Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous

collection of fantastic novels by

bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun— staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

Dangerous Sanctuary
Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘I THINK that’s all for today, Jaime.’ Felix Haines got up from his desk to flex his aching shoulder muscles, grimacing when he saw his secretary’s sympathetic smile. ‘You can laugh,’ he added, ‘but playing squash twice a week is going to do me good. As soon as I master it, that is.’

‘So long as it doesn’t master you first,’ responded Jaime drily, folding her shorthand notebook, and slipping her pencil into the metal spiral that secured the pages. ‘Honestly, I can’t see the sense of beating yourself to death just to prove you’re still active! I’m sure you’d find it simpler to join a golf club.’

‘Perhaps so.’ Felix was a little irritable. ‘But Lacey would think I was taking the easy way out—and I would be. As she says, forty-six isn’t old. I’ve just let myself get lazy, that’s all.’

Jaime reserved judgement on Lacey Haines’s opinion. Since she’d broken up Felix’s first marriage, and married him herself eighteen months ago, Lacey seemed bent on changing him from the easygoing middle-aged man she claimed she had fallen in love with to one of those ultrafit sporting types you frequently saw on television. Men with trim figures, and sharp, hungry faces, men who Jaime privately thought were striving desperately to hang on to their youth. Talk about women being the vainer sex, she mused, watching Felix, as he endeavoured to throw off the stiffness of over-worked muscles. Still, Lacey was more than fifteen years his junior, so perhaps he felt compelled to make the effort.

‘Haven’t you ever thought of joining a keep-fit group?’ Felix asked now, as Jaime rose from her seat and began walking towards the door that led into her office. ‘Lacey goes to an aerobics class every Wednesday. You should join her.’

‘Oh, I—don’t think so,’ said Jaime finally, softening her refusal with a rueful smile. She could almost hear Lacey’s reaction to a suggestion like that. Lacey had never forgiven her for taking Margaret Haines’s side during the divorce proceedings, and if there had been any way she could have persuaded Felix to find another secretary she would have done it. But happily for Jaime, Felix was fond of her, and their twelve-year partnership had stood the test. ‘I—er—I don’t really have that much time,’ Jaime appended now, realising belatedly that Felix might misunderstand her motives. ‘I mean—what with Tom, and everything. I—just never seem to have a moment to myself.’

Felix regarded her a little dourly now. ‘You don’t like Lacey, do you?’ he exclaimed, out of the blue. ‘Oh—–’ he lifted a hand to silence her, as she opened her mouth to protest ‘—you don’t have to say anything. I know. I’m not entirely without perception, Jaime, whatever you think. I just wish it weren’t so.’

Jaime’s tongue circled her lips. ‘Felix, I—–’

‘You still see Maggie, don’t you?’

‘Occasionally.’ Jaime nodded.

‘And she’s poisoned your mind about Lacey, I suppose.’

‘No!’ Jaime was dismayed. ‘We never discuss your marriage, Felix.’

He snorted then. ‘Do you expect me to believe that?’

Jaime stiffened. ‘I think you flatter yourself, Mr Haines,’ she retorted, reaching for the handle of the door. ‘If that’s all—–’

‘Oh, Jaime!’ Felix sighed and came towards her, shaking his head. ‘Don’t look at me like that. All right. Perhaps I was out of line in suggesting you and Maggie spend your time pulling me to pieces. But you have to admit, it’s not unreasonable to assume my name is mentioned!’

Jaime hesitated. ‘Felix, my associating with Lacey—or rather the lack of it—has nothing to do with your ex-wife. Lacey and I just don’t—get on. It’s as simple as that. I’m sure, if you asked her, she’d say the same.’

Felix frowned. ‘I suppose you know she’s jealous of you.’

‘Jealous of me?’ Jaime was staggered. ‘You’re not serious!’

‘I am.’ Felix pushed his hands into his jacket pockets and rocked back on his heels. ‘You’re a beautiful woman. I’ve always thought so. And—who knows?—if you’d ever given me the slightest encouragement—–’

‘Felix!’ Jaime stopped him there. She couldn’t believe this conversation was actually happening, and she had no wish to complicate an already difficult situation. ‘I think I’d better go…’

‘Oh, don’t worry.’ Felix was amazingly casual about it. ‘It’s a few years now since I got over my infatuation. You made it abundantly clear, consciously or otherwise, that you weren’t interested. Not in so many words, perhaps. But subtly. When you told me about Tom’s father, for instance.’

Jaime felt as if she was totally out of her depth here. ‘Felix, I told you about Tom’s father because—–’

‘I know. To explain that Tom wasn’t your ex-husband’s son,’ Felix assured her tolerantly. ‘And I sympathised, didn’t I? I never liked Philip Russell myself. But I also realised you were unlikely to let another man into your life for quite some time. Maybe not ever. And I didn’t want to lose the best secretary I’d ever had.’

Jaime tried to keep calm. ‘I—don’t know what to say,’ she murmured, aware that the idea of Felix—shy, bespectacled, sober Felix—nurturing some unrequited passion for her seemed totally unbelievable. He had always struck her as being such a moderate man. But, she acknowledged drily, he had left his wife of some twenty years for a much younger woman, so who could tell what went on behind that bland façade?

‘There’s no need to say anything,’ Felix reassured her, turning away from the evident confusion in her face. ‘I knew you were unaware that I existed—in a sexual way, that is. You were too wrapped up with your own affairs to notice anything—or anyone—else.’

Jaime felt the hot colour invading her cheeks. So far, she had succeeded in controlling her intense embarrassment, but now she could hide it no longer. ‘I’m—sorry,’ she mumbled, jerking open the door, wishing he had never brought the subject up. Goodness, it resurrected too many other memories she would rather not think about, and she was glad to escape to the comparative sanctuary of her own office.

However, Felix’s voice followed her. ‘Anyway,’ he called, and somehow she sensed his casual tone concealed a covert curiosity, ‘talking of the Russells, did you know the old Priory had been sold?’

Steeling her nerves, Jaime came back to the open doorway. ‘The old Priory?’ she said, with commendable composure. ‘What does the old Priory have to do with the Russells? Except that Philip stayed there years ago.’

‘Wasn’t it where you met your ex-husband?’ Felix probed innocently. ‘I seem to remember—–’

‘I met Philip in the bar at the Raven,’ retorted Jaime levelly, feeling a sense of disquiet she had not felt for years. What was Felix up to now? Surely Philip hadn’t bought the Priory.

‘So, it wouldn’t bother you, meeting him again,’ her employer suggested mildly, shuffling some papers on his desk, and Jaime sighed.

‘I suppose not,’ she responded tightly, even though the prospect filled her with alarm. ‘What are you saying? That Philip is the new owner of the Priory?’

‘No.’ Felix lifted his head, and Jaime had the distinct suspicion that he was enjoying this. Maybe he still resented her attitude towards Lacey, whatever he said. ‘No, Philip hasn’t bought the Priory, Jaime. His brother has.’

How Jaime managed to remain standing, she never knew. Felix’s words had struck her with all the force of a body blow, and the desire to double up under its onslaught was overwhelming.

‘You did meet Ben Russell, didn’t you?’ Felix continued, his expression mirroring none of the horror Jaime was feeling. She must be more skilful at hiding her reactions than she had imagined, she thought faintly. But on no account must he guess how she was feeling at this moment.

With her mouth dry, and her heart beating heavily in her chest, even the word ‘Yes’ required an immense amount of effort, but Jaime managed it. She even added, ‘How interesting,’ just for good measure, before stepping weakly back to her desk.

Then, Ben! she mouthed disbelievingly, propping herself limply against the scarred wood. Ben was coming to live in Kingsmere! Oh, God, it couldn’t be true, could it? Fate couldn’t be so cruel!

And yet, remembering the way it had treated her in the past, Jaime knew it could. In life there were no guarantees, no limits to the pain and frustration any one person could suffer. Even after all these years, it still wasn’t through with her. She pressed a trembling hand to her throat as a wave of dizziness swept over her.

Then, realising that Felix could appear at any moment and find her in this state, Jaime struggled to pull herself together. It was quite late—almost four o’clock already. If she could just manage to get through the next half-hour, she would have a whole weekend to recover from the shock. Besides, she told herself fiercely, it wasn’t as if they were likely to run into one another. If it hadn’t been for Philip, she would never have met the other members of the Russell family. No, she and Tom were safe. Ben was unlikely to seek her out after all this time.

Even so, it had been a blow, and, despite the way he had phrased it, Jaime was pretty sure Felix had intended to disconcert her. But even he could have no idea of the emotional turmoil into which his careless words had thrown her. She guessed his only intention had been to get his own back.

Taking a deep breath, she picked up the papers she had been about to file when Felix summoned her, and was apparently calmly slotting them into their individual compartments in the filing cabinet when Felix put his head round the door.

‘I’m leaving now,’ he said, coming more fully into the room. ‘When you’ve finished what you’re doing, you can go, too, if you like.’ He hesitated. ‘You’re not mad at me, are you?’

‘Mad at you?’ Once again Jaime called on all her reserves of strength to face this new challenge. ‘Why should I be mad at you?’

‘Well…’ Felix shrugged ‘… that business over the Priory. Teasing you about Philip, and so on. I haven’t upset you, have I?’

Jaime forced a smile. ‘Don’t be silly, Felix,’ she declaimed, closing the filing-cabinet drawer with careful precision. ‘Where any member of that family chooses to live is no concern of mine.’

‘No, but—–’

‘Honestly. It’s OK.’ Jaime made a play of examining the remaining documents in her hands. ‘Have a good weekend, Felix. And don’t overdo the exercise. Remember the old adage: moderation in all things.’

Jaime suspected she ought to take her own advice later that afternoon, as she drove home through the fading light of a chilly November day. A brief stop at the supermarket had done little to ease her tension, and after fighting her way through the maze of shopping trolleys she was in no mood to face the delays caused by the roadworks in Gloucester Road. Why did they always start digging up the road at weekends? she wondered uncharitably, ignoring the fact that a burst water-main earlier in the day had flooded the road during the morning rush-hour. All she could think was that Tom would be home and waiting for his evening meal, while she was stuck here wasting valuable time—and petrol.

It was half-past five when she reached Dorset Road, and the small terrace house she shared with her fourteen-year-old son. Parking the car in the road, she got out and locked the doors, then collected the bag of groceries from the boot before letting herself into the house.

‘Tom!’ she called, as she slammed the front door behind her. ‘Tom? Where are you?’

‘I’m up here, Mum.’ Her son’s voice came from the top of the stairs and, looking up, Jaime saw him silhouetted against the light streaming out of his bedroom behind him. ‘Angie’s helping me with my homework.’ He paused, and then added innocently, ‘Did you have a good day?’

Jaime beat back the retort that sprang to her lips, and grimaced. ‘It was OK,’ she acknowledged tautly, aware that Tom’s question had more to do with her reaction to finding Angie Santini in the house than any real interest in her occupation. He knew her feelings about his friendship with the Italian girl, and he was effectively blocking any protest she might be about to make.

‘Your meal will be on the table in fifteen minutes,’ Jaime said now, continuing down the hall. It was a tacit request that Angie be out of the house in the same length of time, and Tom turned back into his room, evidently understanding her unvoiced command.

Unpacking the things she had bought on to the table in the kitchen, Jaime endeavoured not to allow her own feelings of anger and resentment to exaggerate the importance of finding Angie Santini in Tom’s bedroom. It wasn’t as if they were doing anything wrong, she argued to herself. She trusted Tom, and it was true he was having some trouble understanding the complicated problems the maths masters were presently giving them. It was also true that Angie, for all her promiscuity, was good at maths. And, if it had been anyone else, even another girl, she doubted she would have given it a second thought. But it wasn’t. It was Angie Santini, and Jaime didn’t like it.

She sighed. Angie—or Angela, to give her her proper name—always seemed so much older than Tom. Even though they were both in the same year at the local comprehensive, Angie never acted like Jaime’s idea of a fourteen-year-old. Perhaps Italian girls matured that much sooner, Jaime reflected, turning on the grill, and spreading two thick slices of gammon on the tray. And Tom, who was so young and immature in some ways, was tall for his age. He was the natural choice for someone with Angie’s undoubted sensuality: thin, and athletic, and physically attractive. He had always inspired interest, even when he was younger. Like his father, thought Jaime bitterly, viciously jabbing a fork into the skins of the potatoes she was putting into the microwave oven. He had his father’s unique air of individuality, his lazy charm, and physical grace. But thankfully not his colouring, Jaime appended grimly. In fact, Tom didn’t even look like his father. His silky blond hair and sensitive features were peculiarly Jaime’s, a circumstance for which she never ceased to be grateful. Because of that, she had been able to return to Kingsmere secure in the knowledge that no one could point a finger at either of them.

‘Angie’s leaving now, Mum.’

Lost in thought, Jaime had been unaware of the two young people descending the stairs, but now Tom’s voice alerted her to the fact. ‘What—oh, yes. Goodbye, Angie,’ she said, fighting her dislike. And added, for Tom’s sake, ‘Nice to see you again.’

‘Nice to see you, too, Mrs Russell.’ Angie’s English was perfect, due to the fact that her parents had moved to England soon after she was born. ‘You look tired. Did you have a hard day?’

Jaime’s smile was thin, but determined. ‘Something like that,’ she murmured, immediately convinced she must look as harassed as she felt. Angie, on the other hand, looked as fresh and exotic as an orchid, the dark hair tumbling about her shoulders accentuating her alien beauty. The jeans and jacket she was wearing only added to her voluptuous appearance, and Jaime was reluctantly aware of how flattered Tom must feel to be the object of her attentions.

‘I thought you said it was OK,’ Tom put in now, and it took Jaime a minute to realise he was talking about her day.

‘Oh—you know me,’ she demurred, smelling the gammon and using it as an excuse to turn back to the grill. ‘Hurry home, Angie.’

‘I’ve said I’ll walk her to the corner,’ said Tom, lifting his parka from the row of hooks behind the front door, and sliding his arms into the sleeves.

Jaime bit her tongue on the protest she wanted to make, and merely nodded. You were young once, she reminded herself severely, taking a pack of frozen peas out of the freezer. You were only eighteen when you married Philip Russell, and no one could stop you. But all the same, fourteen still seemed awfully young, and she had hoped that Tom wouldn’t make her mistakes.

By the time Tom got back Jaime had the meal on the table. They usually ate in the kitchen when they were alone, and in winter it was a definite advantage. The central heating boiler was in the kitchen, and although Jaime turned off the radiators while she and Tom were out of the house the kitchen always retained its heat. Tom was generally home first, and he turned the radiators on again when he came in. Consequently, by the time they had eaten, the rest of the house was comfortably warm.

‘What did you mean when you said you’d had a hard day?’ Tom asked, smothering his baked potato with melted butter, and Jaime, who had hoped to avoid this particular discussion, considered a moment before answering him.

‘Oh—my day was all right,’ she declared at last. ‘It—it was just something Felix said that—well, annoyed me, that’s all.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t speak with your mouth full!’ Jaime used the reproof to reconsider her options. ‘It wasn’t important. Get on with your meal.’

‘Well, if it wasn’t important, why did you get angry?’ asked Tom reasonably, wiping a smear of butter from his chin, and Jaime decided there was no point in prevaricating. Tom would find out soon enough. Someone was bound to tell him that his uncle was moving to Kingsmere.

‘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 just 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.’

‘I don’t think we want to hear about that, Ray,’ Jaime’s mother exclaimed impatiently, but his grandfather’s words had spiked Tom’s interest.

‘I do,’ he declared staunchly, ignoring his mother’s look of disapproval. ‘I mean, we are related, aren’t we?’

‘We’re not,’ retorted his grandmother, giving her husband a quelling look. ‘Now, have we all finished?’

Tom pursed his lips. ‘But they are my relations,’ he insisted. ‘You never know, Uncle Ben might want to see me.’

‘I don’t think that’s at all likely,’ averred his mother, gathering the dirty dishes together. Then, aware of her son’s resentment, she sighed. ‘Tom, forget about Ben Russell. I wish to heaven he’d never decided to move to Kingsmere.’

‘Well, he has,’ said Tom sulkily, and even Mr Fenner looked a little discomfited now.

‘I think you should do as your mother says,’ he remarked, apparently losing his appetite for the extra roast potatoes. ‘If the Russells had wanted to keep in touch, they wouldn’t have left it fifteen years—–’

‘Ray!’ His wife glared at him. ‘Just leave it, will you? I think you’ve said enough.’

Of course, Tom had brought the subject up again on their way home. But Jaime had managed to evade his most personal questions. She tried to tell herself it was natural that he should be curious about his father’s family, but, having lived for so many years believing herself free of the Russells’ influence, it was unnerving to discover how mistaken she had been. As long as Tom believed that Philip Russell was his father, the connection—however tenuous—would continue to rankle.

Now, however, Tom evidently decided not to pursue his probing. His mother’s withdrawn expression warned of an uncertain temper, and after scuffing his bare toes against the carpet he got up and left the room.

Meanwhile, Jaime restarted the vacuum cleaner with some frustration. How long was this going to go on? she wondered irritably. Was Ben’s name to become an integral part of their conversation? It wasn’t Tom’s fault, of course. He was not to blame for what had happened. But how was she going to cope with this nagging complication in their lives?

By the following Saturday evening, Jaime was wishing she had had the guts to refuse Lacey’s invitation. She simply wasn’t in the mood for a party. Although her relationship with Tom seemed as good as ever, she was unhappily aware that the problem with Ben was not going to go away, and it soured everything she did. On top of that, after spending the day catching up on her housework, she felt tired. Physically tired, she told herself, refusing to admit that it wasn’t as simple as that.

Returning to her bedroom after taking a shower, Jaime viewed her pale face and wet hair without enthusiasm. She should have made an appointment at the hairdresser, she acknowledged, plugging in the hairdrier. But hairdressers were expensive, and she was used to doing her own hair. Fortunately, it was fairly easy to handle. Thick and wavy, and silvery blonde in colour, it used to be the envy of her friends. In her teens, its silky curtain had reached halfway down her back, but these days she kept it much shorter. A monthly trim caused it to curl quite satisfactorily into her nape, and she seldom noticed how attractive it looked.

With her hair dry, she considered her face with equal criticism. At thirty-three, she had grown accustomed to the singular composition of her features, and the high cheekbones, widely set eyes, and generously curved mouth aroused no sense of gratification. She looked what she was, she always thought: a working housewife, with little time to spend on either her clothes or her appearance.

Leaning forward, she smoothed a thoughtful hand over the skin below her eyes. She didn’t have too many wrinkles, she reflected, but that was probably because the skin was stretched so tautly over her bones. She could do with losing some weight, but if she did she would probably look a hag. As it was, a hip measurement of thirty-eight inches would allow Lacey to chide that Jaime was letting herself go. Still…

Of the few items in her wardrobe suitable for such an occasion, a tan-coloured silk jersey seemed the most appropriate. With luck, it would not be a terribly formal affair, and the wrap-over neckline and button-through style gave it an indeterminate purpose. In addition to which the sleeves were long, which meant she didn’t have to wear a coat. It was a warm evening, and with swinging gold earrings in her ears, and a handful of chunky bracelets on her wrist, she thought she looked ready for anything.

Tom whistled appreciatively when she came downstairs. ‘You look great, Mum,’ he said admiringly, and Jaime wished she didn’t have the suspicion that his admiration was tempered by the fact that Angie’s parents had invited him to their home for supper. ‘You know, I bet if Dad could see you now he’d regret he ever walked out on you!’

Jaime let the comment go, acknowledging she would have to put up with her son’s present preoccupation with his paternal forebears. It would pass, she told herself. It had to. Once the initial excitement of Ben’s moving to Kingsmere died down, Tom would probably forget all about him. There was nothing like indifference to dull enthusiasm, and when it became apparent that Ben wasn’t interested in them Tom’s curiosity would wane. Perhaps her father was right. If she persistently questioned his attitude, Tom might begin to wonder. He was an intelligent boy. He must already have his own ideas about what had caused his parents to separate, and continually suppressing his enquiries could work against her. She would just have to go along with his comments, and hope that time would achieve what she couldn’t.

Now, issuing Tom with final instructions about locking the door before he left, she bade him goodbye, and went out to her car. She was aware that several of her neighbours’ curtains twitched as she crossed the pavement, and she guessed her unusually smart appearance was already attracting some comment. But still, she thought, tucking her long legs beneath the wheel, it was good to dress up now and then.

Lacey Haines met her at the door of the bungalow Felix had bought immediately after his second marriage. Large, and impressive, it stood in its own half-acre of garden at the head of a cul-de-sac. The cul-de-sac itself was part of the Lister Estate, a small community of luxury homes on the outskirts of the town. Jaime had never been there before, but there was no mistaking its identity. Apart from the many cars parked in the driveway and overflowing into the road, the sounds of music and conversation were distinctly audible.

‘Oh—Jaime,’ said Lacey, as she opened the door to her guest, and Jaime got the distinct impression that her presence was no longer so welcome. She didn’t flatter herself that her appearance was responsible for the change in Lacey’s attitude. Felix’s second wife was everything Jaime was not. Small, and slim, and vivacious, Lacey could hold her own in any company, Jaime was sure. The sequinned jacket she was wearing alone would have kept Jaime and her son in groceries for some considerable time, and, despite the fact that Felix had told her that Lacey was suffering the early effects of her pregnancy, she looked every bit as self-assured as ever.

‘I’m so glad you could come,’ she added now, moving aside so that Jaime could enter. ‘Come in. Felix is about somewhere. I’ll get him to introduce you to everybody.’

So much for Lacey’s wanting them to be friends, thought Jaime drily, stepping into the wide hallway that was being used as a reception area. ‘Please, don’t bother,’ she murmured, observing Peter Manning and his wife not far away. Peter Manning was the manager of the accounts department, and a friend. Assuring Lacey she could cope, she headed in their direction.

‘I didn’t expect to see you here,’ remarked Peter frankly, after they had exchanged greetings, and Jaime returned his rueful grin.

‘Neither did I,’ she confessed, smiling at his wife. ‘But Lacey rang last weekend and invited me herself. And, in all honesty, I couldn’t think of a convincing excuse.’

Marjorie Manning shook her head. ‘Well, I wouldn’t have thought you and Lacey had much in common.’ She looked to her husband for confirmation. ‘We only come to these gatherings because Peter’s more or less obliged to do so. I feel awful about Maggie, but what can we do?’

‘Nothing,’ said Jaime firmly, accepting the glass of wine Peter had rescued for her from a passing tray. ‘But who are all these people? Should I know them?’ She indicated the crowded living-room beyond with the hand that held her glass. ‘I didn’t realise Felix had so many friends.’

‘He doesn’t,’ declared Peter flatly. ‘Most of these people are friends or associates of Lacey’s. From the amateur dramatic society, most of them. Don’t you recognise Gil Fleming, the male lead? And there’s Stephanie Collins. She’s usually his leading lady.’

‘Hmm.’ Jaime sipped her wine. ‘Well, I’m afraid I don’t go to the theatre very often.’ She shrugged. ‘But Lacey has certainly pushed the boat out. Do you think Maggie knows about the baby?’

‘Knowing Lacey, I’d say it was a definite possibility,’ answered Marjorie, with a grimace. ‘Imagine Felix being a father again, after all these years!’

‘Who’s taking my name in vain?’

The subject of their discussion suddenly appeared behind Jaime, insinuating himself into their circle, and giving his secretary a challenging look. For some reason, his glance reminded Jaime of that scene at the office several months ago, and the embarrassment she had felt then stained her cheeks anew.

‘We were just commenting on the fact that you’re about to embark on fatherhood again,’ said Peter quickly, leaping to what he thought was Jaime’s defence. ‘How long is it since your youngest was born? Twenty years?’

‘Nineteen, actually,’ admitted Felix, without rancour, and to Jaime’s relief he switched his attention away from her. ‘I know, I know. I’ll be more like its grandfather than its father. But it’s what Lacey wants, and that’s what matters.’

‘Of course.’

Marjorie’s tone was dry, and Felix acknowledged it with a wry smile. But then, turning back to Jaime, he manoeuvred her into a position where only she could hear what he had to say. ‘I suppose you disapprove, too,’ he remarked softly, bending his head so that he could inhale the clean fragrance of her hair. ‘What’s the matter? Does it remind you of what you’ve missed?’

Jaime caught her breath. ‘No.’

‘Oh, well…’ Felix shrugged ‘… I suppose you’re feeling a bit miffed because he isn’t here.’

‘Who isn’t here?’

‘Although after the way you reacted that day when I told you he was coming back, I’d have thought you’d be relieved.’

Jaime blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.’

‘I don’t.’ Jaime was confused. ‘I thought we were talking about the baby.’

Felix gave her a doubting look. ‘You mean Lacey didn’t tell you?’

‘Tell me? Tell me what?’

‘That she invited Russell here this evening? He’s in the neighbourhood, you know. I believe he’s staying at the Crown while the final adjustments are made at the house.’

Jaime was glad of the press of people around her to support her suddenly unsteady legs. ‘You mean—Ben?’ she echoed faintly, realising something was expected of her, and Felix nodded.

‘She didn’t tell you?’

Jaime swallowed, managing to control her reaction. ‘I—obviously not,’ she articulated carefully. ‘Did—er—did he say he would come?’

‘He didn’t respond at all.’ To her relief, Felix didn’t seem to notice how his words had affected her, and the noise and jostling of his other guests were a constant diversion. ‘But, what the hell? There’s enough people here as it is. Did you ever see such a scrum? Goodness knows what the neighbours must think, eh?’

Felix drifted away soon after that, and Jaime resumed her conversation with the Mannings. But his words had disturbed her, and every time there was a new arrival her eyes darted anxiously towards the door. But she needn’t have worried. Although her nerves remained on edge, the man she had never expected to see again did not put in an appearance, and Lacey’s hopes of achieving a social coup went unfulfilled.

Even so, it took some determination to swallow a couple of canapés, and exchange a few more words with her hostess. Lacey made no mention of her disappointment, and Jaime had to suppress a simmering sense of resentment. No necessity now to wonder why she had been invited, she thought bitterly. All that talk about motherhood, and being friends, had had an ulterior motive. She couldn’t imagine why Lacey might think Ben would react positively to her presence, but she apparently had.

She managed to stick it out for another half-hour before making her departure. ‘I don’t like leaving Tom on his own for too long,’ she excused herself, aware that no one here knew he wasn’t waiting for her at home. In fact, she was glad he wasn’t herself. She would welcome a few minutes to restore her defences.

It was only a quarter to ten when she turned into Dorset Road, and she guessed her son wouldn’t be home much before half-past. Still, her appetite was returning now that she had left the source of her emotional upheaval, and she thought she might make herself an omelette for supper. In fact, Tom might like one too, when he got back. Although he enjoyed being invited to the Santinis’, he wasn’t too keen on Mrs Santini’s cooking. Lots of pasta and spicy sauces did not appeal to her son’s digestion, and he invariably made himself a sandwich after he got home.

To her surprise, however, the lights were on in her own living-room, and she knew a moment’s anxiety as she pulled into the kerb. There was an enormous Mercedes parked directly across the road from her house, so at least the Morrisons were home, she thought gratefully. She might need their help if she had an intruder.

Of course, Tom could be home already, she reflected, as she got out of the car and secured the lock. Angie could be with him. But surely her parents wouldn’t have allowed her to accompany Tom back to an empty house, she thought uneasily. Trust was one thing; putting temptation in their way was something else.

Her doubts were clarified, however, as she crossed the pavement. The front door opened, before she had a chance to use her key, and her son stood on the threshold. Tom’s normally fair skin was flushed with colour, and Jaime’s heart sank at the obvious connotation. They must have heard her coming, she thought, and decided to meet trouble head-on.

‘You’re early, Mum.’ Tom’s first words were not encouraging, and Jaime could tell by the nervous twitching of his lips that that was not what he really wanted to say. ‘I thought you wouldn’t be home for at least another hour.’

‘No, well…’ Jaime stepped past him into the hall, keeping her temper with difficulty ‘… it wasn’t as exciting as you seem to think, and as you were on your own—–’

‘Oh—I’m not on my own, Mum—–’

‘No. I suspected that,’ said Jaime tightly, watching him close the door with controlled irritation. ‘How dare you, Tom? How dare you lie to me?’

‘Lie to you?’

Tom looked blank, and before Jaime could sense the significance of his response another voice interrupted him. ‘I’m afraid I’m to blame,’ said the man, who had appeared in the living-room doorway. ‘I suggested I might stay and wait for you.’

Jaime was glad she was standing by the banister. It gave her something to reach out and hold on to. Otherwise, she was quite convinced she would have keeled over, the shock of seeing Ben Russell was so great.

And it was Ben who had propped his shoulder against the frame of the living-room door. Of that, she had no doubt. But he looked very different from the way she remembered him, and she sensed that the years between had not been entirely kind.

Ben had been—was—the younger of the two Russell brothers, but right now he looked more Philip’s age than his own. In height, there had never been much to choose between them, but Ben had always looked harder, more muscular, definitely the more physical one of the two, as a member of her father’s bar staff had once rhapsodised. He certainly looked harder now—harsh, would have been Jaime’s description. He was thinner, for one thing, and the thick swath of dark brown hair was lightly threaded with grey. His face, too, which bore the darkness of his years spent in a tropical climate, nevertheless showed a certain pallor—a sallow cast underlying his skin which pouched around his eyes. But his eyes were still as green as ever, a curious jade-green, that with their distinctive fringe of lashes had caused many hearts to flutter in the days when he had appeared on television. But, although she knew he must be thirty-eight now, he looked ten years older, and despite the chill of apprehension that had gripped her at the sight of him a reluctant stirring of compassion momentarily kept her dumb.

‘Uncle—Uncle Ben came just after you left,’ put in Tom stiffly, still smarting over his mother’s accusation. ‘I said you wouldn’t be back until later, but—well, we got talking, and the time just seemed to fly.’

Jaime collected herself with a supreme effort. ‘You mean, you’ve been here for the past two hours?’ she exclaimed, trying to keep the panic out of her voice, and Ben flipped back the cuff of his leather jacket. In jeans and scuffed boots, he would have made quite an impression at Lacey’s party, thought Jaime in passing. How ironic that he should be here, when she had been alarmed that he might turn up at the Haines’s.

‘To be precise, I’d say an hour and a half at most,’ he replied tersely, after consulting the plain gold watch circling his wrist. There were hairs on his wrist, dark hairs sprouting up between his cuff and the strap of his watch, and Jaime’s eyes were glued to them, as she tried to calm her nerves. ‘I didn’t mind. I had nothing better to do.’

Except attend a party that was supposed to be celebrating a baby’s conception but was really in your honour, thought Jaime silently, resenting his assumption of control. ‘I mind,’ she stated, aware that her appraisal of him had by no means been a one-sided affair. She turned to Tom. ‘Leave us, will you, sweetheart? I’d like to speak to—to—our guest privately for a moment.’

Tom looked troubled now, his earlier indignation giving way to a belated sense of responsibility. ‘Don’t be mad, Mum,’ he said, giving Ben an appealing look. ‘Why don’t we all go into the living-room and talk? It— well, it’s not very nice out here, and Uncle Ben’s been ill—–’

‘Do as your mother says, Tom.’ Ben’s quiet command silenced the boy, and Jaime knew a renewed sense of resentment at the ease with which he achieved his objectives. ‘It’s been a long time since we’ve seen one another, and I think it would be better if we had a few private words.’

Tom hesitated, but it was only a momentary resistance. ‘You will say goodbye before you leave, won’t you?’ he requested anxiously, and then, conscious of his mother’s disapproval, he dragged his feet along the hall to the kitchen.

Jaime waited until the kitchen door had closed behind her son before stepping back and opening the front door. ‘I think you’d better go,’ she said, hoping he was not aware that she was clinging to the handle as if it were a lifeline. ‘I don’t know why you came here, and I don’t want to know. I just want you to get out of here!’

Ben’s thin features tightened, but he made no move to obey her. ‘Isn’t this a little juvenile, Jaime?’ he suggested, straightening his spine. ‘We’ve known each other too long—and too well—to ignore the other’s existence. All right. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here tonight, but I was curious. And when Tom found out who I was—–’

Jaime quivered. ‘Are you going to leave, or must I call the police?’

Ben expelled his breath on a heavy sigh. ‘You wouldn’t do that,’ he said flatly, his shoulders lifting in a dismissive gesture, and with an inward sense of desperation Jaime closed the door again.

‘You have no right to come here,’ she enunciated clearly. ‘No right at all.’ She took a steadying breath. ‘Did you tell your wife where you were going?’

‘Maura’s dead,’ he replied shortly, and now his face had taken on a distinctly grim expression. ‘In any case, why should you think I don’t have the right to see my own nephew?’

‘He’s not your nephew—–’ she began, but his savage words overrode her.

‘Yes, I’ve heard that story before,’ he bit out harshly. ‘But if he isn’t Philip’s son, then who the hell is he? Because—my God!—the likeness is unmistakable! He’s the image of my father as a young man!’

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS strange, Jaime reflected, how the anticipation of disaster was sometimes worse than the actual event. In the early years, when Tom was just a toddler, she had lived in fear of Ben coming back and seeing the boy for himself. Even though Philip was no longer a threat, and the rest of his family had always lived in London, she had still looked over her shoulder every time she left the house, still felt the familiar tension every time the telephone rang.

But time had changed that. Time, and Tom’s growing maturity, had convinced her that none of the Russells was ever likely to trouble her again. Why should they? She and Philip were divorced, and, because she had allowed him to divorce her, there had been no question of alimony, even had she wanted any—which she didn’t. She wanted nothing from the Russells, not from any of them. And as the years had gone by she had begun to believe she was safe.

After all, Philip’s parents had never liked her. She had known they had been relieved when her marriage to Philip broke up. That the reasons for that break-up might be different from what Philip claimed was not something they were likely to contemplate. But then, they didn’t know Philip as she did, she reminded herself bitterly. As far as they were concerned he was still the shy, sensitive introvert, the image he presented to the world. The man Jaime had discovered him to be was someone they wouldn’t recognise.

Nevertheless, when she had first discovered she was pregnant, she had been afraid that Philip might find out, and want her back again. The divorce had not been absolute, and she’d had no way of knowing how he might react. That was why she had left Kingsmere at that time, why she had gone to live with her father’s sister in the north of England until Tom was born.

It had not been easy. Without funds, she had had to rely on her parents’ support, but with their help she had managed. And, although those days had been anxious, they had been oddly satisfying, too. She had worked for a time, temping jobs, mostly, saving every penny she could for the baby. She had missed her parents, but she had asked them not to visit her until the divorce was final. She wanted no word of her whereabouts to get back to the Russells. Not until Tom was born did she begin to plan their future.

It was easier than she had thought. The fact that Philip already believed there was another man in her life made Tom’s arrival quite unremarkable. Everyone—even her parents’ neighbours—believed Jaime had left Kingsmere to be with her lover. That was why she had stayed away until Tom was almost a year old. Her return then had been greeted with the usual words of sympathy. People thought she had been let down, and she supposed she had, in a way, she thought dispassionately. Certainly, no one suspected her real reasons for leaving. Tom’s presence answered a lot of questions, and if she did become the butt of some spiteful gossip for a while it was not something she cared too strongly about. She had Tom, and her parents, and that was enough.

Or so she convinced herself…

As the years went by, of course, her earlier impropriety was dismissed as a youthful indiscretion. By the time Tom was old enough to go to school, the question of who his father had been was no longer so important. She had retained her married name, and those people who didn’t know her history naturally assumed that her ex-husband had been the child’s father. Tom was no different from a dozen other children from one-parent families, and she had never corrected his assumption that Philip had deserted them.

Occasionally, she had worried that Philip might hear the fiction, and come back to see ‘his’ son, but it hadn’t happened. Unlike the parents of Tom’s schoolfriends, he knew that Tom wasn’t his son—and besides, he had no interest in her now. The divorce had severed any remaining bonds between them, and he wasn’t likely to resurrect the past.

Now, however, Jaime’s carefully won anonymity was in danger of being overturned. As she had been afraid it might be, ever since she had heard that Ben Russell had bought the old Priory. But how could she have known he would come here? After fifteen years? It was obscene!

Even so, the bitterness of their last encounter could still bring a wave of goosebumps to feather her flesh. She despised herself for feeling this way, but it had been a traumatic evening, and she was vulnerable. God, was she never to be free from that one mistake?

‘Shall we go into the living-room?’ suggested Ben evenly, indicating the lamp-lit room behind him. ‘At the risk of arousing your contempt, I am bloody cold!’

‘Cold?’ Jaime looked at him, becoming aware that in spite of the warm evening he was shivering. What was it Tom had said? That he was ill? ‘I—all right,’ she conceded tensely. And then, with a trace of malice, ‘You usually get your own way, don’t you?’

Ben looked as if he would have liked to argue with her, but self-preservation got the better of acrimony. Stepping aside, he indicated that she should precede him into the room. And Jaime did so, unwillingly, overwhelmingly aware of his lean body only inches from hers as she inched past.

Ben followed her into the room, and closed the door behind him. ‘Shall we sit down?’

He gestured towards the sofa, but Jaime shook her head, choosing to stand by the empty fireplace instead. Her legs might be unreliable, but sitting down with this man would be an admission of defeat.

‘Do you mind if I do, then?’ he enquired, and at her curt shake of her head he subsided on to the cretonne-covered arm of the sofa. Remembering how many times she had chastened Tom for doing the exact same thing, Jaime was tempted to protest. But caution kept her silent. The fewer comparisons she made between her son and the Russell family the better.

Ben combed long fingers through his hair now, surreptitiously wiping his forehead as he did so. In spite of her desire to avoid any trace of intimacy, Jaime couldn’t help noticing the hectic flags of colour high on his cheekbones. What was wrong with him? she wondered, angry at the surge of anxiety that swelled inside her. It crossed her mind that it could be something more serious than the simple cold she had suspected. But it was nothing to do with her, she told herself. Ben Russell’s existence wasn’t her concern.

‘So?’ He was regarding her with a steady, inimical stare. ‘Tell me about it.’

‘About what?’

Ben swore. ‘Don’t play games, Jaime. I’m not in the mood for it. You know damn well what I mean. Now—we can do this civilly, or not. It’s up to you—–’

He broke off at the end of this to give a racking cough. Shaking his head in a silent apology, he pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket, and muffled the sound in its folds. For an awful moment, Jaime thought he was coughing up blood. But the linen remained reassuringly unstained, though her helpless swirl of agitation demanded some release.

‘What’s wrong with you?’

The words were wrung from her, and as soon as they were spoken she wished she could take them back. She wasn’t interested, she informed her struggling ego. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she cared.

Ben shook his head, as if as reluctant to issue any information as she was to hear it. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said, though that patently wasn’t true. He shoved his handkerchief back into his pocket. ‘I picked up a bug in Mogadishu.’

‘Mogadishu?’ Jaime blinked. ‘But isn’t that in—in—–?’

‘Somalia, yes.’ Ben seemed reluctant to expound upon this statement, but Jaime’s expression must have persuaded him that something more was required. ‘I’ve been working with the relief agencies there for the past two years. I guess I must have picked it up in one of the camps. Now, can we—–?’

‘I thought you were living in South Africa!’

Jaime couldn’t prevent the automatic rejoinder, and with a weary sigh Ben inclined his head.

‘I was. But after Maura died…’ he shrugged ‘… I needed something to do.’

‘You had your writing.’

‘Political thrillers?’ Ben’s expression was self-derisive. ‘Hardly a reason for living, wouldn’t you say?’ His lips twisted. ‘But we’re digressing. And if you’re hoping that by talking about my condition you’re going to avoid talking about Tom, think again.’

‘I wasn’t. I—–’ Jaime felt a renewed sense of indignation ‘—I was curious, that’s all.’

‘Curious, hmm?’ Ben’s observation was dry. ‘That figures.’

Jaime looked down at her hands. ‘Why have you come here, Ben? My—my life is nothing to do with you.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Ben regarded her through narrowed eyes. ‘I might have believed that before tonight. But Tom shot that theory out of the window. God—and I was concerned about the raw deal you’d had at the hands of my family! No wonder you looked so sick to see me.’

Jaime tried to control her breathing. ‘How—how did you know where to find me?’

‘It wasn’t difficult. Your number’s in the phone book. You still call yourself Mrs Russell. I never realised how relevant that was.’

Jaime swallowed. ‘It’s not your concern.’

‘Dammit, Jaime, don’t say that! For God’s sake, why didn’t you tell anyone? It can’t have been easy supporting yourself, and the boy! Why didn’t you let us help you?’

‘Us?’ Jaime was sardonic now, but Ben didn’t respond to her bitter exclamation.

‘Philip should have been told,’ he said, through clenched teeth. ‘God knows, I had no idea he was still seeing you. The last I heard was that you had taken off with some guy you’d known before you and Phil got married. That was why he cut you off without a penny.’

‘Oh, no!’ Jaime couldn’t let him get away with that. ‘Philip didn’t cut me off without a penny! I did that. I wanted nothing from him! From any of you! I still don’t!’

Ben expelled a tired breath. ‘All right. All right. Have it your way. You didn’t want any help from Philip. But, for God’s sake, the kid’s his son!’

Jaime’s shoulders sagged. What could she say? If she let Ben go on thinking that Philip was Tom’s father, would he tell his brother? Would she be expected to allow Philip back into their lives, however casually? She groaned inwardly. How could she let her son associate with a man who…?

‘And if I still deny that Tom has any connection with the Russells?’ she asked.

‘I wouldn’t believe you.’

Ben’s response was so vehement that she wanted to weep. ‘You must know that Philip divorced me,’ she began, but Ben wasn’t having that.

‘He hasn’t seen him, has he?’ he countered. ‘I have. For God’s sake, Jaime, why did you do it?’

Jaime turned her back on him. She had to think, she fretted. Never, at any time, had she expected to have to face a situation like this, and she simply wasn’t prepared for it. Though she should have been, she argued. It was months since Felix had told her that Ben was coming to live in Kingsmere. But, even so…

‘It wasn’t because of us, was it?’

She hadn’t been aware of him getting up from the sofa, but now the warm draught of his breath against the back of her neck warned her that he had come to stand behind her. Which was disturbing enough, without the shocking reality of what he was saying.

‘I—–’ Her tongue felt riveted to the roof of her mouth, and blind panic flooded her being. Answer him, you fool! she told herself agitatedly, but it wasn’t that easy. ‘Us?’ she got out at last, with just the right measure of scorn in her voice. Moving stiffly, she put some space between them before turning to confront him. ‘I don’t think even you can believe that!’

She had the satisfaction of seeing the faint contortion of his features at the contempt in her words, but if she thought she could dismiss his question without an answer she was mistaken.

‘I think it’s what you believe that matters,’ Ben declared doggedly, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The action parted the sides of his jacket, exposing the open-necked shirt beneath, and the low belt riding on his hips.

And, although Jaime wanted to look anywhere but at him, she was forced to acknowledge his unconscious sexuality. He might be thinner than she remembered, and he might look haggard, but his physical appeal was unimpaired. ‘Why don’t you tell me the truth, for a change?’ he persisted.

Jaime’s breath caught in her throat. ‘And you think—the truth, as you put it, involves you?’

‘Oh, stop acting as if you didn’t once care what I thought,’ retorted Ben harshly. ‘All right, it’s been fifteen years. I don’t need you to tell me that. I’ve lived every one of them too, you know, and, whatever you think, it hasn’t been a picnic!’

‘Oh—shame!’ Jaime was openly sarcastic now, but Ben didn’t even falter.

‘You knew how it was,’ he persisted grimly. ‘You knew I’d never leave Maura. I told you. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t care about you, about what happened to you. God, you know I did!’

‘Oh, stop it!’ Jaime’s hands clenched. She knew she was handling this badly, but she couldn’t let him go on. ‘I don’t think there’s any point in rehashing something that was—that was never anything more than a—a mild aberration, on both our parts,’ she declared, hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt. ‘I—was going through a bad time, and you were there. I was—grateful. But that’s all there was to it.’

‘Crap!’ Ben’s reaction was violent, and before she had a chance to take any evading action he had crossed the space between them, and clamped his hands to her shoulders. ‘Don’t bait me, Jaime,’ he added, his hard fingers biting through the fine material of her dress. ‘You might have been able to fool that crazy brother of mine, but I know you. Better than he ever did, I’d say.’

Jaime knew she must keep control here. Events were moving too fast, and the desire to escape those cruel, yet unbearably familiar hands was rampant. She knew she mustn’t allow his anger to force her into any unguarded admission. It would be too easy to say something she would later regret. But with the heat of his body only inches from hers, and the raw male scent of his skin invading her nostrils, she was in danger of succumbing to any means to get away.

‘Will you let go of me?’ she demanded, resisting the almost overwhelming impulse to fight free of him. ‘You can’t browbeat me into agreeing with you. I’m not Maura!’

It was unforgivable, and she knew it. Throwing his dead wife’s name at him like that was indefensible, and she was quite prepared for him to deliver an equally ugly response.

But, to her shame, Ben didn’t say anything. He just looked at her, his green eyes searching her defensive features with stark deliberation. And, as he looked at her, his expression changed, the jade eyes narrowing and darkening in their intensity.

Jaime’s resistance wavered. She told herself it was because she felt guilty about what she had said, but deep inside her she knew it was more than that. It might be more than fifteen years since Ben had held her and looked at her in quite this way, but in an instant her awareness of him was threatening to destroy all her hardwon independence.

And, as if sensing victory, Ben’s eyes dropped to her mouth, to the vulnerable curve of her lower lip, and the pink tip of her tongue that appeared, and then darted nervously out of sight. His own mouth flattened, and the remembrance of how his lips had felt, moving possessively on hers, was suddenly an almost tangible memory. She remembered the first time he had kissed her as if it were yesterday. She remembered its urgency, and its sweetness, and the foolish belief she had had that he loved her. She had felt so protected in his arms—so safe. Had she ever been either?

But his reaction towards her was changing. She could see it. She could feel it. His hands were no longer bruising her shoulders. Their grip had become gentler, sinuously abrading the cloth, so that the silk jersey rubbed sensuously against her skin. It made her want to tear the garment from her flesh and let his seductive fingers do their worst, and when he looked down at the shadowy hollow, visible between the wrap-over folds of her dress, the blood started hammering in her ears. He was going to touch her; she knew it. Not as he was touching her now, but sexually, intimately, and there was not a thing she could do to stop him…

‘He’s mine, isn’t he?’

The incredulous exclamation was like being doused in cold water. Jaime swayed, momentarily in fear of losing consciousness. Had he really said what she thought he had said, or was it simply a continuation of the crazy fantasy she had been indulging? She blinked, gazing at him through shocked eyes, and his hands, which only moments before had been caressing her shoulders, applied a bruising pressure.

‘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.

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