Jake Howard's Wife Page 15

  Helen hesitated only a moment and then she took the few steps to the bed, looking down on him incomprehensively. ‘You're not seeing things, Jake,’ she said quietly. Then, more forcefully: ‘For heaven's sake, how long have you been like this?'

  Her eyes took in the empty Scotch bottles beside the bed, the dirty glasses tumbled on the bedside table. Then she looked back at him, a look of compassion in her green eyes.

  Jake opened his eyes again, and heaving a sigh, rolled over on to his stomach, taking the covers with him. He was naked from the waist up, his lower limbs wrapped in the silk sheets.

  ‘Go away, Helen,’ he muttered violently. ‘Go away. I don't want to see anyone. Get out of my room! You don't live here any more, remember?'

  Helen hesitated only a moment, and then with a determined gesture she took off her suit jacket and threw it over a nearby chair. She went to the windows first and drawing back the curtains she allowed the watery November sun to invade the room. She thrust open the lower windows, and a chill northerly breeze blew in, dispersing the stale air.

  Then she turned back to Jake, who was burying his head under the pillow. ‘I said get out of here!’ he repeated angrily. ‘I don't need your pity!'

  ‘You haven't got it!’ retorted Helen, with feeling. ‘Good lord, Jake, you must have been on quite a trip!'

  Jake rolled on to his back and shaded his eyes. ‘Shut those curtains, and get out of here!'

  ‘No.'

  Helen ignored him and continued picking up his crumpled garments from the floor. She threw them all out on to the landing, mentally noting that she must ask Mrs Latimer to deal with them all. Then she came to the bed.

  ‘Get up!’ she said, looking down at him, her hands on her hips. ‘I'm going to make the bed.'

  ‘Like hell you are!’ Jake struggled into a sitting position, and now she could see the lines of strain and weariness about his face. ‘Helen, answer me one thing! What are you doing here?'

  Helen shrugged her shoulders. ‘I—I came to get my things,’ she answered honestly. ‘I thought you'd be in Tsaba by now.'

  ‘Where have you been?’ Jake stared at her grimly.

  ‘Actually, I've been in Yorkshire.’ she said. ‘Selby, to be precise. Now, are you going to get up?'

  Jake was staring at her disbelievingly. ‘You're not trying to tell me you've been with my mother all this time?'

  ‘I am. But I don't intend to discuss it right now.’ Helen turned deliberately to the door, picking up her coat as she went. ‘I'll be downstairs if you want me.'

  ‘Helen!’ His tone was tortured. ‘You—you won't disappear again?'

  Helen halted by the door, her face suffusing with colour at the look in his eyes. ‘Not until you're dressed anyway,’ she promised lightly, more lightly than she felt, and went downstairs.

  In the lounge she pressed the palms of her trembling hands against her hot cheeks. A wild presentiment of excitement was flooding her being and she couldn't sit still.

  She walked restlessly about the room and started when a sound behind her brought her swinging round to face Mrs Latimer.

  ‘Mrs Howard!’ she exclaimed weakly. ‘Oh, Mrs Howard, am I glad to see you!'

  Helen smiled. ‘Are you, Mrs Latimer?'

  ‘Oh, yes, madam, yes!’ Mrs Latimer stared at her as though she couldn't believe her eyes. ‘Mr Jake has been nearly out of his mind with worry.’ She pressed a hand to her throat. ‘We—Tom and I—we've not been able to get near him. He's been up in his room for days, eating nothing, taking no calls, just drinking himself into unconsciousness. Oh, you've no idea what it's been like, Mrs Howard! I nearly contacted his mother, but he swore he'd dismiss us both if we tried to interfere.'

  Helen went across to her kindly. ‘How terrible for you,’ she said gently, and to her dismay Mrs Latimer burst into tears.

  ‘I'm sorry, Mrs Howard,’ she sobbed, ‘but I think the world of Mr Jake, and seeing him there, so morose and depressed, killing himself with that filthy stuff—'

  ‘All right, Mrs Latimer.’ Helen bit her lip, moved by the housekeeper's emotions. ‘Go on now, stop worrying. You can make us both some tea.'

  ‘Us, madam? For you—and—and—'

  ‘Me!’ remarked a voice behind them, and they both looked towards the door in surprise. Jake was leaning against the jamb, water sparkling on his hair indicating that he had just had a shower. He had shaved too, and endeavoured to smooth his hair, which Helen noticed inconsequently needed cutting. But he had not dressed; he was wearing a white towelling bathrobe that reached his knees and tied with a sash of the same material.

  ‘Oh, sir!’ Mrs Latimer's voice trembled.

  ‘Go and make the tea!’ advised Jake quietly, and Mrs Latimer scurried past him like an obedient rabbit.

  Helen for her part felt suddenly nervous. It had seemed so easy, thinking of what she would say when he came down. But now that he was here, she was speechless.

  Jake moved into the room, and stood looking about him thoughtfully. Then he bent and extracted a cheroot from the box on the low table and lit it with the heavy carved table lighter. When he straightened, his eyes flickered to Helen, and he said in a low compelling tone: ‘Why didn't you tell me where you'd gone?'

  Helen moved awkwardly. ‘I—er—I didn't want you to find me. I thought if I could keep out of your way until you'd left for Tsaba—'

  ‘But why?’ His voice had hardened, and a muscle jerked near his jawline. ‘Were you so frightened of me?'

  Helen bent her head. ‘How—how long have you been—drinking?’ she asked softly, changing the subject abruptly.

  Jake flung himself carelessly into a chair, his eyes hard. ‘Does it matter?'

  ‘What do you mean?'

  ‘What I say.’ Jake heaved a sigh and looked down at the glowing tip of his cheroot. ‘Look, Helen, I've been thinking while I was in the shower. Upstairs—well, I guess I was—shocked to see you. But now the initial stage is over and I'm wondering exactly why you're hanging about here. I mean—okay—you came for your things. But don't let my condition worry you. I'm perfectly all right, as you can see—'

  ‘You're not all right!’ Helen burst out hotly. ‘You know you're not. Mrs Latimer—'

  ‘Oh, Mrs Latimer!’ Jake was scathing. ‘Mrs Latimer is an old woman. She doesn't understand.'

  ‘I think she understands very well!’ exclaimed Helen tremulously, her earlier excitement giving way to a kind of aching dread.

  ‘You're entitled to your opinion, of course.’ Jake tapped ash carelessly into the polished hearth.

  ‘Jake!’ Helen's cry was a mixture of pain and exasperation. ‘Please! Stop talking like that.'

  ‘Why?’ Jake's eyes narrowed. ‘How do you expect me to behave, Helen? Sneaking back here like a thief in the night!'

  ‘It wasn't like that—'

  ‘Then why did you go to my mother's answer me that?’ His lips twisted. ‘Oh, don't bother, I know. You went there because you knew I hadn't a cat in hell's chance of finding you. The very last place I'd look would be my own backyard, and you knew that, damn you!'

  Helen sighed. ‘Well, what if I did?’ She shook her head. ‘Your mother was very kind.'

  ‘I'll bet she was!’ Jake chewed moodily at the cheroot. ‘And what did you tell her? What excuse did you give for running away?'

  ‘I didn't give any excuse. I told her I wanted a divorce.'

  ‘Like hell you did!’ Jake sprang up out of his chair. ‘And what about me? Don't I get consulted, is that it? You planned to arrange all the details while I was out of the country?'

  Put like that it sounded so cold, so calculating, and Helen could do nothing but stand there silently and allow the wave of his anger to sweep over her.

  Jake threw the remains of the cheroot into the grate, walking abruptly over to the cocktail cabinet, but Helen was there before him, blocking his access.

  ‘No,’ she said urgently, grasping his forearms. ‘Please, Jake, listen to me!'

 
; Jake looked down at her slim hands gripping the white material of his bathrobe. ‘I've listened to you long enough, Helen,’ he muttered, a trifle thickly. ‘First you tell Jennifer you're leaving me, and then my own mother! How much do you think I can take?'

  ‘But, Jake, I thought it was the best way—’ she murmured, aware of the hard muscular strength of his arm beneath her fingers.

  ‘Why?’ he demanded savagely. ‘Because of my behaviour?'

  ‘No, because of mine!’ cried Helen piteously.

  Jake stared down into her pale face with tormented eyes. ‘Say that again,’ he commanded huskily.

  ‘What?’ Helen shook her head wearily.

  ‘That bit about your behaviour! What in hell are you talking about?’ His eyes darkened. ‘Are you involved with Mannering after all?'

  Helen's lips parted. ‘You know I'm not!’ she exclaimed.

  Jake released himself from her and raked a confused hand through his hair. ‘Then for God's sake, what are you talking about?'

  Helen wet her dry lips with her tongue. ‘That—that night,’ she whispered unhappily. ‘When—when you came to my room.'

  Jake's lashes veiled his eyes. ‘You mean here—in this house?'

  ‘Of course.’ Helen was tremulous. ‘Oh, Jake, you must know what happened!'

  Jake frowned. ‘Yes, I know,’ he said heavily. ‘I let you down.'

  Helen lifted her shoulders. ‘You could say that,’ she murmured, her cheeks burning with remembered humiliation.

  Jake ran a hand round the back of his neck impatiently. ‘But, Helen,’ he muttered violently, ‘I'm a man, not a saint! You asked the impossible!'

  Helen looked up into his dark eyes, pain burning deep in hers. ‘Did I?’ she asked huskily. ‘Then it's all over, isn't it?'

  Jake uttered an exclamation. ‘Does it have to be?’ he demanded insistently. ‘Helen, I know I'm beyond contempt, but if it's any consolation to you, my only excuse is that I love you, and I've never said that to any woman!'

  Helen stared at him incredulously. ‘You—love—me?’ she breathed weakly.

  Jake stared at her for a long moment and then something in his control snapped and he reached for her savagely, crushing her up against him, finding her willing mouth with his, kissing her with all the pent-up agony of these last days without her.

  And Helen returned his kisses eagerly, clinging to him when he would have lifted his head, drowning in the sensuality he aroused inside her. Her body was moulded to his, her arms round his waist, clinging to him with an abandon that dispelled for all time his doubts that she was not a warm and passionate woman.

  When he finally lifted his head, his face was pale, and there was an agonised glitter in his eyes. ‘What do you think you're doing to me?’ he muttered hoarsely. ‘God, Helen, if you don't want to take the consequences, then you'd better get out of here pretty damn quick!'

  Helen continued to gaze at him adoringly, her fingers at his waist, caressing his hips. ‘You're not going to get rid of me that easily,’ she whispered, touching her lips to the corner of his mouth.

  Jake stared at her, a haunted look in his eyes. ‘You don't want to go? Helen, don't play games with me!'

  ‘I'm not playing games, darling, I love you,’ she breathed, stroking the dark sideburns on his cheeks. ‘It's all been a terrible mistake. I thought you—had rejected me!'

  ‘That night in your room?’ Jake pulled her to him, unable to prevent the urgency of his need to hold her. ‘Helen, if only you'd known how I felt that night. I blamed myself, you see, for that nightmare. I despised myself utterly for taking advantage of you, for forcing myself on you.'

  ‘But the morning after you were so cold,’ she began.

  Jake half smiled now. ‘Wouldn't anyone have been? God, I thought—now you've really done it! I wanted to get down on my knees and tell you I was sorry, that I wouldn't let it happen again, and you just kept on saying it wasn't important, and it drove me mad!’ He buried his face in the hair on her neck. ‘Helen, these last days have been absolute hell! I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep! I thought I'd lost everything!'

  Helen pressed her face to his chest. ‘When I came here today and found you like that, I thought it might be so. I prayed it was. But then you came downstairs so coldly, indifferently, I wanted to die!'

  Jake shook his head. ‘You don't know me yet, Helen. I have to hide my feelings. I'm afraid I couldn't have stood your pity. When you appeared in my bedroom just now I was convinced I was having hallucinations!'

  ‘Oh, Jake.’ Helen felt an overwhelming sense of protectiveness assail her. ‘What fools we've been!'

  ‘Yes, but no longer.’ Jake put her determinedly away from him, fastening the cord of his bathrobe. ‘Now, I'll go and get dressed and take you out to lunch at the most expensive restaurant in town!'

  Helen tilted her head. ‘I'd rather you didn't,’ she murmured softly. ‘I don't want to share you with a lot of other people. Couldn't we just have lunch here?'

  Jake's eyes darkened. ‘If that's what you want?'

  ‘Oh, yes, please.’ Helen nodded. Then she turned away, bending her head suddenly. ‘Jake—this trip to Tsaba—'

  Jake caught her close to him, pressing her back against him. ‘There'll be no more trips,’ he replied huskily. ‘Or at least if there are, you'll be along. How does Central Africa strike you as a honeymoon spot?’ His mouth lingered disturbingly against her neck.

  Helen took a shaky breath. ‘We've had our honeymoon,’ she murmured doubtfully.

  ‘Oh, no, we haven't,’ retorted Jake, his hands sliding possessively over her. ‘But we will, my darling, we will…'

  ISBN: 978-1-472-09969-3

  JAKE HOWARD’S WIFE

  © 1973 Anne Mather

  Published in Great Britain 2014

  by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited

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