by Anne Mather
'Apparently Ben Russell is negotiating to buy the old Priory,' she said, her offhand tone a warning not to pursue the subject, but Tom was too surprised to be perceptive.
'Uncle Ben?' he exclaimed, his jaw dropping, and Jaime wished she had just let him find out after all.
Now, she adopted an indifferent air. 'How many Ben Russells do you know?' she asked, avoiding a direct answer. 'Tom—eat your meal. It's getting cold.'
Tom frowned, but he wasn't diverted. 'Why is Uncle Ben coming to live in Kingsmere?' he demanded. 'I thought you said he lived in Africa, or somewhere like that'
'Yes—well, he did.' Jaime endeavoured to speak casually. 'I don't know why he's coming to live at the Priory. Perhaps he's not. Perhaps he's just buying it as an investment.'
'The old Priory?' Tom looked sceptical. 'Mum, it's falling to bits. No one would buy that as an investment. It's been on the market for over two years!'
'Well, that's not our concern, is it?' said Jaime evenly, making a valiant effort to look as if she was eating her own meal. 'So did you get your homework done? I hope Angie's parents weren't worried about where she was.'
'Oh, they don't worry about her,' declared Tom airily. 'They know she's all right if she's with me. Besides, they're too busy.'
'Hmm.'
Jaime thought he was probably right, though she refrained from saying so. The Santinis were unlikely to worry about Angie in the same way she worried about Tom. Angie had half a dozen brothers and sisters, and besides, they had a thriving business to keep their interest. Jaime had been into the shop the Santinis owned on the precinct only once, but she had been left with an impression of orderly chaos. The place had been filled with customers, all wanting to buy the rich hams and aromatic cheeses that the Santinis imported from their home country, and the idea of Caterina Santini fretting because her eldest daughter was late home from school didn't seem likely.
'Anyway, do you think he'll come and see us?' Tom asked now, and Jaime realised her attempt to distract him hadn't worked.
'I hope not,' she replied, attacking her steak with renewed vigour. 'Is your gammon all right? Mine seems a little tough.'
'Oh—yes.' Tom dismissed that diversion without effort. 'I suppose it's not very likely, is it? Not after the way Dad's treated us all these years.'
Jaime stifled a groan, and got up from the table to dump most of her meal into the waste-bin. 'Do you want any dessert?' she asked, without answering him. 'There's apple pie. Or cheese.'
Can I have both?' Tom scraped his plate clean, and handed it to her with an angelic smile. Then, just when she thought it was over, he added, 'Did you know him well?'
Jaime's breath escaped with a gulp. 'I—met him,' she temporised, taking refuge in removing the apple pie from the fridge. 'Do you want cream?'
'Just cheese, please,' he responded irrepressibly. Then, 'Go on about Uncle Ben. Did he come to the wedding?'
Jaime made a helpless gesture. 'What does it matter?'
'Well, you told me my grandparents didn't come,' pointed out Tom, picking up his spoon. 'Dad's parents, that is. Why didn't they approve of you?'
'Because they had someone else in mind,' retorted Jaime tightly, unwilling to allow any thoughts of that kind to add to her frustration. 'We've talked about this before, Tom. You know the story. Now, can we change the subject?'
But he didn't know the story, Jaime chided herself, as she filled the washing-up bowl with water, and added a soapy detergent. And for some time she had been pondering the wisdom of letting Tom go on thinking that Philip Russell had been his father. But the alternative had always seemed so untenable, and, because he had been denied so much, did she have the right to deny him his legitimacy as well?
Now, however, the choice had been made for her. There was no way she was going to unsettle her son now that Ben Russell was moving back to Kingsmere. She wondered if his wife was moving back with him. Thank God there was no reason for them to see one another.
Tom finished his pie and brought the empty dish to the sink, watching as his mother submerged it in the water. 'I know you don't like talking about it, Mum,' he ventured, dipping his finger into the suds, and drawing an elongated circle. 'But it was a long time ago, wasn't it? Don't you think it's time you could talk about it without getting upset?'
'I'm not upset.' Jaime stiffened defensively. 'I just don't see why you want to labour the point. I was just the publican's daughter, and your—your—the Russells—wanted their son to marry someone from their own level of society. Someone with money, and position. It's a common enough story, goodness knows. Philip soon realised his mistake, and—and so did I.'
Tom grimaced. 'Leaving you holding the baby!'
'In a manner of speaking.' Jaime thrust a tea-cloth into his hands, and indicated the draining dishes. 'Come on. Make yourself useful.'
'I still don't understand,' muttered Tom, taking the tea-cloth and starting to dry the plates. 'If he was planning on leaving us, why did he wait until you were expecting a baby?'
'Oh, Tom, things happen that way sometimes.' Jaime's nerves were beginning to stretch. 'If I'd known telling you about the Priory was going to provoke this kind of discussion, I wouldn't have said anything.'
'I bet Grandpa knows,' said Tom shrewdly, and Jaime caught her breath.
'Yes,' she said, suddenly understanding all the little worried glances her parents had exchanged the previous weekend. 'Yes, I imagine he does,' she added, realising that as landlord of the Raven and Glass, which wasn't far from the Priory, it was virtually impossible for him not to have done so.
'I wonder if he'll come into the pub,' persisted Tom, thoughtfully. 'The way my father used to.'
'I shouldn't think so.' Jaime was short. 'Public bars are not Ben Russell's sort of place.' Or they weren't, she amended silently. She walked briskly across the room, and opened the door. 'I'll be in the living-room, if you want me. By the way, you didn't say—did you finish your homework?'
'Oh, yes.' Tom's grin was infectious. 'We finished it. Angie's a real brain when it comes to figures.'
'Hmm.' Jaime was unimpressed. 'Well, just remember, Angie won't be around when you have to sit your examinations.'
'I know.' Tom's tone was faintly resentful now. 'I'm not a complete idiot!'
Jaime shrugged. 'Oh, well, I suppose it will give you more time for other subjects.'
'Not tonight.' Tom was indignant.
'Why not tonight?'
Tom finished drying the dishes, and hung the tea-cloth over the rim of the sink. 'Well,' he said, and Jaime could tell he was searching for the right words, 'I thought I might go to the disco at the youth club. It's only fifty pence, and all the gang will be there.'
'All the gang?' echoed Jaime drily, silently amending the word 'gang' to Angie Santini. 'Oh—' she gave a dismissive gesture '—if you feel you can afford the time, go ahead. But don't be late back. I want an early night.'
'Oh, Mum!' Tom's young face mirrored his disappointment. 'It is Friday night. How early?'
Jaime considered. 'Ten-ish.'
'Ten-ish!' Tom groaned. 'It doesn't get warmed up until half-past nine!'
Jaime wanted to be strict, but she knew half her impatience stemmed from her reaction to the news of Ben Russell's imminent arrival in Kingsmere. 'All right,' she relented, realising it wasn't fair to make Tom the brunt of her frustration. 'Half-past ten, then. But no later. And I shall expect you to do some work tomorrow.'
'Thanks, Mum.' Tom's relief was fervent, and he came to kiss her cheek with unexpected affection. 'You put your feet up, and take it easy,' he added, causing Jaime to pull a wry face. 'I'll help you with the housework in the morning.'
It wasn't quite the work Jaime had in mind, but she didn't argue with him. Nevertheless, it was only eighteen months until his important examinations, and she hoped this infatuation with Angie Santini was not going to jeopardise his chances of success. It was important that he do well. Important that he go into the sixth form, and eventually gain a place at
university. It was what she wanted for him. What she needed to rectify the mistakes she had made.
But after he had left the house Jaime found she couldn't relax. Even the gloomy economic forecasts on the evening news could not dislodge the feelings of apprehension that gripped her, and the televised comedy shows that followed had little appeal. Was it just a coincidence? she wondered. Was Ben's intention to buy the old Priory just an innocent development, or did it have a deeper significance?
But what? What deeper significance could it have? It was fifteen years since she had last seen her ex-husband's brother, and she had no reason to believe he ever wanted to see her again. Indeed, he had probably forgotten she still lived in Kingsmere. And if he hadn't, it was obviously of little importance to him. After all, he had lived in Africa for the last twelve years anyway, initially working for the news agency's overseas service, and then writing—both factual articles and novels—equally successfully. She was deluding herself if she thought this move to the basically rural surrounds of Kingsmere had anything to do with her—or Tom. Wiltshire was a big county. It was rust pure bad luck that Ben had chosen to buy the old Priory.
CHAPTER TWO
Jaime was vacuuming in the living-room when the telephone rang. Half expecting Tom to come charging down the stairs to take it, she did not immediately respond. Then, remembering her son had gone to take a shower, she switched off the machine, and went to answer it herself.
'Kingsmere, 2794,' she said, wiping a smudge of dust from her nose.
She fully expected to hear Angie's husky tones in response. During the past six months, her son's association with the Italian girl hadn't faltered, and, although Jaime was still fairly ambivalent about the relationship, in many ways she had to admit that Tom had benefited from the liaison. For one thing, he was keener now to do well in his exams. Angie had told Jaime—and, of course, Tom—that she intended to stay on in the sixth form. She wanted to go to university, and what had once been something only his mother cared about had become Tom's prime objective, too.
However, this time it wasn't Angie. Although the voice was feminine, the tones were much more mature, and Jaime had no difficulty in identifying their source.
'Jaime? Jaime, that is you, isn't it? It's Lacey here. Felix's wife. How are you?'
'Oh—hello, Lacey.' Jaime grimaced at her reflection in the hall mirror. 'What a surprise! I'm—fine. How are you?'
'I'm very well.' Lacey gave a little, girlish laugh. 'Or as well as anyone can be who's just discovered they're going to have their first baby!'
'Really?' Jaime was surprised. Felix hadn't said a word. 'When is it due?'
'Oh, not for months and months yet.' Lacey seemed relieved at the prospect. 'The doctor says it will probably be a Christmas baby. Isn't that exciting? But it's early days yet.'
'Of course.' Jaime moistened her lips, wondering why Lacey should have chosen to ring her with the news. They were hardly friends. 'Well, congratulations! I'm very happy for you—both!
I knew you would be.' Lacey sounded a little smug now, and Jaime wondered whether she was supposed to relay the news to Margaret Haines. She could think of no other reason why she should have been involved. 'Felix would have told you, but I insisted on telling you myself.'
'How—nice.' Jaime bit her lip. 'Well, as I say, it's very good news, Lacey.' She took a breath. 'Honestly.'
'Oh, good…' Lacey paused '… because we're having a party to celebrate, and you're invited. It's next Saturday. Can you come?'
Jaime almost gasped. Since Lacey's marriage to Felix, they had given a lot of parties, but this was the first time her name had been added to the invitation list.
'Well, I—' she began, trying frantically to think of an excuse why she couldn't go, but Lacey was not to be diverted.
'I'd really like you to be there, Jaime,' she said, and, unable to see her face, Jaime had no way of knowing if she was sincere or otherwise. 'I know we haven't seen a lot of one another in the past, but I'm hoping we can change all that. After all, we are going to have something in common now, aren't we?'
'Are we?' Jaime couldn't think of a single thing, but Lacey was quick to elucidate.
'Of course!' she exclaimed. 'We'll both be mothers. Oh, I know things must have changed a lot since you had Tom, but I'd appreciate your advice all the same.'
Jaime winced. That sounded more like the Lacey she remembered. The barbed comment wrapped in the apparently innocent remark. She hadn't changed that much, if at all. Even so…
'Perhaps I could call in for a couple of hours,' Jaime conceded, with some reluctance. Felix was her boss, when all was said and done, and she had no real objections to being civil. She doubted she and Lacey could ever be friends, but the other woman was not going to be given the chance to say her overture had been rejected.
'Oh, good.' To her credit, Lacey sounded as if she meant it. 'About eight-thirty, then. You know where we live.'
'All right. Thank you.'
Jaime grimaced, but the die was cast, and, replacing the receiver, she became aware of Tom's bathrobe-clad figure seated at the top of the stairs. He was obviously as curious about the call as she had been, but, refusing to give in to his overt speculation, she walked thoughtfully back into the living-room.
Nevertheless, she was not surprised to hear his hasty descent of the stairs, and by the time he appeared in the doorway she had schooled her features to a bland indifference.
'Who was that?'
Tom was nothing if not forthright, and Jaime had to smile. 'You should have answered it yourself, then you'd have known,' she replied vexingly. 'What do you want for lunch? Pizza, or salad?'
'Need you ask?' Tom pulled a face, and then returned to his earlier question. 'It was Mrs Haines, wasn't it?' he added, revealing he had listened to most of the conversation. 'What did she want?'
Jaime abandoned the idea of continuing with the vacuuming for the moment, and sank down on to the sofa. Crossing one jeans-clad leg over the other, she said, 'She wanted to tell me she's pregnant. She's going to have a baby at Christmas.'
'I do know what being pregnant means, Mum,' said Tom impatiently. 'So what? Why did she want to tell you and not Felix?'
'Mr Haines to you,' Jaime corrected automatically. And then she shrugged. 'They're giving a party. To celebrate. I'm invited.'
'Why?'
Jaime laughed. 'That's not very flattering.'
'Oh—' Tom grimaced '—you know what I mean.'
'I know.' Jaime relented. 'But I'm no wiser than you are. She says she wants us to get to know one another.'
'Do you believe her?'
'I don't have much choice, do I? Felix is my employer. I can hardly refuse to have anything to do with his wife.'
'But what about Mrs Haines? The first Mrs Haines, I mean. Won't she think you're abandoning her?'
Jaime sighed. 'You do have the knack of stating the obvious, don't you?' she muttered. But all the same, he had a point. Margaret was going to wonder where Jaime's loyalties lay.
'Anyway, I think you should go,' declared Tom staunchly, perching on the edge of a chair. 'It might be quite good fun. And you never go to parties.'
'Oh, thanks.' Jaime regarded him indignantly. 'Might I remind you that for the past almost fifteen years I've had you to look after?'
'Nana used to offer to sit with me—heaps of times,' protested Tom at once. 'And now I'm old enough to baby-sit myself. But you still never go anywhere.'
'Never?'
'Well—only occasionally. I'm sure you could have had a steady boyfriend, Mum, if you'd wanted one. You're still quite good-looking, and you're not that old!'
'Gee, you'll turn my head!'
Jaime was sardonic, but Tom was not deterred. 'I mean it. Angie says she'd love to be as tall as you. She thinks you're really elegant, you know.'
Jaime gave her son an old-fashioned look. 'Really!'
'Yes, really.' Tom was defensive now. 'What about Mr Price from school? He was really keen, but you just froze
him off.'
'I didn't freeze him off—'
'Well, what would you call it? He asked you out four times, and you went once!'
'Mr Price isn't my type.'
'What is your type, then? Someone like Dad? Someone like Uncle Ben?'
'No!'
Jaime got up from the couch abruptly, and reached for the vacuum cleaner. She should have realised the way the discussion was heading. It might be almost six months since Felix had exploded his bombshell about Ben's buying the Priory, but she was aware that Tom hadn't forgotten, any more than she had.
Her father hadn't helped. Once he knew that she knew about Ben's plans, he had apparently assumed that there was no point in avoiding the subject. Even though Jaime's mother had evidently not agreed with him, Mr Fenner's attitude was one of dogged resolution.
'It's no use our Jaime thinking that, if she doesn't mention it, it'll go away,' he declared, when his wife first tackled him on the matter. 'In a small place like Kingsmere, it's news.'
'Well, it's not news I want to hear,' retorted Mrs Fenner shortly. 'And I'd have thought you'd have had more sense than to bring that man's name up when young Tom is around.'
'Why?' Jaime's father was belligerent. 'Do you want the lad to begin to think there's something funny going on? Because he will if our Jaime acts like Ben Russell doesn't exist.'
Of course, Jaime knew her father was right. A man with Ben's reputation—his fame—was bound to cause a stir in a place like Kingsmere. The fact that he hadn't actually come to live here yet was a small consolation. The renovations he was having done to the derelict Priory were what was causing the delay. But if what public opinion said was true, the old house was going to be quite a show-place, when the builders and interior decorators were finished with it.
The trouble was, Tom was intensely interested in the man he regarded as his uncle. Just last Sunday, when Jaime and her son had gone to her parents' home for lunch, he had been asking questions about the prospective tenant of the Priory, and Mr Fenner hadn't hesitated about elaborating on the extensive renovations that were going on.
'As I understand it, they're almost finished,' Jaime's father said, helping himself to more of the crispy roast potatoes that were his daughter's contribution to the meal. 'Bill—Bill Lewis, that is, who's been landscaping the garden—he says that a London firm of interior designers left several days ago, and as far as he knows the place is virtually ready for occupation. Of course, there's still some carpets to lay, that sort of thing. But my guess is that Russell will be moving in any day now.'