by Anne Mather
Helen was horrified. ‘How dare you!’ she gasped. ‘How dare you suggest such a thing!’ She was beside herself with anger. ‘Don't judge everybody by your standards!'
‘Why not?’ Jake's smouldering gaze moved lazily over her face and down her neck, lingering on the parting lapels of the enormous pyjama jacket. ‘Isn't it the truth?'
Helen's whole body suffused with colour at that devastating appraisal, and then abruptly, he released her, sliding out of bed himself and pulling on his suede trousers over his trunk-like underwear, which was all he had worn to sleep in.
Helen lay where he had left her, one arm raised protectively to shade her eyes, unwillingly aware that tears of frustration and humiliation were not far away. No matter how she might protest, she had to admit to herself that in part he was right. She was aware of him now in a way she had hitherto not been aware of any man, and the knowledge was eating her up with—jealousy!’ She caught her breath. The dreadful meaning of that word was not lost on her and she turned on to her stomach, burying her face in the pillow so that Jake should not see her shame.
Jake finished dressing and ran a practised hand over his jawline. ‘I need a shave,’ he remarked matter-of-factly, and Helen hated him anew for being able to dismiss what had happened so summarily. But then his emotions had not been involved, and a pain crawled in her stomach when she thought that he was capable of sleeping in the same bed as herself without so much as attempting a pass at her. It was doubly humiliating when she considered the sensual nature she had credited him with. Was she so unattractive to him that he could ignore the fact that she was flesh and blood like any other woman?
‘I hesitate to remind you, but Mrs Morgan did state half an hour,’ Jake was saying now, standing beside the bed, looking down on her half buried beneath the covers. ‘I thought you wanted to get up.'
‘Go away!’ Helen's voice was muffled and indistinct.
‘All right.’ Jake sounded indifferent. ‘I was going to allow you to use the bathroom first.'
‘Go to hell!'
Helen burrowed deeper into the pillows, and with a shrug of his broad shoulders, Jake turned and walked lazily towards the door.
‘By the way,’ he remarked, as he put out a hand to take the handle, ‘you'd better pour yourself a second cup of tea in my cup or Mrs Morgan will consider you a rather indifferent wife!'
One of Helen's pillows hit the door as it closed behind him and she knelt up in the bed, her lips pressed together mutinously. He had to have the last word, she thought resentfully, and then climbed hastily off the bed, tugging on her clothes. She had no desire for him to walk back in while she was dressing.
When he did come back she was combing her hair at the mirror and he came to stand behind her, smoothing his own hair with a careless hand. He had not shaved and the shadow on his jawline was more pronounced. He smoothed a hand down his sideburns, and then said:
‘You'd better hurry. We don't have a lot of time.'
Helen turned abruptly and walked to the door, and with a careless movement of his shoulders Jake walked to the bed and began tugging the covers back into some kind of order. Helen's last antics on the bed had loosened all the sheets and blankets, and they were strewn in careless disorder.
Helen frowned as she opened the door, and Jake remarked mockingly: ‘I should hate to leave the wrong impression.'
Helen went out seething, sure there was no way of getting under his skin.
Jake ate an enormous breakfast, watched by Helen and Mrs Morgan with varying degrees of solicitude. To Helen, choking on coffee and a slice of toast, it was nauseating to watch him plough his way through fruit juice, cereal, bacon, eggs, sausages and tomatoes, toast and marmalade and tea, and she wondered whether she would ever be able to achieve his calm indifference again. Nothing seemed to perturb him more than momentarily, and certainly this morning the lines of weariness were gone from his eyes, leaving his face dark and alert and attractive.
Mr Morgan appeared from the barn soon after the meal and after saying goodbye to Mrs Morgan they all went down the track to the road.
‘I've asked my boy David to come down with the tractor,’ Mr Morgan said, as they squelched through mud which would soon dry in the unexpected sunshine. ‘I shouldn't think you'll have any more difficulty now that it's fine and light.'
Jake shook his head. ‘I very much appreciate all you and your wife have done for us,’ he said warmly. ‘I'm sure our weekend couldn't have got off to a better start, eh, Helen?'
‘Oh—oh, yes!’ The words stuck in Helen's throat, but she managed to infuse enthusiasm into them.
Jake's eyes flickered over her, and she quickly looked away, wishing with all her heart she had not agreed to spend this weekend with him.
David Morgan soon brought the Ferrari out of the ditch and it stood there in the sunlight, muddy but magnificent.
‘That's some car, boyo,’ remarked Mr Morgan, looking inside with interest. He smiled at Jake. ‘I bet you can make it go.'
Jake grinned. ‘On these roads? Hardly.'
‘Was that how you ended up in the ditch last night?'
Jake hesitated. ‘Sort of,’ he agreed lazily, glancing meaningfully at Helen. ‘Well, we must go.'
Mr Morgan refused to accept anything from Jake for their night's lodging, and Jake climbed into the car, putting his wallet away reluctantly. Then the powerful engine roared to life, and after more waving they drove off.
Helen relaxed in her seat feeling suddenly decidedly weak. Altogether the incident had been rather exhausting.
Jake did not speak as he turned off on the road to Llandranog and Helen began to feel apprehensive about the coming ordeal. What if the Ndanas were not her kind of people? What if she couldn't get on with them? What if Jake did do as Jennifer had suggested and disappeared with the Ambassador leaving Helen to entertain his wife? What would they have to talk about?
But she showed none of her anxieties to Jake, who seemed absorbed with his own thoughts. Mrs Morgan had dried and brushed their coats so that there was no sign of the muddy, bedraggled garments they had seemed the night before, and only the fact that Jake needed a shave and Helen wore no make-up revealed that they had spent the night at the farm.
Presently they ran into a small village, nestling confidingly in the valley, and Helen pointed out the signpost.
‘Well, as this is Llandranog, the cottage should be this way,’ remarked Jake, following the first turn left out of the village.
It was quite a bright morning now, the sun banishing the clouds and leaving a clear expanse of blue, and although the wind was cold it was bracing. In no time at all, Jake was turning between a wrought iron gateway and approaching a small house, overhung with ivy and climbing plants that somehow managed to survive the wild winds off the mountains. Running beside the house was a narrow stream, the water cascading noisily over silvery stones, and providing a constant backcloth to the other sounds of everyday living.
‘Oh, it's beautiful!’ exclaimed Helen impulsively, and Jake glanced at her mockingly.
‘How many bedrooms do you suppose there are?’ he queried lazily, and Helen's cheeks suffused with colour.
‘Do you mean—will they think—?’ Helen stopped, aghast.
Jake's eyes hardened. ‘And if they do? What of it? Nothing happened last night, and you weren't too uncomfortable at six o'clock this morning when I was woken by the dogs barking!'
Helen slid abruptly out of the car, and as she did so the door of the house opened, and Ndana and his wife appeared. Their dark faces were warm and welcoming and Helen's earlier misgivings were instantly dispersed.
‘So you've arrived at last, man!’ Ndana was saying, grinning broadly, coming forward to shake Jake's hand as he too got out of the car. ‘We were beginning to have our doubts.'
Jake shook hands with Ndana warmly, punching his shoulder in a manner which left Helen in no doubt that these two knew one another far better than it was publicly stated. ‘What a journey, Lucien!
’ Jake was saying ironically. ‘God! Couldn't you and Rose have found yourselves a hideaway in Notting Hill or St John's Wood?'
Lucien Ndana chuckled, ‘Now, Jake, you know we like to get back to the wilds whenever we can!'
Jake burst out laughing and Rose Ndana joined in. For a moment, Helen felt rather isolated. Jake obviously knew Lucien's wife as well, and she knew him, judging by the mischievous glances she was casting in his direction. But as she was also obviously pregnant, her darting glances were merely teasing.
Lucien looked beyond Jake at that moment and smiled at Helen and as though remembering his wife, Jake drew Helen forward, introducing her with casual expertise.
Lucien studied Helen for a long moment, and then he said: ‘She's beautiful, Jake. But that's no surprise—you never chose anything but the best!’ He released Helen's hand reluctantly. ‘I hope you're going to enjoy yourself this weekend, Helen. We promise not to talk business for more than fifty per cent of the time!'
Helen managed a smile. ‘I'm sure I'm going to love it,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘I like your house. It's charming!'
Rose Ndana said little, but she smiled a lot, and when they all walked into the house, entering a flower-filled hallway that was panelled in rich mahogany, she suggested that she showed Helen their room while Lucien got Jake a drink.
Jake looked at Helen for verification, and she nodded slightly. ‘I think that's a good idea,’ she said. ‘Jake can get the cases later.'
‘Oh, Mujari will get them,’ replied Rose calmly, leading the way up a carved wooden staircase, and glancing round Helen saw Jake handing his keys to an enormous black man dressed in casual clothes over which he wore a capacious white apron. Rose, following the trend of Helen's thoughts, said: ‘Mujari does everything around here. He's marvellous! And he's also quite useful as a bodyguard!'
Helen raised startled eyebrows. ‘Your husband needs a bodyguard?'
Rose shrugged. She was smaller than Helen, and slimmer too, Helen judged, when she was not pregnant, and her shoulders were very narrow. ‘All statesmen need bodyguards in my country,’ she said quietly. ‘Not that they are always effective, of course. Assassins choose their moments.'
Helen was amazed. ‘How frightening!'
‘One becomes accustomed to such things,’ replied Rose simply. ‘Now—here is your room. Do you like it?'
Helen's heart palpitated alarmingly as Rose thrust open a door near the head of the stairs and indicated that Helen should precede her inside. It was a large room, bright and attractive, the furniture light oak, the curtains and bedcoverings in a delicious shade of apricot. There were twin beds.
Helen heaved a tremulous sigh. ‘It—it's lovely!’ she said at last.
Rose smiled in a pleased way. ‘I'm glad you like it. Now—come and met the children!'
Helen's lips parted. Rose scarcely looked old enough to have a family. ‘You have children?'
‘Yes. Didn't Jake tell you? Three…and of course…’ She smiled down meaningfully at her swollen stomach.
Helen felt her colour rising. ‘No—no, Jake didn't tell me. Where are they?'
‘They're in the nursery with Lisa, our nanny. Come, I'll introduce you.'
Rose led the way down the panelled hall of the landing and entered a room at the far end. Helen following her found herself in a gaily decorated nursery where a slim red-haired girl was doing her best to keep three excited infants under control.
‘Come in, Helen,’ said Rose smilingly. ‘This is Lisa. Lisa, this is Mrs Howard, Jake Howard's wife.'
Lisa straightened to face Helen. She was about Helen's height, but slimmer, with narrow shoulders and hips. Two of the children still clung to her hands, one of whom was no more than ten or eleven months and stood on wobbling legs, while the other was a boy of perhaps three. The third child, a girl of four or five, had run to her mother when Rose entered the room.
‘How do you do?’ she murmured politely, but there was no welcome in her eyes. On the contrary, she was regarding Helen in a wholly hostile manner, and Helen couldn't immediately understand why.
Rose seemed unaware of the tension in the atmosphere and said: ‘What do you think of my babies?’ She looked down at the little girl clinging to her skirt. ‘This is Ruth, and that's Joseph with Lisa. The baby is called James.' She smiled and bent to pick up her youngest child. ‘Hello, darling! Are you being a good boy for Lisa?'
Helen tried to retain her composure under the nanny's critical gaze. ‘They're beautiful children,’ she said, and they were—black and chubby and wholly adorable.
Rose looked complacent. ‘Yes, they are, aren't they? Lucien and I are very proud of them. And Lisa is a treasure, of course.'
‘I'm sure she must be.’ Helen wet her dry lips. ‘Have you been with Mrs Ndana long, Lisa?'
Lisa shrugged. ‘Two years,’ she said indifferently.
‘Since we came to England,’ explained Rose. ‘I expect Lisa will be returning to Tsaba with us when we eventually go back, won't you, Lisa?'
Lisa looked at her employer and her expression changed. ‘I'd like to hope so,’ she said warmly.
Rose touched her shoulder gently, and then turned. ‘Well, we must go. The men will be wondering where we are.'
It was only as they were descending the stairs that Helen remembered something Rose had said. When she had introduced Helen to Lisa she had called her Mrs Howard, and then she had gone on to say that Helen was Jake Howard's wife. Almost as though Lisa knew Jake—as Jake!
Helen felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Did Lisa know her husband? Did she know him well? And as it was obvious that Jake had visited the Ndanas many times before, why had he brought her with him this time?
CHAPTER SEVEN
DOWNSTAIRS, the men were lounging before the fire in the living room, glasses of beer in their hands, talking amicably. They both stood up as Helen and Rose entered the room, but Helen avoided her husband's eyes, looking instead at Lucien, asking him about the history of the house saying how much she liked it.
Lucien was reassuringly attentive, only too willing to tell her all about the place and how it had been converted from an old mill in the nineteenth century. Helen was interested, but it was difficult to prevent her mind from probing Jake's involvement with the Ndanas, and why he should have chosen to bring her here this weekend. Contrary to Jennifer's beliefs he seemed to have no reason for maintaining a comfortable husband-and-wife relationship with these people who obviously knew him so well, and he had never previously shown any desire to introduce her to his friends other than at the formal dinner parties held at their house in Kersland Square. So why had she been invited? Because his relationship with the Ndanas’ nanny, Lisa, was getting out of hand? Because, as with his other women, she was asking too much of him?
Helen's lips tightened, and she flicked a glance in Jake's direction. He was not looking at her at that moment and she surveyed him frustratedly. Why did he have to have that disturbing magnetism that drew all women to him like moths round a flame? What was there about a man who had striven ruthlessly all his life to reach the top and who had succeeded by his own efforts, who had never had a lesson in diplomacy in his life, and who rode roughshod over anyone who got in his way that convinced every woman he met that she was the one who had the necessary attributes to tame him?
Helen absently accepted a cigarette from Lucien and bent her head to his lighter. Inhaling deeply, she forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying. But she was constantly aware of Jake's dark head bent towards Rose's, and the way he seemed to be giving his whole attention to what she was saying. What was she saying? The desire to know was eating Helen up, and she realised with a sense of dismay that she was jealous, intensely so.
Desperately she turned back to Lucien, and said: ‘Could we look around outside? I'd love a walk in the sunshine. Is the old mill wheel still there?'
Lucien nodded. ‘Yes, it's still there,’ he agreed mildly. ‘But rather dilapidated, I'm afraid.
But if you'd like a walk, we can all go. Hey, Jake, want to stretch your legs?'
‘I don't mind.’ Jake looked across at them easily. ‘How about you, Rose?'
Rose patted her stomach. ‘I don't somehow think so,’ she replied regretfully. ‘I think I'll just sit by the fire until lunchtime.'
Jake thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers. ‘Then perhaps I'll stay and keep Rose company,’ he remarked quietly. Helen knew he was looking at her, but she refused to look at him and he gave a casual shrug of his shoulders. ‘Do you want me to stay, Rose?'
Rose smiled, a warm intimate smile. ‘I shouldn't keep you from your lovely wife,’ she demurred.
Jake's expression hardened. ‘Don't let it worry you,’ he remarked dryly. ‘Helen can do very well without my company.'
Helen looked at him then and saw the sardonic glint in his eyes. ‘How right you are!’ she retorted pleasantly, and had the satisfaction of seeing his momentary impatience with her insolence.
Lucien Ndana seemed to see nothing wrong, however, and after Helen had collected her coat they went out into the blustery autumn sunshine. And despite her conviction that she would not do so, Helen did enjoy herself. Lucien was a stimulating companion, and interspersed with the history of the mill house he told her a little of his own country, Tsaba, in central Africa. To Helen their tribal customs were fascinating and they were engrossed in a discussion of African culture when they returned to the house.
Lunch was being served by Mujari, and he was introduced to Helen almost as a member of the family. The children did not eat with their parents and consequently there was just the four of them. Fortunately, Lucien did most of the talking, but although Jake made some comment to Rose he did not look in Helen's direction and she told herself she was glad.
After lunch the men retired to Lucien's study to discuss the new project and as Rose explained that she usually rested after the meal Helen was left to her own devices. Putting on her coat again, she walked down to the village, going into the village store and buying some sweets for the children. Then she walked slowly back, arriving just as Rose was in the process of carrying a tray of tea into the living room.
