Lynne Graham - Dangerous Passions

‘I—er—I’ve been to the Cash and Carry,’ Mrs Fenner said quickly, putting two tea-bags into the pot. ‘I just thought I’d call in—as you didn’t come over last weekend.’

‘Oh.’ That sounded reasonable, but after handing Tom his plate Jaime made no attempt to fill her own. ‘Well—as you know, it was the Haines’s party on Saturday night, and we just had a lazy day on Sunday.’

‘Late night, huh?’ suggested her mother mildly, and Jaime wondered what all this was really about.

‘Not really—–’ she was beginning slowly, when Tom broke in.

‘Uncle Ben came here last Saturday night,’ he interjected, ignoring his mother’s sudden intake of breath. ‘He came while Mum was out. But he stayed until she got home.’

‘Did he?’ Now it was Mrs Fenner’s turn to look disturbed, and she turned half anxious, half accusing eyes in her daughter’s direction. ‘You never said.’

‘Well—I haven’t had the chance, have I?’ Jaime knew she had no need to feel guilty, but she did. ‘I—would have—–’

‘So, he spent the evening with Tom,’ Mrs Fenner murmured faintly, and her grandson nodded.

‘Yes. And he was really nice,’ he declared, through a mouthful of chicken and vegetables. ‘He told me all about working for the BBC, and what it was like living in South Africa. His wife died out there, you know. Auntie Maura, that is. Apparently, she’d been ill for years.’ He paused, and looked defensively at his mother. ‘Did you know that, Mum?’

Jaime got up from the table. ‘I’ve told you, Tom, I’ve got no interest in anything Ben Russell says or does. Now—can we change the subject? Mum—–’ she looked to her mother for assistance ‘—why don’t you go and sit outside? I’ll bring a tray out to you.’

‘Oh—very well.’

Mrs Fenner looked as if she would have liked to argue, but discretion, and her daughter’s tense face, persuaded her otherwise. With a rueful smile at Tom, she opened the back door and stepped out on to the sunny patio.

‘I suppose you think I shouldn’t have told Nan,’ Tom muttered in a low voice as soon as his grandmother was out of earshot, but Jaime only shook her head.

‘It doesn’t matter to me who you tell,’ she retorted, though the cups and saucers clattered a bit as she set them on the tray. ‘Finish your meal. There’s seconds if you want them.’

It was a relief to step outside. At this hour of the afternoon the sun’s rays were muted by the fronds of the willow tree that trailed in a corner of the garden. There were stripes of sun and shadow across the wrought-iron table, where Jaime set the tray, and the warm air was scented with the perfume of the flowers.

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…