Kitabı oku: «Dangerous Passions», sayfa 4

CHAPTER FOUR

JAIME regretted those words as soon as they left her lips. Looking at Tom’s shocked face, she knew she should have used a less emotive term. But what? What else could she have said? That Ben had attacked her? Which would have been worse, and wouldn’t have been true. That he had forced her to have sex with him? No! Infinitely worse, and definitely untrue. And she had wanted to say something that Ben couldn’t, in all honesty, deny. The fact that what had happened had been as much her fault as his was not something she intended to tell her son. She just had to give him a valid reason for not wanting to see Ben again. Her lips twisted. So much for her brave assertion that she wanted to tell Tom that Philip wasn’t his father, she thought disgustedly. Like any animal, when it was cornered, her only desire had been to protect herself.

‘He assaulted you?’ Tom echoed now, his young face stark with horror. ‘You mean—he punched you?’

Oh, the innocence of the young! thought Jaime painfully. Even in this savage world of sex attacks and pornographic videos, Tom still equated ‘assault’ with physical violence. But perhaps she ought to be grateful, she pondered. It could work to her advantage, and it was one way of defusing a potentially dangerous situation.

‘Does it matter?’ she asked now, neither admitting nor denying the charge. ‘Suffice it to say my relations with that family have never been—normal.’

Tom frowned. ‘But he actually—hurt you?’

Jaime tensed. ‘Yes.’

‘Well, what did Dad do?’

‘Dad?’ For a moment, Jaime was confused. ‘Oh—you mean Philip.’ She looped a silky strand of pale hair behind her ear with a nervous finger. ‘Well—he didn’t know anything about it. We—we were already living apart, you see.’

‘And Uncle Ben blamed you, I bet,’ prompted Tom, leaning towards her. ‘No wonder you resented him coming here last night.’

Jaime couldn’t believe it was going to be that easy. ‘You understand why I was so upset, then?’

Tom nodded. ‘I guess so.’

‘And you appreciate why I don’t want you to see him again?’

‘Oh—–’ Tom looked taken aback ‘—well, he is still my uncle, isn’t he?’

Jaime’s jaw dropped. ‘What do you mean?’

Tom looked rueful. ‘It was a long time ago, Mum,’ he said at last. ‘I’m not saying I’ll forget it, or anything like that, but he did come to see us, didn’t he? I mean, he didn’t have to. He could have just ignored the fact that we lived in Kingsmere, too.’

I wish he had! thought Jaime fervently, but she was learning it was safer not to speak her thoughts aloud.

‘So—what are you saying?’ she enquired, aware that there was an edge to her voice now that she couldn’t disguise. ‘That I should ignore the fact that he has no respect for me—for us?’

Tom looked uncomfortable now. ‘Don’t exaggerate, Mum. As I said, he didn’t have to come here—–’

‘No, he didn’t,’ agreed Jaime tersely. ‘Particularly not when he knew I was going to be out!’

That thought had just occurred to her, but she was sorry it had when she saw Tom’s expression.

‘Did he know that?’ he asked, his eyes wide with speculation. ‘Hey, do you think he really came to see me?’

Jaime wasn’t sure how to answer him. She wasn’t sure what was true and what wasn’t. ‘Well, he certainly knew Felix was having a party last night,’ she muttered, wondering if Ben knew she worked for Haines and Partners. ‘He was invited.’

‘He was?’ Tom was more and more intrigued, and Jaime felt like slapping him. He had no conception of what was going on, she thought frustratedly, over-looking the fact that that was hardly his fault in the circumstances. Her explanation—such as it was—had achieved next to nothing. It would take more than the knowledge that Ben had purportedly hit her to convince Tom that he shouldn’t get involved with any of the Russells. In spite of everything, they represented glamour, and excitement; and Tom’s life was too mundane for him to withstand the temptation.

Picking up the teapot, Jaime moved to the sink, and tipped the rest of its contents down the drain. Then, rescuing the two used tea-bags, she dropped them into the pedal-bin. A pile of ironing was waiting in its basket, and the rest of the morning would be taken up with defrosting the fridge, and preparing Sunday lunch. Not until all the dishes had been washed and put away would she find some time to put her feet up and read the Sunday paper.

It was not an appealing prospect, but until she had come home last night, and found Ben seducing her son with stories of handsomely restored mansions, custom-built gymnasiums and swimming-pools, she had been quite content. And she had thought Tom was, too…

‘Did Uncle Ben tell you why he’s come back to live in England?’ her son asked now, and Jaime realised she would have to get used to sentences prefixed with those two words.

‘No,’ she said, collecting the cups from the table, and depositing them in the sink. ‘What do you want for breakfast?’

‘He’s been ill,’ went on Tom, and Jaime thought it was a measure of his interest in his subject that he should put Ben before food. ‘He didn’t say much about it, but I think he was advised to come back. He’s been living in a war zone for the past two years.’

Jaime’s nails curled into her palms. ‘I’m really not interested, Tom. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a pity he didn’t stay out there. Now—do you want to tell me what you want to eat? Or aren’t you hungry?’

Tom’s brows drew together. ‘It’s early yet,’ he grumbled. ‘You’re not even dressed!’

‘Bacon, or toast? It’s all the same to me,’ declared Jaime, refusing to give in to his injured look, and Tom hunched his shoulders.

‘Bacon,’ he muttered, finishing his tea, and then pulling a face because it was cold. ‘If you don’t mind.’

‘I don’t mind.’ But his mother’s tone was cool, and he knew it.

‘Oh, Mum!’ he exclaimed unhappily. ‘Don’t be like this. If—if you really don’t want me to see Uncle Ben again, then I won’t.’ He scraped his nail across the grain of the table. ‘It’s no big deal. He probably won’t want to see me again, anyway.’

Jaime wished she could believe that, but at that moment it seemed less important than reassuring her son. Looking into his troubled face, she knew she didn’t have the right to stop Tom from seeing Ben, no matter what she thought. Tom was not to blame for her mistakes, and it wasn’t fair to make him an innocent scapegoat.

‘I’m—I’m sure he will want to see you again,’ she ventured now, pushing her hands into the wide sleeves of her dressing-gown, and suppressing the feeling of resentment she felt at the sudden light in Tom’s eyes. ‘And—we’ll just wait and see what happens, hmm?’

Tom blinked. ‘You mean, you’ll let me see Uncle Ben again?’

‘If you want to.’

It took a great deal to say that, but Tom’s reaction was compensation enough. ‘I might not want to,’ he said abruptly, confounding all her fears. ‘I’ve thought about it, and—well, we don’t really need him, do we? We’ve got Nana, and Grandpa, and Uncle David. He hasn’t bothered about us before, so why should we care about him now?’

Jaime caught her lower lip between her teeth, as she felt the hot prickling of tears behind her eyes. Tom was so convincing, so loyal. He really believed, at that moment, that if Ben did choose to try to see him again he would have a choice. And he might, she conceded tensely, but knowing Ben of old she couldn’t help having doubts.

But, ‘All right,’ she said, forcing a light tone. ‘If that’s the way you feel.’ She squeezed his shoulder in passing. ‘Now, I’m going to get dressed. You can wash up the cups while I’m gone, and I’ll be back to grill the bacon. OK?’

‘OK, Mum.’

Tom tipped back his head to give her a whimsical smile, and Jaime wished she could look at her son without seeing Ben’s lazy charm in every move he made. It was such an unconscious thing. An unknowing sensuality, which made her realise why Angie Santini found her son so attractive. Funny, she had never noticed it before. Or had she simply been blocking any resemblance Tom might have to his father?

Whatever, Tom was a Russell, and there was no way she could pretend otherwise. He was his father’s son, and she knew better than to believe that Ben wouldn’t take advantage of the fact.

On Monday morning, Felix was eager to hear what she had thought of the party. ‘Quite a bash, wasn’t it?’ he exclaimed, when Jaime came into his office at his request to take dictation. ‘Lacey was quite exhausted yesterday. Which isn’t like her, but I expect it’s her condition, hmm?’

‘Probably,’ agreed Jaime, nodding, her own relief that Ben hadn’t chosen to interrupt her Sunday making her less edgy. ‘What time did it break up?’

‘Around midnight, I think,’ replied Felix, leaning back in his chair. ‘But Russell didn’t show his face, even though I know Lacey thought he might.’ He grimaced. ‘I guess we’re pretty small-town for him.’

Jaime pretended to be adjusting her notebook, but when it became apparent that something was expected of her she shrugged. ‘I—wouldn’t say that.’

‘Wouldn’t you?’ Felix regarded her consideringly. ‘Well, you’d know better than any of us, I should think.’

‘Why?’ Jaime’s indignation was not affected. ‘Why should you think that?’

‘Oh—you know.’ Felix shifted a little uneasily. ‘I mean, you have met him. I haven’t. Lacey hasn’t. It stands to reason that you know more about that family than we do.’

‘Oh.’ Jaime knew she should be appeased, but she wasn’t. ‘Well, just because I was once related to the Russells doesn’t mean I’m in their confidence. In any case, I—I imagine it’s a little early to be inviting him anywhere. Didn’t you say he hadn’t moved in yet?’

‘That’s right.’ Felix was thoughtful. ‘Yes. I’ll tell Lacey what you’ve said. I know she was disappointed he didn’t even acknowledge our invitation. But, as I pointed out to her, Ben Russell probably considers himself too good for the likes of us.’

Jaime sighed. ‘What do you want me to say, Felix?’ she demanded. ‘That he does? That he doesn’t? I don’t know, do I? Perhaps you’d better ask him.’

Felix lifted his hands in a gesture of defence. ‘All right,’ he said soothingly. ‘There’s no need to bite my head off.’ He paused. ‘You don’t think he’ll come to see you, do you?’

Jaime kept her face impassive with extreme difficulty. Felix was fishing, and she knew it. But she had no intention of discussing her private affairs with him.

‘I shouldn’t think that’s at all likely,’ she declared, not a little disturbed by her capacity for lying. Had she become so inured in deception that she automatically chose the line of least resistance? ‘I—hardly know him.’

Felix shrugged. ‘Pity,’ he remarked, picking up the first of the files lying on his desk, and studying its contents. ‘Oh, well—I suppose we’d better get on.’ He frowned. ‘Is this all the information the Drummonds have sent us? I don’t know how we’re expected to make an accurate assessment of their tax liability if they won’t provide us with copies of all their receipts.’

Jaime was relieved that Felix appeared to have abandoned his inquisition, and, applying herself to the job in hand, she put all thoughts of Ben Russell out of her mind. She had no doubt she would have plenty of time to think about him, and what he intended, in her free time. But, for the moment, she had better things to do.

And, in spite of her misgivings, it was amazing how swiftly the morning passed, when she stopped anticipating the worst. She had always enjoyed her work as Felix’s assistant, and the intricacies of tax consultancy were a never-ending source of interest. She was always amazed at the lengths to which people would go to avoid paying their taxes—and she used the term ‘avoid’ advisedly. Tax evasion was illegal. Nevertheless, some of Felix’s clients were prepared to spend a small fortune in consultancy fees just to save what Jaime considered a paltry sum. Still, it kept Haines and Partners solvent, and she wasn’t grumbling.

She drank her morning coffee with the girls who worked in the main office. They were a friendly group, and Jaime knew them well. One or two of the older women had been there longer than she had, though most of them were married, with families of their own. Happily, Felix was engaged with a client, and wasn’t around to ask any more awkward questions. Jaime was not naïve enough to think he had said all he intended to say about Ben but, for the present, he too had other things to do.

The offices of Haines and Partners were situated near the town centre. At lunchtime Jaime often walked along to the High Street and did some shopping. She seldom ate much in the middle of the day, usually making do with a sandwich to see her through. Her mother was always saying she ought to make herself a salad to take to work, but Jaime replied that she didn’t have the time. Which probably accounted for the extra inches she had such difficulty in shedding, Jaime reflected drily. It was all right Tom saying that Angie thought she looked good—if it was true. Italians liked their women shapely. Unfortunately, the current trend was towards the emaciated look, something Jaime knew she would never achieve.

Felix generally went home for lunch, but today Jaime didn’t wait to see what he was doing. At half-past twelve, she picked up her handbag and left her office, eager to escape another tête-à-tête. Besides, it was Monday, and she did have some shopping to do. If Felix needed her for anything, it would have to wait until she got back.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, and for once Jaime was not wearing a coat. But she considered her oatmeal linen, with its button-through style and cream silk camisole, sufficiently businesslike, and at least her arms were covered. Felix was old-fashioned about some things, and he preferred his secretary to dress conservatively.

She came out of the building, blinking in the bright sunshine, and for a moment she didn’t recognise the man propped against the wall across the street. He was concealed by the shadows, and it wasn’t until he straightened up and came towards her that she realised who it was.

Her immediate instincts were to flee, but she knew that wouldn’t be very sensible. Besides, hadn’t she been expecting this ever since he’d left the house on Saturday evening? She ought to be grateful he had chosen to speak to her while she was on her own. He could just as easily have made his accusation in front of Tom. And then…

But she refused to contemplate the alternative. She was a long way from giving this man anything that he could hold over her. He knew nothing. He was only guessing. But she must convince him that Philip need not be involved.

Ben looked less pale today, though the ravages that the past fifteen years had wrought were still harshly evident. Nevertheless, in an open-necked denim shirt, faded jeans, and the same scuffed leather boots he had worn on Saturday night, he was still worth a second glance. His hair needed cutting, she thought peevishly, wanting to find something about him that she could disparage. But the fact remained that he had always had the ability to stir her senses, and in spite of everything that hadn’t changed.

‘Hi,’ he said neutrally, and she wondered if he thought he had a God-given right to come here and disrupt her day. ‘Where shall we go?’

Jaime stared at him indignantly, and then, realising that if Felix chose to look out of his window he would see them, she started off along the street. Hopefully, if her employer did notice that she had a companion, he would not immediately assume it was Ben.

‘Hold it!’ Ben’s fingers looped about her upper arm, effectively preventing her from going any further. ‘My car’s over here.’

‘And why would that interest me?’ asked Jaime crisply. ‘I don’t use a car at lunchtime. I can walk to the shops.’

‘Later.’ Ben’s eyes were dark and impassive. ‘We have to talk.’

Jaime breathed quickly. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what they had to talk about, but the fear that Felix might come upon them was greater than her desire to be needlessly obstructive.

‘All right,’ she said, with what she thought was admirable restraint. Jerking her arm out of Ben’s grasp, she swung about. ‘If you insist.’

Ben gave her a twisted sideways glance. ‘Did you really think I wouldn’t?’ he enquired cynically. ‘Believe me, if I hadn’t thought it might hurt Tom, you wouldn’t have had more than twenty-four hours to prepare your defence.’

‘My defence?’

Jaime felt the injustice of that remark sear through every fibre of her being. She didn’t have to defend herself. Particularly not to him. Not after what he had done…

‘I suggest you save your arguments until we’re some place less public,’ he countered, taking her arm above the elbow and guiding her across the road.

Jaime could see the Mercedes now, the same huge Mercedes that had been parked across the road from her house on Saturday night, and which she had thought belonged to someone else. It was parked some distance further along—on double yellow lines, she noticed irritably. If she’d parked there, her car would have been sporting a parking ticket by now, but Ben’s vehicle exhibited no such proof of violation.

Still holding her arm—as if there was still some doubt that she might try to make a dash for it—Ben took out his keys, and pressed some sort of remote-control device that automatically unlocked all the doors. Then, with controlled politeness, he opened the front passenger door, and compelled Jaime to get inside.

‘Do you mind?’ she protested, to hide the awareness she had felt of those strong fingers. Although his grasp had been impersonal, her response to it was not, and the knowledge of her vulnerability was frightening.

He slammed the door behind her, as she struggled to jerk her skirt down over her knees, and walked around the car. At least the car was pointing in the opposite direction to the offices, she thought tensely. In spite of anything else, a car like this was inclined to attract attention. Not that it was particularly clean, she added, seizing on any topic to divert her from why she was here. The paintwork needed washing, and the inside of the car was littered with empty cartons, and scraps of paper. What was the old joke? she pondered nervously. Something about buying a new car, when the ashtrays in the old one were full. Yes. That was it. Well, that was probably Ben’s attitude, too. She couldn’t imagine him…

The engine fired, and she realised that while she had been concentrating on distracting herself Ben had taken his place beside her. The big car accommodated his long legs comfortably, and her averted gaze skittered over taut thighs and bony knees. Was all his skin as brown as the muscled forearms that jutted from the turned-back sleeves of his shirt? she wondered idly, before common sense suppressed such recklessness. It could be of no interest to her how he might look beneath the civilising influence of his clothes, and, although she had once found an intense pleasure in helping him shed them, that was before she had discovered the kind of man he was.

Her hands linked together in her lap but, feeling the way her fingers were abusing one another, she made a determined effort to calm herself. This was foolish, she told herself fiercely. She’d achieve nothing if she couldn’t approach this situation with a belief in her own actions. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing at all. For the past fifteen years she had made a fairly good job of caring for herself and her son, and just because Ben Russell had chosen to come back into their lives was no reason to doubt the wisdom of her actions.

Steeling herself to lift her head, she saw that Ben had negotiated the narrow confines of Moon Street, and was turning into Cheviot Road. His lean fingers handled the steering-wheel of the Mercedes with total confidence, guiding the big car as easily as he had guided her towards it. Of course, it had automatic transmission as well, Jaime noted sourly. Anyone could drive a car with automatic transmission. Even she could have handled it.

But reflecting on Ben’s driving capabilities, however disparagingly, was not getting her anywhere. Observing his rather complacent expression, as he concentrated on the traffic, Jaime decided he probably thought he had intimidated her into coming with him. Well, she could disabuse him of that belief, at least.

‘Where are you taking me?’ she enquired now, relieved that her voice sounded more confident than she felt. ‘I have to be back at the office at half-past one.’

Ben allowed her a swift glance. ‘And you’re never late?’

‘No.’ Jaime kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

‘OK.’ Ben braked, and pulled the car into the kerb. ‘I guess this is as good as anywhere.’

‘Here?’

Jaime was horrified. They had turned in to Gloucester Road as she was speaking, and now they were parked only a few minutes’ walk from the comprehensive school Tom attended. Not to mention the shopping precinct, where the Santinis’ shop was situated.

‘Something wrong?’

Ben was lying back in his seat, regarding her with mocking eyes. He looked lazily relaxed, his fingers drumming a careless tattoo on the steering-wheel, and Jaime’s hands clenched. Did he know where Tom went to school? she wondered. But yes, he must. There were only two secondary schools in Kingsmere, and he must know she couldn’t afford the fees at Lister Park.

‘We can’t stop here,’ she declared at last. ‘We—we’ll have to go somewhere else.’

Ben flicked a look at his watch. ‘No time,’ he said annoyingly. ‘It’s a quarter-to one already, and, as you said, you’ve only got another three-quarters of an hour.’

Jaime pressed her lips together. ‘All right,’ she said, through clenched teeth. ‘I’ve got an extra half-hour. I’m due back at two o’clock, not half-past one.’

‘Really?’ Ben made no move.

‘Yes, really.’ Jaime gazed at him frustratedly. ‘Look, can we move on? I—I don’t want anyone to see us.’

‘Like Tom?’ suggested Ben drily, but to her relief he reached for the ignition. ‘All right. We’ll go to a hotel I know near the river. I don’t know about you, but I could do with a drink.’

Jaime said nothing in reply. She was too tense, her eyes peeled for any sign of Tom, or any of his friends. She guessed he might have bragged about his relationship to Ben Russell to his schoolfriends, and if he recognised the car…

But her fears proved groundless. The school lunch-break began at twelve-thirty, and by this time most of the pupils had dispersed. A lot of them went down to the precinct, she knew, but happily there was no sign of her son. He was probably already at the Santinis’, she thought, finding that prospect less contentious than she might once have done. Compared to Ben Russell, her anxieties about Angie Santini seemed very insignificant.

The hotel Ben had chosen was not one Jaime was familiar with. Outside the town environs, it catered mainly to a business clientele, who used its gourmet dining-room to entertain their customers. It was nothing like the Raven and Glass, where Jaime had lived until her marriage, but it was exactly the kind of place she would have expected Ben Russell to patronise.

However, after parking the Mercedes on its spacious car park, Ben didn’t go into the hotel. Instead, he directed her to follow him around the back of the building, where spacious gardens overlooked the shallow waters of the River Mere. Tables had been set out on a paved patio area, with pretty striped umbrellas, to protect those enjoying a lunchtime snack from the dazzling rays of the sun. It was all very smart and civilised, and, judging by its popularity, the beer was good, too.

Two men were just leaving a table, set at the far end of the terrace and, ignoring other, less private locations, Ben led the way towards it. Jaime, intent on assuring herself that she recognised no one among the diners, followed him less enthusiastically. Was this really where she wanted to engage in a personal discussion about her son? she wondered unhappily. Yet what alternative was there, short of inviting Ben back to the house?

A waiter appeared to clear the table of its residue of empty glasses and used ashtrays, and after he had gone, and Jaime was seated, Ben took the wrought-iron chair beside her. ‘So,’ he prompted, ‘what do you want? They serve a reasonably good burger here, or you can have meat pie, or salad, or sandwiches.’

‘I don’t want anything to eat,’ replied Jaime at once, adding a belated, ‘Thank you’ when Ben arched a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I—er—I’ll have a glass of lime and lemon. That’s all.’

Ben, who had picked up the fast-food menu from the table, now gave her a resigned look. ‘You must need something!’ he exclaimed, dropping his eyes to scan the list. ‘How about an omelette? They do have quite a variety.’

‘I don’t want anything to eat,’ repeated Jaime, determinedly concentrating on the view. ‘You—you have whatever you like. I’m really not hungry.’

‘You’re not dieting, are you?’

Ben’s enquiry was accompanied by a studied look, and Jaime felt her colour rise. ‘Why? Do you think I should?’ she retorted, without thinking, and Ben’s eyes met hers over the top of the menu.

‘I wouldn’t presume to answer that,’ he told her smoothly, bringing a deeper blush of embarrassment to her cheeks, and Jaime fumed. Not for him the polite denial, she thought resentfully. Oh, why had she made such an asinine remark? He would think she was desperate for compliments!

The waiter returned at that moment to take their order, and Ben asked for a beer for himself, and a glass of lime and lemon for Jaime. He didn’t order any food, however, and Jaime felt a twinge of remorse. She guessed he wasn’t eating because of her, and guilt pricked her conscience. If he was just recovering from some illness, he probably ought to have regular nourishment, she reflected ruefully, before impatience stiffened her resolve. In heaven’s name, she reminded herself, she hadn’t invited him to come and spoil her lunchtime, had she? It wasn’t her fault that he had chosen this time to interfere in her life once again. He could have waited until some more appropriate moment presented itself. He could have kept away altogether.

But the knowledge that he also could have come to the house again when Tom was there deserved some appreciation, and, much against her better judgement, Jaime pulled the menu towards her. ‘Perhaps—perhaps I will have a sandwich after all,’ she mumbled, following the list of fillings with her finger. ‘Um—I think I’d like egg mayonnaise, if that’s all right with you.’

Ben frowned. ‘Why not?’ he agreed indifferently, checking what she wanted, and putting the menu aside. ‘One egg mayonnaise sandwich,’ he ordered, when the waiter brought their drinks. Then, ‘Cheers,’ he added, raising his glass to his lips.

Frustration almost choked Jaime. ‘Are—aren’t you having anything?’ she exclaimed, totally ignoring her glass.

‘Not hungry,’ responded Ben calmly. ‘Now, if you’ve finished wasting time, perhaps we can get to the point of this meeting.’

‘If I’ve finished—–’

Jaime was on the verge of another defensive outburst, when a premonition gripped her. Of course, that was what he wanted. This whole exercise was designed to upset her, to put her at an emotional disadvantage. And Ben, who had once used his controversial debating skills to disconcert Members of Parliament and foreign diplomats, knew that better than anyone.

So, instead of indulging his ego, she broke off and picked up her glass. ‘Cheers,’ she murmured, raising it towards him, and had the satisfaction of witnessing his frustration instead.

But it was a fleeting glimpse at best. Ben was too experienced a tactitian to allow his feelings to dictate his mood, and, returning his glass to the table, he said quietly, ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

There were any number of answers Jaime could have given, and she had spent long enough, goodness knew, considering all of them. Her first instinct was to pretend ignorance, to pretend it wasn’t true—to offer him the story she had given Tom not so long ago. But Philip was Ben’s brother, and that complicated matters. She didn’t want Philip involved in this. She had no intention of allowing her ex-husband to muddy the situation.

‘Jaime!’

Ben was waiting for an answer, and not even the return of the waiter with her sandwiches could delay it any longer. But she smiled at the man, and picked up one of the neatly cut triangles and examined its contents, before saying carefully, ‘It was nothing to do with you.’

‘Nothing to do with me?’ Briefly, Ben lost his cool, and his eyes blazed angrily. ‘I have a son, and you say it’s nothing to do with me!’

Jaime took a determined bite of the sandwich. ‘As—as you pointed out, you were married,’ she declared doggedly. ‘You ought to be grateful. I could have told Maura.’

Ben’s lips twisted. ‘That bugged you, did it? That I refused to leave my wife?’

‘Bugged me?’ Jaime could stand his baiting tongue no longer. ‘Well, yes,’ she said angrily. ‘Yes, I think you could say that. It’s not very flattering to hear that, although you’re good enough to go to bed with, you’re not worth sacrificing a perfectly good marriage for. Of course, I can appreciate that. I mean, I wouldn’t have been as understanding if I’d found out my husband had been sleeping with someone else. But, hey! What do I know? I was just a diversion. A little bit on the side. And the fact that I was your brother’s wife just added to the novelty!’

‘That’s not true.’

‘It is true.’ Jaime was into her stride now and, oblivious of where they were, or whether anyone else might be able to hear what she was saying, she went on, ‘I believed you, Ben. When you said you cared about me, I really believed you. What a fool I was! Totally naïve! Well, we were both suckered, weren’t we?’