The Longest Pleasure

by Anne Mather

Rafe’s lips curled. ‘I don’t believe you!’

  Helen was staggered. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I said: I don’t believe you,’ repeated Rafe coldly. ‘I’m much more inclined towards Antonia’s viewpoint. You and Adam had a row—for whatever reason—and you parted company. As I understand it, your ex-fiancé took himself off to East Africa for a couple of weeks and let you sweat it out at home!’

  ‘No!’ Helen was horrified. ‘No, it wasn’t like that!’

  ‘No?’ Rafe was unconvinced. ‘Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. I know what I know. And it’s pretty good information.’

  ‘Have you been checking up on me?’ she choked, only biting back the word ‘too’ in time, but Rafe shook his head.

  ‘Toni told me. She and her family know some relative of Kenmore’s. I doubt if he had any reason to lie.’

  Helen gulped. ‘I’m not saying Adam didn’t go to Africa. He did. He was there that night—that night you came to the apartment. But he asked me to go with him, I refused.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really!’ Helen sniffed. ‘What does it matter anyway?’

  ‘You really expect me to father Kenmore’s bastard?’

  Helen gasped. ‘I’ve told you——’

  ‘I know what you’ve told me, and I’ve told you: I don’t believe you!’

  ‘But it’s true!’ Helen was frantic. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, what do you take me for?’

  Rafe was silent for so long she could have been forgiven for doubting he was still there. But his eyes were still on her; she was conscious of them; and of the atmosphere between them that she felt was almost tangible.

  ‘Very well,’ he said at last, and her knees were quivering so much she wished she had sat down before starting this. ‘Even if I accept that the child is mine, what of it?’

  ‘What of it?’ She practically squeaked the words.

  ‘Yes, what of it?’ he retorted bleakly. ‘You’ve left me in little doubt as to the way you feel about marrying me. Why are you telling me about it? Why didn’t you simply arrange an abortion?’

  Helen’s stomach hollowed, and the slice of chocolate cake she had had at Mrs Pride’s rose sickeningly into her throat. She was going to throw up, she realised with horror. If she didn’t find a bathroom immediately, she was likely to be sick all over the new carpet, and pressing a hand to her mouth, she elbowed Rafe aside, and charged out of the room.

  He was waiting for her when she emerged from the cloakroom, his white face evidence of a latent sense of responsibility. Without saying a word, he put an arm about her shoulders and guided her trembling legs in the direction of the sitting room. Then, he helped her to remove her jacket before lowering her on to the couch which Antonia had previously occupied.

  ‘Okay,’ he said and, looking up at him, Helen could only guess at what was coming next. ‘Suppose I—accept that the child is mine. Do I take it you are no longer averse to us getting married, in the present circumstances?’

  ‘I—do we have an alternative, if I keep the baby?’ she asked unsteadily, and Rafe turned away so that she could not see his face.

  ‘I guess not,’ he agreed flatly, threading the fingers of one hand through his hair. And then, more violently: ‘God! How did it happen? I thought you—emancipated women knew how to handle all that!’

  Helen quivered. ‘And, of course, you couldn’t!’ she retorted tremulously, and Rafe uttered a muffled oath.

  ‘Quite frankly, no,’ he answered, turning back to her, and she bent her head to avoid his accusing gaze. ‘So,’ he added, controlling himself with an obvious effort, ‘what happens now? Do we run off to Gretna Green, or do you want a white wedding, with all the usual circus?’

  ‘Not that!’ Helen shuddered. The idea of going through a marriage ceremony with Rafe in his present mood was daunting enough, without the added travesty of wearing a bridal gown. Dear God! she thought faintly, did she really have the courage to go on with this?

  ‘I think we should do it in church,’ said Rafe dispassionately. ‘When?’

  Helen swallowed. ‘Whenever you like.’

  ‘What about your job? What arrangements have you made about that?’

  Her job! The shop! Helen knew a chilling sense of incredulity. In her crazy haste to sever Rafe’s relationship with Antonia, she hadn’t given a thought to Melanie, or Pastiche. She had acted on impulse, desperate to prove her prior claim to his name, and only now was the full impact of what she had committed herself to taking root. She must be crazy, she thought wildly. Rafe didn’t want to marry her. He never had. He had only tried to do what her grandmother had wanted.

  ‘Are you feeling all right?’

  The concern in his voice was disconcerting, almost as disconcerting as his cool fingers spread against her hot forehead. She flinched, but he didn’t remove his hand. Instead, he came down on the couch beside her, and took her wrist between his fingers.

  ‘Look,’ he said quietly, ‘I guess this has been as much of a shock to you as it’s been to me. I’m sorry if I didn’t take it very well, but quite honestly, the idea of your getting pregnant hadn’t occurred to me.’ His lips twisted. ‘Don’t you believe in birth control?’

  Helen’s face flamed. ‘Of course I do.’ At least she could be honest about that. ‘But, when I came down for the funeral—well, it didn’t occur to me that I might—need anything.’

  ‘Ah!’ Rafe’s mouth twisted. ‘That’s how you knew it was me.’

  ‘No!’ Helen was indignant. ‘I’ve told you. I haven’t been to bed with—with anyone since—since——’

  ‘Since the night I came to London?’ he prompted wryly, and she sighed.

  ‘Since both times,’ she insisted huskily. ‘Don’t you believe me?’

  Rafe studied her anxious expression for a few disquieting seconds, and then his fingers came beneath her chin, tipping her face up to his. ‘So—I’m going to be a father,’ he muttered, his eyes lingering on her mouth, and Helen’s bones turned to water when he put out a hand and touched the palpitating flatness of her stomach. ‘My child,’ he added hoarsely, but just when she thought he was going to kiss her and her lips parted in anticipation, he got abruptly to his feet.

  ‘No,’ he said grimly, and she realised he was talking to himself, not her. ‘That’s not what you want, is it?’ he demanded, turning on her. ‘You just want my name, not my attentions. I must remember that.’

  Helen gulped. ‘Must you?’ Her disappointment was such, she hardly knew what she was saying, but Rafe was already flinging open the door into the hall and yelling for Connie Sellers.

  ‘Miss Michaels will be staying the night,’ he told her when she appeared, and Helen saw the look of stunned incredulity that crossed her face. ‘Oh—and by the way,’ he added, ‘you can congratulate me. We’re getting married. As soon as it can decently be arranged.’

  Helen drove back to London the next morning. She had spent the night in the unfamiliar luxury of the room which had always been hers, but which now looked nothing like that shabby apartment. She guessed the landlord of the Plough in Hazelhurst would think it strange when she had already paid for her room there, but she consoled herself with the thought that she could explain she had spent the night with friends when she called for the rest of her belongings the next day.

  It had been a curiously unsatisfactory evening, and although she guessed she ought to be feeling grateful to Rafe for taking the news she had given him so philosophically, it was not what she had either wanted or anticipated. Perhaps, if she had been pregnant, she would have felt differently, she admitted, but as it was she felt confused and—cheated.

  Rafe had not reacted at all as she had expected. He had made no attempt to touch her—other than the fleeting caress he had permitted before that totally unexpected outburst—and all through supper he had maintained what she could only describe as a morose silence. Of course, she had not been hungry, and it didn’t help to know that the delicate cheese souffle an
d creamy prawn and salmon pasta had been prepared for Antonia’s benefit. She wondered how the evening would have ended if Antonia had stayed, and she had no difficulty in coming to a conclusion. Which made Rafe’s excuses after supper—on the grounds that he had estate matters to attend to—that much more painful. Had he really got work to do, she wondered unhappily. Or was he even now on his way to High Tor? And if she married him, would she ever know?

  But he had been there in the kitchen next morning when she left her room in search of a hot drink. In tight jeans and a black t-shirt, he was slicing bread with a rather evil-looking knife, and the appetising smell of freshly-ground coffee drifted from a pot on the hob.

  It took every scrap of nerve Helen had to walk into the kitchen as if nothing untoward had happened. She was aware that her eyes were hollow after the uneasy night she had spent and, although she had taken some trouble to repair the damage, there were still shadows on her cheeks and a certain tension about her mouth. She had had to put on the same clothes she had arrived in the night before, which didn’t help, and because she had not brushed her hair before going to bed, it refused to stay where she put it. She was unaware that her slightly-dishevelled air was attractive, or that her obvious efforts to maintain a certain dignity revealed her vulnerability.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said, taking the initiative, and Rafe’s eyes flickered over her before returning to his task.

  ‘Help yourself to coffee,’ he said, nodding towards the hob. ‘I take it you won’t want a fried breakfast. You’re looking pretty fragile.’

  ‘I’m all right.’ Glad of the occupation, Helen took down a cup from the dresser and did as he suggested. Her hand shook, but thankfully he wasn’t looking, and forcing a casual tone, she said: ‘Where’s Mrs Sellers?’

  Rafe dropped two slices of bread into the toaster. ‘Connie?’ he remarked carelessly. ‘Oh, she’ll be around later.’

  ‘I thought—I mean—I understood you were getting a new housekeeper. Isn’t Mrs Sellers full-time?’

  ‘Only when I need her,’ replied Rafe, taking a dish of butter out of the fridge. ‘She and another girl from the village keep the place in order, but I haven’t made an effort yet to fill Mrs Pride’s position.’

  Helen circled the rim of her coffee cup with a nervous finger. ‘Was that—was that because you were thinking of marrying Antonia?’ she ventured carefully, and Rafe turned to look at her.

  ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘I couldn’t honestly see Antonia in the role of a domestic. And,’ he paused, ‘I guess you won’t have much time to run this place.’

  Helen’s eyes were anxious. ‘Why not?’

  Rafe shrugged. ‘I can guess how it’s going to be. Okay, you’re pregnant now, and for the next few months it’s going to be pretty difficult to commute between here and the West End. But I’m not a fool. I know that once the baby’s born, it will be put in the charge of a nanny, and you’ll continue your career.’

  Helen was astounded. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Well, if you couldn’t stick around when your grandmother was alive, there’s not a lot of chance of your doing so now. Admit it, Helen, this pregnancy is just an annoying inconvenience, and if there was any way you could have the child, legitimately, without involving me, you’d do it!’

  Helen arrived back at her apartment in the middle of the afternoon. She had a shower and changed her clothes, and then went straight round to the shop. Melanie was involved with a customer who was haggling over the price of a nineteenth-century lacquer and ivory screen, and Helen had to kick her heels in the back room until her friend was free.

  ‘And all over five pounds!’ said Melanie grimly, marching into the office after the customer had gone. ‘I would have held out for the full price, but I could see you were impatient. Well? What’s happened? Did you get the pictures you went for?’

  Helen took a moment to gather her scattered thoughts. ‘The pictures,’ she said, abstractedly. ‘Oh, yes. Yes, I got the pictures. Three of them, anyway. I’m sorry. They’d gone completely out of my mind.’

  Melanie perched on the corner of the desk and regarded her resignedly. ‘You’ve seen Rafe,’ she remarked. ‘How come? Was he at the sale?’

  Helen sighed. ‘Am I so transparent?’

  ‘Where he’s concerned—perhaps.’ Melanie paused. ‘So, what’s happened? Did he come looking for you?’

  ‘No.’ Helen glanced restlessly about her. ‘Have you made any tea? I could certainly do with a cup.’

  Melanie got up from the desk and switched on the kettle. ‘There should be enough water for one cup,’ she said. ‘Stubbs and I had ours earlier.’ She dropped a teabag into a beaker and studied her friend with troubled eyes. ‘Go on. Before someone else comes into the shop.’

  ‘Oh, all right.’ Helen bent her head. ‘As a matter of fact, I went to the house.’

  ‘Castle Howarth?’ Melanie blinked and swallowed, and then added: ‘Stupid question! Of course that’s where you mean. I’m just surprised, that’s all. You were so adamant before you went away.’

  ‘I know.’ Helen watched Melanie fill her cup from the boiling kettle. ‘I rang Mrs Pride, you see, and she invited me for tea.’

  ‘Could she do that?’ Melanie added milk and handed Helen the beaker.

  ‘Oh, not at the big house,’ explained Helen quickly. ‘My grandmother left her the tenancy of a cottage on the estate. Rafe—Rafe told me, when he was in London, that she had opted for an early retirement.’

  ‘Ah.’ Melanie understood. ‘And was Rafe there?’

  ‘No. He was out riding with—with Antonia Markham. I almost ran them down.’

  ‘Novel idea!’ Melanie was amused. ‘Who’s Antonia Markham?’

  ‘An ex-girlfriend of Rafe’s,’ said Helen quickly. ‘It was her father who gave me a lift back to Salisbury. I believe I told you.’

  Melanie absorbed this, and then said: ‘So what happened? I thought you said you went to the house.’

  ‘I did.’ Helen sipped the tea with some enjoyment. ‘Rafe assumed I was going to call, so I did.’

  ‘I see.’

  Melanie was watching her intently, and Helen could feel the sense of panic rising inside her at the memory of what she had done. She must have been crazy, she thought, not for the first time. Melanie was going to think she had flipped her lid!

  Deciding she would rather get it said and be done with it, Helen took a deep breath. And then, before her nerve could desert her, she said: ‘I told him I was pregnant. I said we’d have to get married. I know you’re going to think I’m insane, but it seemed a good idea at the time!’

  For a few moments, Melanie said nothing. She was evidently stunned by Helen’s confession; and who could blame her, thought Helen miserably. After all she had said about the terms of the will; after the way she had gone on about how important the business was to her; to sit here now and tell her friend that she had actually lied to achieve something she had rejected from the start, was totally and utterly reprehensible.

  ‘And are you?’ was the first thing that Melanie responded and Helen shook her head.

  ‘You know I’m not.’

  ‘So—whatever possessed you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Helen put down the half-empty beaker and ran frantic hands over her hair. ‘Well, yes, I do know. But, I don’t know how I could!’ She groaned. ‘It was Antonia, you see. She was there. And Mrs Pride had said that she and Rafe were practically living together. I was jealous, I suppose. Anyway, when Rafe mentioned that he and Antonia might be getting married, I just—lost my head!’

  ‘Oh, Helen!’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Helen paced across the floor. ‘It was a mad thing to do.’

  ‘Did Rafe believe you?’

  ‘Eventually.’

  ‘And he’s prepared to marry you?’ Melanie was astounded.

  ‘So he says.’ Helen’s lips twisted. ‘It was what my grandmother wanted, after all.’

  ‘And are you going through with
it?’

  Helen shrugged.

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘What else can I do?’

  ‘You can tell him the truth!’ exclaimed Melanie shortly. ‘For heaven’s sake, Helen, you can’t do this to him! It’s—obscene!’

  ‘You mean I should turn him over to Antonia, just like that!’

  ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying. You said he’d asked you to marry him. Tell him you’ve thought it over, and you’ve decided to take him up on it.’

  ‘After I’ve told him I’m not pregnant?’

  ‘That goes without saying.’

  ‘I can’t do it!’ Helen cupped her hands at the back of her neck. ‘He—he’d never forgive me!’

  ‘He won’t anyway.’

  ‘He will if I get pregnant. I may do. You don’t know.’

  ‘Why? Have you slept with him again?’

  ‘No.’

  Melanie’s expression was eloquent of her misgivings. ‘This isn’t sensible, Helen, and you know it. Rafe’s not a fool. And no one can carry a baby for twelve months!

  ‘Eleven.’

  ‘Why? When are you getting married?’

  ‘In a little over two weeks.’ Helen flushed. ‘Rafe’s arranging for the first bans to be read at Howarth on Sunday.’

  ‘My God!’ Melanie stared at her. ‘You must be mad!’ she declared bitterly. ‘I thought you said you loved him.’

  ‘I do.’ Helen turned on her, her anxious face full of conviction. ‘Do you think I’d be doing this if I didn’t?’

  ‘I think you’ve taken leave of your senses,’ stated Melanie flatly, and Helen had never felt so wretched.

  And, during the next few days, she had plenty of opportunity to regret the impulsiveness of her actions. Deciding that if Helen was seriously considering a move to Wiltshire, she should take her holiday now, while she had the chance, Melanie phoned her friend on Saturday morning to inform her she was leaving for Switzerland on Monday.

  ‘I want to be back in time for the wedding,’ she remarked cynically, and Helen knew her recklessness had been a crippling blow to their relationship.

  Left in sole charge of the shop, she had little time for paperwork during the day, so she spent Monday and Tuesday evenings reacquainting herself with the order-book and assessing what items were selling best at the moment. The pictures she had bought at Faveringham had arrived and had to be unpacked, and then an inventory made of their details to add to the stocklist. There was plenty to do, for which she was grateful, but all the same, her mind wasn’t really on her work. Every time she answered the phone, she half expected it to be Rafe, and when it wasn’t, she didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry.