by Anne Mather
Jaime pushed the tray towards her mother, and then flopped into the chair opposite. But if she had hoped that by escaping from the house she had escaped thinking about Ben Russell she was mistaken.
'Does he know?'
The question was oblique, but Jaime knew exactly what it meant. 'He thinks he does.'
'What does that mean?' Mrs Fenner stared at her daughter with wide eyes. 'Did you tell him?'
'I didn't have to,' replied Jaime wearily. 'He'd seen Tom. He guessed.'
'But—Tom doesn't look like the Russells.'
'Apparently, he does. Ben's father, anyway. Besides, when you see them together, the likeness is unmistakable. It's not so much in appearance. It's more to do with their personality, their character.'
'Well, I hope Tom doesn't have his father's weaknesses!' exclaimed Mrs Fenner shortly. 'Honestly, Jaime, I thought all that was behind us!'
'Do you think I didn't?'
There was a suspicious brightness to Jaime's eyes as she looked at her mother, and Mrs Fenner clicked her tongue in sympathy. 'You should have rung and told us. I wondered why I hadn't heard from you.'
Jaime sniffed, and determinedly straightened her spine. 'Is that why you came?'
'No.' Mrs Fenner pulled a rueful face as she poured two cups of tea, and passed one over to her daughter. 'Actually—' She glanced towards the house to assure herself that Tom wasn't eavesdropping on their conversation, and then continued, 'Actually, I came to warn you, that—that he'd moved into the Priory.'
'Oh, I see.' Jaime heaved a sigh, and took a determined mouthful of her tea. 'And Tom stole your thunder.'
'Well, it wasn't quite like that,' retorted her mother drily. 'Although, I must admit, I'm disappointed that you didn't feel we had a right to know what was happening. For heaven's sake, Jaime, this could cause all sorts of complications.'
'I know.'
'I gather he didn't tell Tom.'
Jaime put down her cup. 'No.'
'And you haven't?'
Jaime made a sound of impatience. 'Is that likely?'
Mrs Fenner bit her lip. 'Well, what's he going to do?'
'I don't know.' Jaime felt desperate, and sounded it. 'He—he suggests we just—play it by ear.'
Mrs Fenner blinked. 'Well, I must say he's taking it rather coolly, isn't he? I don't know that I'd have his presence of mind.'
Jaime shrugged. 'The Russells aren't like us, are they?'
'Even so…' Her mother frowned. 'I gather you managed to speak to him alone.'
'Well—yes. Jaime shifted a little uncomfortably. 'I—I had lunch with him on Monday.'
'You've been out with him!'
Her mother sounded quite scandalised now, and Jaime hurried to reassure her. 'It wasn't my idea. He came to the office. On Monday lunchtime,' she explained. 'Obviously, he couldn't say anything while—while Tom was around, and—well, I didn't have a lot of choice in the matter.'
'It didn't occur to him that Tom might be Philip's son, not his?' her mother queried doubtfully, and Jaime uttered a tired sigh.
'Yes,' she said, resting her elbows on the table, closing her eyes and sliding slim fingers into the damp hair at her temples. 'Of course, that was what he thought at first.'
'But you disabused him?'
'No, Mum. He guessed. I told you.' Jaime's head was beginning to throb, and she felt that if she heard one more word about Ben Russell she'd scream. She opened her eyes again, and looked hollowly at her mother. Now, can we talk about something else?'
Mrs Fenner frowned. 'You can't expect me not to be curious, Jaime. For heaven's sake, the man comes back to Kingsmere, after all these years, and the first person he comes to see is you!' She paused. 'You must admit, it was a coincidence.'
'It's not a coincidence at all.' Jaime looked away towards the roses, which were espaliered against the wall that divided her garden from the one next door. 'He'd heard I was living here. I suppose he thought it was only polite to make contact.'
'Rubbish!' Mrs Fenner spoke disparagingly. 'If your relationship with that man had been a normal one, I might have believed you. But after what he did to you—'
'Oh, Mum, shut up, will you?' Jaime didn't think she could take any more, and she cast an anxious glance at the open kitchen door. 'Don't you think I have enough to worry about?' she exclaimed, her eyes darting pointedly towards the house. 'I don't need you to tell me what I already know.'
'Well, I'm sorry.' Her mother shrugged somewhat huffily. 'But I worry about you, Jaime. And I wonder what he'll do, that's all. I mean, he's not well, is he?'
Jaime's drifting attention focused on her mother's face. 'Not well?'
'No. That's why he came back to England, isn't it? For treatment. Didn't you know?'
Jaime tried to remember what Tom had told her. He had said that Ben had been ill, and that that was why he had come back to England. But she hadn't paid much attention to Tom's explanations, deciding they had been offered as a sop to Tom's pride rather than a true representation of the facts. Oh, she had seen for herself how Ben had changed, and she was quite prepared to accept that living in a war zone must be tough, but she had not allowed herself to feel any sympathy for him. Now, however…
'You didn't know?' Mrs Fenner sounded surprised. 'Well, it seems my journey hasn't been entirely wasted. Yes, according to what I've heard he has some kind of liver problem.'
Jaime's stomach heaved, and she got abruptly to her feet. A liver problem! she thought sickly. Oh, God! Liver problems could be terminal, couldn't they? Surely that wasn't why he had come back to England—to die?
'Where are you going?'
Her mother's voice reaching her from across the courtyard made Jaime realise she had started almost involuntarily towards the house, and she came to an uncertain stop. But her initial instincts had been to find out if it was true, by whatever means she had at her disposal.
'Oh—I was just going to see if Tom had finished his meal,' she offered lamely, but she could tell from her mother's expression that she was not deceived.
'You can't still care about him,' Mrs Fenner whispered disbelievingly, and although her words were barely audible Jaime couldn't pretend she hadn't heard them.
'No!' she responded fiercely. 'No, of course I don't care about him. But—God! You can't tell me something like that without producing some reaction.' She ran a dazed hand over her forehead. 'Who told you?'
Mrs Fenner sighed. 'Oh—I don't remember now. You know how these things get about. People will talk, and pubs are veritable hotbeds of gossip.'
'Is it serious?' Jaime had to know.
'I don't know.' Her mother got to her feet now. 'Look, I've got to go. I've already stayed longer than I intended, and your father has his Chamber of Trade meeting tonight.'
'Of course.' Jaime nodded. 'Um—give Dad our love, won't you?'
'Will you be all right?' Mrs Fenner stopped beside her daughter, and put a worried hand on Jaime's shoulder. 'I didn't mean to upset you. I just thought you ought to know, that's all.'
'It's OK, Mum. Honestly.'
Somehow, Jaime managed to reassure her that she was fine, and Tom's presence prevented any further confidences. Besides, what else was there to say? thought Jaime, as she waved her mother away. Just because Ben had apparently contracted some kind of tropical complaint did not mean he was dying. She was over-reacting. He'd said he'd picked up a bug in Africa, and that was a far cry from liver failure, which was what she had first thought of. No, he would survive. The problem was, would she?
CHAPTER SIX
The weekend dragged by. Jaime refused to accept that both she and Tom were suffering the effects of Ben's failure to get in touch, but the fact remained that they each, for their own reasons, had expected that he would.
For Jaime's part, she blamed Tom for creating such an air of gloom and despondency about the place. He wouldn't contact his friends; he wouldn't go out. He just lounged in front of the television set, switching channels, and generally making a nuisance of himsel
f.
Which wasn't like him, she thought frustratedly. Until Ben Russell had come on the scene, Tom had been a fairly well-balanced teenager and, in retrospect, even his infatuation for Angie Santini seemed completely natural. And he and she had always got along so well together. In fact, she used to feel rather smug, when the other women at work had complained about their children. She had had no real problems with Tom. Until now.
Damn Ben Russell, she thought on Sunday evening, as she prepared for bed. It was typical of him to dangle the prospect of his exciting life under Tom's nose, and then withdraw it again, untried. Was that how he was going to get his revenge against her? By hurting his own son?
Monday was a hectic day, and by mid-afternoon Jaime's head was aching badly. It felt like the start of a migraine, and as Felix had appointments all afternoon she rang him and asked if he'd mind if she left early.
'Would you like someone to drive you home?' he asked, after giving her his blessing, and Jaime thought how considerate some men were compared to others.
'No, I can manage,' she demurred, wanting only to be on her own for a while. 'But thanks, anyway. I'll see you in the morning.'
The house was hot, after being shut up all day, and she opened all the windows, and the back door, before settling down with a cup of tea and two aspirins. It was only three o'clock. Tom wouldn't be home for another hour yet. She could relax.
A fly came in the door and began buzzing at the window, and Jaime sighed. Flies were such stupid creatures, she thought irritably. No sooner did they get into the house than they were trying to get out again. And how was it they could find the doorway perfectly easily coming in, but completely lost direction afterwards?
The window was open, too, so all the thing had to do was circle to the right to get out. But, of course, it didn't. It just kept on buzzing around in the middle of the pane, until the tension it was creating forced Jaime to get up again to dispose of it. And, as she was endeavouring to sweep it to freedom, the phone rang.
'On, great!' Jaime cast one last malevolent look at the insect, and then, throwing down the newspaper she had been using as a tool, she stalked into the hall, and snatched up the receiver. 'Yes?'
The voice was unmistakable. It had haunted her dreams for the last ten days and, although she had no desire to speak to him, she couldn't help the involuntary response of her body.
'Ben.' She didn't pretend not to recognise him. But her tone was distant—in direct contradiction to her emotions. 'What do you want?'
'I thought you might be interested to know that Tom's here,' declared Ben flatly. 'Do you want to speak to him?'
Jaime wanted to sit down, but she didn't. Instead, she hung on to the phone as if it might offer some remnant of support. 'Tom's—there!'
Ben expelled his breath. 'Yes.'
'Oh, God!' Jaime caught her breath. 'What have you done?'
'I haven't done anything,' retorted Ben smoothly. 'As I say, I think you should speak to Tom.'
'Did you go to his school?' Jaime was beside herself. 'Did you bribe him with promises of lunch? I suppose you realised you were wasting your time with me, so you decided to use Tom—'
But she was speaking to herself. The phone had been laid down, and she could hear the sound of footsteps on an uncarpeted floor. Then she heard a muffled exchange, and other footsteps, lighter ones this time, before the phone was picked up once more.
'Mum?'
'Tom!' Jaime could barely articulate his name. She swallowed convulsively. 'Tom, what are you doing there?'
'Oh, Mum.' Tom sounded sheepish, and Jaime's nerves tightened. What did Tom have to be sheepish about? He couldn't help being attracted by so much wealth. 'Mum, I'm sorry.'
Jaime drew a steadying breath. 'There's no need to be sorry, Tom,' she said evenly. 'Naturally, I'm disappointed that you've missed an afternoon's school. Still, it's only half a day. I dare say you can make it up tomorrow.'
'You don't mind my coming here, then?' Tom was obviously anxious, and Jaime was reassured. So long as Tom cared about her feelings, she had nothing to worry about.
'Well,' she murmured now, wondering whether Ben was eavesdropping on their conversation, 'I don't suppose you could refuse. Did—er—did Uncle Ben meet you from school?'
'No.' Tom sounded puzzled now. 'No, he didn't even know I was coming, did he?'
Didn't he?
Jaime had to sit down then. She groped her way to the foot of the stairs, and sank down weakly on to one of the lower treads. What was Tom saying? That he had gone to Ben's house uninvited?
'I—I think you'd better explain what happened,' she managed, after a few moments. 'Are you saying that you—that you decided to play truant?'
'Kids don't play truant these days, Mum,' muttered Tom, a little sulkily. 'They skive off—or they split!'
'Thank you. But I don't require a lesson in semantics, Tom,' retorted Jaime shortly, and as a justifiable anger began to replace the panic inside her she added, 'How dare you go there without my permission?'
Tom sniffed. 'It wasn't like that.'
'What do you mean, it wasn't like that? You've just told me you—you abandoned school, and that—that Uncle Ben wasn't expecting you.'
'I know.' Tom's reply was defensive. 'But I didn't intend to come to the house. I—just wanted to see where it was, that's all.'
Jaime breathed deeply. 'So? What happened?'
'Uncle Ben saw me.'
'He saw you?'
'Yes.' Tom hesitated. 'He—I—I was outside the gates, when he drove in.'
'I see.' Jaime tried to keep a lid on her temper. 'And he recognised you, of course.'
'Well—I waved,' muttered Tom lamely, and Jaime closed her eyes against the visions that his words evoked. Ben turning into the gates of the Priory, and Tom trying madly to attract his attention. God! And she had virtually accused Ben of kidnapping! No wonder he had put the phone down on her.
'I think you'd better put—Uncle Ben back on the phone,' Jaime declared now, steeling herself for another confrontation. 'And I think you should come home. Right away.'
'Oh, Mum!'
'Just put Ben—Uncle Ben back on, will you? Anything I have to say to you can wait until you get home.'
'But I want to go swimming!'
'Not today, Tom. Now, let me speak to—to your uncle.'
Once again, the phone was laid down, this time rather less considerately, and she heard the exchange of feet on the bare floor. Tiles? she wondered inconsequentially, and then dashed the insidious thought. She had absolutely no interest in how Ben Russell had restored the Priory. She was only concerned with its occupant, and the effect he was having on her family.
The phone was lifted, and once again Ben came on the line. 'Washed your mouth out with soap?' he queried laconically, and Jaime was so relieved he wasn't angry with her that a nervous laugh escaped her.
'I'm sorry.'
'No problem.' Ben was unperturbed. 'I just thought you might get worried if he didn't arrive home from school at the usual time.'
'Well, I would have, of course.' Jaime had her incipient hysteria under control now, and she was able to think of other things. 'How—how did you know I was here?'
'I looked in my crystal ball.' Ben's tone was dry. 'How do you think? I phoned your office, and the receptionist told me you'd gone home. She said you weren't feeling well. Are you all right?'
'Oh—yes.' Jaime wasn't concerned about her own condition right now. With luck, the receptionist wouldn't have asked who he was, so Felix was unlikely to hear about it. 'Um—I'm sorry if Tom's disrupted your afternoon. I had no idea he might—well, I'll speak to him myself, when he gets home.
'As I say, it's no problem.' Ben was infuriatingly casual. 'He was curious to see where I lived. I can understand that.'
Yes, you would! thought Jaime tautly, willing herself not to say anything that might jeopardise her chances of getting Tom home again unscathed. At least, now, she had some idea of what she was up against, so far as her son
was concerned. Whatever he said, Tom wasn't going to ignore his relationship to the Russells. That was blatantly obvious.
'Well, I think you'd better send him home—right away,' she declared now, trying hard to sound reasonable. 'The—the bus from Nettleford to Kingsmere passes close to the Priory gates. He can get that. He does have some money with him.'
'OK. If that's what you want.' If she'd expected an argument from Ben, she was disappointed. 'I can think of an alternative, but you're his mother.'
'Yes, I am.' Jaime's response came out curter than she could have wished, but she couldn't help it. She licked her lips. 'Tell—tell Tom I'll pick him up at the bus station.'
There was a moment's pause, and then Ben said quietly, 'Why don't you come and get him yourself?'
His suggestion was delivered in the same even tone he had used before, and Jaime envied him his ability to hide his feelings so well. For her part, she was left scrabbling for a legitimate excuse.
'I—don't think so,' she said at last, not very satisfactorily, and Ben sighed.
'All right.' As before, he didn't attempt to try to change her mind. 'I'll give Tom your message—
'Wait!'
Jaime realised he intended to ring off, and all of a sudden she was aware of how skilfully he had transferred the responsibility for what happened next to her. He could tell Tom—quite truthfully—that his mother had insisted he go home, and, remembering her son's attitude over the past weekend, Jaime could imagine how that would be received. It might be what she wanted, but was it really wise to play into Ben's hands by acting the heavy?
'I—uh—what was your alternative?' she enquired, through clenched teeth, and had the dubious pleasure of knowing she had disconcerted him for once.
But Ben was nothing if not resourceful, and he quickly regained his composure. 'I was going to offer to bring him home myself—later,' he appended smoothly. 'After he's had time to look around—and take a swim.'
'He doesn't have his swimming shorts,' Jaime protested at once. It was the first thing that came into her head, but Ben was undeterred.
