Dangerous Sanctuary Page 15

  'You were going to tell me about it,' Tom prompted flatly. 'It's true, then. Philip Russell wasn't my father.'

  Jaime swallowed. 'No.'

  'So—Uncle Ben isn't really my uncle?' This was evidently harder for him to say, and Jaime's heart went out to him.

  'No,' she admitted huskily, wondering what he would say if she told him the truth. But she couldn't risk that. The Russells had taken so much from her. She couldn't risk losing her son to them as well, however selfish that might be.

  'Does he know?'

  Jaime blinked. She had been so wrapped up with her own thoughts that Tom's question caught her off guard. 'I beg your—?'

  'Uncle—that is, Ben Russell. Does he know he's not my real uncle?'

  'Oh.' Jaime licked her dry lips. 'I—yes. Yes, he knows—'

  'He does?'

  Tom's reaction was totally unexpected. The unhappy droop disappeared from his mouth like magic, and instead of regarding her with a mixture of hostility and accusation he looked positively delighted.

  'He really knows?' he asked again, and when Jaime nodded, albeit a little less certainly now, Tom said, 'Yes!' and raised both fists in a gesture of victory.

  Jaime swallowed. 'You don't mind?'

  'What about?' Tom picked up his sandwich, and, to his mother's astonishment, he bit into it. Then, with his mouth full, he went on, 'If you mean about Dad—that is, your ex-husband—I don't know how I feel. Not really. It's not as if I ever knew him, is it?'

  'No, but—'

  'I guess I always knew there had to be more to it than you had told me,' Tom went on, taking another bite of his sandwich. 'I mean, Dad—that is, he—divorced you, didn't he? I never could understand that until now.'

  Jaime shook her head. In Tom's world, there were always absolutes. Philip had divorced her, therefore she had to be the guilty party. How could she explain that that had been one of the conditions Philip had demanded of Ben, when he agreed to stay away from her?

  'You're not—angry, then?' she ventured, not quite knowing how to proceed, and after a moment Tom shook his head.

  'Not angry, no. I wish you had told me sooner, that's all.' He paused. 'Did you—did you love him?'

  'Who?' Jaime's mind refused to function. 'Oh—Philip! Well, I—'

  'No. Not him!' exclaimed Tom, putting down his sandwich. His young face was flushed and awkward. 'I meant—my dad. My real dad.' He paused. 'Did you?'

  'Oh!' Jaime expelled a noisy breath. She could see how important it was to him, and she realised she hadn't thought this through at all. The obvious progression hadn't even occurred to her. 'I—yes. Yes, I loved him.' She was glad she could be honest about that. 'But—well, he was married. And, although I thought he intended to leave his wife, he didn't.'

  Tom absorbed this silently. Then, picking up the sandwich again, almost absently, she thought, he said, 'I suppose that's why you never talked about him.'

  Jaime's lips tightened. 'Could be.'

  Tom bent his head. 'Does—does he know about me?'

  Oh, God! Jaime wondered how much more of this she could take without screaming.

  But, 'Yes,' she managed at last, waiting for the axe to fall. It was only a matter of time before Tom asked his name, and, in spite of all her misgivings, could she honestly refuse to tell him?

  'The bastard!' Tom's response, like his reaction to Ben's knowing he wasn't Philip's son earlier, was the exact opposite of what she had expected. 'He got you pregnant, and then didn't even have the guts to do the decent thing! Hell, Mum, how can you say you love him?' He pushed his sandwich aside. 'I hate him!'

  Jaime was speechless. His words shocked her so much that the expletives he had used to make his point didn't register until later. It wasn't until he flung back his chair and got to his feet that she found her voice again.

  'Where are you going?'

  'Where do you think?' Tom was too upset to be polite. 'To bed, I suppose. What else is there?'

  Jaime cleared her throat. 'Tom—' The words wouldn't come, and she gazed at his stony face in helpless confusion. 'Tom, about—about Ben…'

  'Uncle Ben?' Tom's face softened. 'Oh, Mum, Uncle Ben is the one good thing that's come out of all this. Don't you see? When you said he knew I wasn't—wasn't Philip Russell's son, I was so relieved!' He looked at the ceiling for a moment, and Jaime's heart plummeted when she saw the unfamiliar glint of tears in his blue eyes. 'You see,' he added doggedly, 'it means he likes me for who I am, not because he believes I'm his nephew. I can still go on seeing him, can't I, Mum? Just because—just because that man's dead, it won't make any difference, will it?'

  * * *

  She should have told him then. Jaime knew it. But how could she do it? she argued defensively. How could she tell him about Ben, and destroy his relationship with the one person he seemed to admire? All right. So it was to her advantage as well, but so what? Didn't the end justify the means? Didn't she have some right to protect herself? At least until he was old enough to understand?

  Not for the first time since Ben had come to live in Kingsmere, Jaime did not have a good night's sleep. She tossed and turned for hours, reliving every minute of that conversation with her son. Even when exhaustion took its toll, her dreams were all like nightmares. If she wasn't confronting images of Philip, rearing up from his grave to pursue her, she was locked in some filthy prison cell, watching Ben take Tom away from her.

  She knew the dreams were conscience-related. Even though she might tell herself that by keeping the truth from Tom she was protecting Ben as well, it would take some time to construct a convincing case. Until then, she would just have to live with it. Why pre-empt disaster, when it could look after itself?

  Breakfast was an uneasy meal. For her part, Jaime was still not convinced the worst was over. Tom might yet wish to pursue the discussion about his father, and she spent her time rehearsing responses to a variety of questions.

  But, in the event, her fears proved groundless. Tom's uneasiness apparently stemmed from doubts that she might change her mind about him seeing Ben again. He spent the time it took to ladle a huge plate of cornflakes into his mouth reassuring himself that his mother would have no objections if Ben invited him to the Priory again. He had evidently not given up hope that Ben might phone, and Jaime had to concede that she wouldn't stand in his way.

  All the same, she didn't deny to herself that the circumstances had changed. Now that Tom knew that Philip had not been his father, he might want to discuss it with Ben. She just hoped Ben would remember his promises to her.

  Saturday passed slowly. Maggie phoned in the afternoon to assure herself that her guest had arrived home safely the night before, and Jaime took the opportunity to offer a belated vote of thanks for the evening.

  'Sorry if I was a bit offhand,' she murmured, accepting that Maggie's part in the proceedings had been innocent enough. 'Um—you must come here next time.'

  Maggie agreed, and after a brief discussion of the evening Jaime managed to get off the phone without saying anything incriminating. But, it hadn't been easy pretending she and Ben had parted on friendly terms. Particularly as Maggie thought she had been instrumental in bringing them together. If she only knew, thought Jaime bitterly, marching along the hall and into the kitchen. If it weren't for Tom, she would have told her exactly what kind of man Ben was.

  Tom came in as Jaime was slamming saucepans on to the drainer, and, putting down his squash kit, he regarded her worriedly. 'Did—er—did Uncle Ben phone?' he asked, his tone a mixture of dismay and anticipation, and Jaime gave him an ugly look.

  'No,' she said, taking a certain amount of malicious pleasure from the disappointment that crossed his face as she dashed his hopes. 'And don't leave those dirty things there. The clothes basket is upstairs.'

  Tom picked up his kit again. 'So, what's wrong?' he exclaimed. 'You were all right when I went out.'

  'I'm all right now,' said Jaime shortly. Then, as compunction set in, she added, 'I'm just not in the best of
moods, that's all. Don't mind me. I'll feel better when I've had a bath and something to eat. Beefburgers OK?'

  Tom still looked doubtful, but he was not about to argue. 'Yes, fine,' he agreed, hovering uncertainly in the hall doorway. 'Er—no one came, while I was out, did they? Like—like Angie, for example?'

  'No one came and no one called,' his mother assured him in controlled tones. 'Oh—except for Mrs Haines. She called.' She paused. 'Now, if you don't mind, I'll go for my bath.'

  The phone rang again when Jaime was in the bath. Perfect, she thought grimly, when Tom answered it and called that it was Uncle Ben—for him. All day she had been expecting Ben to ring, and he hadn't. But, as soon as she was unavailable, he did. Dammit, it was as if he had extra-sensory perception.

  So, she wasn't really surprised when, a few minutes later, Tom came tapping at the bathroom door. 'Mum!' he called. 'Uncle Ben wants to know if I can go and spend the day with him tomorrow.' He hesitated, and when she made no immediate answer he appended, 'Is that all right with you, Mum? Mum, is it?'

  No, it's not, Jaime responded savagely, but only to herself. Turning Tom against her would solve nothing. 'I—suppose so,' she conceded, hearing the grudging note in her voice that she wasn't quite able to disguise. 'Tell him I'll drop you off in the morning. There's no need for him to come and fetch you.'

  'Well, he says he will,' Tom protested, but Jaime was adamant.

  'I'll take you,' she insisted, her voice rising in spite of herself. 'You've got your own way, Tom, so don't push it.'

  'Oh, all right.' Now that he had her permission, Tom was not above allowing his real feelings to show. 'I'll tell him you're curious to see where he lives, shall I? I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you wanted to take a look around.'

  'Don't you dare,' shouted Jaime angrily, but Tom was already bounding down the stairs again. The only reassurance she had was that he was laughing.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jaime was gardening when Tom came home.

  She had spent a lot of time in the garden during the past couple of weekends, expunging her frustration by dead-heading the roses, and pulling weeds. As luck would have it, there were plenty of weeds to pull at this time of the year, and Jaime knew her garden borders had never looked more well tended. Not that her heart was really in it. When Tom was out, she was constantly thinking about where he was, and whom he was with. Nevertheless, the occupation did keep her hands busy, even if her thoughts were still free to torment her.

  She knew she ought to be grateful that Ben had apparently taken the hint as far as she was concerned. Although Tom had spent the last three Sundays at the Priory, Ben hadn't made any further attempts to see her, or to get her to join them. And if Tom had any doubts about the situation they were easily submerged by his desire to be with Ben. Even Angie had to take a back seat when his 'uncle' called, and it was this, as much as anything, that irritated Jaime.

  It wouldn't be so bad if Tom didn't insist on talking about what he had done when he got home. When he used to go out with Angie, Jaime had had to practically squeeze every atom of information out of him, but with Ben he seemed incapable of keeping quiet. She had had to suffer all the nauseating details of Ben's purchase of two mares and a stallion, and of how Tom had had his first riding lesson. The news that Ben had said he was a natural horseman came as no surprise, but she wished Tom didn't always expect her to show the same interest in what he had done as he did.

  Just occasionally Tom did say something that, in spite of herself, she couldn't ignore. Like when he mentioned, almost in passing, that Ben hadn't been able to go swimming that day because he'd had a stomach upset. With some careful probing, Jaime had ascertained that Ben had apparently had a pain in his stomach and had sweated a lot. But he'd said it was nothing serious, Tom had informed her, more intent on talking about how many lengths of the pool he had swum than worrying about something he regarded as unimportant, and Jaime had had to contain her anguish.

  And, for the most part, she managed to hide her feelings. As far as Tom was concerned, she appeared to tolerate the time he spent with his uncle fairly well, and, although it took some swallowing, she knew her son had never been happier. Ben had given him what Jaime had never been able to: a man in his life, and Tom was content.

  This afternoon, however, Jaime had had other thoughts on her mind. It was only a week now until Tom broke up for his summer holiday, and she couldn't help worrying about what Ben might have planned for the long vacation. It was obvious Tom would hope to spend more time at the Priory, once the demands of school had been removed, and, because she would be working, she would have no excuse to complain. As it was, she was sure Tom would spend every Saturday as well as every Sunday with Ben, if he had the chance. But, for reasons best known to himself, Ben never impinged on their Saturdays together, and on that day at least she could pretend that everything was still as it used to be.

  But, of course, it wasn't. Tom could hardly string two sentences together without mentioning something to do with Ben, and the opportunities Ben was providing were giving her son a confidence he had never had before. Before her eyes he was developing, maturing, and it frightened her that he might guess the truth before she had a chance to tell him.

  That was why, when she heard the front door slam, her heart skipped a couple of beats. A quick glance at her watch informed her that it was barely half-past three, and Tom had never been home earlier than seven o'clock before.

  Peeling off her gardening gloves, she got up from the kneeler she was using, but before she could reach the back door Tom himself appeared. He slouched moodily against the door-jamb, his eyes averted from her half-enquiring, half-anxious stare, and Jaime was convinced now that something momentous had happened.

  Ignoring the sick feeling in her stomach, she decided not to invite trouble by asking for it. Instead, she adopted what she hoped was a casual stance, and said brightly, 'You're early.'

  'Mmm.'

  Tom's response was in keeping with his brooding expression, and, folding the gardening gloves into a roll, Jaime thrust them into the pocket of her cotton dungarees. Then, walking purposefully towards him, she forced him to move aside.

  'Um—I was just going to get myself a cool drink. Do you want one?'

  'No, thanks.'

  Tom swung round on the wood frame, and watched her as she took a can of Diet Coke from the fridge, and peeled off the tab. Jaime hoped he wasn't observing how her hands were shaking, or, if he did, that he assumed it was from tugging on the weeds. But the cool cola was invigorating, and she determinedly swallowed every mouthful before turning to face her son again.

  And even then her heart went out to him. Whatever had happened, she could never blame him for it. This was all her fault, whatever she had said to Ben. She had made the mistakes, and she was going to have to pay for them.

  Tom was still supporting his shoulders against the frame, his hands pushed into the pockets of his jeans. In the narrow-legged jeans and a navy-blue polo shirt he looked much younger than she had expected, and she bit her lip uncertainly, not quite knowing what to say.

  But, in the event, Tom solved the problem for her. 'Don't you want to know why I've come home so early?' he asked, studying his canvas-booted foot as he scuffed it on the threshold. 'I know that's what you're thinking. I can see it in your face.'

  Jaime took a deep breath. 'All right. Why are you home so early? I don't suppose—Ben threw you out, did he?'

  'No.' Tom looked up, his expression indignant. 'No, I walked out.'

  'Ah!' Jaime just managed not to groan. 'So—why did you walk out?'

  'Because of her! Uncle Ben's mother! Mrs Russell!'

  Jaime swallowed. 'Mrs Russell—was there?' she echoed faintly. 'Oh, God!'

  'Yes. That's how I feel,' muttered Tom angrily. 'Ugly old cow! I hate her!'

  'Tom!' Even in the midst of her despair, Jaime still found the strength to object to his language, but her son was not in a mood to placate her.

  'I mean it,' he
said, pushing away from the door, and stamping across the room. 'You don't know what she said. What she implied. I wanted to hit her. I wanted to jam my fist right into her fat, supercilious face!'

  'Oh, Tom—'

  'No. Don't try to defend her. I know you're going to say what you always say—that the Russells never approved of your marrying their son, but that's no reason for her to talk about you the way she did!' He sniffed. 'Especially not to me!'

  Jaime shook her head. 'Tom—'

  'She said some awful things,' Tom went on, disregarding her interruption. He obviously needed to talk it out of his system, and, however painful it might be, Jaime decided to let him. 'She said you'd only married—Philip—for his money. She said you'd never cared for him at all. Not really. You just wanted what he could give you.' He sniffed again, and raked agitated fingers through his silky hair. 'I said that wasn't true. That if it had been you'd have still been married to him. You wouldn't have fallen in love with my father, and given up a comfortable life in London for an uncomfortable one in Newcastle.'

  Jaime caught her breath. 'Oh, Tom—'

  'But she wouldn't listen,' he continued. 'She said it wasn't like that. That you wouldn't have left Philip if he hadn't found out that you'd been—making it with other men. He threw you out, that's what she said. As soon as he found out what you'd been doing, he washed his hands of you, and—and out of spite you lied to him, pretending I—I wasn't really his son!'

  'Oh, God!'

  Jaime dragged a chair out from the table and sank down into it. For a few seconds, she'd hoped for a miracle, she realised that now. When Tom first started speaking, she'd half believed it wasn't going to be as bad as she had anticipated. Tom was so loyal, so unwilling to believe anything bad of her that she'd really thought Mrs Russell had made a bad mistake.

  But she was wrong. She had made the mistake. In her eagerness to see Tom's behaviour as a natural response to any attack on her integrity she'd forgotten one crucial point. She hadn't taken Tom's likeness to his grandfather into consideration. She'd completely overlooked Ben's reaction when he first set eyes on his son.