Jake Howard's Wife

by Anne Mather

  ‘No!’ Helen was conscious of herself saying the word over and over again, wildly, disbelievingly, tormentedly, and Lisa caught her cruelly by the shoulders and began shaking her and shaking her…

  ‘Helen! Helen! Calm down! You're all right. You're safe—here—at home.'

  Helen opened her eyes with difficulty, the pale lamplight illuminating the face of the man above her who was gently shaking her awake. She was breathing gulpingly, chokingly, as though she had been doing something strenuous, her face wet with tears.

  She blinked rapidly, her breathing slowing as she recognised Jake's anxious features. ‘What—what is it? What's wrong?’ she whispered.

  Jake allowed her to rest against the soft pillows. ‘You've been dreaming,’ he said, sitting down on the side of the bed, smoothing damp tendrils of her hair back behind her ears. ‘You've been very distressed. I thought for a minute a burglar was in the house.’ He smiled, his eyes more gentle than she had ever seen them.

  ‘I'm—I'm sorry!’ Helen put a hand to her head. ‘I—I've never done that before.'

  Jake's eyes darkened. ‘I know. I guess it was a hangover from this blasted weekend.’ He shook his head impatiently. ‘Are you all right now?'

  Helen heaved a sigh. ‘Yes, I think so,’ she said, her eyes feeding on him, loving him, watching every small movement he made. His hair was tousled from his bed and he was dressed in a navy silk dressing gown, and from his appearance she didn't somehow think he had spent the night drinking as he had said he was going to do.

  Jake rose to his feet. ‘I'll go, then. Goodnight, Helen.'

  ‘Wait!’ Helen propped herself up on one elbow and caught his fingers. ‘Jake—don't go!'

  Jake's colour deepened. ‘I thought you said you were all right now—’ and then at the look in her green eyes he uttered an expletive. ‘For God's sake, Helen, you don't know what you're asking!'

  ‘I do.’ Helen raised his hand to her lips, but Jake snatched it abruptly away, striding swiftly to the door. He didn't look back and the door banged hollowly behind him, as hollow as the feeling Helen was experiencing at his rejection…

  Selby railway station was not the most inspiring of places on a damp cold November afternoon, and Helen was glad of the warmth of her sheepskin coat over the thick trouser suit she was wearing. She carried only one small suitcase and after she had handed in her ticket she went outside to hire a cab. She had Mrs Howard's address from occasional communications, Christmas cards and things, and she gave this to the driver, settling into the corner of the cab to wait apprehensively for their arrival.

  She didn't really know what had put the idea of coming to Jake's mother into her head, unless perhaps it had been Jennifer's attitude.

  She had awakened this morning with an awful sense of foreboding hanging over her head, and with coherency had come the painful remembrance of what she had done. Even now, a wave of humiliation swept over her as she recalled Jake's instant rejection of her, and she had been overwhelmingly relieved to discover he had already left the house before she got up.

  During a lonely breakfast of coffee and cigarettes she had tried to assimilate her position and had come to the only conclusion possible. She could no longer go on living with Jake, knowing he despised her, afraid of her own weakness creating further humiliation. She would ask him for a divorce and somehow it would be arranged. These things were not difficult to contrive these days, and she didn't much care who was cited as the guilty party.

  But then had come the realisation that she could not stay here, in Jake's house. She would have to find somewhere else to stay. But where? And with whom? The idea of a lonely bedsitter was chilling but eventually to be a fact. After all, she could not expect maintenance from Jake. She was a perfectly healthy individual, and there was no possible reason why she should not get a job.

  She thought about his proposed trip to Africa. If she could just keep out of his way until then by the time he came back she would have herself under control again. Just now she felt she was emotionally unstable, unable to cope with any more arguments.

  So she rang Jennifer and told her what she intended to do. Jennifer was obviously shocked, but as she had no idea of the real facts of the situation she was not much help.

  ‘But, darling,’ she exclaimed, ‘you've known what Jake is like for years! Why the sudden decision to break up your marriage? Heavens, I always thought you didn't give a damn what he did.'

  Helen swallowed hard. ‘Perhaps I'm getting sick and tired of such an artificial relationship,' she said carefully. ‘Maybe I want a real marriage—a family.'

  ‘Oh, God, Helen! You can't be serious!'

  “Why not?'

  ‘Why not? Well, because, darling, you're not the type. I can't see you appreciating the less attractive necessities of motherhood. And just think of being pregnant! I ask you—who wants to go around for nine months getting steadily uglier and uglier!'

  Helen's fingers had clenched round the phone. She had wanted to shout: ‘Me! I do! Just so long as it was Jake's baby I was bearing!'

  But instead she said nothing of the kind, and allowed Jennifer to attempt to persuade her to be sensible. And then she had rung off and sat for a long while just staring at the phone.

  And that was when the idea had occurred to her. If she went to Selby, to Jake's mother's, he would not know where she was. And certainly he would never think of looking for her there. He would go off to Tsaba, and once he had left the country she would return to London, pack her things, and put the matter in the hands of a solicitor.

  The rain-wet windows of the cab mirrored the drab scene outside. Mothers and children hurried home from the shops, workmen stood in queues for buses, cars splashed through puddles, drenching anyone near enough to be soaked by the muddy spray that ensued. This was Jake's home town, the place he had been born, where he had gone to school and learned that he had a brain.

  Helen sighed. It was a shocking thing that in all the years of their marriage she had never been here before.

  She thought of what reception she might receive from his mother. She had what she had to say all planned. After all, Mrs Howard had never wanted her to marry her son, so by rights she should be glad that Helen was here. But would she appreciate Helen's anxieties that Jake might have tried to find her in London and persuade her to return to him? Would she understand that right now Helen was in no fit state to resist such a request? And would she help her to keep out of sight until Jake was safely in Tsaba, thus giving her nearly two months to make another life for herself?

  Mrs Latimer had looked at her strangely this morning when she had gone out with her suitcase. She had made some excuse about taking some old books to the hospital, but she was sure Mrs Latimer didn't believe her. Still, there was nothing she could do now and she had made sure no one had heard her give the name of King's Cross station to the cab driver.

  Now she returned her thoughts to the present and saw that they had left the main thoroughfare and were traversing some narrow side streets. Rows of terraced houses closed in about her and she sat forward in her seat studying the names of the streets intently.

  At last she saw the name she was looking for: Harrison Terrace, and there was number thirty-seven.

  The cab driver drew in to the kerb and Helen climbed out, looking up at the narrow house where Jake had been born. Then she hastily fumbled in her bag for a five pound note and shook her head when the driver began searching his pockets for change.

  He touched his cap politely and stood her suitcase on the step, then he got back into his cab and drove away.

  Helen knocked at the door. The lace-curtained windows revealed nothing of what was inside and she felt her heart hammering uncomfortably. Presently, however, the door was opened by an elderly woman, and Helen staring at her anxiously recognised Mrs Howard's firm features.

  ‘Yes?’ she began politely, and then she gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth. ‘Good lord, it's—Helen—isn't it? What's wrong? Has there been an acci
dent? Is Jake ill?'

  Helen shook her head vigorously. ‘No, no, nothing like that. Jake doesn't even know I'm here. He—he's fine.'

  Mrs Howard frowned in a puzzled way and then she stepped back abruptly. ‘I suppose you'd better come in, then.'

  ‘Thank you.’ Helen stepped past her mother-in-law into the narrow hall that ran from front to back of the house.

  Mrs Howard closed the door and then opened a door a little further down the hall. ‘We can go in here.'

  The room they entered was the lace-curtained one overlooking the street. It was cold and cheerless without a fire, very clean and neat, obviously seldom used.

  ‘Oh, please,’ exclaimed Helen awkwardly. ‘I'm sure this isn't where you were sitting. Couldn't we go there?'

  Mrs Howard hesitated. ‘Will what you have to say take long?'

  Helen sighed. ‘I'm afraid it might.'

  Jake's mother bit her lip. ‘Oh, well,’ she said grudgingly. ‘All right, we'll go through into the kitchen. It's certainly warmer there.'

  The kitchen was as large as the other room, with a comfortable fireplace and armchairs, and an alcove leading off which housed the sink and gas cooker. Mrs Howard waved Helen to take one of the armchairs and then she seemed to notice the suitcase in Helen's hand, for she frowned again, and said: ‘I'll just put the kettle on.'

  Helen smiled and sank into an armchair, loosening her coat. All of a sudden she felt exhausted, and this cheerful little room seemed the most welcome place on earth. She felt secure here, and safe, too. Safe from making a fool of herself over this woman's son.

  Mrs Howard came back and stood before her, rubbing her hands together doubtfully. ‘Now then, lass,’ she said, ‘what's wrong?'

  Helen sighed. ‘Won't you sit down too?'

  Mrs Howard shrugged. ‘All right. There—now tell me.'

  Helen sought about for a suitable way to begin. ‘First of all, I should tell you, Jake and I are going to divorce.'

  ‘What?’ Mrs Howard was flabbergasted. ‘But he's never said the like to me.'

  Helen bent her head. ‘No—well, it's all been decided rather suddenly. In actual fact, Jake hasn't really agreed.'

  ‘Come now, lass, how can you be getting a divorce if our Jake hasn't agreed?'

  Helen shook her head. ‘Well, I want a divorce, Mrs Howard. And that's final. Oh, you know you didn't want me to marry him in the first place. Well, you were right. We're not suited.'

  ‘I see.’ Mrs Howard got up to make tea in a china teapot. ‘But why are you here?'

  Helen wetted her dry lips. ‘Last night—last night we had—a row. I—I've walked out. I wanted to get out of London until he leaves for Tsaba, and I knew he'd never think of looking for me here.'

  ‘Tsaba?’ Mrs Howard came back with the tray of tea. ‘What's that?'

  ‘It's a country—in Central Africa. Jake knows their ambassador.'

  Mrs Howard frowned. ‘Oh, yes, I remember now. Isn't their name Ndana or something? They're the couple Jake got Lisa Harding a job with.'

  Helen felt a pain in her stomach like a knife. ‘That's right,’ she managed chokingly. ‘Well—well, Jake's going out there, on Wednesday, I think. If—if I could just stay here until he's left town—'

  ‘Stay here?’ Mrs Howard sounded astounded. ‘But why here? Surely you've friends of your own who would keep you? I've never heard the like! Coming here, asking me to take your side against my son!'

  ‘No! No, it's not like that.’ Helen thrust her tea aside impatiently. ‘Don't you see, I thought you'd be pleased.'

  ‘Why? Because Jake's marriage is splitting up?'

  ‘His marriage to me! Yes.'

  Mrs Howard compressed her lips. ‘I thought Jake was happy. He always seemed contented enough when he came here.'

  Helen rose abruptly to her feet. ‘So you won't help me, then.'

  Mrs Howard rose too. ‘Now hold on, hold on, lass,’ she said steadily. ‘I never said any such thing. But you can't expect to come here and explode a bombshell like that and not have any reaction. Good lord, we're not your fashionable London set. In Selby marriage means something more than lines on a bit of paper!'

  ‘It means more than that to me, too,’ protested Helen quickly. ‘That's why I want a divorce.'

  Mrs Howard shook her head. ‘But I don't understand. I was always under the impression you married Jake—well, because he could provide you with a meal ticket for life! What's happened now? Has some other chap come along with a better proposition?'

  Helen's cheeks paled at that and Mrs Howard looked a little shamefaced. ‘All right, all right,’ she said, ‘I'll take that back. But you must admit you weren't in love with Jake when you married him.'

  ‘I know.’ Helen sank down into her chair again. ‘And I suppose I did marry him for the reasons you said, except that I chose him for a very special reason. I knew it would horrify my father's family.’ She looked up. ‘They cut him off, you see, because he wasn't like them. They're very much of the old school of aristocracy, county and all that! Jake was the very antithesis of everything my uncle stands for, and I married him partly because of that.'

  ‘I see.’ Mrs Howard sat down again too and heaved a sigh. ‘But now you want to be free?'

  Helen swallowed hard. ‘You could put it like that.'

  ‘Then why couldn't you have waited until he'd gone to Tsaba? Surely a couple of days wouldn't make much difference after three years and more?'

  ‘No!’ Helen was adamant. ‘I—I had to get away. I'm sorry, but there it is.’ Her voice broke ignominiously, and Mrs Howard stood up again, taking away the tea tray and generally avoiding Helen's obvious distress.

  By the time she came back Helen had herself under control again, and Mrs Howard stood looking at her consideringly. ‘You can stay,’ she said abruptly. ‘You can have Jake's room. He won't be needing it.'

  Helen rose now. ‘Oh, thank you! Thank you.'

  Mrs Howard shook her head deprecatingly. ‘Don't thank me. I don't even know if I'm doing the right thing. But you're obviously too upset right now to argue about it. Come along, I'll show you the room and then I'll see about something to eat.'

  Helen nodded silently. There was something strong and reassuring about Mrs Howard. Like Jake, she had no time for pretence.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MISS FRAZER burst into tears, and Jake rested his chin on his fist, supporting himself with his elbow on his desk. He regarded the girl resignedly, and then sighed with ill-concealed impatience.

  ‘All right, Miss Frazer, all right,’ he said heavily. ‘I'm sorry. We'll go over that again. Now, did you get as far as the chemical analysis? You did? Good. Then we can start from there.’ He consulted the papers on his desk and began dictating once again, and the young woman opposite him scribbled frantically in her shorthand notebook.

  Jake's secretary, Linda Holland, was absent from work this morning and he was using his general manager's secretary as her replacement, but while Sheila Frazer was an adequate secretary she was not in Linda's class, and Jake, impatient to finish his work and leave the office, was in no mood to be tolerant. Already he had had to repeat himself several times, spelling out the chemical substances referred to with increasing repetition, and a few moments ago he had lost his temper and snapped angrily at her.

  At last the dictation was over and Jake thrust the papers irritably aside. ‘You can get Mr Mainwaring to sign them,’ he said broodingly. ‘You will be able to read your shorthand, won't you?'

  ‘I—I think so, Mr Howard.’ Miss Frazer rose unhappily to her feet. ‘Is that all, sir?'

  Jake chewed moodily at his lips and looked up absently as she spoke. ‘What? Oh—oh, yes, yes, that's all. I'm sorry if I upset you.’ His eyes were cool, detached.

  Sheila Frazer smiled appealingly. ‘That's all right, Mr Howard. Thank you.'

  Jake nodded, watching her disappear through the door which led to his secretary's office, and then pushing back his chair abruptly he got to his feet. />
  He walked to the window of the huge office, looking out on a vista of the city. His apartments were the penthouse of the building and he had a magnificent view from here. Turning, he surveyed his office without pleasure. Large and well lit, softly carpeted in dark blue, with dark mahogany furniture, it was the epitome of what a business room should be, and he had always felt a certain pride of possession, knowing himself the power behind the throne.

  But today there was no pleasure in anything. He felt physically sick, and an ache in the region of his temples had nothing to do with the shortage of sleep he had had the night before. In all his life there had never been anything he had wanted which had seemed inevitably out of his grasp. Power, position, success, money; they had all been goals he had reached for and attained, but the thing he wanted now was unattainable.

  He uttered a grim curse, and flung himself bitterly back into his chair. He closed his eyes for a moment, endeavouring to shut out the images that came to plague his mind, but it was useless. Jake Howard, the man who had always prided himself on being able to handle anything and anybody, had made a complete hash-up of his own marriage.

  He leant forward, resting his arms on the desk, trying to understand why he had never realised what was happening to him until it was too late. When he had arrived back from the States and found Helen out with Keith Mannering he had been furious, but he had thought that that was all it was: anger! He had never dreamt it might have its basis in that tortuous agony called jealousy. But as the weeks went by it had become more and more obvious that his whole life was being shaken by that primitive force. Of course he had not accepted it, even then. Why would he? He had imagined Helen to be an ice-maiden, cool and aloof, indifferent to the sexual side of marriage.

  But gradually his own emotions had become involved, almost against his will, and he had found himself watching her, wanting her, needing her, until he could no longer act sanely. But that didn't excuse his behaviour. Nothing could do that.

  This weekend everything had exploded, and he had found himself in a situation from which there seemed no escape. His actions had destroyed the slender thread of any relationship they might have sustained. Recalling the reproach in her eyes yesterday morning, he despised himself anew.