‘Well, what did Dad do?’
‘Dad?’ For a moment, Jaime was confused. ‘Oh—you mean Philip.’ She looped a silky strand of pale hair behind her ear with a nervous finger. ‘Well—he didn’t know anything about it. We—we were already living apart, you see.’
‘And Uncle Ben blamed you, I bet,’ prompted Tom, leaning towards her. ‘No wonder you resented him coming here last night.’
Jaime couldn’t believe it was going to be that easy. ‘You understand why I was so upset, then?’
Tom nodded. ‘I guess so.’
‘And you appreciate why I don’t want you to see him again?’
‘Oh—–’ Tom looked taken aback ‘—well, he is still my uncle, isn’t he?’
Jaime’s jaw dropped. ‘What do you mean?’
Tom looked rueful. ‘It was a long time ago, Mum,’ he said at last. ‘I’m not saying I’ll forget it, or anything like that, but he did come to see us, didn’t he? I mean, he didn’t have to. He could have just ignored the fact that we lived in Kingsmere, too.’
I wish he had! thought Jaime fervently, but she was learning it was safer not to speak her thoughts aloud.
‘So—what are you saying?’ she enquired, aware that there was an edge to her voice now that she couldn’t disguise. ‘That I should ignore the fact that he has no respect for me—for us?’
Tom looked uncomfortable now. ‘Don’t exaggerate, Mum. As I said, he didn’t have to come here—–’
‘No, he didn’t,’ agreed Jaime tersely. ‘Particularly not when he knew I was going to be out!’
That thought had just occurred to her, but she was sorry it had when she saw Tom’s expression.
‘Did he know that?’ he asked, his eyes wide with speculation. ‘Hey, do you think he really came to see me?’
Jaime wasn’t sure how to answer him. She wasn’t sure what was true and what wasn’t. ‘Well, he certainly knew Felix was having a party last night,’ she muttered, wondering if Ben knew she worked for Haines and Partners. ‘He was invited.’
‘He was?’ Tom was more and more intrigued, and Jaime felt like slapping him. He had no conception of what was going on, she thought frustratedly, over-looking the fact that that was hardly his fault in the circumstances. Her explanation—such as it was—had achieved next to nothing. It would take more than the knowledge that Ben had purportedly hit her to convince Tom that he shouldn’t get involved with any of the Russells. In spite of everything, they represented glamour, and excitement; and Tom’s life was too mundane for him to withstand the temptation.
Picking up the teapot, Jaime moved to the sink, and tipped the rest of its contents down the drain. Then, rescuing the two used tea-bags, she dropped them into the pedal-bin. A pile of ironing was waiting in its basket, and the rest of the morning would be taken up with defrosting the fridge, and preparing Sunday lunch. Not until all the dishes had been washed and put away would she find some time to put her feet up and read the Sunday paper.
It was not an appealing prospect, but until she had come home last night, and found Ben seducing her son with stories of handsomely restored mansions, custom-built gymnasiums and swimming-pools, she had been quite content. And she had thought Tom was, too…
‘Did Uncle Ben tell you why he’s come back to live in England?’ her son asked now, and Jaime realised she would have to get used to sentences prefixed with those two words.
‘No,’ she said, collecting the cups from the table, and depositing them in the sink. ‘What do you want for breakfast?’
‘He’s been ill,’ went on Tom, and Jaime thought it was a measure of his interest in his subject that he should put Ben before food. ‘He didn’t say much about it, but I think he was advised to come back. He’s been living in a war zone for the past two years.’
Jaime’s nails curled into her palms. ‘I’m really not interested, Tom. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a pity he didn’t stay out there. Now—do you want to tell me what you want to eat? Or aren’t you hungry?’
Tom’s brows drew together. ‘It’s early yet,’ he grumbled. ‘You’re not even dressed!’
‘Bacon, or toast? It’s all the same to me,’ declared Jaime, refusing to give in to his injured look, and Tom hunched his shoulders.
‘Bacon,’ he muttered, finishing his tea, and then pulling a face because it was cold. ‘If you don’t mind.’
‘I don’t mind.’ But his mother’s tone was cool, and he knew it.
‘Oh, Mum!’ he exclaimed unhappily. ‘Don’t be like this. If—if you really don’t want me to see Uncle Ben again, then I won’t.’ He scraped his nail across the grain of the table. ‘It’s no big deal. He probably won’t want to see me again, anyway.’
Jaime wished she could believe that, but at that moment it seemed less important than reassuring her son. Looking into his troubled face, she knew she didn’t have the right to stop Tom from seeing Ben, no matter what she thought. Tom was not to blame for her mistakes, and it wasn’t fair to make him an innocent scapegoat.
‘I’m—I’m sure he will want to see you again,’ she ventured now, pushing her hands into the wide sleeves of her dressing-gown, and suppressing the feeling of resentment she felt at the sudden light in Tom’s eyes. ‘And—we’ll just wait and see what happens, hmm?’
Tom blinked. ‘You mean, you’ll let me see Uncle Ben again?’
‘If you want to.’
It took a great deal to say that, but Tom’s reaction was compensation enough. ‘I might not want to,’ he said abruptly, confounding all her fears. ‘I’ve thought about it, and—well, we don’t really need him, do we? We’ve got Nana, and Grandpa, and Uncle David. He hasn’t bothered about us before, so why should we care about him now?’
Jaime caught her lower lip between her teeth, as she felt the hot prickling of tears behind her eyes. Tom was so convincing, so loyal. He really believed, at that moment, that if Ben did choose to try to see him again he would have a choice. And he might, she conceded tensely, but knowing Ben of old she couldn’t help having doubts.
But, ‘All right,’ she said, forcing a light tone. ‘If that’s the way you feel.’ She squeezed his shoulder in passing. ‘Now, I’m going to get dressed. You can wash up the cups while I’m gone, and I’ll be back to grill the bacon. OK?’
‘OK, Mum.’
Tom tipped back his head to give her a whimsical smile, and Jaime wished she could look at her son without seeing Ben’s lazy charm in every move he made. It was such an unconscious thing. An unknowing sensuality, which made her realise why Angie Santini found her son so attractive. Funny, she had never noticed it before. Or had she simply been blocking any resemblance Tom might have to his father?
Whatever, Tom was a Russell, and there was no way she could pretend otherwise. He was his father’s son, and she knew better than to believe that Ben wouldn’t take advantage of the fact.
On Monday morning, Felix was eager to hear what she had thought of the party. ‘Quite a bash, wasn’t it?’ he exclaimed, when Jaime came into his office at his request to take dictation. ‘Lacey was quite exhausted yesterday. Which isn’t like her, but I expect it’s her condition, hmm?’
‘Probably,’ agreed Jaime, nodding, her own relief that Ben hadn’t chosen to interrupt her Sunday making her less edgy. ‘What time did it break up?’
‘Around midnight, I think,’ replied Felix, leaning back in his chair. ‘But Russell didn’t show his face, even though I know Lacey thought he might.’ He grimaced.