The Longest Pleasure

by Anne Mather

  Helen’s stomach plunged. ‘You’re saying she’s left the estate to Rafe?’ It was amazing how controlled her voice sounded, but inside her stomach felt like aspic. Butterflies in aspic, she invented, fighting back the hysteria that threatened to overwhelm her. How could this be happening? Castle Howarth was hers!

  ‘Not exactly,’ the solicitor was saying now in his ponderous way. ‘It is true that Rafe does inherit the right to administer the estate in his lifetime, but there are certain provisions your grandmother made——’

  ‘You can share that administration with me, if you like,’ Rafe inserted suddenly, swinging round to stare at her, his eyes glittering with a curious light. ‘Fifty-fifty; down the middle; equal shares, and all that guff! How does that appeal to you?’

  Helen winced. ‘It doesn’t——’

  ‘Please!’ Once again the solicitor had to intervene. ‘Rafe, let me finish! This is hard enough to explain as it is, without you making matters worse by taunting the girl! Helen,’ he turned to her appealingly, ‘you must remember that your grandmother’s greatest wish was that her staff, her tenants, the people who depended on her, should always be secure. Giving that responsibility to someone other than yourself was not a malevolent decision on her behalf. I know she thought about it for a very long time. And I must come back to my original submission: you had lost touch with the affairs of the estate over the years. Rafe was here; Rafe shared the day-to-day problems with her. And, in all honesty, he should be the one to continue.’

  ‘As his grandfather should have done, no doubt,’ said Helen tensely, but her expression was contemptuous. ‘How ironic! I wonder what my great-grandfather is thinking at this moment.’

  ‘I imagine he’s spitting blood!’ remarked Rafe scathingly. ‘Unfortunately, I can do nothing about it, or believe me, I would!’

  ‘Really?’ Helen’s scepticism was audible, and Rafe’s expression hardened.

  ‘Yes, really,’ he retorted harshly. ‘You didn’t know your grandmother very well, Miss Michaels——’

  ‘Obviously not.’

  ‘——or you would know that once she got an idea into her head, there was no gainsaying her!’

  ‘This is true.’ Frank Graham sighed. ‘Helen, you must let me finish. There are—certain provisions—as I have said. One of which concerns what Rafe said earlier.’

  ‘What do you mean? Sharing the running of the estate with him?’ Helen managed a scornful snort. ‘No thanks!’

  ‘Oh, please, this is getting embarrassing!’ The solicitor was in danger of losing his own temper now. ‘Helen, the terms of your grandmother’s will are this: a trust fund has been set up for you and for any offspring you may later bear. In effect, you will receive a generous annual allowance, the details of which I will come to in a while, and all your grandmother’s personal possessions—her car, her furs, her jewellery, etc. In addition to which, a lump sum has been invested for your heirs, but should you die childless, that sum, and any subsequent interest, will be recovered by the estate.’ He turned over several pages, and then, finding what he wanted, he spoke again: ‘With regard to the estate itself, there are two provisions: in the event of your not accepting the first, Rafe will, in essence, inherit Castle Howarth for his lifetime, with use of the remaining funds for its upkeep. At his death, the estate will be divided equally between his heirs and your own. As I said before, should either of you die childless, no such division will take place.’

  ‘And the first provision?’ Helen had to ask. ‘You said that was the second.’

  ‘Do you really want to know?’ Rafe demanded sardonically, and Helen held up her head.

  ‘Perhaps I’m curious to know how far you went in corrupting my grandmother’s mind!’ she retorted caustically, and the epithet Rafe uttered gave her some intimation of his frustration.

  ‘Might I remind you that you agreed to this?’ Frank Graham exhorted angrily, addressing himself to the man by the window and, dismissing their outburst, he returned to his duty.

  ‘Helen, you have to remember your grandmother was only thinking of the good of the estate when she changed her will. And, in spite of the antagonism you have displayed here, she evidently thought there were grounds to hope that her dearest wish might become a reality.’

  ‘Her dearest wish?’ Helen stiffened. ‘I’m afraid I——’

  ‘She hoped that you and Rafe might heal your differences—and, incidentally, your separate claims—by marriage.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘BUT why couldn’t you ring before now? As far as I can gather, the lines were down for less than forty-eight hours!’ Adam sounded put out and Helen couldn’t blame him.

  ‘Oh, you know what it’s like,’ she murmured, realising she should have formulated an excuse before picking up the phone. ‘It hasn’t been easy for me here. And—and the funeral only took place this morning.’

  ‘I know that. And that’s why I haven’t pressed you,’ declared Adam smoothly. ‘But I can’t deny I haven’t worried about you, Helen. Particularly after the precipitate way you left town.’

  ‘Precipitate?’

  ‘Yes, precipitate. Or perhaps I should say reckless. Helen, the morning you drove down to Wiltshire the weather was appalling. I couldn’t believe you would be so foolhardy as to attempt such a journey on such a day. So imagine my astonishment when I called at your apartment and Mrs Argyll informed me that you had already left!’

  ‘You—called at the flat?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve just said so. It was early; no more than nine o’clock. Whatever time did you leave?’

  ‘Oh—very early.’ Helen sighed. ‘Adam, it was sweet of you to concern yourself on my behalf, but I told you I’d be all right.’

  ‘You mean to tell me you drove all the way to Castle Howarth in a snow storm!’

  ‘Well—yes. To Salisbury, anyway,’ she amended, tempted to lie, but thinking better of it. As the Markhams knew Adam’s uncle, there was no telling whether or not she might be found out. If Rafe ever mentioned to Antonia …

  But that way lay danger, and quickly emptying her mind of all thoughts of Rafe Fleming, she endeavoured to change the subject. ‘How are you anyway? Have you missed me? I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you.’

  ‘Have you?’ Adam’s tone was perceptibly warmer. ‘Well, that’s good to know. And yes, of course I’ve missed you, too. I’ve lived like a hermit since you left.’

  Helen took a deep breath, forcing a note of lightness into her voice. ‘I can’t believe that,’ she exclaimed, trying desperately to remember the engagements they had had planned. ‘What about the Frascati exhibition? And Sonya’s party? Don’t tell me you didn’t go to either of them.’

  ‘Hmm—I did attend the opening,’ admitted Adam, after a moment. ‘And as I was invited to be Alicia’s godfather——’

  ‘——you attended Sonya’s party,’ Helen finished for him triumphantly. ‘There: I knew you were exaggerating.’

  Adam’s laugh was rueful. ‘All right, all right. So I haven’t exactly cut myself off from my friends. But the fact remains, I don’t enjoy myself half as much without you, and had you not been so adamant about my not visiting your grandmother’s home at this time, I’d have jumped into the car and driven down three days ago.’

  ‘Oh, Adam …’

  ‘It’s true. I had visions of you trapped in your car somewhere, maybe freezing to death. Or alternatively, alone in that empty old house, at the mercy of chaps like that offensive fellow who rang. What was his name? Ralph something or other?’

  ‘Um, Rafe—er—Fleming,’ admitted Helen, after a pregnant pause. ‘And—and actually, it hasn’t been like that.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Helen sighed. ‘Well—me alone in the house. Paget—Miss Paget—my grandmother’s companion still lives here, and Mrs Pride, the housekeeper. And—and Rafe, too, as it happens.’

  ‘The agent?’

  Clearly Adam was amazed, and Helen dreaded his reaction when he learne
d the whole truth. Whatever his feelings for the estate might be, he could only feel indignation on her behalf, and she had a horrible image of him demanding she take Rafe to court to try and have the will set aside. Horrible because, in spite of the not-unnatural pain she had felt at her grandmother’s rejection, and the resentment she harboured towards Rafe for his part in Nan’s decision, she had no heart to contest the judgement. If that was what her grandmother had wanted, then so be it. So far as she was concerned, Helen couldn’t wait to get back to London—and sanity.

  ‘It’s a long story, Adam,’ she said now. ‘I’ll tell you all about it when I get back. With a bit of luck, I should be able to drive home on Sunday. If I get an early start, I should make it before dark.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Adam sounded surprised. ‘Isn’t there a lot of red tape still to go through? I seem to remember when my father died, Charles and I took weeks to get everything sorted out. Doesn’t probate have to be granted, and all that sort of thing? And what have you decided to do about the house?’

  Helen expelled her breath. ‘I expect the solicitors can handle my share,’ she exclaimed, half impatiently, and then could have bitten out her tongue at the careless disclosure.

  ‘Your share?’ echoed Adam at once. ‘Are you saying you were not the only beneficiary? My God, no wonder you’ve had no time to speak to me. What unwanted skeleton has crawled out of the closet?’

  His tone was half-mocking, but Helen thought how apt it was. Only Rafe was no skeleton; he was disgustingly healthy.

  ‘Can’t we leave this until I get back to town?’ she pleaded, wishing she had not been so indiscreet. ‘As it happens, I don’t inherit the house; just a rather generous allowance. It seems my grandmother speculated rather successfully on the stock market, and there’s no question of Castle Howarth being sold.’

  ‘I see.’ Adam was obviously puzzled, but it was not his way to argue. Instead his: ‘How intriguing!’ was merely an acknowledgement, and she could only imagine his narrow brows drawing together. But, when she returned to town, he would expect a complete explanation, and once he learned the reason—and the method—by which Rafe had usurped her claim, she had no doubt he would have a great deal more to say.

  ‘I must go,’ said Helen now, disturbed by the unpleasant memories Adam’s words had provoked. For the past two hours—ever since that awful scene in her grandfather’s study—she had been fighting to keep the insidious doubts at bay, but now they flooded back and she felt betrayed.

  Making her farewells to Adam, she quickly left the room where her grandmother had spent so much of her time, and walked along the hall to her own room. The mourners had all departed; the house would soon be in darkness again; and she had to come to terms with the fact that once she left here she would never come back.

  Entering her bedroom, she closed the door and leaned back wearily against it. If only she didn’t find it so difficult to believe. If only she could get it into her head that this was not just some terrible dream, but the future her grandmother had planned for her. She had seen the will; she had identified her grandmother’s signature on it; there was no mistake; if she refused Rafe’s offer, as she was going to—would have already, if Mr Graham had not insisted that she sleep on it—to all intents and purposes, Castle Howarth would belong to Rafe.

  And he had gone along with it, gone along with her grandmother’s surely deluded plan to redress the past in the present. He had evidently convinced her grandmother that he would honour his obligations, if he was called upon to do so, but he must have known she would never agree to such an arrangement. So what did he have to lose? Nothing; and everything to gain. Were she a braver woman, a stronger character, a gambler—as her grandmother had proved herself to be—she might be tempted to pretend acquiescence just to call his bluff. But something warned her that Rafe Fleming was not the kind of man to break his word, not when there was so much at stake.

  But it was ludicrous, totally ludicrous and she had told Frank Graham so. The mere idea that she and Rafe could ever enter into such a liaison was unthinkable, and she couldn’t imagine how the old lady had conceived of such a notion. Arranged marriages didn’t happen any more, at least, not in this country, or had she had such a low opinion of her granddaughter, she really thought Helen might agree for mercenary reasons. She had certainly not been senile. Realising that with such a large amount of money being involved it was imperative that the will should be watertight, she had acquired written confirmation from two independent doctors, as well as from her own physician, that she was completely in possession of all her faculties at the time the will was made. Yet, it was this, as much as anything, that made Helen suspicious. Would her grandmother have been so thorough left to herself? Or did she detect a man’s hand guiding her grandmother’s actions? And not just any man’s hand. Rafe’s!

  With a feeling of despair, Helen left the door to walk to the bed, sinking down on to the satin coverlet. It was odd to think that after this weekend, this room wouldn’t be hers any more. She wondered what Rafe would do; what plans he had made for the future. He might even decide to get married, now that the doubts concerning his obligation to her had been resolved. Miss Paget must have guessed what was happening, she thought dully. No wonder she had been so alarmed when Helen had mentioned Adam. As an admirer of Rafe’s, she would obviously not want the girl to do anything to threaten his claim. But surely even she could not have known what little option Helen had been given.

  Shivering with a mixture of cold and apprehension, Helen looked at her watch. It was only half past six. Dinner, should she desire it, would be ready in an hour, but food did not hold a high priority in her present frame of mind. Instead, she decided to go out. A quiet drink in a pub several miles from here sounded appealing and, getting up, she unzipped the simple black dress she had worn for the funeral.

  The dark blue ski-pants, matched this time with a man’s cream silk shirt and a hip-length corded waistcoat, were warm without looking too serviceable, and the vivid parka gave her unnaturally pale face some colour. A couple of hairpins secured the few escaping tendrils of hair, and tonight the severe style suited her mood. She looked older, she thought, depressed by her own image, and for the first time in her life, she really felt her age.

  Helen felt like a conspirator leaving the house. She found herself treading softly along the hall, praying no one would see her and demand an explanation for her actions. She needed to be alone; she needed time to absorb what had happened; and most of all she needed to escape any simulated overtures of sympathy.

  The door slammed behind her, making her jump and stand for several anxious moments, waiting for some reaction from within. But apparently everyone was too busy about their own affairs to pay any attention to such an every-day sound, and although in Helen’s ears it had sounded like the ring of doom, she was in a highly suggestible state.

  Satisfied at last that she had not attracted anyone’s attention, Helen made her way round to the stables, her feet crunching on the frozen ground. Just for a moment, her eyes were drawn to the lights that still burned in the main building. The caterers had departed about an hour ago, and now only Mrs Pride and Mrs Sellers were left to replace the dust-sheets and shut up the rooms. Just like the castle in Sleeping Beauty, thought Helen, a lump forming in her throat. It seemed such a shame that no one ever looked at the paintings or admired the shelves of porcelain these days. Earlier, in the drawing room, she had realised how little she really knew about the house and its history. Her knowledge of antiques had told her that here was a valuable collection of both china and furniture, and it seemed a crime to hide their wealth behind closed doors. She disliked the errant thought that had she inherited the house, as she had expected to, she might have been tempted to dispose of at least some of its contents to maintain her own lifestyle. If death duties had swallowed a goodly part of the estate, and it had been difficult to carry on, what would she have done? It was not a problem she wanted to pursue, not when the opportunity to dec
ide had been taken so completely out of her hands.

  The Daimler was cold and took several abortive attempts to start. But, eventually, it fired and she backed it out of the garage, alert for any bystander who might have come to see what was going on. The yard remained deserted, however, and, breathing a sigh of relief, she turned the old car on to the drive and accelerated.

  The roads were still a little hazardous, though they had been well-salted, and she kept a sharp look-out for any patches of black ice. But she reached the village without mishap, and after some consideration, she chose the Salisbury road. She knew there were several villages within a ten-mile radius of Howarth, and she could be sure of anonymity beyond her immediate surroundings.

  The Honey Bell at Bewford looked appealing. Through its narrow leaded panes she could see a log fire blazing, and coloured lights around a bar, decorated like a ship’s cabin. It was busy, too, which also appealed to her. No one was likely to take any notice of her in such a crowd.

  The Captain’s Bridge, as the bar was called, lived up to her expectations. She was served by a very pretty girl, who was more intent on answering the teasing comments of a group of youths gathered at the end of the bar than on paying any attention to her. With a warming goblet of brandy in her hand, Helen edged her way towards the fire and, finding an empty stool in a corner, she deliberately turned her back on the room.

  ‘All alone?’

  The casual inquiry was unwelcome, and Helen looked up with some impatience at the man who had come to prop his shoulder against the mantel above her. ‘Through choice,’ she said pointedly, acknowledging that the young man’s dark good looks no doubt usually provoked an entirely different reaction.

  ‘I can’t believe that,’ he insisted now, evidently as sure of himself as she had imagined. ‘Let me buy you a drink. Then you can tell me all about it.’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  Helen kept her tone moderate, but the man would not take the hint. ‘I guess there’s a man involved,’ he said sagely. ‘There always is. I can think of no other reason why a beautiful girl like you should be drinking alone.’