‘Oh—–’ Jaime glanced uncertainly at Maggie ‘—well—yes. Just a small sherry, if you have one.’
‘I’ll leave John to look after you while I go and check on the food,’ declared Maggie, with obvious relief, heading for the door. ‘Sit down, Jaime. We don’t stand on ceremony here.’
Jaime’s gaze slid past Ben’s lean face, and settled on the chintz-covered sofa. But as she seated herself, and crossed her slim legs, she was intensely conscious of his presence. She didn’t have to look at him to be aware of him, or need a second glance to register every detail of his appearance. She already knew he was wearing dark blue trousers, and a matching corduroy jacket that accentuated the width of his shoulders. The sombre shade suited his dark colouring, too. He looked composed and relaxed, and undeniably attractive. But what troubled Jaime most was his disturbing familiarity.
But what was he doing here? Her eyes flickered in his direction and then, finding his eyes upon her, they flickered away again. Oh, God, she thought, why was he doing this to her? All right. So he wanted to see his son. She wasn’t stopping him, was she? So why did he insist on haunting her like this?
To her relief, Ben reseated himself in the chair he had occupied before her arrival, but there was no way she could avoid answering him when he spoke to her. She didn’t know what he had told Maggie and John Fellowes about their relationship, and she had no desire to arouse their curiosity.
His first question was innocent enough. ‘Have you had a busy week?’ he asked, his green eyes displaying what—to anyone else—could only be described as a mild interest, and Jaime was glad John chose that moment to hand her her sherry.
‘I’m always busy,’ she responded coolly, taking refuge in her glass. ‘Mm—–’ she smiled up at the other man ‘—this is delicious!’
‘What do you do exactly?’
Ben was tenacious, and, realising he was enjoying her discomfort, Jaime decided it was time to strike back. ‘Don’t you know?’ she enquired politely, running the pad of her index finger around the rim of her glass. ‘I thought you’d be familiar with the means of tax avoidance.’
John sucked in his breath, and even Ben’s lips tightened, but his tone was just as tolerant as he persisted, ‘Humour me.’ And only Jaime was aware of the double-edged warning in his request.
‘I’m sure—Jaime—doesn’t want to talk about her work tonight,’ John intervened, evidently deciding a mediator was required here. He lowered himself on to the sofa beside her, and patted the hand that was curled very tightly in her lap. ‘Tell us about that handsome son of yours. Maggie says he’ll be entering the fifth form next term.’
‘That’s right.’ Jaime’s tongue circled her upper lip. Of all the subjects to choose, she was thinking grimly, when Ben spoke again.
‘How old is—your son?’ His green eyes were openly challenging between the thick black lashes. ‘You must have been expecting him when I left Kingsmere.’
‘Must I?’ Jaime refused to satisfy his rampant ego. ‘When was that?’
Ben’s features took on a dangerous expression. ‘Oh, I’m sure you remember,’ he said. ‘My wife and I went to live in Africa about eighteen months after you and Phil got married.’
Jaime couldn’t withstand his accusing stare, and she bent her head over the glass as John tried to restore some measure of concord to the debate. ‘Of course,’ he said, as if the thought had just occurred to him, ‘you were married to Ben’s brother, weren’t you, Jaime? So—so Tom—–’ he looked to the other man for guidance ‘—Tom must be your nephew.’
A pregnant silence greeted this pronouncement, one which seemed to last a lifetime, but which probably lasted only a few seconds. Nevertheless, Jaime waited with bated breath for Ben’s denial, knowing how casually he could remove the protection of the Russell name.
But it didn’t come. Instead, Maggie’s cheerful, ‘Are we all ready to eat?’ saved a potentially dangerous situation, and John turned to her eagerly, more than willing to abandon their discussion.
Not that Ben would have said anything to expose himself, Jaime told herself tensely. He was far too clever for that. But he could have removed the respectability of the Russell name from her, and she ought to feel grateful that he hadn’t.
Ben’s dark face was unreadable, however. As Jaime allowed Maggie to link arms and lead her into the dining-room, she could hear him exchanging small talk with John Fellowes behind them. It didn’t seem to have bothered him that the conversation had taken such an embarrassing turn. Nor did he seem perturbed that he had left a significant question unanswered.
‘You’re all right, aren’t you?’ Maggie asked, in a low voice, revealing she was not unaware of the situation. ‘Honestly, I didn’t know John was bringing him! He asked if he could bring a friend, and naturally I said yes. How was I to know it would be your brother-in-law?’
‘Ex-brother-in-law,’ murmured Jaime tightly, and then forced a smile. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does matter.’ Maggie was not deceived by her attempt at indifference. ‘I knew it would, dammit. Oh, Jaime, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have upset you for the world!’
‘Really, it’s not that important.’ Jaime squeezed the older woman’s arm, as they separated to take their places at the table. ‘Oh—this looks pretty,’ she added, surveying the lace place-mats, and the centre-piece of roses and lilies. ‘You’re so clever with flowers. I’m no good at these arrangements.’
Maggie accepted her praise modestly, but it was obvious she was not convinced by Jaime’s tactics. Nevertheless, there was nothing she could do but make the best of it, and Jaime knew it was mostly her own fault for allowing Ben to get under her skin. The fact that he had always been able to do so was no reassurance.
The food was excellent. Maggie was a good cook, and her salmon mousse was one of Jaime’s favourites. This was followed by a delicous rack of lamb, and although she had been afraid she wouldn’t be able to eat anything Jaime was able to acquit herself quite creditably.
It helped that the conversation at the table was fairly general. John Fellows possessed a fund of anecdotes about awkward patients he had treated, and even Ben joined in with some stories of his own. It was quite a novelty for Jaime to sit back and listen to Ben talking about the African veldt. He spoke about the wildlife, and the problems each country was having guarding against poachers. He described life in the game reserves, and the animal carnage he had seen in East Africa. And he also talked a little about the war in Ethiopia, and the terrible threat of famine that was never far away.
It was the first time since he’d come back that Jaime had been with him without feeling threatened by him—but she discovered the experience was no less disturbing. Until now, she had been so intent on keeping a barrier between them that she had never allowed herself to feel any normal emotions towards him. The fact that he had travelled widely, had had an interesting, and sometimes dangerous job, and was therefore a fascinating guest to have at any dinner table, had been obscured by her own distorted obsession with him. She had never permitted herself to consider that she could actually like him. She had been so intent on loving him and hating him that she hadn’t seen the obvious alternative.
Or hadn’t wanted to see, she reminded herself sharply. It was much easier to deal with strong emotions than cope with the insidious wiles of gentler ones. She didn’t want to like Ben. She didn’t want to see him as Maggie was seeing him, or admit that she was as interested in his work as anyone else at the table. He was Philip’s brother, she told herself. He had seduced her, and betrayed her. He had left her expecting his child, and gone off to Africa with his wife. The fact that he hadn’t known she was expecting his child was irrelevant. He had made it clear he had no intention of divorcing his wife for her, and Jaime had refused to use her condition to attempt to change his mind.
They had