The Longest Pleasure

by Anne Mather

  Helen wished there was some simple way to explain it. ‘It’s very complicated,’ she said at last. ‘Apparently Rafe’s grandfather would have inherited if he hadn’t fallen out with his father, and my grandmother is trying to redress the balance.’

  ‘At your expense.’

  Helen shrugged. She could hardly explain to him what her grandmother’s real intentions had been.

  ‘Oh, well…’ Adam was philosophical. ‘At least it solves your problem.’

  ‘What problem?’ Helen frowned.

  ‘The problem of what to do with the estate,’ said Adam at once. ‘It would have been a bit of a nuisance. After all, when Uncle Willie dies, we’ll have his place near Chippenham.’

  Helen linked her fingers together. ‘We could have sold your Uncle Willie’s place,’ she said stiffly. ‘Castle Howarth was my home!’

  ‘We couldn’t sell Ferriers!’ Adam was half amused. ‘The entail, old thing. Besides, it goes with the title.’

  ‘Well, let it then,’ retorted Helen, stung by his refusal to take her seriously. ‘I might not like this—this Ferriers. There’s nothing in the entail that says you can’t lease the property, is there?’

  Adam regarded her with much the same expression he would have accorded a fractious child. ‘Darling, there’s no reason why we should spend any time at Ferriers if you don’t want to. But as Castle Howarth is no longer your concern, this discussion is only academic. Tell me about this long-lost cousin of yours. Have you met him? I assume the executors know where he is, or how they can get in touch with him.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Helen’s tone was ironic. ‘Don’t you remember, he rang me up the day my grandmother died. You said I shouldn’t get upset because he was rather—offhand with me.’

  Adam’s lips parted. ‘You mean … the estate manager was—is—your cousin?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Adam shook his head. ‘But—did the fellow know?’

  ‘Oh, yes, he knew.’ Helen heard the bitter note in her voice and quickly disguised it. ‘He’s worked for my grandmother for the past three years. Ever since—ever since his adoptive father died, actually. Tom Fleming was my grandmother’s manager, too, you see.’

  Adam absorbed what she was saying with evident bewilderment. ‘But, I don’t understand, if this fellow was related to your grandmother, why was he adopted by these other people—Fleming, did you say?’

  Helen hesitated. ‘Because my grandfather refused to acknowledge him,’ she admitted at last. ‘He was only a child when he was brought to Castle Howarth. The Flemings wanted children, but didn’t have any. I suppose it seemed a satisfactory solution.’

  Adam frowned. ‘So how old is he now?’

  Helen avoided his eyes, lifting her shoulders in what she hoped was a casual gesture. ‘I’m not sure. About—thirty-one, I think.’

  ‘Thirty-one!’ Adam stared at her. ‘So you must have known him all your life!’

  ‘I’ve known of him,’ Helen amended tautly. ‘We weren’t exactly—friends!’

  ‘No. I remember what you said when he rang.’ Then, rather patronisingly, he added: ‘I imagine his upbringing was very different from yours.’

  Helen sighed. ‘Not so different,’ she told him reluctantly. ‘My grandmother arranged for him to go to the local public school, and afterwards he went to university.’

  ‘Really.’ Adam was unimpressed. ‘It sounds as if your Mr Fleming made sure he didn’t miss out on anything.’

  ‘It wasn’t his idea.’ Helen realised she was defending Rafe, but she couldn’t let Adam think the worst. Whatever she thought of him now, she could not let her grandmother’s part in Rafe’s life go unremarked. She might wish she hadn’t heard their conversation all those years ago in the water garden, but she had, and now she added ruefully: ‘My grandmother was determined he should be educated as a Sinclair would have been.’

  ‘But she didn’t tell you.’

  Helen held up her head. ‘No.’

  Adam was amazed. ‘So now this—Rafe Fleming owns the estate.’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Helen wished this was over. ‘He—has the right to live there, for his lifetime. Then—then his heirs and mine inherit equally.’

  ‘And the estate will be sold?’

  ‘I suppose so?’

  Adam shook his head. ‘Poor Helen! No wonder you look so distraite. It must have been a tremendous shock. Are you sure the old lady wasn’t senile?’

  ‘No!’ Helen found his suggestion offensive. ‘Nan was eminently sane. Look, do you mind if we change the subject? I really am sick to death of talking about it.’

  ‘Of course.’ Adam was contrite. ‘Forgive me. It’s just that where you’re concerned, I’m inclined to be overprotective.’

  Helen forced a smile. ‘But very sweet,’ she murmured, grateful for his understanding. ‘Would you like another drink? I’m sure we have time.’

  ‘I’m sure, too. But as I’m driving, I think I’ll pass,’ replied Adam, putting his empty glass aside. Instead, he reached for her, sliding his hands about her waist and pulling her into his arms. ‘You know, I have missed you,’ he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to her unwary mouth.

  Helen tried to respond but her anxious hands between them became an insistent barrier, and Adam pulled a wry face. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, just a shade irritably. ‘You know I don’t like sex in the afternoon. Why don’t you go and get your coat. I think we ought to be leaving.’

  Standing in front of the mirror in her bedroom, Helen’s eyes were troubled as she put on a wild mink jacket. Not even the fact that the coat had been bought with half the proceeds of the sale of a rather valuable oil painting she had found behind an amateurish water-colour could console her now. In spite of the ardour of Adam’s embrace, she had felt no answering need inside her. She had been sure it would happen. After the shameless way she had responded to Rafe’s advances, she had convinced herself she had overcome whatever sexual obstacle had stood in her way. But it wasn’t true. She was still the same emotional dwarf she had ever been. And although she had been able to convince Adam she had feelings in the past, would it still hold true, now that she knew the difference?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  BY THE time their lunch, in the little restaurant overlooking the river, was finished, Helen had succeeded in convincing herself that all she needed was time. She was rushing things, she decided firmly. So many events had happened during the past few days, and she had not given herself a chance to come to terms with them. After all, a week ago she had assumed that Castle Howarth would be hers one day. She had not had to face the trauma of the reading of her grandmother’s will, and Rafe Fleming had just been a rather irritating flaw in her otherwise satisfactory existence. Since then, everything had changed. She had lost her inheritance and gained a cousin—and if she had acted out of character, who could blame her? Consequently, when Adam brought up the question of when they should make a formal announcement of their proposed marriage, she was more inclined to be sympathetic.

  ‘I thought perhaps July,’ he suggested, warming a goblet of brandy between his palms. ‘I realise you’d like a certain space to elapse before we officially announce our engagement, in deference to your grandmother, of course. But if we arrange that for Easter, the middle of July should suit us fairly well, don’t you think?’

  Helen’s lips tilted. ‘So long as Wimbledon and Ascot are out of the way, hmm?’ she teased, striving to behave as he expected. ‘Now, don’t tell me—we’ll honeymoon in the South of France, right?’

  Adam was amused. ‘No,’ he said, entering into the spirit of the thing. ‘I rather fancy the idea of Scotland. Then we’ll be there for the start of the shooting season.’

  Helen laughed, relaxing for the first time in days. ‘Why not make it Yorkshire?’ she countered. ‘I’m sure I’d find some interesting house sales in the vicinity. You could shoot your birds, and I could pick up some useful additions to the stock.’

  Adam’s smile remained, but sh
e knew she had not been wrong in sensing his displeasure when he said, somewhat tersely: ‘Oh, I don’t think that’s at all a good idea. I shan’t want my wife hanging about with auctioneers and the like. Besides,’ he was evidently endeavouring to keep his tone light, ‘who’ll load my guns if you’re wasting your time in some smelly old mausoleum?’

  ‘Wasting my time?’ Now it was Helen’s turn to try and ignore the intimation. ‘Adam, I’ve found some of our most valuable pieces in the north of England!’

  ‘Have found being the operative words,’ Adam pointed out gently. ‘Darling, I thought we’d already gone into that. After we’re married, you won’t have to worry about finding valuable pieces. You’ll own a house full of them!’

  ‘You’re still adamant that I should give up the shop?’ Helen knew the question was only rhetorical, but Adam put his brandy glass aside and captured the hand that wore his ring.

  ‘Be reasonable, darling,’ he said, lifting the hand to his lips. ‘I don’t want a part-time wife!’

  ‘And I don’t want a part-time husband!’ retorted Helen, unable to prevent herself. ‘Are you going to give up your sporting activities to entertain me?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Helen.’ Adam was trying to keep his patience, but once again they were dangerously near a row. ‘I hope you’ll share the things I enjoy with me.’

  ‘I enjoy working in the shop,’ responded Helen at once. ‘Why can’t you share that with me?’

  Adam shook his head. ‘You’re being unreasonable, Helen.’

  ‘Am I?’

  But she knew she was. Her argument didn’t hold water, and they both knew it. But why couldn’t he let her retain her interest in the shop? she fretted. Heaven knew, in time she would probably want to leave of her own accord. It was this feeling of being forced to obey him that really turned the knife.

  ‘I think you’re overwrought,’ Adam said now, releasing her fingers and summoning the waiter. ‘We’ll discuss this again when you’re more yourself. I know you’ll see I’m right. Discuss it with Melanie. I’m sure she’ll understand.’

  Helen went into the shop on Monday morning. She half expected Melanie not to be there, but she was, seated in the tiny office, arguing with their exporters about a crate of porcelain being despatched to California.

  When she saw Helen, her face lit up, however, and gesturing for the other girl to find a seat, she hastily brought her discussion to a conclusion. ‘That man!’ she exclaimed at last, putting down the phone with rather more force than was required. ‘I told him I needed the van this morning. Now he says I told him Wednesday, and the Meissen will miss tomorrow’s shipment.’

  Helen grimaced. ‘I assume you’re talking about Claude Forrester.’

  ‘Who else!’ Melanie was fervent in her dislike of the director of the small shipping company they dealt with. ‘You’re the only one he cares about. With me he’s scarcely civil!’

  ‘You rub him up the wrong way,’ declared Helen, perching on the corner of the desk and picking up the shipping manifest. ‘Do you want me to have a word with him? If I ask him nicely, he may make an exception.’

  ‘Later,’ said Melanie firmly, getting up and plugging in the kettle. ‘First of all, how are you? I must admit I didn’t expect you back so soon.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t expect you to be here either,’ replied Helen, avoiding the obvious explanations. ‘What about your holiday? I thought you were going to close this place up.’

  ‘I was.’ Melanie spooned instant coffee into three beakers. ‘But the weather’s been so bad; and Stubbs cut his hand the day after you left; and to top it all, Daddy’s been ousted from his seat by the local constituency party.’

  ‘Oh, dear!’ Helen pulled a face. ‘And I thought I had problems.’

  Melanie grinned. ‘No, really,’ she said, endeavouring to be serious, ‘how did it all go? I’ve thought about you constantly, and what you must be feeling.’

  ‘Oh—it all went smoothly,’ murmured Helen, putting the manifest aside. ‘Rafe saw to that.’

  ‘Rafe? Oh, was that the person who sent the telegram?’

  Helen nodded. ‘It was. Apparently, he’d tried to ring me, but I was at the library. Anyway, that was why I got the telegram. He got someone else to send it.’

  Melanie frowned. ‘Do I detect a note of censure there?’

  Helen sighed. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Why?’ Melanie’s narrow brows arched. ‘Was there a problem? Don’t tell me: she didn’t leave a will!’

  ‘Oh, she left a will all right.’ Helen was openly ironic now and, responding to her friend’s inquiring gaze, she briefly outlined the salient points in her grandmother’s will. ‘So you see,’ she finished with determined brightness, ‘there was nothing to keep me in the country.’

  Melanie poured boiling water into the cups. ‘My God!’ she said, and there was a trace of admiration in her voice. ‘I must say you’re taking it pretty coolly. I think I’d have stayed and scratched his eyes out.’

  Helen allowed herself a small smile. ‘Don’t think I didn’t want to,’ she remarked, knowing what was expected of her. ‘But there wouldn’t be much point in that, would there?’

  ‘Satisfaction,’ said Melanie grimly, handing her one of the beakers. ‘Hang on a minute. I’ll just give this to Stubbs. Then I’ll be right back.’

  In her absence, Helen sipped the hot black coffee. It was surprisingly restorative, and by the time her friend came back she was able to meet Melanie’s mystified gaze with calm deliberation.

  ‘So,’ the other girl prompted, picking up her cup, ‘why haven’t I heard of this paragon before?’

  ‘I assume you mean Rafe.’ Helen played for time.

  ‘Of course.’ Melanie regarded her impatiently. ‘If he’s lived on the estate since he was a kid, you must know him pretty well.’

  Helen bent her head. ‘Oh, you know how it is. I knew him by sight, but we didn’t exactly socialise.’

  ‘No?’ Melanie resumed her seat and crossed one woolly-clad leg over the other. Her skirt was short, scarcely more than a mini, but to make up for it she wore the most outrageously patterned tights. ‘Tell me what he’s like. Does he look like you?’

  ‘No.’ Helen shifted a little uncomfortably. ‘He’s not like me at all.’

  ‘So he’s not tall, dark and handsome!’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, come on.’ Melanie grimaced. ‘Give a little, Helen. Describe him. I’m interested.’

  ‘Why?’

  Melanie laughed. ‘I wouldn’t mind a husband with a country estate and a few hundred thousand in the bank! I don’t have a wealthy viscount hanging on a string!’

  ‘Adam’s not hanging on a string!’ Helen was defensive.

  ‘All right.’ Melanie conceded the point. ‘But at least you’re spoken for. I’m not.’

  Helen gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘You wouldn’t like Rafe.’

  ‘Why? Is he short and fat and ugly?’

  ‘No.’ Helen had to smile. ‘He’s not that.’

  ‘None of them?’

  ‘None of them,’ agreed Helen wryly. And then, realising she was not to be allowed to leave it there, she added resignedly: ‘He’s fairly tall. He has sort of streaky blond hair. And he thinks he’s God’s gift to women!’

  ‘And is he?’

  ‘You’re asking me?’ Helen looked down into her cup to avoid Melanie’s too-knowing eyes. ‘What do you think?’

  Melanie considered for a moment. Then she said softly: ‘You’re attracted to him, aren’t you? That’s why you high-tailed it back to London!’

  ‘No!’ Helen was horrified. Putting her coffee cup aside, she slid off the desk and paced nervously about the small office. ‘I—I despise the man! He’s crude, and he’s arrogant, and I—I can’t stand the sight of him!’

  Melanie uncrossed her legs and moved to the edge of her chair. ‘Methinks she doth protest too much,’ she misquoted shrewdly. And then, weathering Helen’s furious stare, she ad
ded: ‘All right. Maybe I’m wrong. But I just get the impression you’re not being entirely honest.’

  ‘With you?’ Helen was outraged. ‘When have I ever——’

  ‘With yourself maybe,’ Melanie broke in gently. ‘We’ve known each other a long time, love. Those are pretty strong feelings for someone you say you hardly know.’

  Helen gasped. ‘I thought you understood. A few moments ago you were saying you’d have scratched his eyes out!’

  ‘Mmm.’ Melanie was thoughtful. ‘But I suppose it could be argued that your grandmother showed remarkable common sense in leaving the estate to Rafe. I mean, he’ll obviously know more about the running of it than you do.’

  Helen halted in the middle of the floor and shook her head. ‘I don’t believe this!’

  ‘What don’t you believe?’

  ‘That you’re actually arguing his case!’

  Melanie shrugged. ‘I’m not, actually. I’m only stating facts. And,’ she hesitated, ‘trying to find out why you dislike him so much.’

  Helen looked astonished. ‘How do you expect me to react? Whatever you say, I loved Castle Howarth. It was my home.’

  ‘So why don’t you blame your grandmother? After all, it was she who wrote the will.’

  Helen hunched her shoulders. ‘I wouldn’t guarantee that,’ she muttered. And then, realising that was unfair in the circumstances, she added: ‘Anyway, what does it matter? It’s done now, and there’s nothing I can do to change it.’

  ‘Nothing?’ Melanie delicately put the tips of her fingers together. ‘I can think of something.’

  ‘What?’ Helen frowned.

  ‘You could marry him,’ her friend suggested quietly. ‘He may not have Adam’s pedigree, but he does have something you want.’

  ‘What?’ Helen was transparently shocked, and Melanie’s blue eyes narrowed.

  ‘Why—Castle Howarth,’ she answered innocently. ‘What else?’

  The appearance of Mr Stubbs with his empty cup provided a welcome diversion, and Helen had time to recover her scattered wits before Melanie could question her again. But the other girl’s words had thrown her off-balance, and she did not make the mistake of allowing her to take up where she left off. Melanie was too shrewd; she knew her too well; and she had already perceived that her relationship with Rafe was not as casual as she had proclaimed.