the right and left of the hall, panelled doors gave on to dining and reception areas, and Jake's study. But these doors were presently closed, and Jake frowned as he unbuttoned his coat, throwing his briefcase carelessly on to the polished surface of the chest. Where was Helen? She always came out to greet him. Hadn't she heard the car? Or the door being opened?
He threw off his coat and was about to cross the hall when the door at the back of the stairs which led to the kitchen and basement quarters opened and Mrs Latimer appeared.
She smiled warmly, and took his coat from him. ‘Good evening, sir, and welcome home! Have you had a good trip?'
Jake forced himself to be polite. ‘Fine, thanks, Mrs Latimer. How are you?’ The question was perfunctory, and he glanced round impatiently.
Mrs Latimer answered quietly, her gentle face troubled. She was a small woman, with greying brown hair and a friendly countenance. She had been with Jake for the last ten years, since her youngest child was old enough to fend for itself, while her husband had worked for him for over thirteen years. They knew their employer very well by this time, and she sensed his intelligent query.
‘Where is Mrs Howard?'
Mrs Latimer coloured. ‘I'm afraid she's out, sir.'
The hell she is! Jake suppressed the angry outburst. ‘Where?'
‘I'm not sure, sir. She didn't say. I only know she's with Mr Mannering.'
‘Mannering?’ Jake was astonished. ‘Keith Mannering?'
‘I believe so, sir.’ Mrs Latimer looked uncomfortable. ‘Er—I've dinner ready, sir. I expect you're hungry. If—if you'd like to wash—'
Jake loosened his tie. ‘Tell me,’ he interrupted her, his eyes distant, ‘did my wife know I was expected home this evening?'
‘Of course, sir. Your flowers arrived from Glasgow yesterday evening.'
‘I see.’ Jake narrowed his eyes, the feeling of homecoming, of complacency almost, which he had felt coming here in the car vanishing beneath a tide of fierce resentment. ‘Very well, Mrs Latimer. I'll take a shower. I'll eat in'—he consulted the broad gold watch on his wrist—‘in say twenty minutes.'
‘Yes, sir.’ Mrs Latimer nodded politely, and without another word Jake went up the stairs, taking them two at a time, his temper simmering.
He thrust open the door of his bedroom and entered the room, kicking the door to behind him. It was an attractive room, chocolate brown walls and an apricot bedspread toning well with light oak furniture and deeper apricot drapes. In the light of the lamp by his bed it should have soothed him, but it didn't. He felt furiously angry, betrayed almost, that Helen should choose this evening of all evenings to be out. She had never done this before. She had always been there when he arrived back from one of his business trips, ready to smile and listen to him as he told her of his dealings, ready to offer sympathy or tentative advice if required. Goddammit, he thought violently, that was what she was here for. He had bought her for that purpose, not to go gallivanting off with bloody Keith Mannering!
He stripped off his clothes and walked naked into the bathroom, turning on the shower and stepping under it, uncaring that he soaked his hair. He moved beneath the sensuous stream of water, enjoying its cooling balm to his heightened senses. How dared she be out? he thought furiously. How dared she allow her name to be coupled with a man who had deserted her three years ago while he, Jake, was out of the country? God, what would his friends be saying? What would they be thinking?
He turned off the shower and wrapped a huge bath-sheet about him, towelling himself dry automatically. Then he rubbed his hair thoroughly and went back into his bedroom. He dressed in closefitting black suede trousers that moulded the strong muscles of his legs, and a cream silk shirt. He didn't bother to dress formally. There was no point. And besides, he was in no mood to put on a dinner jacket.
On impulse he crossed the landing and opened the door of Helen's bedroom. Switching on the lamps, he surveyed its feminine charm sardonically. There was a soft fluffy white carpet underfoot, while the bedcoverings and curtains matched each other in delicate shades of rose pink. The dressing table was strewn with jars and bottles and atomisers, the usual paraphernalia found on any woman's dressing table, while a sliver of chiffon lay carelessly at the foot of the bed where she had discarded it. Jake's teeth fastened harshly on his lower lip and he switched out the lamps abruptly and closed the door with a decisive click. He was amazed at the anger that was gripping him. He had the strongest impulse to do something quite violent. How dared she do this to him? he asked himself again, as he descended the thickly carpeted staircase. Who the hell did she think she was dealing with? Some blasted nondescript, who hadn't the sense he was born with? Some ignorant northerner who wouldn't object to his wife having aristocratic boy-friends? No, by God, not he, not Jacob Anthony Howard! When he acquired a possession it was his, in its entirety, not just part of the time, not just when he chose to take it out and look at it, but always!
He crossed the blue and gold hall and entered the low, light lounge that gave on to the dining area. The lounge was large and lit by concealed lighting along the ceiling moulding. It was decorated in shades of blue and green, and its soft, feather-cushioned sofa and armchairs were massive and extremely comfortable. It was a comfortable room, a lived-in room, vastly different in design from the reception lounge across the hall where he did most of his entertaining.
The dining area was divided from the lounge by a teak librenza, fitted with bookshelves and places for objets d'art. Helen collected articles in jade and ivory, and there were several exquisitely carved pieces on the librenza. The dining table was dark polished wood with some dark, leather-seated, ladderbacked chairs to match it. Mrs Latimer had laid a place at the table for him, the rush place-mat and silver cutlery reflected in its polished surface.
Jake regarded her ministrations silently for a moment or two and then with an impatient gesture he walked across to the cocktail cabinet and poured himself a stiff Scotch. He swallowed it at a gulp and poured himself another before flinging himself into one of the enormously soft armchairs, draping one leg over its arm.
He looked round the room restlessly, unable to relax. Nothing had changed. The turquoise velvet drapes at the windows toned marvelously with the soft blue-green of the carpet into which one's feet sank luxuriously; his hi-fi equipment in its polished teak cabinet still stood in one corner, while the unblinkingly broad screen of the colour television matched it in the other. Bookshelves flanked the marble fireplace in which an electric fire gave out a pseudo-log effect, unnecessary now that the powerful central heating system was in operation. The tasteful mixture of ancient and modern should have pleased him, but he found nothing to appreciate in it. He was consumed with resentment and anger, and it infuriated him that he should have arrived back here with such enthusiasm, only to have that enthusiasm doused by the thoughtless attitude of his wife.
Mrs Latimer appeared in the aperture which led to the dining area. ‘If you're ready I'll serve dinner, sir,’ she suggested politely.
Jake swung his leg to the floor and rose abruptly to his feet. ‘Yes. Yes, all right, Mrs Latimer. I'm coming.'
He finished his drink and left his empty glass on the cabinet before crossing the room to the dining area. Seated at the empty table, he tried to show interest in the food his housekeeper had prepared. He was tempted to question her about Helen's activities while he was away. He wanted to know how often she had seen Mannering and whether he had been to the house. His jaw tightened. The idea of Keith Mannering here, in his house, was almost too much to contemplate without violence.
But
