Campaign For Loving Read online

  She drove the remainder of the way to the village in a dull daze. The meeting was well attended and a week ago she would have been wholly absorbed in their fight against the destruction of the Abbey. Now it was all she could do to drag her mind off Blake and on to the speakers.

  Charles spoke first, rather pedantically, and there was muted clapping when he had finished. Other speakers followed, and then it was her task to go round collecting names for the petition they were organising. Someone had suggested that the appropriate government department ought to be contacted and, as the meeting reached its more informal stage, heated discussions broke out as to the right things to do.

  ‘Caroline came to see me this morning,’ Charles informed Jaime as she stood at his side. ‘It seems your ex-husband is encouraging her to go ahead with the sale.’

  ‘Blake? But why should he do that?’

  ‘Perhaps he wants to help her spend the money she’ll make out of it,’ Charles suggested nastily, ‘after all, for an out-of-work reporter. . .’

  ‘He isn’t out of work. He’s working on a novel.’ How quickly she sprang to Blake’s defence. Her reaction to Charles’ comment mortified her.

  ‘It didn’t take him long to get you back under his spell, did it?’ Charles wasn’t pleased, she could tell by the angry glitter in his eyes. ‘You’re a fool, Jaime, if you’re taken in by all that reconciliation talk. He doesn’t want you any more now than he did four years ago. He was quite willing for you to leave him then—remember? I suppose it amuses him to play dog-in-the-manger, but he’ll soon lose interest in the game once he’s got you where he wants you. Why don’t you divorce him? You know how I feel about you. . . .’ Charles’ voice thickened over the last few words, and Jaime was hard put not to let him see the shudder of rejection they aroused. She liked Charles as a friend, but as a lover. . . . Never! Her body instantly signalled its revulsion at the thought, repudiating the idea of Charles’ lovemaking as much as it had welcomed that of Blake’s.

  She didn’t need Charles to warn her that Blake felt nothing for her, but that didn’t alter the way she felt about him.

  She drove slowly home after the meeting, answering her mother’s questions absently.

  ‘Surely Charles can’t be the reason for this lack of concentration,’ Sarah teased mildly. ‘You’re miles away. . . .’

  ‘I was thinking about the Abbey,’ Jaime lied. ‘Did you get everything you wanted this afternoon?’

  ‘Most of it. Did you sort things out with Blake?’

  ‘Umm, sort of.’ She turned away quickly, hoping her mother wouldn’t notice the guilty flush of colour staining her face. ‘Did you know he was MacMillan Henderson?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. I seem to remember you saying how much you enjoyed his book though.’

  ‘That was before I knew he was Blake.’

  She heard her mother laugh, and realised how childishly petulant her remark had sounded. ‘He used us . . . me . . .’ she tried to explain, fighting to conceal her pain.

  ‘He used his own experiences is what I think you’re trying to say,’ Sarah responded mildly, ‘which is surely quite reasonable. Where Blake’s concerned, you seem to delight in wearing blinkers, Jaime, and I can’t help wishing you’d swap them occasionally for those rose-coloured glasses through which you view Charles.’

  ‘There’s no comparison between them.’

  ‘No,’ her mother agreed drily, ‘I would have thought not, but you don’t seem to have any problems in making one. I think I’ll have an early night,’ she added. ‘Only a couple of days now until we leave.’

  ‘We?’ Jaime picked up on the small slip immediately.

  ‘Henry has decided to come with me. He can’t get anyone else to look after the shop, so he’s decided we might as well close it down for a fortnight.’

  ‘Henry’s going with you?’ Jaime was frankly astonished. Her mother had determinedly kept her suitor at bay for the best part of the last fifteen years at least, so why the sudden suggestion of capitulation.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Perhaps I’ve seen what celibacy has done to you,’ Sarah responded wryly, not pretending not to understand the question. She watched Jaime colour brilliantly and added in a softer tone, ‘Or perhaps it’s just that I’ve realised that I’m a woman in her forties, with a grown-up daughter and a grandchild, who’s lucky enough to have a male acquaintance who makes no secret of the fact that he finds her desirable.’

  Jaime eyed her mother narrowly, wondering for the first time whether she and Henry might already be lovers. If so, they had been extremely discreet. Summoning a smile, she said impishly, ‘Well, if that’s the case, I hope you make the most of it—if you don’t, I might try and lure Henry away from you myself; he’s a very attractive man.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t he?’ It was said in such a complacent, self-satisfied way that both of them burst out laughing. As she prepared for bed, Jaime wondered why it had taken her so long to realise that her mother was a woman too, with needs and desires of her own. Was it because her own senses still aroused from Blake’s brief lovemaking were more attuned to vibrations she had previously shut herself away from? Where was Blake now? Making love to Caroline? She shuddered with a chill that had nothing to do with the soft evening air wafting in through her bedroom window.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘And stretch . . . and breathe . . . and rest. . .’ Jaime exhaled evenly, allowing her own body to relax in obedience to the instructions she had given her pupils.

  If the old school had one drawback as an exercise studio, it was its lack of showering and changing facilities, she reflected ten minutes later, when the last of her advanced class had driven away. The advanced class had been her last one for the day. Today, for the first time, some of her intermediate pupils had graduated to it, and it gave her a warm glow of accomplishment to see them there.

  Sally, her assistant, had left early because of a dental appointment, and so Jaime was on her own. As she always did before she left the school she went round checking windows and doors. Frampton wasn’t a village where rowdy youngsters went on the rampage and destroyed property in an excess of boredom and youthful resentment, but her years in London had taught her to be careful.

  She had just finished her checks when she felt a frisson of awareness race down her spine. Even before she turned round, she knew she wasn’t alone, although there was nothing familiar about the heavy, thickset man standing by the open door.

  For no logical reason Jaime felt fear pound through her. The man could be the son or husband of one of her pupils, but some deeply rooted atavistic instinct told her that he wasn’t, and for all that he lounged carelessly against the wall by the door, she sensed that any attempt on her part to simply walk through the door would be quickly foiled.

  ‘Who . . . who are you, and what do you want?’ How banal, she reflected weakly, listening to her own voice, husky with the beginnings of fear, as though she were an outsider, standing away from herself and recording her own reactions.

  ‘Let’s just say a friend of yours sent me shall we?’ he suggested mock-affably. ‘Wanted me to give you a friendly warning, like.’

  The cold lump of ice which seemed to have lodged somewhere in the pit of her stomach reached out freezing tentacles that Jaime was powerless to cut free from. ‘Nice place, you’ve got here,’ the rough voice ruminated. ‘Must have cost a fair bit to get it like this. It would be a pity if something should happen to it, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Happen to it?’ Jaime didn’t really need to ask the question. She was already fully aware of the meaning behind his threats, but what she didn’t know was why they were being made. American films and stories of extortion flashed briefly through her mind. A branch of the notorious Mafia in Frampton? It seemed highly unlikely.

  ‘Yes . . . an accident like. People can be like that you know, interfering in other people’s and without thinking properly about what she was doing, Jaime bundled a protesting Fern back into her car and headed
for the Abbey.

  It was only when they were nearly there that she remembered Blake could well still be in London but, to her relief, as she approached the cottage, she could see his Ferrari parked outside.

  As she got out of the car, telling Fern to stay where she was, her whole body started to tremble with relief. Blake would know what to do. He would help her keep Fern safe. Blake! She had never needed him more than she did now, and it never even occurred to her that she could not rely on him entirely.

  As she walked past the sitting room, she saw Blake’s dark head through the open French windows. He was sitting with his back to her and, rather than ring the bell, to save time, Jaime moved quickly and instinctively towards the open windows, only to freeze in dismay as she heard Caroline’s sharp, complaining voice.

  Caroline was with him? Why hadn’t she thought of that? He had told her that it was merely a coincidence that he was Caroline’s tenant, and she had believed him, because she had wanted to believe him, but now, watching them, she wondered if she had allowed herself to be duped. Blake had claimed that he wanted to get to know his daughter, but why had he waited this long? And why had she been foolish enough to believe him when she had known exactly how she felt about Fern even before she was born? Because she loved him, that was why. Because she loved him and was foolish enough to keep on hoping that one day a miracle would occur and he would love her too.

  As she stood there in a daze, she heard Blake saying comfortingly, ‘Well, I shouldn’t worry too much about her now Caroline, that’s all been taken care of. I’ve spoken to her myself, and I doubt she’ll give you any more trouble.’

  Jaime didn’t wait to hear any more. Stumbling through the shrubbery, she headed back to her car, ignoring Fern’s anxious, ‘Mummy . . .’ as she started it up and fled down the drive in a series of kangaroo leaps which showed how little her mind was on her driving.

  No . . . she couldn’t . . . she wouldn’t believe that Blake was involved in this plan to intimidate her. And yet she had heard him with her own ears. . . . But he had said nothing about threatening her. Perhaps that was Caroline’s idea. ... Yes, it must be, Blake would never . . . Round and round went her thoughts, seeking the avenue that offered her escape from her doubts about Blake. No, she firmly refused to believe he would ever be involved in anything like that. She knew Blake. He was so honest and upright it was almost painful.

  It was only when she got back at the cottage that she realised she was no closer to finding a solution to her problem. She couldn’t really leave the village. Where could she go? Neither could she give in to any threats. She would simply have to stay, she thought feverishly. She would have to stay, and she would have to close down her school, either that or take Fern with her to classes. Logic told her that nothing could happen to her daughter in public and that, as long as they remained part of a crowd, they would be safe.

  If only her mother wasn’t away. If only there was someone she could turn to, but there wasn’t. There was no one.

  A week dragged past, and Jaime wondered if she was the only person to be aware of the unnatural calm that seemed to have settled over the village. Perhaps her fear had given her an unusual percipience, she didn’t know. She only knew that she was constantly afraid, and the hot sultry weather seemed to increase her fear. Two meetings of the committee had been called. Blake had attended one, but he had left before the end, and Jaime shivered, wondering if she was a fool for believing that he couldn’t know of the threats that had been made to her. If she really believed that, why didn’t she go to him for help? Why didn’t she trust her own judgment enough to tell him what was happening? Was it because she wanted to believe in him so much that if she found she was wrong it would almost destroy her completely?

  Fern was getting niggly and impatient of the fact that she wouldn’t let her out of her sight. A naturally independent child, she found Jaime’s protectiveness irksome, and this led to outbursts of temper. Jaime felt it was the last straw the morning she received a postcard from her mother informing her that they had decided to extend their holiday by another three weeks. She could hardly write back saying, ‘Come home—I’m frightened,’ but that’s what she wanted to do.

  Every night she made sure the house was securely locked, grateful for the presence of the neighbours either side of her, and for the extension telephone upstairs. She had nightmares about waking up and finding the cord cut, and she knew the strain was making her lose weight. Despite her tan she looked ill, so much so that even Sally commented on it.

  In the end, she had decided to continue with her classes, glad that the school holidays made it seem quite natural for her to have Fern with her. The little girl grew quickly bored with the day-to-day routine, and one morning when she disappeared Jaime thought the worst, almost sick with shock when she re-appeared with Sally, who had taken her down to the local park for a swing. Both of them had been surprised by her outburst Jaime knew, Sally’s brown eyes faintly hurt. She was the eldest of four children, and well used to keeping an eye on the younger ones, and, although Jaime knew she was hurt by her apparent lack of trust, she couldn’t confide in her.

  After the second committee meeting Paul Davis arranged for them to be interviewed on one of his current affairs programmes. There was also an interview with someone from local government who pointed out the loss to the country and generations to come when properties such as the Abbey were destroyed.

  Caroline and the builders were also interviewed. Caroline claimed that death duties and other large expenses made it necessary for her to sell to the highest bidder, and the builders claimed that their houses would provide homes for many more people than the Abbey had ever housed, and, moreover, that everything would be of the ‘highest quality’.

  ‘In other words,’ Charles said bitterly, ‘they intend to make as much money from the land as they can.’

  It was three days after the second interview when the blow fell. Jaime had been expecting it, almost anticipating it, and the reality was in some strange way almost a relief, although the threat had been carried out in a different fashion than she had envisaged.

  She had expected a secret, night-time attack on the school, but instead it was broken into in broad daylight by a teenage gang who had almost completely wrecked her main studio before the police managed to stop them.

  They were demonstrating for jobs, they claimed, when they were interviewed. The sale of the Abbey to the developers would mean fresh jobs in an area where they were notoriously scarce; and not just temporary jobs, but houses, shops, a new school.

  They had been drilled well, and Jaime knew with a sense of sick certainty that no one would guess from listening to them that their beliefs were anything other than genuine. She had been picked out as a target because she already had a thriving business; she did not suffer as they did through unemployment; she was living up in the clouds, ignoring reality.

  That evening she couldn’t settle at all. Several people had called round to commiserate with her, many of her pupils offering to help her to get things back to normal, but there had also been ’phone calls from some of the others cancelling their lessons, and Jaime wondered despairingly if she was witnessing the beginning of the destruction of all her hard work.

  To make matters worse, Fern was being recalcitrant and irritable. Jaime could sympathise with the little girl. She was used to a certain measure of independence, and she chafed against the confinement of their new way of life.

  ‘I hate you,’ she had stormed at Jaime when she put her to bed. ‘I hate you and I want to go and live with my Daddy.’

  Apart from one brief glimpse of him at the committee meeting, Jaime had not seen him since his return from London. Why hadn’t he sought her out? He had been quite determined about his intention of getting to know Fern better, but he had made no approach to her since then.

  She had just made herself a mug of coffee and settled down in her favourite chair when she heard a car outside, swiftly followed by a sharp rap on th
e door. Although she knew no attacker would signal his arrival in this way, her nerves were so overwound with tension and fear that she literally cringed away from the sound, cowering back in her chair willing her visitor to go away.

  Dusk was just falling, masking the identity of her caller. Mrs Widdows would be installed in front of her television and the young couple next door had gone out to dinner, so there was no one to hear her call out. She glanced instinctively towards the telephone, and then tensed as the imperious rap on the door was repeated, accompanied by Blake’s voice calling her name. The relief was so great that Jaime felt almost light-headed with it, rushing to the door, and pulling it open, unaware of the way the light fell on her pinched features revealing the deprivations of recent weeks.

  ‘Jaime! Are you ill?’

  Ill? If one could literally be sick with fear, then that was what she was Jaime thought numbly, letting Blake follow her inside.

  ‘Why didn’t you come to the door before? Didn’t you hear me knocking?’

  What would he say if she told him the truth? That she hadn’t answered his knock because she feared he had come to fulfil the latter part of another man’s threat.

  ‘I’m sorry. . . .’ She started to shiver uncontrollably, glad of the warmth that flowed into her cold body from the fingers he clamped round her upper arms. He was frowning, his eyes dark as she remembered them from the days when she had challenged him with almost hysterical conviction of wanting some other woman, and she fought to pull herself together, her pride demanding that she didn’t give way to her feelings, that she showed him that she was now fully adult and capable.

  ‘I’m quite all right Blake,’ she managed to stammer, as she pulled away, but he refused to let her go, his arms clamping round her as he pulled her against his body. ‘No you damn well aren’t,’ he said brusquely, ‘and no wonder. I’d have been here sooner if I’d known. I’ve been away. I only got back this evening. I had some business in London.’