by Anne Mather
Helen just wished they were at their destination. She longed to get out of the close proximity of the car, away from Jake's disturbing presence, away from the probing intimacy of her thoughts that seduced her mind so that she found herself noticing every little thing about her husband; the thick length of his lashes, the almost cruel lines of his profile, the way his hair grew low on his neck, the hairs on his wrists protruding from the sleeves of his sweater where his watch gleamed dully. These things had never disturbed her before and she loathed herself when she considered that she could allow herself to feel this way when she knew that only two nights ago…
She shivered involuntarily, and he glanced her way. ‘Cold?’ he inquired, his tones abrupt.
Helen shook her head. ‘Someone walked over my grave,’ she denied, with assumed lightness. ‘How much longer do you think we'll be before we get there?'
Jake glanced at his watch. ‘I thought we'd have been there by now,’ he remarked frowningly. ‘Are you sure this is the right road?'
Helen leant forward and extracted the map from its compartment. Switching on the interior light, she quickly scanned the area they were negotiating.
‘This is the Llandranog road,’ she asserted firmly. ‘It has to be.'
‘Does it?’ Jake sounded less convinced. ‘In God's name, why don't they signpost their roads more thoroughly? It must be ten miles since I saw any sign of where we might be.'
‘We could have missed the signposts in the dark,’ suggested Helen cautiously. ‘After all, it is raining—'
‘Thank you, I had noticed.’ Jake was barely civil.
Helen switched out the interior light again, and subsided into silence again. Presently, however, she sat up again and pointed excitedly. ‘I can see lights. Look—there! Can you see them?'
Jake gave her a quelling stare. ‘Yes, I can see them. But that doesn't look like a village to me. It looks more like a solitary dwelling.'
Helen hunched her shoulders. ‘Well, it ought to be Llandranog!’ she said, rather resentfully. ‘According to the map—'
‘All right, all right.’ Jake swung the car on to the right-hand side of the road to avoid the sharpness of the bend they were cornering, and now ahead of them they could both see the lights quite clearly. But as Jake had said, the lights were few and scarcely sufficient to signify a whole village.
‘Maybe everyone's gone to bed,’ Helen murmured tentatively.
‘At nine-thirty?’ Jake gave her a derogatory glance. ‘I rather doubt it, somehow, don't you?'
‘Then perhaps you ought to do your own navigating!’ snapped Helen, stung by his sarcasm.
‘Perhaps I have,’ Jake returned, and then he stepped gently on his brakes and brought the car to a halt. ‘Do you see what I see?'
Helen looked through the streaming windows. Now that they were nearer she could see that the lights did indeed signify a house, but the house was not even on the road but some distance away up a muddy track.
‘There's a name on that gatepost,’ she pointed out hopefully.
Jake heaved a sigh, looked at her for a long moment, and then inclined his head. ‘Okay, okay—I'll go see what it says.'
Helen nodded and Jake thrust open his door and stepped out. Immediately his suede boot sank ankle deep into mud and Helen heard his angry ejaculation before he slammed the door behind him and squelched away towards the gate.
Helen felt the beginnings of a giggle rising in her throat and hastily quelled it. But to imagine Jake stepping out carelessly into several inches of mud was suddenly irresistibly funny. Maybe it was reaction after the journey, but whatever it was she must not allow Jake to see that she was amused at his discomfort. She only hoped he was not going to be too angry when he got back.
However her hopes were doomed to disappointment: Jake was angry, furiously angry, and he climbed into the car abruptly without even bothering to clean the mud off his boots.
‘Do you have any idea what it says on that gatepost?’ he demanded, the interior light illuminating the hardness of his features. ‘It says—wait for it! Llangranog Farm! Do you understand me? Llangranog!'
Helen's brows drew together in a puzzled frown. ‘You mean that that is the cottage?’ she questioned innocently.
Jake raised his eyes heavenward in a expressive gesture of disgust. ‘No,’ he snapped, ‘I do not mean that that is the cottage. I mean that that building is Llangranog Farm! Not Llandranog!'
Helen's lips parted and her eyes widened in understanding. ‘You mean—you mean—this—is the road to Llangranog, and not Llandranog?'
Jake tapped his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel. ‘Do I? Well, you ought to know—you've been navigating!'
Helen fumbled for the map, spreading it out on her knees with trembling fingers. She traced the line of their route since leaving the motorway, finding, without much difficulty, the twisting mountainous road they had followed. But her finger faltered as she realised she had indeed been following the signs for Llangranog by mistake. She had not thought there could be two names so much alike and because the road to Llangranog was the major road she had not observed the turn-off for Llandranog some distance back.
Jake had been following her probing finger with his eyes and when she looked up tremulously she found him regarding her with something like exasperation in his face.
‘How far out of our way have we come?’ he asked tolerantly, and Helen turned her attention hastily to the map.
‘A—about fifteen miles,’ she stammered unhappily.
Jake sighed and lay back in his seat, reaching for his cigars. ‘Okay,’ he said, without rancour, ‘we'll go back.'
‘I'm—I'm sorry.’ Helen bit her lip. ‘I didn't think there'd be two names so much alike.'
Jake's lips twisted in an imitation of a smile. ‘Nor did I,’ he conceded dryly. ‘I can't altogether blame you. I looked at the road signs, too.'
Helen gave a slight smile. ‘Thank you.'
He shook his head deprecatingly and flicking the starter set off the powerful engine again. But when he put the car into gear and released the clutch, the rear wheels spun uselessly.
Pressing his lips together determinedly, Jake thrust the gear lever into reverse, but again only the soft swishing noise of wheels spinning uselessly in mud came to them over the roar of the engine.
‘Oh, God!’ Jake's fingers clenched on the wheel. ‘Now how the hell are we going to get out of this?'
Helen chewed helplessly at her lips. She couldn't help feeling it was all her fault and she wished there was something she could do. Jake thrust open his door and climbed out again, but this time Helen felt no amusement as he squelched into the mud. He slammed the door and went round to the rear of the vehicle and she felt him kick the tyres with an impatient boot. Then he came back again and said:
‘Get into the driving seat, Helen, and take off the brake. Put it into gear and rev hard on the accelerator when I tell you to, right?'
‘All right.’ Helen climbed obediently into the driving seat, but her legs wouldn't reach the pedals. ‘Wait!’ she called anxiously, and Jake came back to her, his hair wet and curling now.
‘What's the matter?’ he asked shortly.
Helen pointed to her legs. ‘The seat's too far back for me. Can you lever it forward?'
Jake sighed, but he bent and with a swift movement brought the seat nearer to the pedals. ‘Is that okay?'
Helen tried it. ‘Well, I can manage,’ she agreed.
‘Good. Let's get on, shall we? Now remember, when I say go—go!'
‘Yes, Jake!’ Helen was meek.
‘Good!'
Jake walked back to the rear of the car and glancing through the rain-misted rear screen she saw him bracing himself against the back of the vehicle.
‘All right!’ he called, and Helen released the clutch, pressing hard on the accelerator as she did so.
But the wheels still spun and there was an exclamation of disgust from Jake before he called: ‘All right,
all right! Pack it in!'
Helen leaned out of the window and saw Jake coming towards her. He was splattered from head to foot with mud and the stupid giggle she had suppressed earlier burst out of her without volition. Immediately, she was horrified and pressed a hand to her mouth, but not before he had seen her amusement.
He halted beside the window regarding her intently. ‘You find it amusing, do you?’ he queried ominously.
Helen shook her head, scarcely trusting herself to speak. ‘You—you're covered in mud!’ she said awkwardly. ‘I'm sorry, Jake, but you did look funny.'
‘Did I?’ Jake wiped wet hands over his face, grunting as his hands became smeared with mud. ‘Okay, beautiful, you try it!'
Helen stared at him incredulously. ‘Me?’ she gasped. ‘You're not serious!'
‘Why not? You got us into this mess. You get us out.'
Helen climbed back into her own seat. ‘I'm not going to get covered in mud just to give you a laugh!'
Jake hesitated, and then glanced up the track to where Llangranog Farm was illuminated. ‘I wonder if the owner of the farm has anything we could use to get out of here. We're practically in the ditch now after that last little episode.'
Helen was so relieved that he was not going to force her to push the car that she blabbered enthusiastically, ‘Oh, yes, perhaps. Maybe he'll have a tractor and a rope or something. He could pull us out. Oh, that's a good idea.'
Jake opened the car door. ‘Good. I thought you'd think so. Go and ask him!'
Helen's mouth dropped open. ‘Me?’ she exclaimed again. ‘Go up to the farm?'
‘Yes.’ Jake lit another cheroot. ‘I'll wait here in case anyone happens along.'
Helen pursed her lips. ‘I can't go to the farm,’ she insisted. ‘It's up that track! Heavens, there might be somebody up there just waiting for someone like me!'
‘In this downpour? I doubt it.’ Jake was complacent.
‘Oh, you're not serious!’ Helen stared at him hopefully. ‘You're just saying this to frighten me! I think you're mean!'
‘I am serious, Helen.’ Jake unloosened his coat deliberately. ‘And what's more, you're going to do it!'
‘I refuse!’ Helen held up her head haughtily.
‘Do you? Do you really?'
Without warning, Jake leant past her and thrust open her door and bundled her out, pushing her coat into her hands and slamming the door again and locking it from the inside so that she could not get back in. Helen was horrified, but common sense made her put on her coat before she began banging frantically on the window.
‘Jake, stop being so rotten! Let me in! I'm getting soaked!'
‘Run up to the farm, then,’ he shouted back at her. ‘Go on! The exercise will do you good!'
Helen hesitated uncertainly. She knew Jake well enough to know that he meant what he said, but she could scarcely accept it. How could she go up to a strange house and ask the owner to turn out to get them out of a ditch? It could be some man living alone, anybody!
She shivered and stared angrily at Jake, smoking unconcernedly inside the low-slung sports car. She thought she hated him. Hunching her shoulders, she put up her collar and stared through the gloom towards the lane to the farm. She was already standing in mud. What would the lane be like? Thoughts of animals going up and down the lane filled her mind, and she thought disgustedly of the manure they made.
But it was simply no good standing there waiting for Jake to change his mind. She should know by now that he didn't play the game by any rules but his own, and just because she was a woman she need expect no favours from him.
With ill-grace she turned and walked towards the lane, tears of exasperation and humiliation and simple honest fear running down her cheeks. The house seemed a long way up the lane, but she might as well accept that she had to go or stand here getting soaked for possibly hours.
She began to trudge up the lane, avoiding any dark patches on the ground which might have been anything. The wind tore through her hair, and the rain soaked it to her head, and she felt utterly miserable. She wished for the first time she had taken Jennifer's advice and told Jake to visit the Ndanas on his own. Why should she be subjected to this kind of treatment just to please him? It wouldn't have been so bad if he had been gentlemanly about everything, but there he was, sitting comfortably in the car, while she was struggling up this filthy lane in a positive rainstorm.
As she neared the farmyard, she heard the sound of animals in a nearby barn, and the unmistakable barking of a dog heralding her arrival. But more disturbingly, behind her, she heard the sound of heavy breathing and the squelching sound of footsteps in the mud.
Panic swept through her, and she began to run wildly towards the curtained windows behind which a light burned brightly. But just as she reached the porch, a hand caught her arm and she gasped as Jake dragged her back and went forward himself to knock at the door.
‘You—you pig!’ she cried, in an undertone. ‘You rotten pig! Have you been following me?'
Jake raised dark eyebrows, his face dark and saturnine in the lights from the farm. ‘Of course. You didn't suppose I would let you come up here alone, did you?'
‘But—but—’ Helen moved her shoulders helplessly. ‘Why did you make me come at all? Why couldn't you have left me in the car?'
Jake shrugged. ‘Would you have wanted to be left there? Alone? In the dark? On that lonely road?'
‘Well—'
‘I decided to teach you a lesson, that was all.'
Jake half smiled. ‘I think I've succeeded, don't you?'
‘Oh—oh, I hate you!’ Helen put a wealth of feeling into her voice, and just then the door opened, and several dogs of various breeds surged out to jump excitedly round their legs.
The man who had opened the door bade the dogs get back inside in a commanding tone, and then looked curiously at his bedraggled visitors.
‘Yes?’ he said frowningly.
Jake stepped under cover of the porch. ‘I'm sorry to trouble you at this time of night, but I'm afraid my car is stuck in a ditch at the end of your road. I wondered if I might prevail upon you to give us a tow.’ He went on quickly: ‘I— I know it's late and a filthy evening, but—well—as you can see, my wife and I are soaked to the skin.'
The man looked thoughtfully at Helen's hopeful face and the way she was shivering quite uncontrollably, and then he stepped back abruptly and said: ‘You'd better come in. Your lady looks as though a cup of tea wouldn't come amiss.'
‘Oh, thank you!’ Helen stepped forward eagerly, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth, her expression warm with gratitude, and the elderly farmer made a modest movement of his shoulders.
‘It is nothing,’ he said, closing the door behind them, and then leading the way across a wood-tiled hall into a large, comfortable living room where a huge fire burned brightly, filling the room with warmth and the sweet smell of logs.
His wife was a small, plump woman, the epitome of everything a farmer's wife should be. After they had introduced themselves as Mr and Mrs Morgan, and Helen and Jake had given their names in return, Mrs Morgan disappeared to make some tea while her husband questioned Jake about what had happened.
‘You're not the first to make that mistake,’ he nodded smilingly, as Jake explained about the mix-up over the names. ‘There has always been trouble over it. But there, I'm sure you're not interested in that.’ He frowned. ‘Your car's stuck in the ditch, you say? Well, I could get out the tractor and pull you out, but it's all going to take time and perhaps these friends you are going to spend the weekend with will be wondering where you are. Perhaps it would be better if you telephoned them and explained what had happened, and then stayed here tonight. In the morning it might have stopped raining, and you'll easily find the turn off for Llandranog. In the dark—well, you could miss it again.'
Jake glanced at Helen. ‘That's very kind of you, Mr Morgan,’ he began, ‘but we couldn't put you to the trouble—'
‘Now, I'm sure Mr
s Morgan would agree with me, it's no trouble.’ The old farmer grinned cheerfully. ‘We don't get many visitors here, and our own family are grown up now and married with families of their own. There's plenty of room, and I'm sure Mrs Howard doesn't fancy trailing back down that track again tonight, do you, my dear?'
Helen bit her lip, and then looked at Jake, not really knowing what to answer. She could think of nothing more desirable than staying here beside this warm fire for the rest of the evening and then making her way to a comfortable bed without braving the weather again. But what would Jake think? Would he want to press on? After all, the Ndanas were not like ordinary friends.
Jake was frowning now. He had shed his sheep skin coat and was sitting at the other side of the fire, the fire drying his hair, so that it fell rather attractively across his forehead. He, too, looked warm and relaxed, and she wondered what his thoughts were at that moment.
‘I—I don't know what to say—’ Helen was beginning, when Jake said:
‘I really think we ought to press on, Mr Morgan. It's going to put you to a lot of trouble—'
Mrs Morgan returned at that moment with a tray on which was a pot of tea and four cups, and a delicious bowl of beef broth. She ladled some into dishes as her husband explained to her what he had been saying, and then she said:
‘Now you know it's no trouble at all. Like Owen says, we'd be glad of a bit of company. You can't honestly expect to go any further tonight.'
Helen looked across at Jake. ‘Are—our friends—on the telephone?’ she queried awkwardly.
Jake's dark eyes bored into hers. ‘Yes, they're on the phone,’ he agreed shortly.
‘Then—couldn't we do as Mr Morgan suggests and stay?’ Helen managed a slight smile. ‘After all, it would be easier to find the cottage in the morning.'
Jake's lips twisted. ‘I'm sure it would,’ he confirmed dryly. ‘However, I thought you wanted to get there.'
