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 coffee in the drawing-room, by which time Jaime had convinced herself that any interest she had had in Ben’s reminiscences had been spurious. She told herself it had been a combination of the food and the wine—particularly the wine—and the easy ambience of the conversation that had breached her guard and tumbled her defences. She didn’t really care how Ben had spent the last fifteen years; nor did she want to think of the life he and Maura had led together. The insidious image of Ben stretched out on a bed with the other woman, making love to Maura, as he had once made love to her, could still strike a stabbing chord in her memory. She might not want to admit that this was so, but time—and bitter experience—couldn’t always take away the pain.
‘So—isn’t this nice?’
Having served her guests with coffee, Maggie seated herself on the sofa beside Jaime. She was evidently delighted that the evening had not turned into the disaster she had half expected, and Jaime felt a twinge of sympathy for her. Now that it was almost over, she could imagine how her friend must have felt when Ben had arrived on her doorstep. Although Maggie didn’t know the whole story, the fact that he was Philip’s brother must have filled her with dismay. After all, she wouldn’t have wanted to spend the evening with Felix’s brother, particularly if her association with his family had been as acrimonious as Jaime’s with Philip’s.
‘You must give me the recipe for that orange sorbet,’ Jaime murmured now, eager to keep the conversation to impersonal matters. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything more delicious. Where did you find it?’
‘Oh—I got it out of some magazine or other,’ exclaimed Maggie modestly. ‘I wouldn’t like to say which one. I buy so many.’
‘Maggie’s a magazine-addict,’ put in John Fellowes drily. ‘The local church does famously out of her contributions to its jumble sales.’
‘Well, I have to do something,’ she protested. ‘I don’t read—well, not books, anyway—and I don’t like gardening. I’m not like Jaime. I don’t—have…’
And then, shaking her head, she faltered to a stop. Her cheeks were pink with confusion, and it was obvious what she was thinking. She had realised that what she had been about to say could embarrass her guest, and rather than go on with it she got up and offered more coffee.
But it was too soon, and they all knew it, and as if to rescue the situation Ben said quietly, ‘I’m sure we all have vices we’re not too proud of. I know I do.’ He looked at Jaime. ‘Don’t you agree?’
But Jamie had had just about as much as she could take for one evening. ‘I think I ought to be going,’ she said, instead of answering him, dragging her gaze away from his, and addressing Maggie. ‘Um—Tom will be home soon, and I don’t like him going into an empty house.’
‘Of course.’ Maggie didn’t argue, probably as relieved to break up the party as Jaime was. ‘I’ll go and call you a cab. I wonder if it’s still raining.’
‘There’s no need to call Jaime a cab,’ Ben inserted swiftly, getting to his feet. ‘I’ll take her home.’
‘Oh, no—really…’
Jaime’s anxious gaze flashed from Maggie to Ben, and back again. If only she had insisted on bringing her own car, she thought desperately. As it was, unless Maggie could come up with some significant excuse why Ben shouldn’t take her home, she had no valid reason for refusing. It wasn’t as if she felt the slightest bit woozy. The tension of the last few minutes had sobered her more completely than several cups of Maggie’s strong black coffee could have done.
‘Do you think it’s wise to risk driving across town and back again when you’ve been drinking, Ben?’ Maggie ventured now, revealing she had interpreted Jaime’s message loud and clear. ‘I mean, that’s why Jaime didn’t bring her own car. They’re very strict about these things nowadays. Not like before you went to Africa…’
‘I don’t think what Ben’s drunk this evening would put him over the limit,’ the old doctor remarked consideringly, and Jaime wished, rather unfairly, that he would keep his nose out of her affairs. ‘Besides, you’ll wait hours for a taxi on a night like this. You know how busy they’ll be.’
‘Thank you, John.’
Maggie’s sarcasm was lost on him, however, and although she accompanied her words with a killing look it was too late. The damage was done. Jaime had to choose between letting Ben take her home—which surely couldn’t
