Part 2 (1/2)

Helen turned, her hair curling irrepressibly about her shoulders, her face suddenly alight with sudden hope. 'Do you think so?' she exclaimed. 'Do you really think so?'

'Yes,' he agreed flatly. 'You make me feel quite old,' and before she could respond, he had let himself out of the room.

Dinner was just as awful as Helen had antic.i.p.ated.

They ate in the family dining room, which was one of the smaller rooms at Matlock Edge, with a circular dining table that dated from the eighteenth century. In daylight, the dining room looked out over the patio at the back of the house, but tonight the lamps were lit, and only the urns of flowers that flanked the french windows were illuminated from inside.

The dining room was panelled in oak, with delicately-carved cl.u.s.ters of rosebuds decorating the wood. The ceiling was high and moulded, and although there was a crystal and bronze chandelier suspended over the dining table, they mostly ate by lamp or candlelight, on those occasions when Heath had company.

As Helen had expected, Angela Patterson was present at the dinner table, sleek and self-satisfied in an ice-blue chiffon creation that left a good deal of her shoulders bare. She was not tanned, as Helen was tanned, from days spent almost exclusively outdoors. Her skin was white, whiter than any skin Helen had ever seen before, and smooth as alabaster, and just as soft.

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 a.s.sociates, 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 dest.i.tute, 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 embarra.s.sment. 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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s 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 s.h.i.+rt 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.'