Jake Howard's Wife

by Anne Mather

  Mrs Latimer shrugged. ‘Not so far really. I expect you'll use the motorway. It will only be when you actually get into Wales that you may find the roads rather twisty. Tom and I went there once for our holidays. It's a lovely piece of country!'

  Helen wrinkled her nose. ‘In summer maybe, Mrs Latimer. But this is October. Look at the weather!’ A steady drizzle had begun to fall at lunchtime and now everywhere looked wet and miserable.

  Mrs Latimer chuckled. ‘Well, I shouldn't worry, if I were you, Mrs Howard. With Mr Howard at the wheel, you'll have no difficulties.'

  Helen was about to say that it wasn't only the journey she was troubled about and then decided against it. It would not do to treat Mrs Latimer as a confidante. The housekeeper's first allegiance was to her employer, after all, and while she might like and respect Helen, Jake would always hold precedence.

  Helen showered and changed before going downstairs. She dressed in slim-fitting mauve corded pants and a black round-necked sweater, above which the creamy flesh of her throat rose alluringly. She secured the heavy swathe of hair with a black velvet band, leaving it loose about her shoulders. She carried the coat she was to wear over one arm. It was one of her favourite garments: cream suede, its collar, cuffs and short hemline edged with gold-coloured fur. A glance at her watch told her it was a little after three as she crossed to the lounge and she found Mrs Latimer in the process of placing a tray of tea on the low table before the couch.

  She straightened when she saw Helen, and while Helen was registering that her husband was no longer lounging in the armchair, she said: ‘Mr Howard thought you might like some tea before leaving.'

  Helen threw her coat over the arm of a chair. ‘That was thoughtful of him,’ she remarked, the sarcasm only lightly veiled, and Mrs Latimer looked at her sharply, only to find Helen's expression unrevealing.

  Still, the tea was welcome, Helen had to concede, and she was drinking her second cup when Jake appeared, looking big and disturbing in close-fitting suede trousers that hugged the muscular length of his legs, and a knitted woollen shirt that had a laced fastening at the neck. As his clothes were dark they accentuated the darkness of his colouring, and Helen paused to wonder whether there was any Spanish blood in his veins. Then she half smiled. His mother would be most offended if she could know what Helen was thinking. She was intensely proud of her Yorkshire heritage.

  Jake noticed the amusement on Helen's face, and he frowned suddenly. ‘Exactly what is so funny?’ he inquired ominously.

  Helen sobered. ‘Nothing much.’ She replaced her cup in its saucer. ‘Are you ready to go now or do you want some tea?'

  Jake hesitated, and then slid his arms into the sleeves of the sheepskin jacket he was carrying, draped over one shoulder. ‘I'm ready,’ he replied shortly. ‘Where is your suitcase?'

  ‘My suitcases are upstairs,’ retorted Helen, standing up.

  ‘Suitcases!’ Jake shook his head impatiently. ‘For heaven's sake, what are you taking?'

  Helen ran the palms of her hands down the sides of her trousers. ‘Well, as you didn't tell me anything about the Ndanas, not even that their cottage was in Wales, or what kind of reception we were likely to receive, I had to cater for every possibility!'

  ‘I see. But I gather Mrs Latimer has told you.' At her inclination of her head, he chewed his lip thoughtfully. ‘Okay, point taken. I'll bring them down. I don't suppose the boot will be filled to overflowing with what I'm taking.'

  ‘Thank you.’ The words stuck in Helen's throat, but Jake had already gone, loping up the staircase and out of hearing. By the time he returned, Helen had put on her coat and was standing, hands in pockets in the hall, her head tilted towards the stairs.

  As Jake came down with the cases, Mrs Latimer came out of the kitchen and clicked her tongue annoyedly. ‘Now Tom could have brought them down, Mr Howard,’ she exclaimed. ‘He's just sitting in the kitchen drinking tea!'

  Jake grinned at her, the kind of warm indulgence he reserved for people in his service evident in his expression. ‘That's all right, Mrs Latimer,’ he replied calmly. ‘I'm not in my dotage yet.’ He looked abruptly at Helen. ‘Have you anything else to do?'

  Helen frowned. ‘I don't think so—oh! Oh, yes! The dinner engagement on Sunday! I shall have to cancel it.’ In all the confusion of the day she had forgotten all about Jennifer.

  Jake's expression became bleak. ‘You have a dinner engagement for Sunday?’ he inquired coldly.

  Helen wanted to put out her tongue at him at the derision in his voice. ‘Yes,’ she said deliberately. ‘Yes, I have!'

  Jake strode towards the door. ‘Well, cancel it!’ he commanded harshly, and swinging open the door went out with the cases, slamming the door to behind him.

  Mrs Latimer looked almost reproachfully at Helen, but Helen was in no mood to placate her by an explanation, so she said: ‘I'll just make a phone call, Mrs Latimer. You can go. I suppose you know we expect to be back on Sunday evening.'

  ‘Yes, madam.’ Mrs Latimer's tones were clipped. ‘Excuse me, madam.'

  ‘Of course.'

  Helen watched her go with impatience, and then lifted the telephone receiver. As luck would have it, Jennifer was in and she expressed instant regret at Helen's news.

  ‘But, darling, this is a new departure, for him, isn't it?’ she exclaimed, after Helen had explained where they were going. ‘I've never known him take you along on one of these trips.'

  Helen sighed. ‘No, nor have I. But obviously this is something special and he wants to give the appearance of being a happily married man, I suppose.'

  ‘And do you think you're going to enjoy it?’ Jennifer sounded disparaging. ‘I mean, darling, a cottage in Wales, miles from civilisation! God, what a prospect!'

  Helen made some polite rejoinder, and Jennifer went on: ‘I mean, it wouldn't be so bad if you and Jake—well—if you were a normal married couple. It could be quite a giggle, couldn't it? But knowing that husband of yours, I should suspect the worst! You'll probably be left to the care of this Ambassador's wife while the Ambassador and Jake talk shop all the time. Either that or they'll disappear to some night spot, if there are such things there, and you'll be left to twiddle your thumbs.’ She yawned, and then apologised. ‘Honestly, darling, I don't know why you agreed to go in the first place! Let him do his own soliciting!'

  Helen heard Jake coming back inside. ‘Look, I've got to go,’ she said quickly. ‘I'll give you a ring when we get back.'

  Jennifer sighed irritably. ‘Oh, very well, Helen. But don't blame me if you come back with pneumonia, or chilblains, or both!'

  ‘I won't.’ Helen rang off hastily and Jake gave her a raking stare.

  ‘Well?’ he said. ‘Are you ready now?'

  ‘Of course.’ Helen held up her head defiantly. She would not allow him to intimidate her in this way. She refused to stammer out explanations like a frightened child, just because he expected them.

  They were driving to the cottage in Jake's Ferrari. He used the limousine around town, but when he was driving himself any distance he preferred the sleek sports car. Helen had only been in the Ferrari about half a dozen times, and then only for short distances. As Jennifer had pointed out so disparagingly, this weekend was a new departure for Jake, and Helen could only assume, as she had said, that her husband needed the steadiness of his marriage as a potent demonstration of his reliability to Ndana. African politicians were invariably family men and considered the free and easy attitude of the western world towards sex a symbol of a decadent society.

  For the first hour of their journey Jake was too intent upon his driving to pay much attention to Helen. It was raining quite heavily now and in the rush-hour traffic of a Friday evening it was impossible to relax one's concentration. But once they were out of the thick of it and on to the motorway, Jake visibly eased his long body into a more comfortable position and lit a cheroot. Then he glanced towards his wife, and said:

  ‘What did Mannering say?'

&
nbsp; Helen chose to be obtuse, her fingers clasped together in her lap, her green eyes never leaving the road. ‘Mannering?’ she asked, with assumed surprise.

  Jake's long fingers tightened momentarily on the wheel, and then he said, almost pleasantly: ‘Don't try to be clever with me, Helen. You ought to know by now that it just doesn't work. I asked you what Mannering said when you had to tell him you couldn't dine with him on Sunday evening.'

  ‘Oh, that!’ Helen shrugged her shoulders annoyingly.

  ‘Yes, that!’ Jake's voice was grim now.

  ‘He didn't say anything.'

  ‘Helen, I warn you—'

  Helen looked his way then her eyes flashing angrily. ‘For goodness’ sake, Jake,’ she exclaimed, ‘stop acting the heavy father! For your information, I did not have a dinner date with Keith Mannering for Sunday evening!'

  ‘Do you expect me to believe that?'

  ‘Please yourself!’ Helen returned her attention to the road, fuming because she had allowed him to get her so angry that she had automatically defended herself.

  ‘Then who were you telephoning?'

  ‘Oh, for heaven's sake!’ Helen looked mutinously at him. ‘Why should I tell you who I was phoning? What does it matter? I don't ask you about your activities, so why should you know everything about mine?'

  Suddenly, a heavy lorry pulled out into the fast-moving lane and Jake had to brake hard as the awkward vehicle blocked his path. The incident momentarily eased the tension between them. Helen had to concede that Jake was a very competent driver, handling the powerful car with an expertise which she could have enjoyed in other circumstances. Indeed this whole weekend could have been a delightful experience—she had never been to Wales before—and casting a surreptitious glance at Jake she wondered how many girls would have given almost anything to be in her position, looking at things from a wholly superficial angle, of course. She found herself assessing her husband in a purely physical way and had to accept that he was a disturbingly masculine animal.

  With determination she stared out of the window at the unremitting wall of rain that enveloped them. Since Jake's return from the States three weeks ago and their subsequent confrontations she was becoming far too conscious of him, and she tried to drum up the feeling of revulsion she had always cocooned herself in whenever she considered his ruthless nature. He was not like the men she was accustomed to, she told herself fiercely. He was coarse, and crude, satisfying his male appetites in whatever manner suited him best, ignoring the codes of honour and decency she had been brought up to respect. And certainly he had no respect for her sex. Women might serve a useful purpose for him, but as individuals he had little time for them. Any woman who was foolish enough to get involved with Jake Howard need expect nothing from him. Only she, as his wife, had received a small measure of indifferent regard; she was inviolate, protected, supported, but, it appeared, only so long as she lived a completely obedient and blameless existence. And if ever she was foolish enough to imagine that her position gave her any advantages over any other woman she had no doubt Jake would do everything in his power to disabuse her of that belief.

  The lorry eventually pulled into the slow lane and Jake stood on the accelerator, passing everything in sight with an ease which was in itself exhilarating. They travelled on in silence for some time, both occupied with their own thoughts, but Helen was shaken out of her apathy by Jake pulling off the motorway and followed an invitingly signposted side road to a large hotel, whose lights gleamed warmly through the misted windows.

  ‘I thought we'd have dinner,’ remarked Jake shortly, unfastening his seat belt. ‘It's early, I know, only about half past six, but I thought it would save us stopping later on roads we don't know.'

  Helen nodded, and unfastening her own seat belt stepped out of the car in relief. It was good to stretch her legs, and not even the steady downpour spoiled the moment for her. She tucked up her collar, framing her face with the soft fur, and after Jake had locked the car they walked the few yards to the lighted entrance to the building.

  Inside it was warmly comfortable, and they shed their coats in the lobby and walked into the restaurant together. Although it was early, several diners were already enjoying their meal, and they glanced rather curiously at Helen and Jake as they were shown to their table. Certainly Jake would attract attention anywhere, thought Helen wryly, scarcely aware of the charming picture she presented in the close-fitting slacks and softly clinging sweater.

  Jake was morose throughout the meal, speaking seldom and only when Helen made some comment about the meal. She felt she had to say something if only to prove to the interested spectators around them that they were on speaking terms.

  Finally, when they were having liqueurs with their coffee, and Jake was smoking a deliciously smelling Havana cigar, she said heatedly: ‘If you must know, I was speaking to Jennifer on the telephone before we left. It was she who had invited us both for dinner on Sunday evening!'

  Jake did not reply, and Helen grew impatient. ‘Did you hear what I said?’ she exclaimed in a low, angry tone.

  Jake's dark lashes flickered upwards. ‘Yes, I heard, Helen.'

  ‘Well, haven't you anything to say?'

  ‘What do you want me to say?'

  Helen compressed her lips bitterly, aware that she was near to tears suddenly. How ridiculous, she thought impatiently. Just because he had chosen to sulk over their argument she had given in yet again and given him another opportunity to humiliate her.

  Without answering him, she got to her feet and pushing back her chair she walked abruptly out of the room. She grabbed her coat from its hook by the outer door and tugging it carelessly over her shoulders she went outside, hesitating as the cold draught of wind and rain showered her relentlessly. But she could hardly stand in the hotel doorway, and thrusting her arms into the sleeves of her coat she stepped out into the storm, gasping as the chill wind caught her breath.

  She walked blindly towards the Ferrari, but of course it was locked and she had no key. She fastened her coat, pushing her hands deep into the pockets, trying to prevent her lips from trembling by biting them. She had never felt more wretched in all her young life.

  The sound of the hotel door banging behind her caused her to glance round apprehensively and she saw Jake striding towards her, purposefully. He raked her with a merciless glance, noticing her damp hair clinging in tendrils to her wet face, dejected hunching of her slim shoulders, the unhappy droop of her mouth, and without a word he unlocked the car door and taking her arm thrust her abruptly inside. Then he slammed the door and walked swiftly round the bonnet to climb in beside her, sliding a hand through the thickness of his own hair which was inclined to curl when it was wet.

  Then he turned towards her in his seat, and she waited with bated breath for the angry tirade which was to follow. But just when her nerves were stretched to screaming pitch, he said in a low half reluctant tone: ‘All right, all right, Helen. I'm sorry!'

  Helen turned her head to look at him, her eyes wide and incredulous. ‘You're—you're sorry?’ she echoed faintly.

  ‘Yes! Yes, goddammit, what more do you want me to say? Okay, I'm a swine! I didn't believe you. Now I do.'

  ‘Oh, Jake!'

  To her horror, Helen felt the hot tears squeezing through her lids at his words, running treacherously down her face. He must have suspected something was wrong when she scrubbed the palms of her hands painfully across her cheeks in an effort to hide her distress and he switched on the interior light, staring at her with a curious look in his eyes.

  ‘For God's sake, Helen,’ he muttered forcefully, ‘I've said I'm sorry. Don't cry, for heaven's sake! I'm not worth it, believe me!'

  Helen moved her head slowly from side to side. ‘Just leave me alone. I'll be all right,’ she insisted chokingly, her palms pressed to her mouth.

  ‘Ah, Helen—woman—be still!’ he groaned, almost under his breath, and he slid an arm about her shoulders, pulling her close to him so that she
buried her face against his chest. It was the first time she had been this close to him, and for several minutes she was content just to lie there, feeling the all-enveloping security of his nearness.

  But gradually, as her tears subsided, Helen became aware of other sensations that were just as disastrous to her peace of mind. The warmth of Jake's skin penetrated the fine woollen material of his sweater, and she was intensely conscious of the hard strength of his body and the clean, male smell of him. And while she knew she ought to move away from him and dry her eyes, she didn't want to do so.

  But the initiative was taken out of her hands by Jake himself taking her by the shoulders and propelling her gently but firmly back into her own seat. Then he flicked out the interior light, put a cheroot between his lips and lit it with swift, sure movements, and finally turned on the ignition.

  The powerful engine roared to life and glancing briefly over his shoulder to make sure it was clear, Jake swung the car round in a semi-circle and made for the exit. He did not speak, and soon the lights of the motorway engulfed them.

  But Helen lay in her seat, tremblingly aware that for the first time in her life she would not have found the touch of a man's hands undesirable…

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE road uncoiled before them, wet and gleaming, reptilian in its writhing persistence. They had left the comparative simplicity of the motorway far behind now, and were penetrating further and further into wild, hilly country where not even an occasional village interrupted their solitary passage. Perhaps it might not have seemed so bad in daylight, thought Helen doubtfully, but in the pouring rain and almost complete darkness it was all slightly unnerving.

  Since leaving the hotel car park, Jake had spoken little and then usually to ask Helen to check the map to ensure they were not on the wrong road. She had wondered whether he was regretting his momentary softening earlier; certainly there was no sign of compassion now in the grim lines of his features. But he was having to use all his undoubted skill to keep the powerful car from skidding on the hair-raising bends, and from time to time he cursed softly under his breath as he had to use his gears to reduce his speed.