by Anne Mather
'He is, isn't he?' Ben said again, harshly, accusingly. 'My God! Why didn't you tell me?'
It was difficult to think, let alone answer him. Jaime felt as if she had been standing on the edge of a cliff and someone had just pushed her over. She had the same feeling of precipitation, of being out of control, of having nothing to hold on to. Dear God, this couldn't be happening, she told herself. But it was.
'Mum? Mum? Are you all right?'
The tentative tapping at the door, and Tom's anxious enquiry brought her to her senses. Even if Ben's hands hadn't immediately dropped from her shoulders, Jaime knew she would have found the strength then to escape him somehow. Like a tigress protecting its young, she wrenched open the door, and much to Tom's surprise—and embarrassment—she pulled him into her arms.
'Of course I am, sweetheart!' she exclaimed, only allowing him to release himself with reluctance. But she kept a possessive arm about his shoulders, as she added with unnatural brightness, 'Your—your uncle was just leaving.'
Her eyes challenged Ben's to deny that, to repeat the accusation he had just made to her, and run the risk of alienating Tom's loyalties once and for all. But, of course, he didn't. As she had hoped—no, known—he wouldn't. Whatever he thought of her, Tom was the innocent party here, and Ben was far too shrewd to try to expose her to her son without proof.
'Oh, were you, Uncle Ben?' Tom asked now, shaking off his mother's arm, and giving the man a rueful look. 'Couldn't you stay and have some supper? I've made some sandwiches.'
There was a moment's silence, which for Jaime seemed to stretch into eternity, and then Ben made his excuses. 'I'm afraid not, Tom,' he declined, and although Jaime had been avoiding looking at him she couldn't prevent an automatic glance at his dark features.
But Ben's face was unreadable, the green eyes opaque between their thick veil of lashes. Perhaps he looked a little paler than he had done earlier, but she refused to believe that that was anything more than the vagaries of his fever. For he was running a temperature; she was unwillingly aware of that. Though her desire to ensure that he was looking after himself had suffered a distinct relapse in the circumstances.
'But we will be seeing you again, won't we?' Tom persisted, as his mother backed into the hall, and Ben came towards them. 'I mean, now that you live in Kingsmere—'
'Oh, yes.' Ben's confirmation was like the death-knell to all Jaime's hopes. 'You'll be seeing me again, Tom.' He smiled, but only Jaime noticed that it didn't reach his eyes. 'You can depend on it.' He paused, and then added, deliberately, 'After all, we are family.'
'Family!' Tom echoed the word with obvious satisfaction. He grinned. 'Yes, we are, aren't we? How about that, Mum? Even if Dad doesn't want to have anything to do with us, Uncle Ben does.'
Jaime felt physically sick, but she had to say something for her son's sake. 'I—I'm sure—Uncle Ben is just being polite, Tom,' she murmured, making a final bid to appeal to Ben's humanity. But it was wasted.
'On the contrary,' he said, 'I'm looking forward to showing Tom where I'm going to live. As you probably know, I've bought the old Priory, and I'm hoping to move in within the next few days. I've had quite a few alterations made, and I'm sure Tom would like to take a look at the gym and the pool-house.'
'An indoor pool!' echoed Tom disbelievingly. 'And a gym!' He gave his mother a bemused look. 'Holy shit!'
'Tom!'
Jaime was glad she could focus her anguish on something other than the man, who was so effortlessly baiting her, but her son was too excited to pay any attention to the reproof.
'I'll be in touch with you next week,' Ben promised, ignoring Jaime, as he passed her on his way to the front door. 'And apologise to your girlfriend for me, won't you? Tell her I'm sorry if I spoiled her plans for the evening.'
'Hey, no sweat,' declared Tom carelessly, as Jaime exclaimed,
'He doesn't have a girlfriend!' But no one was listening to her.
'It's been good to meet you, Tom,' Ben said instead, pausing at the door. 'You remind me a lot of myself, when I was young.' He offered the boy a grin which only Jaime knew was malevolent. 'See you—both!'
Jaime slept badly, when she slept at all, and she was up at six, making herself a strong cup of tea. Thank heavens it's Sunday, she thought, as she seated herself at the kitchen table, and wrapped her hands around the cup. She would have hated to have to go into work this morning and face Felix's inquisitive gaze.
Not that he was likely to know anything about Ben's visit. Not yet, anyway. But he would want to hear her opinion of the party, and it was going to be incredibly difficult to disassociate one from the other. The whole evening had assumed the trappings of a nightmare, with her own repulsive reaction to Ben's touch as the final humiliation. She should never have gone to the Haines's. She should have suspected there was more to it than a simple desire on Lacey's part to exchange confidences. But was that why Ben had chosen that particular evening to investigate her circumstances? Because he had known she wouldn't be there to obstruct him?
She shivered in spite of herself. Surely it hadn't been a concerted effort on all their parts to enable him to talk to Tom alone? she thought wildly. But no. She shook her head. She was getting paranoid. Ben hadn't even known her son was a Russell until he saw him.
But he had seen him now, she reminded herself tensely. He now knew what she had spent the last fifteen years trying to forget. That Tom was his son, not Philip's. That, far from being the child of some mythical 'other' man, Tom was his own flesh and blood.
Her hands trembled, and she put the cup down with a clatter. He didn't actually know it, she told herself fiercely. He suspected it. And she hadn't denied it—yet. But he had no proof. Nor would he have, if she had anything to do with it. But what was the alternative? That he should tell Philip that he had a son? God, no! She couldn't let him do that. She wouldn't give Philip that kind of rod to beat her with.
Unable to sit still, when every nerve in her body was screaming for action, Jaime got up from the table and moved to the window. Beyond the narrow panes, the walled garden spilled its fecund beauty, and she tried to calm her clamouring senses in its familiar surroundings. The previous year she had saved enough money to have the central area dug out and block-tiled, and now an upper level of trees and flowering shrubs tumbled over the retaining wall. There was a stone bird-bath in the centre, and a wrought-iron table and chairs, where she and Tom sometimes ate their lunch on summer weekends. It was small, but attractive, and her father had said it was the nicest-looking garden he had ever seen. But then, he hadn't seen the gardens of the Priory, she reflected bitterly. He was used to beer gardens, and pub yards, and the idea of sowing seeds or cultivating plants came very low on his list of priorities.
Jaime pressed her lips together. It all came down to what you could afford, she thought savagely. Until now, she had thought she had done fairly well by her son. He had been adequately fed and clothed, and given a comfortable roof over his head. And there had never been any shortage of love in his life. On the contrary, she had lavished all the love she had once felt for Tom's father on his son, making him her reason for living. She hadn't considered she was depriving him of anything. She hadn't even thought of the kind of life he might have had as a member of his father's family. The reasons for doing what she had done had seemed totally justifiable to her. But would they seem so justifiable to her son?
The unexpected sound of Tom's footsteps on the stairs threw her into a momentary state of panic. She couldn't talk to him now, she thought, looking desperately around the kitchen—but there was nowhere to hide. In any case, she had to face him sooner or later, and this was no time to be having an attack of nerves.
All the same, she couldn't help remembering Tom's ambivalence of the night before. It had been obvious that he couldn't understand why she should have such a dramatic aversion to his uncle's visit, and his own excitement at the prospect of pursuing the connection had vied with his usual loyalty towards his mother. The fact that she
had refused to indulge his curiosity after Ben had gone had probably only fuelled his interest. She couldn't remember him getting up this early on a Sunday morning before, and feeling resentful because Tom wanted to see his uncle again was only playing into Ben's hands.
By the time Tom appeared in the kitchen doorway, Jaime had resumed her seat at the table. It seemed a more natural position to be in, and she assumed what she hoped was a casual expression of surprise as he came into the room. In his striped towelling bathrobe, with his hair rumpled, and the faintest trace of a soft stubble darkening his jawline, he suddenly looked exactly like Ben, and she wondered how she could have fooled herself all these years. Colouring wasn't everything, she acknowledged ruefully. Tom's resemblance to his father was more than physical.
But now was not the time to be having thoughts like these, she reminded herself grimly. If she wanted to keep her son's affection, she had to stop acting as if she had something to hide. She had to learn to play the game Ben's way—and that did not mean allowing someone who was a virtual stranger to come between them.
'Couldn't you sleep?' she enquired now, but her friendly smile was not reciprocated. For once, Tom didn't respond to her teasing, and her heart hammered nervously as he flung himself into the chair opposite.
'Couldn't you?' he countered, his blue eyes dark and accusing. 'You're not usually up this early either.'
'Oh—' Jaime lifted her shoulders in a dismissive gesture '—I was thirsty, that's all.' She indicated the teapot. 'Do you want some tea?'
Tom looked as if he might refuse, but common sense won out. 'Why not?' he said, and for all her anxiety Jaime recognised he was not as confident as he appeared. She must stop investing Tom with adult sensibilities, she thought impatiently. He wasn't Ben. He didn't have Ben's access to history. He was just a troubled child who needed reassurance.
Getting up from her chair, she took another cup and saucer from the cupboard, and poured his tea. Then, pushing it across the table towards him, she asked, 'What's the matter? Did I do something wrong?'
It was a calculated risk, asking him outright, but she was glad she had taken it when he said, sulkily, 'I don't know, do I? I don't know anything.'
Jaime sighed, resuming her seat. 'I suppose this has to do with what happened last night, hmm? You want to know why I—why I don't like Ben Russell.'
Tom looked at her over the rim of his cup. 'Yes, but you don't want to talk about it, do you?'
'I didn't. Last night,' conceded Jaime carefully. 'But I suppose I do owe you some explanation.'
Tom slurped his tea. 'It's up to you,' he muttered, and Jaime pulled a wry face.
'Well, either you do want to know or you don't,' she declared, her own confidence returning. 'And please stop trying to annoy me. You're not too old to be grounded, you know.'
Tom grimaced. 'I am nearly fifteen, Mum!'
'So?'
'Oh—' it was obvious Tom was losing his enthusiasm for the fight '—all right. So you can make me stay in. But that won't change anything, will it? I'll still want to see Uncle Ben again.'
Jaime's lips tightened, but she pressed them together so that Tom wouldn't notice. 'Well,' she said slowly, choosing her words with care, 'I won't stop you. But—I think you should know that when—when I was married to—to your father, Ben Russell—assaulted me.'
CHAPTER FOUR
Jaime regretted those words as soon as they left her lips. Looking at Tom's shocked face, she knew she should have used a less emotive term. But what? What else could she have said? That Ben had attacked her? Which would have been worse, and wouldn't have been true. That he had forced her to have sex with him? No! Infinitely worse, and definitely untrue. And she had wanted to say something that Ben couldn't, in all honesty, deny. The fact that what had happened had been as much her fault as his was not something she intended to tell her son. She just had to give him a valid reason for not wanting to see Ben again. Her lips twisted. So much for her brave assertion that she wanted to tell Tom that Philip wasn't his father, she thought disgustedly. Like any animal, when it was cornered, her only desire had been to protect herself.
'He assaulted you?' Tom echoed now, his young face stark with horror. 'You mean—he punched you?'
Oh, the innocence of the young! thought Jaime painfully. Even in this savage world of sex attacks and pornographic videos, Tom still equated 'assault' with physical violence. But perhaps she ought to be grateful, she pondered. It could work to her advantage, and it was one way of defusing a potentially dangerous situation.
'Does it matter?' she asked now, neither admitting nor denying the charge. 'Suffice it to say my relations with that family have never been—normal.'
Tom frowned. 'But he actually—hurt you?'
Jaime tensed. 'Yes.'
'Well, what did Dad do?'
'Dad?' For a moment, Jaime was confused. 'Oh—you mean Philip.' She looped a silky strand of pale hair behind her ear with a nervous finger. 'Well—he didn't know anything about it. We—we were already living apart, you see.'
'And Uncle Ben blamed you, I bet,' prompted Tom, leaning towards her. 'No wonder you resented him coming here last night.'
Jaime couldn't believe it was going to be that easy. 'You understand why I was so upset, then?'
Tom nodded. 'I guess so.'
'And you appreciate why I don't want you to see him again?'
'Oh—' Tom looked taken aback '—well, he is still my uncle, isn't he?'
Jaime's jaw dropped. 'What do you mean?'
Tom looked rueful. 'It was a long time ago, Mum,' he said at last. 'I'm not saying I'll forget it, or anything like that, but he did come to see us, didn't he? I mean, he didn't have to. He could have just ignored the fact that we lived in Kingsmere, too.'
I wish he had! thought Jaime fervently, but she was learning it was safer not to speak her thoughts aloud.
'So—what are you saying?' she enquired, aware that there was an edge to her voice now that she couldn't disguise. 'That I should ignore the fact that he has no respect for me—for us?'
Tom looked uncomfortable now. 'Don't exaggerate, Mum. As I said, he didn't have to come here—'
'No, he didn't,' agreed Jaime tersely. 'Particularly not when he knew I was going to be out!'
That thought had just occurred to her, but she was sorry it had when she saw Tom's expression.
'Did he know that?' he asked, his eyes wide with speculation. 'Hey, do you think he really came to see me?'
Jaime wasn't sure how to answer him. She wasn't sure what was true and what wasn't. 'Well, he certainly knew Felix was having a party last night,' she muttered, wondering if Ben knew she worked for Haines and Partners. 'He was invited.'
'He was?' Tom was more and more intrigued, and Jaime felt like slapping him. He had no conception of what was going on, she thought frustratedly, overlooking the fact that that was hardly his fault in the circumstances. Her explanation—such as it was—had achieved next to nothing. It would take more than the knowledge that Ben had purportedly hit her to convince Tom that he shouldn't get involved with any of the Russells. In spite of everything, they represented glamour, and excitement; and Tom's life was too mundane for him to withstand the temptation.
Picking up the teapot, Jaime moved to the sink, and tipped the rest of its contents down the drain. Then, rescuing the two used tea-bags, she dropped them into the pedal-bin. A pile of ironing was waiting in its basket, and the rest of the morning would be taken up with defrosting the fridge, and preparing Sunday lunch. Not until all the dishes had been washed and put away would she find some time to put her feet up and read the Sunday paper.
It was not an appealing prospect, but until she had come home last night, and found Ben seducing her son with stories of handsomely restored mansions, custom-built gymnasiums and swimming-pools, she had been quite content. And she had thought Tom was, too…
'Did Uncle Ben tell you why he's come back to live in England?' her son asked now, and Jaime realised she would have to get
used to sentences prefixed with those two words.
'No,' she said, collecting the cups from the table, and depositing them in the sink. 'What do you want for breakfast?'
'He's been ill,' went on Tom, and Jaime thought it was a measure of his interest in his subject that he should put Ben before food. 'He didn't say much about it, but I think he was advised to come back. He's been living in a war zone for the past two years.'
Jaime's nails curled into her palms. 'I'm really not interested, Tom. As far as I'm concerned, it's a pity he didn't stay out there. Now—do you want to tell me what you want to eat? Or aren't you hungry?'
Tom's brows drew together. 'It's early yet,' he grumbled. 'You're not even dressed!'
'Bacon, or toast? It's all the same to me,' declared Jaime, refusing to give in to his injured look, and Tom hunched his shoulders.
'Bacon,' he muttered, finishing his tea, and then pulling a face because it was cold. 'If you don't mind.'
'I don't mind.' But his mother's tone was cool, and he knew it.
'Oh, Mum!' he exclaimed unhappily. 'Don't be like this. If—if you really don't want me to see Uncle Ben again, then I won't.' He scraped his nail across the grain of the table. 'It's no big deal. He probably won't want to see me again, anyway.'
Jaime wished she could believe that, but at that moment it seemed less important than reassuring her son. Looking into his troubled face, she knew she didn't have the right to stop Tom from seeing Ben, no matter what she thought. Tom was not to blame for her mistakes, and it wasn't fair to make him an innocent scapegoat.
'I'm—I'm sure he will want to see you again,' she ventured now, pushing her hands into the wide sleeves of her dressing-gown, and suppressing the feeling of resentment she felt at the sudden light in Tom's eyes. 'And—we'll just wait and see what happens, hmm?'
Tom blinked. 'You mean, you'll let me see Uncle Ben again?'
'If you want to.'
It took a great deal to say that, but Tom's reaction was compensation enough. 'I might not want to,' he said abruptly, confounding all her fears. 'I've thought about it, and—well, we don't really need him, do we? We've got Nana, and Grandpa, and Uncle David. He hasn't bothered about us before, so why should we care about him now?'