Part 17 (1/2)

'Where have you been?' Mrs Heathcliffe exclaimed, as soon as she let herself into the apartment. 'Rupert's been trying to reach you all afternoon. I told him you'd gone shopping, but he still kept on ringing just the same.'

'Heath?' Helen moistened her dry lips. 'Heath's been ringing me?'

'Haven't I just said so?' Mrs Heathcliffe answered irritably. 'I must have answered that phone half a dozen times. Anyway, he says he's coming to see you tomorrow, so you'd better not be out when he calls.'

Helen put her hand to her throat. 'Tomorrow?' she echoed. 'Did he say why?'

'Something to do with that school in Geneva, I imagine,' declared Mrs Heathcliffe shortly. 'I really didn't ask him. I'm going to be late for my appointment as it is.'

Helen stared at her. 'You're going out?'

'Of course. I told you this morning I was attending a meeting of the bridge club this evening. Surely you haven't forgotten.'

'Oh-no. No.' But in all honesty, she had. In the upheaval of finding herself accommodation, she had completely overlooked Mrs Heathcliffe's arrange- ments.

'Anyway, Mrs Henley has left you a slice of quiche and some salad in the fridge,' said Heath's mother brusquely. 'As I shall be eating out, I told her not to bother with anything hot. You scarcely eat enough to keep a fly alive as if is. I was sure the quiche would be more than acceptable.'

'Oh, it is. It is,' Helen nodded, her mind racing off at a tangent. If Mrs Heathcliffe was going out this evening, that would mean she would be alone.

What a heavensent opportunity to make her escape, particularly with the prospect of Heath's visit looming on the horizon. Of course she would have liked to have seen him-indeed, her heart actually ached at the thought of what she was doing to avoid him. But seeing him again could only cause her more pain, and she had had quite enough of that to be going on with.

Mrs Heathcliffe left just before seven, and Helen cut herself a slice of the quiche to carry into her bedroom and eat while she was packing. She didn't have that much time. She didn't want to be carrying her cases out of the apartment just as Heath's mother returned, and although she was generally quite late home from these occasions, Helen was not about to take any risks.

One case was packed and standing by the front door and the other in the process of being so when the doorbell rang. For a moment, Helen was too shocked to do anything but stand there like a statue, but then, realising it could not be Mrs Heathcliffe home at this time, she hurried to answer it.

Halfway along the hall, another possibility struck her. Heath! she thought faintly. It could be Heath on the other side of that door. Oh, no, she prayed fervently, what am I going to do?

She had two options: one, she hid the cases and the evidence of her packing and opened the door; the other, she simply pretended there was no one home. The apartments were not like houses. There was no convenient window to peer through, no betraying light to indicate that someone was in.

If she remained perfectly silent, whoever it was might go away, and her heart palpitated wildly as the bell rang again.

What she was not prepared for was what happened next. Instead of her visitor giving up and going away, a key was inserted into the lock, and she watched in horror as the Yale catch turned and the door fell silently inward.

'Helen!'

Heath's harsh use of her name unfroze her locked limbs, and she stepped back uncertainly as he came into the hall. She should have known, she was telling herself fiercely, she should have guessed he might have a key. His mother was not a young woman, and it was reasonable that he should have some means of access in case she fell ill.

'Helen!' He saw her as he closed the door, saw her, and the betraying suitcase standing squarely in the hall, and his green eyes grew quite glacial as they comprehended her dilemma.

He looked every bit as forbidding as she had imagined, the black suede pants and matching jacket he was wearing accentuating his grim expression.

He looked tired, too, and paler than she remembered, but just as unforgiving as he surveyed her jean-clad form.

'What the h.e.l.l is going on here?' he demanded, slamming the door and leaning back against it, slipping the key he had used back into his pocket.

'Don't pretend you didn't hear me. It's obvious that you did.'

'I heard you,' she got out faintly, glancing nervously behind her. 'I-I didn't know who could be calling. Your mother's out.'

'I know that.' He straightened away from the door, his eyes appraising her apprehension intently. 'Evidently you knew it, too. Isn't that the meaning of this-little conspiracy?'

'There's no conspiracy.' Helen drew an unsteady breath. 'I-I'm leaving, that's all-'

'The h.e.l.l you are!'

Brus.h.i.+ng past her, Heath strode swiftly along the hall to her room and disappeared inside. She heard the impatient banging of cupboard doors, of her bathroom door being opened and closed, and then he appeared again, more slowly, his dark face worn suddenly, and drawn.

'What have you been doing?' Helen took an involuntary step towards him.

'I haven't stolen anything of your mother's, if that's what you were afraid of.

I'm only taking the things that belong to me.'

'I didn't imagine otherwise.' Heath spoke heavily and without heat. 'I just thought-oh, h.e.l.l, I just thought there must be someone here, someone with you, some person responsible for you packing up and walking out.'

'There is.' Helen held up her head. 'I've got a job-a job in Manchester. It's not much, but I'll have my independence. And I've found somewhere else to live.'

His face grew haggard. 'But why? Why, for pity's sake?'

'You know why,' insisted Helen unsteadily. 'I can't go on being dependent on you. And-and I have no intention of going to that school in Switzerland.

You can't force me. I'll be eighteen in three months.'

'Oh, for pity's sake!' Heath came back along the hall wearily, stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his pants. 'You don't have to get a job, if that's all that's troubling you,' he muttered. 'I was coming here this evening to offer you an alternative.'

'You were?' She watched him as he pushed open the door of his mother's overcrowded living room with his foot and walked heavily into the room.

'Well, I don't need your alternatives any longer. I've got an alternative of my own. But I'm glad you've decided that I'm old enough to lead my own life.'

'I didn't say that,' he retorted, as she came to stand in the open doorway.

He shook his head, his expression taut. 'On the contrary, I had every intention of keeping you within the sphere of my influence. A friend of my father's, an elderly lady, whose husband died recently, is desperately in need of some young companions.h.i.+p. I was about to suggest that you became her companion. At least, for the winter, until, as you say, you reach your majority.'

'I see.' Helen pressed her palms together. 'Well, that won't be necessary now.'

'What do you intend to do?' Heath spoke roughly, his hands clenching and unclenching inside the taut cloth of his pockets, and she moved her shoulders cautiously.

'I-er-I'm going to work for a hairdresser,' she said, and ignoring his indrawn breath, she went on: 'I've got a room in a house in Prestside.'

'Prestside?' Heath repeated the word savagely, and she nodded.

'I know it's not a particularly nice area, but-'

'Not a particularly nice area!' echoed Heath, with emphasis. 'My word, it's a slum, Helen! No wonder you were planning on running away. You must have known I'd never agree to this.'

'You don't have to agree,' declared Helen doggedly. 'It's my life, not yours.'

'Is that what you believe? Is that what you honestly believe?' he demanded violently. 'For the love of heaven, Helen, I can't let you do this.'

She stared at him steadily. 'You can't stop me,' she averred, even though the knowledge that she was defying him was eating her up. 'You washed your hands of me when you brought me to Manchester. You didn't care about anything but getting me out of your house. You can't expect to go on telling me what to do, when you've made it abundantly clear that you don't really care a d.a.m.n about me!'