left the building, miss, but I'll just make sure for you.”

A few minutes later, Ruth heard her father's voice, still bearing traces of his Lancashire background. “Is that you, Ruth? You're back then.”

“Yes. Were you going out? Have I stopped you?”

“It can wait. It was nothing important. I was just going for a beer with Andy.”

“Was that to be your lunch?” exclaimed Ruth reprovingly.

“I suppose so. That and a pie, I shouldn't wonder.”

“A pie and a pint,” said Ruth, unable to hide her amusement. “Well, how about taking me to lunch instead?”

Her father hesitated. “I could do, I suppose,” he conceded slowly. “But I have this meeting at two o'clock …”

“Oh, Papa!” Ruth heaved a sigh. “Then you don't have time, do you?”

“Not really, lass.”

“All right, forget it. What time will you be home this evening?”

“Not late. About six, I should think. D'you want me to take you out to dinner instead?”

“No. No, it doesn't matter.” Ruth recalled the way her father liked to relax after a busy day at the office. “I'll see you tonight then.”

“Fine. Fine. Had a good weekend? Did you give my regards to Jim?”

“James, Papa, James! Julie's father doesn't like being called Jim!”

“Huh!” Her father sounded unimpressed. “Jim was good enough for your grandfather, and it's good enough for him.”

“All right, all right. See you later.”

“You will.”

Julie replaced the receiver and sat staring at it with a rueful sense of pride. Joe Farrell cared for nobody's arrogance, and nobody got away with anything like that with him. He had no time for snobbishness and conceit, he said he couldn't afford such luxuries, and that was in part responsible for his tremendous success. He could, and would, talk to anyone, and anyone could talk to him. No one in the Farrell organisation could say they had never met the boss; he made it his business to know everyone.

Leaving the drawing room, Ruth carried her case up a second flight of stairs to the turquoise and white luxury of her bedroom. Dropping the case on the silken bedcoverings, she walked into the bathroom and turned on the taps. A bath would relax her, would perhaps lift the weight of depression from her shoulders that had settled like a shroud since she drove away from Julie's home that morning …

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_527ab4dd-06cd-5f37-9e84-081177d90f9d)

THREE days later, Ruth was sitting up in bed having breakfast when Mrs. Lawson came to tell her she was wanted on the telephone.

Ruth glanced at her watch. “It's barely nine o'clock,” she exclaimed. “Who is it? Are you sure it's not for Papa?”

“No, miss. It's a Mr. Hardy. Do you want to speak to him?”

Ruth thrust the breakfast tray aside. “Did you say Mr. – Hardy?”

“Yes, miss. Shall I ask him to ring back?”

“No. No, don't do that. I'll get it.” Ruth thrust her legs out of bed, reaching for the matching negligée that went with her wisp of nylon nightgown. “Thank you, Mrs. Lawson.”

As she ran lightly down the stairs to the drawing room Ruth realised that Mrs. Lawson was surprised at her behaviour. Normally, she refused calls before ten o'clock, preferring to have her bath and dress before facing the demands of the day. But this was different, and she refused to analyse why.

Breathlessly she lifted the receiver, and said: “Ruth Farrell speaking.”

“Hello, Ruth. Have I got you out of bed?”

“As a matter of fact you have.” Ruth tried to control her breathing.

“Don't you have extensions?”

“No, Pa – my father doesn't agree with them. He thinks the sound of a phone ringing is the most unpleasant way of being woken up.”

“He could be right.” Patrick sounded amused. “Well, I hope you'll forgive me for calling so early, but I wanted to ask if you'd have lunch with me.”

“Today?” Ruth felt as excited as a schoolgirl faced with an unexpected treat.

“Yes, today. Are you free?”

Ruth recalled that she was supposed to be lunching with Lucy Fielding, the wife of one of her father's directors, and immediately dismissed the engagement.

“Yes. Yes, I think so.” She hesitated. “Where are you phoning from?”

“My apartment.”

“Your apartment?” Ruth couldn't help being surprised. “I didn't know you had an apartment.”

“I didn't – until Monday. I leased it then.”

“I see.” Ruth swallowed hard. “It's – It's in London?”

His tone was dry. “Naturally. Queen Anne Gardens.”

“I know where that is. It's off Marylebone Road, isn't it?”

“I gather you know London very well.”

“I've lived here for thirteen years,” she answered defensively, stung by the sarcasm that was faintly evident in his voice.

“Have you? You don't look old enough.”

“You wouldn't think that if you could see me now,” she retorted, smiling to herself.