Campaign For Loving Read online

  Blake had overruled her protests at dinner and, as a consequence, she had drunk rather more wine than was her normal habit. Later, alone together in their room, he had made full use of her intoxicated state to coax from her a physical response to his lovemaking which still held a vivid place in her memories.

  ‘Fine,’ she responded lightly. ‘Fern will love the ponies.’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Well, if we’re going to make it there and back in the day, we’d better start out soon.’

  He was right, but Jaime suppressed a mental sigh. She had looked forward to a little time on her own from which to draw enough strength to face the prospect of the rest of the afternoon with him.

  Fern accepted his presence with her normal placid good sense, although she did comment to Jaime, thankfully while Blake was out of earshot, ‘I like my Daddy; he’s much nicer than Charles isn’t he?’

  It didn’t take long to get ready. Blake waited for them in the sitting room, commenting admiringly on Fern’s new pale pink boilersuit when they rejoined him, although it was on Jaime’s slim shape in her faded jeans and soft T-shirt that his eyes lingered.

  ‘I hear you’ve opened a dance studio,’ he remarked, as he opened the front door for them, ‘and that it’s doing very well.’

  ‘Surprised?’ Her voice sounded nastily bitter.

  ‘Why should I be? I always knew you had it in you to make your own way in life, Jaime. That air of helpless desperation is very deceptive. You’ve made it more than clear to me that you want neither my emotional nor financial support.’

  As they were walking down the garden path, Charles’ Ford drew up outside, Charles himself emerging from inside it, his eyes going from Jaime to Blake and then back again. Charles had met Blake at the wedding and, as he came towards them, Jaime could almost see the questions hovering on his lips.

  ‘Templeton,’ Charles greeted Blake stiffly. ‘Quite a surprise.’ He looked at Jaime as he spoke, his face taut with disapproval. ‘I suppose you’re here to discuss the divorce.’ His gaze switched back to Blake and Jaime felt her heart lurch precariously. Of course! Stupidly that was something she hadn’t thought about. Did Blake want to institute divorce proceedings? If so, he need hardly discuss them with her. They had been separated for longer than the statutory period necessary for an uncontested divorce. ‘I’m Jaime’s solicitor, and the right thing to do would have been for yours to get in touch with me,’ Charles was saying stuffily. ‘In fact, your divorce will be quite a simple procedure. . . .’

  ‘Always supposing we want one.’ Blake’s drawl was calm but something about the way he spoke warned Jaime that he was annoyed. Why? Because Charles had pre-empted him?

  ‘And besides, what makes you think we’re discussing divorce? We could be contemplating a reconciliation.’

  If she hadn’t been so stunned, Jaime might almost have laughed at Charles’ expression. His eyes met hers, but before she could answer the question in them, Blake’s hand was on her arm, guiding her towards the car. He opened the door and helped Fern into the back, never once releasing Jaime’s arm from his grip.

  When he finally put the Ferrari in gear and drove away, Charles was still standing mute, watching them.

  ‘Uncle Charles looked like one of the goldfish at playschool,’ Fern commented, watching him, as they drove off. Blake’s laughter released Jaime from her stupefied incredulity . . . ‘Why did you say that to him?’ she demanded angrily. ‘Why did you intimate that we might be considering a reconciliation?’

  The powerful shoulders shrugged, his profile turning briefly towards her. ‘Why not?’ he asked blandly. ‘It’s as likely to be true as his comment about a divorce. At least on my side. Are you contemplating divorce proceedings?’

  ‘Are you?’

  He made a small, exasperated sound in the back of his throat. ‘You know damn well if I was, you’d be the first person to know about them— via me, not some solicitor. The only reason I can think of for divorcing you would be because I wanted to marry someone else. As that doesn’t apply, I’m quite happy with the present status quo. Apart from anything else, it acts as a pretty good deterrent.’

  ‘You mean it gives you the freedom to have affairs without giving any commitment,’ Jaime commented bitterly.

  ‘It gives you exactly the same freedoms,’ Blake pointed out. ‘Why was Thomson coming to see you?’

  His abrupt change of subject startled her for a moment. For some reason he obviously didn’t want to talk about a divorce between them. But then, as he had so cynically commented, he had no reason to divorce her. He had the best of both worlds; the protective status of marriage, and the freedom of a single man.

  ‘Charles? Oh, I expect he wanted to know how I got on at the Abbey.’

  ‘Ah, yes, Caroline waxed most indignant after you’d gone about your plans to stop her selling the place.’

  ‘Not to stop her selling it, it’s the fact that she’s planning to sell it to a property developer, who will probably pull it down, that we’re objecting to.’

  ‘It’s a listed building, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but when did that stop anyone?’

  ‘You’re letting your imagination run away with you. Always a fault of yours. You always did enjoy painting the blackest picture possible.’

  They drove some miles in silence before Fern piped up with several questions. Blake answered her with a calm assurance that Jamie found surprising, listening to him tailoring his replies so that the three-year-old would find them easily comprehensible. This was a side of him she had never seen before. Perhaps her mother was right. Perhaps, where Fern was concerned, he had had a change of heart and genuinely wanted to get to know his daughter. How would she be able to cope if Blake came back into her life as Fern’s part-time father? She had learned today it was easier to cope with never seeing him than with these brief exchanges, excruciatingly painful after the intimacy she had once shared with him.

  With Blake’s powerful Ferrari it seemed no time at all before they reached the outskirts of the Forest. Fern laughed excitedly when the powerful car splashed through one of the fords, the jolting throwing Jaime against Blake’s hard shoulder. One hand left the wheel as he steadied her, his fingers resting against her body just below the full curve of her breast. She jerked convulsively against his touch as though it burned, watching the mocking arch of his eyebrows.

  ‘Once when you did that it was because you couldn’t wait for me to make love to you,’ he murmured softly, watching her.

  The way she had craved his lovemaking almost as though it were a drug was one of the things that sickened Jaime most about her behaviour during their brief marriage, and, in a way, his physical possession of her had been a drug. In his arms, she could forget all her doubts and insecurities and convince herself that he loved her as much as she loved him.

  ‘Now, it’s because I can’t endure the thought of you doing so,’ she responded crisply, hoping that he couldn’t tell that she was lying. The proximity of him brought back memories she would much rather have suppressed. She had been shy and naive when they first met, but that had not stopped her from responding to Blake’s lovemaking with an ardency that had surprised her. If he turned to her now and took her in his arms—suppressing the acutely erotic images tormenting her, she shook her head, and turned round to talk to Fern.

  Blake brought the car to a halt in one of the small clearings. Half a dozen mares and foals grazed peacefully several yards away, Fern’s eyes widening with delight when she saw them. Jaime had taken the precaution of bringing a bag of stale bread with her, and Blake took it from her, demonstrating to Fern how to offer it to the ponies. When one finally deigned to take the bread from her small quivering palm, her serious little face was suffused with an expression of pure bliss.

  Jaime caught Blake looking at her, something approaching pain darkening his eyes. An emotion stirred inside her, refusing to be quelled, and just for a moment, she gave in to the urge to make believe that they we
re a contented family unit; that she and Blake were still together.

  ‘She’s very much your child,’ she said softly to Blake, acting instinctively, wanting to banish the look of pain in his eyes.

  ‘Physically, yes, but in other ways she reminds me of your mother. She’s very self-sufficient. Don’t look at me like that,’ he added sardonically. ‘I’ve no intention of trying to deny paternity. Even if she didn’t look like me, I’d still know she was my child. You were so physically responsive to me, there couldn’t have been anyone else.’

  Jaime’s face burned at the implications of his remark, and trying to change the subject, she demanded curtly, ‘Why have you come to Frampton, Blake? I don’t believe it was simply because you want to get to know Fern. Especially as you’re staying with Caroline.’

  ‘In point of fact, I’m not staying with her. I’m renting a cottage from her. The old Lodge—I didn’t even know it belonged to her until I answered the “ad” for it in The Times.’

  ‘Are you saying you did come to Frampton purely because of Fern?’

  Some of her anxiety must have shown in her face because he said lazily, ‘I’m not going to attempt to wrest her from your maternal arms, if that’s what’s worrying you, but she is my child. . . .’

  ‘A child you never wanted me to conceive,’ Jaime reminded him hotly, glad that Fern was still engrossed in the ponies. ‘She’s three years old, Blake. . . .’

  ‘Which means she and I have three years to catch up on. You say she’s at playschool during the day. How about if I pick her up in the afternoon and have her with me until tea time?’

  It was plain that she wasn’t going to get an explanation for his change of attitude towards Fern, and Jaime sighed, knowing the impossibility of getting Blake to talk about something when he didn’t want to. Part of her wanted to demand that he went away and left them alone, but did she have the right to deprive both Fern and Blake himself of their natural relationship?

  ‘She is my child, Jaime. . . .’

  ‘I’ll have to think about it.’

  His mouth curled sardonically, ‘Well, when you have done, come and give me your decision. I’ll wait until Friday.’

  ‘Two days!’

  ‘It’s long enough, I seem to recall you made an even bigger one in two hours—that’s how long it took you to decide to run out of our marriage, wasn’t it?’

  Jaime didn’t know what he was talking about. Two hours! She had waited two long weeks for him to come looking for her and take her home, but he had left the country two days after their quarrel, without making the slightest attempt to get in touch with her.

  ‘I think it’s time we went back,’ she said shakily. ‘It’s getting close to Fern’s bedtime.’

  ‘Same old Jaime,’ Blake taunted mockingly. ‘Always ignoring the unpleasant.’

  They arrived back in the village several hours later with Fern asleep in the back of the car. Before Jaime could protest, Blake lifted the sleeping child out and carried her to the house. Her mother opened the door to them, and smiled at Blake without surprise.

  ‘If you tell me which room she’s in I’ll take her up,’ Blake drawled. Fern looked so right and at home in his arms that Jaime had to fight against the desire to cry. In sleep her tough independent daughter looked unfamiliarly vulnerable.

  ‘You go up and show Blake the way,’ Sarah suggested, ‘I’ll put the kettle on. Charles came round to see if you were back,’ she added, answering Jaime’s unspoken question. ‘He told me you’d gone out with Blake.’

  The cottage had only three bedrooms, but the third had been split to provide a small bathroom and a tiny room which could only be reached through Jaime’s bedroom. She saw Blake glance mockingly at her single bed as she indicated the small room which was Fern’s.

  ‘Very nunlike,’ he commented, as he carefully placed Fern on her bed. ‘I imagine your dates must find it frustrating if they ever get this far, to find you’re almost sharing a room with your daughter.’

  ‘There’s always their bedrooms,’ Jaime pointed out, angry at his mocking assumption that she lived the life of a nun, even if it was true. She doubted that he was any monk, and it galled her that he should assume that her life was bereft of the sexual involvement he no doubt had a surfeit of.

  Just for a moment, his eyes seemed to darken, his mouth compressing.

  ‘I’ll just slip Fern’s dress off. You go down, I won’t be long.’

  ‘I’ll wait for you.’ There was an old rocking chair in her room in which she used to sit when she was feeding Fern, and he walked over to it, setting it in motion with his foot. His presence in her bedroom made Jaime feel acutely uncomfortable, and her fingers fumbled over Fern’s small buttons. The little girl stirred, but didn’t wake, and at last she was tucked up.

  ‘Thank you for taking us out,’ Jaime said formally, as she rejoined Blake in her own room.

  ‘So very polite . . . but you always were that, weren’t you, Jaime? So polite and correct. The only place I could get to the real Jaime was in bed; it was the only place you ever lost your inhibitions.’ He laughed when he saw her expression, his fingers suddenly and surprisingly curling round her wrist. ‘Ah, Jaime, aren’t you going to thank me in the traditional manner? Like this,’ he added huskily when she frowned.

  His seeking mouth found hers before she could move away, the warm, intimate pressure of it, transporting her to another world, her lips softening and responding before she could even think about rejecting him. Her eyes widened and darkened, her fingers clutching convulsively at the thin fabric of his shirt to hold herself upright. ‘Ah, Jaime, this at least was always good, wasn’t it?’

  Blake’s husky voice seemed to weave a spell around her, her mind and body acquiescing almost instantly to his unspoken commands. When his mouth left hers, she arched her throat, instinctively giving him access to the vulnerable skin his lips were seeking. Tiny frissons of reaction shivered across her flesh, a small moan suppressed in her throat as Blake’s delicately thorough exploration triggered off feelings she thought had gone for ever. His teeth found the lobe of her ear and tugged on it gently, her fingers automatically curling into the thick springyness of his hair, her body unconsciously moulding itself to him.

  ‘Jaime.’ His hands slid down her body, lingering against the curves of her breasts, the pressure of his mouth gradually increasing as it moved across her skin, teasing tormenting kisses against her trembling lips, his tongue stroking their vulnerable contours until they parted in soft invitation.

  She was lost, drowning in a warm, lapping sea that called out a siren song to her senses. Everything she had ever wanted or would want was here within her reach. Her fingers sought for and found the space between Blake’s shirt buttons, feverishly stroking the silky dark hairs that shadowed his chest. She felt the sudden compression of his muscles as his mouth lifted from hers and dizzyingly and bewilderingly she was free.

  ‘Your mother just called us.’ Amusement danced in his eyes. ‘Poor Jaime,’ he taunted, ‘despite all your attempts to hide it, you still respond to me physically, don’t you?’

  ‘How can I help doing?’ Miraculously her voice sounded much calmer than she had expected. ‘You were the one who first taught my body the meaning of physical pleasure. . . .’

  ‘The first? Meaning there’ve been others since?’ His eyes were almost black, glittering with a savage anger she couldn’t understand.

  ‘But Thomson isn’t one of them, is he?’ he tormented. ‘He looks at you the way a dog eyes a particularly juicy and unobtainable bone.’

  ‘My relationship with Charles has nothing to do with you,’ Jaime choked out. ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘No? Aren’t you forgetting something?’ He picked up her left hand and raised it until she was looking at the narrow gold wedding ring she still wore. ‘You are still my wife, Jaime.’

  ‘That can soon be changed,’ she responded, goaded into making the declaration. Didn’t he know how much he was hurting her wi
th his careless lovemaking that stirred her body into an acutely painful response, and his equally careless assumption that she was still his for the taking, as though he had looked into her heart and seen the foolish love for him that still lived there. ‘I can quite easily get an uncontested divorce. We’ve been separated long enough.’

  ‘An uncontested divorce requires a separation of two years without any marital relations between the divorcing couple.’

  ‘Meaning . . .’ She was shivering all over now, wondering if Blake really meant the threat hidden in his dulcet comment.

  ‘Meaning that just at the moment it suits me to remain a married man, and moreover that I intend to remain a married man, and that I’m fully prepared to take whatever steps are necessary to ensure that I do so.’

  He saw her expression and smiled derisively. ‘While you’ve been busy with your life, Jaime, I’ve been busy with mine. My first two books have been extremely successful in the States, and I’m now a comparatively wealthy man. A healthy hank balance makes a man appealing husband material. I have no intention of being trapped into a marriage it will cost a great deal to extricate myself from and, while I remain married to you, that won’t happen.’

  ‘Unless of course I decide to sue you for alimony.’

  ‘Coming from the woman who’s refused to accept a penny support from me for the last four years, that’s hardly likely is it? I think we’d better go downstairs before your mother puts the wrong interpretation on our absence, don’t you?’

  When he left half an hour later, Blake turned to Jaime in the privacy of the cottage door and said, ‘Remember, you’ve got two days to come to a decision about Fern. You know where to find me, Jaime, and if you don’t, I’ll have to come looking for you.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  The next two days were hectic ones for Jaime, and she should have found that she simply didn’t have time to think about Blake, instead of which he seemed to occupy her thoughts to the detriment of what she ought to have been worrying about. Sarah was busy preparing for her holiday, and Jaime herself had taken on a new assistant, a young girl from the village who had just left school and who, she thought, showed considerable promise. An interview with her accountant in Dorchester confirmed her own view that the studio was making good progress and becoming a modest success. Her accountant was in his late twenties and single, and made no secret of the fact that he found her attractive.