‘Why not?’ asked Ruth coyly.
‘Why . . . because of Angus’s age. I suppose I just assumed they must be his by a previous marriage.’
‘No,’ said Ruth, laughing. ‘Angus didn’t marry until he was in his forties, and I was very flattered when he asked me to be his wife.’
Max made no comment.
‘And you?’ asked Ruth, as a waiter offered her a choice of four different types of bread.
‘Been married four times,’ Max said.
Ruth looked shocked, until he burst out laughing.
‘In truth, never,’ he said quietly. ‘I suppose I just haven’t bumped into the right girl.’
‘But you’re still young enough to have any woman you like,’ said Ruth.
‘I’m older than you,’ said Max gallantly.
‘It’s different for a man,’ said Ruth wistfully.
The maître d’ reappeared by their side, a little pad in his hand.
‘Two gnocchi and a bottle of your Barolo,’ said Max, handing back the menu. ‘And a side salad large enough for both of us: asparagus, avocado, lettuce heart – you know what I like.’
‘Of course, Mr Bennett,’ replied Valerio.
Max turned his attention back to his guest. ‘Doesn’t someone of your age find Jersey a little dull?’ he asked as he leaned across the table and pushed back a strand of blonde hair that had fallen across her forehead.
Ruth smiled shyly. ‘It has its advantages,’ she replied a little unconvincingly.
‘Like what?’ pressed Max.
‘Tax at 20 per cent.’
‘That sounds like a good reason for Angus being on Jersey – but not you. In any case, I’d still rather be in England and pay 40 per cent.’
‘Now that he’s retired and living on a fixed income, it suits us. If we’d stayed in Edinburgh, we couldn’t have maintained the same standard of living.’
‘So, Brighton’s as good as it gets,’ said Max, with a grin.
The maître d’ reappeared carrying two plates of gnocchi, which he placed in front of them, while another waiter deposited a large side salad in the centre of the table.
‘I’m not complaining,’ said Ruth, as she sipped her champagne. ‘Angus has always been very considerate. I want for nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ Max repeated, as a hand disappeared under the table and rested on her knee.
Ruth knew that she should have removed it immediately, but she didn’t.
When Max eventually took his hand away and began to concentrate on the gnocchi, Ruth tried to act as if nothing had happened.
‘Anything worth seeing in the West End?’ she asked casually. ‘I’m told An Inspector Calls is good.’
‘It certainly is,’ replied Max. ‘I went to the opening night.’
‘Oh, when was that?’ asked Ruth innocently.
‘About five years ago,’ Max replied.