Hell Or High Water

Helen gulped. ‘Don’t you dare——’ she began chokingly, and then felt her words stifled at the source as his mouth descended over hers.

He held her, his hands gripping her shoulders without respect or gentleness, the narrow fingers digging into her soft flesh. She was not crushed against him, but she was aware of the hard strength of his lean body, and ridiculously embarrassed by the pressure of his legs against hers. She had never been kissed in anger before, never experienced the wholly possessive abrasion of raw emotion, and while her mind repulsed the savagery of his embrace, her senses swam beneath the undoubted skill of his expertise. He was no callow youth, attempting to seduce her with clumsy force, but an experienced man, making her fully aware of his needs—and her own. And that was the most upsetting thing of all. Until this moment she had not known she possessed such needs, or that she could be aroused in quite this fashion. It shed a whole new light on the prospect of her marriage to Charles, and with the remembrance of her fiancé, sanity asserted itself.

With a superhuman effort she wrenched herself away from Jarret Manning, and summoning all her strength she raised her arm to deliver the slap he deserved. But although he was gazing at her with a curiously speculative frown marring his lean features, he had obviously not been as emotionally disturbed by what had happened as she was, and when she tried to slap him he parried the blow without effort.

‘You—you——’ she began impotently, and he offered: ‘Cad?’ with mocking raised eyebrows. ‘Yes! Yes!’ she cried, unaware that her rounded breasts were rising and falling with the intensity of her anger, and were drawing his attention to their delectable promise.

However, he seemed to think better of any further incursion, and rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth, as if to assure himself he was not exhibiting some betraying trace of her lipstick, he gestured with mock-politeness towards the door: ‘Shall we continue?’

Helen found she was trembling, but without saying another word she turned into the hall, only to stop abruptly at the sight of her mother and Margot, just coming along the passage which led to the back of the house. In consequence, Jarret almost stumbled over her, and she heardthe almost inaudible oath he uttered at the realisation of why she had halted.

‘Going to tell on me?’ he murmured by her ear, his tone derisive, but the look she cast at him over her shoulder was belittling.

‘And embarrass my mother?’ she countered scornfully, but was in no way gratified by the lazy insouciance in his eyes.

‘Have you seen over the house, darling?’

It was Margot who hailed them, quickening her step so that she reached them seconds before Helen’s mother, and Jarret inclined his head, permitting her to slide her arm possessively through his.

‘Er—Miss Chase has done a good job of—making me feel at home,’ he remarked, with a wry grimace, and Helen felt, rather than saw, her mother give her a quick speculative glance.

‘And what did you think, Mr Manning?’ Mrs Chase asked now as she reached them, and they all moved by mutual consent into the drawing room once more.

He seemed to take ages to reply, and Helen, stiff and uneasy, chided herself for allowing such a situation to develop. The man was obviously a rogue and an opportunist, and she had only fuelled his resources by giving him that kind of a hold over her.

‘I like it,’ he said at last, detaching himself from Margot’s clinging arms and going to stand by the windows, looking out on the view Helen had been admiring earlier. ‘But I don’t know if it’s what I want.’

‘Darling——’

‘It’s not?’

Both Margot and her mother spoke at once, and Helen put her hands behind her back so that no one could see she had her fingers crossed. He was going to turn it down, she thought, with an overwhelming sense of relief, and then wondered why she felt such a hollow sense of victory.

Jarret turned then, drawing a case of cheroots from his pocket, and after gaining Mrs Chase’s permission, put one of the thin cigars between his teeth. Lighting it, the flame cupped in his brown hands, he let his gaze rove to Helen’s uncertain features, and then, extinguishing his lighter, heinhaled deeply before continuing.

‘It’s—bigger than I had in mind,’ he admitted thoughtfully, while Margot made a little sound of contradiction that for the most part he ignored. ‘And the grounds—I believe Margot told me there were forty or fifty acres.’

‘Fifty-five, actually,’ put in Mrs Chase hurriedly. ‘But most of that is arable land belonging to the home farm. I explained about the Flynns, didn’t I?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Jarret nodded, studying the glowing tip of his cheroot. ‘But the price you’re asking …’ His eyes flickered to Helen’s set face once more. ‘Quite frankly, it’s a lot of money to lay out without any previous experience of living in the country. ‘I’m sure your daughter would agree with me. An urban-reared individual like myself may find life at King’s Green a little too—unexciting, you know what I mean?’

Helen’s cheeks burned, the more so because she could imagine what her mother was thinking. She thought she had put him off, when in all honesty she had done no such thing.

‘I’m afraid Helen’s ideas are rather out of date, Mr Manning,’ Mrs Chase was saying now, with a reproving look in her daughter’s direction. ‘She persists in clinging to the past, and forgets that times have changed. As far as living in the country is concerned, Mr Manning, Thrushfold is only a couple of hours drive from the outskirts of London, or there’s an excellent train service from Bristol, if you prefer it. I can’t deny I’m looking forward to living in the city myself for a while, but I shall miss the peace and tranquillity of King’s Green once it’s sold.’

Jarret smiled, that devastating smile that could charm the birds off the trees, thought Helen maliciously, and then said: ‘You know, you almost convince me. I feel I could work here, certainly, but I don’t know. I’d have to think it over.’

‘Of course.’ Mrs Chase caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘As—as a matter of fact, I don’t mind if you take several months to think it over. You see,’ she hastened on, ‘Helen is getting married in August, and I rather hoped she might get married from here. Her father would have liked that, and if we have to leave …’

‘I see.’ The amusement faded from Jarret’s face, leaving it strangely sombre suddenly. ‘Well now, that rather disappoints me.’

‘Disappoints you?’ echoed Mrs Chase doubtfully. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’

Jarret shook his head, pushing one hand into the pocket of his jacket. ‘I had hoped—if I decided to buy—that the sale might be completed in a month or so,’ he admitted. ‘You see, Mrs Chase, I do want to get away from London for a while, and the sooner the better.’

‘Jarret’s working on his fourth novel,’ explained Margot unnecessarily, and received a scathing glare from him for her pains.

‘I am working,’ he conceded dryly, ‘although whether it will ever transform itself into a readable manuscript is doubtful. However, that is the position, and perhaps it would be as well for all our sakes if I looked at something else.’

‘Oh, please …’ To Helen’s astonishment, her mother sounded almost disappointed now. ‘Don’t be too hasty, I beg of you.’ She paused. ‘Perhaps we could come to some mutual arrangement that would suit all of us.’

The sound of footsteps in the hall arrested any further conversation, and the housekeeper’s grey head appeared round the door to announce that lunch was waiting on the table.

‘Thank you, Mrs Hetherington.’ Helen’s mother moved towards the door. ‘But before you go, I’d like to introduce Mr Manning, who we all hope may be the new owner of King’s Green.’

Mrs Hetherington greeted the newcomer with only veiled antagonism, but Jarret was not dismayed. ‘You’re the housekeeper?’ he guessed, irritating Helen by his obvious attempts to charm the old woman, and she nodded.

‘Been here forty years all told,’ she asserted, daring contradiction, and he grinned warmly.

‘I’m very pleased to meet you,’ he affirmed, shaking the gnarled hand that was offered with some reluctance. ‘If I do decide to buy, perhaps we could come to some similar arrangement. I shall need someone to cook my meals andmake my bed. I’ve been doing the latter myself, but I’m not very good at it.’

Helen would have said he was extremely good, but Mrs Hetherington was unaware of the double entendre. On the contrary, she was taken aback by his easy familiarity, and after a moment’s hesitation muttered that she would have to see about that. But she was disarmed, and they all knew it, and Mrs Chase led the way into the dining room with evident satisfaction. All her problems seemed to be ironing themselves out, thought Helen moodily, so why did she feel as if all hers were only just beginning?

Mrs Hetherington had excelled herself with the lunch. A rich home-made soup was followed by roast duckling with green peas and new potatoes, and the fruit sponge to finish was as light as any she had made. Covertly Helen watched Jarret Manning tucking into the meal, clearly enjoying the wholesome fare, but Margot only picked at her food, avoiding anything fattening and drinking more wine than anyone else. Mrs Chase had to ask the housekeeper to bring a third bottle as Margot emptied the second, and Helen saw Jarret lean towards his companion and say something which provoked a sulky reaction.

‘I suppose some of the dairy produce is home-grown,’ he remarked a few minutes later, as Mrs Hetherington cleared the dessert plates, and Helen’s mother was eager to explain.

‘Naturally, we get all our milk and eggs and vegetables from the farm,’ she said, ‘but these days we buy our butter and cheese. There simply isn’t the time to make our own, although of course the equipment is still there. It’s very old-fashioned, I’m afraid, but it does work.’

‘I’d be interested to see it,’ Jarret commented thoughtfully, and Margot made a sound of derision.

‘Of what possible interest is a butter churn to you, Jarret?’ she exclaimed. ‘Unless you’re intending to become totally rural and self-sufficient!’

‘The mechanics interest me,’ retorted Jarret flatly, his blue eyes offering a warning even Helen could recognise. Then he turned to her mother again. ‘Tell me, Mrs Chase, do you have any idea of the approximate running costs of the estate for—say—six months, for example?’

Mrs Chase ran her tongue doubtfully over her lowerlip. ‘Well now,’ she began slowly, ‘we did used to have a bailiff who attended to that sort of thing for us, but what with the rising cost of living …’ She frowned. ‘My solicitor could tell you, I suppose. His office is in Malverley. That’s the nearest town, you see.’

Jarret nodded. ‘But you have no idea?’

Mrs Chase glanced anxiously towards Helen, and her daughter gave her back look for look. If her mother expected her to tell Jarret Manning how much it cost to keep King’s Green going, she could think again! It was hard enough, contemplating selling the house to him, without his having the nerve to ask how much it cost to run the place. What did he want? A balance sheet for the year? A guaranteed return on his interest?

As if realising what was going through both their minds, Jarret suddenly broke the rather awkward silence that had fallen. ‘I’m afraid I’ve started this rather badly, haven’t I?’ he said, showing again the perception which Helen had resented earlier. ‘You’re thinking I want to protect my investment—that my question was levelled in an attempt to find out exactly what my outlay might be.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. That was not my intention, and if I’ve offended you, please accept my apology. I had something entirely different in mind.’

Mrs Chase managed a polite smile. ‘That’s quite all right, Mr Manning. We—I—well, I suppose I should be more familiar with estate matters, but I’m afraid I’ve relied on professional advice since my husband died.’

‘I can understand that.’ Jarret was at his most disarming, and Helen, seated across the table from him, felt her nails digging into the palms of her hands. What now? What exactly did he have in mind? And why did she feel this uneasy apprehension that whatever it was, it would disrupt the tenor of her life? ‘But my proposition—or at least, the proposition which has just occurred to me—would involve a financial settlement to cover the next six months.’

‘Your proposition, Mr Manning?’ But Helen could see her mother’s interest growing. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand …’