The Longest Pleasure

by Anne Mather

  Helen blinked. ‘Middle-eastern appointments!’ she echoed, hardly daring to interpret what he was saying. ‘But—what does this have to do with Rafe?’ She drew an unsteady breath. ‘Is he thinking of going to work abroad?’

  ‘Not only thinking of it,’ confirmed Frank Graham resignedly, accepting the fact that his announcement had been forestalled. ‘He’s accepted an advisory post at a university in Saudi Arabia. Apparently his qualifications as a microbiologist are invaluable in these developing countries.’

  Helen put a shaking hand to her head and, noticing her distress, Graham rang for his secretary. ‘I think Miss Michaels would like that cup of tea now, Mrs Cooper,’ he said kindly. ‘Make it with milk, and put two teaspoonfuls of sugar into it.’

  The tea, when it came, was unpleasantly sweet for Helen’s taste, but she hardly noticed. Her mind was obsessed with the news that Rafe was leaving the country. It didn’t make sense; not when he loved Castle Howarth so much.

  Eventually, gathering herself, she addressed the solicitor again. ‘Is—is this what you meant when you said the situation had changed?’ she asked faintly. ‘Who—who is going to run the estate? Has he—has Rafe hired a manager?’

  Graham sighed. ‘That’s what I want to talk to you about,’ he admitted, taking a sheaf of papers from the file. ‘Mr Fleming’s—Sinclair’s—leaving Castle Howarth evokes a new clause in your late grandmother’s will. As I said a few minutes ago, there were additional paragraphs drawn up to meet just such an eventuality.’

  Helen frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Mr Fleming’s inheritance of the estate was always consequent upon him living there. Surely you understood that.’

  ‘Was it? Well, perhaps, but——’

  ‘Ergo, it follows that if he abandons that responsibility, he forfeits his right to the estate.’ He sighed. ‘Which makes you your grandmother’s sole heir.’

  Helen shook her head. ‘But why would Rafe leave the estate? Apart from working in the north of England, for a short time, he’s lived there all his life. He loves it! That’s why my grandmother trusted it to him.’

  ‘Yes—well, that thought had crossed my mind, naturally,’ remarked Frank Graham drily. ‘I must say, Lady Elizabeth never expected this particular clause would be utilised. As you know, her greatest wish was that you and Mr Fleming should live at Castle Howarth together. That was why she made her will the way she did. Much against Mr Fleming’s advice, I might add.’

  ‘Against his advice?’ Helen swallowed a mouthful of tea. ‘You mean—he really was opposed to her leaving the estate in his hands?’

  ‘He thought it was unfair to you, yes. But,’ the solicitor shrugged, ‘your grandmother was a determined old lady, and she made Rafe promise he would give her way a chance. It was also part of that promise that he should not tell you what she had done.’

  ‘But—Rafe doesn’t have to leave Castle Howarth, does he?’ Helen quivered. ‘It’s his home!’

  ‘No. There is no stipulation that if Lady Elizabeth’s wishes are not adhered to, Rafe should be compelled to leave. He knows your grandmother entrusted the estate to him for his lifetime. This clause she made was to cover any untoward developments. For instance, if he had married and then predeceased you. Naturally, in those circumstances, the estate would revert to you. Not to his widow.’

  Helen was bewildered. ‘Then why is he leaving?’

  Graham shrugged. ‘Perhaps you should ask him. Believe me, you won’t find it easy to replace him. I’m sure you’ll agree that so far as you are concerned, the present arrangement has proved entirely suitable. As you evidently enjoy your life in London, the responsibility for Castle Howarth could be an unnecessary encumbrance.’

  Helen took a deep breath. ‘Do you know when—when he’s leaving?’

  ‘In approximately five weeks, I believe. His contract commences at the beginning of October. As I understand it, he plans to fly to Riyadh about a week before his appointment begins. To settle in to the apartment they are giving him, and to acclimatise himself to the weather.’

  Helen expelled her breath slowly. ‘I see.’

  Frank Graham considered her pale face for a few moments, and then he said: ‘Will you go and see him?’

  Helen lifted her shoulders. ‘Do you think I should?’

  ‘I think so.’ He shuffled the papers on the desk. ‘You might—you might try and persuade him to stay. Unless you’ve decided to move back to the country.’

  Sitting behind the wheel of her car some fifteen minutes later, Helen acknowledged how attractive that sounded. To move back to Castle Howarth, she thought, remembering how delightful it had been to wake on summer mornings to the sound of the birds and the scents and smells of the country. Hot days at Castle Howarth meant bees buzzing across the lawn and hedges dripping with blossom. It meant the fruits of summer, and meals outdoors—not humid offices and streets clogged with traffic.

  She propped her elbows on the steering-wheel and cupped her chin in her hands. It was certainly a temptation. After all these weeks and months of uncertainty, it was like being offered the chance to start again, to recover what she had thought lost for ever. Yet, she knew in her heart, it could never be the same. Too much had happened, too many memories marred the innocence of the past. However much the thought of returning to Castle Howarth might appeal to her, she could never think of the estate without thinking of Rafe, and she could not—would not—deprive him of his inheritance. The estate was his, it always would be. It was what her grandmother had wanted, and just because she had thwarted Nan’s plans was no reason for Rafe to give it up.

  It was after four o’clock now and, realising that if she wanted to see Rafe, she should make a start, Helen turned the ignition. It would take her about twenty minutes to get to the house, which would probably give her a good chance of catching him at home. If she gave herself about an hour and a quarter for the round trip, she would still have plenty of time to make a hotel reservation.

  Of course, she acknowledged tensely, as she turned on to the Warminster road, that was always supposing Rafe would agree to see her. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms, and although he must know that Frank Graham would contact her, he was not obliged to discuss his plans with her. For her part, Helen was uncomfortably aware that her own reasons for coming to see him would not bear too close a scrutiny. After what she had said to Melanie, she was being absurdly impulsive, and not even the argument that she was doing this because Mr Graham had asked her held water in the face of her avowed intention to avoid a meeting.

  But the truth was, as soon as she learned Rafe was planning to leave the country, she had snatched at this opportunity to see him again. The idea that he might have succeeded in putting several thousand miles between them without her being given the chance to beg his forgiveness had filled her with a new sense of determination, and even if she never saw him again, she had to tell him the real reason why she had lied to him. He might not listen to her, he might not even believe her; but for her own peace of mind, she had to do it.

  Remembering the last time she had seen him, Helen shivered. She would not like to have to relive that awful morning at the flat. Rafe had been so cold, so angry, so full of hatred for the trick she had played upon him.

  Of course, she couldn’t blame him. He had felt used, and humiliated—much like she had done that afternoon when she was fifteen. But the words he had used, the contempt he had wreaked upon her, had left her in no doubt that so far as he was concerned she had acted unforgivably. That was why she had to talk to him now. She had to take this one last chance to tell him how she felt.

  The estate was dreaming in the late afternoon sunlight. What had only been promised earlier in the summer had now been fulfilled, and the lushness of fields and hedges enveloped her with their heady beauty. The house, however, already had an air of desolation, and Helen wondered if that was really true, or whether she was simply bestowing her own fears upon stolid bricks and mortar.

 
; There was no sign of any life as she parked the Porsche and walked across the courtyard to the west wing. Although the lawns and box-hedges were as neat as ever, they too had a look of detachment, as if, like the house, they knew that they were being deserted.

  She was being fanciful, and she knew it, but she couldn’t help it. There was something faintly disturbing about the absence of any activity and, deciding she couldn’t wait for Mrs Sellers to answer the door, Helen used her key.

  Climbing the stairs to the wide hall above, she ventured a tentative: ‘Hello! Is anyone at home?’ but to no avail. No one came in answer to her call, and her anxiety manifested itself into a tangible lump at the back of her throat.

  Taking a deep breath, she took hold of the handle of the sitting room door and threw it wide. An empty room confronted her, made no less desolate by the unlit fire built in the grate. Withdrawing again, she crossed the hall to the library, but once more only dust stirred as she opened the door.

  Unwillingly, she made her way to the kitchen. The idea of checking Rafe’s own rooms was still too disconcerting to consider, but after finding the kitchen empty, too, she had no alternative. Where was he? she wondered. Where was Connie Sellers? The awful possibility occurred to her that they just might be together.

  She halted outside Rafe’s sitting room door with a palpitating pulse and palms that refused to remain dry, no matter how many times she smoothed them down the seams of her trousers. Dear God! please don’t let him be with Connie Sellers, she prayed fervently, and then nearly jumped out of her skin when a harsh voice spoke behind her.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Rafe demanded, coming towards her with evident reluctance, and it was only when she smelled his sweating body that she realised he had been hay-making. Full circle, she thought nervously, turning to face him, and then stifled a gasp at his altered appearance. He looked so much older than when she had last seen him, his nose and cheekbones sharply exposed, his eyes sunk back into his head. He had been sweating, of course, so the lankness of the hair that straggled down his neck could not honestly be judged, but his whole demeanour was haggard, his expression one of defeat.

  ‘I asked what you were doing here,’ he repeated now, halting some distance from her, and Helen shook her head. ‘I imagine Frank Graham’s been in touch with you. What’s the matter? Couldn’t you wait until I had gone before coming to claim your inheritance?’

  ‘No—at least—that’s not why I’m here,’ murmured Helen unhappily. And then: ‘Oh, Rafe, have you been ill? I asked Frank Graham how you were, but he said you were okay!’

  ‘I am okay.’ Rafe’s mouth twisted with irony. ‘Don’t let the fact that I’ve lost a little weight fool you. You know how it is at this time of year. I’ve been working pretty consistently from dawn till dusk. I guess the heat’s got to me.’

  Helen looped the strap of her bag over her shoulder. ‘I—can’t believe that,’ she said, after sustaining his cool gaze for a long moment. ‘You’re too young for the weather to bother you.’ She paused for a second and gathered her nerve before continuing: ‘Why are you leaving the estate? If—if it’s because of me, I wish you wouldn’t.’

  There was silence for a moment, and then Rafe ran a questing hand over the moist skin of his chest. ‘Look,’ he said tautly, ‘I need to get changed. Why don’t you get a can of Coke out of the fridge or something, while I take a shower? As you’re here, we might as well talk business. You’re going to have to hire yourself a new man, and if you want me to give him some instruction, it’ll have to be done fairly quickly.’

  ‘Rafe——’

  But he was already striding past her, and the door closed behind him with a very definite click.

  An examination of the contents of the fridge solicited the information that Rafe need not starve. There was ham and bacon, and a half-eaten steak and kidney pie, as well as plenty of fresh vegetables, probably from their own gardens. There were even steaks, sealed inside a plastic cover, and bottles of fresh milk, ice-cold and creamy.

  Helen poured herself a glass of milk and propped herself against the sink to drink it. Evidently Mrs Sellers had given herself the afternoon off, but everywhere was spotless, so Rafe was not alone in the house. And yet he looked so—isolated; which was not a description she thought would ever have applied to him.

  Abandoning the milk, she went back to the sitting room, checking her reflection in the hall mirror as she passed. Compared to Rafe’s sallow colouring, she looked almost ruddy, the hectic colour in her cheeks, a remnant of his censure. In heaven’s name, were her selfish lies the reason he looked so gaunt? she wondered. Or had he really cared for Antonia, and she had now abandoned him?

  The loose knot she had made of her hair that morning was escaping from the combs, and she was grateful for the opportunity to think of something else. But even as she gathered the silky strands of hair to restore them to some order, her mind was desperately trying to find a reason to persuade Rafe to stay. A pulse began to ache in her temple with the force of her concentration.

  She was standing by the sitting room windows, watching a flock of starlings wheeling and swooping in the amber glow of early evening, when she heard Rafe in the room behind her. Turning, she found him helping himself to a glass of Scotch from the decanter set on a tray, but she shook her head at his silent invitation, needing to keep her wits about her to handle the situation.

  ‘It’s hot,’ he said, flinging himself on to the couch, and Helen’s heart flipped at his unaffected symmetry of movement. He was thinner, it was true, but he still moved with the lithe grace of a feline, crossing one ankle over a knee and balancing one hand upon it.

  He had showered, as he said, and now his hair swept back damply from his forehead. It waved, too, where his nape met the apex of his spine, curling back upon itself with the shape of his shoulders, revealing by this method how long it had grown.

  He was wearing loose-fitting cotton trousers for coolness, and a sleeveless t-shirt in the same shade of cream. The pale colour threw his skin into dark relief, accentuating his pallor, deepening the lines beside his nose and mouth.

  Unknowingly, the light from the window behind her was revealing her own slenderness, showing up the shadow of her bones through the belling jumpsuit. The aureole of sunlight was drawing attention to something Rafe had hitherto overlooked, and his eyes narrowed perceptibly as he observed her fragile frame.

  Sensing she had made a mistake to stand beside the window, Helen moved nervously across the floor, clasping her hands together and struggling for words to voice her feelings. But with Rafe’s eyes upon her, it was incredibly difficult to remain composed, and the evidence of the strain he had suffered made all her pleas seem inadequate.

  ‘I—want to tell you why I’ve come here,’ she said at last, choosing her words with caution, but before she could elaborate, Rafe cut in on her.

  ‘I know why you’ve come,’ he said bleakly. ‘Graham told me he was going to get in touch with you. If you want to know when I’m leaving, I can give you all the details——’

  ‘That’s not why I’ve come!’ The words were torn from her, and her jaw trembled violently until she clenched her teeth together.

  ‘Oh, come on …’ Rafe’s nostrils flared at her emotional outburst. ‘You may have been burning the candle at both ends, but I haven’t seen you making any previous efforts to see me. No, it was Frank Graham’s call that put this visit into action. That and the anticipation of getting your own way at last.’

  ‘Getting my own way?’ Helen was confused, but Rafe quickly enlightened her.

  ‘You want Castle Howarth: it’s yours!’ he declared flatly. ‘Take it, with my blessing! God knows, you’ve almost prostituted yourself to get it!’

  ‘No——’

  ‘Yes.’ He got to his feet and swallowed the remainder of the Scotch in his glass. Then, nodding towards the decanter, he added: ‘I trust you don’t mind if I help myself to another drink. It was my own money that paid for it.’


  Helen shook her head. ‘You’re wrong!’

  ‘About the Scotch? I don’t think so.’

  ‘To hell with the Scotch!’ Helen was frantic. ‘You know what I mean. Why are you leaving Castle Howarth? I haven’t asked you to go!’

  ‘You want the estate, Helen. When you thought I was considering marrying someone else, you actually pretended to be pregnant to break it up.’

  ‘That’s not true!’

  He looked up from pouring his second drink, his eyes glittering with anger. ‘You’re not going to deny that, too, are you? You’re not seriously trying to tell me I imagined that scene you played in here, when you told me—oh, so touchingly!—that you and Kenmore had parted!’

  ‘No.’ Helen shook her head. ‘I said I was pregnant, yes. But—but not for the reasons you attributed to it.’

  Rafe’s lips twisted. ‘Don’t tell me—you really thought you were expecting a baby, but it was all a terrible mistake!’

  ‘Will you stop making fun of me!’

  ‘When you stop making a fool of me!’ retorted Rafe grimly. ‘My God! I don’t know how you had the nerve to come here! After what you’ve done to me, I should break your bloody neck!’

  Helen gulped. ‘I—I suppose you mean that business over calling the banns, and—and the other thing. I’m sorry. I know it must have been awful for you. But that’s no reason for you to leave.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid!’ Rafe was contemptuous. ‘You don’t imagine that influenced my decision! So far as the wedding was concerned, it was a nine days’ wonder. When it didn’t materialise, people soon found something else to gossip about. The rumour that you were pregnant was attributed to Antonia’s jealousy. She didn’t stick around to face the outcome.’

  Helen lifted her head. ‘Is she going to Saudi Arabia with you?’

  ‘Toni?’ Rafe was staggered. ‘No! why on earth would I take her with me!’

  ‘You were going to marry her,’ Helen reminded him quietly, but his brooding gaze made her wish she had not said it.