Hell Or High Water Page 9

  Karen caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘I haven’t made another mistake in the ledger, have I?’ she queried worriedly. ‘I know my maths are appalling, but I did use the calculator.’

  ‘Oh, no—no!’ Helen was quick to reassure her. ‘The figures are fine, honestly.’

  ‘So why are you checking them?’

  Helen sighed. ‘Go home, Karen,’ she urged, cupping her chin in one shapely hand. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  But Karen refused to be moved without a more satisfactory explanation. ‘Something’s wrong, isn’t it?’ she exclaimed. ‘Is it Charles? Have you two had a fight? Is that why you’ve looked a little strained since you took that day off?’

  ‘No!’ Helen gripped the edge of the desk tightly. ‘No, of course not. Charles and I never fight. You’re imagining things, Karen.’

  ‘Am I?’ The other girl sounded as sceptical as she looked. ‘Well, something’s amiss, and if it’s not Charles, it must be Jarret Manning.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Helen could not have looked more indignant, but Karen was not convinced. Coming fully into the office, she draped her elegant length in the armchair opposite, and regardedher friend with provoking blue eyes. ‘It is Jarret Manning, isn’t it?’ she persisted, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her bag and placing one between her lips. ‘Of course! Today’s the day he moves in, isn’t it? That’s why you don’t want to go home.’

  ‘You’re letting your imagination run away with you, Karen,’ retorted Helen crossly, getting up from the desk and pacing restlessly across the floor. ‘It is the day Jarret Manning is moving into King’s Green, I can’t deny that, but as for thinking it has anything to do with my working late…’

  Karen lit her cigarette and inhaled deeply, watching her friend reflectively through the haze. She was an attractive girl, some three years older than Helen, and her blonde good looks had proved a distinctive foil for Helen’s darker ones. She was unmarried, and since the death of her parents some five years ago had rented a flat near the centre of Malverley. She was well liked, and popular with the opposite sex, but for the past four years she had been hopelessly in love with a married man.

  ‘So?’ she said now. ‘Tell me, if you’re not avoiding Jarret Manning, what are you doing?’

  ‘I’ve told you, I’m just going over the figures,’ retorted Helen tautly. ‘Honestly, Karen, must we have this inquest? I’m not questioning your book-keeping, I’m just checking the invoices.’

  Karen grimaced. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  ‘Who are you kidding, Helen?’ Karen tilted her head. ‘What happened, darling? Did he make a pass at you?’

  Helen’s cheeks suffused with colour, and she crossed her arms deliberately across herself, as if they might provide a protection against whatever was to come. Then, realising she had to give some explanation, she said: ‘I don’t like the man. Is that enough for you? I can’t imagine why Mummy agreed to let him share the house. It was bad enough when Aunt Margot came with him that first time, but last Friday he brought some American model, who spent the whole time pawing over him! He said he wanted to get away from it all, but it seems to me he just wants to move the location.’

  ‘My, my, we are bitter, aren’t we?’ Karen exhaled smoke through amused lips. ‘Was the model Vivien Sinclair? I read she was his latest girl-friend.’

  Helen snorted. ‘Where did you read that?’

  ‘Where do you think? In the paper, of course, darling. Your Mr Manning is quite a scoop for the gossip columnists. They give him a hard time.’

  ‘He probably deserves it,’ replied Helen maliciously, dropping her arms and walking back to the desk. ‘Anyway, now you know why I prefer to avoid him.’

  ‘Do I?’ Karen was annoyingly perceptive. ‘I can’t believe cool, collected Helen has been rattled by some empty-headed model!’

  ‘She’s not empty-headed, actually,’ muttered Helen, resuming her seat. ‘Mummy told me that Jarret had told her that she was a college graduate or something, and only took to modelling after winning some beauty contest.’

  ‘Jarret?’ queried Karen teasing, and Helen bent her head.

  ‘All right,’ she conceded heavily, ‘he did—make a pass at me.’ She lifted her head. ‘Now will you go home?’

  Karen frowned. ‘Oh, Helen…’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  The other girl shook her head, and then squashed out her cigarette with impatient fingers. ‘You worry me sometimes, do you know that?’ she retorted.

  ‘I? Worry you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Karen looked at her squarely. ‘You’re so—vulnerable, somehow. So open to being hurt. Do you know, there are times when I wonder if you’ve ever known what it’s like to feel deeply—about anything.’

  Helen moved her shoulders awkwardly, a little hurt by the other girl’s candour, and as if regretting her outburst, Karen forced a smile. ‘Don’t take any notice of me,’ she said, putting her cigarettes back into her handbag. ‘I’m no counsellor to give anyone advice. Goodness knows, I haven’t organised my own life with any degree of success, have I?’

  Helen sighed, resting her elbows on the desk and studying her friend sympathetically. ‘How is John?’ she asked, glad of the distraction, and Karen’s eyes grew reflective asshe spoke of the man she loved.

  ‘He’s fine,’ she said, a reminiscent smile tugging at her lips. ‘We spent the weekend at Stratford, and I can’t remember enjoying Shakespeare so much before.’ She shook her head. ‘He’s so crazy, Helen. We took a boat on the river at one o’clock in the morning, and made love in the shade of a clump of weeping willows!’

  Helen’s tongue circled her lips. ‘I think you’re the crazy one, Karen. What if—what if you got pregnant? What would you do then? You know he has four children already. And he’s refused to get a divorce.’

  Karen gave a resigned shrug. ‘He can’t get a divorce, Helen—his wife is a Catholic. And besides, how could he leave Audrey to bring up four children alone?’

  Helen made a confused gesture. ‘I don’t understand you, Karen, I don’t honestly. You say he can’t leave his wife to bring up their children alone, and yet you’re perfectly prepared to run the risk of putting yourself in the same position without the benefit of a wedding ring!’

  ‘I take precautions,’ Karen retorted patiently. ‘And if you think John and I could stand the same kind of relationship you and Charles have, you’re very much mistaken.’

  Helen shifted uncomfortably. ‘My relationship with Charles has nothing to do with it.’

  ‘Doesn’t it?’ Karen looked disbelieving. ‘I sometimes wonder what you’re saving yourselves for!’

  Helen was not offended, but she had to defend herself. ‘Charles and I both believe that a honeymoon should be just that!’ she declared. ‘What’s the point of getting married at all, if you’ve already anticipated the wedding night?’

  ‘Oh, Helen! What a lot you have to learn!’

  Helen sifted the papers on the desk with a careless hand. ‘Why is it that people always think that they know best?’

  Karen sighed. ‘What if you’re incompatible?’

  ‘Incompatible?’ Helen managed to sound almost amused. ‘What do you mean—incompatible? We love one another.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you do, but loving one another and actually sharing love can be two very different things.’

  Helen made an irritated gesture. ‘And of course, you know all about that.’

  ‘John wasn’t the first man I went to bed with,’ statedKaren frankly. ‘But he’s the only man I’ve ever wanted.’

  ‘Want! Want! What has wanting to do with love? What you’re talking about is lust!’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ Karen leaned towards her. ‘Helen, listen to me, are you sure you and Charles—’

  With an abrupt movement Helen got to her feet. ‘You’ve convinced me!’ she declared, cutting the other girl off before she could say any more, and Karen stared a
t her blankly.

  ‘Convinced you?’

  ‘Yes. That I’m a fool to hang about here, just because Jarret Manning has invaded my home! Why should I care what he does? I’ll be leaving in less than three months. Mummy can have him all to herself.’

  Karen shrugged and relaxed again. ‘Jealous?’

  Helen gasped. ‘Of Mummy?’

  ‘No. Of Jarret Manning,’ retorted Karen dryly. ‘You’ve been the apple of Mummy’s eye for the past ten years, haven’t you?’

  Driving home, Helen remembered Karen’s words with a sense of irony. If she only knew, she thought grimly. She and her mother had shared an uneasy truce since that scene in the hall, and the memory of her mother’s words to her after Jarret had left still stung in her mind. Mrs Chase knew nothing about what Jarret had done to her, of course. All she had seen was another example of what she saw as her daughter’s discourtesy, and she had lost no time in making her conversant with her present financial position.

  ‘Without Jarret’s generosity, I might well have had to accept the Connaughts’ offer to assume responsibility for the wedding. Now I shan’t have that anxiety, and as you’re the one who is going to benefit, the least you can do is to be civil to the man!’

  There had been other words about her lack of gratitude for what her mother had done for her, of how selfish she had become, and how little she considered anyone’s feelings but her own, and Helen had not argued. She had been too stunned to produce any defensible alternative anyway, and it had been easier to hide her real feelings.

  Jarret’s second visit had been shorter, but no less memorablefor all that. Instead of coming in the morning as he had done before, he had arrived in the early evening, just after Helen had succeeded in convincing herself that he was not going to come at all. And Vivien Sinclair was with him.

  Mrs Chase had been relieved to see him, of course. Like her daughter, she had begun to have doubts about his future intentions, and had even voiced a terse rebuke to the effect that if he had changed his mind, Helen ought to be ashamed of herself.

  In the event, it appeared that Vivien had had a modelling assignment earlier in the day, and as Jarret had promised to bring her with him, he had had to delay his departure. The American had proved to be a friendly girl, but Helen had kept out of their way as much as possible. To her relief, her mother agreed to show Vivien over the house, and it was only when they came into the drawing room for a drink before leaving that Helen had had to face them. Even then, Vivien had done most of the talking, curled beside Jarret on the sofa, her scarlet-tipped fingers continually straying over his shoulder or his knee, letting them know in no uncertain manner exactly what their relationship entailed.

  Helen drank her sherry, and joined in the conversation only when spoken to, and as Vivien addressed most of her remarks to Mrs Chase, that was not often. Jarret, likewise, had little to say for himself, but his smile was lazily indulgent when it rested on his companion, which seemed to satisfy her. Helen thought he looked tired, when her eyes strayed irresistibly in his direction. He lounged on the comfortable sofa, his head resting against the dark green velvet upholstery, long legs splayed indolently across the carpet, and while she suspected he was no less harmless than a sleeping tiger, he was obviously prepared to let Vivien take the initiative. They had left without his having said more than two words to her, and only the knowing mockery in his eyes signified his awareness of the control she was exerting.

  Remembering this now as she turned between the drive gates, Helen’s fingers tightened on the wheel. She couldn’t help wondering if he intended continuing his relationshipwith Vivien at King’s Green, whether he expected them to accommodate her when she chose to pay him a visit. The prospect was irritating enough, without the inevitable suppositions it engendered, and she prayed the next three months would soon pass.

  The green Ferrari was not at the door and briefly her heart lifted, but then she saw it parked under the archway at the side of the house. It was in the entry to the yard and stable block, and she guessed her mother had allocated him one of the empty garages. These days only her Alfa and her mother’s Triumph occupied the buildings which had once accommodated half a dozen traps and carriages.

  However, the Ferrari did block her way most successfully, and she was obliged to park her car beside the porch. Walking into the house, she was convinced that even the atmosphere was different, and finding Jarret flicking through the telephone directory in the hall seemed the last straw.

  Realising the best method of defence was attack, she took a stand. ‘Your vehicle is blocking the entry,’ she announced, as her arrival caused him to glance round, and his expression darkened ominously.

  ‘Move it, then,’ he advised, thrusting his hand into the pocket of his black cords and bringing out his keys. ‘Here!’ He tossed them towards her. ‘Make yourself useful.’

  An automatic reflex made her catch the keys, and she stared at them disbelievingly for a moment before saying helplessly: ‘I can’t drive your car.’

  ‘Why not?’ He had resumed his examination of the directory. ‘You’ve passed your test, haven’t you?’

  ‘Well, yes—but—’ She sighed frustratedly. ‘You know I can’t do it.’

  Jarret looked up again. ‘Scared?’

  Helen squared her shoulders. ‘Of damaging it—yes, I am.’

  Jarret shook his head. ‘I’ll take the responsibility for that. Go ahead. It’s quite easy really.’

  Helen stood, undecided, the weapon of defence having been taken out of her hands once again. Then, realising that if she refused she would appear foolish or childish or both, she turned about and went out.

  The Ferrari was not locked, and still with some misgivings she opened the door and got in. Despite her height, her feet did not even touch the pedals, and she took several minutes to adjust the seat. Then, satisfied with its position, she inserted the key in the ignition.

  The engine fired at the first attempt, and she felt a thrill of excitement coursing through her at the thought of the power under her hands. Holding the wheel as if it was likely to be wrested from her fingers, she inched the car forward, finding its smoothness of acceleration easy to control. It was like taking hold of a wild-cat and finding only a purring kitten, and encouraged to experiment, she allowed it a little more freedom. It was a mistake. Like any caged creature, it yearned for escape, and her brief indulgence almost ended in disaster as the Ferrari accelerated towards the stable wall. She found the brakes just in time, but even after the vehicle had stopped, she found she was still shaking.

  Then, lifting her head, she saw Jarret’s reflection in the rear-view mirror, leaning against the arched entry. He seemed to be half doubled over, and for an awful moment she thought she had hit him, although how she might have done so, she couldn’t imagine. But suddenly she realised he was laughing, almost doubled up with laughter in fact, and her trembling reaction gave way to angry indignation.

  Thrusting open the door, she got out and stormed towards him. ‘I suppose you’d have found it hysterical if I’d buried myself in the wall!’ she burst out furiously, but he shook his head, suppressing the mirth that had gripped him.

  ‘What?’ he said, in mild reproof. ‘And smashed up almost thirty thousand pounds’ worth of machinery!’ and a cry of impotence broke from her. ‘No,’ he went on soberly, ‘I admit, I did have a few bad moments while you were practising your emergency stop, but I could tell you had everything under control.’

  She stared at him then, anger and prejudice, and half tearful indignation warring in her expression. Was he serious? No, of course he wasn’t. He was making fun of her again, but suddenly the humour of the situation was too much for her. It was no use. She wanted to remainserious, she wanted to be angry with him for laughing at her, but the image of the Ferrari racing madly for the wall with herself panicking desperately inside it, trying to find the brakes, was just too much to ignore. And as before, she found herself giggling helplessly, allowing all the tense ner
vous reaction to evaporate.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Jarret said at last, as she struggled to achieve some semblance of sobriety, and she nodded vigorously.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, wiping her eyes with the tips of her fingers. ‘It’s really not at all funny.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ He regarded her with wry amusement. ‘I could have sworn you found it so.’

  ‘Well, I did—that is, you made me laugh!’ she accused, pulling a face at him. ‘Is the car all right? I didn’t do any damage, did I? I don’t think I did.’

  Jarret strolled towards the vehicle, extracted the keys, and closed the door she had left open in her fury. Then he came back to where she was waiting, shaking his head at her anxious expression.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘It’s okay there for tonight. It’s not blocking anyone’s entry, is it?’

  Helen shook her head, feeling slightly chastened by his remark, and they walked back to the house in silence. All the same, she was intensely conscious of him beside her, and the conflicting emotions he aroused made her feel keyed-up and restless. In the hall again, Jarret returned to his study of the telephone directory, but Helen stood irresolute for a moment, not at all decided what to do. She guessed her mother would be in the kitchen, helping Mrs Hetherington organise dinner, but she didn’t really feel like going in search of her. Instead, she went upstairs to her room, aware that the incident outside had shown her how difficult it was going to be for her to remain indifferent to Jarret, and feeling distinctly dissatisfied with herself and with life in general.

  Fortunately she was going out for dinner, and a long soak in the bath and a change of clothes restored her equilibrium. Charles was calling for her at seven o’clock, and she spent a satisfying length of time applying a delicate make-up, and choosing what she was going to wear.

  She eventually decided on a calf-length dress of dark red velvet, its low round neckline complimented by elbow-length puffed sleeves. It’s lines were stark and dramatic, accentuating her dark beauty, and the simple gold chain she wore around her throat was all the jewellery she needed. That and her diamond engagement ring, of course.