by Anne Mather
Helen tried to gather her confused senses. ‘Why—why do you want to speak to me?’ she asked apprehensively.
Jake lifted his broad shoulders and then allowed them to fall in an indifferent gesture. ‘We're going away for the weekend,’ he advised her calmly. ‘It was all arranged last night. I tried to ring you, but there was no reply during the evening. Were you out?'
Helen couldn't prevent the pink colour from invading her cheeks. Lying here like this, unable to move without revealing some previously guarded section of her anatomy, she felt at an awful disadvantage, and she wished she had the courage to get out of bed and pull on the enveloping gown which lay at the foot of the bed.
Jake stepped across the threshold suddenly, the velvet of her evening skirt lying carelessly on the chair where she had left it catching his eye. He lifted the skirt with critical appraisal and the lace blouse fell out of its folds.
‘So you were out last night,’ he observed dryly. ‘Might one ask where?'
Helen heaved a sigh. ‘You're not my keeper, you know, Jake!’ she exclaimed.
‘Am I not?’ Jake's eyes narrowed unpleasantly. ‘Then tell me—who is?'
Helen seethed. ‘Will you please get out of my bedroom? I want to get out of bed.'
‘Go ahead! I'm not stopping you.’ Jake folded his arms and stood regarding her mockingly, feet apart, his dark eyes daring her to do as he suggested.
Helen rolled on to her stomach. ‘I hate you, Jake Howard!’ she bit out fiercely.
‘Why? Because I've come back and spoiled things with friend Mannering? It was him you were out with last evening, wasn't it? Oh, don't bother to answer, I know. Mrs Latimer told me.'
Helen swung back on to the pillows. ‘So you've got Mrs Latimer spying on me, have you? How despicable can you get?'
Jake's expression hardened. ‘When I rang last evening and could get no reply, I was concerned. Nothing more. Naturally I rang Mrs Latimer to find out where you were. The phone could have been out of order, you could have been ill—anything!'
Helen's colour deepened. ‘Even so—’ she began defensively.
‘Even so, nothing.’ Jake's arms dropped to his sides. ‘However, I do not intend to waste any time on Mannering at this moment. I can deal with him later.’ His jaw tightened. ‘I gather you're not interested where we're to spend the weekend.'
Helen's brows drew together. In this contretemps with Jake she had forgotten the reason why he was back sooner than expected. ‘Of course I'm interested,’ she said uncomfortably.
Jake moved to the bed and stood looking down at her with a strange look in his eyes. ‘Are you?’ he questioned thoughtfully. And then: ‘Ndana has a weekend cottage. He and his wife have invited us to spend the weekend with them.'
‘Ndana?’ Helen echoed weakly. ‘But—but isn't he—'
‘The Tsabian Ambassador? Yes, of course.'
‘Then it was he—who you were talking to at the reception the other evening.'
‘That's right.’ Jake flexed his shoulder muscles. ‘Now do you understand how important it is?'
Helen put a hand to her temple. ‘I—I think so. When do they expect us to arrive?'
‘For supper this evening. I thought we'd leave about four.'
‘I see.’ Helen bit her lip. The prospect of a country weekend was not unpleasant, but she could have wished for more time to compose herself. Of late she had become too introspective and it would not do for Jake to suspect she was becoming discontented with her life.
But Jake mistook the doubtful look in her eyes for something else, and his brow darkened ominously. ‘What's wrong?’ he demanded heatedly. ‘Have you made other arrangements with Mannering? Did you suppose I wouldn't be back before the beginning of next week?'
Helen quivered. ‘I have made other arrangements, yes,’ she began tentatively, about to tell him about Jennifer's invitation, but Jake did not wait to hear the rest of what she had to say. Instead, he bent down to her angrily, imprisoning her with a hand either side of her, his face harsh, his eyes cold and penetrating.
‘I'm giving you fair warning, Helen!’ he muttered violently. ‘I will not take much more of this from you! I own you, physically at least, and if our arrangement is no longer satisfying to you, if you're beginning to crave a more physical relationship with a man, then I shall do something about it, do I make myself clear?'
Helen's lips parted. ‘What do you mean?'
Jake straightened. ‘Oh, I'm sure you understand me perfectly,’ he said grimly.
‘You—you disgust me!’ Helen's breath came in short gasps.
‘Do I? Do I just?’ Jake's lips twisted. ‘Why, you mercenary little bitch, I shouldn't overplay my hand if I were you!'
Helen uttered a shattered sob, and turning on to her arm buried her face in the pillow. She had never felt so humiliated in her life, and she could not bear to look at his lean dark face.
Jake took a step towards the door and then he halted and turning, caught the silk bedcovers and wrenching them from her unresisting fingers, dragged them to the foot of the bed, exposing her slender frame clad only in the sheer chiffon night-gown. Then he walked abruptly to the door and opening it, glanced back at her derisively.
‘The sight of the naked female body is no novelty, Helen,’ he remarked cruelly, and went out, slamming the door behind him.
By the time Helen found the strength to drag herself out of bed it was well into the morning and a neglected tray of toast and coffee which Mrs Latimer had provided lay on the table beside her. But she had not felt like eating and certainly the prospect of the weekend ahead was looming larger every minute.
Downstairs Mrs Latimer was preparing lunch and she tut-tutted when she saw Helen's untouched tray.
‘Is something wrong, madam?’ she asked anxiously.
Helen sighed and shook her head. ‘No, I wasn't hungry, that's all, Mrs Latimer. Er—did Mr Howard say whether he was getting up for lunch?'
‘Getting up, madam?’ Mrs Latimer frowned. ‘Mr Howard's not in bed. He went out shortly after breakfast.'
Helen felt a confused headache invading her temples. ‘When—when was this?’ she asked. ‘I—I saw Mr Howard myself, about eight o'clock.'
‘Yes, madam. Well, he had breakfast, and then he went out. As far as I know he's not coming back for lunch.'
‘I see.’ Helen felt particularly dense. ‘I'm sorry. I must have misunderstood what he said. And—er—don't do anything much for me for lunch, Mrs Latimer. I—I'm just not feeling particularly like eating.'
Mrs Latimer looked at her rather doubtfully. ‘Oh, and Mrs Howard—’ she began uncomfortably.
Helen turned. ‘Yes?'
‘I—I hope I didn't do wrong in telling Mr Howard that you were out with Mr Mannering last evening.’ Mrs Latimer flushed. ‘He—well—he wanted to speak to you and I had to say something.'
Helen pressed her lips together. ‘That's all right, Mrs Latimer. It's no secret,’ she said, rather shortly.
Mrs Latimer breathed a sigh. ‘If you say so, madam.'
Helen made an involuntary movement of her shoulders, and then turning walked out of the kitchen. In the lounge she hesitated by the cocktail cabinet, surveying its comprehensive contents thoughtfully. She had never felt like a drink in the morning before, but right now she felt she needed some kind of sustenance.
However, she turned away, pressing a hand to her stomach and lifting the day's papers scanned the headlines disinterestedly. Finally, she lounged into a chair and lit a cigarette, drawing deeply on the nicotine, trying to soothe her shattered nerves. She knew perfectly well she had not misunderstood Jake, he had intended going to bed, so where was he now, and why? Was this weekend with the Ndanas on or off?
Stubbing out the cigarette, she went into the hall and lifting the telephone receiver dialled the number of the Howard Foundation Building in Holborn. Her fingers shook a little as she sought the numbers, but at last she heard it ringing at the other end.
The receptioni
st recognised her voice immediately, and said: ‘Yes, Mrs Howard! What can I do for you?'
Helen ran her tongue over her dry lips. ‘I'm trying to find my husband,’ she said, infusing a light tone into her voice. ‘Is he in the building, do you know?'
‘I'm afraid not, Mrs Howard. He has been here, but I'm afraid he's gone now.'
‘Oh—oh, thank you.’ Helen hesitated. ‘You don't happen to know where—'
But just as she was asking the question a key was inserted in the door and the heavy panelling swung inward and Jake himself came into the wide hallway.
‘Oh, it's all right,’ she said hastily. ‘He's here now. Thank you.'
She replaced her receiver awkwardly and faced her husband uneasily. Jake was still wearing the blue suit, but he had shaved and changed his shirt, and apart from lines of fatigue around his eyes she would never have guessed he had spent the night driving down from Newcastle. He had a wonderful physique, probably due to the fact that he enjoyed tennis and golf and sailing, too, when he had the time, although Helen had never been with him.
His eyes flickered over her wryly, and then he said: ‘What's the panic? Who were you calling just then?'
Helen straightened from her lounging position by the telephone table and began to walk through to the lounge, running a smoothing hand over the loose curtain of her hair. ‘There's no panic,’ she replied in a taut little voice. ‘And I was speaking to the office, actually. I wanted to know whether your—plans had changed.'
‘My plans?’ Jake crossed immediately to the cocktail cabinet and without hesitation poured himself a can of beer from the refrigerated compartment at the bottom. Swallowing half the contents of his glass, he turned back to her and raised his dark eyebrows. ‘Why should I have changed my plans?'
Helen sighed, twisting her hands together. ‘I thought perhaps—after this morning—I mean—'
Jake gave her a satirical stare and then flung himself into an armchair. ‘You mean our little misunderstanding?’ he queried mockingly. ‘Now why should that change anything?'
‘Oh, Jake!'
Helen felt she could slap that mocking expression from his face. He was deliberately amusing himself at her expense and she didn't like it.
Jake finished his beer and dropped the glass on to a glass-topped table. Then he drew out a case of cheroots and placed one between his lips. When it was lit, he regarded her through the smoke haze, watching the play of emotions on her expressive face.
‘Don't take everything so seriously, Helen,’ he advised her calmly.
‘I thought that was what I was intended to do!’ she exclaimed, stung by the mockery in his tones.
Jake's eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps you were at that,’ he agreed lazily. ‘In any event, I think we have satisfactorily disposed of the matter.'
‘You've disposed of it!’ cried Helen angrily.
‘That's what I said,’ replied Jake annoyingly.
‘But I haven't!’ Helen felt impotent. ‘Look, Jake, I don't want to start another argument with you, but I refuse to be treated like an imbecile child! I'm a woman! I'm married to you, yes, I eat your food, and I spend your money! But even a housekeeper has some rights!'
Jake lay back in his chair with indolent grace, resting his dark head against the soft upholstery, and she felt an unexpected thrust of compassion for him. To see him there, his eyes half closed with weariness, so vulnerable somehow, disturbed her in a way she had hitherto never been disturbed. It was difficult to remember he was not what he seemed, that she was allowing him sympathy which he never asked nor gave. He was not vulnerable; she was a fool if she ever thought he was.
‘All right,’ he said now, moving his head slowly from side to side against the golden velvet of the chair back. ‘We won't argue about it any more.'
Helen pressed her palms together. That wasn't entirely the answer she had wanted to hear. He had successfully avoided the issue and suddenly she had no heart to arouse him again. On the contrary, a feeling of contrition was unwillingly sweeping over her at the knowledge that it was her fault that he had had no sleep for over twenty-four hours.
The thick lashes drooped over his eyes suddenly, and she realised he had fallen asleep. She stared at him almost incredulously, and was about to turn away when something made her stop and turn and look again.
She had never seen Jake asleep before and it was remarkable to see the change in his face. It looked more youthful, somehow, gentler, the harsh lines softened by relaxation.
She looked at him for several long minutes, unable to explain her reasons for so doing. She had the urge to loosen his collar and tie, but she was afraid she might wake him if she tried to do so, and make him aware of what she was doing. She had never touched him, and he had never touched her except on those rare occasions when he fastened a necklace about her throat or pinned a corsage to her gown. She had never done anything that necessitated her touching him, but she realised now that she wanted to do so.
She quivered. Maybe it had never occurred to her before or so strongly how firm and brown was his skin, or how thick and vital was his hair. She wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through his hair or smooth his brown flesh. She had never had such thoughts before about any man, and there was something unsettling about them. Here was a man who ruthlessly went after anything he wanted, spurning the ordinary decencies of living, and yet he was capable of arousing the most disturbing emotions inside her at a time when she should be hating him for his arrogance.
With a muffled exclamation, she went out of the room. Sympathy was one thing, but allowing such ridiculous thoughts to take root in her mind was positively stupid. She crossed the hall to the stairs. How amused Jake would have been if he had known what she was thinking! No matter how angry he might get about her involvement with Keith Mannering, she knew he considered her emotionally frigid. He did not believe she had it in her to feel anything deeply, except perhaps normal grief at her father's death. He had been around. He had known others of the group she had been friendly with all those years ago. He must have been told she would never tolerate any heavy petting or any other kind of intimate contact. Probably that was part of the reason he had chosen her for his wife; everything of Jake Howard's must be whole, in perfect condition.
She stared at herself agonisingly in her dressing table mirror. Was that really how he saw her? Was her Scandinavian fair beauty merely a suitable foil for his darkness, and did he consider her as cool as the icebergs from which such excessive fairness came? Was she indeed that kind of woman?
Her palms moistened, and she turned away from the mirror in disgust. What did it matter what kind of woman she was? She was Jake Howard's wife, and he was not the kind of man to cede any possession of his.
About half an hour later, while Helen was lying on her bed, there was a tap at her bedroom door, and going to answer it, Helen found Mrs Latimer outside holding a tray. Stepping back, she allowed her to enter, and the housekeeper put down the tray on a low table and said:
‘I've brought your lunch, madam. Mr Howard is sleeping in the lounge and I didn't think you'd want me to disturb him. Of course, if you want me to serve the meal—'
‘Of course not, Mrs Latimer. That's all right.’ Helen gave a slight smile. ‘Actually, I was going to ask you not to disturb my husband. He's very tired.'
‘Yes, madam. Is there anything else you need?'
Helen glanced at the tray trying to show interest in the food. ‘No, that's lovely, thank you,’ she replied dismissingly, and Mrs Latimer nodded politely and left, closing the door behind her.
After she had gone, Helen sighed and glanced at her watch. It was after one and she would have to start thinking about packing soon. When Jake awoke, he would expect her to be prepared, and she knew he would leave his packing to Mrs Latimer, who mothered him to an annoying extent.
Crossing to the long fitted wardrobe, Helen swept back the sliding doors and surveyed the array of clothes that confronted her. What kind of country weekend
was it likely to be? she wondered People could call all kinds of dwelling places country cottages, and occasionally when she had spent a weekend with Jennifer and Giles, while Jake was out of the country, she had found their place in Wiltshire just as luxurious and sophisticated as their town apartment.
So what was she to gather from the small amount of information Jake had given her? Would the Ndanas be likely to have somewhere small but opulent, or would they prefer a less imposing break away from the city?
She sighed again. Her best plan would be to take clothes to cover every eventuality. She had no intention of asking Jake and possibly creating another subject for argument.
Mrs Latimer came back for the tray to find it virtually untouched, and she frowned when she saw Helen was in the process of folding an evening gown into a suitcase.
‘I could have done all that, madam!’ she exclaimed. ‘If you'd just put out what you wanted to take, I'd have been pleased to do it.'
Helen looked up from her task and smiled. ‘Well, thank you, Mrs Latimer, but as you can see I've nearly finished. Is Mr Howard's case packed?'
‘Yes, madam. I did that this morning after he told me you'd be away for the weekend.'
‘I see.’ Helen smoothed her hands together. ‘Is Mr Howard awake yet?'
‘I don't know, madam. I haven't been into the lounge. I expect he'll be coming to bathe and change shortly. Do you want me to wake him?'
Helen shook her head. ‘No, that won't be necessary, Mrs Latimer. I'll wake my husband myself if he's still asleep, which I doubt somehow.’ She frowned doubtfully. ‘I just hope I've packed everything I'm likely to need.'
Mrs Latimer smiled. ‘It's only for a couple of days, after all, madam, And I doubt if they stand on much ceremony at Llandranog!'
‘Llandranog!’ exclaimed Helen, in surprise. ‘Is that in Wales?'
‘Yes, madam.'
‘You mean—this cottage we're going to is at Llandranog?'
‘Yes, madam. Didn't Mr Howard tell you?'
Helen coloured. ‘No—no, actually, I didn't get around to asking him. There were—er—other considerations.’ She shook her head bewilderedly. ‘Llandranog. I didn't realise we were going so far!'
