Jake Howard's Wife. Anne Mather
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‘Jake, please!’ Helen looked up at him imploringly.
‘Please what?’ Jake regarded her coldly.
‘Please don't cause a scene!’ quietly. ‘I've—I've already told Keith I can't accept his invitation.'
‘Why?’ Jake's eyes were distant. ‘Have I forbidden you to do so?'
‘No!’ Helen looked round almost desperately. ‘Jake, I don't want to go.’ She twisted her evening bag between her fingers, aware of Jennifer's calculating gaze and of Giles’ more compassionate one. Keith himself was looking rather uncomfortable now and she guessed he was regretting creating this situation, but then he had not known Jake would react as he had. He didn't know him like Giles did, like she did!
‘But I insist,’ Jake was saying immovably. ‘After all, if your—if Mannering has gone to the trouble to get tickets, then it's the least you can do. When is this concert, by the way, Mannering?'
Keith thrust his hands into his trousers’ pockets rather jerkily. ‘On Thursday week,’ he replied tautly. ‘The twenty-third!'
Jake frowned. ‘The twenty-third? Ah, yes, I remember now. There's a conference in Paris on the twenty-fourth, so I shall probably be away that evening. I'm sure Helen will be glad of your escort.'
Helen glared at him furiously, hating him for arranging her life for her so carelessly. Why was he doing it? He hadn't liked it when he found she was out with Keith the night he returned from his trip to the States, so why was he pushing her into his company now? It didn't make sense.
Jennifer heaved a rather regretful sigh then, and Giles looked slightly relieved at the peaceful outcome of the exchange. He suggested that they made a move towards the buffet tables and Keith took the opportunity to excuse himself with a casual comment to Helen that he would phone her later.
After he had gone an uneasy silence fell on the group and even when Helen was confronted with the mouth–watering array of food that had been provided she found it difficult to find any appetite. She was intensely conscious of Jake's displeasure, as they all were, and regardless of whether he had chosen to take the initiative in pushing his wife into Mannering's company or otherwise, his ill-humour was patently evident. He assumed a brooding silence, answering only in monosyllables if he was spoken to, and generally creating a tense atmosphere about them. Helen was glad when the Ambassador himself came to speak to them and Jake became more relaxed and talkative in his presence. But then Jake was always pleasant to business acquaintances and from his attitude Helen would have guessed that the Ambassador was making things easy for him by co-operating in whatever scheme he had in mind.
Eventually they left the reception rather earlier than planned, and Jake chose to take a taxi home rather than call out his chauffeur. Helen sat stiffly in her corner of the cab dreading the moment when they would arrive home and she would be alone with her husband.
Mrs Latimer had already gone down to her own apartment when they reached the house and Jake rang down to let Latimer know that he would not be needed any more that evening, while Helen walked nervously into the lounge.
In the subdued lighting everywhere looked warm and comfortable, and Mrs Latimer had left some sandwiches and a chicken salad on an occasional table near the couch in case they were hungry when they got back.
Helen shed her stole and bent to switch on the coffee percolater. These ordinary arrangements, these ordinary tasks, diverted her attention from the slightly ominous atmosphere that Jake was deliberately creating and she stood for a moment schooling herself to remain calm. After all, she had done nothing wrong, nothing to be ashamed of, so why did she feel the guilty party?
Jake came through from making the telephone call, raking a hand through the thickness of his dark hair. He had loosened the jacket of his suit and looked disturbingly handsome. Helen seated herself with apparent coolness on the couch and looking up, said:
‘Do you want some coffee?'
Jake shook his head abruptly, walking across to the cabinet and pouring himself a Scotch. Helen glanced round surreptitiously, but he had his back to her, and suppressing a sigh she poured herself some black coffee, adding only a little sugar before raising the cup to her lips. She had had several champagne cocktails that evening and the strong aromatic liquid was reviving. But she was still on edge, she couldn't deny it, and she tried to calm herself by mentally reassuring herself that she was a match for any ignorant Yorkshireman any day.
But the trouble was, Jake was not ignorant, and she knew it, and having seen the way he could verbally annihilate his business associates she doubted her ability to better that ruthless streak in him should the need arise. The only person who seemed to hold any influence with Jake was a couple of hundred miles away in Selby, and Helen had no desire to appeal to her mother-in-law, who she was quite aware despised both her and her way of life.
Now Helen poured herself a second cup of coffee and Jake moved away from the cocktail cabinet to come and stand before the fireplace. Her fingers trembled as she dropped a lump of sugar into the coffee and she stirred it unnecessarily hard before placing the spoon in her saucer. She was avoiding looking at him. She was afraid of the penetration of those dark eyes, and she had no intention of allowing him to see that he could disturb her in this way. Until now she had coped quite adequately with the situation, but up till now, she reminded herself wryly, she had complied with his every request and had certainly never given him any cause to regard her as anything more than the woman he kept at his London house as a hostess when he entertained there. The fact that she wore his ring meant nothing more than lip-service paid to the social system of the country.
She cupped the fragile china container in her hands and inhaled the aroma of freshly ground coffee. By asserting her right to accept the friendship of another man she had unwittingly destroyed the barriers she had purposely erected as part of their marital structure.
Jake finished his Scotch and she could feel his eyes on her, probing the sensitive skin of her ears.
With admirable composure she replaced the cup in its saucer and rose to her feet, hoping that his silence was to be the only outward sign of his anger. But as she turned, he said harshly:
‘Where do you think you're going?'
Helen put a hand to her temple. ‘I'm tired, Jake. I'm going to bed.'
‘You're always tired,’ he accused her grimly. ‘Particularly if there's something unpleasant to face!'
Helen took a deep breath. ‘I don't see that there need be anything unpleasant said here,’ she returned carefully. ‘I haven't done anything to be ashamed of. I'm not a child, Jake, to be made aware of its shortcomings after an outing. If you're annoyed about that business with Keith then you have only yourself to blame!'
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