Marjorie’s tone was dry, and Felix acknowledged it with a wry smile. But then, turning back to Jaime, he manoeuvred her into a position where only she could hear what he had to say. ‘I suppose you disapprove, too,’ he remarked softly, bending his head so that he could inhale the clean fragrance of her hair. ‘What’s the matter? Does it remind you of what you’ve missed?’
Jaime caught her breath. ‘No.’
‘Oh, well…’ Felix shrugged ‘… I suppose you’re feeling a bit miffed because he isn’t here.’
‘Who isn’t here?’
‘Although after the way you reacted that day when I told you he was coming back, I’d have thought you’d be relieved.’
Jaime blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.’
‘I don’t.’ Jaime was confused. ‘I thought we were talking about the baby.’
Felix gave her a doubting look. ‘You mean Lacey didn’t tell you?’
‘Tell me? Tell me what?’
‘That she invited Russell here this evening? He’s in the neighbourhood, you know. I believe he’s staying at the Crown while the final adjustments are made at the house.’
Jaime was glad of the press of people around her to support her suddenly unsteady legs. ‘You mean—Ben?’ she echoed faintly, realising something was expected of her, and Felix nodded.
‘She didn’t tell you?’
Jaime swallowed, managing to control her reaction. ‘I—obviously not,’ she articulated carefully. ‘Did—er—did he say he would come?’
‘He didn’t respond at all.’ To her relief, Felix didn’t seem to notice how his words had affected her, and the noise and jostling of his other guests were a constant diversion. ‘But, what the hell? There’s enough people here as it is. Did you ever see such a scrum? Goodness knows what the neighbours must think, eh?’
Felix drifted away soon after that, and Jaime resumed her conversation with the Mannings. But his words had disturbed her, and every time there was a new arrival her eyes darted anxiously towards the door. But she needn’t have worried. Although her nerves remained on edge, the man she had never expected to see again did not put in an appearance, and Lacey’s hopes of achieving a social coup went unfulfilled.
Even so, it took some determination to swallow a couple of canapés, and exchange a few more words with her hostess. Lacey made no mention of her disappointment, and Jaime had to suppress a simmering sense of resentment. No necessity now to wonder why she had been invited, she thought bitterly. All that talk about motherhood, and being friends, had had an ulterior motive. She couldn’t imagine why Lacey might think Ben would react positively to her presence, but she apparently had.
She managed to stick it out for another half-hour before making her departure. ‘I don’t like leaving Tom on his own for too long,’ she excused herself, aware that no one here knew he wasn’t waiting for her at home. In fact, she was glad he wasn’t herself. She would welcome a few minutes to restore her defences.
It was only a quarter to ten when she turned into Dorset Road, and she guessed her son wouldn’t be home much before half-past. Still, her appetite was returning now that she had left the source of her emotional upheaval, and she thought she might make herself an omelette for supper. In fact, Tom might like one too, when he got back. Although he enjoyed being invited to the Santinis’, he wasn’t too keen on Mrs Santini’s cooking. Lots of pasta and spicy sauces did not appeal to her son’s digestion, and he invariably made himself a sandwich after he got home.
To her surprise, however, the lights were on in her own living-room, and she knew a moment’s anxiety as she pulled into the kerb. There was an enormous Mercedes parked directly across the road from her house, so at least the Morrisons were home, she thought gratefully. She might need their help if she had an intruder.
Of course, Tom could be home already, she reflected, as she got out of the car and secured the lock. Angie could be with him. But surely her parents wouldn’t have allowed her to accompany Tom back to an empty house, she thought uneasily. Trust was one thing; putting temptation in their way was something else.
Her doubts were clarified, however, as she crossed the pavement. The front door opened, before she had a chance to use her key, and her son stood on the threshold. Tom’s normally fair skin was flushed with colour, and Jaime’s heart sank at the obvious connotation. They must have heard her coming, she thought, and decided to meet trouble head-on.
‘You’re early, Mum.’ Tom’s first words were not encouraging, and Jaime could tell by the nervous twitching of his lips that that was not what he really wanted to say. ‘I thought you wouldn’t be home for at least another hour.’
‘No, well…’ Jaime stepped past him into the hall, keeping her temper with difficulty ‘… it wasn’t as exciting as you seem to think, and as you were on your own—–’
‘Oh—I’m not on my own, Mum—–’
‘No. I suspected that,’ said Jaime tightly, watching him close the door with controlled irritation. ‘How dare you, Tom? How dare you lie to me?’
‘Lie to you?’
Tom looked blank, and before Jaime could sense the significance of his response another voice interrupted him. ‘I’m afraid I’m to blame,’ said the man, who had appeared in the living-room doorway. ‘I suggested I might stay and wait for you.’
Jaime was glad she was standing by the banister. It gave her something to reach out and hold on to. Otherwise, she was quite convinced she would have keeled over, the shock of seeing Ben Russell was so great.
And it was Ben who had propped his shoulder against the frame of the living-room door. Of that, she had no doubt. But he looked very different from the way she remembered him, and she sensed that the years between had not been entirely kind.
Ben had been—was—the younger of the two Russell brothers, but right now he looked more Philip’s age than his own. In height, there had never been much to choose between them, but Ben had always looked harder, more muscular, definitely the more physical one of the two, as a member of her father’s bar staff had once rhapsodised. He certainly looked harder now—harsh, would have been Jaime’s description. He was thinner, for one thing, and the thick swath of dark brown hair was lightly threaded with grey. His face, too, which bore the darkness of his years spent in a tropical climate, nevertheless showed a certain pallor—a sallow cast underlying his skin which pouched around his eyes. But his eyes were still as green as ever, a curious jade-green, that with their distinctive fringe of lashes had caused many hearts to flutter in the days when he had appeared on television. But, although she knew he must be thirty-eight now, he looked ten years older, and despite the chill of apprehension that had gripped her at the sight of him a reluctant stirring of compassion momentarily kept her dumb.
‘Uncle—Uncle Ben came just after you left,’ put in Tom stiffly, still smarting over his mother’s accusation. ‘I said you wouldn’t be back until later, but—well, we got talking, and the time just seemed to fly.’
Jaime collected herself with a supreme effort. ‘You
