Jake Howard's Wife Page 3

  ‘You think I'm drunk, is that it?’ Jake made a derisive grimace. ‘Dear God, you've never seen me drunk, Helen!'

  ‘Nor should I want to.’ Helen quivered. ‘Am I to be allowed to go to bed?'

  Jake stepped aside abruptly, but his jaw was taut. ‘Aren't you interested in what I've brought you back from the States? I thought that was why you married me—to retain the material benefits of life!'

  Helen looked as though she would have liked to have struck his sardonic face, but she did nothing except clench her fists. Then she walked out of the lounge, across the blue and gold hall with its crystal chandelier casting prisms of light on her pale hair, and up the stairs to her room.

  Jake watched her go with impotent fury and then walked back into the lounge, slamming the door behind him. When he finally sought his bed the newly opened bottle of Scotch was three parts gone…

  CHAPTER TWO

  HELEN applied a pale green eyeshadow to her lids, aware of an unusual feeling of apprehension when she considered the evening ahead. They were going to a reception at the embassy of one of the newly developing African states and it would be the first evening they had spent together since Jake's return from the United States almost a week ago.

  He had been fully occupied since his return, she knew that from the long hours the lights burned in his study, but even so it had been a strange and uncomfortable week when their attitudes towards one another had undergone a subtle change.

  Before Jake's trip to America they had talked quite a lot, mostly about business, she had to admit, but their relationship had never been strained as it was now. And it was all her fault. Or was it?

  She dropped the applicator she had been using impatiently and studied her reflection critically in the mirror of the dressing table. Surely it was unreasonable of Jake to expect her to abandon people she had known since she was a child in favour of his associates and their wives. Granted some of his associates, Giles St John, for example, were friends of hers, too, but there were others, people Jake despised because of their attitudes, whom she found perfectly acceptable.

  She looked round for the mascara and began to stroke it on to her already dark lashes. Keith Mannering came into this latter category. She had known Keith for years, and once she had expected to marry him. But that was all in the past now. Now they were just good friends, and it was contemptible that Jake should attempt to suggest otherwise.

  She smoothed a colourless lustre over her lips, a look of strain momentarily touching the wide beauty of her green eyes. How often in the past had she had to suffer the ignominy of a purportedly well-meaning confidant feeling it her duty to let Helen know that some other woman was seeing Jake regularly? At first it had shocked and humiliated her, but eventually she had had to accept that there was nothing she could do about it. Jake was a sensual man and there would always be some women more than willing to satisfy his male appetites. She knew these women meant nothing to him, and as soon as they attempted to make demands upon him over and above what he had to give, he dismissed them from his mind without a second thought. He could be completely ruthless, and Helen could almost find it in her heart to pity them.

  She arose from her position in front of the dressing table observing her reflection almost detachedly. The long white lace negligé revealed the slim yet rounded curves of her body, the slender length of her legs. She knew without any sense of false modesty that she was beautiful; Jake would not have married her otherwise. Everything he possessed had to be the best, but the knowledge gave her no pleasure.

  With a sigh she reached for the fragile items of underwear strewn on the bed and smoothed sheer tights over her thighs. Her dress was a simple, yet elegant, tunic of black silk, secured about the waist with a tasselled cord. It accentuated the lines of her breast, dipping in front to reveal the creamy skin of her throat.

  She was fastening diamond pendants to her ears when there was a distinct rap at her door and stiffening, she called: ‘Come in!'

  The door opened and Helen, viewing it through the mirror of the dressing table, saw Jake enter the room looking darkly attractive in his evening clothes. Even in such formal attire there was something entirely primitive about him, about the way he moved, the arrogant, ironic gleam in his dark eyes. He looked superbly confident and aware, and Helen realised that he was anticipating the evening ahead with a great deal of enjoyment. For him it was a challenge, an opportunity to use his innate talent for influencing people, and she knew he saw this reception as a step towards the Howard Foundation gaining a foothold in black Africa. Already he had laboratories in South Africa and Rhodesia, and the foundation's preparations were used throughout the continent.

  But it was the man himself that emanated the enthusiasm that had built his empire, and no matter how powerful he became he would always have this driving ambition and compelling personality.

  Helen revolted against this knowledge; she always had. She still didn't really know how ever she had accepted his proposal of marriage and placed herself in this enviable, and yet impossible, position of being Jake Howard's wife. His ruthless, calculating nature, his easy subduing charm, his complete confidence in his own ability; all these things repelled her, but she knew that was how it had to be. If ever she allowed him to get under her skin, it would be a devastating experience, and one she never allowed herself to contemplate.

  Now he surveyed her appearance with almost insolent appraisal, his eyes narrowing at the challenge in hers. ‘You look—beautiful,’ he said, with consideration in his voice. ‘But I'm sure you know that already.'

  Helen allowed a little of the tension to slide out of her. ‘It's always pleasant to have one's opinion reinforced,’ she remarked smoothly, fingering a soft curl of silk which fell over one shoulder. She had secured her hair with a jewelled clasp on the crown of her head and only several casually deliberate strands caressed her cheeks.

  Jake inclined his head sardonically and then produced a cream box from his pocket. ‘I have a present for you,’ he said, opening the lid. ‘Do you like it?'

  He extended his hand and Helen looked down at the brilliance of the necklace that lay on its dark blue velvet bed. Its setting was platinum, a looped fragile strand of diamonds and emeralds and rubies. Its beauty caught her breath but her expression remained composed.

  ‘Thank you,’ she acknowledged its acceptance with a faint smile. ‘Will you put it on for me?'

  Jake dropped the box on to her bed. ‘Of course,’ he agreed, his manner equally cool as he looped the necklace about her throat and fastened it with swift, expert fingers. ‘There you are. I think it complements what you're wearing, don't you?'

  Helen touched the coldness of the stones with tentative fingers. Against her flesh it had an added sparkle, gathering warmth from the creamy skin of her throat. Her fingers fell away to link together at her waist and she turned away from the mirror. ‘Yes. It's exquisite,’ she said expressionlessly.

  Jake regarded her for a long compelling moment as though trying to gauge her real reactions to his gift and then shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I bought it in New York. I thought you would like it.'

  ‘I do.’ Helen bent to pick up her evening bag. ‘Are you ready to leave?'

  Jake lifted a mink stole that was draped casually across the foot of the bed and allowed Helen to move into it. ‘Yes, I'm ready,’ he affirmed, allowing the fur to fall from his hands. ‘Latimer is just getting the car. Do you need a drink first?'

  Helen flicked a glance in his direction. ‘Do you?'

  ‘I already have.’ A faintly ironic gleam appeared in Jake's eyes. ‘Your service, I believe.'

  Helen did not allow him to see how his mocking sarcasm could annoy her. Instead, she walked towards the door and he had perforce to follow her.

  Downstairs Latimer waited patiently in the well of the hall. He bade his mistress good evening and held open the door for both her and Jake as they left the house. Latimer was driving this evening. It was more convenient for Jake at a
ffairs like these where there was always an abundance of food and alcohol.

  The Embassy stood in a square off Bond Street and by the time they arrived there was already a steady stream of people climbing the shallow steps to the front doors. There was no room to park in front of the building, so Latimer was to take the car home and return for them later.

  Jake helped Helen out of the car and said a few words to Latimer before turning and cupping her elbow as they mounted the steps together. They entered a wide marble hall where uniformed personnel were employed to direct guests to the cloakroom and Helen left Jake for a while to check in her stole and assure herself that her make-up was still as faultless as when they left home. The cloakroom was filled to capacity with women of all colours and nationalities, in all types of national dress; from the sleek sophistication of the cheongsam to the undoubted elegance of the sari, and Helen had only a hasty glimpse of her reflection before turning and emerging again into the entrance hall.

  Jake was waiting for her, but he was not alone. A middle-aged man with a bristling moustache was talking animatedly to him while Giles St John and his wife Jennifer were standing close by listening. Jennifer waved energetically when she saw Helen and Helen walked towards them with enthusiasm.

  ‘Helen, darling!’ Jennifer kissed her cheek warmly. ‘It's simply ages since we've seen you. What have you been doing with yourself?'

  Jake's eyes strayed to his wife's slightly flushed face and Helen was intensely conscious of that look. She knew Jake was perfectly capable of appearing to give all his attention to one matter while he was actually listening to something entirely different, and she sensed his interest in her reply. Perhaps he expected her to tell Jennifer about seeing Keith Mannering.

  So she smiled in her usual self-possessed manner, and said: ‘I expect you've been busy. I know I have. And with Jake just getting back from the States…’ She allowed the sentence to tail away in a smiling, deprecatory gesture and Giles took her attention.

  ‘You're looking particularly extravagant this evening, my love,’ he remarked teasingly, holding on to her hand rather longer than was necessary. ‘Where did you get this particular bauble?’ He touched the necklace at her throat with a light hand. ‘I guarantee that wasn't bought at Woolworths!'

  Jake had finished talking to the middle-aged politician by this time and he turned to listen to what was being said with smiling amusement.

  ‘You think not?’ he queried, in reply to Giles’ comment, his eyes holding Jennifer's for a deliberately long moment, arousing a fluttering awareness inside her which Helen was instantly conscious of. Then he looked at his wife and his eyes narrowed perceptibly. ‘One tries to improve upon perfection,’ he observed dryly, and Helen felt the colour in her cheeks deepen annoyingly.

  ‘I think this conversation is rather ridiculous, don't you?’ she asked of Jennifer quickly. ‘Oh, Giles, did you find anything out about that vinaigrette?’ As well as being on the board of several companies Giles was an amateur enthusiast of the world of antiques and Helen had given him a small silver container which Jake had given her for her birthday which was reputed to have belonged to Lady Hamilton herself.

  Giles went on to explain that he was still in the process of investigating it, and by mutual consent they moved towards the stairs, Helen walking with Giles ahead of the others. She could vaguely hear Jake relating some outrageously funny anecdote of his trip to the States to Jennifer and she was laughing excitedly. Helen's lips tightened almost imperceptibly. On the rare occasions when she had been depressed enough to complain about her husband to her friend, Jennifer had always sided with her in agreeing that Jake treated her abominably and that she personally found him despicable. And yet whenever they were all together Jennifer behaved as though she found Jake immensely attractive, and for the first time tonight it irritated Helen. She glanced round at them impatiently, a little of her annoyance showing in her face. Jake caught the look, however, and held her gaze for a long disturbing moment. Then Jennifer stumbled, whether by accident or design Helen could not be certain, and caught his arm, and his attention was distracted.

  Helen continued up the stairs, but there was an awful shaken feeling gripping her stomach. Jake had not discussed his American trip with her, indeed they had spoken little since his return, and it was infuriating that this knowledge upset her so. When Giles tugged a strand of her hair to attract her attention she turned to him with more enthusiasm than was usual, dazzling him with the brilliance of her smile. She was allowing the whole affair more importance than it demanded and she closed her ears to Jennifer's whispered confidences. Giles didn't appear to notice, so why did she?

  The reception lounges at the top of the stairs were filled with people, all talking and laughing and helping themselves to the liberal supply of alcohol, and a major-domo in formal dress announced their names as they entered. One of the Ambassador's aides greeted them politely and introduced them to several other officials, and then someone else was arriving and they were left to mingle.

  Helen saw Jake looking about him with interest over the rim of his whisky glass and she sipped her champagne cocktail a little resignedly. She knew that look. It was the predatory look of the tiger when it is getting ready to pounce, and she knew that for the moment Jake's mind was occupied with business. As though to illustrate this point, Jake excused himself from them at that moment on the pretext of speaking to some politician he knew and he disappeared among the crowd almost before anyone had time to voice an objection. Jennifer looked almost pityingly at her friend, and said wryly:

  ‘I suppose that's the last we can expect to see of your husband for an hour or two. Really, he is the absolute limit, don't you think?'

  Helen bent her head, stroking the rim of her glass with an absent finger. ‘I suppose so,’ she conceded quietly.

  Giles tucked an arm through each of theirs. ‘I should care,’ he remarked smilingly. ‘At least he's left me with the two most attractive women in the room!'

  Helen smiled, and Jennifer gave him a bored wrinkle of her nose. ‘But what are we expected to do, darling? I mean—don't you know anyone of interest?'

  Giles frowned and looked about him with concentrated attention. ‘Well, I know President Lbari, over there with his wife. He was at Cambridge with me. His wife's a sweet girl. Used to be a nurse, I believe.'

  Jennifer looked bored. ‘Who is that man who is staring at us? That middle-aged man, over there. Do you know him?'

  Giles flicked his gaze round. ‘Oh, you mean Bertie Mallard. Yes,’ he nodded his head in acknowledgement of the other man's raised hand. ‘He's Lord Mallard, actually. You've heard me mention him, I'm sure, Jennifer. He's quite an expert on old furniture.'

  Jennifer raised her eyes skyward. ‘Heavens!’ she remarked dryly. ‘The excitement of that statement! Don't any interesting people come to these receptions, any young people?'

  ‘Of course.’ Giles finished his champagne. ‘Come along. We'll wander round. You never know who we may come up with!'

  Helen had, perforce, to accompany them, but deep inside she felt frustrated. Jennifer was right. Jake was the absolute limit. Why did he bring her to these affairs if he intended to abandon her?

  They wandered round for fully an hour without coming upon Jake and Helen was accepting her fourth glass of champagne when a lazy hand trailed down her arm and she swung round to confront Keith Mannering.

  ‘Keith!’ she exclaimed, in surprise. ‘What are you doing here?'

  Jennifer and Giles turned too. Giles knew Keith quite well and they greeted one another with casual ease. But Jennifer gave him an extravagant smile.

  ‘Keith darling!’ she cried in her usual effusive manner. ‘How marvellous to see you! I'm sure Helen's delighted, too. Her husband has deserted her and we're all feeling rather sorry for ourselves, aren't we, my pet?'

  Helen gave Jennifer a hard stare. The very last thing she wanted was for Keith Mannering to get the wrong idea. She liked him, they were friends, but that wa
s as far as it went.

  Not that Keith wasn't a very personable young man; he was. A little older than Helen, tall and slim and boyish, with smooth fair hair falling in a wave across his forehead, he had caused a flutter in several feminine hearts, and Helen was not unaware of this.

  Now he smiled into Helen's eyes, and said: ‘Actually I did come to see Helen, Jennifer. I managed to get tickets for that Mahler concert you wanted to hear and I wondered if we could arrange something.'

  Helen made an expressive gesture. ‘Oh! Oh, I see. I'm afraid I don't know, Keith. I mean—when we discussed the concert, Jake was still in the States. Now—well—he's home and it's rather awkward.'

  Jennifer had listened to Helen's excuses impatiently, and now she exclaimed: ‘Heavens, Helen, do you think Jake would consider you if there was somewhere he wanted to go? For goodness’ sake, he's not your keeper. Make a stand! Be independent! Have your own friends. He has his!'

  Helen pressed her lips together. She knew Jennifer was right again. Witness this evening, for example; she hadn't seen him since their arrival. It had been left to Giles to entertain her.

  ‘I don't know, Keith—’ she was beginning when she saw him stiffen sharply and glancing round she saw her husband approaching them with a purposeful stride. He had the satisfied expression of the cat who has just stolen the cream, but his eyes hardened as they alighted on Keith Mannering, and ironic speculation took the place of complacency.

  ‘Well, well,’ he remarked casually, as he joined them, sliding possessive fingers round the soft flesh of Helen's upper arm, which Helen immediately resented. ‘It's Mannering, isn't it? What's a clean-living young lawyer like you doing in a place like this?'

  The insolence was evident in his tone even though what he said was not in itself insulting. But as Keith was not so tall as Jake or so broad, he was immediately at a disadvantage. However, Helen had to admire the way he straightened his shoulders and replied, quite calmly: