hotel Ben had chosen was not one Jaime was familiar with. Outside the town environs, it catered mainly to a business clientele, who used its gourmet dining-room to entertain their customers. It was nothing like the Raven and Glass, where Jaime had lived until her marriage, but it was exactly the kind of place she would have expected Ben Russell to patronise.
However, after parking the Mercedes on its spacious car park, Ben didn’t go into the hotel. Instead, he directed her to follow him around the back of the building, where spacious gardens overlooked the shallow waters of the River Mere. Tables had been set out on a paved patio area, with pretty striped umbrellas, to protect those enjoying a lunchtime snack from the dazzling rays of the sun. It was all very smart and civilised, and, judging by its popularity, the beer was good, too.
Two men were just leaving a table, set at the far end of the terrace and, ignoring other, less private locations, Ben led the way towards it. Jaime, intent on assuring herself that she recognised no one among the diners, followed him less enthusiastically. Was this really where she wanted to engage in a personal discussion about her son? she wondered unhappily. Yet what alternative was there, short of inviting Ben back to the house?
A waiter appeared to clear the table of its residue of empty glasses and used ashtrays, and after he had gone, and Jaime was seated, Ben took the wrought-iron chair beside her. ‘So,’ he prompted, ‘what do you want? They serve a reasonably good burger here, or you can have meat pie, or salad, or sandwiches.’
‘I don’t want anything to eat,’ replied Jaime at once, adding a belated, ‘Thank you’ when Ben arched a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I—er—I’ll have a glass of lime and lemon. That’s all.’
Ben, who had picked up the fast-food menu from the table, now gave her a resigned look. ‘You must need something!’ he exclaimed, dropping his eyes to scan the list. ‘How about an omelette? They do have quite a variety.’
‘I don’t want anything to eat,’ repeated Jaime, determinedly concentrating on the view. ‘You—you have whatever you like. I’m really not hungry.’
‘You’re not dieting, are you?’
Ben’s enquiry was accompanied by a studied look, and Jaime felt her colour rise. ‘Why? Do you think I should?’ she retorted, without thinking, and Ben’s eyes met hers over the top of the menu.
‘I wouldn’t presume to answer that,’ he told her smoothly, bringing a deeper blush of embarrassment to her cheeks, and Jaime fumed. Not for him the polite denial, she thought resentfully. Oh, why had she made such an asinine remark? He would think she was desperate for compliments!
The waiter returned at that moment to take their order, and Ben asked for a beer for himself, and a glass of lime and lemon for Jaime. He didn’t order any food, however, and Jaime felt a twinge of remorse. She guessed he wasn’t eating because of her, and guilt pricked her conscience. If he was just recovering from some illness, he probably ought to have regular nourishment, she reflected ruefully, before impatience stiffened her resolve. In heaven’s name, she reminded herself, she hadn’t invited him to come and spoil her lunchtime, had she? It wasn’t her fault that he had chosen this time to interfere in her life once again. He could have waited until some more appropriate moment presented itself. He could have kept away altogether.
But the knowledge that he also could have come to the house again when Tom was there deserved some appreciation, and, much against her better judgement, Jaime pulled the menu towards her. ‘Perhaps—perhaps I will have a sandwich after all,’ she mumbled, following the list of fillings with her finger. ‘Um—I think I’d like egg mayonnaise, if that’s all right with you.’
Ben frowned. ‘Why not?’ he agreed indifferently, checking what she wanted, and putting the menu aside. ‘One egg mayonnaise sandwich,’ he ordered, when the waiter brought their drinks. Then, ‘Cheers,’ he added, raising his glass to his lips.
Frustration almost choked Jaime. ‘Are—aren’t you having anything?’ she exclaimed, totally ignoring her glass.
‘Not hungry,’ responded Ben calmly. ‘Now, if you’ve finished wasting time, perhaps we can get to the point of this meeting.’
‘If I’ve finished—–’
Jaime was on the verge of another defensive outburst, when a premonition gripped her. Of course, that was what he wanted. This whole exercise was designed to upset her, to put her at an emotional disadvantage. And Ben, who had once used his controversial debating skills to disconcert Members of Parliament and foreign diplomats, knew that better than anyone.
So, instead of indulging his ego, she broke off and picked up her glass. ‘Cheers,’ she murmured, raising it towards him, and had the satisfaction of witnessing his frustration instead.
But it was a fleeting glimpse at best. Ben was too experienced a tactitian to allow his feelings to dictate his mood, and, returning his glass to the table, he said quietly, ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
There were any number of answers Jaime could have given, and she had spent long enough, goodness knew, considering all of them. Her first instinct was to pretend ignorance, to pretend it wasn’t true—to offer him the story she had given Tom not so long ago. But Philip was Ben’s brother, and that complicated matters. She didn’t want Philip involved in this. She had no intention of allowing her ex-husband to muddy the situation.
‘Jaime!’
Ben was waiting for an answer, and not even the return of the waiter with her sandwiches could delay it any longer. But she smiled at the man, and picked up one of the neatly cut triangles and examined its contents, before saying carefully, ‘It was nothing to do with you.’
‘Nothing to do with me?’ Briefly, Ben lost his cool, and his eyes blazed angrily. ‘I have a son, and you say it’s nothing to do with me!’
Jaime took a determined bite of the sandwich. ‘As—as you pointed out, you were married,’ she declared doggedly. ‘You ought to be grateful. I could have told Maura.’
Ben’s lips twisted. ‘That bugged you, did it? That I refused to leave my wife?’
‘Bugged me?’ Jaime could stand his baiting tongue no longer. ‘Well, yes,’ she said angrily. ‘Yes, I think you could say that. It’s not very flattering to hear that, although you’re good enough to go to bed with, you’re not worth sacrificing a perfectly good marriage for. Of course, I can appreciate that. I mean, I wouldn’t have been as understanding if I’d found out my husband had been sleeping with someone else. But, hey! What do I know? I was just a diversion. A little bit on the side. And the fact that I was your brother’s wife just added to the novelty!’
‘That’s not true.’
‘It is true.’ Jaime was into her stride now and, oblivious of where they were, or whether anyone else might be able to hear what she was saying, she went on, ‘I believed you, Ben. When you said you cared about me, I really believed you. What a fool I was! Totally naïve! Well, we were both suckered, weren’t we?’
Ben’s face was grim. ‘You don’t understand.’
‘Don’t I? I think I do.’ Jaime put the remains of the sandwich down, unable to even pretend she was enjoying it. ‘Can you wonder I’ve tried to keep Tom away from the Russells? One brother a sadist, and the other a bastard!’
‘You don’t understand,’ intoned Ben again. ‘I
