Читать книгу Dangerous Passions - Линн Грэхем, Lynne Graham - Страница 16

SO, THERE had been faults on both sides, she conceded now, sliding weary fingers through her hair. Ben had never intended their lovemaking to go as far as it had, and she had believed—foolishly, as it turned out—that he was making some kind of commitment. It hadn’t been so.

Oh, he hadn’t said as much that night. On the contrary, he had let her phone her parents and make up a story about their having dinner at some remote country hotel, and the car breaking down. And they had spent the rest of the night together.

Later, her mother had told her she hadn’t believed her, but at the time her parents, like Ben, had thought she was old enough—and sensible enough—to take care of herself. Jaime shook her head. How wrong they had been!

It was weeks before she saw Ben again, weeks when she went through the whole gamut of emotions from dreamy contentment to disbelieving desperation. At first, she thought something must have happened to him, and she anxiously scanned every newspaper she could lay her hands on, in case she missed some small snippet of information about his whereabouts. But there was nothing to indicate why he hadn’t contacted her again, and as the weeks passed, and the signs her body was giving her became unmistakable, disillusion set in.

Yet, even then, she had been prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt. When he appeared at the pub one lunchtime in early February, just as he used to do in the past, she had been pathetically eager to see him. But over lunch at the Crown he had dashed any lingering hopes she might have been nurturing. He had apologised—apologised—for what had happened at Christmas. It should never have happened, he said. He was a married man. As if she didn’t know that! And he had no intention of leaving his wife.

Jaime told her parents the truth a few days later. She hadn’t expected any sympathy, and she got none. She had behaved like a fool, for the second time in her life, and they had little patience with her. At first, her mother was outraged that she wasn’t going to tell Ben that she was expecting a baby. He ought to know, she said. It was his child. The Russells could afford an extra mouth to feed. The Fenners couldn’t. He should be made to pay for his pleasure.

It wasn’t until Jaime explained her fears—that if Philip learned about the pregnancy, he might try to stop the divorce—that both her parents agreed she should go away to have the baby. A fictional lover was invented, someone Jaime had known before her marriage to Philip, and who might reasonably have come back on the scene now that she and her husband were separated. The story was helped along by the fact that Jaime went to stay with her father’s sister in Newcastle. The Fenners let it be known that the young man in question came from there, and the gossips soon put it about that that was why Philip Russell was divorcing her. It was assumed that Jaime was the guilty party, and it was easier to allow her own name to be blackened than to defend something that was indefensible.

The only paradox was that Jaime never once thought of getting rid of the baby. However desperately she might deny it, she had wanted her baby, and she had been prepared to do anything to keep it. Even to the extent of keeping his identity a secret from any of the Russells. Tom was hers. He was her child. And when she learned that Ben had gone to live in South Africa, she had been sure she was safe from discovery…

Heaving a sigh, she propped her aching head in her hands. What time was it? she wondered. Heavens, it was late. Tom should be home by now. And she had to pull herself together before he saw her. It wouldn’t do for him to get the wrong impression. Like imagining she was distressed because the man who had mercilessly abused her was dead, she acknowledged bitterly. God, leaving Philip was the one sensible thing she had done in her life. No way was she going to let Tom believe otherwise.

But he might not see it that way, she realised uneasily. After the way he had reacted to Ben’s appearance, the news that the man he believed was his father was dead was bound to come as something of a shock. It was possible that he had hoped that by associating with Ben he might get to meet him, too. She groaned. Was she never to be free of her youthful mistakes?

She shook her head. Ben should have told her the truth, right from the beginning, she thought, shifting at least part of the blame on to him. He had deliberately kept it from her for his own needs. He had known that without that lever she would never have allowed him to get near Tom.

She was pushing herself up from the table, when she heard the sound of Tom’s key in the lock. For the first time since he was born she felt a sense of reluctance to confront him. What was she going to say? she fretted. How was she going to say it?

He came sauntering along the hall, whistling. He had seen the light in the kitchen, and guessed she was waiting for him. And, although she had never done it before, Jaime half wished she had gone to bed before he got home. She might have felt more equipped to deal with this in the morning.

But, as it happened, Tom looked more discomfited to see her than she was to see him. His attempted nonchalance faded at the sight of her taut expression, and she realised, in a flash, that he thought she was annoyed with him for being late.

‘I can explain!’ he exclaimed, before she could speak, and Jaime was tempted to let him go on thinking he was to blame. ‘Angie’s Dad asked me in for some supper, and—well, I couldn’t say no, could I?’

‘Are you sure it wasn’t Angie who invited you in?’ queried Jaime, and then, when her son began an indignant denial, she held up a calming hand. ‘All right. All right. I believe you.’ She paused, tried to compose her words, and then added, cowardly, ‘So, you don’t want a sandwich, or anything?’

‘Well—–’ Tom shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, and hunched his shoulders ‘—I wouldn’t say no.’ He grimaced. ‘I was offered lasagne, but I said I wasn’t hungry.’

Jaime couldn’t prevent a smile. ‘Cheese all right?’ she asked, turning to the fridge, and Tom nodded eagerly before straddling a chair at the table.

He looked so much like Ben, sitting there, watching her, that Jaime wondered anew how she could have fooled herself for so long. Was it simply a case of out of sight, out of mind, or had she actually deliberately blotted Ben’s image from her memory?

‘Did you have a nice evening?’ he asked, gaining confidence from her attitude. ‘What did you have to eat? Anything special?’

Jaime kept her eyes riveted on the bread she was buttering. ‘Um—salmon mousse, and lamb,’ she answered, without looking up at him. ‘And—and an orange sorbet. It was delicious.’

Tom frowned. ‘Was it?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Jaime did cast him a hasty look at that moment. ‘Why do you ask? You know Mrs Haines is a good cook.’

Tom shrugged. ‘You didn’t have a row or anything?’

Jaime swallowed. ‘Who?’

‘You and Mrs Haines, of course.’ Tom made a sound of impatience. ‘Who else? There was only the two of you there!’

‘No—ouch!’ Jaime caught her thumb with the knife she was using to slice the cheese, and winced. ‘I mean—there wasn’t just the two of us there.’ She hesitated. ‘Ben Russell was there, too. And—and a doctor friend of Maggie’s.’

‘Uncle Ben was there?’ Tom was staring at her now, and Jaime realised there was no going back. ‘Did you know?’

‘Did I know what?’ Her son’s words had diverted her, and Jaime gazed at him, confused. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Did you know he was going to be there?’ exclaimed Tom irritably. ‘Was that why you were so sure he wouldn’t phone this evening?’

‘No.’ Jaime was getting impatient herself now. This was hard enough for her to say without Tom balking her at every turn. ‘I had no idea he would be joining us until I got there. I wouldn’t have gone if—well, I—might not have gone if—if—–’

‘If you’d known he was going to be there. Yes, I know.’ Tom sounded fed up now. ‘So, that’s why you’re looking so depressed.’

‘I am not looking depressed!’ Tom was getting the very impression she had hoped to avoid. ‘Stop second-guessing my words. I’ve neither had a row—–’ liar! ‘—nor am I depressed. All right?’

Tom lifted his shoulders. ‘If you say so.’

‘I do say so.’ Jaime set the cheese sandwich in front of him with scarcely concealed frustration. ‘As a matter of fact—Ben—brought me home.’

‘He did?’ Tom was so surprised, the sandwich he had raised to his lips was forgotten. ‘So what did he say? Did he mention my going over there this weekend?’

‘No.’ Jaime turned back to the breadboard, and brushed the crumbs she had made into the sink. ‘He—well, he had some news for me, actually,’ she admitted, setting the board in its place. And then, realising she was only making what she had to say that much more significant by prevaricating, she went on, ‘He told me—Philip—is dead. Philip Russell, that is. Your—father.’

Tom put down the sandwich, untouched. ‘He’s dead?’ he echoed, and Jaime nodded. ‘How? When?’

‘I—don’t know the details.’ Jaime guiltily acknowledged she should have asked. ‘But—it was some time ago, I believe. He just didn’t get around to telling us.’

Tom frowned. ‘Dead,’ he said again. And then, looking up, ‘Were you upset?’

‘No.’ Jaime felt a deepening of colour in her cheeks, and wished she were not so susceptible to her emotions. ‘No, Tom. I wasn’t upset. My—relationship with Philip was not a happy one. I didn’t wish him dead, but I can’t pretend a sorrow I don’t feel.’

Tom absorbed this in silence, and Jaime knew she had to say something more. She owed him that much. After all, Tom still believed that Philip Russell had been his father. How must he be feeling, hearing her condemn the man he believed had given him life?

‘There’s something else,’ she said, coming to the table, and seating herself opposite him. ‘Something I should have told you—ages ago. Only, it never seemed the right time.’

Tom looked at her warily, his eyes mirroring the uneasiness he was feeling. He was probably wondering what other awful revelations she was about to make, Jaime thought unhappily. And goodness knew, what she had to say wasn’t going to be easy for either of them.

‘It’s about you,’ she said slowly, understanding at last why adoptive parents were always advised to tell their children the truth as soon as they were old enough to understand. It was much harder to tell a boy of Tom’s age that his father wasn’t who he thought he was. ‘Um—about your being born in Newcastle.’

‘You mean, that story about you running away with another man is true?’ exclaimed Tom gruffly, and Jaime gazed at him in disbelief.

‘You know?’

‘No.’ Tom hunched his shoulders. ‘I don’t know anything. But I know the story. It’s no secret, is it?’

‘Isn’t it?’ Jaime felt as if someone had just delivered her a body blow. ‘I—don’t know what to say.’

‘You were going to tell me about it,’ Tom prompted flatly. ‘It’s true, then. Philip Russell wasn’t my father.’

Jaime swallowed. ‘No.’

‘So—Uncle Ben isn’t really my uncle?’ This was evidently harder for him to say, and Jaime’s heart went out to him.

‘No,’ she admitted huskily, wondering what he would say if she told him the truth. But she couldn’t risk that. The Russells had taken so much from her. She couldn’t risk losing her son to them as well, however selfish that might be.

‘Does he know?’

Jaime blinked. She had been so wrapped up with her own thoughts that Tom’s question caught her off guard. ‘I beg your—–?’

‘Uncle—that is, Ben Russell. Does he know he’s not my real uncle?’

‘Oh.’ Jaime licked her dry lips. ‘I—yes. Yes, he knows—–’

‘He does?’

Tom’s reaction was totally unexpected. The unhappy droop disappeared from his mouth like magic, and instead of regarding her with a mixture of hostility and accusation he looked positively delighted.

‘He really knows?’ he asked again, and when Jaime nodded, albeit a little less certainly now, Tom said, ‘Yes!’ and raised both fists in a gesture of victory.

Jaime swallowed. ‘You don’t mind?’

‘What about?’ Tom picked up his sandwich, and, to his mother’s astonishment, he bit into it. Then, with his mouth full, he went on, ‘If you mean about Dad—that is, your ex-husband—I don’t know how I feel. Not really. It’s not as if I ever knew him, is it?’

‘No, but—–’

‘I guess I always knew there had to be more to it than you had told me,’ Tom went on, taking another bite of his sandwich. ‘I mean, Dad—that is, he—divorced you, didn’t he? I never could understand that until now.’

Jaime shook her head. In Tom’s world, there were always absolutes. Philip had divorced her, therefore she had to be the guilty party. How could she explain that that had been one of the conditions Philip had demanded of Ben, when he agreed to stay away from her?

‘You’re not—angry, then?’ she ventured, not quite knowing how to proceed, and after a moment Tom shook his head.

‘Not angry, no. I wish you had told me sooner, that’s all.’ He paused. ‘Did you—did you love him?’

‘Who?’ Jaime’s mind refused to function. ‘Oh—Philip! Well, I—–’

‘No. Not him!’ exclaimed Tom, putting down his sandwich. His young face was flushed and awkward. ‘I meant—my dad. My real dad.’ He paused. ‘Did you?’

‘Oh!’ Jaime expelled a noisy breath. She could see how important it was to him, and she realised she hadn’t thought this through at all. The obvious progression hadn’t even occurred to her. ‘I—yes. Yes, I loved him.’ She was glad she could be honest about that. ‘But—well, he was married. And, although I thought he intended to leave his wife, he didn’t.’

Tom absorbed this silently. Then, picking up the sandwich again, almost absently, she thought, he said, ‘I suppose that’s why you never talked about him.’

Jaime’s lips tightened. ‘Could be.’

Tom bent his head. ‘Does—does he know about me?’

Oh, God! Jaime wondered how much more of this she could take without screaming.

But, ‘Yes,’ she managed at last, waiting for the axe to fall. It was only a matter of time before Tom asked his name, and, in spite of all her misgivings, could she honestly refuse to tell him?

‘The bastard!’ Tom’s response, like his reaction to Ben’s knowing he wasn’t Philip’s son earlier, was the exact opposite of what she had expected. ‘He got you pregnant, and then didn’t even have the guts to do the decent thing! Hell, Mum, how can you say you love him?’ He pushed his sandwich aside. ‘I hate him!’

Jaime was speechless. His words shocked her so much that the expletives he had used to make his point didn’t register until later. It wasn’t until he flung back his chair and got to his feet that she found her voice again.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Where do you think?’ Tom was too upset to be polite. ‘To bed, I suppose. What else is there?’

Jaime cleared her throat. ‘Tom—–’ The words wouldn’t come, and she gazed at his stony face in helpless confusion. ‘Tom, about—about Ben…’

‘Uncle Ben?’ Tom’s face softened. ‘Oh, Mum, Uncle Ben is the one good thing that’s come out of all this. Don’t you see? When you said he knew I wasn’t—wasn’t Philip Russell’s son, I was so relieved!’ He looked at the ceiling for a moment, and Jaime’s heart plummeted when she saw the unfamiliar glint of tears in his blue eyes. ‘You see,’ he added doggedly, ‘it means he likes me for who I am, not because he believes I’m his nephew. I can still go on seeing him, can’t I, Mum? Just because—just because that man’s dead, it won’t make any difference, will it?’

* * *

She should have told him then. Jaime knew it. But how could she do it? she argued defensively. How could she tell him about Ben, and destroy his relationship with the one person he seemed to admire? All right. So it was to her advantage as well, but so what? Didn’t the end justify the means? Didn’t she have some right to protect herself? At least until he was old enough to understand?

Not for the first time since Ben had come to live in Kingsmere, Jaime did not have a good night’s sleep. She tossed and turned for hours, reliving every minute of that conversation with her son. Even when exhaustion took its toll, her dreams were all like nightmares. If she wasn’t confronting images of Philip, rearing up from his grave to pursue her, she was locked in some filthy prison cell, watching Ben take Tom away from her.

She knew the dreams were conscience-related. Even though she might tell herself that by keeping the truth from Tom she was protecting Ben as well, it would take some time to construct a convincing case. Until then, she would just have to live with it. Why pre-empt disaster, when it could look after itself?

Breakfast was an uneasy meal. For her part, Jaime was still not convinced the worst was over. Tom might yet wish to pursue the discussion about his father, and she spent her time rehearsing responses to a variety of questions.

But, in the event, her fears proved groundless. Tom’s uneasiness apparently stemmed from doubts that she might change her mind about him seeing Ben again. He spent the time it took to ladle a huge plate of cornflakes into his mouth reassuring himself that his mother would have no objections if Ben invited him to the Priory again. He had evidently not given up hope that Ben might phone, and Jaime had to concede that she wouldn’t stand in his way.

All the same, she didn’t deny to herself that the circumstances had changed. Now that Tom knew that Philip had not been his father, he might want to discuss it with Ben. She just hoped Ben would remember his promises to her.

Saturday passed slowly. Maggie phoned in the afternoon to assure herself that her guest had arrived home safely the night before, and Jaime took the opportunity to offer a belated vote of thanks for the evening.

‘Sorry if I was a bit offhand,’ she murmured, accepting that Maggie’s part in the proceedings had been innocent enough. ‘Um—you must come here next time.’

Maggie agreed, and after a brief discussion of the evening Jaime managed to get off the phone without saying anything incriminating. But, it hadn’t been easy pretending she and Ben had parted on friendly terms. Particularly as Maggie thought she had been instrumental in bringing them together. If she only knew, thought Jaime bitterly, marching along the hall and into the kitchen. If it weren’t for Tom, she would have told her exactly what kind of man Ben was.

Tom came in as Jaime was slamming saucepans on to the drainer, and, putting down his squash kit, he regarded her worriedly. ‘Did—er—did Uncle Ben phone?’ he asked, his tone a mixture of dismay and anticipation, and Jaime gave him an ugly look.

‘No,’ she said, taking a certain amount of malicious pleasure from the disappointment that crossed his face as she dashed his hopes. ‘And don’t leave those dirty things there. The clothes basket is upstairs.’

Tom picked up his kit again. ‘So, what’s wrong?’ he exclaimed. ‘You were all right when I went out.’

‘I’m all right now,’ said Jaime shortly. Then, as compunction set in, she added, ‘I’m just not in the best of moods, that’s all. Don’t mind me. I’ll feel better when I’ve had a bath and something to eat. Beefburgers OK?’

Tom still looked doubtful, but he was not about to argue. ‘Yes, fine,’ he agreed, hovering uncertainly in the hall doorway. ‘Er—no one came, while I was out, did they? Like—like Angie, for example?’

‘No one came and no one called,’ his mother assured him in controlled tones. ‘Oh—except for Mrs Haines. She called.’ She paused. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll go for my bath.’

The phone rang again when Jaime was in the bath. Perfect, she thought grimly, when Tom answered it and called that it was Uncle Ben—for him. All day she had been expecting Ben to ring, and he hadn’t. But, as soon as she was unavailable, he did. Dammit, it was as if he had extra-sensory perception.

So, she wasn’t really surprised when, a few minutes later, Tom came tapping at the bathroom door. ‘Mum!’ he called. ‘Uncle Ben wants to know if I can go and spend the day with him tomorrow.’ He hesitated, and when she made no immediate answer he appended, ‘Is that all right with you, Mum? Mum, is it?’

No, it’s not, Jaime responded savagely, but only to herself. Turning Tom against her would solve nothing. ‘I—suppose so,’ she conceded, hearing the grudging note in her voice that she wasn’t quite able to disguise. ‘Tell him I’ll drop you off in the morning. There’s no need for him to come and fetch you.’

‘Well, he says he will,’ Tom protested, but Jaime was adamant.

‘I’ll take you,’ she insisted, her voice rising in spite of herself. ‘You’ve got your own way, Tom, so don’t push it.’

‘Oh, all right.’ Now that he had her permission, Tom was not above allowing his real feelings to show. ‘I’ll tell him you’re curious to see where he lives, shall I? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you wanted to take a look around.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ shouted Jaime angrily, but Tom was already bounding down the stairs again. The only reassurance she had was that he was laughing.