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 draped casually across the foot of the bed and allowed Helen to move into it. ‘Yes, I'm ready,’ he affirmed, allowing the fur to fall from his hands. ‘Latimer is just getting the car. Do you need a drink first?'
Helen flicked a glance in his direction. ‘Do you?'
‘I already have.’ A faintly ironic gleam appeared in Jake's eyes. ‘Your service, I believe.'
Helen did not allow him to see how his mocking sarcasm could annoy her. Instead, she walked towards the door and he had perforce to follow her.
Downstairs Latimer waited patiently in the well of the hall. He bade his mistress good evening and held open the door for both her and Jake as they left the house. Latimer was driving this evening. It was more convenient for Jake at affairs like these where there was always an abundance of food and alcohol.
The Embassy stood in a square off Bond Street and by the time they arrived there was already a steady stream of people climbing the shallow steps to the front doors. There was no room to park in front of the building, so Latimer was to take the car home and return for them later.
Jake helped Helen out of the car and said a few words to Latimer before turning and cupping her elbow as they mounted the steps together. They entered a wide marble hall where uniformed personnel were employed to direct guests to the cloakroom and Helen left Jake for a while to check in her stole and assure herself that her make-up was still as faultless as when they left home. The cloakroom was filled to capacity with women of all colours and nationalities, in all types of national dress; from the sleek sophistication of the cheongsam to the undoubted elegance of the sari, and Helen had only a hasty glimpse of her reflection before turning and emerging again into the entrance hall.
Jake was waiting for her, but he was not alone. A middle-aged man with a bristling moustache was talking animatedly to him while Giles St John and his wife Jennifer were standing close by listening. Jennifer waved energetically when she saw Helen and Helen walked towards them with enthusiasm.
‘Helen, darling!’ Jennifer kissed her cheek warmly. ‘It's simply ages since we've seen you. What have you been doing with yourself?'
Jake's eyes strayed to his wife's slightly flushed face and Helen was intensely conscious of that look. She knew Jake was perfectly capable of appearing to give all his attention to one matter while he was actually listening to something entirely different, and she sensed his interest in her reply. Perhaps he expected her to tell Jennifer about seeing Keith Mannering.
So she smiled in her usual self-possessed manner, and said: ‘I expect you've been busy. I know I have. And with Jake just getting back from the States…’ She allowed the sentence to tail away in a smiling, deprecatory gesture and Giles took her attention.
‘You're looking particularly extravagant this evening, my love,’ he remarked teasingly, holding on to her hand rather longer than was necessary. ‘Where did you get this particular bauble?’ He touched the necklace at her throat with a light hand. ‘I guarantee that wasn't bought at Woolworths!'
Jake had finished talking to the middle-aged politician by this time and he turned to listen to what was being said with smiling amusement.
‘You think not?’ he queried, in reply to Giles’ comment, his eyes holding Jennifer's for a deliberately long moment, arousing a fluttering awareness inside her which Helen was instantly conscious of. Then he looked at his wife and his eyes narrowed perceptibly. ‘One