by Anne Mather
In the event, Rafe had not returned before her departure. While Markham was loading her cases into his car, a vehicle did come speeding down the track towards the house, but it was only Connie Sellers in her husband’s Mini. She eyed the proof of Helen’s intentions with evident satisfaction, and her: ‘Safe journey!’ was uttered with a faintly derisive smile.
Helen didn’t talk much on the journey to Salisbury. Saying goodbye to Miss Paget and Mrs Pride had been upsetting, not least because once again she was acting without their approval.
‘I can’t understand you, Helen,’ Mrs Pride had exclaimed in an undertone when Ralph Markham wasn’t looking. ‘Letting that man take you! You know Rafe’s going to be pretty annoyed when he gets back and finds you’ve gone. Whatever else he’s done, he’s always treated you with respect. How do you think he’s going to feel when he discovers you’ve walked out without even so much as a handshake?’
Helen could not argue with her, not without involving herself in things she wanted to forget. Instead, she said nothing, and was relieved when Miss Paget contented herself with a silent admonition.
The worst moment came when the Volvo drew away from the house, and she knew it was the last time she would turn to look at its much-loved façade. She would always remember it this way, she thought, the roofs still flecked with snow, and the garden hidden beneath a winter blanket. She used to dream that one day she might have the money to open up the house, to refurbish all the shabby rooms and bring the place to life. That would never happen now. Castle Howarth could not mean the same to Rafe as it had meant to her. He would probably use the money to build some modern neo-Georgian monstrosity on the estate, and open up the house to fee-paying visitors. There was nothing in her grandmother’s will that said he couldn’t maintain his legacy in any way he chose. So long as it wasn’t sold; that was the only proviso.
Thankfully, Markham seemed to apprehend her distress, and whatever his interpretation of it, he understood her unwillingness to indulge in idle conversation. Only when he deposited her outside the Blue Boar did he pass any comment, and then it was only to wish her well for the future.
‘I expect we’ll see you back in the village from time to time,’ he said, accepting her refusal of his offer to carry her cases to her car with reluctance. ‘Just don’t stay away too long. It isn’t good to lose touch with your roots.’
Helen thanked him for his assistance, but she treated his advice non-committally. She didn’t deny it. The last thing she wanted was for people to start talking about a feud between her and Rafe. But equally, she didn’t make any promises. In time, people would forget. Out of sight, out of mind, she thought ruefully. Was there ever a truer saying?
To her relief, the Porsche was where she had left it. Someone, some children maybe, had cleared most of the snow from the hood, and although when she got inside it was freezing, the engine fired without too much effort. Leaving the engine running, she threw her cases into the boot, and then slid thankfully behind the wheel. At last, she thought, feeling a distinct lift in her spirits. In a few hours she would be back in London. What had happened would all seem like a bad dream, once she was back in the environment she had created for herself.
She rang Adam about nine o’clock. It had been later than she had anticipated when she reached the apartment, and her first impulse was to take a bath in the centrally-heated luxury of her own bathroom. She washed her hair, too, as if to erase any trace of Rafe’s possession from her body, and by the time it was dry enough to loop into a knot, it was after a quarter to the hour. She had spent some time massaging a moisturising body lotion into her skin, particularly in those areas where a darker contusion bore witness to the mindless fervour of passion, and she knew a guilty relief that Adam never made love to her without the lights being extinguished first.
She didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry when she discovered Adam was not at home. His manservant, a rather taciturn Welshman with the unlikely name of Maclaren, informed her that ‘His Lordship’ had not expected her to return until tomorrow.
‘Yes, I know,’ Helen acknowledged apologetically, feeling as if she was intruding on his evening. ‘I—perhaps you’d tell him I rang.’
‘I’ll tell him in the morning,’ responded Maclaren, leaving Helen in no doubt that he was not expecting his employer home until much later. ‘Good night, miss.’
‘Good night.’
Helen replaced the receiver meticulously, staring at the phone for some minutes before determinedly getting to her feet and walking away. What had she expected, after all? Adam was a popular guest at dinners and parties and the like. She had been rather presumptuous in thinking he might be at home, just waiting for her to call.
Of course, Maclaren needn’t have been so off-hand. Or so quick to tell her that Adam was not pining in her absence. It reinforced the opinion she had had for some time that Maclaren would have preferred his employer to be anticipating marriage with some titled female, and not wasting his time with the part-owner of an antique shop.
By the next morning, Helen felt much better. A sleeping pill had provided some much-needed oblivion, and although she always had a heavy head after submitting to drugs, at least she did not look as haggard as she had done the night before.
Flatteringly, Adam rang soon after she was up, his immediate reaction one of apology for not having been at home the night before. ‘I was only at Teddy West’s house-warming,’ he exclaimed, after she had made a teasing comment about his not having missed her at all. ‘Didn’t Mac tell where I was? You could have phoned me there.’
‘I don’t think Mr Maclaren likes me,’ murmured Helen drily. ‘I get the distinct impression he disapproves.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly!’ Adam dismissed her doubts with amusement. ‘It’s only because you do a job of work. In Mac’s eyes, the next Lady Kenmore should confine her talents to charity works and good causes. I’ve told him: as soon as we’re married, you’ll conform to his high standards.’
Helen stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’
‘What do you think I mean, darling? Naturally, once we’re married, you won’t have time to continue with the shop. I shall expect you to make yourself available to me—day as well as night,’ he added insinuatively. ‘Besides, I’ve plans for us that do not include sharing you with Pastiche!’
Helen gasped. ‘You’ve never told me this before.’
‘That’s because it’s never come up before,’ Adam replied airily. ‘Helen, these last few days I’ve realised how much time you devote to that business of yours, and I agree with Mac; it is too much.’
Helen couldn’t believe this. ‘Adam, must I remind you that if it wasn’t for the shop, we’d never have met.’
‘I find that hard to believe.’ Adam’s voice had deepened. ‘Darling, sooner or later we were bound to find each other. It was fate!’
Helen shook her head. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Don’t say anything. I’m not suggesting you should withdraw your capital or anything drastic like that. Melanie, I’m sure, will not expect you to continue in your present role once you’re my wife. It might be a good idea for her to be considering taking on an assistant in the near future. Someone you could initiate into the business, before you retire.’
Helen felt as if someone had just pulled the ground from under her feet. It was so unexpected. She and Adam had been talking about a serious commitment for almost six months now, but this was the first time he had ever intimated that he might expect her to give up her job when they got married. Perhaps she had been naive not to think of it herself, particularly as she knew Adam’s penchant for spending time in exotic places. But if the thought of his love for the playboy life had occurred to her at all, she had always managed to stave off any unanswerable questions. She had consoled herself with the thought that once they were married, he would have responsibilities he didn’t have right now. Perhaps she had thought marriage would change his life—or his attitude. Perhaps she had not
wanted to contemplate the alternatives.
‘Helen! Helen, are you still there?’
Adam’s anxious voice brought her back to the present with a start, and she swallowed before saying quietly: ‘Yes. I’m here.’
‘You’re not upset, are you, darling?’ He seemed surprised, and Helen thought how strange it was that each of them should be so astute in some ways, but not in others.
‘I’m—confused,’ she admitted, after a moment. ‘Giving up the shop … It’s not something I’ve thought about.’
‘But surely you must have done.’ Adam sounded so reasonable, Helen guessed a less-independent creature than herself would immediately capitulate. ‘It’s not as if we need the money, darling. And I want you with me, all the time.’
Helen caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘But you have a job, Adam,’ she pointed out. ‘What am I supposed to do while you are at the office?’
‘What do other wives do?’ There was just the faintest trace of an edge to Adam’s tone now. ‘Darling, this is neither the time nor the way to discuss something like this. Look, I’m going to come round. Put on your best bib and tucker and we’ll go out for lunch. There’s a new place in Windsor which I hear is very good. Or if you’ve a preference …’
Helen knew an almost irresistible desire to refuse to see him. It was crazy, she knew, but after the conversation they had just had, she felt she needed some time alone to assimilate her thoughts. But she couldn’t refuse. Not when it was almost a week since she had seen him. Nevertheless, she wished he had been more concerned about the funeral and less about his own personal ambitions.
Stifling her misgivings, she accepted his invitation. ‘But give me a couple of hours, will you, Adam?’ she pleaded appealingly. ‘I’ve just got up and I want to—to wash my hair!’
She threaded anxious fingers through the silken glory of her hair as she got up from the phone. Thank goodness she had washed it the night before, she thought fervently. At least it had given her this much-needed breathing-space.
Going into the kitchen, she poured herself another cup of coffee from the pot she had left simmering on the ring. Mrs Argyll did not work weekends, except on special occasions, and Helen supposed she ought to ring her and let her know she was back. But in her present mood, she decided against it. It would be unwise to talk to anyone while she was still reeling from the shock of Adam’s ultimatum.
Just for a moment, she allowed herself to anticipate what her life with Adam would be like without her work at the shop. If she went along with his wishes, and devoted herself to being the kind of wife he evidently wanted, what would she do? They would travel, of course. She already knew that Adam liked Cortina in season; he was an ardent winter-sports enthusiast; he went to Cowes, for the yacht racing, and the South of France for the casinos; and when he was bored with Europe, he found somewhere else. He would teach her to crew his boat, and he had already offered to teach her to fly the twin-engined Cessna he used in preference to commercial aircraft. Their lives could be one long round of pleasure, if they so chose, and if she had any spare time, there was always his favourite charity to support.
Helen shivered. In spite of the controlled heat in the apartment, she was cold. Was that really what she wanted out of life? she wondered tensely. Would she really be content with such an aimless existence? Once she might have thought so. Once she might have found it satisfying. But that was before she had learned how gratifying it was to work for herself. If they had children, of course, that would be different. But she suspected Adam would take damn good care to avoid parenthood for as long as possible. Children were a liability; he had often told her so. There was time enough to consider having a family, after they were too old for anything else.
Her nerves prickled in sudden remembrance. Thinking of children had reminded her of her own recklessness. How insane she had been to let Rafe make love to her without taking any precautions. What if she was pregnant? What would she do then?
Her coffee had gone cold and, putting it aside, she moved almost blindly towards the windows. Outside the day was hazy-soft, almost springlike, only the lingering traces of snow in parks and gardens to betray the still-freezing temperature. The snow didn’t last long in the city, she reflected. Nothing could be allowed to interrupt the hectic industry of the capital. But at Castle Howarth, the fields were still unblemished. The hedges stiff and garlanded with ice.
She wrapped her arms around her waist as the unwelcome doubts persisted. Rafe had not used any protection. And, in all honesty, she could hardly blame him for that. He had not known how the evening was going to end. When he came to her room, he had not expected her to practically throw herself at his head.
Helen’s pulses raced. Dear God, what must he really think of her? Treating him like a leper one minute, taunting him about his father; and then inviting him to use her like some high-priced whore! She shrank from any comparisons between herself and any of the other women he had known over the years, but they were there all the same. And for him, it had probably served as a perverted kind of revenge. He must feel very smug at having reduced her to a quivering supplicant. After all these years of suffering her contempt, it must be very sweet to dwell on her humiliation.
For herself, it was something different. Oh, she despised what she had done, and there was no excuse for her betrayal of the man she had intended to marry. Had? With an impatient sigh, she amended the thought to the man she did intend to marry. But nothing could alter the fact that Rafe had awakened her to her own sexuality, and all the doubts she had had about any perversion in her nature had been erased by the blissful result of his possession. Maybe that was what she had needed, she reasoned defensively. Perhaps she had been suffering some—sexual block—ever since that day Rafe had assaulted her. Like Sleeping Beauty, she thought wryly. Only she was responsible for her own destiny, and Rafe was no prince.
Which didn’t help at all, she decided, dismissing her feeble attempt at levity. Pushing her hands into the pockets of her jeans, she heaved a sigh. For now, the reasons for her unforgivable behaviour were not in question. What she had to face, first and foremost, was how she was going to handle Adam’s apparent imposition.
By the time he rang her doorbell, no one would have suspected that only a short time before Helen had been suffering a crisis of conscience. In an effort to bolster her crumbling morale, she had taken especial pains with her appearance, and the black and white linen suit and high-heeled pumps accentuated her slim dark beauty. The violet eyes might have a haunted air, but they were guarded by long silky lashes, and the severely coiled hair might draw attention to the vulnerable line of her jaw, but she gambled that Adam would put any tension down to the unquestionable strain of the last few days. It was almost a week since he had seen her, and he would not be looking for the guilt she was feeling.
‘Helen, darling!’ he exclaimed when she opened the door to him, and his ardent embrace was as spontaneous as she could have wished.
Yet, even so, she knew there was something lacking. But whether it was his fault, or hers, she couldn’t be sure. All she did know was that when Adam held her in his arms she knew an urgent longing to be free, and the possessive parting of his lips aroused only revulsion inside her. Oh God! she thought desperately, what was wrong with her now? This was the man she loved, yet she couldn’t bear for him to touch her!
Sensitive to her withdrawal, Adam stepped inside the apartment and then put his hands on her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length. His eyes, examining her troubled features, were gentle, but there was mild impatience in them, too.
‘You’re tired,’ he said at last, touching the faint shadows that etched her cheekbones which she had been unable to hide. ‘Has it been very bloody?’
Helen expelled her breath cautiously. ‘It’s been—difficult,’ she admitted truthfully. Then, swinging away from his hands, she gestured down the steps. ‘Come in. Let me get you a drink. We don’t have to leave immediately, do we?’
Adam
followed her down the shallow steps without comment, and then, after she had ascertained his preference by lifting the decanter of Scotch, he said: ‘I’ve booked a table at Harmons for one. That should give us plenty of time.’
‘Harmons?’ Helen was glad to have something as impersonal as a restaurant to talk about. ‘I don’t think I’ve heard of it. Which is unusual because Melanie usually knows all the “in” places.’
She was babbling and she knew it, but she didn’t seem to be able to help it. Adam was watching her so intently, and she was sure he had guessed that something momentous had happened to her. What would she do if he asked her outright? What would she say if he accused her of being unfaithful? Could she even attempt to deny it when her burning cheeks would give her away?
‘You’re upset,’ he said when she handed him his Scotch, and her trembling hand betrayed her. ‘Let’s sit down.’ He urged her towards one of the pale suede sofas, and waited until she was seated before joining her. ‘Now—tell me all about it? Who has inherited the estate?’
Helen’s breath escaped with a squeak, and she quickly hid it by clearing her throat. Even so, she found it difficult to keep her face straight. This was how a condemned man must feel when he learns he’s been given a reprieve, she thought half-hysterically. Adam thought she was upset about losing the house. He had diagnosed her distress as either grief or envy!
‘You said there was another beneficiary,’ he prompted, and Helen determinedly took herself in hand.
‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘My—cousin, Rafe. Only I didn’t know he was my cousin until Nan’s solicitor read the will.’
Adam’s thin brows arched. ‘But I thought your mother was an only child.’
‘She was.’ Helen sighed. ‘He’s my second cousin, actually. His father and my mother were cousins.’
‘I see.’ Adam pulled a wry face. ‘But even so … how does this Rafe come to inherit the house? I mean, if your mother was Lady Elizabeth’s only offspring …’
