Dangerous Passions

‘Why don’t you come right out and say it?’ Jaime demanded, her own patience wearing a little thin at this point. ‘You’re afraid Ben Russell will phone, and there won’t be anybody here to speak to him. Well, I’m sorry, but we can’t live our lives waiting for—for your uncle to call!’

Tom hunched his shoulders. ‘Well, he did say he’d ring later in the week,’ he mumbled defensively. ‘I thought he might invite me over there on Saturday.’

‘To the Priory?’ Jaime stared at him. ‘Did he say he would?’

Tom’s jaw jutted. ‘Not in so many words.’

‘So it’s really your idea.’

‘No.’ Tom was indignant. ‘He did say I could go there again.’ He paused, and then added unwillingly, ‘He said he was thinking of buying some horses. He asked me if I could ride.’

‘And, of course, you said no.’

‘Well, I can’t, can I?’

Tom’s expression was sulky, and Jaime wondered if Maggie would still think she was doing such a good job if she could see them now. She sighed. The trouble was, Tom’s resentment wasn’t entirely unjustified, and the knowledge that had he been brought up like his father, riding would have been just another of the options open to him, stung her conscience. Did she really have the right to obstruct their relationship? How would Tom feel, if he eventually learned the truth?

‘All right,’ she said, acknowledging that she was giving in to him more and more these days. She just hoped her capitulation wouldn’t have a backlash. Tom knew he was winning, but he didn’t know why.

‘All right, what?’ he asked now, and although Jaime realised her answer had been rather oblique Tom’s face had brightened considerably.

‘All right—you can go and see your uncle again, if he asks you,’ she declared tersely. ‘And don’t worry about him ringing while you’re out. He’ll ring back. I have the feeling that—well, that he wants to see you again just as much as you want to see him.’

Jaime told herself it was worth the effort it had cost her to say that when she saw the delight on her son’s face. Poor Tom, she thought. He so badly needed a man in his life. Oh, her father did his best, but he was so much older, and, besides, he had the pub to run. Which didn’t leave a lot of time for his grandson, or the rest of the family either.

She was still thinking about this when she climbed into the taxi that evening. Although she was sure she could have driven herself home after the one or two glasses of wine she intended to drink at Maggie’s house, she had decided not to take the risk. She needed her car to get to work, and to keep her and Tom mobile. If she lost her licence, she’d miss it terribly.

It began to rain as the taxi turned out of Dorset Road, and Jaime was glad she had chosen to wear a suit instead of a dress. Besides, the short skirt and extra-long jacket of the fine wool outfit were very flattering with her long legs, and she hadn’t had many opportunities to wear it. Her own fault, of course, as Tom would say, and until Ben had come on the scene it hadn’t been an issue.

Nevertheless, when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the driver’s rear-view mirror, she did feel quite pleased with her appearance. Black definitely suited her, she thought, fingering the neckline of the slim-fitting jacket. Particularly when it was teamed with a bronze silk camisole.

A faint smile tipped her lips before she caught the driver’s eye and realised he had observed her self-appraisal. Immediately, she looked away, but his, ‘Heavy date?’ made some kind of response unavoidable.

‘Not a date at all,’ she admitted, wishing she weren’t so prone to exhibiting her embarrassment. ‘Just a meal with a friend.’

‘Lucky friend,’ commented the driver admiringly, his swarthy face creasing into a grin. ‘And you can tell him I said so.’

Jaime opened her mouth to say it wasn’t a ‘him’, and then closed it again. It wasn’t important, after all. She wasn’t likely to see the taxi driver again. And it made her feel good to think a stranger should find her attractive.

Maggie lived out towards Nettleford. It was the house she and Felix had occupied before the divorce, and was part of the settlement she had demanded. Jaime had often thought she wouldn’t have wanted to go on living in a house which must hold so many unhappy memories, but Maggie seemed content. It was the house where her children had been brought up, she said, and she still loved it. Jaime suspected she still loved Felix, too, but that was something they never talked about.

The house stood on its own, just beyond the outskirts of the town. Jaime hadn’t thought about it before, but it was only a couple of miles from the Priory, and she hoped Maggie wasn’t going to spend the evening speculating about the new occupant. It would be ironic if, in hoping to avoid thinking about Ben, she found herself in the position of having to talk about him.

The rain was beating against the car windows as they turned between the gates of Maggie’s house, and Jaime was glad she was going to be dropped off at the door. She wouldn’t have fancied having to park the car and then run for cover. The heels she was wearing would not take kindly to the gravel of Maggie’s forecourt, and as there were two cars parked in the driveway already it could have been a problem.

Jaime frowned as the significance of the two strange cars occurred to her. Maggie, she knew, drove a rather shabby Volvo, and unless she had changed her car in the last few weeks she had other guests.

Jaime tried not to feel disappointed. Maggie had said nothing about inviting anyone else when she had asked Jaime to dinner. But then, she hadn’t actually said there was just to be the two of them, and it was Jaime’s fault for jumping to conclusions. She was doing that a lot lately, she thought wryly. She might as well accept it: she was no clairvoyant.

All the same, she did look at the cars rather closely. But neither of them was of obviously German origin—like a Mercedes, for example. Deciding she was getting paranoid, Jaime identified a modest Rover, and a mid-range Ford, neither of which appeared to boast any hightech characteristics. Probably the doctor and the vicar, she thought ruefully, leaning forward to pay her driver. She seemed to remember meeting Maggie’s doctor on another occasion, and she resigned herself to an evening of small talk.

The door had opened while Jaime was settling her fare, and because it was such a dismal evening Maggie was silhouetted by the lights behind her. Unlike Lacey, Felix’s first wife was a big woman, with generous breasts and thighs, and a total disregard for health food. She kept fit by exercising the two Dobermanns, which had taken the place of her grown children, and, in spite of her size, she was decidedly feminine.

‘Hurry,’ she called, as Jaime got out of the taxi. ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.’

‘Oh? Am I late?’ Jaime exclaimed, after sprinting up the steps and into the house. She bent to give Maggie a damp kiss, and then pulled a wry face. ‘Blame it on the weather!’

‘Yes. Isn’t it dreadful?’ Maggie nodded, and closed the door. ‘No wonder they say flaming June! Flaming awful, that’s what I say.’

Jaime smiled. ‘Well, it has been a pretty nice summer up until now,’ she demurred, checking her hair in the mirror of a mahogany tallboy. And then, lowering her voice, ‘You should have warned me you were having a dinner party. I thought there was just going to be the two of us.’

Maggie coloured. ‘Well, you look pretty good to me,’ she declared, avoiding Jaime’s eyes by admiring her suit. ‘That’s new, isn’t it? I don’t believe I’ve seen it before—–’

‘Maggie!’

‘Well, it’s hardly a party,’ protested the other woman quickly. ‘There’s just the four of us.’

‘Four, hmm?’ Jaime didn’t know why, but already her nerves were prickling, and she chided herself for jumping to conclusions yet again. ‘Who else is here?’

Maggie busied herself with brushing a pearl of rainwater from Jaime’s sleeve, and ushered her across the hall to the drawing-room door. ‘Come and see,’ she said, without answering her, and although Jaime wanted to resist she had to go with her.

As she had anticipated, two men were waiting for them in the drawing-room, seated in the wing-chairs that faced one another across the wide hearth. Of course, there was no fire in the hearth this evening. The space was filled by an enormous bowl of dusky pink roses, whose fragrance overlaid the potent scents of good Scotch and fine tobacco. One of the men was smoking, Jaime noticed, as they both rose to their feet at her entrance, but it was hardly relevant. Her eyes were drawn to those of the other man, and the realisation that for once her instincts had not betrayed her was no compensation.

‘You know John, don’t you?’ Maggie was saying fussily, and Jaime guessed she had some idea at least of how her friend was feeling. ‘And—and Ben? You two have met, haven’t you?’

‘Frequently,’ said Ben, as Jaime struggled to regain her composure. ‘Hello, Jaime. You look nice.’

‘Thank you.’ Jaime got the words through her teeth with a supreme effort. She turned to his companion. ‘Dr Fellowes.’

‘Please—I thought we’d agreed you’d call me John,’ exclaimed the elderly doctor, with a chuckle. ‘Whenever I hear Dr Fellowes, it’s usually followed by a request for a consultation!’

Jaime forced a smile. ‘All right—John. I—isn’t it an awful evening?’

‘Terrible,’ he agreed, pulling a face. ‘Now, can I get you a drink, my dear?’

‘Oh—–’ Jaime glanced uncertainly at Maggie ‘—well—yes. Just a small sherry, if you have one.’

‘I’ll leave John to look after you while I go and check on the food,’ declared Maggie, with obvious relief, heading for the door. ‘Sit down, Jaime. We don’t stand on ceremony here.’

Jaime’s gaze slid past Ben’s lean face, and settled on the chintz-covered sofa. But as she seated herself, and crossed her slim legs, she was intensely conscious of his presence. She didn’t have to look at him to be aware of him, or need a second glance to register every detail of his appearance. She already knew he was wearing dark blue trousers, and a matching corduroy jacket that accentuated the width of his shoulders. The sombre shade suited his dark colouring, too. He looked composed and relaxed, and undeniably attractive. But what troubled Jaime most was his disturbing familiarity.

But what was he doing here? Her eyes flickered in his direction and then, finding his eyes upon her, they flickered away again. Oh, God, she thought, why was he doing this to her? All right. So he wanted to see his son. She wasn’t stopping him, was she? So why did he insist on haunting her like this?

To her relief, Ben reseated himself in the chair he had occupied before her arrival, but there was no way she could avoid answering him when he spoke to her. She didn’t know what he had told Maggie and John Fellowes about their relationship, and she had no desire to arouse their curiosity.

His first question was innocent enough. ‘Have you had a busy week?’ he asked, his green eyes displaying what—to anyone else—could only be described as a mild interest, and Jaime was glad John chose that moment to hand her her sherry.

‘I’m always busy,’ she responded coolly, taking refuge in her glass. ‘Mm—–’ she smiled up at the other man ‘—this is delicious!’

‘What do you do exactly?’

Ben was tenacious, and, realising he was enjoying her discomfort, Jaime decided it was time to strike back. ‘Don’t you know?’ she enquired politely, running the pad of her index finger around the rim of her glass. ‘I thought you’d be familiar with the means of tax avoidance.’

John sucked in his breath, and even Ben’s lips tightened, but his tone was just as tolerant as he persisted, ‘Humour me.’ And only Jaime was aware of the double-edged warning in his request.

‘I’m sure—Jaime—doesn’t want to talk about her work tonight,’ John intervened, evidently deciding a mediator was required here. He lowered himself on to the sofa beside her, and patted the hand that was curled very tightly in her lap. ‘Tell us about that handsome son of yours. Maggie says he’ll be entering the fifth form next term.’

‘That’s right.’ Jaime’s tongue circled her upper lip. Of all the subjects to choose, she was thinking grimly, when Ben spoke again.

‘How old is—your son?’ His green eyes were openly challenging between the thick black lashes. ‘You must have been expecting him when I left Kingsmere.’

‘Must I?’ Jaime refused to satisfy his rampant ego. ‘When was that?’

Ben’s features took on a dangerous expression. ‘Oh, I’m sure you remember,’ he said. ‘My wife and I went to live in Africa about eighteen months after you and Phil got married.’

Jaime couldn’t withstand his accusing stare, and she bent her head over the glass as John tried to restore some measure of concord to the debate. ‘Of course,’ he said, as if the thought had just occurred to him, ‘you were married to Ben’s brother, weren’t you, Jaime? So—so Tom—–’ he looked to the other man for guidance ‘—Tom must be your nephew.’

A pregnant silence greeted this pronouncement, one which seemed to last a lifetime, but which probably lasted only a few seconds. Nevertheless, Jaime waited with bated breath for Ben’s denial, knowing how casually he could remove the protection of the Russell name.

But it didn’t come. Instead, Maggie’s cheerful, ‘Are we all ready to eat?’ saved a potentially dangerous situation, and John turned to her eagerly, more than willing to abandon their discussion.

Not that Ben would have said anything to expose himself, Jaime told herself tensely. He was far too clever for that. But he could have removed the respectability of the Russell name from her, and she ought to feel grateful that he hadn’t.

Ben’s dark face was unreadable, however. As Jaime allowed Maggie to link arms and lead her into the dining-room, she could hear him exchanging small talk with John Fellowes behind them. It didn’t seem to have bothered him that the conversation had taken such an embarrassing turn. Nor did he seem perturbed that he had left a significant question unanswered.

‘You’re all right, aren’t you?’ Maggie asked, in a low voice, revealing she was not unaware of the situation. ‘Honestly, I didn’t know John was bringing him! He asked if he could bring a friend, and naturally I said yes. How was I to know it would be your brother-in-law?’

‘Ex-brother-in-law,’ murmured Jaime tightly, and then forced a smile. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘It does matter.’ Maggie was not deceived by her attempt at indifference. ‘I knew it would, dammit. Oh, Jaime, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have upset you for the world!’

‘Really, it’s not that important.’ Jaime squeezed the older woman’s arm, as they separated to take their places at the table. ‘Oh—this looks pretty,’ she added, surveying the lace place-mats, and the centre-piece of roses and lilies. ‘You’re so clever with flowers. I’m no good at these arrangements.’

Maggie accepted her praise modestly, but it was obvious she was not convinced by Jaime’s tactics. Nevertheless, there was nothing she could do but make the best of it, and Jaime knew it was mostly her own fault for allowing Ben to get under her skin. The fact that he had always been able to do so was no reassurance.

The food was excellent. Maggie was a good cook, and her salmon mousse was one of Jaime’s favourites. This was followed by a delicous rack of lamb, and although she had been afraid she wouldn’t be able to eat anything Jaime was able to acquit herself quite creditably.

It helped that the conversation at the table was fairly general. John Fellows possessed a fund of anecdotes about awkward patients he had treated, and even Ben joined in with some stories of his own. It was quite a novelty for Jaime to sit back and listen to Ben talking about the African veldt. He spoke about the wildlife, and the problems each country was having guarding against poachers. He described life in the game reserves, and the animal carnage he had seen in East Africa. And he also talked a little about the war in Ethiopia, and the terrible threat of famine that was never far away.

It was the first time since he’d come back that Jaime had been with him without feeling threatened by him—but she discovered the experience was no less disturbing. Until now, she had been so intent on keeping a barrier between them that she had never allowed herself to feel any normal emotions towards him. The fact that he had travelled widely, had had an interesting, and sometimes dangerous job, and was therefore a fascinating guest to have at any dinner table, had been obscured by her own distorted obsession with him. She had never permitted herself to consider that she could actually like him. She had been so intent on loving him and hating him that she hadn’t seen the obvious alternative.

Or hadn’t wanted to see, she reminded herself sharply. It was much easier to deal with strong emotions than cope with the insidious wiles of gentler ones. She didn’t want to like Ben. She didn’t want to see him as Maggie was seeing him, or admit that she was as interested in his work as anyone else at the table. He was Philip’s brother, she told herself. He had seduced her, and betrayed her. He had left her expecting his child, and gone off to Africa with his wife. The fact that he hadn’t known she was expecting his child was irrelevant. He had made it clear he had no intention of divorcing his wife for her, and Jaime had refused to use her condition to attempt to change his mind.

They had coffee in the drawing-room, by which time Jaime had convinced herself that any interest she had had in Ben’s reminiscences had been spurious. She told herself it had been a combination of the food and the wine—particularly the wine—and the easy ambience of the conversation that had breached her guard and tumbled her defences. She didn’t really care how Ben had spent the last fifteen years; nor did she want to think of the life he and Maura had led together. The insidious image of Ben stretched out on a bed with the other woman, making love to Maura, as he had once made love to her, could still strike a stabbing chord in her memory. She might not want to admit that this was so, but time—and bitter experience—couldn’t always take away the pain.

‘So—isn’t this nice?’

Having served her guests with coffee, Maggie seated herself on the sofa beside Jaime. She was evidently delighted that the evening had not turned into the disaster she had half expected, and Jaime felt a twinge of sympathy for her. Now that it was almost over, she could imagine how her friend must have felt when Ben had arrived on her doorstep. Although Maggie didn’t know the whole story, the fact that he was Philip’s brother must have filled her with dismay. After all, she wouldn’t have wanted to spend the evening with Felix’s brother, particularly if her association with his family had been as acrimonious as Jaime’s with Philip’s.

‘You must give me the recipe for that orange sorbet,’ Jaime murmured now, eager to keep the conversation to impersonal matters. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything more delicious. Where did you find it?’

‘Oh—I got it out of some magazine or other,’ exclaimed Maggie modestly. ‘I wouldn’t like to say which one. I buy so many.’

‘Maggie’s a magazine-addict,’ put in John Fellowes drily. ‘The local church does famously out of her contributions to its jumble sales.’

‘Well, I have to do something,’ she protested. ‘I don’t read—well, not books, anyway—and I don’t like gardening. I’m not like Jaime. I don’t—have…’

And then, shaking her head, she faltered to a stop. Her cheeks were pink with confusion, and it was obvious what she was thinking. She had realised that what she had been about to say could embarrass her guest, and rather than go on with it she got up and offered more coffee.

But it was too soon, and they all knew it, and as if to rescue the situation Ben said quietly, ‘I’m sure we all have vices we’re not too proud of. I know I do.’ He looked at Jaime. ‘Don’t you agree?’

But Jamie had had just about as much as she could take for one evening. ‘I think I ought to be going,’ she said, instead of answering him, dragging her gaze away from his, and addressing Maggie. ‘Um—Tom will be home soon, and I don’t like him going into an empty house.’

‘Of course.’ Maggie didn’t argue, probably as relieved to break up the party as Jaime was. ‘I’ll go and call you a cab. I wonder if it’s still raining.’

‘There’s no need to call Jaime a cab,’ Ben inserted swiftly, getting to his feet. ‘I’ll take her home.’

‘Oh, no—really…’

Jaime’s anxious gaze flashed from Maggie to Ben, and back again. If only she had insisted on bringing her own car, she thought desperately. As it was, unless Maggie could come up with some significant excuse why Ben shouldn’t take her home, she had no valid reason for refusing. It wasn’t as if she felt the slightest bit woozy. The tension of the last few minutes had sobered her more completely than several cups of Maggie’s strong black coffee could have done.

‘Do you think it’s wise to risk driving across town and back again when you’ve been drinking, Ben?’ Maggie ventured now, revealing she had interpreted Jaime’s message loud and clear. ‘I mean, that’s why Jaime didn’t bring her own car. They’re very strict about these things nowadays. Not like before you went to Africa…’

‘I don’t think what Ben’s drunk this evening would put him over the limit,’ the old doctor remarked consideringly, and Jaime wished, rather unfairly, that he would keep his nose out of her affairs. ‘Besides, you’ll wait hours for a taxi on a night like this. You know how busy they’ll be.’

‘Thank you, John.’

Maggie’s sarcasm was lost on him, however, and although she accompanied her words with a killing look it was too late. The damage was done. Jaime had to choose between letting Ben take her home—which surely couldn’t be as harrowing as she was anticipating—and staying here, at the mercy of his edged comments, for a possibly indefinable period.

‘Well,’ she said, clearing her throat, and the admission almost choked her, ‘if—if Ben—doesn’t mind…’

‘My pleasure,’ said Ben smoothly, sliding his hand into his jacket pocket, and pulling out his car keys. ‘It’s been a very pleasant evening, Maggie. I hope you’ll forgive me if I curtail it a little.’

‘Of course.’ Maggie looked unhappily at Jaime. ‘If—er—if it weren’t for Tom, you could have stayed the night.’

‘But there is Tom, isn’t there?’ Ben put in, before Jaime could say anything. ‘And Jaime takes her maternal duties very seriously, don’t you?’ His eyes challenged her to deny it. ‘So—shall we go?’

CHAPTER NINE

BEN’S car was the Ford Sierra, and he insisted on fetching it to the door so that Jaime could just run down the steps and get inside. It was still raining, and drops of moisture sparkled on Ben’s hair as he leaned across the passenger seat to open the door for her.

‘I’ll ring you next week,’ Maggie called, as Jaime got into the car, and she stood at the door, waving, as Ben swung the vehicle round in a half-circle and down the waterlogged drive.

It really was a filthy night. The rain was coming down in sheets, and the wipers had to work overtime to keep the windscreen clean. But it also narrowed Jaime’s world to the heated confines of the car, and she couldn’t help but be aware of Ben’s lean frame only inches from her own.

Not that Ben was showing any interest in her. His attention was focused on the road ahead, and she was annoyed with herself for allowing his presence to disconcert her in any way. He was giving her a lift home, that was all. And judging by the slickness of the road she ought to be grateful she was not having to put her safety in the hands of some untried driver.

Nevertheless, she was aware of him. Her eyes were drawn to the hands handling the wheel so expertly, and the narrow wrists that emerged from the sleeves of his jacket. Was his skin warm? she wondered, her tongue lingering at the corner of her mouth. How was he adapting to this much cooler temperature, after so many years spent in a tropical climate? That was one thing he hadn’t spoken about; that, and his wife.