Dangerous Sanctuary. Anne Mather
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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.