Green Lightning

In her white blouse and dark blue pleated skirt, Helen felt as if she was wearing school uniform again, and she guessed Miss Patterson was enjoying the evident contrast between them. It made her wish she had worn the floral nylon after all. At least then Heath would have been forced to notice her. With her burgeoning young body bursting from every seam, he could hardly have failed to do so.

It soon became obvious that Angela Patterson had made good use of the time Helen had spent sulking in her room. She and Heath were already on the best of terms, and Helen wouldn’t have been at all surprised if Miss Patterson had called him Rupert. But she didn’t. She addressed him as Mr Heathcliffe, though she spoke his name with a certain air of intimacy, and the conversation between them was relaxed and easy, as if they had known one another for years, instead of just hours.

‘How fortunate for me that I went to Matt Hodge’s party,’ Heath remarked, while Helen was making an effort to swallow the mouthful of lamb she had been chewing for the past three minutes. ‘He and I are not exactly friends, more business associates, and it was only because I wanted to speak to him about a certain export order that I went along.’

‘It was fortunate for me, too,’ responded Angela Patterson eagerly. ‘I mean, I didn’t know what I was going to do. The rent on my apartment was due, and as you know, my qualifications don’t exactly equip me for any ordinary job.’

‘What are your qualifications, Miss Patterson?’ Helen interspersed politely, ignoring Heath’s sudden intake of breath, and the older girl uttered a tolerant laugh.

‘Oh, I’m afraid, like you, I was brought up expecting not to have to work. Mr father was a successful author, of technical books, you understand—–’ this for Heath’s benefit, Helen was sure—‘but when he died, the death duties were crippling. I’m afraid I was left almost destitute, my only accomplishments to dress well and look pretty!’

She turned helpless eyes on Heath as she said this, and Helen wanted to curl up with embarrassment. Dear heaven, she thought, did Angela really think she could get away with that? Surely no one could expect to make such a statement without being laughed out of sight. But apparently Heath had accepted it, for, as Helen was gazing at her incredulously, he went on:

‘The ideal accomplishments so far as I’m concerned. I suppose I am to blame for allowing Helen to persuade me that she was happy here at Matlock, doing nothing but race that noisy machine of hers. It’s time she began to look like my niece, not to mention act like it. I’m beginning to believe my mother was not so far wrong when she said I was letting her grow up like a gipsy.’

Helen gasped, but before she could speak, Angela added: ‘Yes. Well, I only hope she’s prepared to listen to me. One can only teach when there is a willingness to learn.’

‘Oh, I’m sure she will,’ remarked Heath infuriatingly, raising his wine glass to his lips, and Helen’s jaw clenched at this deliberate attempt to provoke her. They were speaking as if she wasn’t there, and she had what she recognised as a childish desire to storm out of the room. But she didn’t. She remained where she was, lifting her wine glass to Heath in a mocking kind of salute, so that his mockery faded to a brooding preoccupation.

‘You have such a beautiful home,’ Angela interjected, and Helen guessed she had noticed Heath’s sudden lapse of interest in herself. ‘Has it been in your family for a number of years? I noticed the exquisite carving on the stairs. Is it Grinling Gibbons?’

‘A contemporary of his, I believe.’ Heath recovered his manners, and forced a faint smile. ‘Actually, the house was bought by my grandfather in the early part of this century. Before that, it was owned by the Countess of Starforth.’

‘How interesting!’ Angela finished eating and leant towards him confidingly. ‘Daddy and I used to own a house in Cornwall—Trenholme. He bought it when my mother died. He found he could work there more easily than in London. He had so many friends, you know, and one or other of them was always calling in to see him when he was in town. That was why we moved away, really. He needed solitude for his writing.’

‘I’m surprised one of your father’s friends couldn’t offer you a job,’ put in Helen staunchly, determined not to be ignored completely. ‘I mean, that’s what friends are for, isn’t it? To help you when you’re desperate.’

Angela’s lips thinned. ‘I wasn’t—desperate exactly, Helen. As—as a matter of fact, there were several positions offered to me. But it was finding the right job that mattered.’ She exchanged a knowing smile with Heath. ‘You understand, don’t you, Mr Heathcliffe? A girl of my upbringing—well, it was important for me to find an occupation I could feel comfortable in.’

Heath nodded. ‘I appreciate that.’

‘What you’re saying is, you wouldn’t have scrubbed floors, or manned the check-out at a supermarket,’ Helen persisted annoyingly, and she saw Angela’s nails digging into her palms as she endeavoured to answer her civilly.

‘There was no question of that,’ she declared, casting another tolerant look in Heath’s direction, but having got her enemy retreating, Helen was in no mood to let her go.

‘I don’t see what else you could have done,’ she observed reasonably, folding her hands demurely in her lip. ‘I mean, you did say you had no qualifications—–’

‘That will do, Helen.’ Heath’s abrupt remonstration brought her brief bid for superiority to an end. ‘I’m sure you know perfectly well what Miss Patterson is talking about—–’

‘Oh—Angela, please!’

‘Very well, then, Angela. I’m sure you understand what Angela is trying to say, Helen. And while we’re on the subject, let me say I expect you to treat our guest with rather more courtesy than you’ve shown this far. I’ve apologised for your arriving to meet her in the Land Rover, and Angela’s prepared to forgive and forget. So am I, providing we don’t have any further demonstrations of that kind—do I make myself clear?’

‘Perfectly,’ exclaimed Helen tautly, her face burning with hot colour. ‘And now, as you evidently don’t need my presence to discuss my shortcomings, perhaps you’ll allow me to go to bed. I’m feeling rather tired.’

Heath’s mouth tightened. ‘Helen—–’ he said warningly, but she had thrust back her chair and was facing him with grim defiance. ‘Oh, all right,’ he muttered, lifting his expensively-groomed shoulders. ‘Go to bed. I’ll talk to you again in the morning.’

It was an effort to bid goodnight to Angela Patterson, but Helen managed it, leaving the room with her head held high, as much to hold back the tears as to demonstrate her independence. It had been a disaster. The day had been a disaster. And she was very much afraid that tomorrow and all the days after were not going to be that much better.

CHAPTER THREE

NIKO crunched the lump of sugar Helen had brought for him and nuzzled at her pocket for more. ‘I’m sorry, boy,’ she murmured, rubbing her face against his soft muzzle. ‘I don’t have any more.’ She drew back to smile at him. ‘You should be grateful! Sugar is awfully bad for your teeth.’

Niko whinnied softly in her ear, catching the collar of her shirt between his teeth and tugging affectionately. He was Heath’s horse really, but he had been the recipient of all Helen’s troubles ever since he came to Matlock Edge, and although the stable hands were wary of him, he had always been the soul of patience with her.

It was a shame no one did much riding at Matlock any more, she reflected. When she was little, Heath had bought her a pony and taught her to ride, and together they had combed the hills and valleys of the West Riding. But since she had grown older, Heath always said he was too busy to go riding with her, and if ever she did get the chance to ride with him, it was always in company with guests he had invited to the house. In earlier days, she had ridden alone from time to time, sometimes persuading the groom, Angus McLintock, to saddle Niko for her. But she knew he worried every time she rode out on her own, and he was relieved when Heath found out and put a stop to it.

Besides, latterly, she had had the Honda to get about the estate, and once she was seventeen and had learned to drive a car, she had neglected the horses. But she always came to Niko when she needed to confide her problems, and she sighed a little dejectedly at the realisation that this was the most serious problem yet.

The sound of men’s voices aroused her from her absorption, and she straightened a little resentfully when she recognised Heath’s deeper tones. It was scarcely seven a.m. Couldn’t he at least have allowed her this time alone? Was she to have no privacy now that Angela Patterson had come to live in the house?

Although the voices were audible, she could not hear what was being said, though she guessed Angus McLintock would waste no time in telling his employer she was here. It was a mercy Niko had been installed in the stables overnight. Perhaps she could slip out the back way without Heath even seeing her. But the sudden darkening of the doorway kept her rooted to the spot, though she refused to turn and wish him good morning as if last night had never happened.

‘Helen!’ His attractively low-pitched use of her name almost made her relent, but she continued to stroke Niko’s head, ignoring his sound of impatience, ‘Helen, I want to talk to you. Have the decency to turn round and face me!’

Helen turned round abruptly, spreading her arms along the wooden rails at either side of her, facing him mutinously. ‘Well?’ she said insolently. ‘What do you want? Have you invited Miss Patterson to go riding with you, and you want me to go along as chaperone? I’m sorry, I don’t feel like riding today.’

Heath regarded her through narrowed lids. In a dark green corded jerkin and matching corded pants, he looked unconscionably attractive, and a curious pain stirred in the pit of her stomach as she met his concentrated gaze.

‘Now, that’s a pity,’ he remarked. ‘Because I was going to invite you to go riding. But naturally, if you don’t feel like it …’

Helen’s lips compressed indignantly. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘It’s what you said, not me.’

‘No, you know what I mean.’ She moved her head to avoid Niko’s affectionate nuzzling. ‘I don’t believe you intended to take me riding. You’re not even dressed for it.’

Heath shrugged. ‘I can ride in these clothes as well as any others.’ His mouth curved. ‘Do I take it you would like to go riding after all?’

She shrugged, looking down at the legs of her cotton dungarees. ‘Is Miss Patterson invited?’

‘No.’

‘No?’ She looked up.

‘No,’ he agreed, glancing behind him into the yard. ‘Now, do you want to go or don’t you? I don’t have that much time.’

Helen withdrew her arms from their defiant stance and sniffed. ‘I suppose so.’

‘Okay.’ Heath stepped to one side. ‘You’ll find McLintock’s already saddled Marnie. You go and find him while I attend to Niko.’

She stopped beside him indignantly. ‘You were so sure I’d come, weren’t you?’

Heath stepped past her. ‘Stop wasting time,’ he advised shortly. ‘I’ve got to be in Bradford by ten o’clock.’

Helen wanted to refuse. She wanted to tell him to go ride himself, but she didn’t. It was an opportunity of being alone with him she couldn’t bear to miss, and she was waiting on Marnie’s back when he led the black hunter out of its stall.

A gate beyond the stable yard gave access to the fields and parkland surrounding Matlock Edge. Helen had known Heath take that gate in full stride, but this morning he leant down to open it, allowing both horses through before re-securing the catch.

It was a glorious morning, the sun already giving some hint of the warmth of the day to come. Helen thought there was nowhere like England on an early summer morning, and although Heath had taken her to France and Italy, she still preferred the English countryside to those hotter foreign beaches.

Giving Marnie his head, she allowed the animal to take her at a gallop across the sloping meadow, hearing the low thunder of Niko’s hooves behind her. For the moment, at least, Heath was prepared to give himself up to the enjoyment of the ride, and contentment spread, like wildfire, throughout her whole body. But eventually he caught up with her, exhibiting with ease the hunter’s superior strength, and leaning across, reined Marnie in beside him.

‘Right,’ he said, ‘let’s talk, shall we? Pleasant as this is, I do have work to do.’

Helen hesitated a moment and then pointed to the thin ribbon of water flowing over rocks some few yards ahead of them. ‘Let’s dismount and sit by the stream,’ she suggested, already digging her heels into Marnie’s sides to urge him forward, and after a brief pause Heath followed her.

‘All right,’ he said, ‘if this suits you. Personally, I’d prefer to stay in the saddle. The grass is wet.’

‘It’s only dew,’ exclaimed Helen, sliding down from Marnie’s back. ‘Hmm, it smells delicious. Don’t you think so?’

Heath shrugged, swinging his leg across the pommel and jumping down beside her. ‘I can think of sweeter things,’ he remarked drily, avoiding some wild creature’s droppings, and walking to the edge of the water. ‘You know I used to fish here, when I was little. I never could understand why I never caught anything.’

‘Perhaps you used the wrong bait,’ said Helen, coming to stand beside him. ‘I used to paddle here, when Mrs Gittens would let me.’ She grinned up at him. ‘She was once livid because I stripped all my clothes off.’

Heath looked down at her drily. ‘You have a habit of doing that, don’t you?’ he observed, and her cheeks turned pink. ‘It’s one of the things I’m hoping Angela will cure you of. That, and a few other practices we won’t go into now.’

Helen pursed her lips. ‘Is that why you brought me here? To talk about Angela Patterson?’

‘Among other things,’ he conceded, ignoring her sudden tension. ‘You must have guessed that was what I wanted. I think you need to understand the situation.’

‘Oh, I understand the situation all right,’ muttered Helen tautly. ‘You made it perfectly clear last night. I’m to learn to do as I’m told and keep my mouth shut. Isn’t that a fair description of the situation?’

‘No, it’s not.’ Heath spoke with some heat. ‘Helen, you’re not trying to be reasonable. I invited Angela Patterson to Matlock Edge to teach you the things a mother might have taught you—to help you to dress, how to act in company, how to behave like the lady I thought I’d brought you up to be. It wasn’t intended to deteriorate into a slanging competition. I’d hoped you might like one another. And I still have hopes of that, even though you tried last night to make Angela look stupid!’

‘I didn’t have to try very hard, did I?’ demanded Helen tensely, aware that the tears she had shed yesterday had by no means drained the reservoir. ‘You can’t believe all that stuff she told you about jobs and everything! I don’t believe she’s even looked for one. She was just waiting for someone like you.’

‘It really doesn’t matter whether I believe it or not,’ said Heath surprisingly, pushing his hands into the pockets of his pants.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Angela Patterson’s history is of no particular interest to me.’

Helen frowned. ‘But if she was lying—–’

‘Helen!’ He turned to her then, shaking his head half impatiently when he saw the tears glistening in her eyes. ‘I know all about Angela. You don’t imagine I’d let a stranger come to live in my house without checking her out first?’

‘You mean—–’

‘I mean I want you to listen to her. I want you to learn from her. And the first thing I want you to do is go with her to Manchester and let her choose you some new clothes. Feminine clothes,’ he added, surveying the dungarees with evident distaste. ‘I’ve neglected my duties too long. I should never have let you persuade me to let you leave school.’

Helen felt a glimmer of hope. ‘You mean you’re going to spend more time with me?’ she asked, allowing her slim fingers to curve impulsively about his sleeve. ‘Oh, Heath I’m sorry if I’ve made a fool of myself. I didn’t realise what you were doing.’ And then, before he could draw his hands out of his pockets to prevent her, or step back out of reach, she stretched up on her toes and kissed him, her eager lips seeking and finding his startled mouth.

Because he had been about to speak, his lips were parted, and she had to part her lips, too, to accommodate them. It was intended to be a kiss of gratitude, no more, a simple pressure to show him she intended to turn over a new leaf and behave as he wanted, but it didn’t turn out that way. His lips were so firm and dry, utterly unlike Miles Ormerod’s wet mouth, and the impulsive salutation was more pleasing than she had imagined. Instinctively, her own lips moved and deepened under his.

She heard Heath groan deep in his throat, and she thought for a moment he was in pain. But the sudden pressure that met her tentative caress seemed to negate such a suspicion, and the hands torn from his pockets reached for her, not to push her away.

Her head swam beneath that expert response. His mouth was hard now, and intimate, his hand at her nape holding her there, bruising the sensitive skin. It was not like the times Miles had kissed her, not like the way Heath had kissed her in the past. But she didn’t want him to stop. She wanted him to go on and on, and her hands clung desperately to the lapels of his jerkin.

‘God!’

She didn’t know how long it was before Heath thrust her away from him. It had seemed like minutes, but she suspected it was only seconds. From the expression on his face, she doubted he could have prolonged the incident, and for the first time in her life she was too embarrassed to look at him.

‘Who taught you to do that?’ he asked her harshly, after a few moments, grasping her roughly by the chin and forcing her to look up at him. ‘Ormerod, I suppose. God Almighty, and I thought you were only a child!’

Helen quivered. ‘Miles didn’t teach me,’ she mumbled indignantly, but Heath was unconvinced.

‘Who, then?’ he demanded. ‘Have there been other young men I don’t know about? For God’s sake, Helen, tell me, before I break your bloody neck!’

‘Jealous?’

Helen spoke recklessly, hating him when he treated her like this, and Heath’s expression darkened angrily. ‘No,’ he said grimly. ‘No, I’m not jealous. How could I be jealous of a provocative teenager? But the next time you try something like that, I really will put you over my knee!’

Helen pulled her chin out of his grasp. ‘I don’t know what you’re making all the fuss about,’ she exclaimed chokingly. ‘No harm’s done.’

‘Isn’t there?’ Heath grasped Niko’s reins and swung himself up into the saddle. ‘You’re already making me regret my decision to bring Miss Patterson to Matlock Edge. I should have sent you to Switzerland as my mother suggested. At least there, you wouldn’t have been my responsibility!’

Helen sniffed. ‘I thought you liked it,’ she muttered almost under her breath, but he heard her.

‘I won’t answer that,’ he grated, turning his mount around. ‘Come on, let’s get back to the house. Perhaps Angela Patterson will succeed where I’ve failed.’

In the past, Helen had only ever visited Manchester on those rare occasions when Heath had taken her to visit his mother. It did not, therefore, have good associations for her, and going there in the company of Angela Patterson was no better. They had accomplished the journey in the bronze Mercedes, with Miles Ormerod at the wheel, and Helen was already chafing at the restrictions Heath had put upon her before they even parked the car. Since the affair by the stream that morning, she had seen nothing more of her uncle, but his warning about the school in Switzerland had not gone unheeded, and she was doing her utmost to behave as he would wish.

As soon as he had showered and changed, Heath had taken himself off to his business meeting in Bradford, without even so much as a cup of coffee, according to Mrs Gittens. ‘Just got in his car and drove away,’ she told Helen severely, as she served her her breakfast in the morning room. ‘His face was black as thunder—what had you been saying to him? I’d stake my life it was something to do with you and that little outing you took earlier on.’

‘I really don’t know,’ Helen had affirmed determinedly, her fingers crossed below the level of the tablecloth. This was something she could not discuss even with Mrs Gittens, who had taken care of her since she was a toddler. No matter how mad Heath made her, she would never confide her feelings about him to anyone.

Angela Patterson appeared during the meal, slim and delectable in a sleeveless shirtwaister and cream strappy sandals. ‘I only ever drink coffee in the mornings,’ she had assured Mrs Gittens, after surveying Helen’s plate of scrambled eggs with a faintly horrified eye. ‘Some of us need to count the calories,’ she had added, for the younger girl’s benefit, and Helen, whose appetite had suffered by the morning’s upheaval, abruptly lost all interest in the food.

It had been awful having to remain at the table while Angela drank her way through three cups of black coffee and asked various questions about the routine at Matlock Edge. Bearing Heath’s warning in mind, Helen had been politely civil, and Angela had responded by giving a smug little smile now and then, as if she knew perfectly well why Helen was on her best behaviour.

When she had finally had enough, Mrs Gittens suggested that Helen should show Miss Patterson around the house, to acquaint her with the whereabouts of the living rooms and so on. But Angela had soon grown bored with looking into the library and the music room, and the blue and gold elegance of the drawing room, and had suggested a tour of the gardens might give her a better understanding of the layout of the house.

Shrugging, Helen had dutifully led her outside, showing her the tennis and croquet lawns, allowing her to admire the delicate tracery of the sunhouse, which Heath’s grandfather had had erected for his wife when she fell ill in 1924.

Evidently the kidney-shaped swimming pool met most with Angela’s approval, and at her suggestion, the two girls changed into swimsuits and spent some time playing in the water.

‘That hair will really have to be cut,’ Angela declared, when they climbed out to sun themselves on the cushioned loungers set on the mosaic tiling of the patio. Watching Helen squeezing the water out of the silken rope, she shook her head disapprovingly. ‘Long hair’s out of fashion now, anyway,’ she added. ‘I think we’ll have it cut, something like mine.’

Helen didn’t make any response, although the idea of having all her hair cut off was not appealing. She had always had long hair. She liked long hair. But if that was what Heath wanted, what could she do about it?

Angela’s appraisal of her body was disturbing, too. It made Helen uncomfortably aware that last year’s bikini no longer provided an adequate covering, and the burgeoning fullness of her breasts had begun to overspill the skimpy bra. But last year she had not had this problem, and as soon as she could, she made herself scarce and went to change.

At lunch, Angela concentrated on finding out more about Heath’s lifestyle. With the excuse of needing the information to equip Helen for the future, she successfully discovered that her uncle was a member of the board of several different companies, and that as well as Matlock Edge and the apartment in London, he also owned a villa in the South of France and a palazzo in Venice.

‘How delightful,’ she remarked, her tongue circling her lips as if in anticipation. ‘You were a lucky girl to be adopted by him. Not all uncles are so generous.’

‘Heath didn’t adopt me,’ exclaimed Helen shortly, stung by the unknowing reminder of their relationship. ‘My name is Mortimer—I told you. Heath’s sister married my father.’

‘Does it matter?’ Angela was not particularly interested in their relationship. ‘I doubt if your father could have given you the life your uncle has. It’s not going to be easy to find you a husband to match up.’