Jake Howard's Wife Page 11

  Helen smiled, ‘Did you enjoy your rest?'

  Rose smiled in return. ‘Thank you, yes. I'm sorry I had to leave you alone so long. Where have you been?'

  Helen dropped the packet of sweets on the low table in front of the fire. ‘I went to the village store. These are some sweets for Ruth, Joseph, and James.'

  ‘How kind!’ Rose patted the seat on the couch beside her. ‘Come and sit down. We haven't had much chance to talk yet. Tell me, when are you and Jake thinking of starting a family?'

  Helen blushed scarlet. ‘Oh—well, we—haven't really thought—about it,’ she stammered awkwardly.

  Rose frowned. ‘But you have been married three years, haven't you? Don't you want a family?'

  Helen wetted her dry lips with her tongue. ‘Of—of course I do,’ she murmured swiftly. ‘It's just—well, not convenient, right now.'

  ‘Why?’ Rose was unashamedly curious.

  Helen shook her head helplessly. What could she say? She accepted the tea Rose handed to her and wondered with a sense of hysterical mirth what the other girl would say if she knew the truth about their marriage. Or perhaps she did know, and she was merely probing Helen's reactions.

  But somehow Helen didn't think so. Rose wasn't that kind of woman. To her, having children was the most natural thing in the world and being married without them was an alien state.

  The sound of voices in the hall relieved the situation and Helen was inordinately glad when Jake and Lucien came into the room, Lucien's eyes lighting up when he saw the tray of tea and scones.

  ‘Just in time, I see,’ he observed cheerfully. ‘Come on, Jake, take a scone. They're Mujari's speciality, believe it or not!'

  Jake came to take the armchair near Helen accepting a scone and a cup of tea with lazy complacency. He was obviously at home with the Ndanas despite the fact that he had never actually been here before.

  Lucien took the armchair opposite and said: ‘I've suggested to Jake that he should come out to Tsaba with me next month when I go back for the Assembly.'

  Helen's heart plunged. Was Jake planning to go away again?

  Rose sipped her tea delicately. ‘And how long do you plan to be away, Lucien? I don't want you in Tsaba when the baby is born.'

  Lucien grinned. ‘Now, Rose, you know the baby's not due for another three months. I'll be back long before then.'

  Rose grimaced at Helen. ‘These men!’ she exclaimed. ‘Always going off somewhere! They don't care about their wives leading lonely uninteresting lives without them!'

  Helen agreed privately, but she didn't say so and Jake regarded her intently, forcing her to meet his gaze. ‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘Haven't you anything to say, Helen?'

  Helen raised her dark eyebrows. ‘I'm sure it must be important if you have to go to Tsaba,’ she remarked, with admirable composure considering she was a mass of angry nerves and resentments inside. ‘When do you expect to leave?'

  Lucien chuckled delightedly. ‘You see!’ he exclaimed, looking at Rose. ‘You see how well trained Helen is! She doesn't even make an objection even though her husband is about to take a six weeks’ trip to Central Africa! How about that?'

  Helen coloured. Was that how her reaction had seemed? The obedient acquiescence of a well-trained household pet! She pressed her lips together, staring down at the cup of tea in her hands. She felt that Jake had humiliated her once again even though he had said nothing.

  Rose herself looked rather indignant. ‘Helen doesn't have three children to care for, Lucien. She's a free agent. She can come and go as she pleases, have whatever friends she likes.'

  Lucien looked at her reproachfully. ‘Lisa is perfectly capable of caring for the children. You don't have to stay home all the time.'

  Rose sniffed. ‘And where can I go? How can I wear pretty clothes looking like this!'

  Lucien shook his head. ‘Now, Rose,’ he said again, and she hunched her shoulders, silencing any further protest she might have been tempted to make.

  Helen replaced her tea cup on the tray, a rising sense of injustice swelling up inside her. She could understand Rose's resentment, her feeling of living apart from her husband's life. Helen had known that same feeling.

  An awkward silence had fallen and Helen rose determinedly to her feet. ‘Would it be all right if I took a bath?’ she inquired of Rose, and the dark girl was glad to change the subject.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Mujari has put your cases in your room. You know where it is.'

  ‘Yes.’ Helen managed a slight smile, and then walked quickly out of the room. It was a relief to escape from Jake's presence and she lingered in the deep bath she had run herself, luxuriating in its perfumed softness.

  Eventually, of course, she had to come out, and by this time it was almost dark outside and the early autumn evening was drawing in. Rose had said dinner was usually served about eight after she and Lucien had spent an hour with the children, so she had plenty of time. Donning only a towelling robe, she returned to the bedroom, but when she entered she found the lamps lit and Jake lounging lazily on one of the beds.

  Her colour deepened when she saw him and she automatically tightened her robe about her as she closed the door.

  ‘You've taken long enough,’ he commented dourly, his dark eyes brooding.

  Helen folded her towel and hung it casually over the hand basin in the corner of the room. ‘I'm sorry,’ she said, coolly and politely. ‘I didn't know you were waiting to use the bathroom.'

  ‘There are two bathrooms. If I'd wanted to use the bathroom I'd have used the other,’ replied Jake shortly. ‘No, I've been waiting to speak to you—privately.'

  ‘Oh yes?’ Helen picked up her brush and began brushing her heavy swathe of hair.

  Her indifferent action must have irritated him, for he said grimly: ‘Damn you, yes! I want to know what's got into you since we arrived here.’ He swung his legs to the ground and sat up. ‘Don't tell me it's this proposed trip to Africa! You were acting strangely long before that came up. Besides, you must have guessed that was on the cards in any case.'

  Helen controlled the impulse to throw the hairbrush at him. He sat there on the bed calmly asking her why she was behaving strangely, when he must know that she had every reason to be suspicious of his motives for bringing her here.

  ‘Tell me something first,’ she said tautly. ‘Why did you insist on bringing me here? I thought at first it was to impress the Ndanas, but it's obvious you don't need to impress them. So why was I brought here? Protection, perhaps?'

  Jake uttered an angry ejaculation, and getting to his feet he strode across to her, swinging her round to face him, the hairbrush still clutched in her hand.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ he demanded fiercely. ‘Why should I need protection?'

  Helen was frightened, but she managed to retain her composure, outwardly at least although her voice was slightly uneven. ‘You tell me!'

  ‘I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about!’ Jake replied coldly.

  ‘Haven't you?’ Helen's voice trembled a little now. ‘I suppose you're going to deny that you know the Ndanas’ nanny, Lisa.'

  Jake frowned deeply. ‘Lisa? Lisa Harding? No, of course I'm not going to deny I know her.'

  Helen shook her head. ‘Oh, no, of course not. I should have realised you would be prepared for that one. It would be stupid to deny knowing someone in this household, wouldn't it?'

  ‘Helen, for God's sake, get to the point!'

  Helen straightened her shoulders. ‘The girl hates me,’ she said distinctly. ‘When I met her this morning it was obvious. She really hates me. And there could be only one explanation for that—'

  ‘Oh, God!’ Jake caught her shoulders through the towelling material of her robe. ‘All right, all right, I know Lisa. I admit I've taken her out a couple of times, but that was ages ago. In actual fact I got her this job with the Ndanas. And I've certainly never taken any interest in her since then!'

  ‘Do you expect
me to believe that?’ Helen's breathing was constricted. ‘You—you've obviously visited the Ndanas a lot. And this is the first time I've been with you…'

  Jake raised his eyes heavenward. ‘Look, Helen, Lisa Harding means absolutely nothing to me. Why should I lie about it? And you don't really give a damn anyway. You're just using this as a lever so that I won't object about your involvement with that prig Mannering!'

  Helen held up her head. ‘I am not involved with Keith Mannering,’ she denied hotly.

  ‘Aren't you?’ Jake's expression was ironic. ‘Do you mean to tell me he's never held you in his arms—never kissed you?'

  ‘Of course not.’ Helen's cheeks burned.

  ‘Then how do you hold him on a thread? What does he get out of the situation?'

  Helen seethed, her anger displacing her fear of him. ‘It may interest you to know that there are relationships between a man and a woman that do not rely on sex as the intermediary!'

  Jake's eyes hardened. ‘Indeed? A purely intellectual association, I suppose.'

  ‘You could call it that!'

  ‘So what does Mannering get out of such an association?'

  Helen raised her eyebrows. ‘He doesn't get anything—at least nothing tangible. We just share opinions—'

  ‘Instead of beds, is that it?’ Jake's eyes glinted, dangerously.

  Helen's cheeks burned. ‘You have to reduce everything to the physical, haven't you?’ she cried angrily. ‘You can't visualise sharing ideas with a member of the opposite sex, can you? You think only men have the prerogative to discuss things intelligently.'

  ‘Oh, no, I don't think that,’ said Jake grimly. ‘But I know Mannering, and I'm damned sure he isn't as happy with your platonic relationship as you appear to be. What is it with you, Helen? What's missing from that exquisite body of yours that you can't appreciate a normal healthy relationship?'

  Helen caught her breath on a sob. ‘Is that what you call your association with women like Lisa Harding?’ she demanded disgustedly. ‘Normal healthy relationships?'

  Jake looked down at her, his lips twisting contemptuously. Then his eyes darkened as they dropped lower, lingering on the cleft between her breasts, just visible above the parting neckline of the robe. His fingers which had been gripping her shoulders tightened fractionally.

  ‘I've taken a lot from you,’ he murmured huskily.

  Helen swallowed with difficulty. ‘You're hurting me,’ she said, her voice scarcely above a whisper.

  ‘Am I?’ His eyes narrowed, and Helen felt the bones in her lower limbs dissolving beneath his gaze.

  ‘Jake, please,’ she murmured breathlessly.

  Jake moved closer to her, the hardness of his body touching hers. ‘You're trembling,’ he said, bending his head and putting his mouth lingeringly against the side of her neck. ‘I can stop that.’ And then his mouth was on hers and her lips were parting almost without volition.

  His kiss, which started so gently, became urgent, passionate, destroying all her inexperienced illusions of what a kiss should be. Jake was an expert when it came to arousing a woman, and his hands slid possessively down her back to her hips, pressing her closer against him, making her wholly aware of his own needs.

  Helen wanted to resist him. She would have liked to have escaped from his arms and shown him that she could not be influenced in this way. But it was useless to pretend. The warmth of his lean muscular body, the disturbing hunger of his mouth, the probing caress of his hands, all left her weak and clinging to him, despising herself even while her arms slid compulsively round his neck, her fingers sliding through the thick vitality of his hair. She lost all count of time and place, his love-making seducing her to a state of mind where nothing mattered but him, his urgent need of her. She wanted him, too, her body ached for his, and when he swung her up into his arms and carried her to the bed she felt an overpowering sense of achievement.

  Her eyes were closed, but she opened them as he laid her on the bed, and she saw something that struck a shaft of fear through her system. His eyes were no longer warm and disturbing, but hard and cold, and completely alien. Helen felt a terrible wave of degradation sweep over her and she wrapped the towelling robe protectively about her, wanting to close her eyes against the accusation in his.

  ‘Now tell me!’ he demanded violently straightening. ‘Mannering has never touched you?'

  Helen turned her head from side to side, shivering in spite of the heat of her body. He hasn't!’ she whispered tormentedly. ‘No one has!'

  Jake stared at her for a long considering moment. ‘What are you trying to make me do?’ he asked savagely. ‘Prove it?'

  Helen's lips parted. ‘I don't tell lies, Jake,’ she said tremulously.

  ‘Oh, God!'

  Jake smote a hand to his forehead and without another word he turned and strode out of the room.

  Helen lay on the bed in a kind of agonised stupor, dreading the moment when Jake must return to get changed for dinner. Her mind raced incoherently through the implications of what had happened, but it was impossible to achieve a sense of reality in it all. She felt completely drained of all energy, the languor which his love-making had aroused in her still uppermost in her feelings.

  Eventually, she knew she would have to stir herself. The last thing she wanted was for Jake to return and imagine she was lying there waiting for him. He might despise her, but he could not despise her as much as she despised herself.

  She, Helen Forsythe, who had always felt contempt for women who threw themselves at men who didn't want them, had proved herself no better than the rest.

  Determinedly, she slid off the bed. She would not lie there soaking herself in self-pity. The very last thing Jake would expect from her was a fight, but he was going to get one. She would not make matters worse by giving him any reason to think she reproached him for what had happened. She would act as though the last half hour had never occurred, and somehow recover the shattered illusion of detachment.

  In consequence, she took especial pains with her make-up, smoothing pale green eye shadow on to her lids, darkening the already dark lashes, adding a colourless lustre to her lips. Then she took out the dress she was going to wear, a long wine-coloured velvet gown that had a low dipping neck-line and modestly full long sleeves. She had never worn the gown before, and it complemented her extreme fairness in a way that gave an added touch of fragility to her appearance. She wore the hoops of gold in her ears, and a medallion about her neck that fell enticingly into the hollow between her breasts.

  When she surveyed her appearance before going downstairs she knew she had never looked lovelier, and because of this she was able to appear confident when actually she was anything but.

  Jake had still not returned to their room and she went downstairs tentatively, dreading the encounter that was to come and yet longing for him to see her.

  However, when she entered the living room she found only Lisa Harding there, dressed formally in a green caftan that went well with her cap of red hair. She looked surprised to see Helen, and her lashes veiled the expression in her eyes.

  But Helen was determined to act naturally, and she greeted the girl pleasantly and said: ‘Where are the others?'

  Lisa folded her hands together, hostility still evident in her withdrawn manner. ‘Everyone else is with the children,’ she replied politely. ‘My employers usually spend this time of day with their sons and daughter, and your husband invariably finds the time to join them. He's very fond of children.'

  Helen inclined her head. ‘I see,’ she murmured, glancing round the room in an effort to remain calm. ‘I didn't realise…'

  Lisa's nostrils flared. ‘Can I offer you a drink? I'm sure Mrs Ndana would approve.'

  Helen hesitated. ‘Why—yes, thank you. Sherry would be fine.'

  ‘Sweet or dry?'

  ‘Dry, please.’ Helen bit her lower lip. ‘Do you like working for the Ndanas?'

  Lisa poured the sherry without interest and handed the glass
indifferently to Helen. ‘Very much,’ she said. ‘Jake got me the job.'

  Helen stiffened slightly but not perceptibly. ‘Yes. Yes, he told me,’ she said.

  ‘Did he?’ Lisa looked sceptical. ‘I've known Jake for a number of years. I was born in Leeds, you see. We met at a party there about ten years ago.'

  ‘As long as that?’ Helen sounded surprised. After all, ten years ago she herself would have been only fifteen.

  ‘Yes.’ Lisa's lips twisted. ‘I know his mother too.'

  Helen sipped her sherry. ‘This is exceptionally good sherry, and at just the right temperature.'

  Lisa's lips tightened. ‘Of course. You'd be an expert on such things.'

  Helen was shocked at the contempt in the girl's voice, but she managed to hide her own feelings. ‘Would I?’ she said now, without rancour.

  Lisa shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘Tell me, Mrs Howard,’ she said disparagingly, ‘don't you ever get bored?'

  Helen looked up. ‘Bored? Why should I get bored?'

  Lisa shrugged again. ‘Jake being away such a lot—leaving you alone. Don't you ever feel like getting a job of some kind?'

  Helen's brows drew together in a slight frown. ‘I see. Well, yes, I suppose sometimes I do get bored. But not generally speaking. I read a lot—I go to the theatre—to art exhibitions! My time is quite adequately filled, I think.'

  Lisa clicked her tongue. ‘All the women Jake had to choose from, and he chose a lily of the field like you!'

  Helen traced the rim of her glass with her finger. ‘I think you're becoming rather insolent, Miss Harding,’ she said carefully.

  Lisa sniffed. ‘I don't care what you think. Jake should have had more sense. His mother agrees with me, too.'

  ‘Does she?’ Helen raised her dark eyebrows. ‘But then mothers can't choose their sons’ wives, can they? You're overlooking the fact that Jake is a very determined man. I somehow can't see him doing anything he didn't want to do, can you?'