Lynne Graham - Dangerous Passions

Her hands linked together in her lap but, feeling the way her fingers were abusing one another, she made a determined effort to calm herself. This was foolish, she told herself fiercely. She’d achieve nothing if she couldn’t approach this situation with a belief in her own actions. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing at all. For the past fifteen years she had made a fairly good job of caring for herself and her son, and just because Ben Russell had chosen to come back into their lives was no reason to doubt the wisdom of her actions.

Steeling herself to lift her head, she saw that Ben had negotiated the narrow confines of Moon Street, and was turning into Cheviot Road. His lean fingers handled the steering-wheel of the Mercedes with total confidence, guiding the big car as easily as he had guided her towards it. Of course, it had automatic transmission as well, Jaime noted sourly. Anyone could drive a car with automatic transmission. Even she could have handled it.

But reflecting on Ben’s driving capabilities, however disparagingly, was not getting her anywhere. Observing his rather complacent expression, as he concentrated on the traffic, Jaime decided he probably thought he had intimidated her into coming with him. Well, she could disabuse him of that belief, at least.

‘Where are you taking me?’ she enquired now, relieved that her voice sounded more confident than she felt. ‘I have to be back at the office at half-past one.’

Ben allowed her a swift glance. ‘And you’re never late?’

‘No.’ Jaime kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

‘OK.’ Ben braked, and pulled the car into the kerb. ‘I guess this is as good as anywhere.’

‘Here?’

Jaime was horrified. They had turned in to Gloucester Road as she was speaking, and now they were parked only a few minutes’ walk from the comprehensive school Tom attended. Not to mention the shopping precinct, where the Santinis’ shop was situated.

‘Something wrong?’

Ben was lying back in his seat, regarding her with mocking eyes. He looked lazily relaxed, his fingers drumming a careless tattoo on the steering-wheel, and Jaime’s hands clenched. Did he know where Tom went to school? she wondered. But yes, he must. There were only two secondary schools in Kingsmere, and he must know she couldn’t afford the fees at Lister Park.

‘We can’t stop here,’ she declared at last. ‘We—we’ll have to go somewhere else.’

Ben flicked a look at his watch. ‘No time,’ he said annoyingly. ‘It’s a quarter-to one already, and, as you said, you’ve only got another three-quarters of an hour.’

Jaime pressed her lips together. ‘All right,’ she said, through clenched teeth. ‘I’ve got an extra half-hour. I’m due back at two o’clock, not half-past one.’

‘Really?’ Ben made no move.

‘Yes, really.’ Jaime gazed at him frustratedly. ‘Look, can we move on? I—I don’t want anyone to see us.’

‘Like Tom?’ suggested Ben drily, but to her relief he reached for the ignition. ‘All right. We’ll go to a hotel I know near the river. I don’t know about you, but I could do with a drink.’

Jaime said nothing in reply. She was too tense, her eyes peeled for any sign of Tom, or any of his friends. She guessed he might have bragged about his relationship to Ben Russell to his schoolfriends, and if he recognised the car…

But her fears proved groundless. The school lunch-break began at twelve-thirty, and by this time most of the pupils had dispersed. A lot of them went down to the precinct, she knew, but happily there was no sign of her son. He was probably already at the Santinis’, she thought, finding that prospect less contentious than she might once have done. Compared to Ben Russell, her anxieties about Angie Santini seemed very insignificant.

The hotel Ben had chosen was not one Jaime was familiar with. Outside the town environs, it catered mainly to a business clientele, who used its gourmet dining-room to entertain their customers. It was nothing like the Raven and Glass, where Jaime had lived until her marriage, but it was exactly the kind of place she would have expected Ben Russell to patronise.

However, after parking the Mercedes on its spacious car park, Ben didn’t go into the hotel. Instead, he directed her to follow him around the back of the building, where spacious gardens overlooked the shallow waters of the River Mere. Tables had been set out on a paved patio area, with pretty striped umbrellas, to protect those enjoying a lunchtime snack from the dazzling rays of the sun. It was all very smart and civilised, and, judging by its popularity, the beer was good, too.

Two men were just leaving a table, set at the far end of the terrace and, ignoring other, less private locations, Ben led the way towards it. Jaime, intent on assuring herself that she recognised no one among the diners, followed him less enthusiastically. Was this really where she wanted to engage in a personal discussion about her son? she wondered unhappily. Yet what alternative was there, short of inviting Ben back to the house?

A waiter appeared to clear the table of its residue of empty glasses and used ashtrays, and after he had gone, and Jaime was seated, Ben took the wrought-iron chair beside her. ‘So,’ he prompted, ‘what do you want? They serve a reasonably good burger here, or you can have meat pie, or salad, or sandwiches.’

‘I don’t want anything to eat,’ replied Jaime at once, adding a belated, ‘Thank you’ when Ben arched a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I—er—I’ll have a glass of lime and lemon. That’s all.’

Ben, who had picked up the fast-food menu from the table, now gave her a resigned look. ‘You must need something!’ he exclaimed, dropping his eyes to scan the list. ‘How about an omelette? They do have quite a variety.’

‘I don’t want anything to eat,’ repeated Jaime, determinedly concentrating on the view. ‘You—you have whatever you like. I’m really not hungry.’

‘You’re not dieting, are you?’

Ben’s enquiry was accompanied by a studied look, and Jaime felt her colour rise. ‘Why? Do you think I should?’ she retorted, without thinking, and Ben’s eyes met hers over the top of the menu.

‘I wouldn’t presume to answer that,’ he told her smoothly, bringing a deeper blush of embarrassment to her cheeks, and Jaime fumed. Not for him the polite denial, she thought resentfully. Oh, why had she made such an asinine remark? He would think she was desperate for compliments!

The waiter returned at that moment to take their order, and Ben asked for a beer for himself, and a glass of lime and lemon for Jaime. He didn’t order any food, however, and Jaime felt a twinge of remorse. She guessed he wasn’t eating because of her, and guilt pricked her conscience. If he was just recovering from some illness, he probably ought to have regular nourishment, she reflected ruefully, before impatience stiffened her resolve. In heaven’s name, she reminded herself, she hadn’t invited him to come and spoil her lunchtime, had she? It wasn’t her fault that he had chosen this time to interfere in her life once again. He could have waited until some more appropriate moment presented itself. He could have kept away altogether.

But the knowledge that he also could have come to the house again when Tom was there deserved some appreciation, and, much against her better judgement, Jaime pulled the menu towards her. ‘Perhaps—perhaps I will have a sandwich after all,’ she mumbled, following the list of fillings with her finger. ‘Um—I think I’d like egg mayonnaise, if that’s all right with you.’

Ben frowned. ‘Why not?’ he agreed indifferently, checking what she wanted, and putting the menu aside. ‘One egg mayonnaise sandwich,’ he ordered, when the waiter brought their drinks. Then, ‘Cheers,’ he added, raising his glass to his lips.