Dangerous Sanctuary

‘Hmm.’ Jaime sipped her wine. ‘Well, I’m afraid I don’t go to the theatre very often.’ She shrugged. ‘But Lacey has certainly pushed the boat out. Do you think Maggie knows about the baby?’

‘Knowing Lacey, I’d say it was a definite possibility,’ answered Marjorie, with a grimace. ‘Imagine Felix being a father again, after all these years!’

‘Who’s taking my name in vain?’

The subject of their discussion suddenly appeared behind Jaime, insinuating himself into their circle, and giving his secretary a challenging look. For some reason, his glance reminded Jaime of that scene at the office several months ago, and the embarrassment she had felt then stained her cheeks anew.

‘We were just commenting on the fact that you’re about to embark on fatherhood again,’ said Peter quickly, leaping to what he thought was Jaime’s defence. ‘How long is it since your youngest was born? Twenty years?’

‘Nineteen, actually,’ admitted Felix, without rancour, and to Jaime’s relief he switched his attention away from her. ‘I know, I know. I’ll be more like its grandfather than its father. But it’s what Lacey wants, and that’s what matters.’

‘Of course.’

Marjorie’s tone was dry, and Felix acknowledged it with a wry smile. But then, turning back to Jaime, he manoeuvred her into a position where only she could hear what he had to say. ‘I suppose you disapprove, too,’ he remarked softly, bending his head so that he could inhale the clean fragrance of her hair. ‘What’s the matter? Does it remind you of what you’ve missed?’

Jaime caught her breath. ‘No.’

‘Oh, well…’ Felix shrugged ‘… I suppose you’re feeling a bit miffed because he isn’t here.’

‘Who isn’t here?’

‘Although after the way you reacted that day when I told you he was coming back, I’d have thought you’d be relieved.’

Jaime blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.’

‘I don’t.’ Jaime was confused. ‘I thought we were talking about the baby.’

Felix gave her a doubting look. ‘You mean Lacey didn’t tell you?’

‘Tell me? Tell me what?’

‘That she invited Russell here this evening? He’s in the neighbourhood, you know. I believe he’s staying at the Crown while the final adjustments are made at the house.’

Jaime was glad of the press of people around her to support her suddenly unsteady legs. ‘You mean—Ben?’ she echoed faintly, realising something was expected of her, and Felix nodded.

‘She didn’t tell you?’

Jaime swallowed, managing to control her reaction. ‘I—obviously not,’ she articulated carefully. ‘Did—er—did he say he would come?’

‘He didn’t respond at all.’ To her relief, Felix didn’t seem to notice how his words had affected her, and the noise and jostling of his other guests were a constant diversion. ‘But, what the hell? There’s enough people here as it is. Did you ever see such a scrum? Goodness knows what the neighbours must think, eh?’

Felix drifted away soon after that, and Jaime resumed her conversation with the Mannings. But his words had disturbed her, and every time there was a new arrival her eyes darted anxiously towards the door. But she needn’t have worried. Although her nerves remained on edge, the man she had never expected to see again did not put in an appearance, and Lacey’s hopes of achieving a social coup went unfulfilled.

Even so, it took some determination to swallow a couple of canapés, and exchange a few more words with her hostess. Lacey made no mention of her disappointment, and Jaime had to suppress a simmering sense of resentment. No necessity now to wonder why she had been invited, she thought bitterly. All that talk about motherhood, and being friends, had had an ulterior motive. She couldn’t imagine why Lacey might think Ben would react positively to her presence, but she apparently had.

She managed to stick it out for another half-hour before making her departure. ‘I don’t like leaving Tom on his own for too long,’ she excused herself, aware that no one here knew he wasn’t waiting for her at home. In fact, she was glad he wasn’t herself. She would welcome a few minutes to restore her defences.

It was only a quarter to ten when she turned into Dorset Road, and she guessed her son wouldn’t be home much before half-past. Still, her appetite was returning now that she had left the source of her emotional upheaval, and she thought she might make herself an omelette for supper. In fact, Tom might like one too, when he got back. Although he enjoyed being invited to the Santinis’, he wasn’t too keen on Mrs Santini’s cooking. Lots of pasta and spicy sauces did not appeal to her son’s digestion, and he invariably made himself a sandwich after he got home.

To her surprise, however, the lights were on in her own living-room, and she knew a moment’s anxiety as she pulled into the kerb. There was an enormous Mercedes parked directly across the road from her house, so at least the Morrisons were home, she thought gratefully. She might need their help if she had an intruder.

Of course, Tom could be home already, she reflected, as she got out of the car and secured the lock. Angie could be with him. But surely her parents wouldn’t have allowed her to accompany Tom back to an empty house, she thought uneasily. Trust was one thing; putting temptation in their way was something else.

Her doubts were clarified, however, as she crossed the pavement. The front door opened, before she had a chance to use her key, and her son stood on the threshold. Tom’s normally fair skin was flushed with colour, and Jaime’s heart sank at the obvious connotation. They must have heard her coming, she thought, and decided to meet trouble head-on.

‘You’re early, Mum.’ Tom’s first words were not encouraging, and Jaime could tell by the nervous twitching of his lips that that was not what he really wanted to say. ‘I thought you wouldn’t be home for at least another hour.’

‘No, well…’ Jaime stepped past him into the hall, keeping her temper with difficulty ‘… it wasn’t as exciting as you seem to think, and as you were on your own—–’

‘Oh—I’m not on my own, Mum—–’

‘No. I suspected that,’ said Jaime tightly, watching him close the door with controlled irritation. ‘How dare you, Tom? How dare you lie to me?’

‘Lie to you?’

Tom looked blank, and before Jaime could sense the significance of his response another voice interrupted him. ‘I’m afraid I’m to blame,’ said the man, who had appeared in the living-room doorway. ‘I suggested I might stay and wait for you.’

Jaime was glad she was standing by the banister. It gave her something to reach out and hold on to. Otherwise, she was quite convinced she would have keeled over, the shock of seeing Ben Russell was so great.

And it was Ben who had propped his shoulder against the frame of the living-room door. Of that, she had no doubt. But he looked very different from the way she remembered him, and she sensed that the years between had not been entirely kind.

Ben had been—was—the younger of the two Russell brothers, but right now he looked more Philip’s age than his own. In height, there had never been much to choose between them, but Ben had always looked harder, more muscular, definitely the more physical one of the two, as a member of her father’s bar staff had once rhapsodised. He certainly looked harder now—harsh, would have been Jaime’s description. He was thinner, for one thing, and the thick swath of dark brown hair was lightly threaded with grey. His face, too, which bore the darkness of his years spent in a tropical climate, nevertheless showed a certain pallor—a sallow cast underlying his skin which pouched around his eyes. But his eyes were still as green as ever, a curious jade-green, that with their distinctive fringe of lashes had caused many hearts to flutter in the days when he had appeared on television. But, although she knew he must be thirty-eight now, he looked ten years older, and despite the chill of apprehension that had gripped her at the sight of him a reluctant stirring of compassion momentarily kept her dumb.

‘Uncle—Uncle Ben came just after you left,’ put in Tom stiffly, still smarting over his mother’s accusation. ‘I said you wouldn’t be back until later, but—well, we got talking, and the time just seemed to fly.’

Jaime collected herself with a supreme effort. ‘You mean, you’ve been here for the past two hours?’ she exclaimed, trying to keep the panic out of her voice, and Ben flipped back the cuff of his leather jacket. In jeans and scuffed boots, he would have made quite an impression at Lacey’s party, thought Jaime in passing. How ironic that he should be here, when she had been alarmed that he might turn up at the Haines’s.

‘To be precise, I’d say an hour and a half at most,’ he replied tersely, after consulting the plain gold watch circling his wrist. There were hairs on his wrist, dark hairs sprouting up between his cuff and the strap of his watch, and Jaime’s eyes were glued to them, as she tried to calm her nerves. ‘I didn’t mind. I had nothing better to do.’

Except attend a party that was supposed to be celebrating a baby’s conception but was really in your honour, thought Jaime silently, resenting his assumption of control. ‘I mind,’ she stated, aware that her appraisal of him had by no means been a one-sided affair. She turned to Tom. ‘Leave us, will you, sweetheart? I’d like to speak to—to—our guest privately for a moment.’

Tom looked troubled now, his earlier indignation giving way to a belated sense of responsibility. ‘Don’t be mad, Mum,’ he said, giving Ben an appealing look. ‘Why don’t we all go into the living-room and talk? It— well, it’s not very nice out here, and Uncle Ben’s been ill—–’

‘Do as your mother says, Tom.’ Ben’s quiet command silenced the boy, and Jaime knew a renewed sense of resentment at the ease with which he achieved his objectives. ‘It’s been a long time since we’ve seen one another, and I think it would be better if we had a few private words.’

Tom hesitated, but it was only a momentary resistance. ‘You will say goodbye before you leave, won’t you?’ he requested anxiously, and then, conscious of his mother’s disapproval, he dragged his feet along the hall to the kitchen.

Jaime waited until the kitchen door had closed behind her son before stepping back and opening the front door. ‘I think you’d better go,’ she said, hoping he was not aware that she was clinging to the handle as if it were a lifeline. ‘I don’t know why you came here, and I don’t want to know. I just want you to get out of here!’

Ben’s thin features tightened, but he made no move to obey her. ‘Isn’t this a little juvenile, Jaime?’ he suggested, straightening his spine. ‘We’ve known each other too long—and too well—to ignore the other’s existence. All right. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here tonight, but I was curious. And when Tom found out who I was—–’

Jaime quivered. ‘Are you going to leave, or must I call the police?’

Ben expelled his breath on a heavy sigh. ‘You wouldn’t do that,’ he said flatly, his shoulders lifting in a dismissive gesture, and with an inward sense of desperation Jaime closed the door again.

‘You have no right to come here,’ she enunciated clearly. ‘No right at all.’ She took a steadying breath. ‘Did you tell your wife where you were going?’

‘Maura’s dead,’ he replied shortly, and now his face had taken on a distinctly grim expression. ‘In any case, why should you think I don’t have the right to see my own nephew?’

‘He’s not your nephew—–’ she began, but his savage words overrode her.

‘Yes, I’ve heard that story before,’ he bit out harshly. ‘But if he isn’t Philip’s son, then who the hell is he? Because—my God!—the likeness is unmistakable! He’s the image of my father as a young man!’

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS strange, Jaime reflected, how the anticipation of disaster was sometimes worse than the actual event. In the early years, when Tom was just a toddler, she had lived in fear of Ben coming back and seeing the boy for himself. Even though Philip was no longer a threat, and the rest of his family had always lived in London, she had still looked over her shoulder every time she left the house, still felt the familiar tension every time the telephone rang.

But time had changed that. Time, and Tom’s growing maturity, had convinced her that none of the Russells was ever likely to trouble her again. Why should they? She and Philip were divorced, and, because she had allowed him to divorce her, there had been no question of alimony, even had she wanted any—which she didn’t. She wanted nothing from the Russells, not from any of them. And as the years had gone by she had begun to believe she was safe.

After all, Philip’s parents had never liked her. She had known they had been relieved when her marriage to Philip broke up. That the reasons for that break-up might be different from what Philip claimed was not something they were likely to contemplate. But then, they didn’t know Philip as she did, she reminded herself bitterly. As far as they were concerned he was still the shy, sensitive introvert, the image he presented to the world. The man Jaime had discovered him to be was someone they wouldn’t recognise.

Nevertheless, when she had first discovered she was pregnant, she had been afraid that Philip might find out, and want her back again. The divorce had not been absolute, and she’d had no way of knowing how he might react. That was why she had left Kingsmere at that time, why she had gone to live with her father’s sister in the north of England until Tom was born.

It had not been easy. Without funds, she had had to rely on her parents’ support, but with their help she had managed. And, although those days had been anxious, they had been oddly satisfying, too. She had worked for a time, temping jobs, mostly, saving every penny she could for the baby. She had missed her parents, but she had asked them not to visit her until the divorce was final. She wanted no word of her whereabouts to get back to the Russells. Not until Tom was born did she begin to plan their future.

It was easier than she had thought. The fact that Philip already believed there was another man in her life made Tom’s arrival quite unremarkable. Everyone—even her parents’ neighbours—believed Jaime had left Kingsmere to be with her lover. That was why she had stayed away until Tom was almost a year old. Her return then had been greeted with the usual words of sympathy. People thought she had been let down, and she supposed she had, in a way, she thought dispassionately. Certainly, no one suspected her real reasons for leaving. Tom’s presence answered a lot of questions, and if she did become the butt of some spiteful gossip for a while it was not something she cared too strongly about. She had Tom, and her parents, and that was enough.

Or so she convinced herself…

As the years went by, of course, her earlier impropriety was dismissed as a youthful indiscretion. By the time Tom was old enough to go to school, the question of who his father had been was no longer so important. She had retained her married name, and those people who didn’t know her history naturally assumed that her ex-husband had been the child’s father. Tom was no different from a dozen other children from one-parent families, and she had never corrected his assumption that Philip had deserted them.

Occasionally, she had worried that Philip might hear the fiction, and come back to see ‘his’ son, but it hadn’t happened. Unlike the parents of Tom’s schoolfriends, he knew that Tom wasn’t his son—and besides, he had no interest in her now. The divorce had severed any remaining bonds between them, and he wasn’t likely to resurrect the past.

Now, however, Jaime’s carefully won anonymity was in danger of being overturned. As she had been afraid it might be, ever since she had heard that Ben Russell had bought the old Priory. But how could she have known he would come here? After fifteen years? It was obscene!

Even so, the bitterness of their last encounter could still bring a wave of goosebumps to feather her flesh. She despised herself for feeling this way, but it had been a traumatic evening, and she was vulnerable. God, was she never to be free from that one mistake?

‘Shall we go into the living-room?’ suggested Ben evenly, indicating the lamp-lit room behind him. ‘At the risk of arousing your contempt, I am bloody cold!’

‘Cold?’ Jaime looked at him, becoming aware that in spite of the warm evening he was shivering. What was it Tom had said? That he was ill? ‘I—all right,’ she conceded tensely. And then, with a trace of malice, ‘You usually get your own way, don’t you?’

Ben looked as if he would have liked to argue with her, but self-preservation got the better of acrimony. Stepping aside, he indicated that she should precede him into the room. And Jaime did so, unwillingly, overwhelmingly aware of his lean body only inches from hers as she inched past.

Ben followed her into the room, and closed the door behind him. ‘Shall we sit down?’

He gestured towards the sofa, but Jaime shook her head, choosing to stand by the empty fireplace instead. Her legs might be unreliable, but sitting down with this man would be an admission of defeat.

‘Do you mind if I do, then?’ he enquired, and at her curt shake of her head he subsided on to the cretonne-covered arm of the sofa. Remembering how many times she had chastened Tom for doing the exact same thing, Jaime was tempted to protest. But caution kept her silent. The fewer comparisons she made between her son and the Russell family the better.

Ben combed long fingers through his hair now, surreptitiously wiping his forehead as he did so. In spite of her desire to avoid any trace of intimacy, Jaime couldn’t help noticing the hectic flags of colour high on his cheekbones. What was wrong with him? she wondered, angry at the surge of anxiety that swelled inside her. It crossed her mind that it could be something more serious than the simple cold she had suspected. But it was nothing to do with her, she told herself. Ben Russell’s existence wasn’t her concern.

‘So?’ He was regarding her with a steady, inimical stare. ‘Tell me about it.’

‘About what?’

Ben swore. ‘Don’t play games, Jaime. I’m not in the mood for it. You know damn well what I mean. Now—we can do this civilly, or not. It’s up to you—–’

He broke off at the end of this to give a racking cough. Shaking his head in a silent apology, he pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket, and muffled the sound in its folds. For an awful moment, Jaime thought he was coughing up blood. But the linen remained reassuringly unstained, though her helpless swirl of agitation demanded some release.

‘What’s wrong with you?’

The words were wrung from her, and as soon as they were spoken she wished she could take them back. She wasn’t interested, she informed her struggling ego. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she cared.

Ben shook his head, as if as reluctant to issue any information as she was to hear it. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said, though that patently wasn’t true. He shoved his handkerchief back into his pocket. ‘I picked up a bug in Mogadishu.’

‘Mogadishu?’ Jaime blinked. ‘But isn’t that in—in—–?’

‘Somalia, yes.’ Ben seemed reluctant to expound upon this statement, but Jaime’s expression must have persuaded him that something more was required. ‘I’ve been working with the relief agencies there for the past two years. I guess I must have picked it up in one of the camps. Now, can we—–?’

‘I thought you were living in South Africa!’

Jaime couldn’t prevent the automatic rejoinder, and with a weary sigh Ben inclined his head.

‘I was. But after Maura died…’ he shrugged ‘… I needed something to do.’

‘You had your writing.’

‘Political thrillers?’ Ben’s expression was self-derisive. ‘Hardly a reason for living, wouldn’t you say?’ His lips twisted. ‘But we’re digressing. And if you’re hoping that by talking about my condition you’re going to avoid talking about Tom, think again.’

‘I wasn’t. I—–’ Jaime felt a renewed sense of indignation ‘—I was curious, that’s all.’

‘Curious, hmm?’ Ben’s observation was dry. ‘That figures.’

Jaime looked down at her hands. ‘Why have you come here, Ben? My—my life is nothing to do with you.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Ben regarded her through narrowed eyes. ‘I might have believed that before tonight. But Tom shot that theory out of the window. God—and I was concerned about the raw deal you’d had at the hands of my family! No wonder you looked so sick to see me.’

Jaime tried to control her breathing. ‘How—how did you know where to find me?’

‘It wasn’t difficult. Your number’s in the phone book. You still call yourself Mrs Russell. I never realised how relevant that was.’

Jaime swallowed. ‘It’s not your concern.’

‘Dammit, Jaime, don’t say that! For God’s sake, why didn’t you tell anyone? It can’t have been easy supporting yourself, and the boy! Why didn’t you let us help you?’

‘Us?’ Jaime was sardonic now, but Ben didn’t respond to her bitter exclamation.

‘Philip should have been told,’ he said, through clenched teeth. ‘God knows, I had no idea he was still seeing you. The last I heard was that you had taken off with some guy you’d known before you and Phil got married. That was why he cut you off without a penny.’

‘Oh, no!’ Jaime couldn’t let him get away with that. ‘Philip didn’t cut me off without a penny! I did that. I wanted nothing from him! From any of you! I still don’t!’

Ben expelled a tired breath. ‘All right. All right. Have it your way. You didn’t want any help from Philip. But, for God’s sake, the kid’s his son!’

Jaime’s shoulders sagged. What could she say? If she let Ben go on thinking that Philip was Tom’s father, would he tell his brother? Would she be expected to allow Philip back into their lives, however casually? She groaned inwardly. How could she let her son associate with a man who…?

‘And if I still deny that Tom has any connection with the Russells?’ she asked.

‘I wouldn’t believe you.’

Ben’s response was so vehement that she wanted to weep. ‘You must know that Philip divorced me,’ she began, but Ben wasn’t having that.

‘He hasn’t seen him, has he?’ he countered. ‘I have. For God’s sake, Jaime, why did you do it?’

Jaime turned her back on him. She had to think, she fretted. Never, at any time, had she expected to have to face a situation like this, and she simply wasn’t prepared for it. Though she should have been, she argued. It was months since Felix had told her that Ben was coming to live in Kingsmere. But, even so…

‘It wasn’t because of us, was it?’

She hadn’t been aware of him getting up from the sofa, but now the warm draught of his breath against the back of her neck warned her that he had come to stand behind her. Which was disturbing enough, without the shocking reality of what he was saying.

‘I—–’ Her tongue felt riveted to the roof of her mouth, and blind panic flooded her being. Answer him, you fool! she told herself agitatedly, but it wasn’t that easy. ‘Us?’ she got out at last, with just the right measure of scorn in her voice. Moving stiffly, she put some space between them before turning to confront him. ‘I don’t think even you can believe that!’

She had the satisfaction of seeing the faint contortion of his features at the contempt in her words, but if she thought she could dismiss his question without an answer she was mistaken.

‘I think it’s what you believe that matters,’ Ben declared doggedly, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The action parted the sides of his jacket, exposing the open-necked shirt beneath, and the low belt riding on his hips.

And, although Jaime wanted to look anywhere but at him, she was forced to acknowledge his unconscious sexuality. He might be thinner than she remembered, and he might look haggard, but his physical appeal was unimpaired. ‘Why don’t you tell me the truth, for a change?’ he persisted.