Jake Howard's Wife. Anne Mather
train on the station at York; the sharp biting blast of an east wind accentuating the already cold October weather. After the heat of the west coast of the United States it was doubly chilling.
He smiled to himself. What a way to return to London from California; via Glasgow, and York railway station! But it was his usual practice. He always spent his first night back in England with his mother, and as she lived in Selby, in Yorkshire, he invariably flew into Prestwick and travelled south from there.
His thoughts moved on, over the irritating moments of changing from train to his chauffeur-driven limousine, to his eventual arrival at his own home, his house in an elegant square in Belgravia. And to Helen, his wife…
His lips twisted as he thought of Helen. By now she would have received the flowers he had despatched from Glasgow, and would no doubt be ready and waiting to greet him. He drew deeply on his cigar recalling the exquisite appointments of his house, anticipating with the pleasure of possession an evening spent in his wife's company, when he would regale her with the details of his trip.
And she would listen. Helen always listened, he thought disparagingly, and felt again the amazement he had felt three years ago when she had accepted his proposal and agreed to become his wife.
Then, of course, he had despised her. All his life he had had to strive to make his successful way in life. Born the son of a Yorkshire weaver, he had had to work hard to achieve any kind of position, spending all his days and nights, too, furthering his education, dragging himself up by his finger nails towards his goal. He would have gone to any lengths to succeed. He had a ready charm, and was quite prepared to use it to get what he wanted. He flattered and was pleasant to people he secretly found contemptible, he charmed people, men and women alike, and his innate intelligence was sufficient to guarantee him not to put a foot wrong. Unlike his father he was not interested in the mill; he was interested in chemicals. From an early age, he had found the study of substances and how they were formed fascinating, and a degree at Leeds University paved the way for greater things. He had the good fortune to get a job as laboratory assistant in a small chemical works near Selby, and although at the time his friends and relations thought he was a fool for confining his talents to such a small laboratory when he could have got a job with one of the larger concerns, Jake was already thinking ahead. By making himself indispensable to Mr Quarton, the works’ managing director, and charming to Quarton's wife, it became a natural process for Quarton to take him on as a director of the firm. It was a short step from there to the chairman's position, and Jake was nothing if not persistent.
Now he tapped ash into the fitted tray and moved his shoulders wryly. He supposed he ought to feel some shame, some remorse at the way he had systematically gained control of Quartons and in so doing laid himself open for bigger bids. When the offer came he had no compunction about destroying the smaller firm in order to get a seat on the board of a larger company.
After that, it became easy, and in some ways less satisfying. He had been used to using his brain to its ultimate ability and even today, with his own foundation and more than a million pounds in stocks and shares, he refused to delegate duty.
Three years ago, when he met Helen, he had been on the lookout for a wife, a suitable wife, of course. There had been plenty of women on his rise to the top; office girls and models, the wives of some of his colleagues, all of whom had shown themselves more than willing to make themselves indispensable to him.
But in spite of the quantity, it was quality Jake was looking for. As in all things, only the best would do. And that was when he met Helen Forsythe.
He had known her father some years before, Gerard Forsythe, and had considered him a pleasant, if somewhat dilatory, member of the London social set. Gerard's father had been Sir Edwin Forsythe, Bart., of Mallins, near Aylesbury, but unfortunately Gerard had been the younger son and in consequence his brother had inherited the title. But for all that Gerard Forsythe had exactly the kind of background Jake would have chosen had he had the chance. That Gerard had squandered the money his father left him meant little to Jake. In Gerard's position he knew he could have made the money work for him, but just because Gerard hadn't didn't alter his social position.
However, when Gerard died, in a motor accident after a particularly bad evening at the card tables, Helen was left almost penniless at only twenty-three years of age.
She could have got a job, of course, Jake realised that, but up until the time of her father's accident and the subsequent scandal it engendered, she had been practically engaged to Keith Mannering, son of the barrister, Geoffrey Mannering, and had spent her time enjoying herself. There had been skiing at St Moritz, and the Bahamas in late autumn, and the usual London social season to fill her days, and the idea of any other kind of life had not crossed her mind. But when her father was killed and Keith became rather elusive she was left high and dry, with only a small private income, inherited from her maternal grandmother, to live on. She had been well educated, had spent two years at a finishing school in Switzerland, and could speak several languages fluently. But apart from organising dinner parties and entertaining her father's guests she had never had to work in her life.
Jake had met her quite by accident at the Shaftesbury Theatre. He and some friends had been having a drink in the bar during the interval when Helen came in with a notable young married couple. Helen had been at school with the wife, and almost out of compassion for her they had invited her to join them for the evening. And as the husband was Giles St John, a close friend and business associate of Jake's, it was natural that the two should be introduced.
Jake had been escorting a rather exotic young woman from the Portuguese Embassy that evening and he had thought Helen had looked rather coolly on the Portuguese girl's attempts to display her proprietorial claim on Jake. He could not imagine Helen, with her Scandinavian fair beauty, her tall, slim, young body, and cool blue eyes ever succumbing to such a display, and it was in that moment that the seed of his idea had been formed.
He knew of Helen's situation, of course. It was common knowledge among the set he moved in, and he thought he saw something like challenge in the cool gaze she cast in his direction. It was unusual for him, for women usually found his lean dark features attractive. But Helen Forsythe looked at him as if he was a particularly obnoxious species of animal brought in for her inspection, and for the first time in his life he was aware of his northern accent only lightly veneered with polish.
He had contacted her the following day and asked to see her again. She had refused, and there-after for several weeks she did the same. And then one day he called, and he could tell from the tone of her voice over the telephone that something was wrong. She agreed to meet him for dinner that evening and over the meal he got it out of her that the house she was living in was going to have to be sold. It was too great a drain on her resources, and she was at her wits’ end to know where to turn. Gerard had been ostracised by his own family for his irresponsible ways and she refused to consider contacting them. Jake listened to her pour out her troubles, offered advice and sympathy, and left it there.
He telephoned her every day for a fortnight, sometimes inviting her out, sometimes merely asking how she was. He began to be aware, by a subtle change in her attitude, that she was beginning to rely on those phone calls. So he stopped them, and for over a week he did not contact her at all. It was like a business deal. He used strategy; uncaring that in this instance he was dealing with a human being, not a company.
When he contacted her again she was desperate, and that was when he put his proposition to her. He was not attracted to her, she was too cold, too controlled to appeal to his sensual nature. But she was ideal for his purpose.
To begin with his proposal had staggered her. Although the idea of becoming his wife had apparently not occurred to her she did not appear to find the prospect entirely objectionable. But his terms of reference, as he phrased it, were. He explained quite coolly that he did not want a wife in anything but name. He wanted her as an elegant possession to grace his table, to entertain his guests when necessary, and to be a pleasing advertisement of his taste in women.
His proposal had one definite effect. It froze the thawing of her attitude towards him so that she became again the cool, aloof female he had first encountered in the Shaftesbury Theatre bar.
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