Lynne Graham - Dangerous Passions

Tom absorbed this in silence, and Jaime knew she had to say something more. She owed him that much. After all, Tom still believed that Philip Russell had been his father. How must he be feeling, hearing her condemn the man he believed had given him life?

‘There’s something else,’ she said, coming to the table, and seating herself opposite him. ‘Something I should have told you—ages ago. Only, it never seemed the right time.’

Tom looked at her warily, his eyes mirroring the uneasiness he was feeling. He was probably wondering what other awful revelations she was about to make, Jaime thought unhappily. And goodness knew, what she had to say wasn’t going to be easy for either of them.

‘It’s about you,’ she said slowly, understanding at last why adoptive parents were always advised to tell their children the truth as soon as they were old enough to understand. It was much harder to tell a boy of Tom’s age that his father wasn’t who he thought he was. ‘Um—about your being born in Newcastle.’

‘You mean, that story about you running away with another man is true?’ exclaimed Tom gruffly, and Jaime gazed at him in disbelief.

‘You know?’

‘No.’ Tom hunched his shoulders. ‘I don’t know anything. But I know the story. It’s no secret, is it?’

‘Isn’t it?’ Jaime felt as if someone had just delivered her a body blow. ‘I—don’t know what to say.’

‘You were going to tell me about it,’ Tom prompted flatly. ‘It’s true, then. Philip Russell wasn’t my father.’

Jaime swallowed. ‘No.’

‘So—Uncle Ben isn’t really my uncle?’ This was evidently harder for him to say, and Jaime’s heart went out to him.

‘No,’ she admitted huskily, wondering what he would say if she told him the truth. But she couldn’t risk that. The Russells had taken so much from her. She couldn’t risk losing her son to them as well, however selfish that might be.

‘Does he know?’

Jaime blinked. She had been so wrapped up with her own thoughts that Tom’s question caught her off guard. ‘I beg your—–?’

‘Uncle—that is, Ben Russell. Does he know he’s not my real uncle?’

‘Oh.’ Jaime licked her dry lips. ‘I—yes. Yes, he knows—–’

‘He does?’

Tom’s reaction was totally unexpected. The unhappy droop disappeared from his mouth like magic, and instead of regarding her with a mixture of hostility and accusation he looked positively delighted.

‘He really knows?’ he asked again, and when Jaime nodded, albeit a little less certainly now, Tom said, ‘ Yes! ’ and raised both fists in a gesture of victory.

Jaime swallowed. ‘You don’t mind?’

‘What about?’ Tom picked up his sandwich, and, to his mother’s astonishment, he bit into it. Then, with his mouth full, he went on, ‘If you mean about Dad—that is, your ex-husband—I don’t know how I feel. Not really. It’s not as if I ever knew him, is it?’

‘No, but—–’

‘I guess I always knew there had to be more to it than you had told me,’ Tom went on, taking another bite of his sandwich. ‘I mean, Dad—that is, he —divorced you, didn’t he? I never could understand that until now.’

Jaime shook her head. In Tom’s world, there were always absolutes. Philip had divorced her, therefore she had to be the guilty party. How could she explain that that had been one of the conditions Philip had demanded of Ben, when he agreed to stay away from her?

‘You’re not—angry, then?’ she ventured, not quite knowing how to proceed, and after a moment Tom shook his head.

‘Not angry, no. I wish you had told me sooner, that’s all.’ He paused. ‘Did you—did you love him?’

‘Who?’ Jaime’s mind refused to function. ‘Oh—Philip! Well, I—–’

‘No. Not him !’ exclaimed Tom, putting down his sandwich. His young face was flushed and awkward. ‘I meant—my dad. My real dad.’ He paused. ‘Did you?’

‘Oh!’ Jaime expelled a noisy breath. She could see how important it was to him, and she realised she hadn’t thought this through at all. The obvious progression hadn’t even occurred to her. ‘I—yes. Yes, I loved him.’ She was glad she could be honest about that. ‘But—well, he was married. And, although I thought he intended to leave his wife, he didn’t.’

Tom absorbed this silently. Then, picking up the sandwich again, almost absently, she thought, he said, ‘I suppose that’s why you never talked about him.’

Jaime’s lips tightened. ‘Could be.’

Tom bent his head. ‘Does—does he know about me?’

Oh, God! Jaime wondered how much more of this she could take without screaming.

But, ‘Yes,’ she managed at last, waiting for the axe to fall. It was only a matter of time before Tom asked his name, and, in spite of all her misgivings, could she honestly refuse to tell him?

‘The bastard!’ Tom’s response, like his reaction to Ben’s knowing he wasn’t Philip’s son earlier, was the exact opposite of what she had expected. ‘He got you pregnant, and then didn’t even have the guts to do the decent thing! Hell, Mum, how can you say you love him?’ He pushed his sandwich aside. ‘I hate him!’

Jaime was speechless. His words shocked her so much that the expletives he had used to make his point didn’t register until later. It wasn’t until he flung back his chair and got to his feet that she found her voice again.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Where do you think?’ Tom was too upset to be polite. ‘To bed, I suppose. What else is there?’

Jaime cleared her throat. ‘Tom—–’ The words wouldn’t come, and she gazed at his stony face in helpless confusion. ‘Tom, about—about Ben…’

‘Uncle Ben?’ Tom’s face softened. ‘Oh, Mum, Uncle Ben is the one good thing that’s come out of all this. Don’t you see? When you said he knew I wasn’t—wasn’t Philip Russell’s son, I was so relieved!’ He looked at the ceiling for a moment, and Jaime’s heart plummeted when she saw the unfamiliar glint of tears in his blue eyes. ‘You see,’ he added doggedly, ‘it means he likes me for who I am, not because he believes I’m his nephew. I can still go on seeing him, can’t I, Mum? Just because—just because that man’s dead, it won’t make any difference, will it?’

* * *

She should have told him then. Jaime knew it. But how could she do it? she argued defensively. How could she tell him about Ben, and destroy his relationship with the one person he seemed to admire? All right. So it was to her advantage as well, but so what? Didn’t the end justify the means? Didn’t she have some right to protect herself? At least until he was old enough to understand?

Not for the first time since Ben had come to live in Kingsmere, Jaime did not have a good night’s sleep. She tossed and turned for hours, reliving every minute of that conversation with her son. Even when exhaustion took its toll, her dreams were all like nightmares. If she wasn’t confronting images of Philip, rearing up from his grave to pursue her, she was locked in some filthy prison cell, watching Ben take Tom away from her.

She knew the dreams were conscience-related. Even though she might tell herself that by keeping the truth from Tom she was protecting Ben as well, it would take some time to construct a convincing case. Until then, she would just have to live with it. Why pre-empt disaster, when it could look after itself?

Breakfast was an uneasy meal. For her part, Jaime was still not convinced the worst was over. Tom might yet wish to pursue the discussion about his father, and she spent her time rehearsing responses to a variety of questions.

But, in the event, her fears proved groundless. Tom’s uneasiness apparently stemmed from doubts that she might change her mind about him seeing Ben again. He spent the time it took to ladle a huge plate of cornflakes into his mouth reassuring himself that his mother would have no objections if Ben invited him to the Priory again. He had evidently not given up hope that Ben might phone, and Jaime had to concede that she wouldn’t stand in his way.