By Anne Mather
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Additional info for Jake Howard's Wife
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 comer, while the unblinkingly broad screen of the colour television matched it in the other.
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, vastlv different in design from the reception lounge across the hall where he did most of his entertaining.
He was not handsome, no one could accuse him of that. His nose had been broken in fights at school and his forty years had carved lines of experience beside his mouth and eyes. Yet for all that, women seemed to find him very attractive, although he was not foolish enough to imagine that his material wealth did not add to the image. The brakes ground into the iron wheels and the big diesel engine brought its load to a screeching halt at the barrier. Jake picked up his briefcase and emerged into the corridor just as the steward appeared with his cases.
Jake Howard's Wife by Anne Mather