Hell Or High Water Page 11

  Helen glanced surreptitiously at him, and then resumed her study of her fingernails. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yes.’ His acknowledgement had a resigned sound. ‘So am I.’

  Helen felt small. ‘Well, at least you know now,’ she murmured, but was in no way reassured by his silent concurrence. It had not been her intention to diminish her own credibility, and she wished she had just delivered the information and risked its outcome.

  The arcade where the craft shop was situated opened into a small private mews, and it was here Helen directed Jarret to take her, deciding he would find it easier to turn in the mews than in the busy market square. However, when he pulled up to let her out, he did so by parking the Ferrari at the kerb, and as she turned to thank him for driving her she saw he was getting out, too.

  ‘I’m interested to see this shop where you work,’ he remarked, closing and locking his door. ‘And in meeting your partner, of course.’

  Helen’s brief burst of remorse evaporated. Obviously his offer to drive her to Malverley had been motivated more by curiosity than compassion, and for some reason best known to herself she wished she did not have to introduce him to Karen.

  But she could say none of this. She merely tightenedher lips as she began to walk along the arcade, supremely aware of his lean stride matching hers. Of course, Karen might not be there this early in the morning, but as the older girl had only to walk across the square, it was hardly a convincing supposition.

  The shop was small, as indeed were all the shops in the arcade, but every inch of the showroom was filled with a variety of goods, from leather purses and fringed waistcoats to hand-painted pottery and sparkling glassware. The idea for the store had been Helen’s, but Karen had suggested the kind of thing they sold, and her frequent buying trips to Belgium, France and Italy had produced the varied selection of hand-made items that attacted residents and visitors alike. Lately, too, they had branched out into hand-printed scarves and jewellery, and already Karen was suggesting that when another shop in the arcade came vacant, they might consider clothes.

  Helen only needed to push the heavy glass door to know that her friend was already there. Karen opened up as soon as she arrived, her joking comment that they might conceivably attract customers on their way to work proving profitable, and now Helen led the way into the shop with an intense feeling of frustration.

  ‘Is that you, Helen?’

  The older girl’s voice heralded her appearance in the doorway that led to the rear of the premises, and her brows arched significantly when she saw her friend was not alone. Helen, aware of Jarret behind her, sensed their mutual appraisal and said, rather tautly:

  ‘Mr Manning drove me to work, Karen. And he was interested to see the shop.’

  ‘Really?’ Karen smiled and came round the glass display cases to shake hands. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr Manning, though I must confess, little of it was from Helen.’

  ‘Don’t believe all you hear,’ Jarret responded modestly, releasing her fingers more slowly than Helen thought necessary. ‘I, on the other hand, know nothing about you, which must give you an advantage.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ Karen laughed, at ease with him at once, though she viewed Helen’s tense face withsome anxiety. ‘Have you settled in at King’s Green? Helen told me you were moving down yesterday. I expect you’ll find it very quiet after London.’

  ‘I hope to,’ Jarret averred, looking round the shop as he spoke. ‘This is very attractive. Do you do all the displays yourselves?’

  ‘Yes.’ Karen moved to straighten a heavy glass paper-weight, and took the opportunity to cast a reproving frown in Helen’s direction, out of sight of Jarret’s gaze. ‘We weren’t very professional when we started, but we’ve learned by trial and error, and after three years…’

  ‘And who does the buying?’ he enquired, bending to examine a leather wallet.

  ‘Karen!’ Helen chose to reply, her response curt and vaguely hostile, and his expression mirrored his comprehension.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, but there was a wealth of meaning in those two words and Helen half wished she had let Karen answer him.

  ‘Helen is a much better book-keeper than I am,’ Karen put in apologetically, conscious of the animosity Helen was exhibiting and trying to relieve the situation. ‘Besides, her fiancé wouldn’t like it if she was continually flying to Rome or Paris in search of merchandise, whereas I…’ She moved her shoulders expressively.

  ‘I gather you have no troublesome fiancé,’ Jarret remarked, ignoring Helen and smiling at the other girl, and Karen shook her head.

  ‘Unfortunately, no,’ she agreed, though her tone implied otherwise, and Helen felt the headache which had briefly eased, throbbing again with increased vigour.

  ‘Well, I suppose I’d better be going,’ Jarret said at last, and Helen let out her breath in a weak sigh. ‘I can’t keep you girls from your work any longer. It’s been nice meeting you, Miss—er—’

  ‘Karen,’ said Karen firmly, and he grinned.

  ‘Karen,’ he agreed. ‘Goodbye for now.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  Karen inclined her head, and Helen, who had been supporting herself against one of the display cases, was obliged to lift her chin. ‘Thank you for the lift,’ she said stiffly,meeting his eyes with an effort, and he acknowledged her words with a hard stare.

  ‘What time do you close?’ he asked, reaching for the curved handle of the door. ‘Five? Five-thirty? I’ll pick you up whenever you say, if you’ll just give me some idea—’

  ‘I can get the bus home,’ declared Helen, interrupting him, and saw the perceptible signs of his impatience.

  ‘What time?’ he repeated, between tight lips, and Karen made a helpless gesture.

  ‘Five-thirty tonight,’ she offered, ignoring Helen’s outraged face. ‘Any time after five really. Helen stayed late last night.’

  ‘Five o’clock, then,’ said Jarret crisply, pulling the door open. ‘See you!’ and he was gone.

  There was a pregnant pause, and then, as if determined to get her say in first, Karen exclaimed: ‘What was all that about? Honestly, Helen, I don’t understand you! The man drives you to work, and you act as if he’s committed a crime or something.’

  Helen said nothing. She brushed round the end of the display units, and went into the office, dropping her handbag down on the desk before taking off her jacket. As she hung the jacket away on a hanger in the corner, Karen followed her into the office, and at her reproachful expression Helen’s antipathy faded.

  ‘I know, I know,’ she said wretchedly, looping her hair behind her ears with trembling fingers. ‘I know I acted badly, but—well, I’ve got a headache. That was why—he drove me to work. Or at least, that was his excuse.’

  ‘What do you mean—his excuse? What other excuse could he have?’

  Helen shook her head. ‘He wanted to see the shop—to meet you.’

  Karen gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘Oh, yes? And he drove the dozen or so miles to Malverley and back again, just for those reasons?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘At nine o’clock in the morning? You’ve got to be joking, Helen.’ Karen gave her friend an impatient stare. ‘Can’t you accept that he might have been considering you—yourfeelings, your health? I think you treated him abominably, and I think deep down inside you, you think so, too.’

  Helen drew a deep breath. ‘I don’t like him, Karen. Isn’t that good enough for you?’

  Karen sighed. ‘But why don’t you like him? I think he’s dishy.’

  Helen forced a wry smile. ‘You would!’

  ‘Well, he is.’ Karen helped herself to a cigarette. ‘You have to admit, he’s very attractive.’

  Helen shrugged. ‘All right, he’s attractive.’

  ‘And sexy.’

  Helen turned away. ‘Is that all you can think about? There has to be more to a man than—than that!’

  ‘Oh, I agree,’ Karen nodded. ‘But
it will do to be going on with.’

  Helen heard the sound of someone entering the shop, and indicating that Karen should carry on with her cigarette, she went to the door. But as she passed the other girl, she couldn’t resist saying dryly: ‘What about John?’ and Karen made a face.

  ‘Just because I’ve bought a book it doesn’t mean I can’t look at other covers,’ she retorted irrepressibly, and Helen relaxed a little as she went to serve the first customer of the day.

  However, by lunchtime the headache which had troubled her on and off since breakfast time was no better, and Karen, aware of Helen’s pale face, suggested that she ought to go home.

  ‘I can manage here for once,’ she assured her, when the younger girl protested, and Helen eventually gave in.

  ‘Shall I call a cab?’ Karen asked, as she put on her jacket, but Helen shook her head.

  ‘I’ll get the bus,’ she insisted, picking up her handbag. ‘I’ve done it before, and the walk from the bus-stop will do me good.’

  Karen sighed. ‘How about calling home?’ she ventured. ‘At the risk of having my head bitten off, I’d say your new house guest would probably—’

  ‘Don’t finish, Karen,’ Helen advised wearily, walking to the door. ‘I’m sorry about this, believe me. But I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  In the event, there was a fifteen-minute wait before the next bus to Ketchley, which would drop her off at Thrushfold, and she began to wish she had driven herself in that morning. But truthfully, she was glad she did not have to concentrate on driving, and when the bus did turn up, she settled into her seat with some relief.

  The journey to Thrushfold took approximately half an hour, stopping as it did at every wayside halt, and making various detours into off-the-track villages. But eventually it set her down at the Black Bull, and she breathed a sigh of relief as it trundled away.

  The day had blossomed from a misty morning into a sunny afternoon, and she shed her jacket as she walked up the village street. It was more than half a mile to King’s Green, but she refused to be daunted, even though the heat made her head throb.

  She had progressed perhaps half that way, leaving the outskirts of the village behind and following instead the country lane which led to the house, when she heard the powerful motor behind her. Convinced it was Jarret and that Karen must have rung him after all, Helen felt an overwhelming sense of despair. She couldn’t face Jarret now, she thought desperately, she couldn’t, and without looking back, she scrambled up the bank and through the hedge, emerging into the fields some distance from the house. Hot and dishevelled, she waited to see if the car went by, but to her horror it stopped, and even as she hurriedly began to put some space between herself and its occupant, a puzzled voice called:

  ‘Hey—Helen! Helen, what’s the matter?’

  Helen turned, albeit reluctantly, to face her fiancé, and Charles ducked through the hedge to reach her. In his tweeds and open-necked shirt, he was endearingly familiar, and she felt a twinge of guilty culpability as she acknowledged her earlier suspicions. What would he think if he knew she had been attempting to avoid another man, particularly when her reasons for doing so were so abysmally inadequate?

  ‘Oh—hello, Charles,’ she said now, hands holding her jacket linked behind her back, assuming an attitude of wide surprise. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Charles frowned. ‘I might ask you the same question,’ he retorted, striding across the turf towards her. ‘Sneaking through the hedge as if you were trying to avoid me!’

  ‘I wasn’t!’ Helen could at least be truthful about that. ‘I—I just thought I might take a short cut.’

  ‘Just as you heard the Range Rover?’ queried Charles sceptically, and she realised she wasn’t going to find it easy to convince him.

  ‘Oh, Charles…’ Now she grasped his sleeve, shaking her head apologetically. ‘I didn’t know it was you, really.’

  ‘But why aren’t you at the shop?’

  ‘For the same reason as I scrambled through the hedge,’ she replied honestly. ‘Ask Karen, if you don’t believe me. I had the most awful headache, and she suggested I came home, and that was why I was walking up the lane.’

  ‘But where’s your car?’

  Helen sighed. ‘At home.’ She paused, and then realising that nothing less than the truth would suffice, she went on: ‘Jarret Manning ran me to work this morning. I—I had the headache then, you see, and he said I shouldn’t drive.’

  ‘So he drove you,’ remarked Charles, rather tersely.

  ‘Yes. Yes.’ Helen moistened her upper lip. ‘I didn’t want him to, but he insisted.’

  ‘Yes.’ Charles sucked in his cheeks reflectively. ‘He’s quite an insistent person, your Mr Manning. As I know to my cost.’

  ‘To your cost?’ Now it was Helen’s turn to look confused. ‘What do you mean—to your cost? What did he do?’

  ‘It’s not exactly what he did that matters,’ responded her fiancé grimly. ‘It’s what he encouraged Vincent to do that I’m concerned about. That’s why I’m here now. I intend to see him, to have it out with him. That idiot brother of mine could have broken his neck!’

  Helen’s head was hammering so hard, she felt almost giddy, but she had to know what all this was about. ‘Please,’ she exclaimed, weakly. ‘What happened? How could Vincent have been hurt? I don’t understand.’

  Charles sniffed before continuing. ‘It was last night,’ he said. ‘You know, of course, that Manning met up with Vincent.’

  ‘Yes, Mummy told me.’

  ‘Yes, well, apparently they got drunk. The first thing I knew about it was the noise the horses were making. They woke me up. Then, of course, I heard the shouting.’

  Helen stared at him. ‘What shouting?’

  Charles sighed. ‘That man—Manning—he’d encouraged Vincent to ride Poseidon.’

  ‘The new stud?’ Helen was appalled.

  ‘Yes.’ Charles shook his head. ‘You know what a vicious beast he can be. I wouldn’t even try to ride him myself. I warned Vincent about him days ago, but you know how pig-headed he can be.’

  Helen gazed helplessly at him. ‘But what makes you think—Manning is involved?’

  ‘He was there, wasn’t he? Vincent never would have had the nerve to ride Poseidon without encouragement. And why didn’t he stop him, that’s what I want to know? As it is, the damn animal has caused pounds worth of damage. It’s lucky he didn’t lame himself, or I’d have been suing Manning and Vincent both for several thousand pounds!’

  Helen’s shoulders sagged. ‘And—and that’s where you’re going now? To—to see him?’

  ‘Manning? Yes. Come along, I’ll give you a lift. Unless you prefer to tramp across the fields?’

  ‘Oh, no. No, I’ll come with you.’ Helen was only too eager to escape the brilliant glare of the sun, but as Charles put her into the seat beside him, he still had one further question to ask.

  ‘You never did tell me why you dived through the hedge like that,’ he said, swinging himself in beside her. ‘Who did you think it was? Manning?’

  Realising it would be easier to admit to avoiding her mother’s house guest, Helen nodded. ‘It didn’t really matter,’ she said, prevaricating just a little. ‘I didn’t honestly feel like talking to anyone.’

  ‘Including me?’ demanded Charles huffily, but she hastily denied his claim.

  ‘Of course not. Just—just anyone else,’ she finished lamely, and hoped she did not look as deceitful as she felt.

  King’s Green was dreaming in the afternoon sunshine, a mellow, creeper-hung building, its rows of windows reflecting the burgeoning beauty of the tall oaks that shaded thecourtyard. The heavy door stood wide to admit the maximum amount of air, and bees throbbed about the entrance, busy in the overhanging blossom that sweetly scented the porch.

  Charles brought the Range Rover to a halt, and Helen quickly scrambled out without waiting for his assistance. It had occurred to her that Jarret might be out, and the absence
of any sign of the Ferrari seemed to confirm this supposition. However, her mother must have heard their approach, for now she came out of the porch to greet them, her brows meeting anxiously as she looked at Helen, and her first words dispelled any hope that Jarret had not returned to the house.

  ‘Oh, Helen,’ she exclaimed, and it was the gentlest tone she had used to her daughter in weeks. ‘Jarret told me how unwell you were feeling this morning. You should have rung up. I’d have come to pick you up, without bothering Charles.’

  Helen glanced awkwardly at her fiancé who had heard most of this speech, and then began to explain. ‘I came home on the bus, Mummy,’ she murmured, loath to arouse any further antipathy between them. ‘I—er—I met Charles in the lane.’

  Mrs Chase looked confused. ‘But I thought you expected to be at the shop all day. I naturally assumed—’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m here on rather different business, Mrs Chase,’ Charles intervened at this point. ‘It—er—it has to do with your house guest, Manning. Is he about?’

  ‘Jarret?’ Mrs Chase looked even more puzzled now, and with a sense of resignation Helen said:

  ‘I did come home because I have a headache, Mummy. But Charles wants to speak to—to Mr Manning, that’s all.’

  Mrs Chase spread her hands in rather a bewildered gesture, and then indicated the open doorway behind her. ‘Jarret is at home, of course,’ she admitted doubtfully. ‘But he’s working, and he asked me not to disturb him, even for lunch.’

  ‘I’m afraid this matter is urgent, too, Mrs Chase,’ insisted Charles woodenly. ‘I’m a busy man, I really can’t spare the time to come here on a fool’s errand. I’m sorry I have to involveyou, naturally, but as he’s staying here, I really have no choice.’

  Helen’s mother shook her head a little helplessly. ‘You’d better come in,’ she said, leading the way into the house. ‘He’s working in the library, as you know.’ She paused, studying her daughter’s pale face. ‘Helen, you’d better go and lie down—you look dreadful. I’ll come and see you after—after Charles has gone.’

  ‘Yes, you do that, my dear,’ approved her fiancé, approaching the library door and subjecting the panels to a heavy tattoo. ‘I’ll ring you later to see how you’re feeling. And don’t forget, it’s the gymkhana on Saturday.’