Lynne Graham - Dangerous Passions

‘He was?’ Tom was more and more intrigued, and Jaime felt like slapping him. He had no conception of what was going on, she thought frustratedly, over-looking the fact that that was hardly his fault in the circumstances. Her explanation—such as it was—had achieved next to nothing. It would take more than the knowledge that Ben had purportedly hit her to convince Tom that he shouldn’t get involved with any of the Russells. In spite of everything, they represented glamour, and excitement; and Tom’s life was too mundane for him to withstand the temptation.

Picking up the teapot, Jaime moved to the sink, and tipped the rest of its contents down the drain. Then, rescuing the two used tea-bags, she dropped them into the pedal-bin. A pile of ironing was waiting in its basket, and the rest of the morning would be taken up with defrosting the fridge, and preparing Sunday lunch. Not until all the dishes had been washed and put away would she find some time to put her feet up and read the Sunday paper.

It was not an appealing prospect, but until she had come home last night, and found Ben seducing her son with stories of handsomely restored mansions, custom-built gymnasiums and swimming-pools, she had been quite content. And she had thought Tom was, too…

‘Did Uncle Ben tell you why he’s come back to live in England?’ her son asked now, and Jaime realised she would have to get used to sentences prefixed with those two words.

‘No,’ she said, collecting the cups from the table, and depositing them in the sink. ‘What do you want for breakfast?’

‘He’s been ill,’ went on Tom, and Jaime thought it was a measure of his interest in his subject that he should put Ben before food. ‘He didn’t say much about it, but I think he was advised to come back. He’s been living in a war zone for the past two years.’

Jaime’s nails curled into her palms. ‘I’m really not interested, Tom. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a pity he didn’t stay out there. Now—do you want to tell me what you want to eat? Or aren’t you hungry?’

Tom’s brows drew together. ‘It’s early yet,’ he grumbled. ‘You’re not even dressed!’

‘Bacon, or toast? It’s all the same to me,’ declared Jaime, refusing to give in to his injured look, and Tom hunched his shoulders.

‘Bacon,’ he muttered, finishing his tea, and then pulling a face because it was cold. ‘If you don’t mind.’

‘I don’t mind.’ But his mother’s tone was cool, and he knew it.

‘Oh, Mum!’ he exclaimed unhappily. ‘Don’t be like this. If—if you really don’t want me to see Uncle Ben again, then I won’t.’ He scraped his nail across the grain of the table. ‘It’s no big deal. He probably won’t want to see me again, anyway.’

Jaime wished she could believe that, but at that moment it seemed less important than reassuring her son. Looking into his troubled face, she knew she didn’t have the right to stop Tom from seeing Ben, no matter what she thought. Tom was not to blame for her mistakes, and it wasn’t fair to make him an innocent scapegoat.

‘I’m—I’m sure he will want to see you again,’ she ventured now, pushing her hands into the wide sleeves of her dressing-gown, and suppressing the feeling of resentment she felt at the sudden light in Tom’s eyes. ‘And—we’ll just wait and see what happens, hmm?’

Tom blinked. ‘You mean, you’ll let me see Uncle Ben again?’

‘If you want to.’

It took a great deal to say that, but Tom’s reaction was compensation enough. ‘I might not want to,’ he said abruptly, confounding all her fears. ‘I’ve thought about it, and—well, we don’t really need him, do we? We’ve got Nana, and Grandpa, and Uncle David. He hasn’t bothered about us before, so why should we care about him now?’

Jaime caught her lower lip between her teeth, as she felt the hot prickling of tears behind her eyes. Tom was so convincing, so loyal. He really believed, at that moment, that if Ben did choose to try to see him again he would have a choice. And he might, she conceded tensely, but knowing Ben of old she couldn’t help having doubts.

But, ‘All right,’ she said, forcing a light tone. ‘If that’s the way you feel.’ She squeezed his shoulder in passing. ‘Now, I’m going to get dressed. You can wash up the cups while I’m gone, and I’ll be back to grill the bacon. OK?’

‘OK, Mum.’

Tom tipped back his head to give her a whimsical smile, and Jaime wished she could look at her son without seeing Ben’s lazy charm in every move he made. It was such an unconscious thing. An unknowing sensuality, which made her realise why Angie Santini found her son so attractive. Funny, she had never noticed it before. Or had she simply been blocking any resemblance Tom might have to his father?

Whatever, Tom was a Russell, and there was no way she could pretend otherwise. He was his father’s son, and she knew better than to believe that Ben wouldn’t take advantage of the fact.

On Monday morning, Felix was eager to hear what she had thought of the party. ‘Quite a bash, wasn’t it?’ he exclaimed, when Jaime came into his office at his request to take dictation. ‘Lacey was quite exhausted yesterday. Which isn’t like her, but I expect it’s her condition, hmm?’

‘Probably,’ agreed Jaime, nodding, her own relief that Ben hadn’t chosen to interrupt her Sunday making her less edgy. ‘What time did it break up?’

‘Around midnight, I think,’ replied Felix, leaning back in his chair. ‘But Russell didn’t show his face, even though I know Lacey thought he might.’ He grimaced. ‘I guess we’re pretty small-town for him.’

Jaime pretended to be adjusting her notebook, but when it became apparent that something was expected of her she shrugged. ‘I—wouldn’t say that.’

‘Wouldn’t you?’ Felix regarded her consideringly. ‘Well, you’d know better than any of us, I should think.’

‘Why?’ Jaime’s indignation was not affected. ‘Why should you think that?’

‘Oh—you know.’ Felix shifted a little uneasily. ‘I mean, you have met him. I haven’t. Lacey hasn’t. It stands to reason that you know more about that family than we do.’

‘Oh.’ Jaime knew she should be appeased, but she wasn’t. ‘Well, just because I was once related to the Russells doesn’t mean I’m in their confidence. In any case, I—I imagine it’s a little early to be inviting him anywhere. Didn’t you say he hadn’t moved in yet?’

‘That’s right.’ Felix was thoughtful. ‘Yes. I’ll tell Lacey what you’ve said. I know she was disappointed he didn’t even acknowledge our invitation. But, as I pointed out to her, Ben Russell probably considers himself too good for the likes of us.’

Jaime sighed. ‘What do you want me to say, Felix?’ she demanded. ‘That he does? That he doesn’t? I don’t know, do I? Perhaps you’d better ask him.’

Felix lifted his hands in a gesture of defence. ‘All right,’ he said soothingly. ‘There’s no need to bite my head off.’ He paused. ‘You don’t think he’ll come to see you, do you?’

Jaime kept her face impassive with extreme difficulty. Felix was fishing, and she knew it. But she had no intention of discussing her private affairs with him.

‘I shouldn’t think that’s at all likely,’ she declared, not a little disturbed by her capacity for lying. Had she become so inured in deception that she automatically chose the line of least resistance? ‘I—hardly know him.’

Felix shrugged. ‘Pity,’ he remarked, picking up the first of the files lying on his desk, and studying its contents. ‘Oh, well—I suppose we’d better get on.’ He frowned. ‘Is this all the information the Drummonds have sent us? I don’t know how we’re expected to make an accurate assessment of their tax liability if they won’t provide us with copies of all their receipts.’