by Anne Mather
He buried his face in his hands as he remembered her fear the night before. What terrible nightmare had caused her to scream in her sleep? What manner of monster did she think he was? And when, in her terror, she had begged him to stay he had been unable to do it. He had known full well that he could no longer trust himself where she was concerned.
With a grim tightening of his jaw he rose abruptly to his feet. He could not stay here any longer. He wanted to go home, to see Helen, to try and explain what it was that had driven him to put such a wedge between them. Could he make her see that her involvement with Mannering was eating him up? That no matter what had gone before, he had fallen in love with her, could not visualise life without her?
He thought of the women he had known and his lips twisted. Since his return from the United States he had not even looked at another woman, let alone slept with one. He, Jake Howard, was trapped in the very mesh he had sworn never to tangle with.
He went down in the lift, responding automatically to the polite greetings of his employees. The commissionaire opened his car door for him and touched his cap respectfully. Everything was exactly the same as it had always been, but it no longer gave him any pleasure.
He drove home to the house in Kersland Square, and entered the attractive hall, noticing that Mrs Latimer had put new flowers in the vase on the chest. Mrs Latimer herself appeared as he entered, and smiled politely at him.
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ she said, and Jake glanced swiftly at his watch, scarcely realising it was after twelve.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Latimer.’ Jake was impatient. ‘Where's my wife?'
Mrs Latimer folded the coat he had thrown off carelessly. ‘Mrs Howard isn't at home, sir. She went out about ten o'clock.'
‘Damn!’ Jake heaved an irritated sigh. ‘Did she say where she was going? When she'd be back?'
‘She had a suitcase with her, sir. She said she was taking some old books to the hospital—'
Jake interrupted her, his eyes diamond hard. ‘What books? What hospital?'
‘I don't know, sir. Like I said, she was on her way out when she told me.'
‘God almighty!’ Jake ran a hand round the back of his neck, tautening the silk shirt across his broad chest. A terrible feeling of anxiety was growing inside him, and he felt physically ill.
‘Shall I get your lunch now, sir—'
‘Lunch! Lunch!’ Jake grunted. ‘I don't want anything to eat. Oh, go on, then, a sandwich, that's all!’ This at the look of hurt expectation on Mrs Latimer's face.
‘Yes, sir.’ Worriedly she hung his coat in the hall closet and then disappeared through the door into her own domain. Jake stood where he had left her and then on impulse he lifted the phone.
Looking in the book beside the instrument, he found Jennifer's number and dialled it impatiently. A maid answered and a few moments later Jennifer's light tones came over the wire. ‘Jake darling, how marvellous! Have you rung to invite me out for lunch, because I'm free!'
Jake waited until she had finished laughing, and then said: ‘I want to know if you know where Helen is.'
Jennifer was taken aback. ‘Helen? Helen? Isn't she with you?'
‘If she were, would I be ringing you?’ Jake was terse.
‘No, of course not. Sorry, darling. And no—no, I don't know where she is. Have you lost her?'
Jake kept his temper with difficulty. ‘You might say that.'
‘Oh, dear!’ Jennifer sounded insinuative.
‘What is that supposed to mean?'
‘What, darling?’ Jennifer pretended ignorance.
‘That certain way you said “oh, dear”. What was the implication behind it?'
‘Oh, nothing.’ Jennifer seemed to be considering. ‘Just—just things!'
‘What things?’ Jake was beginning to feel that if he had Jennifer within reaching distance he would strangle her.
‘Just something Helen said this morning on the phone, darling.'
‘Helen rang you? This morning?'
‘Yes, darling. Didn't she tell you?'
‘I wasn't here,’ replied Jake grimly. ‘Well? What did she say?'
‘I don't really know whether I ought to tell you, darling. I mean—it might have been in confidence, after all.'
‘Jennifer, I warn you—'
Jennifer giggled softly. ‘Oh, darling, I love that masterful note in your voice!’ Then she sobered with a sigh. ‘Actually, she said she was thinking of leaving you.'
‘Of what?’ Jake was incredulous.
‘Of leaving you, darling. Yes, I was surprised, too.'
Jake could feel anger rising inside him. ‘Did she say why?'
Jennifer sounded doubtful. ‘Not really, darling. I think she was just feeling down in the dumps. Your weekend in Wales doesn't appear to have done her much good. Whatever happened? Was it all terribly boring?'
Jake clenched his fists. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, noncommittally. ‘So you've no idea where she is, then?'
‘None whatsoever, darling. Unless—unless—'
‘Unless what?’ Jake was abrupt.
‘Well, unless she's at Keith's home!'
‘Mannering?’ Jake felt the ball of his anger like an actual physical thing inside him.
‘Well, I'm only suggesting, darling. She is—fond of him, isn't she?'
‘Is she? I'm not aware of that.’ Jake was cold.
Jennifer sounded doubtful now. ‘Jake, don't take my word for it. I mean—well, she could be at the hairdresser's, couldn't she?'
Jake saw Mrs Latimer returning with his sandwiches and heaved a sigh. ‘Yes, yes, I guess she could be at that.'
‘Do let me know when you find her, won't you?’ Jennifer tried to hold his attention. ‘Jake—Jake, are you still there?'
‘Yes, yes, all right, Jennifer. G'bye.'
He rang off before he was tempted to say more than he should and looked thoughtfully at Mrs Latimer. The housekeeper carried the tray into the lounge and put it down on the low table before the fireplace, straightening as Jake came into the room. Jake saw the anxious expression in her face and said:
‘You're absolutely certain Mrs Howard didn't say where she was going?'
‘No, sir.’ Mrs Latimer shook her head. ‘But I shouldn't worry, sir. She's often out for lunch.'
Jake's brows drew together. ‘Is she? With whom?'
‘Mrs St John mostly. Occasionally with—with Mr Mannering.'
‘Oh, yes, Mannering!’ Jake's expression grew cynical. ‘Tell me, what do you think Mrs Howard's relationship with Mr Mannering is?'
‘Oh, sir—’ Mrs Latimer looked shocked.
Jake raised his dark eyebrows. ‘Well?'
‘It's not my place to wonder about things like that, sir.'
‘No, but you must have your own ideas.’ Jake was ruthlessly determined to find out, regardless of the ethics involved. ‘Well?'
‘She scarcely knows him, sir.'
‘While I was away—in the States—was she ever away overnight?'
‘Only in Wiltshire, sir. With Mr and Mrs St John. She left me their telephone number in case you called.'
‘I see.’ Jake flung himself into an armchair, his head throbbing quite painfully by now. ‘So in your opinion my wife couldn't be there?'
‘Where, sir?'
‘With Mannering?'
Mrs Latimer looked horrified. ‘With Mr Mannering, sir? Heavens, why should you think she might be there?'
Jake shook his head. ‘I don't know,’ he muttered, running a hand over his eyes. ‘God, I'm tired!'
‘Then why don't you rest this afternoon, sir? I can tell Mrs Howard when she gets back—'
She was interrupted by the sound of the telephone, and Jake was out of his chair and out of the door before she had time to forestall him.
‘Yes?’ he said curtly. ‘Howard speaking.'
‘Jake! Is that you? Lucien here.'
Jake's shoulders sagged. ‘Oh, God, Lucien, yes. Yes? What can I do for you?'
‘Is something wrong, man?’ Lucien sounded perturbed.
‘No—no, nothing.'
‘Well, if you say so. I rang to let you know my secretary has arranged the flight tickets and so on. We leave at seven a.m. Wednesday morning—'
‘Look, Lucien!’ Jake heaved a sigh. ‘Look, I don't know if I'm going to be able to make that deadline.'
‘What? Why? You're not backing out on me, are you, Jake?'
‘God, no!’ Jake raked a hand through his hair.
‘Look, how would it be if I got Martindale to accompany you?'
‘But I thought you were keen to see the site for yourself.’ Lucien sounded hurt now.
‘I was. I am. But something's come up.'
‘More important than the deal? It must be big, man.'
‘It is.’ Jake sighed again. ‘Okay, Lucien, Helen's disappeared.'
‘What?'
‘I said Helen's disappeared—'
‘I heard you, Jake.’ Lucien uttered an exclamation. ‘But why? What's wrong?'
‘I can't explain right now.’ Jake glanced round to see whether Mrs Latimer was listening but she had disappeared into her kitchen when he answered the phone. ‘Look, I'll get in touch with Martindale and arrange something with him.'
‘You can't brief him in a couple of days!’ exclaimed Lucien. ‘No, leave it, Jake, and I'll call off the trip for the present. It can wait a couple of weeks, sure it can. But let us know about Helen, won't you? I wish there was something I could do.'
‘There's nothing. But thanks anyway, Lucien. I appreciate it.'
‘Think nothing of it, man.'
Jake made some suitable rejoinder and then rang off, staring for a while at the phone before turning and going back into the lounge. But the sight of the sandwiches revolted him and he poured himself a stiff whisky before mounting the stairs to his room.
He loosened his tie as he went through the door. Perhaps a shower would clear his brain. Right now, he felt positively fuddled. And that was when he saw the letter. It was standing against the pillows on his bed, stark and white against the apricot counterpane.
Jake swallowed the remainder of his scotch at a gulp, and snatched up the letter, ripping open the envelope carelessly. The note inside was depressingly brief and to the point. It said simply:
I can't go on after what happened. Don't try to find me. I'll be in touch when I find somewhere to live. Helen.
Jake read the note twice and then tore it up into tiny pieces, staring grimly out of the window as he did so. I can't go on after what happened! Her words repeated themselves over and over in his head. He might have known that a woman of Helen's nervous temperament could not accept any apology he might make. To her he was simply a predator, taking what he wanted with complete disregard for the consequences, and she would never trust him again.
He flung off his tie and dropped it disinterestedly on the floor. His jacket and shirt followed it, and finally his trousers, pants, shoes and socks. Then he walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower, allowing the refreshing stream of water to soak his hair as well as his body.
When he finally emerged, his brain felt alert again, and he was able to think more coherently. But in spite of that the headache persisted, and with it his concern to know Helen's whereabouts.
He dressed in a blue lounge suit and went downstairs again. He had decided to go and see Keith Mannering. Regardless of whether Helen was involved with him or otherwise, he had to know what she had told him about their marriage.
Keith was at his office and clearly disturbed when Jake was shown into his presence by a smiling secretary.
‘I don't have a lot of time,’ he began awkwardly. ‘My father is expecting me at—'
‘What I have to say won't take much time,’ retorted Jake, interrupting him. ‘Have you seen Helen since we got back from Wales?'
‘Wales? I didn't even know you were going to Wales.'
‘Okay, okay, I'll accept that.’ Jake put a cheroot between his teeth. ‘So tell me, exactly what is your interest in my wife?'
Keith's cheeks reddened. ‘I thought you knew—at least—we're friends, that's all. Good friends!'
‘I see.’ Jake lit his cheroot and drew on it deeply. ‘You wouldn't have any plans beyond that?'
‘She's married to you, Mr Howard!’ Keith was stiff.
‘Yes, I know.’ Jake exhaled smoke into the air above their heads, his manner cool and detached.
And then with an abrupt volte-face he reached out a hand and caught Keith's shirt front in a savage grip, dragging the other man closer to him.
‘I say—’ Keith protested hotly. ‘You can't come in here—'
‘I can do exactly what I like!’ bit out Jake in a distinct voice. ‘And if I find you've laid a hand on my wife, I'll take you apart myself. Do I make myself clear?'
He released Keith just as abruptly as he had taken hold of him and the younger man staggered a little before gaining his balance. ‘I—I could have you up for assault!’ he exclaimed indignantly.
‘Try it!’ Jake said pleasantly, and turning on his heel he walked out of the office.
For the rest of the day he was involved with work. He had had to go back to the office and once there a dozen queries awaited his attention. He dealt with them all with the detachment he had shown in Keith Mannering's office, but inside he was obsessed with learning Helen's whereabouts. At times he came close to hating her for walking out on him like this without even bothering to leave an address, and he mentally went through all her friends, trying to think of someone to whom she might turn.
But apart from Jennifer there was no one of consequence. Helen was not the type to pour her troubles out to all and sundry, and somehow he couldn't see her approaching any of the sophisticated set they moved in.
The worst time of day came after dinner, after Mrs Latimer had departed about her own affairs, and he was alone in the house. He wandered round aimlessly, lifting an ornament here, an article there, turning on the television and turning it off again, uninterested in ordinary pursuits. He had never before realised exactly how empty a house could seem, and he wondered with unusual insight whether that was how Helen felt when he was away.
But that was different, he thought savagely. And that was what she had wanted anyway. She had proved it now by walking out on him.
Eventually, he took a bottle of Scotch up to his bedroom and it was morning before he tried to use his tired brain again…
Helen let herself into the house in Kersland Square not without some misgivings. But she had known that sooner or later she must come and as it was almost a week since Jake was due to leave for Tsaba she felt reasonably safe.
Mrs Howard had not wanted her to leave. After their initial antipathy with one another, a genuine respect and liking had grown up between them, and Helen had begun to realise that Jake's mother was sorry she wanted a divorce.
In the early days they had talked quite a lot about Jake's early life and Helen had been given an insight into her husband's character. His mother was intensely proud of him, but she had never changed, and because of this deep down Jake had not changed either. He was still just as scornful of artifice as he had ever been, although he used the very system he despised to his own ends.
Helen had learned about his father, and the way they had had to skimp themselves to send Jake to university, and she began to realise why Jake thought so little of the county set who had always had everything laid on for them.
But in spite of that, he had been lucky. He had happened to be in the right place at the right time, and his excellent brain had served him well. He had succeeded when others had failed because he had a single-minded approach to life, allowing nothing and no one to get in his way.
Only occasionally Mrs Howard had mentioned the women in Jake's life. She had told Helen about Veronica Quarton, and of the way she had thrown herself at his head. The Quartons still lived in the town; Mr Quarton was retired now, while his wife continued her spate of affairs with yo
unger men.
All these things had moulded Jake's character; had moulded his opinion of women; had taught him to take what was offered and never to offer anything in return.
But within the last couple of days Mrs Howard's questions had become more personal. She had been trying to find the real reason why Helen had suddenly decided she wanted to leave Jake, but Helen could not divulge that, even to her. So she had quietly, but firmly, made arrangements to leave, and Mrs Howard had not tried to stop her.
Now Helen closed the front door silently. The last thing she wanted was to run into Mrs Latimer before she had had chance to pack her things. She could not stand a lot of questions from her. For the present she intended to book herself anonymously into a small hotel and then she could set about looking for a flat or an apartment in earnest.
She climbed the stairs quietly. In a cream trouser suit and low-heeled shoes she made no sound on the soft carpet of the stairway, but at the top of the flight she halted hesitantly outside Jake's door. The desire to see his room one last time impelled her to open the door, but when she did so she fell back aghast.
The room was in chaos, clothes strewn carelessly across the floor, and draped haphazardly over the backs of chairs and dressing table. The curtains were drawn even at this late hour of the morning, and a stale odour of cigar smoke and Scotch invaded her nostrils.
Shaking her head incredulously, she took a step into the room and as she did so a harsh voice called savagely: ‘Get out! I've told you, Mrs Latimer, damn you! Get out!'
Helen was horrified. Pressing a hand to her throat, she stepped further into the room and now she could see that the bed she had thought just rumpled, the covers dragged roughly across it, was occupied. Jake lay among the crumpled sheets, the growth of several days’ beard upon his chin, his eyes closed against the band of light the opened door admitted.
‘Get out!’ he muttered again, resting an arm across his eyes and opening them slowly. ‘I said—’ Then he halted abruptly, as he saw Helen, his eyes narrowing disbelievingly. ‘Oh, God!’ she heard him mutter faintly. ‘God! I'm seeing things!'
