horrible,’ she complained to her mother that night. ‘I feel as though I’m being treated as the victim of an incurable disease.’
‘It’s only because people don’t want to hurt you,’ Sarah sympathised. ‘If you talk to them openly about it, they’ll soon accept the situation.’
‘Why on earth did Blake have to come here?’
‘Presumably for the reason Caroline gave you. He needs somewhere to write.’
‘Or because he wants to flaunt his affair with Caroline in front of me.’
‘Why should he want to do that?’ Her mother’s glance was calmly shrewd. ‘You haven’t seen him for four years, and if he wanted to have an affair with Caroline, there’s nothing to stop him, although I doubt that she’s his type.’
‘But why should he need somewhere to write…?’ Frustration edged up under her voice, giving it a husky note of impatience.
‘Jaime, I know as little about his motives as you do yourself. If you really want answers to all these questions, you must ask him yourself.’
‘But to tell Fern that he’s her father!’ Why must her mother always be so reasonable and fair-minded? Why couldn’t she simply side with her without question? Her impartiality was frustrating and, in some strange sense, vaguely threatening.
‘He is her father,’ Sarah pointed out mildly. ‘One of your criticisms of him has always been his lack of interest in her. Try to be consistent, Jaime, my love. What do you want of the man? Or is he just to be a whipping post?’
‘I don’t believe for one moment that he’s come down here simply for Fern’s sake.’
‘Jaime, I really can’t see the point in discussing him with you while you stay in this frame of mind. I can understand why seeing him should shock and even upset you, but for Fern’s sake you must try to set aside your own dislike of him, and remember that he is her father. Must he be damned for ever, because you quarrelled with him?’ she asked quizzically. ‘Perhaps he’s changed, people do you know,’ she said softly. ‘Don’t rush to meet trouble head on, Jaime. I personally can’t believe for one moment that Blake is staying with Caroline simply because he wishes to flaunt any relationship they might have in front of you. He isn’t that type of man. Now, I’m going shopping this afternoon. I need to restock my wardrobe for Rome, but I should be back for tea.’
On Wednesday afternoons Jaime closed the studio and usually spent the afternoon with Fern. She had just collected her from playschool and was making a drink when she heard a car stopping outside. Her mother’s cottage was the middle one of a row of three with a long front garden and a pleasant, sheltered back one. The kitchen-dining room in which Jaime was standing had windows at either end, and her heart skittered to a standstill as she saw Blake unfold his lean frame from the low-slung black Ferrari she had seen entering the Abbey’s drive earlier in the week, and unlock the garden gate.
‘Mummy, you’re daydreaming again,’ Fern criticised sternly. She wanted to run but where was there to run to? And besides, she had left that sort of childish reaction behind her when she left London.
As she opened the door to him, he seemed to tower menacingly over her, dark and forbidding, his jean-clad figure familiar and yet totally alien. He had always affected her in this way; the maleness in him calling out to her deeply feminine core so that her pulse rate quickened and her stomach ached.
‘Sensible of you,’ he commented when she let him in. His eyes were derisive as he added, ‘Knowing you as I do, I half expected to have to break the door down to get in. You always did have a taste for the dramatic.’
‘Not to say farcical,’ Jaime agreed, watching the faint surprise replace the derision. ‘We do have a back door,’ she pointed out, ‘and it is open.’
‘We have to talk.’
‘Do we? I can’t think what about.’
‘Well, there’s Fern for starters.’
‘Oh, yes. Of course.’ It was her turn to sound derisive. ‘Forgive me for not recognising your concern for your daughter straight away, won’t you?’
‘You know the reason I haven’t shown any interest in her before.’ His voice was clipped, and if she had not known better she could have imagined there was a trace of angry pain in it.
‘What, besides Fern, brings you down here?’
‘You heard what Caroline said. I need the peace and quiet to write.’
‘A new departure isn’t it? You always seemed to manage quite well at the flat.’
‘With you for inspiration?’ His mouth twisted. ‘They were articles, this is a novel—my third to be exact.’
Her heart missed a beat and then hammered painfully. It hurt much more than she could say that there had been such drastic developments in his life and that she had known nothing about them.
‘I started the first one just after you left me, after I got back from El Salvador.’
She didn’t want to talk about the past. It held far too many unhappy memories. Fern heard their voices and came running out of the kitchen, launching herself at Blake with unabashed enthusiasm. ‘Daddy.…’
‘I’d like to take her out for the afternoon.’
‘No… Wednesday is the only afternoon I have her all to myself.’
‘Then come with us.’ It was a subtle challenge, reminding her of the many other challenges he had given her in the past and the often childish manner in which she had reacted to them. Fern’s smile widened and Jaime knew that if she refused the little girl would be disappointed.
‘Very well,’ she agreed coolly, suppressing wry amusement as she saw disbelief flicker briefly in Blake’s eyes. Had he expected her to refuse? She shrugged aside the thought. What did it matter what he had expected? She wasn’t going to leave Fern alone with him, at least not until she knew why he was making this attempt to get to know his daughter. Nor was she going to allow him to provoke her as he had done in the past. With a slight start, she realised she was experiencing none of the tongue-tied anxiety she had previously felt in his presence. Somehow the gulf she had always felt between them seemed to have narrowed, and she no longer stood so much in awe of him. Not that she underestimated him for one moment. Fern was already showing incipient signs of being dazzled by him and her heart ached for her daughter, the pain followed by a fierce wave of protective mother love. Blake would never hurt Fern the way he had hurt her.
‘How about the New Forest?’ Blake suggested blandly. Jaime bit her lip. They had once spent a weekend there shortly after they were married. Blake had overruled her protests at dinner and, as a consequence, she had drunk rather more wine than was her normal habit. Later, alone together in their room, he had made full use of her intoxicated state to coax from her a physical response to his lovemaking which still held a vivid place in her memories.
‘Fine,’ she responded lightly. ‘Fern will love the ponies.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘Well, if we’re going to make it there and back in the day, we’d better start out soon.’
He
