by Anne Mather
‘Dear me, did you?’ Helen was half inclined to believe her mother was deliberately prevaricating. ‘Oh, well…’ Mrs Chase smiled. ‘There’s no harm done, is there?’
Helen’s expression repudiated this remark, but her mother was already moving beyond her, her features warming perceptibly as their unexpected guest made his reappearance. ‘I’ve emptied those drawers, Jarret,’ she heard her mother say again, and the unmistakable familiarity made Helen’s blood boil. Had her mother forgotten she was coming home for lunch? Had she invited Jarret Manning to join her because she expected the meal à deux? It was upsetting and unsettling, and Helen experienced the unpleasant sensation of feeling an intruder in her own home.
Leaving her mother to fuss over the visitor, Helen abruptly mounted the stairs, and strode along the corridorto her room. Once there, she closed the door and leaned back against it, viewing the familiar appointments with something less than satisfaction. That man was trouble, she had known it the minute she saw him, and it was infuriating to think that he had won over her mother without any apparent effort.
She sighed heavily and leaving the door, moved slowly across the room to the windows. Hetherington was working in the garden below her, the slight stoop of his shoulders evidence of the rheumatism he suffered in cold weather. He had been at King’s Green since before she was born, and it was another source of anxiety to her that in less than three months she would have given up the right to concern herself in the affairs of her home. Without her presence, her mother would be completely in the hands of the man presently making himself at home in the library, and she would have no say in the matter.
Unzipping her jacket, she tossed it on to the bed, and then viewed her reflection without pleasure. Unlike her mother, who was inclined to be plump, Helen was tall and slim, and the corded pants she wore complemented the slender curve of her legs. Her blouse, a collarless design in honey-beige silk, accentuated the creamy texture of her skin, and she had left several buttons unfastened to expose the hollow of her throat. Her hair as usual hung thick and straight, framing her face with an ebony curtain, the central parting adding a Madonna-like purity. Sombre, as she was now, her face had a haunting quality, but it was animation that brought a true beauty, and until the advent of Jarret Manning she had seldom looked as solemn as she did now.
Expelling her breath with an audible sound of frustration, she turned back to the door again, realising that the longer she spent skulking up here, the more familiar her mother and Jarret Manning were likely to become. Surely she had the breeding and determination to handle a man like him, and despite his outrageous behaviour, she must show him that she had treated the affair with the contempt it deserved.
The hall was empty when she came downstairs, and the outer door was closed. Obviously, Jarret had completed hisunloading, and she hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, wondering where her mother might be. The library door was ajar, and hearing sounds from there, she stepped lightly towards it, hoping to detect its occupants unobserved. However, her booted feet were difficult to muffle, and Jarret swung the door wide as she faltered just outside.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked politely, his tone as cool as hers had been earlier, and she moved her shoulders in an awkward gesture.
‘I—er—I was just looking for my mother,’ she declared, trying to sound casual. ‘I thought she might be helping you unpack.’
‘No.’ His denial was crisp. ‘As you can see, I’m all alone in here. But if you’re curious to see how I’m using your father’s study, then feel free to come and investigate.’
Helen held up her head. ‘I can assure you—’
‘Oh, come on!’ His mouth was derisive. ‘I know what you were thinking.’
‘Do you?’ Helen’s indignation simmered inside her. ‘I don’t see how that’s possible, when—’
‘For God’s sake!’ He dragged his fingers through the silvery strands of his hair, tugging them down to rest at his nape. ‘Can’t we stop this back-biting, here and now? I don’t know what you think I am, but I’m here to work—nothing else! Believe it or not, I can get along without—female companionship!’
Helen felt the colour mounting in her cheeks. ‘I think you misunderstand me, Mr Manning—’ she was beginning, when he turned his back on her, and she broke off in mortified humiliation as he returned to the books he had previously been sorting.
There was little else she could do but turn away too, and this she did, pushing her trembling hands into the pockets of her pants as she walked quickly into the drawing room. Fortunately, her mother was not there either, and she had a few minutes to compose herself before Mrs Chase came to announce that lunch was ready.
During the meal her mother talked almost exclusively to Jarret, and Helen was left to pick at her plate without much appetite. It was unusual for her; she invariably enjoyed herfood. But today, Mrs Chase was too absorbed with her visitor to notice. She was asking him about his work, about the methods he used to gain information, and the tremendous amount of research he must do before actually settling down to the story. Jarret spoke quietly and authoritatively, patiently answering her questions with a distinct absence of conceit. For someone who only minutes before had been deriding her daughter, he was remarkably amicable, and Helen decided, rather grumpily, that his remarks to her had been a personal affront and not a generalisation.
When Mrs Hetherington came to clear, Mrs Chase turned to their guest once again. ‘What time are you leaving, Jarret?’ she asked, the warmth of her enquiry denying any need for haste, and he pushed back his chair with a thoughtful frown.
‘I guess I may as well leave right away,’ he affirmed, granting the housekeeper the benefit of his smile before getting to his feet. ‘I have things I can be doing in town, and I hope to bring down another load the day after tomorrow, if you have no objections.’
‘None at all,’ exclaimed Mrs Chase, rising to join him. ‘But I wondered if you’d like to see the gardens while you’re here, and get a little idea of the general layout.’
‘That sounds fine,’ Jarret agreed politely, but Helen sensed he was not entirely enthusiastic. Maybe he had made arrangements to meet someone in London, or perhaps his patience with her mother’s garrulity was wearing thin. Whichever, it amused her to think his plans were being thwarted in this way, and she almost choked on her last mouthful of coffee when Mrs Chase continued:
‘I’d have suggested it earlier if I’d remembered Helen would be joining us for lunch. You don’t mind showing Mr Manning the garden, do you, dear? I’m afraid I have to attend a meeting of the church committee, Jarret. We’re organising at fête next month, and there’s always too much to do and too few helpers.’
Jarret’s smile was tight now, but Mrs Chase didn’t notice, bustling after Mrs Hetherington to arrange about dinner. Helen was left to face their guest, and she had little doubt about his feelings as she rose abruptly to her feet.
‘Look, we can scrub round the conducted tour,’ he declaredharshly, picking up the denim jacket that matched his pants and pushing one arm into the sleeve. ‘I don’t really have the time anyway, and I’m sure you have better things to do.’
Helen shrugged. ‘As you like.’
‘It’s not how I like, is it?’ he emphasised shortly, as he shouldered the jacket. ‘I didn’t start this vendetta, you did, and I’d as soon not suffer the hassle.’
Helen pursed her lips. ‘What shall I tell my mother, then?’
‘What do you mean?’ He eyed her narrowly. ‘Surely you’re not afraid of what Mummy might say?’ Then he sighed heavily. ‘So what the hell! I’ll get out of here.’
Helen felt uncomfortable. It simply wasn’t like her to be so uncharitable, and while she insisted she had reasons to feel resentment towards him, hadn’t she really brought what had happened on herself?
He crossed the room to the open doors, and she knew that any minute it would be too late. Once he had spoken to her mother, once he had said his farewells, there would be
no opportunity for her to change her mind, and half reluctantly she said: ‘Mr Manning?’ just as he stepped into the hall.
He turned, and she could tell from his expression that he regretted the delay. ‘Yes?’ he said, and his voice was as impatient as his stance as he waited for her to explain.
Helen took a few steps towards him and halted again. ‘It’s just—well, I’m quite willing to show you the gardens, if you’d really like to see them,’ she explained awkwardly, and cringed anew as she waited for his response.
There was silence for several seconds, and then, propping his shoulder against the frame of the door, he said: ‘That’s a grudging proposal, isn’t it?’
It was not what she had expected, and she shifted her weight from one booted foot to the other. ‘I’m merely stating that—well, if we are going to live in the same house, we can’t go on—sniping at one another.’
‘If?’ He took up the word, and then shook his head. ‘Isn’t that what I said earlier?’
Helen sniffed. ‘Maybe.’
‘It is, and you know it.’ He straightened away from thedoor. ‘But don’t lose any sleep over it. I shan’t.’
Helen sighed. ‘And?’
‘I’ve got to get back to town.’
It was too much! ‘You really are a—a—swine, aren’t you?’ she exclaimed stormily. ‘You get me to offer to show you around, and then you deliberately turn me down! What do you expect me to do—grovel?’
‘Hey…’ Amusement softened his dark features now, and a trace of mockery lifted the corners of his mouth. ‘I didn’t ask you to do anything. Your mother did. But if you’re so desperate to show me, then by all means, let’s go!’
Helen’s chest rose and fell in her agitation. ‘I—I—you can go to hell!’ she retorted resentfully, and swung determinedly on her heel and marched back to the table.
‘I really do bug you, don’t I?’
Without her being aware of it, he must have covered the floor space between them, because when next he spoke his voice was right behind her. It was disconcerting to know he could move so swiftly, and she gripped the edge of the table with both hands, wishing desperately that he would go away. She felt distraught and raw, and absurdly vulnerable, and not at all convinced she could hide her feelings in the face of his deliberate mockery.
‘Please—leave me alone,’ she got out jerkily, and with a muffled oath he put one hand on her shoulder and swung her round to face him. It was useless to struggle, he was far stronger than she was, but she kept her head bent, and only lifted it when his hard fingers beneath her chin forced her to do so. He looked at her intently for several minutes, the long lashes narrowing his expression, and then, as if amazed, shook his head.
‘I guess I have to apologise, don’t I?’ he said, his voice low and disturbingly gentle. ‘I’m not used to polite society, and you’re far too serious, do you know that?’
Helen pulled her chin away. ‘I don’t need your sympathy,’ she retorted, refusing to respond to the olive branch. ‘And—and now, if you’ll excuse me—’
‘But I don’t,’ he interrupted her firmly, and there was no mistaking his determination now. ‘You’re going to show me the gardens, and then I’m going to buy you tea atone of those quaint little cafés in Malverley.’
‘No—’
Helen started to argue, but he put his hand over her mouth and the touch of those long brown fingers silenced any protest she was about to make.
* * *
It started to rain as they drove into Malverley, and Helen, still uncertain she was doing the right thing, felt it was an omen. It was useless telling herself that all was well. She had done that for the last two hours without any conviction, and in spite of the apparent amicability of their present relationship, she distrusted the association, and she distrusted Jarret.
Nevertheless, their tour of the grounds immediately surrounding King’s Green had been conducted without incident. Jarret was suitably impressed with the gardens, that soon now would be a veritable kaleidoscope of colour, and he had endeared himself to Mrs Hetherington’s husband by revealing an apparently genuine interest in the greenhouses.
‘My stepfather is a keen gardener,’ he told the old man pleasantly, as they examined the sprouting tomato plants, and confounded Helen by discussing the various problems encountered in tomato growing, with all the familiarity of an expert. He had an easy way of speaking to people that put them on an equal footing, and Helen, who had already seen her mother and Mrs Hetherington being won over, had to stand by and watch it happen again.
Jarret himself professed a love for the country, for the wide-open spaces, and the mingling scents of plants and flowers. He certainly seemed at home, tramping at her side through the buttercup-starred paddock, squatting down to examine some unusual specimen of insect life. He was not afraid to get his hands dirty, and the casual Levis were stained with mud when they walked back to the house.
They didn’t talk a lot, except about impersonal things, like the house and grounds, and the little summerhouse where Helen used to play when she was small. But occasionally she felt his eyes on her in a deeply personal appraisal, and it was at times like these that she doubtedher ability to handle a man like him. He was a little like Vincent, she reflected, loath to mention that particular relationship, but Vincent had never frightened her, and Jarret Manning did.
Jarret parked the Ferrari in the market place at Malverley, and then half turned in his seat towards her. ‘So?’ he said. ‘Where’s the best place to have tea? You’d know better than me.’
Helen shifted uncomfortably beneath the blue gaze and lifted her shoulders in an indifferent gesture. ‘There’s the Green Maple café, or the Embassy Tea-rooms. Or the local coffee bar, if you’d rather.’
‘The Embassy Tea-rooms?’ His eyes glinted with amusement. ‘No, I don’t honestly think that’s me. I don’t know about the Green Maple, but I do think the coffee bar sounds interesting.’
Helen didn’t know whether he was serious or not, and her expression mirrored her uncertainty. ‘I—well—’ she began, then broke off abruptly as his hand came out to stroke his knuckles down her cheek.
‘So solemn!’ he mocked lazily, as she flinched away from his fingers. ‘What kind of guy is this chap you’re engaged to? Don’t you ever have fun with him? Don’t you ever laugh, or fool around?’
‘I suppose you think I do that all the time,’ she retorted woodenly, tilting her chin, and with a wry grimace he thrust open his door and got out before she could say any more.
Helen herself got out with less enthusiasm. Malverley was not a large place, it was just a small market town, and because of the shop she and Karen were comparatively well known. It occurred to her now that in spite of the weather she would be extremely lucky not to be observed, and a sense of frustration gripped her at the thought of having to explain to Charles what she had been doing, consorting with the enemy.
Jarret was looking round the market place with narrow-eyed interest, his collar turned up against the sudden shower, and she found herself acknowledging his undoubted physical attraction. Long muscular legs looked good in close-fitting jeans, and the shortness of his jacket exposedthe flatness of his stomach and the powerful strength of his hips. Unlike Charles, who seldom wore anything but tweeds and evening clothes, he suited the casual attire, and she didn’t need to see the admiring glances of two teenage girls across the street to know that he would never be short of female company. It was a whole new experience for her, being out with someone other than her fiancé, but when he pushed back his hair suddenly and turned to face her, she was embarrassed that he had caught her looking at him.
However, after a pregnant pause, he relieved the situation by asking where the coffee bar was, and she quickly stammered that it was just across the square. ‘It’s not far,’ she added, turning up her own collar, and managed to remain composed as he gripped her elbow and hurried her across to its lighted façade.
The coffee bar was full of
students from the nearby sixth form college, who congregated there after school was over. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the steam from damp clothes, but it was a friendly atmosphere and Helen, who had never been inside before, looked about her with curious eyes.
‘Tea—or coffee?’ Jarret asked, having squeezed her on to a table in a corner and ready to serve himself, and Helen bit her lip. ‘I’d go for the coffee, if I were you,’ he added, seeing her indecision. ‘The tea in these places is usually pretty sick.’
‘All right.’ Helen nodded, and with a reassuring grin, he turned away to the bar.
While he was gone, Helen half unzipped her jacket, and tried to appear unconcerned that so many eyes had turned in their direction. But it was difficult to remain casual when a group of teenage youths were obviously discussing her potential, and staring blatantly at her, even when she tried to outface them.
‘I shouldn’t bother,’ remarked an amused voice near her ear, and she looked up to find Jarret straddling a chair he had tugged to the table. Two cups of espresso coffee resided on the table in front of him, and she quickly took possession of one of them, wrapping her fingers around the bowl to hide their unsteady tremor.
‘That—er—that didn’t take long,’ she said, and he shook his head.
‘Age and experience,’ he observed lazily, and she looked down into her cup in polite acknowledgement.
To her relief, the boys who had been staring at her earlier seemed to have lost interest, now that Jarret had joined her, and she was able to sip her coffee with less self-consciousness. Even so, their eyes had been replaced by Jarret’s, and she had to steel herself not to turn away.
‘So what is there to do in a place like this?’ he enquired now, forcing her to attend him, and she traced the pattern of the table top with her fingernail as she answered.
‘Not a lot,’ she admitted slowly. ‘There’s one cinema, and a theatre that operates during the winter months. Oh, and there’s the art gallery and the museum, and a skating rink…’
