nodded, and closed the door. ‘No wonder they say flaming June! Flaming awful, that’s what I say.’
Jaime smiled. ‘Well, it has been a pretty nice summer up until now,’ she demurred, checking her hair in the mirror of a mahogany tallboy. And then, lowering her voice, ‘You should have warned me you were having a dinner party. I thought there was just going to be the two of us.’
Maggie coloured. ‘Well, you look pretty good to me,’ she declared, avoiding Jaime’s eyes by admiring her suit. ‘That’s new, isn’t it? I don’t believe I’ve seen it before—–’
‘Maggie!’
‘Well, it’s hardly a party,’ protested the other woman quickly. ‘There’s just the four of us.’
‘Four, hmm?’ Jaime didn’t know why, but already her nerves were prickling, and she chided herself for jumping to conclusions yet again. ‘Who else is here?’
Maggie busied herself with brushing a pearl of rainwater from Jaime’s sleeve, and ushered her across the hall to the drawing-room door. ‘Come and see,’ she said, without answering her, and although Jaime wanted to resist she had to go with her.
As she had anticipated, two men were waiting for them in the drawing-room, seated in the wing-chairs that faced one another across the wide hearth. Of course, there was no fire in the hearth this evening. The space was filled by an enormous bowl of dusky pink roses, whose fragrance overlaid the potent scents of good Scotch and fine tobacco. One of the men was smoking, Jaime noticed, as they both rose to their feet at her entrance, but it was hardly relevant. Her eyes were drawn to those of the other man, and the realisation that for once her instincts had not betrayed her was no compensation.
‘You know John, don’t you?’ Maggie was saying fussily, and Jaime guessed she had some idea at least of how her friend was feeling. ‘And—and Ben? You two have met, haven’t you?’
‘Frequently,’ said Ben, as Jaime struggled to regain her composure. ‘Hello, Jaime. You look nice.’
‘Thank you.’ Jaime got the words through her teeth with a supreme effort. She turned to his companion. ‘Dr Fellowes.’
‘Please—I thought we’d agreed you’d call me John,’ exclaimed the elderly doctor, with a chuckle. ‘Whenever I hear Dr Fellowes, it’s usually followed by a request for a consultation!’
Jaime forced a smile. ‘All right—John. I—isn’t it an awful evening?’
‘Terrible,’ he agreed, pulling a face. ‘Now, can I get you a drink, my dear?’
‘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.
