Lynne Graham - Dangerous Passions

Tom’s expression was sulky, and Jaime wondered if Maggie would still think she was doing such a good job if she could see them now. She sighed. The trouble was, Tom’s resentment wasn’t entirely unjustified, and the knowledge that had he been brought up like his father, riding would have been just another of the options open to him, stung her conscience. Did she really have the right to obstruct their relationship? How would Tom feel, if he eventually learned the truth?

‘All right,’ she said, acknowledging that she was giving in to him more and more these days. She just hoped her capitulation wouldn’t have a backlash. Tom knew he was winning, but he didn’t know why.

‘All right, what?’ he asked now, and although Jaime realised her answer had been rather oblique Tom’s face had brightened considerably.

‘All right—you can go and see your uncle again, if he asks you,’ she declared tersely. ‘And don’t worry about him ringing while you’re out. He’ll ring back. I have the feeling that—well, that he wants to see you again just as much as you want to see him.’

Jaime told herself it was worth the effort it had cost her to say that when she saw the delight on her son’s face. Poor Tom, she thought. He so badly needed a man in his life. Oh, her father did his best, but he was so much older, and, besides, he had the pub to run. Which didn’t leave a lot of time for his grandson, or the rest of the family either.

She was still thinking about this when she climbed into the taxi that evening. Although she was sure she could have driven herself home after the one or two glasses of wine she intended to drink at Maggie’s house, she had decided not to take the risk. She needed her car to get to work, and to keep her and Tom mobile. If she lost her licence, she’d miss it terribly.

It began to rain as the taxi turned out of Dorset Road, and Jaime was glad she had chosen to wear a suit instead of a dress. Besides, the short skirt and extra-long jacket of the fine wool outfit were very flattering with her long legs, and she hadn’t had many opportunities to wear it. Her own fault, of course, as Tom would say, and until Ben had come on the scene it hadn’t been an issue.

Nevertheless, when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the driver’s rear-view mirror, she did feel quite pleased with her appearance. Black definitely suited her, she thought, fingering the neckline of the slim-fitting jacket. Particularly when it was teamed with a bronze silk camisole.

A faint smile tipped her lips before she caught the driver’s eye and realised he had observed her self-appraisal. Immediately, she looked away, but his, ‘Heavy date?’ made some kind of response unavoidable.

‘Not a date at all,’ she admitted, wishing she weren’t so prone to exhibiting her embarrassment. ‘Just a meal with a friend.’

‘Lucky friend,’ commented the driver admiringly, his swarthy face creasing into a grin. ‘And you can tell him I said so.’

Jaime opened her mouth to say it wasn’t a ‘him’, and then closed it again. It wasn’t important, after all. She wasn’t likely to see the taxi driver again. And it made her feel good to think a stranger should find her attractive.

Maggie lived out towards Nettleford. It was the house she and Felix had occupied before the divorce, and was part of the settlement she had demanded. Jaime had often thought she wouldn’t have wanted to go on living in a house which must hold so many unhappy memories, but Maggie seemed content. It was the house where her children had been brought up, she said, and she still loved it. Jaime suspected she still loved Felix, too, but that was something they never talked about.

The house stood on its own, just beyond the outskirts of the town. Jaime hadn’t thought about it before, but it was only a couple of miles from the Priory, and she hoped Maggie wasn’t going to spend the evening speculating about the new occupant. It would be ironic if, in hoping to avoid thinking about Ben, she found herself in the position of having to talk about him.

The rain was beating against the car windows as they turned between the gates of Maggie’s house, and Jaime was glad she was going to be dropped off at the door. She wouldn’t have fancied having to park the car and then run for cover. The heels she was wearing would not take kindly to the gravel of Maggie’s forecourt, and as there were two cars parked in the driveway already it could have been a problem.

Jaime frowned as the significance of the two strange cars occurred to her. Maggie, she knew, drove a rather shabby Volvo, and unless she had changed her car in the last few weeks she had other guests.

Jaime tried not to feel disappointed. Maggie had said nothing about inviting anyone else when she had asked Jaime to dinner. But then, she hadn’t actually said there was just to be the two of them, and it was Jaime’s fault for jumping to conclusions. She was doing that a lot lately, she thought wryly. She might as well accept it: she was no clairvoyant.

All the same, she did look at the cars rather closely. But neither of them was of obviously German origin—like a Mercedes, for example. Deciding she was getting paranoid, Jaime identified a modest Rover, and a mid-range Ford, neither of which appeared to boast any hightech characteristics. Probably the doctor and the vicar, she thought ruefully, leaning forward to pay her driver. She seemed to remember meeting Maggie’s doctor on another occasion, and she resigned herself to an evening of small talk.

The door had opened while Jaime was settling her fare, and because it was such a dismal evening Maggie was silhouetted by the lights behind her. Unlike Lacey, Felix’s first wife was a big woman, with generous breasts and thighs, and a total disregard for health food. She kept fit by exercising the two Dobermanns, which had taken the place of her grown children, and, in spite of her size, she was decidedly feminine.

‘Hurry,’ she called, as Jaime got out of the taxi. ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.’

‘Oh? Am I late?’ Jaime exclaimed, after sprinting up the steps and into the house. She bent to give Maggie a damp kiss, and then pulled a wry face. ‘Blame it on the weather!’

‘Yes. Isn’t it dreadful?’ Maggie nodded, and closed the door. ‘No wonder they say flaming June! Flaming awful, that’s what I say.’

Jaime smiled. ‘Well, it has been a pretty nice summer up until now,’ she demurred, checking her hair in the mirror of a mahogany tallboy. And then, lowering her voice, ‘You should have warned me you were having a dinner party . I thought there was just going to be the two of us.’

Maggie coloured. ‘Well, you look pretty good to me,’ she declared, avoiding Jaime’s eyes by admiring her suit. ‘That’s new, isn’t it? I don’t believe I’ve seen it before—–’

‘Maggie!’

‘Well, it’s hardly a party,’ protested the other woman quickly. ‘There’s just the four of us.’

‘Four, hmm?’ Jaime didn’t know why, but already her nerves were prickling, and she chided herself for jumping to conclusions yet again. ‘Who else is here?’

Maggie busied herself with brushing a pearl of rainwater from Jaime’s sleeve, and ushered her across the hall to the drawing-room door. ‘Come and see,’ she said, without answering her, and although Jaime wanted to resist she had to go with her.

As she had anticipated, two men were waiting for them in the drawing-room, seated in the wing-chairs that faced one another across the wide hearth. Of course, there was no fire in the hearth this evening. The space was filled by an enormous bowl of dusky pink roses, whose fragrance overlaid the potent scents of good Scotch and fine tobacco. One of the men was smoking, Jaime noticed, as they both rose to their feet at her entrance, but it was hardly relevant. Her eyes were drawn to those of the other man, and the realisation that for once her instincts had not betrayed her was no compensation.