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.
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,
