Jake Howard's Wife Page 12

  Lisa flushed. ‘It was your background he wanted—not you!'

  Helen forced a sardonic smile. ‘That may have been true once, Lisa,’ she said deliberately, ‘but do you honestly think it's true now?’ The slightly mocking lift of her lips was sufficient to make the other girl clench her fists angrily, and Helen knew she had chosen exactly the right way to demolish Lisa's attack. She ran a questing hand down over her hips, emphasising the slender curve of her thighs. ‘Tell me,’ she went on lazily, ‘do you think this material suits me?'

  Lisa uttered an ugly expletive and disappeared out of the door, and Helen heaved a shaking sigh of relief. At least in that little skirmish she had come out the victor.

  Lucien and Rose appeared a few minutes later, nodding approvingly when they saw she had a drink. ‘Lisa gave it to me,’ said Helen, raising the glass. ‘Are the children settled in for the night?'

  Lucien grinned. ‘Oh, Lisa will settle them down. She always has the last word.'

  ‘Does she?’ Helen bent her head thoughtfully, and just at that moment Jake came into the room.

  He had bathed and shaved and changed into a dark lounge suit, the trousers of which fitted the muscular length of his legs closely. He was wearing a pale blue shirt and matching tie, and his dark hair was smooth and attractively curling at his collar. He really was the most disturbingly masculine being, Helen thought shakenly, aware that her stomach was behaving most peculiarly, and a lingering ache made itself apparent.

  Jake's gaze slid over his wife almost indifferently, and yet, from time to time during the course of the meal, Helen became conscious of him staring at her, a curious brooding expression in his eyes. She felt herself dreading the moment when they would retire for the night and be alone again. She didn't think she could bear any more of his contempt.

  Lisa did not join them for dinner, and Rose explained that although they had invited her she had preferred to eat her meal in her room. Helen was relieved. Lisa's antipathy was something she could do without.

  After dinner the men excused themselves on the pretext of playing a game of chess in Lucien's study, and Helen was again left with Rose. But fortunately the television took Rose's interest and prevented her asking any more personal questions.

  The evening dragged by slowly, Helen finding herself more and more uneasy. Eventually, after Mujari had brought them a tray of coffee and sandwiches about ten o'clock, she excused herself, and Rose seemed more than willing to retire as well.

  ‘These men!’ she said, shaking her head. ‘They don't care about us at all.’ But she laughed as she said it and Helen knew she was not serious.

  In the bedroom, after a brief sojourn in the bathroom, Helen put on her nightgown and climbed into bed. It had been a strange day and she felt sure she would not sleep, and she was right.

  Her mind buzzed with thoughts of Jake's coming trip to Tsaba, of her conversation with Lisa Harding, of Jake's brooding manner all evening, and most important of all, his behaviour earlier on in this bedroom. Or perhaps she had been responsible for that, she thought, sighing. She had goaded him and he had retaliated in a way that had proved to her beyond any doubt that she was no longer indifferent to him.

  She deliberately turned on to her stomach and tried to put all thoughts of him out of her mind, but it was practically impossible. The sounds of the night came to her: the rustling of the wind through the trees outside, the tumbling sound of the brook, the cry of a night bird. And presently she heard doors opening and shutting and realised that Jake and Lucien were coming to bed.

  Immediately she lay completely still, and when their bedroom door opened she pretended to breathe deeply so that he would think she was asleep.

  But Jake put on the lamp between the beds and opening an eye she saw him beginning to take off his clothes. Closing her eyes tightly again, she waited for him to finish and turn out the light and get into his own bed.

  Eventually he did turn out the light, but instead of going to his own bed he came to hers, and she was conscious of him standing there in the darkness, looking down at her.

  She kept absolutely still, but the increased tenor of her breathing must have given her away, because he said softly: ‘Move over!'

  Helen gasped. ‘Your—your bed is over there,’ she stammered.

  ‘This is my bed,’ remarked Jake huskily, and without waiting for her permission he slid beneath the covers, his warm body close against hers. Helen panicked, and she tried to get out of the bed at the other side, but his arm prevented her.

  ‘Don't fight me, Helen,’ he groaned urgently, his mouth seeking the soft curve of her neck. ‘Don't you know you've nearly driven me out of my mind this evening? Dear God—I want you!'

  Helen tried desperately to resist him, but it was no use. He was stronger than she was, and besides, the age-old desire of Eve to taste the forbidden fruit of the apple was upon her.

  Once before morning he woke her again, his mouth warm and insistent, and this time she did not resist him, but responded as eagerly as he, without caring of the consequences. This was her man, her husband, and she loved him with every fibre of her being.

  But when morning did come, and the room was flooded with the pale gold of sunlight, Jake was gone. Only the fact that his bed had not been slept in bore witness to the fact that he had spent the night in hers…

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  HELEN rolled over lazily and looked at her watch. She was amazed to discover it was already half past ten and she slid immediately out of bed, shivering, as the cold air hit her warm body. Reaching for her dressing gown, she made her way to the bathroom and felt much more refreshed after a brisk shower. Then she dressed in navy trousers and a ribbed jumper with short sleeves and leaving her hair loose went downstairs.

  Only Mujari was in the living room, stoking up the already roaring fire, and he smiled a greeting at her. Helen hesitated a moment and then said: ‘Where is everybody, Mujari?'

  Mujari frowned. ‘Missus Rose, she is in the kitchen. Mr Lucien and Mr Jake, they out.’ He smiled again. ‘You want I tell Missus Rose?'

  ‘That won't be necessary, Mujari, I'm here.’ Rose came slowly into the room. ‘I heard voices, so I guessed you were up at last, Helen. You have slept well. Jake said not to disturb you.'

  Hot colour stained Helen's cheeks, but Rose merely wagged her finger at her mischievously. ‘Now, don't go making any excuses to me,’ she said. ‘I understand perfectly, believe me.’ She smiled reminiscently. ‘Jake is such an attractive man, I could fall for him myself.'

  Helen didn't know what to reply to that, but she said, as casually as she could: ‘Er—where are Lucien and Jake?'

  Rose spread her hands. ‘They have gone for a walk. To look at the village, they said. Myself, I think they are talking business again. Lucien is most eager to have this complex of Jake's in Tsaba. It will provide a lot of jobs for a lot of people, and bring money as well as prestige to the country.'

  Helen nodded. ‘I see. And did Lucien tell you when they expect to leave?'

  Rose shrugged. ‘Within the next few days, I should think. Why? Don't you want Jake to go away again so soon?'

  Helen shook her head helplessly. Until now she had not dared to consider what she wanted. She didn't even know what was to happen. How could she explain her anxieties to Rose, who naturally assumed theirs was a normal marriage? She knew Jake's reputation with women who demanded anything of him. And he had never said he loved her. He had said he wanted her, but that was a vastly different proposition.

  For a moment she allowed herself to recall the last few hours spent in Jake's arms. For her it had been a miraculous insight into what love between a man and a woman could be. She had not dreamt such heights of ecstasy could be scaled, or that Jake could be so patient, teaching her to abandon herself in a way that caused the hot colour to flood her cheeks at its remembrance. Rose watched her curiously, and then she said: ‘It's obvious you don't want him to go. Why don't you go with him?'

  Helen stared at he
r incredulously. ‘What did you say?'

  ‘I said go with them. Why not? You don't have to stay in England, do you? You've no commitments, have you?'

  ‘No, but—’ Helen tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I—I don't know.'

  Rose shrugged again. ‘I would be in no doubt if it were me. Without this—’ she patted her stomach ‘—without this, I would go like a shot from a gun!'

  ‘Would you?’ Helen sounded wistful. ‘Oh, but it's your country—your home.'

  Rose raised her eyebrows. ‘Yes. But I came here with Lucien. I didn't have to. We could have stayed in Luanya, that's the capital, where we live. I could have stayed there and Lucien would have visited me regularly.'

  ‘But you're the Ambassador's wife! You have to accompany him.'

  Rose sighed. ‘Maybe so. Maybe not. But I would not let Lucien out of my sight.

  Helen smiled. Rose's ideas were very simple, but she had no idea of the complications that had arisen in Helen's previously ordered life.

  The men came back at lunchtime while Helen was alone in the living room, Rose having disappeared to supervise the serving of the meal. Lucien came in first, rubbing his hands to warm them.

  ‘Hello, sleepyhead!’ he remarked cheerfully. ‘What time did you wake up?'

  ‘About ten-thirty,’ replied Helen ruefully, half dreading the moment when Jake must come through the door.

  ‘Ten-thirty!’ Lucien looked suitably scandalised, and was making some laughing comment about early to bed, early to rise, when Jake came into the room.

  This morning he was wearing the dark suede trousers he had worn to travel down, and a mauve silk shirt. A charcoal grey suede waistcoat hung loosely from his shoulders, and he looked big and muscular and ominously sombre.

  Helen looked up at him nervously, but she was unable to read his expression. He was much too adept at hiding his feelings, and a cold chill of apprehension filled the pit of her stomach. How stupid she had been to imagine that what they had shared meant anything special to him. She kept her eyes focused intently on her hands in her lap, and even when Lucien offered her a sherry she scarcely looked up, taking the glass gratefully, holding it between her fingers.

  Lucien disappeared to see his wife, and Helen's nerves stretched. What now? What derisive comment was to be forthcoming?

  But Jake did not immediately say anything, swallowing his beer and helping himself to a second. Then he came to stand on the hearth before the fire, looking down on her penetratingly, making an impatient exclamation when she said nothing and did not even look up.

  ‘Helen!’ he muttered grimly. ‘I have to talk to you.'

  ‘Not now,’ she said, swallowing a little of her sherry. ‘I—er—where have you been this morning?'

  ‘Helen!’ His voice was tormented. ‘Look at me!'

  But just at that moment Lisa Harding came into the room, smiling warmly at Jake.

  ‘Jake!’ she exclaimed. ‘So you're back. Mrs Ndana said you'd gone for a walk with her husband. I seem to have seen so little of you this weekend.'

  Jake made a deprecative movement of his shoulders. ‘It's been a short visit,’ he said casually. ‘After all, we didn't arrive until nearly lunchtime yesterday and we're leaving immediately after lunch today.'

  ‘Oh, Jake!’ Lisa pouted charmingly. ‘Still, you will come to see us in London again, won't you? It seems ages since we talked over old times.'

  Helen rose abruptly to her feet. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, feeling slightly sick, and despite Jake's attempt to catch her wrist she evaded him and made her way to their bedroom, flinging herself on the bed with careless disregard for the clothes. In that moment she felt she wanted to die…

  The sound of Rose calling her name forced her back to reality. She was telling her that lunch was ready, and Helen knew she would have to go down and try and behave naturally.

  The meal seemed endless, and after it was over she was immensely glad to see Mujari putting their cases in the boot of the Ferrari.

  ‘Well, Jake,’ Lucien said warmly, ‘it's been good to see you. I'll give you a ring on Monday when I get back to town, and we'll arrange the final details, eh?'

  ‘Fine, Lucien. G'bye, Rose.'

  ‘Goodbye, Jake. Goodbye, Helen. Drive carefully!'

  The Ferrari moved away smoothly, and Helen waved until they were out of sight. Then she lay back in her seat and rested a protective wrist across her forehead. The effort of behaving naturally had placed an immense strain upon her, and now she felt drained.

  Jake drove for several miles in silence, and then when they emerged on to the main road, he said: ‘So now we talk, right?'

  Helen shook her head bewilderedly. ‘What is there to talk about?’ she asked, in a frozen voice.

  Jake uttered a muffled curse. ‘Stop being obtuse, Helen. You know damn nicely what we have to talk about.’ He swung expertly round a curve in the road. ‘Last night!'

  Helen heaved a sigh. ‘I—I'd rather not talk about that, if you don't mind—'

  ‘Well, I do mind!’ he ground out savagely. ‘For God's sake, Helen, at least give me the chance to apologise.'

  ‘Apologise?’ Helen stared at his profile confusedly.

  ‘Yes, damn you, apologise! God, I don't know what came over me! And then when I found you were—well—untouched, I still couldn't leave you alone.’ His fingers tightened grimly on the steering wheel. ‘I don't know if you believe this, but it will never happen again!'

  Helen caught her breath. ‘Jake, please! Stop making a federal case out of it! I—I'm not a child, after all. I—I knew what I was doing.'

  ‘Did you? Did you really?’ Jake chewed violently at his lower lip. ‘Don't bother to try and appease me! I know I'm a swine! But believe me, I'm not proud of it!'

  Helen twisted her palms in her lap. ‘Please! This is ridiculous! There's no need for this postmortem—'

  Jake glanced swiftly at her pale face. ‘Why don't you swear at me or something? I deserve it. Why do you take it all so blasted indifferently?'

  Helen looked quickly away from him. He thought she was indifferent! Oh, God, she thought achingly. If only she was!

  After that, there was silence for a long while, and once they got on to the motorway Jake put his foot down and they were soon approaching the outskirts of the city.

  Mrs Latimer greeted them when they arrived at Kersland Square and asked them if they had had dinner.

  Jake shook his head. ‘No, we haven't,’ he replied.

  ‘But don't bother doing anything for me. I'm—I'm going out.'

  Helen's face tightened. He was going out. Where?

  She wanted to say: ‘Don't go! Stay with me! Make love to me!'

  But of course she could not and instead she said quietly: ‘Don't do anything for me either, Mrs Latimer. I—I think I'll have an early night. Just—a cup of coffee and a sandwich will do.'

  Mrs Latimer departed to get Helen's supper and Jake stood hesitatingly in the hall. He had carried their cases upstairs and was now looking thoughtfully at Helen, his eyes dark and intent.

  ‘You do look tired,’ he said quietly. ‘I'm sorry.'

  ‘Oh, stop it!’ Helen's voice rose shrilly as she spoke. She couldn't bear solicitude from him. ‘For heaven's sake, go and leave me alone!'

  Jake stared at her impotently. ‘Helen, don't let this—spoil things—'

  ‘Spoil things! Spoil things!’ Helen infused a deliberately scathing note into her voice. ‘What is there to spoil? Heavens, Jake, what century do you think this is? Put what happened down to circumstances—to the particularly good wine we'd been drinking. It was good wine, wasn't it?'

  ‘Helen!’ Jake's voice was stern now. ‘Stop this.'

  ‘Stop what? Talking sensibly about something that happens every day in much less salubrious circumstances? You're old-fashioned, Jake. I wouldn't have believed it, but you are!'

  ‘Helen!’ Jake caught her by the shoulders and shook her hard. ‘Stop it! Don't think you can fool me by
behaving like this! I know what I've done better than anyone. All I want to do right now is soak myself in Scotch until I can't even think—let alone feel!'

  Helen twisted away from him. ‘Then go on. I don't care.'

  Jake stood his ground. ‘What will you do?'

  ‘Me?’ Helen was having immense difficulty in holding back the tears that trembled behind her eyes. ‘I told Mrs Latimer, I'm going to have an early night.'

  Jake hunched his shoulders. ‘And can I trust you to do just that?'

  ‘Why not?’ Helen put a hand on the banister rail. ‘There doesn't seem much else to do, does there?'

  Jake raked a hand through his hair and suddenly she thought he looked rather young and vulnerable somehow. But that was ridiculous, she told herself fiercely; there was nothing vulnerable about Jake Howard!'

  ‘Well, if you're sure you'll be okay—'

  ‘Of course I'm sure!’ Helen held her head up determinedly. ‘Oh—oh, by the way, when do you leave for Tsaba?'

  Jake hunched his shoulders. ‘On Wednesday, probably—why? Don't you want me to go?’ His eyes darkened.

  Helen spread a careless hand. ‘It's of complete indifference to me what you do!’ she remarked, with deliberate contempt, and as though that was sufficient for him, Jake turned and strode out of the door, slamming it behind him.

  Helen was dreaming, and it was a horrible dream. She was out in the driving rain, running up the muddy track towards the Morgans’ farm, but when she got near she could see that it wasn't the Morgans’ farm at all but the house in Kersland Square, curiously detached from its fellow dwellings. She stopped, put a hand to her head and stared. Jennifer's car was outside, and a terrible feeling of foreboding gripped her. She ran up the steps and into the hall and then she could hear laughter, lots and lots of feminine laughter coming from upstairs. She climbed the stairs slowly, afraid of what she was about to find but driven on by some terrible urge to know the truth. She thrust open the door of Jake's bedroom, and he was there—with a woman—but when the woman turned Helen could see it wasn't Jennifer at all but Lisa Harding.