The Longest Pleasure

‘I don’t know that she was,’ replied Helen shortly, feeling her tension coming back in spite of herself. Shrugging, she curled her silk-trousered legs beneath her and sank into the corner of one of the suede sofas. ‘I told you. I got a telegram to say she was dead. That’s all I know about it.’

Adam frowned, taking up a position in front of a carved cabinet. ‘You mean—you haven’t phoned?’ he exclaimed in surprise. He shook his head. ‘I assumed you would.’

‘No.’ Helen bent her head and then, remembering her manners, she added swiftly: ‘Help yourself to a drink. I’m sure you must be frozen.’

‘Well, it is damn cold out tonight,’ agreed Adam, taking her at her word and turning to the tray. ‘But I managed to park in the square, so it wasn’t too far to walk. I shouldn’t be surprised if we have snow before morning.’

‘I hope not.’ Helen spoke automatically, but she meant it. She didn’t want to have to take the train to Yelversley. With her own car, she was so much more independent.

‘You’re driving down then,’ Adam remarked, taking a mouthful of the Scotch he had poured before coming to join her on the sofa. ‘You will drive carefully, won’t you, darling? The M3 is so frantic!’

‘I’ll be careful,’ said Helen, with a tight smile, wondering what he was really thinking. He hadn’t questioned her decision not to phone, yet he must be curious as to why she wouldn’t have done so. Perhaps if Adam had been more inquisitive, she would have found it easier to be entirely honest with him, she consoled herself uneasily. As it was, he allowed her to direct the conversation, and it was so much simpler not to have to explain.

‘I thought we’d eat about seven o’clock,’ she said now, changing the subject completely, and Adam groaned.

‘Dammit, I’ve left the wine in the car!’ he exclaimed, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead. ‘That’s what comes of being too eager. I’ll have to go and get it.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Helen at once. ‘As a matter of fact, I’d just as soon have water. I’ve got a bit of a headache.’

‘From the whisky, no doubt,’ remarked Adam drily, and Helen’s eyes darted to his face. ‘I smelt it,’ he added. ‘As soon as I came in. I guess the old lady’s death meant more to you than I thought.’

That was a bit too close to the truth for comfort and, uncoiling herself, Helen rose to her feet. ‘You could be right,’ she declared, purposely keeping her tone light. And then, making for the door, she added: ‘I must check on the steaks. They should have defrosted by now.’

Adam came into the kitchen as she was spreading the thick slices of meat under the grill. It wasn’t a large kitchen, used primarily by Mrs Argyll, Helen’s daily. Because she was out a lot of the time, Helen didn’t employ a full-time housekeeper, but the friendly little Scotswoman could turn her hand to anything. If she knew her employer was to be home for the evening, she generally left a casserole in the oven, or a cold meal that could be easily heated in the microwave oven. But this evening she had expected Helen to be out, and Helen would have to explain why two healthy steaks had disappeared from the freezer.

‘Something smells good,’ Adam observed now, perching his fastidious frame on one of the leather-topped stools beside the breakfast bar. ‘At least we’ll never starve after we’re married.’

‘Cooking steaks and tossing a salad are hardly culinary feats,’ responded Helen wryly, glad he was not pursuing his earlier topic. ‘You’re a much better cook than I am, and you know it.’

‘More inventive, perhaps,’ Adam conceded, taking another swallow from his glass. And then, just as she was about to make some teasing comment, he added: ‘Tell me: this affair of your grandmother; it won’t make any difference to our plans, will it? I mean, you won’t have any qualms about selling the estate?’

Helen stiffened. ‘Selling the estate?’ she echoed faintly. And then, more staunchly: ‘Why should I sell the estate? It was my home.’

‘Was, darling. Was being the operative word,’ said Adam smoothly. ‘And let’s face it, it’s years since you lived there. Almost ten, isn’t it?’

‘Seven,’ said Helen tightly. ‘I left when I was eighteen. You know that.’

‘All right. Seven, then.’ Adam finished his drink, cradling the glass between his palms. ‘But for the past—I don’t know how many years; at least as long as I’ve known you—you haven’t even visited your grandmother, let alone cared about the estate!’

Helen expelled her breath unsteadily. ‘I know.’

‘So …’ Adam spread his hands. ‘You must see that selling the place is the most sensible solution. If death duties don’t take the decision out of your hands, that is.’

‘Death duties!’ Helen stared at him. ‘Is that likely?’

‘Well, I don’t know the old lady’s financial situation, do I, so I can’t say.’ Adam shrugged. ‘But unless she had considerable private funds, I’d say it was possible.’

‘Private funds?’ Helen’s stomach hollowed. She had no idea if her grandmother had had a private income. Lady Elizabeth had never seemed short of money, but she had not wasted it either. And as long as Helen could remember, she had always lived in only one wing of the house.

‘Don’t look so shocked, love.’ Adam dropped his glass on to the bar’s leather counter and came round to her. ‘You must have given some thought to what this would mean. Is it so important to you?’

Helen quivered. If anyone had asked her that question yesterday, she would have said no, but now it was different. For some unfathomable reason, the idea of selling Castle Howarth was like the final betrayal of all Lady Elizabeth had meant to her. She would not have wanted her to sell it, and if there was any other way, she had to find it.

Torn by emotions suddenly too strong to resist, she let Adam pull her into his arms. For the first time since hearing the news that afternoon, she felt the hot sting of tears against her cheeks. Nan was dead; she acknowledged it bitterly. She would never speak to her again. Never sit with her, and talk with her, and share with her all the thousand-and-one things they used to share when she was a child. How had it all gone so wrong, she wondered. At what point had their relationship begun its downward slide? What had happened in the years between that she should be blaming herself now, because the old lady had died without her being there?

‘Hey…’ Adam’s hand beneath her chin caused her to try and take a grip on her emotions. ‘If it means that much to you, we’ll keep it; whatever it costs.’ He bestowed a tender kiss at the corner of her mouth and smiled a gentle smile. ‘Come on. This isn’t like you.’

It wasn’t, Helen knew. She was not an emotional person. Oh, she got angry from time to time, just like anyone else, but it was years since she had cried—about anything. Adam always said he liked her cool competent way of dealing with things, and it must be quite a surprise for him to discover she was so vulnerable. But grief was not like other emotions, she decided. And until today she had not realised how painful it could be.

The sound of the telephone solved both their problems: Adam’s because he wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with her; and Helen’s because she was glad of an excuse to escape from his embrace. Tonight she felt in no mood for Adam’s lovemaking. Her affection for him had not changed; it was simply that the present situation had left her bereft of feeling. She needed time to absorb this new development. Time to come to terms with the way it would affect both their lives.

Smudging her cheeks with the back of her hand, she lifted the kitchen extension from its hook and put the receiver to her ear. ‘Yes?’

‘Helen?’

The voice was unmistakable and to her dismay Helen felt a wave of colour sweep up her cheeks. Hoping Adam would assume it was the result of her emotional upheaval, she nevertheless turned her back on him to make her response. ‘Yes,’ she said tautly. ‘This is Helen Michaels. To whom am I speaking?’

‘Don’t you know?’ the sardonic voice rasped in her ear. ‘All right,’ as she made no attempt to answer, he conceded, ‘Fleming here. Did you get my message?’

‘That my grandmother is dead? Yes, thank you.’ Her voice was clipped and brittle. ‘Is that why you rang? To make sure I heard the news from you?’

There was a moment’s silence, and she thought for one anxious second he had rung off. But then, with studied insolence, he responded: ‘How or from whom you heard the news doesn’t interest me. I simply wanted to know if you intend coming to the funeral. The weather’s getting pretty bad down here, and I’d hate for you to make it a double event!’

‘You——’ The epithet was inaudible. Helen was suddenly intensely conscious of Adam, propped against the drainer behind her, listening to every word. ‘I—of course, I’m coming to the funeral. I shall drive down in the morning. There are—arrangements to be made.’

‘I’ve made them,’ retorted Rafe laconically. ‘When you didn’t ring I assumed you were leaving them to me.’

‘Then you had no right to——’ Once again, Helen broke off, biting her tongue. ‘That is, if I’d learned of my grandmother’s death sooner——’

‘Sooner?’ Rafe sounded incredulous. ‘I rang you as soon as I could. It wasn’t my fault you weren’t at either of the addresses I found in the old lady’s bureau.’

‘You looked in—in Nan’s bureau!’ Helen was incensed. ‘How—how dare you?’

‘How else was I supposed to find you?’ he retorted flatly. And then: ‘Anyway, I didn’t make this call to get into an argument over the rights and wrongs of how I found you! The old lady’s dead, for God’s sake! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’

‘Of—of course it means something to me.’ Helen was furious to hear the tremor in her voice. ‘But—I just don’t understand why you didn’t reach me. I’ve been either here or at the shop all day. At least——’

She broke off again, remembering with despair the hour she had spent in the reference library before going to the shop. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘You must have spoken to Melanie then.’ So why hadn’t she told her?

‘I spoke to some old guy who said you were both out,’ declared Rafe wearily. ‘I was going to ring you back, but I just didn’t have the time. It’s been pretty hectic here, one way and another. Paget sent the telegram.’

‘Miss Paget?’ echoed Helen faintly, and Rafe swore.

‘Yes,’ he said, impatient now. ‘Well, I guess that’s——’

‘Wait!’ Glancing anxiously at the steaks, which were starting to spit under the grill, Helen moistened her lips. ‘I—can you tell me how it happened? I mean——’she chose her words with care ‘—had she been ill?’

‘I’m tempted not to answer that question,’ responded Rafe harshly. ‘You should know.’