want to lose the best secretary I’d ever had.’
Jaime tried to keep calm. ‘I—don’t know what to say,’ she murmured, aware that the idea of Felix—shy, bespectacled, sober Felix—nurturing some unrequited passion for her seemed totally unbelievable. He had always struck her as being such a moderate man. But, she acknowledged drily, he had left his wife of some twenty years for a much younger woman, so who could tell what went on behind that bland façade?
‘There’s no need to say anything,’ Felix reassured her, turning away from the evident confusion in her face. ‘I knew you were unaware that I existed—in a sexual way, that is. You were too wrapped up with your own affairs to notice anything—or anyone—else.’
Jaime felt the hot colour invading her cheeks. So far, she had succeeded in controlling her intense embarrassment, but now she could hide it no longer. ‘I’m—sorry,’ she mumbled, jerking open the door, wishing he had never brought the subject up. Goodness, it resurrected too many other memories she would rather not think about, and she was glad to escape to the comparative sanctuary of her own office.
However, Felix’s voice followed her. ‘Anyway,’ he called, and somehow she sensed his casual tone concealed a covert curiosity, ‘talking of the Russells, did you know the old Priory had been sold?’
Steeling her nerves, Jaime came back to the open doorway. ‘The old Priory?’ she said, with commendable composure. ‘What does the old Priory have to do with the Russells? Except that Philip stayed there years ago.’
‘Wasn’t it where you met your ex-husband?’ Felix probed innocently. ‘I seem to remember—–’
‘I met Philip in the bar at the Raven,’ retorted Jaime levelly, feeling a sense of disquiet she had not felt for years. What was Felix up to now? Surely Philip hadn’t bought the Priory.
‘So, it wouldn’t bother you, meeting him again,’ her employer suggested mildly, shuffling some papers on his desk, and Jaime sighed.
‘I suppose not,’ she responded tightly, even though the prospect filled her with alarm. ‘What are you saying? That Philip is the new owner of the Priory?’
‘No.’ Felix lifted his head, and Jaime had the distinct suspicion that he was enjoying this. Maybe he still resented her attitude towards Lacey, whatever he said. ‘No, Philip hasn’t bought the Priory, Jaime. His brother has.’
How Jaime managed to remain standing, she never knew. Felix’s words had struck her with all the force of a body blow, and the desire to double up under its onslaught was overwhelming.
‘You did meet Ben Russell, didn’t you?’ Felix continued, his expression mirroring none of the horror Jaime was feeling. She must be more skilful at hiding her reactions than she had imagined, she thought faintly. But on no account must he guess how she was feeling at this moment.
With her mouth dry, and her heart beating heavily in her chest, even the word ‘Yes’ required an immense amount of effort, but Jaime managed it. She even added, ‘How interesting,’ just for good measure, before stepping weakly back to her desk.
Then, Ben! she mouthed disbelievingly, propping herself limply against the scarred wood. Ben was coming to live in Kingsmere! Oh, God, it couldn’t be true, could it? Fate couldn’t be so cruel!
And yet, remembering the way it had treated her in the past, Jaime knew it could. In life there were no guarantees, no limits to the pain and frustration any one person could suffer. Even after all these years, it still wasn’t through with her. She pressed a trembling hand to her throat as a wave of dizziness swept over her.
Then, realising that Felix could appear at any moment and find her in this state, Jaime struggled to pull herself together. It was quite late—almost four o’clock already. If she could just manage to get through the next half-hour, she would have a whole weekend to recover from the shock. Besides, she told herself fiercely, it wasn’t as if they were likely to run into one another. If it hadn’t been for Philip, she would never have met the other members of the Russell family. No, she and Tom were safe. Ben was unlikely to seek her out after all this time.
Even so, it had been a blow, and, despite the way he had phrased it, Jaime was pretty sure Felix had intended to disconcert her. But even he could have no idea of the emotional turmoil into which his careless words had thrown her. She guessed his only intention had been to get his own back.
Taking a deep breath, she picked up the papers she had been about to file when Felix summoned her, and was apparently calmly slotting them into their individual compartments in the filing cabinet when Felix put his head round the door.
‘I’m leaving now,’ he said, coming more fully into the room. ‘When you’ve finished what you’re doing, you can go, too, if you like.’ He hesitated. ‘You’re not mad at me, are you?’
‘Mad at you?’ Once again Jaime called on all her reserves of strength to face this new challenge. ‘Why should I be mad at you?’
‘Well…’ Felix shrugged ‘… that business over the Priory. Teasing you about Philip, and so on. I haven’t upset you, have I?’
Jaime forced a smile. ‘Don’t be silly, Felix,’ she declaimed, closing the filing-cabinet drawer with careful precision. ‘Where any member of that family chooses to live is no concern of mine.’
‘No, but—–’
‘Honestly. It’s OK.’ Jaime made a play of examining the remaining documents in her hands. ‘Have a good weekend, Felix. And don’t overdo the exercise. Remember the old adage: moderation in all things.’
Jaime suspected she ought to take her own advice later that afternoon, as she drove home through the fading light of a chilly November day. A brief stop at the supermarket had done little to ease her tension, and after fighting her way through the maze of shopping trolleys she was in no mood to face the delays caused by the roadworks in Gloucester Road. Why did they always start digging up the road at weekends? she wondered uncharitably, ignoring the fact that a burst water-main earlier in the day had flooded the road during the morning rush-hour. All she could think was that Tom would be home and waiting for his evening meal, while she was stuck here wasting valuable time—and petrol.
It was half-past five when she reached Dorset Road, and the small terrace house she shared with her fourteen-year-old son. Parking the car in the road, she got out and locked the doors, then collected the bag of groceries from the boot before letting herself into the house.
‘Tom!’ she called, as she slammed the front door behind her. ‘Tom? Where are you?’
‘I’m up here, Mum.’ Her son’s voice came from the top of the stairs and, looking up, Jaime saw him silhouetted against the light streaming out of his bedroom behind him. ‘Angie’s helping me with my homework.’ He paused, and then added innocently, ‘Did you have a good day?’
Jaime beat back the retort that sprang to her lips, and grimaced. ‘It was OK,’ she acknowledged tautly, aware that Tom’s question had more to do with her reaction to finding Angie Santini in the house than any real interest in her occupation. He knew her feelings about his friendship with the Italian girl, and he was effectively blocking any protest she might be about to make.
‘Your meal will be on the table in fifteen minutes,’ Jaime said now, continuing down the hall. It was a tacit request that Angie be out of the house in the same length of time, and
