Lynne Graham - Dangerous Passions

Or hadn’t wanted to see, she reminded herself sharply. It was much easier to deal with strong emotions than cope with the insidious wiles of gentler ones. She didn’t want to like Ben. She didn’t want to see him as Maggie was seeing him, or admit that she was as interested in his work as anyone else at the table. He was Philip’s brother, she told herself. He had seduced her, and betrayed her. He had left her expecting his child, and gone off to Africa with his wife. The fact that he hadn’t known she was expecting his child was irrelevant. He had made it clear he had no intention of divorcing his wife for her, and Jaime had refused to use her condition to attempt to change his mind.

They had coffee in the drawing-room, by which time Jaime had convinced herself that any interest she had had in Ben’s reminiscences had been spurious. She told herself it had been a combination of the food and the wine—particularly the wine—and the easy ambience of the conversation that had breached her guard and tumbled her defences. She didn’t really care how Ben had spent the last fifteen years; nor did she want to think of the life he and Maura had led together. The insidious image of Ben stretched out on a bed with the other woman, making love to Maura, as he had once made love to her, could still strike a stabbing chord in her memory. She might not want to admit that this was so, but time—and bitter experience—couldn’t always take away the pain.

‘So—isn’t this nice?’

Having served her guests with coffee, Maggie seated herself on the sofa beside Jaime. She was evidently delighted that the evening had not turned into the disaster she had half expected, and Jaime felt a twinge of sympathy for her. Now that it was almost over, she could imagine how her friend must have felt when Ben had arrived on her doorstep. Although Maggie didn’t know the whole story, the fact that he was Philip’s brother must have filled her with dismay. After all, she wouldn’t have wanted to spend the evening with Felix’s brother, particularly if her association with his family had been as acrimonious as Jaime’s with Philip’s.

‘You must give me the recipe for that orange sorbet,’ Jaime murmured now, eager to keep the conversation to impersonal matters. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything more delicious. Where did you find it?’

‘Oh—I got it out of some magazine or other,’ exclaimed Maggie modestly. ‘I wouldn’t like to say which one. I buy so many.’

‘Maggie’s a magazine-addict,’ put in John Fellowes drily. ‘The local church does famously out of her contributions to its jumble sales.’

‘Well, I have to do something,’ she protested. ‘I don’t read—well, not books, anyway—and I don’t like gardening. I’m not like Jaime. I don’t—have…’

And then, shaking her head, she faltered to a stop. Her cheeks were pink with confusion, and it was obvious what she was thinking. She had realised that what she had been about to say could embarrass her guest, and rather than go on with it she got up and offered more coffee.

But it was too soon, and they all knew it, and as if to rescue the situation Ben said quietly, ‘I’m sure we all have vices we’re not too proud of. I know I do.’ He looked at Jaime. ‘Don’t you agree?’

But Jamie had had just about as much as she could take for one evening. ‘I think I ought to be going,’ she said, instead of answering him, dragging her gaze away from his, and addressing Maggie. ‘Um—Tom will be home soon, and I don’t like him going into an empty house.’

‘Of course.’ Maggie didn’t argue, probably as relieved to break up the party as Jaime was. ‘I’ll go and call you a cab. I wonder if it’s still raining.’

‘There’s no need to call Jaime a cab,’ Ben inserted swiftly, getting to his feet. ‘I’ll take her home.’

‘Oh, no—really…’

Jaime’s anxious gaze flashed from Maggie to Ben, and back again. If only she had insisted on bringing her own car, she thought desperately. As it was, unless Maggie could come up with some significant excuse why Ben shouldn’t take her home, she had no valid reason for refusing. It wasn’t as if she felt the slightest bit woozy. The tension of the last few minutes had sobered her more completely than several cups of Maggie’s strong black coffee could have done.

‘Do you think it’s wise to risk driving across town and back again when you’ve been drinking, Ben?’ Maggie ventured now, revealing she had interpreted Jaime’s message loud and clear. ‘I mean, that’s why Jaime didn’t bring her own car. They’re very strict about these things nowadays. Not like before you went to Africa…’

‘I don’t think what Ben’s drunk this evening would put him over the limit,’ the old doctor remarked consideringly, and Jaime wished, rather unfairly, that he would keep his nose out of her affairs. ‘Besides, you’ll wait hours for a taxi on a night like this. You know how busy they’ll be.’

‘Thank you, John.’

Maggie’s sarcasm was lost on him, however, and although she accompanied her words with a killing look it was too late. The damage was done. Jaime had to choose between letting Ben take her home—which surely couldn’t be as harrowing as she was anticipating—and staying here, at the mercy of his edged comments, for a possibly indefinable period.

‘Well,’ she said, clearing her throat, and the admission almost choked her, ‘if—if Ben—doesn’t mind…’

‘My pleasure,’ said Ben smoothly, sliding his hand into his jacket pocket, and pulling out his car keys. ‘It’s been a very pleasant evening, Maggie. I hope you’ll forgive me if I curtail it a little.’

‘Of course.’ Maggie looked unhappily at Jaime. ‘If—er—if it weren’t for Tom, you could have stayed the night.’

‘But there is Tom, isn’t there?’ Ben put in, before Jaime could say anything. ‘And Jaime takes her maternal duties very seriously, don’t you?’ His eyes challenged her to deny it. ‘So—shall we go?’

BEN’S car was the Ford Sierra, and he insisted on fetching it to the door so that Jaime could just run down the steps and get inside. It was still raining, and drops of moisture sparkled on Ben’s hair as he leaned across the passenger seat to open the door for her.

‘I’ll ring you next week,’ Maggie called, as Jaime got into the car, and she stood at the door, waving, as Ben swung the vehicle round in a half-circle and down the waterlogged drive.

It really was a filthy night. The rain was coming down in sheets, and the wipers had to work overtime to keep the windscreen clean. But it also narrowed Jaime’s world to the heated confines of the car, and she couldn’t help but be aware of Ben’s lean frame only inches from her own.

Not that Ben was showing any interest in her. His attention was focused on the road ahead, and she was annoyed with herself for allowing his presence to disconcert her in any way. He was giving her a lift home, that was all. And judging by the slickness of the road she ought to be grateful she was not having to put her safety in the hands of some untried driver.

Nevertheless, she was aware of him. Her eyes were drawn to the hands handling the wheel so expertly, and the narrow wrists that emerged from the sleeves of his jacket. Was his skin warm? she wondered, her tongue lingering at the corner of her mouth. How was he adapting to this much cooler temperature, after so many years spent in a tropical climate? That was one thing he hadn’t spoken about; that, and his wife.

She tore her eyes away, and tried to concentrate on the night outside. They were crossing the town now, and, as Dr Fellowes had said, there were plenty of people waiting for taxis. It probably would have been next to impossible to get one of them to come out to Maggie’s house during the next hour or so, and her reluctance to accept this ride seemed extremely churlish in retrospect.