Reasons Of the Heart

With Ross it was different. From the very first his boldness had made her bold. Because he had expected the worst from her, and she from him, she had felt free to let her feelings rip. And the unspoken physical attrac­tion that had run concurrent with the surface animosity had spiced her reactions with a delicious exhilaration. But what would happen now, now that the unspoken was voiced? Where did they go from here? Where did she want to go?

Lunch with the Tarrants proved to be a small series of revelations, capped off by an enormously shattering one.

First surprise was the warmth with which Florence Tarrant welcomed Fran into the big, sunny kitchen of the large, rambling old house. After scolding her son for his tardiness in not bringing Francesca along before, she simply opened her arms and hugged the young woman as if she was a long-lost relative.

'You're looking as if a puff of wind would blow you away. I hope Ross is looking after you. I'm so sorry about Ian, my dear. It must make you feel very alone now.'

Fran felt a prickle of unexpected tears at the back of her throat and swallowed hastily. The casually affec­tionate embrace touched a deep chord within her. Such gestures had been few and far between in her past. Physical affection from her grandparents had been rationed so that she wouldn't be 'spoiled', and she had no memories of her own mother, who had rejoined her roving lover when Fran was only four months old and been killed with him in a car accident two years later.

'It does a bit,' she admitted to the slim, dark-haired older woman, surprised at the impulse to confide to an almost total stranger. 'Which is a bit hypocritical, I suppose, since we saw each other so little, and didn't get on very well when we did get together.'

'Not silly at all.' Florence Tarrant smiled in warm understanding. 'We all tend to take certain basics in our life for granted, like family ties, until suddenly they're not there any more.' The soft brown eyes began to twinkle as she looked from Fran to her son. 'You'll just have to create some blood ties of your very own to take for granted.'

It took Fran a moment to realise what she meant. When she did she blushed to the roots of her hair and sent Ross a speaking look when he laughed at her stam­mering attempts to explain that there was nothing be­tween them.

'If you say so, my dear,' Florence Tarrant said, with a placid smile that was both sympathetic and disbelieving.

'I told you she was trying to marry me off,' Ross whispered in her ear as they went into the large, wood-panelled dining-room.

'I can understand her desperation!' Fran shot back. 'Ageing playboys must have a pretty limited value on the glutted marriage market.'

Ross got his revenge for that remark when they were seated and Fran had been introduced to a bewildering array of people: Beth, a sweetly feminine

version of Ross with long, straight dark hair and flashing blue eyes, and her morose-looking boyfriend, John, who seemed glumly aware he wasn't going to hold this young butterfly's at­tention for long; Ross's youngest brother, David, who worked with Jason in the family business and, except for his husky size, took after his mother with his dark hair and eyes, and the three, leather-jacketed and vaguely menacing members of his band, Mo, Bean and Adam; the patriarch, Mike Tarrant, as broad-shouldered as his three sons and looking amazingly fit for a man in his mid-sixties, his blue eyes alert and his gruff voice offset by the same world-embracing friendliness that his wife possessed. Jason and Tessa, to Francesca's left on the long, polished wood table, were welcome, familiar faces, but she wasn't given a chance to say more than hello before Ross made his dramatic announcement.

'Sorry we were late, folks, but you can thank Fran­cesca that I'm sitting here at all. She saved my life yesterday.'

'Saved your life? Wow!' Beth's lovely eyes widened with awe. 'What happened?'

Stricken with embarrassment at being the centre of attention, Fran could only stare daggers at Ross, lounging cheerfully at her right elbow. She had thought he would have kept silent about his ignominious ex­pedition, but it seemed that he was happy to court his family's disfavour for the sake of embarrassing her.

Grinning back at her, he launched into a colourful, graphic description of the previous day's rescue, drawing a clamour of admiration for the blushing heroine.

'He wasn't really in any danger—' she tried to say, but her attempted modesty was brushed aside as Ross came in for his share of derision.

'I would have tipped him out of the thing and made him swim back,' David crowed cockily over his brother's ignominy. Two years younger than Jason, he obviously grabbed every opportunity he could to repay years of teasing by his two impressive elder brothers.

'I wouldn't have blamed you, Francesca, if you'd left him to the coastguard,' his mother said with amazing placidity. 'They would have given him a good talking to. I hope you have no ill effects from your heroics, my dear.'

'Only a hangover,' put in Ross wickedly, but this time Fran refused to blush. He had actually done her a favour, in an embarrassing way. He had ensured her instant ac­ceptance by his family. Or is that what he had intended? She looked at him uncertainly, and he winked.

'He plied me with brandy afterwards,' she said, de­ciding to twist his mockery to her own advantage. 'So I guess the hangover is his fault too!' She shrugged with an air of injured innocence.

'Ross!' His mother's reproach was all that she could have wished for.

'Medicinal purposes only, Mum,' said Ross defen­sively. 'She was in shock. I think she realised what an unnecessary risk she had taken.'

'Unnecessary risk? I took?' Encouraged by the em-pathetic vibrations from around the table, Fran took umbrage. ' You're the dumb ox who thinks that risks are only there to be taken. You're the one who rowed off in a childish huff just because I wouldn't lie down and let you wipe your arrogant feet all over me! You're the one who started the whole argument by trying to get rid of me by domestic violence.'

'He hits you?' sqawked Beth, looking at her brother with new eyes, and to Fran's surprise and amusement Ross actually blushed.

'Of course I don't hit her,' he growled. 'That's not to say she couldn't do with a damned good spanking on occasion.'

'Ross!' Florence Tarrant metaphorically rapped his knuckles.

'That's a pretty sexist remark to make. I'm surprised at you, Ross,' Tessa put in her quiet voice. Her face was serious, but when she flicked a glance at Francesca her eyes were filled with the same amusement reflected in her fiancé’s. Francesca grinned back.

'I didn't mean physical violence,' she explained sweetly. 'I meant his horrific lack of willingness to lift a finger around the house. He's as domesticated as a wild boar.