Wednesday afternoons Jaime closed the studio and usually spent the afternoon with Fern. She had just collected her from playschool and was making a drink when she heard a car stopping outside. Her mother’s cottage was the middle one of a row of three with a long front garden and a pleasant, sheltered back one. The kitchen-dining room in which Jaime was standing had windows at either end, and her heart skittered to a standstill as she saw Blake unfold his lean frame from the low-slung black Ferrari she had seen entering the Abbey’s drive earlier in the week, and unlock the garden gate.
‘Mummy, you’re daydreaming again,’ Fern criticised sternly. She wanted to run but where was there to run to? And besides, she had left that sort of childish reaction behind her when she left London.
As she opened the door to him, he seemed to tower menacingly over her, dark and forbidding, his jean-clad figure familiar and yet totally alien. He had always affected her in this way; the maleness in him calling out to her deeply feminine core so that her pulse rate quickened and her stomach ached.
‘Sensible of you,’ he commented when she let him in. His eyes were derisive as he added, ‘Knowing you as I do, I half expected to have to break the door down to get in. You always did have a taste for the dramatic.’
‘Not to say farcical,’ Jaime agreed, watching the faint surprise replace the derision. ‘We do have a back door,’ she pointed out, ‘and it is open.’
‘We have to talk.’
‘Do we? I can’t think what about.’
‘Well, there’s Fern for starters.’
‘Oh, yes. Of course.’ It was her turn to sound derisive. ‘Forgive me for not recognising your concern for your daughter straight away, won’t you?’
‘You know the reason I haven’t shown any interest in her before.’ His voice was clipped, and if she had not known better she could have imagined there was a trace of angry pain in it.
‘What, besides Fern, brings you down here?’
‘You heard what Caroline said. I need the peace and quiet to write.’
‘A new departure isn’t it? You always seemed to manage quite well at the flat.’
‘With you for inspiration?’ His mouth twisted. ‘They were articles, this is a novel—my third to be exact.’
Her heart missed a beat and then hammered painfully. It hurt much more than she could say that there had been such drastic developments in his life and that she had known nothing about them.
‘I started the first one just after you left me, after I got back from El Salvador.’
She didn’t want to talk about the past. It held far too many unhappy memories. Fern heard their voices and came running out of the kitchen, launching herself at Blake with unabashed enthusiasm. ‘Daddy.…’
‘I’d like to take her out for the afternoon.’
‘No… Wednesday is the only afternoon I have her all to myself.’
‘Then come with us.’ It was a subtle challenge, reminding her of the many other challenges he had given her in the past and the often childish manner in which she had reacted to them. Fern’s smile widened and Jaime knew that if she refused the little girl would be disappointed.
‘Very well,’ she agreed coolly, suppressing wry amusement as she saw disbelief flicker briefly in Blake’s eyes. Had he expected her to refuse? She shrugged aside the thought. What did it matter what he had expected? She wasn’t going to leave Fern alone with him, at least not until she knew why he was making this attempt to get to know his daughter. Nor was she going to allow him to provoke her as he had done in the past. With a slight start, she realised she was experiencing none of the tongue-tied anxiety she had previously felt in his presence. Somehow the gulf she had always felt between them seemed to have narrowed, and she no longer stood so much in awe of him. Not that she underestimated him for one moment. Fern was already showing incipient signs of being dazzled by him and her heart ached for her daughter, the pain followed by a fierce wave of protective mother love. Blake would never hurt Fern the way he had hurt her.
‘How about the New Forest?’ Blake suggested blandly. Jaime bit her lip. They had once spent a weekend there shortly after they were married. 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’s 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