by Anne Mather
'So—am I his son?' Tom asked now, evidently misinterpreting her reactions, and Jaime looked up at him with anxious eyes.
'No,' she said steadily, wondering if she'd have been as honest if he'd asked if he was a Russell. 'No, you're not Philip's son, Tom. Whatever she says, it's not true.'
Tom's eyes were unnaturally bright, and Jaime realised how near to tears he was. The anger that had sustained him on his journey home was breaking down, and it infuriated her anew that he should be the innocent brunt of their mistakes.
'Tell me,' she said, realising she had to be strong enough for both of them, 'what did Ben—Uncle Ben—say about this? I—I assume he was there.'
'Part of the time,' Tom agreed gruffly. 'She—that is, Mrs Russell—arrived unexpectedly.' So, at least Ben hadn't arranged it, Jaime consoled herself grimly. 'We—we were planning on going riding. And then—she turned up.'
'Mr Russell wasn't with her.'
'No.' Tom shrugged. 'Just her.'
'Go on.'
'Well, she sort of—did a double-take, when she saw me. I didn't know who she was at first. Curtis—that's Uncle Ben's houseman—he let her in. I guess he assumed it wasn't necessary to announce her.'
'I see.' Jaime's throat was dry.
'Uncle Ben looked a bit sick, too,' Tom continued. 'I think he wasn't too pleased about her not phoning to let him know she was coming.' He paused. 'Anyway, as I say, she was pretty shocked to see me. She asked Uncle Ben who I was in a kind of squeaky voice, and when he told her she sort of staggered to a chair and sat down. I guess I must look a bit like Philip or something, because she definitely saw a likeness. Actually, that was how Uncle Ben came to leave us alone. She asked him if he'd get her a drink. I don't think he was too keen, but she did look a bit pale, so he didn't have much choice.'
'And that was when she—she spoke to you?'
Tom nodded. 'As soon as Uncle Ben went out, she asked me how old I was.'
'And you told her?'
'Yes.' Tom looked indignant. 'Why shouldn't I?'
'No reason.' Jaime's voice was a little defensive, too. 'Carry on.'
'There's not much more to say.' Tom hunched his shoulders. 'As soon as she heard how old I was, she started on about you. She said you were an evil woman. That you'd spread lies about my father—'
'Philip wasn't your father!'
'No. Well, I'm only telling it the way it was,' exclaimed Tom tremulously. 'It was awful, Mum, honestly. Like a nightmare. She was shouting her head off when Uncle Ben came back.'
Jaime caught her lower lip between her teeth. 'And—and what did he say?'
'He told her to shut up.' A spasm of emotion feathered his flesh. 'He said I shouldn't listen to her, and that she was just a bitter old woman. And—and then she turned on him. Just like that. Telling him he was a fool if he believed anything you said. I—I just wanted to get away.'
His shoulders were shaking now, and, leaping up from her chair, Jaime put her arms about him. It was years since Tom had allowed any overt affection from her, but this time he didn't try to draw away. Instead, the tears he had been holding back began streaming down his cheeks, and Jaime's fury was fuelled by his innocent frustration.
When he was able to speak again, he mumbled, 'Uncle Ben didn't bring me home, you know,' and Jaime drew back to look at him.
'He didn't?' In spite of her insistence that Tom could just as easily take a bus home from the Priory, Ben invariably dropped him off. 'Why not?'
'Because I didn't want him to,' declared Tom forcefully, scrubbing a resentful hand across his eyes. It was obvious he was beginning to regret having broken down like that, and Jaime's throat felt tight with suppressed emotion. 'I don't want to see either him or his mother again,' he added, marching into the hall. 'You were right, Mum. We don't need him. He'd just better bloody well keep away!'
Ben rang at five o'clock. Jaime had been expecting him to appear in person, firmly convinced that he wouldn't allow his mother to come between him and his own son, whatever Tom might have to say about it. But, as usual, he did the unexpected.
'Is he home?' he asked without preamble as soon as Jaime had given the number.
Her involuntary, 'Of course,' seemed to satisfy him.
'Good,' he said flatly, making no attempt to apologise for what had happened. 'Tell him I rang, will you?' And put the receiver down again before Jaime could voice any kind of protest.
Of course, as soon as the phone went dead Jaime thought of a dozen things she should have said, but it was too late then. Besides, when she heard the betraying squeak of a floorboard on the landing she was glad she hadn't launched into some reckless tirade that could easily have got but of hand. Tom had heard enough for one day. But, just to keep the record straight, she did go upstairs and give him Ben's message.
'So what?' Tom countered from where he was sprawled on his bed looking at a magazine. Just as if he hadn't been crouched on the landing minutes before, thought Jaime cynically.
'He asked me to tell you, that's all,' she said, not really knowing why she had felt such a compulsion to do so.
'Well, I don't want to know,' muttered Tom, rolling on to his side away from her. 'I think I'll go and see Angie later. It doesn't matter to her who my father was.'
Felix remarked on the dark rings around Jaime's eyes the following morning, but she managed to evade any more searching questions. It did cross her mind to wonder if he had seen Maggie recently, and whether she had revealed the identity of two of her dinner guests, but happily that wasn't mentioned. If Felix knew she had seen Ben, he was keeping it to himself, and she could only be grateful.
But her fragile complacency took a decided dent mid-morning, when Ben himself walked into the office. He strode into the reception area of the main office as Jaime was sharing her coffee-break with some of the other women, and her heart flipped a beat as his green gaze roved swiftly around the room.
Of course, his arrival caused a minor stir. His face was still familiar enough from the jackets of his books, and a few of the women were old enough to remember his television appearances. One or two of them even recalled the fact that Jaime had been married to his brother, and an awkward flush stained her cheeks as their eyes turned in her direction.
'Can I help you?'
Sharon Burrows, the youngest receptionist, was quick to offer her assistance, and Ben withdrew his gaze from Jaime's hot face long enough to give the girl a disarming smile.
'I just wanted a word with Mrs Russell,' he said, pushing his hands into the pockets of the worn denims he was wearing. When he smiled, the lines around his eyes disappeared, and Jaime guessed she was the only one who noticed how brittle that smile was.
But then, she was the only one who really knew him, she thought, acknowledging for the first time that their association had gone way beyond the bounds of a casual relationship. She might not like to admit it, but it was true. They had shared too much together to ignore it.
And his appearance worried her. Although she might resent the fact of his coming here, and involving her in a lot of unnecessary explanations, she couldn't deny that his gaunt face and hollow eyes disturbed her. Why hadn't Tom said anything? she wondered, and then realised that a boy of Tom's age was too young to notice any minor deterioration in his uncle's condition. And it was over three weeks since Jaime had seen him. Over three weeks since the night he had told her that Philip was dead.
'I—it's all right, Sharon. Mr Russell and I know one another,' she said now, coming forward. She schooled her features into a mask of politeness. 'Hello, Ben. This is a surprise.'
'Is it?'
Ben's response was hardly encouraging, and several of the women exchanged knowing glances. Jaime could guess what the gossip would be when they left the room, and, in spite of her anxieties about him, her lips tightened.
'Um—we can talk in my office,' she said, indicating the door into the corridor behind him, and without another word Ben turned and led the way out of the room. He didn't allow her to p
recede him. He merely held the door cursorily for her to pass through. But when the door had swung shut behind them, and they were alone in the corridor, he made no move to follow her into the adjoining office.
'I think—I think we should talk some place else,' he said, his voice clipped and monotonic, and Jaime caught her breath.
'I can't do that!'
'Why not?'
'You know why not. I—I have a job to do. You should have waited until—until lunchtime.'
'And risk you spending your lunch-hour here?' he exclaimed, taking one hand out of his pocket, and rubbing it against his thigh. 'Jaime, we have to talk. Now. I just don't think this is the place, that's all.'
Jaime glanced uneasily about her. 'What do you want me to do?' she demanded in an undertone. 'Tell Felix you're here? Let him know we have some private business to discuss? Do you want to broadcast this to the whole of Kingsmere?'
'I don't particularly care,' retorted Ben harshly. 'If we stay here, will that prevent him from finding out what's going on?'
Jamie sighed. 'You shouldn't have come!'
'No, I know. You've made that pretty clear. But unlike you I need some reassurance. For pity's sake, can't you understand that? I've been nearly out of my skull!'
Jaime took a steadying breath. 'All right.' Although what she had to say would take very little time, she found she couldn't just turn him away. She needed to know what was wrong with him. She needed to know what he was going to do now. 'Give me a minute.'
Felix was in conference with a client, which made it a little easier. It enabled her just to leave a note on her desk, informing him that she had had to go out for a while. She apologised for her absence, and added that she would explain when she got back. She just hoped she would be able to think of a satisfactory explanation for him. Somehow she knew he would hear about Ben's involvement before very long.
The Mercedes was parked outside, and this time a white parking ticket was tucked under the windscreen-wipers. Jaime expected Ben to say something, maybe mutter a curse or two, but he didn't. He just tugged the sheet of paper from beneath the rubber, screwed it up into a ball, and tossed it into the back of the car.
The negligence of this action brought an unwilling smile to Jaime's lips. Her reaction to one of those tickets would have been so different. She could imagine the sinking feeling she would have had in the pit of her stomach, the guilt she would have felt at breaking the law—not to mention the dismay at having to pay the fine. To Ben it was simply a minor irritation. The hardest part was tugging it off and screwing it up.
'This strikes you as amusing, does it? Ben enquired now, jerking open his door, and joining her inside. His green eyes guttered. 'I guess you think you've won, don't you?'
Jaime gave him a startled look. 'No—'
'Then what's so funny?'
'You—throwing that parking ticket away,' muttered Jaime helplessly. 'For heaven's sake, Ben, I don't think what happened to Tom yesterday was at all funny. And nor would you if you'd seen him when he got home.'
Ben jammed the car into drive, and achieved the impossible. The superb gearbox showed its protest at such cavalier treatment by stalling, and they lurched to a halt.
'Sorry,' he mumbled, releasing the handbrake this time so that the big car could glide forward. 'I'm not in the best of tempers today.'
'Nor health, either,' commented Jaime, giving him a studied sideways glance. 'Are you still going to insist it's just a bug?'
'It is.' Ben was impatient, concentrating his attention on the traffic. 'I'm all right. I just didn't sleep very well last night, that's all.'
Jaime shook her head. 'I wish you'd be honest with me.'
'As you are with me, you mean?' he countered, swearing as a huge truck swung across his path. 'Forget about me, Jaime. It's Tom I'm concerned about.'
'Do you think I'm not?'
'No.' Ben gave her the compliment of believing her. 'But you hold all the cards at the moment. I—well, my position is—unnatural, to say the least.'
'Whose fault is that?'
'Not mine!' Ben was savage. 'God, I didn't even know you were pregnant, did I? You should have told me.'
'And then what would you have done? Left Maura? I don't think so. You'd already told me that wasn't going to happen.'
'OK, OK. We'll leave that for the moment.' Ben expelled his breath on a heavy sigh. 'But you must see what it's like for me now. God, you don't know how hard it was to stay away last night!'
Jaime pressed her lips together. 'Didn't your mother keep you company?' she asked rather maliciously, and Ben gave her a bitter look.
'That hardly deserves an answer,' he said. 'But since you ask, she left soon after Tom.'
Jaime bent her head. 'I expect it was quite a shock for her, too,' she said, trying to be charitable. 'Does she know everything?'
Ben's lips twisted. 'I didn't tell her, if that's what you're asking. But pride, frustration—call it what you will—did enable me to convince her that Tom isn't Philip's son.'
Jamie glanced at him. 'And she believed you?'
'After she'd been apprised of some of the least attractive facets of your marriage—yes, I think so.'
Jaime's hands curled together in her lap. 'You told her?'
'What she hadn't already guessed,' said Ben wearily. 'Jaime, what kind of a life do you think Phil's been living all these years? Yours wasn't the only unpleasantness they—my parents—have had to swallow. You didn't ask how Phil died, but I'll tell you anyway. It was in the apartment of a known homosexual. They'd been experimenting with some new substance. According to the post-mortem, Phil had enough cocaine in his bloodstream to kill him several times over.'
'Oh, God!'
Jaime felt sick. She had never dreamt Philip's death had been anything other than natural. A heart attack, perhaps, or some fatal illness. But instead…
Ben seemed to realise something was wrong when she said nothing more, and after a swift look in her direction he sighed. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I suppose I shouldn't have blurted it out like that, but you deserve to know the truth.'
Jaime was trembling. 'Thank God—thank God he wasn't Tom's father,' she muttered, turning her face away, and Ben's hands gripped the steering-wheel just a little bit tighter.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It wasn't until Ben slowed, before turning the big car through tall iron gates, that Jaime realised where they were. She had been so shocked by what he had told her that she hadn't been paying attention to her whereabouts, but now she sat up straight and looked accusingly at him.
'What do you think you're doing?' she exclaimed. She jerked back the cuff of her cream blouse and stared disbelievingly at her watch. 'I should have been back in the office five minutes ago!'
Ben gave her a tired stare. 'We haven't talked yet,' he reminded her. 'Not about Tom, anyway.'
'Then it'll have to wait—'
'No!' He fairly ground out the word. 'Stop it, Jaime. We are going to talk, and if it means Haines chucks you out then so be it. I'll see you don't starve!'
Jaime's face contorted. 'You'll give me money, is that what you're saying? Oh, that's typical! You think money solves everything, don't you? Money and possessions! Well, they don't! It's people who matter—nothing else!'
Ben allowed her to go on, but he didn't attempt to answer her. Instead, he brought the car to a precise stop at the foot of the steps leading up to the Priory's double doors, and turned off the engine.
'I won't get out,' said Jaime childishly as he thrust open his door, and his face twisted in a slight smile.
'You will,' he promised her, withdrawing the keys from the ignition and pocketing them just in case. He slammed his door, walked round the bonnet, and opened hers. 'Do it! Now!'
'No.'
Jaime looked up at him defiantly, finding her second wind in thwarting him like this. If he wanted her out, he'd have to lift her off the seat. And looking at him just now, he didn't appear to have the strength to do so.
But she
was wrong. The hand that fastened around her arm had more than enough power to jerk her out of the Mercedes, and even when she was standing beside him on the tiled forecourt he didn't release her.
'Let's go,' he said, after slamming the car door, and, although Jaime resented his arrogance, the appearance of another man in the Priory entrance momentarily kept her silent. He was a huge man, thick-set and completely bald, and she guessed this must be the houseman Tom had mentioned. 'Meet Curtis,' added Ben, in unknowing confirmation, and Jaime summoned up a polite smile of acknowledgement. 'This is Mrs Russell, Curtis. Tom's mother.'
'Delighted to meet you, Mrs Russell.'
Curtis's refined voice was in direct contrast to his bruising appearance, and Jaime exchanged a startled look with Ben before returning the greeting.
'We'll have some coffee in the library, Curtis,' Ben ordered as the man stepped aside to allow them to precede him into the building. 'As soon as you can.'
'Yes, sir.'
Curtis followed them into the huge vaulted entrance hall, closing the twin doors with practised ease. But Jaime only noticed that in passing. Her attention was caught by the skill with which the cold austerity of the hall had been transformed. It was common knowledge that in Sir Peter Dunstan's day the Priory had not been the most comfortable of residences. Little money had been spent on restoration, and Jaime remembered that Philip had once commented on how poorly heated it had been.
Now the flags, which had once been so cold to walk on, had been replaced by a mosaic of marble tiles, and the stone walls had been panelled with a rich, mellow wood. The huge fireplace hadn't been replaced, but the stonework had all been cleaned and polished, and an assortment of fire-irons did not look out of place, arranged in a fan-shaped semi-circle inside a shining brass urn.
'It's this way.'
Ben's hand in the small of her back nudged her forward, and she went with him almost without thinking, still absorbed in admiring her surroundings. There were windows set high up in the walls, modern stained-glass windows, whose leaded panes cast the light in shades of blue and green and yellow. It was a clever device to retain the fundamental feeling of the priory, and within its thick walls it was possible to sense a little of the peace and sanctuary its original occupants had sought.