Lynne Graham - Dangerous Passions

Jaime told her parents the truth a few days later. She hadn’t expected any sympathy, and she got none. She had behaved like a fool, for the second time in her life, and they had little patience with her. At first, her mother was outraged that she wasn’t going to tell Ben that she was expecting a baby. He ought to know, she said. It was his child. The Russells could afford an extra mouth to feed. The Fenners couldn’t. He should be made to pay for his pleasure.

It wasn’t until Jaime explained her fears—that if Philip learned about the pregnancy, he might try to stop the divorce—that both her parents agreed she should go away to have the baby. A fictional lover was invented, someone Jaime had known before her marriage to Philip, and who might reasonably have come back on the scene now that she and her husband were separated. The story was helped along by the fact that Jaime went to stay with her father’s sister in Newcastle. The Fenners let it be known that the young man in question came from there, and the gossips soon put it about that that was why Philip Russell was divorcing her. It was assumed that Jaime was the guilty party, and it was easier to allow her own name to be blackened than to defend something that was indefensible.

The only paradox was that Jaime never once thought of getting rid of the baby. However desperately she might deny it, she had wanted her baby, and she had been prepared to do anything to keep it. Even to the extent of keeping his identity a secret from any of the Russells. Tom was hers. He was her child. And when she learned that Ben had gone to live in South Africa, she had been sure she was safe from discovery…

Heaving a sigh, she propped her aching head in her hands. What time was it? she wondered. Heavens, it was late. Tom should be home by now. And she had to pull herself together before he saw her. It wouldn’t do for him to get the wrong impression. Like imagining she was distressed because the man who had mercilessly abused her was dead, she acknowledged bitterly. God, leaving Philip was the one sensible thing she had done in her life. No way was she going to let Tom believe otherwise.

But he might not see it that way, she realised uneasily. After the way he had reacted to Ben’s appearance, the news that the man he believed was his father was dead was bound to come as something of a shock. It was possible that he had hoped that by associating with Ben he might get to meet him, too. She groaned. Was she never to be free of her youthful mistakes?

She shook her head. Ben should have told her the truth, right from the beginning, she thought, shifting at least part of the blame on to him. He had deliberately kept it from her for his own needs. He had known that without that lever she would never have allowed him to get near Tom.

She was pushing herself up from the table, when she heard the sound of Tom’s key in the lock. For the first time since he was born she felt a sense of reluctance to confront him. What was she going to say? she fretted. How was she going to say it?

He came sauntering along the hall, whistling. He had seen the light in the kitchen, and guessed she was waiting for him. And, although she had never done it before, Jaime half wished she had gone to bed before he got home. She might have felt more equipped to deal with this in the morning.

But, as it happened, Tom looked more discomfited to see her than she was to see him. His attempted nonchalance faded at the sight of her taut expression, and she realised, in a flash, that he thought she was annoyed with him for being late.

‘I can explain!’ he exclaimed, before she could speak, and Jaime was tempted to let him go on thinking he was to blame. ‘Angie’s Dad asked me in for some supper, and—well, I couldn’t say no, could I?’

‘Are you sure it wasn’t Angie who invited you in?’ queried Jaime, and then, when her son began an indignant denial, she held up a calming hand. ‘All right. All right. I believe you.’ She paused, tried to compose her words, and then added, cowardly, ‘So, you don’t want a sandwich, or anything?’

‘Well—–’ Tom shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, and hunched his shoulders ‘—I wouldn’t say no.’ He grimaced. ‘I was offered lasagne, but I said I wasn’t hungry.’

Jaime couldn’t prevent a smile. ‘Cheese all right?’ she asked, turning to the fridge, and Tom nodded eagerly before straddling a chair at the table.

He looked so much like Ben, sitting there, watching her, that Jaime wondered anew how she could have fooled herself for so long. Was it simply a case of out of sight, out of mind, or had she actually deliberately blotted Ben’s image from her memory?

‘Did you have a nice evening?’ he asked, gaining confidence from her attitude. ‘What did you have to eat? Anything special?’

Jaime kept her eyes riveted on the bread she was buttering. ‘Um—salmon mousse, and lamb,’ she answered, without looking up at him. ‘And—and an orange sorbet. It was delicious.’

Tom frowned. ‘Was it?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Jaime did cast him a hasty look at that moment. ‘Why do you ask? You know Mrs Haines is a good cook.’

Tom shrugged. ‘You didn’t have a row or anything?’

Jaime swallowed. ‘Who?’

‘You and Mrs Haines, of course.’ Tom made a sound of impatience. ‘Who else? There was only the two of you there!’

‘No—ouch!’ Jaime caught her thumb with the knife she was using to slice the cheese, and winced. ‘I mean—there wasn’t just the two of us there.’ She hesitated. ‘Ben Russell was there, too. And—and a doctor friend of Maggie’s.’

‘Uncle Ben was there?’ Tom was staring at her now, and Jaime realised there was no going back. ‘Did you know?’

‘Did I know what?’ Her son’s words had diverted her, and Jaime gazed at him, confused. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Did you know he was going to be there?’ exclaimed Tom irritably. ‘Was that why you were so sure he wouldn’t phone this evening?’

‘No.’ Jaime was getting impatient herself now. This was hard enough for her to say without Tom balking her at every turn. ‘I had no idea he would be joining us until I got there. I wouldn’t have gone if—well, I—might not have gone if—if—–’

‘If you’d known he was going to be there. Yes, I know.’ Tom sounded fed up now. ‘So, that’s why you’re looking so depressed.’

‘I am not looking depressed!’ Tom was getting the very impression she had hoped to avoid. ‘Stop second-guessing my words. I’ve neither had a row—–’ liar ! ‘—nor am I depressed. All right?’

Tom lifted his shoulders. ‘If you say so.’

‘I do say so.’ Jaime set the cheese sandwich in front of him with scarcely concealed frustration. ‘As a matter of fact—Ben—brought me home.’

‘He did?’ Tom was so surprised, the sandwich he had raised to his lips was forgotten. ‘So what did he say? Did he mention my going over there this weekend?’

‘No.’ Jaime turned back to the breadboard, and brushed the crumbs she had made into the sink. ‘He—well, he had some news for me, actually,’ she admitted, setting the board in its place. And then, realising she was only making what she had to say that much more significant by prevaricating, she went on, ‘He told me—Philip—is dead. Philip Russell, that is. Your—father.’

Tom put down the sandwich, untouched. ‘He’s dead?’ he echoed, and Jaime nodded. ‘How? When?’

‘I—don’t know the details.’ Jaime guiltily acknowledged she should have asked. ‘But—it was some time ago, I believe. He just didn’t get around to telling us.’

Tom frowned. ‘Dead,’ he said again. And then, looking up, ‘Were you upset?’

‘No.’ Jaime felt a deepening of colour in her cheeks, and wished she were not so susceptible to her emotions. ‘No, Tom. I wasn’t upset. My—relationship with Philip was not a happy one. I didn’t wish him dead, but I can’t pretend a sorrow I don’t feel.’