Part 1 (1/2)
Green Lightning.
by Anne Mather.
From Back Cover...
”It will never work,”
her friend warned Helen winced at the frank a.s.sessment of her chances for romantic happiness. For she had loved Heath since childhood, and as she'd grown into a woman, her emotions had deepened and changed in ways she was only starting to understand.
Suddenly Helen wanted more than the warm affection Heath had always given her-she wanted the heat of his pa.s.sion.
But Heath thought of her as a child-and when he finally saw her for the woman she was, he sent her away....
Excerpt...
”You used to like me to kiss you,” Helen said ”That was different,” Heath retorted, releasing her abruptly. ”You're growing up now, Helen, and-what you did-well, with anyone else it would have got you into a lot of trouble.”
”But not with you,” Helen said softly, and she sensed the sudden tensing of his body.
”No, not with me,” he agreed shortly.
”Why not?” Helen breathed, tipping her head so she could rub her cheek against the back of his hand. Suddenly, with a m.u.f.fled groan, he got to his feet.
”What am I going to do with you, Helen? ” Heath demanded harshly.
”What kind of person do you think I am?”
”I think you're a man and I'm a woman,” replied Helen softly. ”I think you want me and I know I want you.”
CHAPTER ONE.
She was waiting at the Bell corner when Helen turned into Castle Street.
Helen knew it was her right off, even though she had never set eyes on her before. Heath had described her so accurately-blonde, willowy, elegant- everything Helen was not, and possessing the necessary qualities of a lady, which Helen was required to learn.
Compressing her lips, Helen brought the Land Rover to a squealing halt beside the kerb and regarded the newcomer mutinously. She had been tempted to come and meet her on the Honda, but her disregard for her uncle's wishes would only stretch so far, and already she had the underlying suspicion that by coming in the dusty Land Rover she was only reinforcing his opinion that she was irresponsible and childish.
Squas.h.i.+ng these thoughts, Helen thrust open her door and got out, facing the young woman with grim determination. 'Miss Patterson?' she enquired, glancing at the two expensive suitcases standing beside her on the pavement. 'I'm Helen Mortimer.'
The young woman turned a decidedly haughty look in her direction. 'You are?' she exclaimed, her expression eloquent of her opinion that she had made a terrible mistake. 'You're Mr Heathcliffe's niece? My goodness, he wasn't exaggerating, was he?'
Helen's lips tightened over the retort she would have loved to have made.
Instead she controlled her temper and said stiffly: 'If you'd like to get in ...'
Miss Patterson's horrified blue eyes moved incredulously over the beaten- up vehicle. 'Into that? Where's Mr Heathcliffe?'
'He couldn't come.' Helen s.h.i.+fted her weight from one foot to the other.
'He sent me instead.'
'A baptism of fire, no doubt,' remarked Miss Patterson dryly. 'So where is your uncle?'
'Does it matter?'
Helen was rapidly losing any lingering sympathy she might have felt for the young woman. Miss Patterson's contemptuous appraisal was making her feel gauche and immature, and she was beginning to wish she had brought the Mercedes as Heath had directed. And worn something a little more flattering, she reflected unwillingly. Faded jeans and a sloppy tee-s.h.i.+rt might successfully demonstrate her desire for independence, but compared to the attractive cream and green pants suit Miss Patterson was wearing, they looked cheap and shabby. Even the silk scarf draped casually about Miss Patterson's neck must have cost more than her scuffed trainers, and the other girl's hair was fas.h.i.+onably short and smooth, curving lovingly in to the back of her neck.
'Are you saying your uncle sent you to meet me in- this?' Miss Patterson enquired now, causing Helen's nails to ball into her palms. 'How quaint! The original covered wagon, no doubt.'
Helen's colour deepened. 'Heath had to go to the office unexpectedly,'
she declared aggressively. 'Shall we go?'
'Well...' Miss Patterson glanced about her doubtfully and Helen had the distinct impression that she half expected Heath to appear in spite of what had been said. Perhaps she thought she was playing at being chauffeur. It was obvious from her att.i.tude, she thought miserably little of Helen's offer.
Walking round to get back into the driving seat, Helen schooled the errant impulse to drive away and leave her. If the Land Rover wasn't good enough, let her find her own way to Matlock, she thought broodingly, but a glance back at her charge made her make another attempt to be civil.
'Are you coming?' she asked, pulling open her door, and waiting with impatience for the other girl to move.
But Miss Patterson didn't move. Glancing down at her luggage with the air of someone unused to carrying anything heavier than a handbag, she lifted her shoulders indifferently, and Helen's resentment deepened at the obvious implication. Dammit, why couldn't the woman put her own suitcases into the Land Rover? she thought angrily. Time was pa.s.sing, and she had no wish to meet Heath's car at the gates, or antic.i.p.ate his undoubted fury when he discovered what she had done.
Miss Patterson s.h.i.+fted her handbag and jacket from one arm to the other and looked up and down the street, as if hoping divine providence might intervene. She still made no move to get into the Land Rover, and Helen's nerves tightened when she saw Father Kirkpatrick emerge from the Presbytery and start to walk in their direction. Heath was not a religious man, but he did occasionally have Father Kirkpatrick to dinner, and the last thing Helen needed now was the garrulous old priest to start questioning her for being there.
With a m.u.f.fled curse, she came back round the vehicle and swinging open the pa.s.senger door, indicated that Miss Patterson should get inside. Then, with the resilience of youth, she tossed the two offending suitcases into the back of the Land Rover, before striding back to resume her seat.
Miss Patterson hesitated just long enough to put Helen's teeth on edge, and then, after examining the worn leather seat rather dubiously, she acquiesced. The door closed behind her only seconds before the shortsighted priest would have reached them, and the Land Rover's tyres sent up a cloud of dust as Helen made her getaway.
Not until she had put several hundred yards between them and embarra.s.sing discovery did she relax, and Miss Patterson clung to her seat in dismay as the vehicle bounced recklessly along the High Street before swinging dangerously round the corner into Church Lane. The outskirts of the village were left behind within a few minutes, and Helen lifted her foot slightly as they crested Starforth Bank.
'Have you been driving long?' Miss Patterson enquired scathingly, when at last it seemed safe to distract Helen from her driving, and the younger girl nodded.
'Nine months,' she declared carelessly, refusing to rise to the bait.
Matlock Edge, Heath's sprawling country estate, was only five miles from Starforth, and she refused to be disconcerted now when all around them the countryside she loved was unwinding in undulating curves.
'Nine months?' Miss Patterson sounded surprised. 'But I thought your uncle told me you'd only recently had your seventeenth birthday.'
'Six months ago, I did,' replied Helen defensively. 'But I've been driving around the estate roads for ages. I pa.s.sed my test a month after my seventeenth birthday.'
'Really?' Miss Patterson did not sound impressed. 'I presume you learned to drive in tractors and the like.'
'No, in Heath's Mercedes, actually,' retorted Helen shortly. 'He taught me himself, when he had the time.'
'Heath?' Miss Patterson shook her head. 'You mean-Mr Heathcliffe, don't you? Your Uncle-Rupert?'
Helen sighed impatiently. 'Yes,' she agreed shrugging. 'But no one calls him Mr Heathcliffe. Well, practically n.o.body anyway. He doesn't care for it.'