made a helpless gesture towards the glass on the mantelpiece and then seemed to regret the impulse. ‘It doesn't mean anything,’ she denied uncomfortably.
‘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…
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
