Dangerous Sanctuary

‘Well—only occasionally. I’m sure you could have had a steady boyfriend, Mum, if you’d wanted one. You’re still quite good-looking, and you’re not that old!’

‘Gee, you’ll turn my head!’

Jaime was sardonic, but Tom was not deterred. ‘I mean it. Angie says she’d love to be as tall as you. She thinks you’re really elegant, you know.’

Jaime gave her son an old-fashioned look. ‘Really!’

‘Yes, really.’ Tom was defensive now. ‘What about Mr Price from school? He was really keen, but you just froze him off.’

‘I didn’t freeze him off—–’

‘Well, what would you call it? He asked you out four times, and you went once!’

‘Mr Price isn’t my type.’

‘What is your type, then? Someone like Dad? Someone like Uncle Ben?’

‘No!’

Jaime got up from the couch abruptly, and reached for the vacuum cleaner. She should have realised the way the discussion was heading. It might be almost six months since Felix had exploded his bombshell about Ben’s buying the Priory, but she was aware that Tom hadn’t forgotten, any more than she had.

Her father hadn’t helped. Once he knew that she knew about Ben’s plans, he had apparently assumed that there was no point in avoiding the subject. Even though Jaime’s mother had evidently not agreed with him, Mr Fenner’s attitude was one of dogged resolution.

‘It’s no use our Jaime thinking that, if she doesn’t mention it, it’ll go away,’ he declared, when his wife first tackled him on the matter. ‘In a small place like Kingsmere, it’s news.’

‘Well, it’s not news I want to hear,’ retorted Mrs Fenner shortly. ‘And I’d have thought you’d have had more sense than to bring that man’s name up when young Tom is around.’

‘Why?’ Jaime’s father was belligerent. ‘Do you want the lad to begin to think there’s something funny going on? Because he will if our Jaime acts like Ben Russell doesn’t exist.’

Of course, Jaime knew her father was right. A man with Ben’s reputation—his fame—was bound to cause a stir in a place like Kingsmere. The fact that he hadn’t actually come to live here yet was a small consolation. The renovations he was having done to the derelict Priory were what was causing the delay. But if what public opinion said was true, the old house was going to be quite a show-place, when the builders and interior decorators were finished with it.

The trouble was, Tom was intensely interested in the man he regarded as his uncle. Just last Sunday, when Jaime and her son had gone to her parents’ home for lunch, he had been asking questions about the prospective tenant of the Priory, and Mr Fenner hadn’t hesitated about elaborating on the extensive renovations that were going on.

‘As I understand it, they’re almost finished,’ Jaime’s father said, helping himself to more of the crispy roast potatoes that were his daughter’s contribution to the meal. ‘Bill—Bill Lewis, that is, who’s been landscaping the garden—he says that a London firm of interior designers left several days ago, and as far as he knows the place is virtually ready for occupation. Of course, there’s still some carpets to lay, that sort of thing. But my guess is that Russell will be moving in any day now.’

‘I don’t think we want to hear about that, Ray,’ Jaime’s mother exclaimed impatiently, but his grandfather’s words had spiked Tom’s interest.

‘I do,’ he declared staunchly, ignoring his mother’s look of disapproval. ‘I mean, we are related, aren’t we?’

‘We’re not,’ retorted his grandmother, giving her husband a quelling look. ‘Now, have we all finished?’

Tom pursed his lips. ‘But they are my relations,’ he insisted. ‘You never know, Uncle Ben might want to see me.’

‘I don’t think that’s at all likely,’ averred his mother, gathering the dirty dishes together. Then, aware of her son’s resentment, she sighed. ‘Tom, forget about Ben Russell. I wish to heaven he’d never decided to move to Kingsmere.’

‘Well, he has,’ said Tom sulkily, and even Mr Fenner looked a little discomfited now.

‘I think you should do as your mother says,’ he remarked, apparently losing his appetite for the extra roast potatoes. ‘If the Russells had wanted to keep in touch, they wouldn’t have left it fifteen years—–’

‘Ray!’ His wife glared at him. ‘Just leave it, will you? I think you’ve said enough.’

Of course, Tom had brought the subject up again on their way home. But Jaime had managed to evade his most personal questions. She tried to tell herself it was natural that he should be curious about his father’s family, but, having lived for so many years believing herself free of the Russells’ influence, it was unnerving to discover how mistaken she had been. As long as Tom believed that Philip Russell was his father, the connection—however tenuous—would continue to rankle.

Now, however, Tom evidently decided not to pursue his probing. His mother’s withdrawn expression warned of an uncertain temper, and after scuffing his bare toes against the carpet he got up and left the room.

Meanwhile, Jaime restarted the vacuum cleaner with some frustration. How long was this going to go on? she wondered irritably. Was Ben’s name to become an integral part of their conversation? It wasn’t Tom’s fault, of course. He was not to blame for what had happened. But how was she going to cope with this nagging complication in their lives?

By the following Saturday evening, Jaime was wishing she had had the guts to refuse Lacey’s invitation. She simply wasn’t in the mood for a party. Although her relationship with Tom seemed as good as ever, she was unhappily aware that the problem with Ben was not going to go away, and it soured everything she did. On top of that, after spending the day catching up on her housework, she felt tired. Physically tired, she told herself, refusing to admit that it wasn’t as simple as that.

Returning to her bedroom after taking a shower, Jaime viewed her pale face and wet hair without enthusiasm. She should have made an appointment at the hairdresser, she acknowledged, plugging in the hairdrier. But hairdressers were expensive, and she was used to doing her own hair. Fortunately, it was fairly easy to handle. Thick and wavy, and silvery blonde in colour, it used to be the envy of her friends. In her teens, its silky curtain had reached halfway down her back, but these days she kept it much shorter. A monthly trim caused it to curl quite satisfactorily into her nape, and she seldom noticed how attractive it looked.

With her hair dry, she considered her face with equal criticism. At thirty-three, she had grown accustomed to the singular composition of her features, and the high cheekbones, widely set eyes, and generously curved mouth aroused no sense of gratification. She looked what she was, she always thought: a working housewife, with little time to spend on either her clothes or her appearance.

Leaning forward, she smoothed a thoughtful hand over the skin below her eyes. She didn’t have too many wrinkles, she reflected, but that was probably because the skin was stretched so tautly over her bones. She could do with losing some weight, but if she did she would probably look a hag. As it was, a hip measurement of thirty-eight inches would allow Lacey to chide that Jaime was letting herself go. Still…

Of the few items in her wardrobe suitable for such an occasion, a tan-coloured silk jersey seemed the most appropriate. With luck, it would not be a terribly formal affair, and the wrap-over neckline and button-through style gave it an indeterminate purpose. In addition to which the sleeves were long, which meant she didn’t have to wear a coat. It was a warm evening, and with swinging gold earrings in her ears, and a handful of chunky bracelets on her wrist, she thought she looked ready for anything.

Tom whistled appreciatively when she came downstairs. ‘You look great, Mum,’ he said admiringly, and Jaime wished she didn’t have the suspicion that his admiration was tempered by the fact that Angie’s parents had invited him to their home for supper. ‘You know, I bet if Dad could see you now he’d regret he ever walked out on you!’

Jaime let the comment go, acknowledging she would have to put up with her son’s present preoccupation with his paternal forebears. It would pass, she told herself. It had to. Once the initial excitement of Ben’s moving to Kingsmere died down, Tom would probably forget all about him. There was nothing like indifference to dull enthusiasm, and when it became apparent that Ben wasn’t interested in them Tom’s curiosity would wane. Perhaps her father was right. If she persistently questioned his attitude, Tom might begin to wonder. He was an intelligent boy. He must already have his own ideas about what had caused his parents to separate, and continually suppressing his enquiries could work against her. She would just have to go along with his comments, and hope that time would achieve what she couldn’t.

Now, issuing Tom with final instructions about locking the door before he left, she bade him goodbye, and went out to her car. She was aware that several of her neighbours’ curtains twitched as she crossed the pavement, and she guessed her unusually smart appearance was already attracting some comment. But still, she thought, tucking her long legs beneath the wheel, it was good to dress up now and then.

Lacey Haines met her at the door of the bungalow Felix had bought immediately after his second marriage. Large, and impressive, it stood in its own half-acre of garden at the head of a cul-de-sac. The cul-de-sac itself was part of the Lister Estate, a small community of luxury homes on the outskirts of the town. Jaime had never been there before, but there was no mistaking its identity. Apart from the many cars parked in the driveway and overflowing into the road, the sounds of music and conversation were distinctly audible.

‘Oh—Jaime,’ said Lacey, as she opened the door to her guest, and Jaime got the distinct impression that her presence was no longer so welcome. She didn’t flatter herself that her appearance was responsible for the change in Lacey’s attitude. Felix’s second wife was everything Jaime was not. Small, and slim, and vivacious, Lacey could hold her own in any company, Jaime was sure. The sequinned jacket she was wearing alone would have kept Jaime and her son in groceries for some considerable time, and, despite the fact that Felix had told her that Lacey was suffering the early effects of her pregnancy, she looked every bit as self-assured as ever.

‘I’m so glad you could come,’ she added now, moving aside so that Jaime could enter. ‘Come in. Felix is about somewhere. I’ll get him to introduce you to everybody.’

So much for Lacey’s wanting them to be friends, thought Jaime drily, stepping into the wide hallway that was being used as a reception area. ‘Please, don’t bother,’ she murmured, observing Peter Manning and his wife not far away. Peter Manning was the manager of the accounts department, and a friend. Assuring Lacey she could cope, she headed in their direction.

‘I didn’t expect to see you here,’ remarked Peter frankly, after they had exchanged greetings, and Jaime returned his rueful grin.

‘Neither did I,’ she confessed, smiling at his wife. ‘But Lacey rang last weekend and invited me herself. And, in all honesty, I couldn’t think of a convincing excuse.’

Marjorie Manning shook her head. ‘Well, I wouldn’t have thought you and Lacey had much in common.’ She looked to her husband for confirmation. ‘We only come to these gatherings because Peter’s more or less obliged to do so. I feel awful about Maggie, but what can we do?’

‘Nothing,’ said Jaime firmly, accepting the glass of wine Peter had rescued for her from a passing tray. ‘But who are all these people? Should I know them?’ She indicated the crowded living-room beyond with the hand that held her glass. ‘I didn’t realise Felix had so many friends.’

‘He doesn’t,’ declared Peter flatly. ‘Most of these people are friends or associates of Lacey’s. From the amateur dramatic society, most of them. Don’t you recognise Gil Fleming, the male lead? And there’s Stephanie Collins. She’s usually his leading lady.’

‘Hmm.’ Jaime sipped her wine. ‘Well, I’m afraid I don’t go to the theatre very often.’ She shrugged. ‘But Lacey has certainly pushed the boat out. Do you think Maggie knows about the baby?’

‘Knowing Lacey, I’d say it was a definite possibility,’ answered Marjorie, with a grimace. ‘Imagine Felix being a father again, after all these years!’

‘Who’s taking my name in vain?’

The subject of their discussion suddenly appeared behind Jaime, insinuating himself into their circle, and giving his secretary a challenging look. For some reason, his glance reminded Jaime of that scene at the office several months ago, and the embarrassment she had felt then stained her cheeks anew.