Part 6 (1/2)

'But I'm not slim, am I?'

Marion shook her head. 'You've got some shape, that's all. You're not thin, I'll grant you that, but you're certainly not fat. And with that hair...'

Helen swung round from the critical examination she had been giving herself in the wardrobe mirror. 'You don't think my hair needs cutting, then?'

'Cutting?' Marion snorted. 'Who gave you that idea? Not Heath, I'll bet.'

She paused as the girl looked uncomfortable. 'Helen, your hair is one of your best features. You'd be mad to have it cut.'

Helen nodded. 'That's what I thought.'

'So-if you've finished admiring yourself...'

'I wasn't-' Helen coloured, and then saw Marion smiling at her and looked rueful. 'The dress,' she said determinedly. 'I'll show you what we bought.'

Under Marion's experienced eye, the two dresses and the caftan Angela had chosen were brought out for inspection. 'They are beautiful, aren't they?'

murmured Helen wistfully, fingering the dark blue satin of a cap-sleeved dress with a scooped-out neckline, suitable for both day and evening wear. 'I like that one best,' she added, pointing to the other, a fine knitted silk, whose tubular shape accentuated every curve and sinew. 'It's really smooth, isn't it?'

'Yes.' Marion sounded less enthusiastic, turning from the dresses to survey Helen's youthful figure and then back again.

And as Helen watched her, her own enthusiasm faded. 'You see,' she declared, after a few moments, her confidence crumpling. 'You're doubtful whether they're going to fit me, aren't you? Why don't you admit it? I am fat, like Angela says.'

'You're not fat!' Marion spoke firmly. 'And the dresses are-beautiful, as you say. All I'm wondering is whether they're entirely suitable for a girl of your age.'

'What do you mean?'

'Helen, you're not that much older than Emma, and quite frankly, I wouldn't allow her to wear something like this.'

'Why not?'

'Why not?' Marion moistened her lips. 'Well, because they're for an older woman. Someone of your Miss Patterson's age, I'd imagine.'

Helen sighed. 'I'm not a child, you know, Marion.'

'I know. But you're not a sophisticated woman either. Where did you buy these things? Not in a teenage department, I'll bet.'

'We got them at Mallory's,' replied Helen defensively. 'I got a suit there, too.'

'Mallory's.' Marion shook her head. 'What's that? A dress shop in Bradford?'

'In Manchester, actually,' replied Helen tensely. 'Angela didn't like the teenage departments. She said the music was too loud and the clothes were cheap.'

'Well, so they are. Cheap, I mean. But that's because young people like a lot of clothes rather than one or two expensive items in their wardrobe. And in any case, there are establishments that sell good teenage clothes. Heath should have sent you down to me. I'd have kitted you out-and not in clothes more suited to a woman of my age, not yours.'

'Oh, Marion ...' Helen hunched her shoulders. 'So what am I going to wear then? The caftan?'

'Not tonight,' replied Marion flatly. 'It's too warm.' She paused. 'Tell me, do you happen to have a skirt you could wear?'

'A skirt?' Helen's spirits drooped still further. 'Oh, not a skirt again!'

'So you do have a skirt,' Marion gauged accurately. 'Now, does Heath have a white s.h.i.+rt you could borrow? One with wide sleeves, for preference.

Then I'll tell you what we're going to do.'

Helen gasped. 'How could I get a s.h.i.+rt of Heath's?'

'Ask Mrs Gittens,' advised Marion sagely. 'I'm sure she knows what Heath keeps in his dressing room better than he does. She'll get a s.h.i.+rt for you, if you ask her nicely. Now, hurry up. Do it. We don't have that much time.'

Twenty minutes later Helen surveyed her reflection with some disbelief.

Who would have thought that a plain black skirt and a man's white s.h.i.+rt could look so attractive? she asked herself in amazement. And it was all due to Marion, and her instinctive eye for style.

The s.h.i.+rt Mrs Gittens had brought her was made of silk, but the housekeeper had made it known she did not approve of this clandestine use of her employer's belongings. 'What Mr Heathcliffe will say, I don't know,' she averred, refusing to respond to Helen's cajoling praise. 'I thought you and Miss Patterson bought some clothes that day you went to Manchester.'

'We did,' Helen admitted, unconsciously rubbing her cheek against the fine material. 'But Mrs Marsden thinks they might not be suitable, so she's going to help me to dress.'

'Huh!'

Mrs Gittens went away muttering to herself, but regarding her appearance now, Helen felt sure the old housekeeper would approve when she saw how Marion's plan had turned out. The plain white silk s.h.i.+rt was open at the neck to expose the creamy column of her throat. The hem of the s.h.i.+rt almost covered Helen's hips, but Marion had cinched it in at the waist, with a blue silk scarf of her own worn like a sash. The long sleeves hugged her wrists due to the addition of two carved silver bangles Heath had once brought her back from Morocco, and around her neck was a silver medallion, also borrowed from Marion for the occasion.

'Well? What do you think?' asked Marion now, touching the loose curls that tumbled in wild profusion over her shoulders. 'I think you'll agree, simple things dressed up with bits and pieces can prove quite attractive.'

'It's-it's great!' exclaimed Helen, turning impulsively to give the older woman a hug. 'I look-I look quite-quite-'

'-s.e.xy, I know,' agreed Marion drily. 'Now, put on your sandals and let's go. We're already fifteen minutes late.'

Heath and his guests were having drinks on the patio when Helen and Marion came to join them. Angela was there, sleek and sophisticated as usual, in slinky black culottes worn with a matching strapless top, and Greg Marsden looked quite presentable this evening in a dark dinner jacket. Only Heath's attire gave any colour to the scene, his dark green velvet dinner jacket an attractive contrast to his cream ruffled s.h.i.+rt.

However, much to her dismay, it was Helen's appearance that attracted the most attention, and judging by Angela's expression, it was not to her advantage. Angela's lips parted in dismay when she saw the girl she had been brought here to chaperone, and her eyes turned swiftly to Marion Marsden, as if seeking an explanation.

Heath, conversely, showed no surprise at her style of dress, though his eyes did narrow slightly as he watched Greg Marsden's frank appraisal. It was as if he was judging the effect she was having on his guests, thought Helen half indignantly, and her colour rose accordingly to match her heated blood.

'I say, you look jolly dishy this evening, young Helen,' Greg exclaimed, breaking the pregnant silence which had heralded their appearance. 'What a pity there's no young man to appreciate it. You'll have to make do with me instead.'

Helen's smile was not forced. Greg could always be relied upon to keep the party moving, and shaking off the feelings of resentment Heath's att.i.tude was arousing, she tried to equal his banter. 'You don't look so bad yourself,' she declared, ignoring the hostile looks Angela was casting in their direction. 'I always think a dinner jacket looks so well on a man.'

'It hides a mult.i.tude of sins,' remarked Marion drily, giving her husband a pointed dig in his stomach. 'Hmm, yes, Heath, I'd like a dry sherry, if you have one. How about you, Helen? What are you going to drink to celebrate your'-independence?'

Helen looked nervously towards Heath as he poured Marion's sherry from a bottle placed on the trolley Mrs Gittens had wheeled out for them. 'I'm not sure,' she murmured, not usually interested in alcoholic drinks. 'Perhaps I'll have a sherry, too. Or maybe a dry Martini?'

'Sherry,' said Heath flatly, handing her a narrow gla.s.s. 'You may look like an adult, but you're still under age.'

'Don't be a spoilsport, Heath!' Greg came to tuck his hand beneath Helen's elbow. 'Hmm, you smell nice, too. What is that? Chanel Number Five?'

'It's Charlie, actually,' admitted Helen, with some amus.e.m.e.nt. I'm glad you like it. You and Marion bought it for me last Christmas.'