Dangerous Sanctuary. Anne Mather

what he really wanted to say. ‘I thought you wouldn’t be home for at least another hour.’

      ‘No, well…’ Jaime stepped past him into the hall, keeping her temper with difficulty ‘… it wasn’t as exciting as you seem to think, and as you were on your own—–’

      ‘Oh—I’m not on my own, Mum—–’

      ‘No. I suspected that,’ said Jaime tightly, watching him close the door with controlled irritation. ‘How dare you, Tom? How dare you lie to me?’

      ‘Lie to you?’

      Tom looked blank, and before Jaime could sense the significance of his response another voice interrupted him. ‘I’m afraid I’m to blame,’ said the man, who had appeared in the living-room doorway. ‘I suggested I might stay and wait for you.’

      Jaime was glad she was standing by the banister. It gave her something to reach out and hold on to. Otherwise, she was quite convinced she would have keeled over, the shock of seeing Ben Russell was so great.

      And it was Ben who had propped his shoulder against the frame of the living-room door. Of that, she had no doubt. But he looked very different from the way she remembered him, and she sensed that the years between had not been entirely kind.

      Ben had been—was—the younger of the two Russell brothers, but right now he looked more Philip’s age than his own. In height, there had never been much to choose between them, but Ben had always looked harder, more muscular, definitely the more physical one of the two, as a member of her father’s bar staff had once rhapsodised. He certainly looked harder now—harsh, would have been Jaime’s description. He was thinner, for one thing, and the thick swath of dark brown hair was lightly threaded with grey. His face, too, which bore the darkness of his years spent in a tropical climate, nevertheless showed a certain pallor—a sallow cast underlying his skin which pouched around his eyes. But his eyes were still as green as ever, a curious jade-green, that with their distinctive fringe of lashes had caused many hearts to flutter in the days when he had appeared on television. But, although she knew he must be thirty-eight now, he looked ten years older, and despite the chill of apprehension that had gripped her at the sight of him a reluctant stirring of compassion momentarily kept her dumb.

      ‘Uncle—Uncle Ben came just after you left,’ put in Tom stiffly, still smarting over his mother’s accusation. ‘I said you wouldn’t be back until later, but—well, we got talking, and the time just seemed to fly.’

      Jaime collected herself with a supreme effort. ‘You mean, you’ve been here for the past two hours?’ she exclaimed, trying to keep the panic out of her voice, and Ben flipped back the cuff of his leather jacket. In jeans and scuffed boots, he would have made quite an impression at Lacey’s party, thought Jaime in passing. How ironic that he should be here, when she had been alarmed that he might turn up at the Haines’s.

      ‘To be precise, I’d say an hour and a half at most,’ he replied tersely, after consulting the plain gold watch circling his wrist. There were hairs on his wrist, dark hairs sprouting up between his cuff and the strap of his watch, and Jaime’s eyes were glued to them, as she tried to calm her nerves. ‘I didn’t mind. I had nothing better to do.’

      Except attend a party that was supposed to be celebrating a baby’s conception but was really in your honour, thought Jaime silently, resenting his assumption of control. ‘I mind,’ she stated, aware that her appraisal of him had by no means been a one-sided affair. She turned to Tom. ‘Leave us, will you, sweetheart? I’d like to speak to—to—our guest privately for a moment.’

      Tom looked troubled now, his earlier indignation giving way to a belated sense of responsibility. ‘Don’t be mad, Mum,’ he said, giving Ben an appealing look. ‘Why don’t we all go into the living-room and talk? It— well, it’s not very nice out here, and Uncle Ben’s been ill—–’

      ‘Do as your mother says, Tom.’ Ben’s quiet command silenced the boy, and Jaime knew a renewed sense of resentment at the ease with which he achieved his objectives. ‘It’s been a long time since we’ve seen one another, and I think it would be better if we had a few private words.’

      Tom hesitated, but it was only a momentary resistance. ‘You will say goodbye before you leave, won’t you?’ he requested anxiously, and then, conscious of his mother’s disapproval, he dragged his feet along the hall to the kitchen.

      Jaime waited until the kitchen door had closed behind her son before stepping back and opening the front door. ‘I think you’d better go,’ she said, hoping he was not aware that she was clinging to the handle as if it were a lifeline. ‘I don’t know why you came here, and I don’t want to know. I just want you to get out of here!’

      Ben’s thin features tightened, but he made no move to obey her. ‘Isn’t this a little juvenile, Jaime?’ he suggested, straightening his spine. ‘We’ve known each other too long—and too well—to ignore the other’s existence. All right. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here tonight, but I was curious. And when Tom found out who I was—–’

      Jaime quivered. ‘Are you going to leave, or must I call the police?’

      Ben expelled his breath on a heavy sigh. ‘You wouldn’t do that,’ he said flatly, his shoulders lifting in a dismissive gesture, and with an inward sense of desperation Jaime closed the door again.

      ‘You have no right to come here,’ she enunciated clearly. ‘No right at all.’ She took a steadying breath. ‘Did you tell your wife where you were going?’

      ‘Maura’s dead,’ he replied shortly, and now his face had taken on a distinctly grim expression. ‘In any case, why should you think I don’t have the right to see my own nephew?’

      ‘He’s not your nephew—–’ she began, but his savage words overrode her.

      ‘Yes, I’ve heard that story before,’ he bit out harshly. ‘But if he isn’t Philip’s son, then who the hell is he? Because—my God!—the likeness is unmistakable! He’s the image of my father as a young man!’

       CHAPTER THREE

      IT WAS strange, Jaime reflected, how the anticipation of disaster was sometimes worse than the actual event. In the early years, when Tom was just a toddler, she had lived in fear of Ben coming back and seeing the boy for himself. Even though Philip was no longer a threat, and the rest of his family had always lived in London, she had still looked over her shoulder every time she left the house, still felt the familiar tension every time the telephone rang.

      But time had changed that. Time, and Tom’s growing maturity, had convinced her that none of the Russells was ever likely to trouble her again. Why should they? She and Philip were divorced, and, because she had allowed him to divorce her, there had been no question of alimony, even had she wanted any—which she didn’t. She wanted nothing from the Russells, not from any of them. And as the years had gone by she had begun to believe she was safe.

      After all, Philip’s parents had never liked her. She had known they had been relieved when her marriage to Philip broke up. That the reasons for that break-up might be different from what Philip claimed was not something they were likely to contemplate. But then, they didn’t know Philip as she did, she reminded herself bitterly. As far as they were concerned he was still the shy, sensitive introvert, the image he presented to the world. The man Jaime had discovered him to be was someone they wouldn’t recognise.

      Nevertheless, when she had first discovered she was pregnant, she had been afraid that Philip might find out, and want her back again. The divorce had not been absolute, and she’d had no way of knowing how he might react. That was why she had left Kingsmere at that time, why she had gone to live with her father’s sister in the north of England until Tom was born.

      It had not been easy. Without funds, she had had to rely on her parents’ support, but with their