Campaign For Loving

by Penny Jordan

  ‘No, let me look.’

  His gaze was almost a caress in itself, leaving her pliant and trembling, feeling that her body was a precious sacrifice that she must yield up to him.

  ‘Jaime.’ Her name left his lips on a whisper, as he kneeled beside her, bending over her until his body blocked out the light, cupping her face gently in both hands as he kissed her.

  The touch of his lips was almost tentative, searching, delicate, almost as though she were some timid woodland creature he was frightened of chasing away. Indeed, in many ways, his hesitant caress was more seductive than a more fiercely passionate demand because it gave Jaime the confidence to relax, to let her lips and body flower into ripe awareness, like a flower opening up to the sun.

  Gradually, the pressure of Blake’s kiss increased, but Jaime was barely aware of it doing so. All of her was concentrated on responding in counter to the fiercely sweet music Blake was playing. In concert, they seemed to move together, her mouth opening, her tongue tasting, her body yielding even before Blake touched it.

  Gently releasing her mouth, Blake commanded huskily,

  ‘Open your eyes.’

  Obediently, Jaime did so, meeting the green depths of Blake’s. It was almost as though he hypnotised her; as though she were unable to withdraw her gaze from his as he released her face and slowly stroked his fingers down her throat. Jaime raised her hands, automatically wanting to touch him, but Blake shook his head and said softly, ‘Not yet.’

  He had reached the valley between her breasts, cupping them both. Trembling with tension, Jaime followed his gaze down her body. His eyes seemed to smoulder as he studied the twin pink crests. When he bent his head and slowly anointed each burgeoning nipple with the moist warmth of his mouth, Jaime shuddered in helpless reaction, her self-control splintering.

  ‘Blake.’ He made no move to stop her when her arms tightened round him, her trembling mouth pressing wild kisses against his- skin. Where it had simply felt comfortingly warm when she had cuddled against him, now it burned. His mouth scorched her skin as tenderness gave way to passion, forcing her to cry out his name and be granted the immediate surcease of the caresses her body craved. Everything about him was familiar, and yet achingly exciting. His hand stroking her thigh made her arch and ache with pleasure, his mouth against her breast unleashing the husky cries of need he seemed so hungry to hear.

  In a frenzy of arousal, Jaime mimicked his caresses. Her tongue found and brushed his flat, male nipples, her hand stroked the smooth skin of his belly, the kisses she placed there making him groan and reach for her.

  ‘Dear God, Jaime,’ Blake muttered rawly into her parted mouth, ‘If this is what it results in, I’ll have to arrange for Fern to go missing more often.’

  If the earth had rocked beneath her, it couldn’t have had a more cataclysmic effect on Jaime. Her body tensed, her voice hoarse with pain, she said thickly, ‘Don’t you mean “again”? I know all about it Blake,’ she continued bleakly, ‘all about how you agreed with Caroline; how the three of you worked out your plan. You wanted Charles to leave the committee, and you thought you could get him to do it through me, hence that attack on the school, my wonky brakes . . . but to threaten to hurt Fern . . . your own child. I know you never wanted her, but. . . .’ She was crying, forcing the bleak words out between sobs, wondering how she had ever found Blake’s body warm and secure. Now she could almost feel the icy cold coming off it, freezing through her.

  ‘Say that again. . . .’ His voice sounded completely flat, almost dangerous in some strange way.

  ‘I know you never wanted Fern,’ Jaime hiccoughed.

  ‘No, not that. . . . All that rubbish about Caroline and me.’

  ‘It isn’t rubbish. I didn’t want to believe it . . . but Caroline told me the truth this afternoon, when I threatened her with the police.’

  ‘And when Fern went missing, you thought. . . .’ Blake began slowly.

  ‘I thought that your threat had been carried out. That’s what the man who came to the school told me . . . but I couldn’t believe. . . .’

  ‘But you did believe, didn’t you?’ Blake said furiously angry. ‘You believed I was a party to this harassment of you . . . that I would actually condone behaviour which could hurt my own child. No wonder you left me, Jaime,’ he said bitterly, ‘I never realised before quite how low your opinion of me was. Well, for your information, until now I had no idea you were being threatened.’

  ‘You mean, you didn’t know about why the school was attacked and my brakes tampered with?’ Hope flared inside her, only to die as she saw Blake’s momentary hesitation.

  ‘I certainly had no part in it,’ he said at last, but Jaime had not received the answer she had wanted. Blake had known, and knowing had done nothing to stop it.

  ‘Blake, I think it’s best if Fern and I go home tomorrow,’ she said tiredly.

  ‘No!’ The sharp denial pierced through her. ‘No, Jaime, you’re both staying where you are, or are you frightened that I might do the pair of you further harm, poison perhaps. . . .’

  ‘No . . . no . . . of course not. . . .’

  ‘Right then, you’re both staying here, at least until your mother gets back. You can hardly think I’d let any harm come to you under my own roof,’ he added sardonically. ‘Work it out for yourself, Jaime. If I am as involved with Caroline’s machinations as you seem to think, then you’re safer here than anywhere else.’

  ‘And are you involved?’ She held her breath, waiting for the answer. Only she knew how much she longed for him to deny it, but, to her anguish, he slid out of bed, leaning towards her.

  ‘Have you so little faith in me that you need to ask, Jaime? Some wife you are . . . but then, you never did trust me, did you?’

  ‘Because you never gave me reason to. . . .’ Jaime cried out in pain.

  ‘Trust shouldn’t need reasons,’ Blake responded bitterly. ‘Like love, it should be given freely. I’ll go back to my own room now. You needn’t worry that I’ll bother you again, Jaime.’ He spoke with such an air of finality that Jaime was confused. It was almost as though, in his eyes, he was the injured party, but how could that be?

  The next day, Jaime barely saw him. She heard him outside with Fern, the little girl laughing as they played, but, apart from asking her if she was feeling well enough to be downstairs, he said nothing to her. Once she had assured him that she was, he abandoned Fern into her care and shut himself in his study. The closed door seemed in some way symbolic, and Jaime felt as though he had deliberately closed it against her, shutting her out of his life. In some strange way, she felt as guilty as though she had let him down, but, surely, he was the guilty one? Hadn’t she given him every opportunity to deny his involvement with Caroline and Barrons? Trust should be given freely, as he had said, and Jaime had known he wasn’t talking purely about the present, but, in the past, she hadn’t had the self-confidence to trust in her own ability to keep his love. And neither had she trusted him to go on loving her. Had she been wrong? But no . . . Suzy had made it plain that he had grown bored with her. He hadn’t even loved her enough to give up his job and settle down, and yet no sooner had he come back from El Salvador than he had given up newspaper reporting. Too muddled to think any further, Jaime went out into the garden to play with Fern.

  ‘I like living with my Daddy,’ the little girl told her. ‘Do you, Mummy?’

  What could she say?

  ‘I want to live with him for always,’ Fern protested. ‘Can we, Mummy?’

  How on earth was she supposed to answer her daughter? How could she explain to her that Blake probably didn’t want either of them?

  Mrs Simmonds called round late in the afternoon, breathless and apologetic.

  ‘You must have been frantic when I rang you about Fern. I was myself. They say these things come in threes don’t they?’ she continued. ‘First your accident, and then Fern getting lost.’

  Jaime shivered. ‘Let’s hope that this time they’re wron
g,’ she said lightly, but she felt apprehensive nevertheless, and oddly glad that she had given in to Blake and stayed at the Lodge.

  When six o’clock came and went, and Blake was still working, Jaime gave fern her tea. She had found a chicken in the freezer and casseroled it, and now a tempting aroma filled the small kitchen. There had been enough gooseberries on the half-wild bushes to make a pie, and Fern’s appetite did not seem to have diminished by her adventure because she ate well, which was more than she could do, Jaime reflected watching her.

  Blake’s portion she put on a tray, which she placed outside the study door, simply calling out, ‘Food’s outside for you, Blake,’ and then walking away.

  She was just putting Fern to bed when she heard a dull ominous rumbling. The sound seemed to fill the room, it almost seemed as though the Lodge was shaking to its foundations, rather like an underground thunderstorm, Jaime thought hazily rushing to the window. What could it be? Surely, not an earthquake? Chiding herself for being silly, she searched the sky for signs of thunder, but there weren’t any. It was clear, soft blue, the sun just beginning to set. A band of parkland hid the bulk of the Abbey from her view and, although the sound seemed to be coming from that direction, Jaime could see nothing at all.

  She was halfway downstairs when she heard the ’phone ring. The tray had disappeared from outside the study, but Blake was obviously still inside because he answered the ’phone almost straight away.

  Seconds later, Jaime almost collided with him as he hurried out, pulling on his leather jerkin as he did so.

  ‘I’ve got to get up to the Abbey,’ he told her tersely. ‘Stay here and keep the door locked until I get back.’

  Before she could question him further, he was gone. Jaime was surprised to see him running through the garden, using the old track that ran from the Lodge to the house. If he was in such a rush, why wasn’t he using the Ferrari? Obedient to his instructions, she locked and barred the old-fashioned door, checking that the French windows in the study were closed and locked. Fear shivered through her. What was happening? Why had he gone to the Abbey?

  She had almost given up all hope of him returning when he eventually came back. She was sitting in the kitchen, and his brief rap on the door startled her.

  ‘Jaime, open up, it’s me, Blake,’ he commanded tersely. When Jaime opened the door, she was surprised to see smudges of dirt on his face. His jacket had been torn, and there were more smears of dirt on his shirt.

  ‘Make me a cup of coffee, would you?’ he asked tiredly, dropping into a chair.

  Jaime was longing to ask him why he had gone to the Abbey, but pride put a guard on her tongue. As she handed him a mug of coffee she noticed that the skin across the knuckles of his right hand was split and bleeding. Her small gasp of alarm drew Blake’s attention to his hand.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he told her brusquely, ‘Look, I’m tired. I think I’ll go to bed if you don’t mind. I need an early start in the morning. I have to go to London.’

  Never before had he rejected her so coldly. Jaime was still recoiling from the shock of it when he left the kitchen. Well, what had she expected, she wondered bitterly, automatically rinsing their empty mugs. That he would be so thrilled to find she had waited up for him so that he would take her in his arms and . . . ‘Oh, stop it,’ she urged herself. ‘Stop hurting yourself. You know he doesn’t love you.’

  She was awake in time to see him leaving in the morning. It was the sound of the Ferrari that woke her, but, as she hurried to the window, it was towards the Abbey that he was driving—not away from it. Ten minutes later, the powerful black car reappeared, but this time Blake wasn’t the only passenger. Caroline was sitting beside him.

  A despair such as she had never known before overwhelmed Jaime. She couldn’t stay in the Lodge a moment longer she decided. She would have to go home.

  She was just on the verge of telephoning for a taxi when the sound of a car took her to the window. An unfamiliar saloon car was pulling up outside the Lodge. Someone was getting out. Her mother, Jaime recognised on a wave of disbelief, and Henry; and what was more, they were holding hands and looking at one another for all the world as though. . . . In a daze, she opened the door.

  ‘Darling,’ her mother carolled, ‘Guess what?’ She brandished her left hand, displaying the brand new engagement and wedding rings.

  ‘But. . . .’

  ‘Let’s go inside and have a cup of tea,’ Henry suggested practically, ‘and we’ll tell you all about it. I must say, if I’d known the softening effect it was likely to have on her, I’d have taken your mother to Rome years ago.’

  ‘You’re married!’ Jaime exclaimed stupidly, as she filled the kettle, ‘but. . . .’

  ‘By special licence, my dear, no less,’ Sarah announced, grinning.

  ‘Yes, once she agreed to marry me, I couldn’t risk her changing her mind,’ Henry put in. ‘I got everything arranged as quickly as I could and we flew into London yesterday. Just in time to tie the knot.’

  ‘We would have loved you to have been there, darling,’ her mother broke in, ‘but when I ’phoned Blake, he explained how bruised and battered you were.’

  ‘You ’phoned Blake,’ Jaime gasped, ‘but. . . .’

  ‘Well, at first, I rang the cottage, and then, when I couldn’t get any reply, I ’phoned Mrs Widdows. She told me you and Blake were back together, so naturally, I rang him. I asked him to keep our news a surprise though, so that we could tell you ourselves. Not that I’m the only one keeping secrets, and I can’t tell you how happy I am about yours, darling. You were never somehow complete without Blake, and I always wondered if you hated him quite as much as you professed to.’

  ‘Mother. . ..’ Jaime tried to break into her mother’s excited conversation to tell her the truth, but Henry forestalled her, dropping a bombshell which stunned her. ‘Actually, we’re rather glad about the reconciliation for selfish reasons. Your mother and I have decided to move to Bath. I have a friend there who’s selling his antique business. It’s a very good one, but rather pricey, but with what we’ll get for ours, plus the sale of the cottage, we should have enough.’ Jaime just didn’t know what to say. With one blow, she was losing everything, and Mrs Simmonds’ pessimistic pronouncement came back to her. While she tried to recover from the blow, she was aware of her mother and Henry glowing like a pair of teenagers, no doubt waiting for her congratulations.

  Pulling herself together, Jaime hugged and kissed them both, chiding herself for her selfishness. Of course, she was pleased to see them, it was just that she hadn’t bargained for losing her mother and her home quite so unexpectedly. Another thought struck her. How could she tell them the truth about Blake and herself now? If she did, her mother would immediately realise that she had no home to go to. No, Jaime thought determinedly, she mustn’t spoil their happiness. It would mean asking Blake to participate in the charade but, hopefully, not for very long. She would have to find lodgings for herself and Fern somewhere in the village eventually, which wouldn’t be easy, and she would have to work even harder at the studio. Not for the first time, Jaime recognised how much she had relied on her mother’s support, both moral and financial. What if Blake wouldn’t agree? Jaime could hardly bear to think about it. He hadto. He had to. All at once, she was in a fever of impatience for him to get back.

  ‘Where is Blake, by the way?’ her mother asked.

  ‘In London—on business. . . .’

  ‘Well, we won’t stay. We just wanted to give you our good news. Henry wants to take us all out to dinner on Sunday—a post-wedding celebration. We’re staying at the cottage tonight. . . .’

  ‘I’ll come round tomorrow then, and we’ll have a chat,’ Jaimfe responded. ‘Most of our things are still there. . . .’

  ‘Yes, Blake told me the Lodge was only a temporary arrangement,’ her mother agreed, bending to kiss both Jaime and Fern who had been listening to the adult conversation with great interest.


  ‘Are you now my grandpa?’ she astounded them all by asking Henry as they prepared to leave.

  ‘Do you want me to be?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, with such simple enthusiasm that they all laughed. Henry picked her up until their faces were level, ‘Then I will be.’

  ‘Now I’ve got a daddy and a grandpa,’ she exclaimed, with very evident relish, when Henry put her down.

  The Lodge seemed unappealingly quiet when they had gone. Just what had she got herself into, Jaime wondered, in a fever of torment for Blake to return. If he refused to help her, what on earth was she going to do? How did he really feel about Caroline? He had not mentioned divorce, and yet he seemed eager to rush to Caroline’s side at her slightest bidding. He had wanted her to stay at the Lodge, and yet he had not denied that he had been involved in those threats against her. Sighing, Jaime walked round the Lodge.

  She had put Fern to bed, and now time seemed to drag as she waited for Blake to return. She wandered into his study and curled up in his deep leather chair, finding comfort in the faint scent of his body which clung to the leather.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘JAIME?’

  Jaime opened her eyes muzzily. She could hear feet pounding-down the stairs.

  ‘In here, Blake,’ she called out, stretching stiff limbs and glancing at her watch. Eleven o’clock! Could she really have been asleep that long? The handle of the study door turned, and Blake walked in. His eyebrows met in a heavy frown, a look she was unfamiliar with shadowing his eyes.

  ‘I thought you’d left.’

  ‘Without Fern? I was waiting up for you. . . .’

  ‘How flattering.’ He seemed to be in a strange mood, moving restlessly round the room, picking up and then discarding various articles.

  ‘Jaime.’

  ‘Blake.’

  They both spoke together.

  ‘Ladies first.’ Blake made her a brief bow.

  Now that the moment was here, Jaime just didn’t know what to say. ‘Blake, please let me live here so that my mother thinks we’ve been reconciled.’? ‘Blake, my mother thinks. . . .’?