by Anne Mather
Helen's brows drew together. ‘Me? No, not particularly. Why?'
Jake's eyes were glinting slightly. ‘Very well, if you don't want to go on,’ he said.
Helen tried to control her impatience. Jake was deliberately making it her decision. Why?
‘I'm perfectly happy to stay here,’ she told him curtly.
‘Good. Then I'll go and get the cases.’ He stood up.
‘No, wait, boy!’ Mr Morgan got to his feet. ‘It's pretty wet out there. I'm sure for one night you could manage without your cases. Dilys can find something for your wife to wear, I'm sure, and I've got pyjamas which should do for you.'
Jake hesitated. Then he seemed to come to a decision, for he sat down again, and finished the cup of tea Mrs Morgan had poured for him. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I'm sure we both appreciate your kindness, don't we, Helen?'
Helen nodded, but she would have liked to have added that while she appreciated what the Morgans were doing, she did not altogether appreciate her husband's attitude. He seemed to be enjoying some joke at her expense, his earlier brusqueness having given way to a sardonic indifference which was difficult to understand.
Mrs Morgan took their coats away to dry in the kitchen and Mr Morgan showed Jake where he could make his telephone call. Helen sat on by the fire, her hair almost dry and shining in the fire-light. She felt warm and contented and when Mrs Morgan returned she chatted quite amicably to her about her home in London and the appalling state of the weather. Mrs Morgan in her turn told Helen about the three sons and two daughters she had brought up and how she now had nineteen grandchildren. Helen was interested and when Jake returned she was engrossed in the family snap album with both the Morgans.
‘That's all right,’ Jake said in explanation, as he came back into the room. ‘They'll expect us soon after breakfast in the morning.'
‘Good, good!’ Mr Morgan nodded and smiled, and accepted the cigar Jake offered him.
It could have been such a pleasant evening, but Helen was intensely conscious of Jake's manner and she wondered if this was his way of showing his disapproval. Later Mrs Morgan disappeared to prepare their rooms, and Helen was surprised to see it was almost eleven o'clock.
Looking at Mr Morgan, she exclaimed: ‘We mustn't keep you up, Mr Morgan. I'm sure you have an early start in the morning.'
Mr Morgan shook his head. ‘Not as early as I used to, Mrs Howard. My sons do most of the hard work about the place now. I'm just the gaffer.’ He chuckled.
Helen smiled. ‘I expect you love it here,’ she volunteered.
‘Oh, in summer it's marvellous!’ he agreed. ‘Have you ever been to the Welsh mountains before, Mrs Howard?'
‘I've not even been to Wales before,’ replied Helen. ‘But if all the people are as friendly as you and Mrs Morgan then I shall certainly come again.'
The old man looked touched by her submission and Jake's expression grew more sardonic than ever.
Eventually Mrs Morgan returned. ‘When you're ready, I'll show you to your bed,’ she said smilingly. ‘I've laid out some night-clothes for you, but you can please yourselves whether you use them!’ She raised her eyebrows teasingly, and for the first time Helen felt a twinge of apprehension.
Of course! Why hadn't she thought of it before? To the Morgans they were a normal married couple! She stared accusingly at Jake, and he allowed his lids to narrow slightly at the look in her eyes. You beast! she wanted to storm at him. You knew! That was why Jake had looked so derisively at her earlier. He had guessed what the Morgans would think. Oh, why hadn't she?
As Mrs Morgan obviously expected them to retire now, Helen rose unhappily from her seat and Jake followed her out of the room after bidding goodnight to Mr Morgan, who nodded smilingly by the fire.
The stairs were winding and carpeted in a rough woven carpet that was hard to Helen's stockinged feet. Both she and Jake had shed their muddy shoes and left them to dry downstairs.
The room Mrs Morgan showed them into was large and high-ceilinged, and contained an enormous double bed of the type Helen had not seen outside of antique shops. Lying on the pillows was a capacious nightgown for Helen and a pair of flannelette pyjamas for Jake.
‘I think you'll be comfortable here,’ Mrs Morgan was saying anxiously. ‘I've put hot water bottles in the bed, and there's a couple of extra blankets on the ottoman over there if you're cold.’ Then she smiled at them both teasingly. ‘But I'm sure you won't feel the cold, will you? Young things like you! When Owen and I were your age we used to keep one another warm.’ She chuckled reminiscently. ‘Now we rely on an electric blanket!'
Jake grinned. ‘I'm sure this will do us very nicely, Mrs Morgan.'
Mrs Morgan nodded. ‘Yes, I'm sure it will. Now the bathroom's across the hall—that door there!’ She pointed across the landing. ‘And there's plenty of hot water if either of you want a bath in the morning.'
‘Thank you.’ Helen was forced to say something, and with another encompassing smile Mrs Morgan went out, wishing them goodnight as she closed the door.
Only then did Helen turn to Jake, a look of sheer frustration on her face. ‘You knew!’ she hissed fiercely. ‘You knew the Morgans would only provide us with one room!'
Jake looked down mockingly into her shocked face. ‘Of course I knew. And if you'd had any sense, you'd have realised it, too. But you were so wrapped up in an aura of warmth and well-being that you didn't stop to think, did you? Well, it serves you right! Not only do we have only one room, we have only one bed! And I, for one, do not intend sleeping on the floor!'
CHAPTER SIX
HELEN stared disbelievingly at him. ‘What do you mean?'
Jake walked indolently across the carpeted floor. ‘What do you think I mean? I thought I'd made it plain enough.'
Helen twisted her hands behind her back. ‘You—intend—to use—the bed?’ she ventured unhappily.
Jake turned. He had reached the side of the bed and he lifted the flannelette pyjamas from the pillow with a mocking hand, holding them up with assumed puzzlement. ‘Now what do you suppose these are?’ he inquired musingly.
Helen pressed her lips together. ‘Oh, stop fooling about, Jake!’ she snapped irritably. ‘What are we going to do?'
Jake sat down on his side of the bed and began to unfasten his shirt under her horrified gaze. ‘I don't know what you're about to do, Helen. But I am going to bed. You may recall, I didn't sleep at all last night, and I have no intention of suffering the same fate tonight.'
‘But, Jake…’ Helen spread a helpless hand, walking about the room restlessly. ‘We can't both sleep in this room!'
Jake shrugged, pulling off his shirt to reveal the brown muscular expanse of his chest, liberally covered with hair. Helen looked away abruptly. She had never seen him without a shirt. They had never had a holiday together and consequently she had not seen him in swimming gear. But it was obvious from the tan of his skin that he had not spent all his time in the United States in the boardroom. In consequence, she was terse when she exclaimed:
‘For goodness’ sake, Jake! Put the pyjama jacket on!'
Jake tossed the pyjamas carelessly to the foot of the bed. Then he lay back, stretching his arms back above his head with abandoned ease. ‘You wear them,’ he advised her lazily. ‘I never use the things myself.'
Helen gave an exclamation of frustration. ‘You—you can't mean to—to—'
Jake turned his head sideways so that his eyes flickered over her startled face with wry amusement. ‘I can't mean to what? Sleep in the raw?’ He smiled mockingly. ‘No—I won't shock your puritan little soul to that extent.'
Helen moved to the massive dressing table, unwillingly laying her handbag down and removing the band of velvet from her hair so that it fell about her face in a soft curtain. Then she held back her hair with one hand and surveyed her reflection in the mirror without pleasure.
Jake sat up, and yawned. ‘Do you want to use the bathroom?’ he queried matter-of-factly, and she swung
round on him.
‘You're enjoying this, aren't you?’ she accused him in a low angry voice. ‘You don't care about my feelings at all!'
Jake's expression hardened slightly and he rose to his feet. ‘Now, Helen,’ he said flatly. ‘You got us into this. It's up to you to make the best of it.'
‘But we can't share the bed,’ she protested.
‘Why not?’ His eyes probed hers and she flushed hotly. ‘Contrary to your beliefs, I do find some things more important than my—animal needs! That was what you once called them, wasn't it?’ He frowned. ‘Right now, all I want to do is sleep!'
Helen moved reluctantly towards the bed, lifting the nightdress doubtfully. It too was made of flannelette, and she could see it would be several sizes too big for her. She shook it out and Jake's lips twitched.
‘I should plump for the pyjamas!’ he remarked dryly. ‘At least they have a cord.'
Helen pressed her lips together tightly. ‘And what are you going to wear?'
Jake shrugged. ‘Don't worry about me. I'll manage.'
Helen heaved a sigh. ‘I don't want to go to the bathroom. You go—and I'll get into bed.'
Jake regarded her for a long moment and then he nodded. ‘All right, Modesty Blaise! But please, don't take too long.'
Helen waited until the door was closed and then she hastily stripped off her trousers and sweater and tights. The pyjama trousers were much too big for her, but at least, as Jake had pointed out, they had a cord, and she secured it tightly about her waist before pulling on the huge jacket.
She didn't stop to see what she looked like, but drew back the covers and climbed swiftly into the big bed. Her toes encountered the hot water bottle at her feet and she sighed luxuriously. In other circumstances she would have felt wonderfully warm and comfortable.
Jake came back a few minutes later, walking into the bedroom unannounced, and she stared at him resentfully.
‘Well, I could hardly knock before entering my wife's bedroom, could I?’ he remarked logically, when he encountered her indignation.
Helen made no reply, turning abruptly on to her side away from him, and with a shrug he went to turn out the light. A few moments later she felt the bed give on his side as the weight of his body was added to the lightness of hers.
She moved as far away from him as possible, keeping to her own side of the bed, her body stiff and unyielding, half afraid that he might choose to ignore what he had told her earlier.
But after only a few minutes, she heard his breathing deepen, and she realised with a ridiculous sense of anti-climax that he was asleep…
It seemed to take Helen hours to get to sleep. Clinging to the edge of the mattress was not a particularly comfortable position in which to try and relax, and her indignation against Jake increased when he moved lazily in his sleep, turning on to his back and spreading himself into the space she had left between them, not even stirring when he touched her still form.
Helen kept her eyes tightly closed, willing him to move away, but he seemed completely unaware of her. Probably, she thought with revulsion, he was not unused to having a woman share his bed, but she had always slept alone, and hot tears of self-pity stung her eyes once again, only to be dashed away by an impatient finger.
Eventually, sheer exhaustion overtook her and she slept, not waking until the sound of Mrs Morgan coming into the room with a tray of morning tea disturbed her. Even then she was loath to move, and as her eyes flickered open she realised why she had felt so warm and comfortable. During the night she must have felt cold, and she had snuggled up to Jake and she now lay close in the small of his back, one arm curved round his waist.
With an exclamation of surprise, she withdrew her arm sharply, and struggled into a sitting position, managing to return Mrs Morgan's cheerful smile. Jake did not stir, and Mrs Morgan whispered:
‘It's not raining any more, Mrs Howard. Now tell me, did you sleep all right?'
Helen coloured, drawing the huge pyjama jacket protectively about her. ‘Thank you, very well,’ she returned softly. ‘And thank you for the tea.'
Mrs Morgan placed the tray on the table beside her. ‘Now that's nothing at all. What will your husband have for his breakfast? Eggs and bacon? Some sausages, perhaps?'
Helen glanced at Jake, and as though aware of her gaze he stirred, stretching a little. ‘That—that would be fine, Mrs Morgan,’ she murmured, wishing the woman would go so that she could get out of the bed before Jake properly woke up.
‘I see you've shared the pyjamas,’ went on Mrs Morgan chattily, and Helen realised she thought that Jake must be wearing the trousers. So instead of disabusing her, Helen just smiled and waited for her to go.
But it soon became obvious that Mrs Morgan was in no hurry to leave, and she fussed about unnecessarily, drawing back the curtains and tidying the things on the dressing table until Helen felt she could scream.
With an effort she applied herself to her tea, drinking the hot liquid slowly, but of course the constant sound of activity in the room eventually disturbed Jake and he opened his eyes, a frown marring his forehead for a brief moment when he saw Helen. Then a strange smile slid over his face before his eyes travelled on round the room to encounter those of Mrs Morgan.
‘Ah, you're awake at last!’ she exclaimed, smiling with approval. ‘I've brought you both a tray of tea, and your wife says you'd like bacon and eggs for breakfast, is that right?'
Jake levered himself up on his elbows. To Helen, seeing him like this, relaxed and drowsy-eyed, his hair tousled and the shadow of a night's beard on his chin, it was a disturbing experience, and she was intensely conscious of the nearness of his warm body beneath the covers.
Jake smiled at the Welsh woman and said: ‘That sounds exactly what I need, Mrs Morgan. If it's not too much trouble.'
‘Of course it's no trouble.’ Mrs Morgan folded her arms across her ample bosom. ‘Did you sleep comfortably?'
Jake flicked a glance in Helen's direction, but she was leaning over to replace her empty cup on the tray and therefore avoided his questioning gaze. He made some suitable reply to Mrs Morgan, and then there was a moment's awkward silence while Mrs Morgan waited, apparently for either of them to say something else. When no further comment seemed forthcoming, the older woman was forced to walk reluctantly towards the door.
‘I'll have the meal ready in half an hour. Will that suit you both?'
Helen hesitated. ‘That will be lovely, but nothing for me, thank you, Mrs Morgan. I usually have a slice of toast—'
‘And nothing else?’ Mrs Morgan was scandalised. ‘And you so slim? You need a good breakfast, that's what I always say.'
‘Really, Mrs Morgan, I'm not hungry.’ Helen could not have faced a cooked breakfast this morning for anything.
The woman made an impatient gesture. ‘Oh, well, if you insist. But I'll do you plenty of toast, and there's some home-made marmalade to go with it.'
‘Lovely!’ Helen managed another smile, and to her relief Mrs Morgan took it as dismissal. She went out, closing the door behind her, and Helen heaved a sigh before turning as though to get out of bed.
‘Wait!’ Jake caught her wrist, preventing her from sliding out of the bed. ‘What's the hurry? It smells damn cold out there!'
‘I should have been up before you woke up if Mrs Morgan hadn't persisted in hanging about!’ Helen replied heatedly.
Jake retained his hold on her wrist, lying back on his pillows with indolent grace. ‘So what kept you?'
Helen flushed. ‘Mrs Morgan thought we were sharing the pyjamas. If I'd got out of bed she would have seen that we weren't.'
Jake half smiled. ‘And that would have embarrassed Mrs Morgan? I somehow don't think so.'
Helen pursed her lips. ‘It would have embarrassed me!’ she retorted shortly. ‘Now will you please let go of my wrist?'
Jake ignored her plea, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. ‘This is quite a novel situation, isn't it? Our being in bed together for the first time a
fter three years of marriage.'
Helen glared angrily at him, struggling to free herself without result. ‘I shouldn't have thought it would be much of a novelty for you!’ she cried scornfully.
‘No?’ Jake's eyes glittered at the contempt in her voice.
‘No.’ Helen attempted to prise his fingers from her wrist. ‘Let me go!'
‘I want to know why you think it shouldn't be a novelty for me,’ he stated, his voice cold and determined.
Helen stared at him impotently, wishing she had never made any reply to his comment. She invariably said the wrong thing. ‘Jake, please, you're hurting me! We don't have that long. Mrs Morgan said breakfast would be ready in half an hour—'
‘To hell with Mrs Morgan!’ Jake propped himself up on one elbow and forced her back against her pillows by increasing the pressure on her wrist. ‘Well?’ he asked harshly. ‘Aren't you going to tell me what that not so innocent little mind of yours has dreamed up about me now?'
Helen moved her head from side to side. ‘You—you beast!’ Her breast heaved. ‘I—I'll scream!'
‘You could. But you won't. Imagine what construction Mrs Morgan would put on it if you did.'
Helen stared at him helplessly. ‘Jake, please!’ she begged. ‘Let me go! This is—this is—’ Her voice trailed away weakly. She was overwhelmingly conscious of his nearness, and the intimacy of this situation, and while she told herself she wanted to escape from him, part of her resisted such a sane and sensible solution.
Jake's gaze raked her mobile face ruthlessly, and then his lips twisted. ‘This is—what?’ he demanded coldly. ‘Reckless? Dangerous, perhaps?’ He uttered a short mirthless laugh. ‘Oh, Helen, who do you think you're kidding? Do you honestly imagine I don't know what goes on inside that beautiful head? Do you think I wasn't aware of how you felt last night when I comforted you in the car park of the hotel?’ His tone was contemptuous now. ‘Do you think I don't know women well enough to know when they become interested in a man? All this uncharacteristic indignation—this assumed anger! It's all an act! Designed for one purpose and one purpose only: to make me aware of you as you appear to be aware of me!'