Campaign For Loving Page 12

  ‘Blake.’ Her voice cracked over his, and she tried again. ‘Blake, my mother came round this afternoon. ’

  He had been reaching for the decanter that stood on the shelf and now his hand stilled. ‘Yes?’

  The word was curiously without any depth of emotion, as though he was deliberately trying to give off a calm he was far from feeling.

  Jaime took a deep breath.

  ‘I know you know about her marriage. I’m pleased for them both, of course, but there are problems.’ She risked a look into his face, and wished she hadn’t when she saw the brooding darkness there.

  ‘She . . . that is, they . . . believe that we’re reconciled, and she wants to sell the cottage.’ It all came out in a rush with Jaime nervously twisting her fingers together. ‘Blake, I. . . .’

  ‘And?’

  Dear God, how on earth was she going to ask him? In the end, there was only one way. ‘And I was hoping you would agree to let Fern and me live here with you—as though we were reconciled,’ she added baldly, so that there couldn’t be any misunderstanding, ‘at least, until they sell the cottage. They need the money, you see,’ she added desperately, ‘they want to buy a business and move to Bath, but if mother thinks she has to be responsible for Fern and me. . . .’

  ‘As opposed to thinking I am responsible for you, I suppose you mean. . . . Do you honestly realise what you’re asking me, Jaime?’

  ‘Yes.’ How small and weak her voice sounded as she shrank beneath the biting lash of his voice.

  ‘Yesterday, you couldn’t wait to get away from me, and yet now you’re telling me that you want to stay.’

  ‘I realise it’s an imposition, Blake.’ Suddenly her courage returned, ‘But if you hadn’t dragged me here in the first place, no one would have thought we were reconciled. . . .’

  ‘And that being the case, it is incumbent upon me to see that the deception continues. Very well. . . .’

  ‘You mean . . . you mean we can stay?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He had his back to her, and Jaime couldn’t see his face, but his voice was as cold as arctic ice.

  ‘And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like my study to myself for a while. I’ve got some clearing up to do.’

  Knowing that she was being dismissed Jaime walked out of the room on very unsteady legs. Blake had agreed to her request, but, instead of feeling relieved, all she could feel was an aching emptiness.

  ‘Look, Mummy, a picture of Daddy,’ Fern flung herself on to the bed, thrusting the local paper under Jaime’s nose. She picked it up, reading the headline in disbelief.

  ‘Well-known writer and local police foil attempt to destroy building of historical importance.’ As her eyes slid over the printed lines, Jaime felt as though she had strayed into a completely unfamiliar world, one in which Caroline had apparently been intimidated by Barrons into agreeing to sell them the Abbey, only to change her mind and decide instead to sell it to another buyer—someone who wasn’t named but who wished to keep the Abbey as a private home and preserve it. Blake had apparently played along with Barrons, pretending to support their plans in order to gain inside information on them.

  The news that a bulldozer had been driven into the Abbey grounds had alerted the police to the fact that Barrons had decided to take matters into their own hands and force Caroline to sell to them by destroying part of the building. Blake, summoned by a terrified Caroline, had succeeded in knocking out the bulldozer driver, and preventing any damage, before the police arrived to take control.

  Jaime put down the paper with a white face, scraps of conversation returning to mock her. ‘Are you involved. . .?’ she had said, and Blake had avoided answering her. ‘Trust should be given freely,’ he had said, and she had not understood, had not wanted to understand. Blake had known because of his self-appointed role, and, knowing, had tried his best to protect Fern and herself by taking them into his own home. That was why he had insisted on them moving to the Lodge, not because he particularly wanted them there.

  As Jaime heard his footsteps on the stairs, shame washed over her, and then pride came to her rescue.

  ‘I see you’re quite a hero,’ she announced gaily, as he walked in, carrying a mug of coffee.

  ‘The local rag’s made it all seem much more important than it was. I knew about Barrons’ reputation from a documentary a friend of mine in television had been working on. As soon as I put Caroline wise, she began to have second thoughts about selling to them, especially as there was another . . . interested party, but she couldn’t withdraw very easily. You weren’t the only one to be threatened by Barrons’ strong-arm team.’

  ‘And the bulldozer?’

  ‘A rather hackneyed method of getting rid of unwanted old buildings. Barrons no doubt thought that knocking down a wall or two would panic Caroline into selling to them, and then they could pull the whole thing down—get it listed as unsafe. It’s been done before. All it needs is a greedy council official.’

  ‘So that was that rumbling sound I heard the other night,’ Jaime breathed, ‘and your knuckles. . . .’

  Blake caught the consternation in her voice and said coolly,

  ‘The bulldozer driver came off much the worse of the pair of us—he was ten years older and running to fat. Strong enough to frighten a woman on her own, but something of a coward onCe he was removed from behind his machine.’

  ‘Even so... .’ She wanted to say that she had misjudged him dreadfully, and to beg his forgiveness, but how did one beg forgiveness for a sin, the enormity of which she was only just beginning to realise?

  ‘Jaime, in view of all the publicity about this affair and the fact that Barrons are still bound to be feeling slightly raw, shall we say, I think it advisable for the three of us to go away—it won’t seem too unexpected in view of all the circumstances. After all, we have just been reconciled.’ Jaime winced, wondering if she was being oversensitive to sense derision beneath the calmly spoken words.

  ‘Away?’

  ‘Yes.’ Blake wasn’t looking at her. ‘A friend of mine owns a cottage in Pembroke. I’ve spoken to him by telephone and arranged to rent it from him for a couple of weeks. That should give all this fuss time to die down.’

  ‘Pembroke,’ Jaime stared at him with tear-sheened, disbelieving eyes, ‘You mean the one where we spent our honeymoon?’

  ‘You remember it?’ Blake’s eyes were hard. ‘I am surprised. You left me with such unflattering alacrity, I’m also surprised to see how sentimentally it affects you.’

  She wanted to cry out and scream, but her vocal chords were frozen in a paroxysm of pain. How could Blake do this to her?

  He had left the room before she could object, coming back minutes later to add, ‘We’re leaving tomorrow. I’ve arranged to hire a saloon car. It will be more comfortable for the three of us than the Ferrari.’

  ‘I’ll need to go back to . . . to the cottage, to pack.’

  ‘I’ll drive you there on my way to pick up the hire car. Fern can come with me. . . . Unless, of course, you’re still frightened that I intend to arrange her abduction.’ He said it with such soft savagery that Jaime went white with the cruelty of the thrust.

  ‘I’m sorry I misread the situation, but how was I to know any differently?’

  ‘How indeed?’ Blake’s cold voice mocked her. ‘Of course, it was only natural to assume that her father would lay her open to such danger; that indeed I should want to terrify and potentially injure you both. I suppose you even think I tampered with your brakes personally! Dear God, Jaime,’ he burst out in a sudden explosive outburst, ‘surely, you know I’d never. . . .’

  ‘Not the car . . .’ Jaime agreed in a stricken voice, ‘but I think it was only meant to frighten me. If I hadn’t had to brake for that child . . . and it was only threats where Fern was concerned . . . I just thought, when she went missing . . .’ She swallowed hard, trying to control her shivering body.

  ‘And yet you still let me make love to you,’ Blake
said softly.

  ‘I. . . .’ What on earth could she say to him, ‘I couldn’t help myself. I still love you . . .’? She shuddered, rejecting both explanations.

  ‘No, don’t tell me,’ Blake intervened. ‘I don’t think I want to know.’

  ‘Why did you make love to me?’

  Jaime could hardly believe she had asked such a question. A curious expression crossed Blake’s face.

  ‘I don’t think I can tell you the answer to that,’ he said at last. ‘It isn’t very flattering to either of us.’

  Hot colour scorched Jaime’s face as he left the room. He meant that he had made love to her simply because she had been there, and she had not repudiated him, but, at least, he had not guessed her secret; he did not know that she still loved him.

  Her mother expressed no surprise at learning they were going away. ‘I think it’s the best thing for all three of you,’ she said calmly. ‘You need time on your own as a family, and you’re not likely to get it with everyone in the village wanting first-hand information about Blake’s heroism.’

  When Blake heard about the proposed dinner party he decided they would delay their departure until the Sunday.

  ‘Good,’ Jaime’s mother pronounced when Jaime telephoned her with the news, ‘That gives us time to go shopping on Saturday.’

  ‘What on earth for?’ Jaime asked her. ‘I thought you bought plenty of new clothes before you went away.’

  ‘I did,’ she agreed, ‘but you haven’t. It seems to me that a second honeymoon, albeit with a small daughter in tow, calls for something a little more glamorous than the jeans and T-shirts that make up your wardrobe.’

  ‘Pembroke is very quiet, Mother,’ Jaime expostulated. ‘We won’t be dressing up to go out.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking about when you go out,’ her mother said mysteriously. ‘I’ll pick you up on Saturday morning. Blake can look after Fern.’ ‘Isn’t it amazing how men change their minds about children once they arrive?’ Sarah asked with a chuckle on Saturday morning as she and Jaime drove away from the Lodge. ‘Fern can wind Blake round her little finger already.’

  ‘Umm.’ Jaime found she didn’t want to talk about Blake’s very obvious love for his daughter. She daren’t allow herself to think about it because, if she did, she would have to face up to the problems there would be when she and Blake parted. In her eagerness not to spoil her mother’s happiness she had completely overlooked the potentially devastating effects of her deception on Fern. Already, the little girl looked upon Blake as a permanent feature of her life. How would she feel when she realised that he wasn’t?

  ‘You’re very gloomy.’

  ‘Not really,’ Jaime forced a smile and began to chatter enthusiastically about the coming holiday.

  ‘Here we are,’ Sarah parked deftly in front of a small shop Jaime had never noticed before. The window was decorated with a plain pink skirt and a toning silk-knit jumper.

  ‘Italian,’ her mother pronounced approvingly. ‘This is my second time around wedding present to you, Jaime, so I’m going to choose.’

  Half an hour later Jaime stood bemusedly by as her mother insisted on adding yet another pretty blouse to the pile of clothes already on the chair. There was a skirt like the one in the window, plus a jumper and several blouses; a pair of French-cut white trousers that flattered her slim figure; a soft, silky dress in pinks and lilacs, and, last of all, a whole set of delicate, shell-pink underwear, trimmed with écru lace.

  ‘Oh no!’ Jaime protested, ‘They’re far too expensive . . . and so delicate. I couldn’t. . . .’

  ‘You aren’t doing,’ her mother reminded her firmly, ‘and I’m sure Blake will appreciate them even if you don’t.’ She and the owner of the small boutique exchanged grins while Jaime picked up the wispy briefs that tied in small bows over her hips. In addition, there was a bra, a camisole top and matching French knickers, a suspender belt, and an underskirt, as well as a frivolous, fragile silk teddy which the owner of the boutique suggested, without a blush, that she wore in bed rather than under her clothes.

  ‘That’s what the Americans do,’ she informed them.

  ‘Really? In my day, it was Chanel No 5,’ Sarah announced irrepressibly. ‘I used to fantasise about some gorgeous male buying me some— with the implied, but unspoken, desire that I should wear it in bed.’

  As it was nearly lunchtime when they emerged from the shop, Jaime gave in to her mother’s persuasion that they eat at a small wine bar in the centre of the town. On their way to it, they passed several shops, stopping to drool over shoes and matching bags in one of them.

  ‘Jaime, just look at this,’ her mother insisted. ‘You must buy it—you can wear it tonight.’

  ‘It’ was the first of the new autumn fashions, a sapphire blue angora dress to match her eyes, with a tiny belted waist and a semi-circular skirt.

  The dress had a boat neck and three-quarter sleeves, the back dipping in a low V.

  ‘It’s exactly the same colour as your eyes,’ her mother pronounced. ‘Let’s go in.’

  Although she had no intention of doing so, somehow Jaime found herself in a fitting room, trying on the dress. It fitted her perfectly, and she knew it suited her. The fine, soft wool hugged her breasts and narrow waist, the skirt emphasising the long length of legs. She knew she would have to buy it.

  ‘Now, lunch, then we’ll get you some shoes to match.’

  Realising that her mother wasn’t going to be swayed, Jaime gave in.

  It was late afternoon before they got back to the Lodge. The saloon car Blake had hired stood outside in place of the Ferrari, and, as they drove up, Jaime saw Blake and Fern emerging from the drive that led to the Abbey.

  ‘Everything’s all right,’ he told Jaime, when he saw her anxious face. ‘I just wanted to have a word with the security guards.’

  Jaime knew that two security guards now mounted a round-the-clock watch on the Abbey, and she wondered if Blake had engaged them on Caroline’s behalf or if they were employed by the new owner-to-be. She hesitated about asking Blake any questions. He had become remote and withdrawn with her, only really behaving naturally when they were in the company of others.

  Her mother refused her offer of a cup of tea, explaining that she had to get back if she was to be ready in time for their meal.

  ‘It’s seven-thirty, don’t forget!’ she called out as she drove away, ‘and don’t forget to wear your new dress.’

  Blake’s eyebrows rose, but he made no comment. They might be living together, but there was no real communication between them, Jaime thought despairingly.

  Mrs Widdows was to have Fern for the evening. She would sleep in her old bedroom at the cottage, and they would pick her up on their way to Pembroke in the morning.

  Blake made no comment when Jaime appeared in her new dress. She was also wearing her sapphire engagement ring, something she hadn’t done all the time they had been apart.

  ‘Still got that?’ His eyebrows rose. ‘I thought you must have got rid of it.’

  ‘No.’ The shocked denial was out before Jaime could silence it.

  ‘Well, it can hardly have any sentimental value, unless it’s to remind you of the disaster our marriage was,’ Blake claimed acidly.

  What could she say? That she had kept it because she loved him, and that she hadn’t worn it because he hadn’t loved her? All at once, her pleasure in her new outfit was gone. What had she expected, she wondered drearily? That a new dress would somehow make her irresistibly desirable in Blake’s eyes?

  ‘Daddy, you promised me a story,’ Fern reminded Blake on their way to the cottage.

  ‘And you’ll get one, never fear,’ he assured her, as they all got out of the car.

  ‘You’re going to have to watch it, Jaime,’ Henry joked jovially, when they were all on their way out, Blake having come back downstairs with the news that Fern was fast asleep, ‘otherwise, you might lose your husband to your daughter.’

  Blake laughed, ‘Y
es, I confess I’m rather smitten with Fern.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, when he and Jaime were in his car. ‘Are you jealous of Fern?’

  ‘No, just surprised that you should admit you actually care about her,’ she replied in a brittle voice. ‘After all, you never wanted her.’

  She saw his hands tighten on the steering wheel, and wished the bitter words unsaid.

  ‘I didn’t want us to have a child because I didn’t think our marriage was stable enough to provide a secure home for one,’ he bit out at last, ‘and I was proved right. . . .’

  ‘That’s a lie,’ Jaime threw back at him, her body and voice shaking. ‘You didn’t want a child because you didn’t want to give up your precious freedom, your job . . . even though you knew. . . .’

  ‘My job was never the real issue between us, Jaime,’ Blake said coldly. ‘You just used it to mask your compulsive possessiveness and lack of self-esteem. If I didn’t want us to have a child it was because I didn’t think you wanted one for the right reasons.’

  ‘No . . . that’s a lie. . . .’ Jaime gasped out the words, but, in her heart of hearts, she knew they held some truth. When she first discovered she was having Fern, hadn’t she thought that, at last, here was someone who was completely and absolutely dependent on her—that she would be the strong one, the dominant one in their relationship?

  ‘Just as you wanted me to give up my job because you weren’t mature enough to accept that being away from you didn’t mean that I didn’t care about you. I knew when I married you that you were immature, but I hoped that you’d grow. . . .’

  ‘Into someone like Suzy?’ Jaime bit out. ‘How disappointed you must have been when I didn’t. If you had wanted the sort of open marriage Suzy approves of, you should have married her, and not me. I can’t imagine why you didn’t. . . .’

  ‘Don’t be so childish. . . .’

  They were within a mile of the restaurant where they were to eat. Jaime was close to tears of rage and humiliation. Somehow she had to get control of herself before her mother saw her.