Green Lightning

by Anne Mather

  'I guess not. He doesn't exactly enthuse over my presence, if you know what I mean, but he's civil.' He sighed. 'For heaven's sake, it's not as if he hasn't known what's been going on.'

  Helen frowned, pausing in the act of starting the engine. 'What has been going on?' she asked, arching her dark brows, and Miles cast his eyes heavenward, as if praying for tolerance.

  'Come on, Helen,' he exclaimed, wiping his hands on a rag he had pulled out of his overalls' pocket. 'You know. We've been pretty close since you came back from school.'

  'We're friends, if that's what you mean,' retorted Helen shortly, not liking his attitude, and Miles came towards her, shaking his head.

  'Oh, is that all?' he countered, covering the space between them, and not liking the look in his eyes, Helen stood on the starter. To her relief it fired at the first attempt, and before Miles could prevent her, she had skidded out of the yard and across the gravel path. By the time he reached the corner of the building, she was speeding down the drive towards the gates, and in her rear-view mirror she saw him turn away, a scowl upon his face.

  To Helen's relief, Heath did not return at lunchtime, and when she came down to the dining room, newly showered and changed after her morning spent outdoors, Angela was already at the table.

  'Where have you been?' she demanded, her feathers evidently ruffled by the girl's disappearance, and Helen decided to tell the truth rather than make up some elaborate story.

  'I rode over to the farm,' she admitted, helping herself to a slice of melon, and Angela's lips thinned.

  'Rode?' she echoed. 'On horseback, you mean?'

  'No. Motorbike,' replied Helen cheerfully. 'Heath bought me a Honda for my sixteenth birthday. It's only a small machine, but Miles has fixed it so it really can accelerate.'

  'Miles? Oh, you mean Ormerod,' concluded Angela scornfully. 'The young man your uncle found you fooling around with the day I arrived. He told me about him. He's one of the reasons I'm here to chaperone you.'

  Helen's face flushed angrily. 'Heath told you that?'

  'Of course.' Angela broke open a fresh roll with slender fingers. 'He had to give some reason for your disappearance immediately after my arrival. I must admit I don't admire your taste. A garage mechanic—honestly! Doesn't he have dirty fingernails?'

  Helen was seething, as much with the realisation that Heath had discussed her affairs with Angela, as with Angela's remarks themselves. But Angela was here, and Heath wasn't, and Helen lost her temper.

  'At least he knows what it is to do a decent job of work,' she flared. 'He's not a parasite—living off other people!'

  'As you do,' put in Angela maliciously, savouring the taste of the fruit. 'Haven't you been living off your uncle, as you call it, ever since your parents were killed?'

  Helen's throat hurt. 'That's not fair!'

  'Why isn't it fair?' Angela arched her pencilled brows mockingly. 'Your uncle invited me here to do a job of work, as he saw it. He's not paying me for living off him.' She uttered an infuriating laugh. 'What are you suggesting, Helen?'

  'You're not related to him!' retorted Helen painfully, and then put her fork aside as the obvious rejoinder occurred to her. Nor was she, though thank goodness Angela didn't mention that, but that didn't stop her from wondering exactly how accurate the other girl's assessment might be.

  The sudden ringing of the telephone in another part of the house was a welcome diversion, and Helen looked over her shoulder anxiously, praying that it might be for her. It was. Mrs Gittens' appearance in the doorway, and her impatient comment that he ought to know better than to ring at mealtimes, had Helen instantly out of her chair, and she hurried across the hall to where the lifted receiver was lying. 'Heath?' she said huskily, unaware until that moment how badly she had wanted to hear his voice. 'Oh, Heath, I'm so glad it's you!'

  'Why? What have you done?' Heath's tone was mildly tolerant, and Helen breathed a sigh.

  'I've not done anything,' she exclaimed. 'I just wanted to talk to you, that's all. Is that so amazing? We don't talk much any more.'

  'Have you been crying?' demanded Heath sus­piciously, detecting the uneven tremor in her voice. 'Hell, what has Angela been saying to you now? Can't I leave you alone for five minutes without you two getting at one another's throats?'

  'We're not—at least, it wasn't anything Miss Patterson said,' declared Helen doggedly. 'I—why are you ringing, Heath? Are you going to be out for dinner again?'

  'No,' Heath responded abruptly, and then more evenly: 'Helen, you might as well tell me what's wrong. We may not get a chance to talk this evening.'

  'Why not?'

  'Because we're having company, that's why not,' replied Heath shortly. 'I've invited Greg Marsden and his wife for the weekend. He's going to Germany on Monday, as I believe I told you, and I want to make sure he's properly briefed before he leaves.'

  Helen caught her lower lip between her teeth. 'Are Mark and Emma coming, too?' Mark and Emma were the Marsdens' fifteen-year-old twins, and Helen always enjoyed their uninhibited company.

  'I'm afraid not.' Heath doused her sudden surge of enthusiasm. 'They're staying in Devon at present, with their grandmother, but you can invite some of your friends over for Sunday brunch, if you have a mind for it.'

  'Thanks.' Helen sounded as disappointed as she felt. 'But most of my friends are away right now. It is July, Heath. Most people go on holiday in July and August.'

  Heath sighed. 'You know I've told you I'll try and get away in September.'

  'You promise?'

  'I promise.'

  'Just the two of us?'

  'Oh, I don't know about that.'

  'Why not?' Helen's cry was desperate. 'Last year we didn't get away at all, and you promised faithfully we'd have a holiday this summer!'

  'I don't remember saying anything about us going alone,' retorted Heath flatly. 'It wouldn't be suitable, would it? I mean, you can imagine what people would think.'

  Helen moistened her lips. 'Does that matter?'

  'Yes, of course it matters.'

  'It's never bothered you before.'

  'You've never been seventeen before.'

  'So from now on we're not to spend any time alone together?'

  Heath expelled his breath impatiently. 'I didn't say that. But in any case, another year you'll probably want to spend your holidays with someone of your own age. You could have gone to St Moritz with the Kesslers last Christmas, if you hadn't been so stubborn. And even at Easter, you had the chance to go to Barbados.'

  'Without you,' exclaimed Helen tautly, and heard the low oath Heath tried to stifle.

  'Of course without me,' he agreed crisply. 'Helen, you're seventeen! You've got to break away some time.'

  She caught her breath. 'Would you rather I got a job?'

  'A job?' Heath sounded blank now. 'What has a job got to do with anything?'

  'Just answer the question. Would you prefer it if I started to earn some money to support myself?'

  'What?' Heath swore again. 'Helen, what's got into you? What do you want money for? Don't I give you a big enough allowance, is that it? Do you want a raise?'

  'No!' Helen sniffed. 'Oh, it doesn't matter—'

  'Like hell it doesn't.' She had his full attention now. 'Helen, do you want to get a job, is that it? Are you trying to tell me you want to be independent?'

  'No.' Helen glanced over her shoulder anxiously, half afraid Angela Patterson had come to listen in to their conversation. 'We'll talk about it some other time, Heath. I'll tell Mrs Gittens to get a room prepared for the Marsdens, shall I?'

  Heath was silent for a moment, and then he agreed. 'You do that,' he conceded tersely, and she rang off abruptly before he could say anything else.

  'We're having company this weekend,' she told Angela offhandedly, when she returned to the dining room. She had already given Mrs Gittens the news, and although she was loath to do so, she knew Angela had to be told, too.

  'Oh, who?' the other girl asked with i
nterest. 'Anyone I might know?'

  'That depends whether you're interested in com­puters,' replied Helen shortly. 'It's Greg Marsden and his wife. He runs H.M. Technical.'

  'I see.' Angela absorbed the information consider­ingly. 'And Mr Marsden is a business colleague of your uncle's?'

  'They're partners in the company,' conceded Helen shortly. 'Would you pass me the salt?'

  'I thought your uncle's interests were all in wool,' ventured Angela, handing over the item requested, and Helen sighed.

  'Well, they're not,' she retorted, looking down at the mixed salad on her plate without enthusiasm. There was a delicious quiche residing in the middle of the table, but she had purposefully avoided that. Now, however, she viewed the lettuce and tomato with little appetite, wishing she had never paid any attention to Angela's remarks about counting calories.

  'Tell me, does your uncle travel much in the course of his work?' the older girl enquired now, and Helen controlled her sense of impatience.

  'It's not important, is it?' she asked, meeting her gaze with cool determination, but Angela was not deterred.

  'I'm intrigued, that's all,' she declared smoothly, deliberately helping herself to a large slice of the ham and egg flan. 'Daddy and I spent quite a lot of time out of the country when he was alive.' She paused and then continued: 'He was an archaeologist, you know—terribly interested in ancient civilisations, all that sort of thing. He knew Egypt intimately, and one of my earliest memories is of standing at the foot of the Great Pyramid wondering—'

  'I thought you said your father was a writer,' Helen interrupted her frowning. 'You told Heath—'

  'Oh, well, yes, he was,' Angela quickly amended her story. 'He wrote about archaeology, of course. I did tell you his books were rather technical, didn't I?'

  'You also said your father moved away from London because he needed solitude for his writing,' Helen reminded her shortly. 'You said you moved to Cornwall. Was that before or after you went to Egypt?'

  'Well, afterwards naturally.' Angela's smile was frosty. 'Just because one lives in Cornwall it doesn't mean one is necessarily cut off from the rest of the world.'

  'I suppose not,' Helen conceded the point.

  'I suppose you've travelled with your uncle,' Angela added resentfully, and Helen shrugged.

  'Some,' she agreed. 'But not usually when he's on business,' and Angela's nostrils flared at the carefully spoken evasion.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Helen was sitting disconsolately by the swimming pool when Heath and his guests arrived. They turned up in separate cars: Heath driving his own Porsche, and Greg Marsden broad and expansive behind the wheel of his Volvo estate. Helen heard the individual engines as she was dipping the toes of one foot into the water, and her nerves tightened familiarly at the sound of Heath's voice. She expected Mrs Gittens would meet them, and show the Marsdens to their rooms, but because it was such a beautiful afternoon, Heath escorted his guests along the path by the orchard, and Helen was caught in the process of scrambling hastily to her feet.

  'Well, well!' Greg Marsden's booming tones matched his appearance. Tall and broad, the evidence of his success bulging carelessly over his waistline, he looked years older than his business partner, but his manner was jovial, and infinitely more friendly, thought Helen, glancing away from her uncle's dark face. 'What have we here? You didn't tell me you had other guests, Heath.'

  'Stop teasing, Greg!' Marion Marsden smiled sympathetically at Helen. 'How are you, love? I must say you're more grown-up every time I see you.'

  Helen smiled rather nervously, aware of the brevity of the bikini and Angela's opinion of it, but Greg did not allow his wife to have the last word. 'Isn't that what I'm saying?' he demanded, patting Heath heavily on the shoulder. 'Your niece is quite a young lady, isn't she, old man? The last time I saw her she was still in a gymslip.'

  'The last time you saw her was at Easter,' replied his wife firmly. 'And she wasn't wearing a gymslip then. Don't run away, Helen. Don't let this big idiot of mine embarrass you. Stay and have tea with us.'

  'Oh, really, I—' Helen broke off awkwardly, wishing she had anticipated Heath might bring his guests this way and that she had had time to get dressed before this meeting. Heath had said nothing so far; just looked at her as if he thought she had engineered this encounter, and the memory of that other occasion by the pool was too close to dismiss.

  'Where's Miss Patterson?' Heath asked now, breaking the uneasy silence between them, and Helen moistened her lips before replying.

  'She—er—she went to get changed,' she offered, perching rather edgily on the arm of a cushioned lounger. 'I really think I should get changed, too.'

  'Why?' Greg lowered his weight into the lounger beside her, grinning up at her irrepressibly. 'Why deny a poor harassed businessman the chance to dream? You're not cold, are you? It's a perfectly marvellous afternoon. Come on, Helen. Relax. Heath, go ask that housekeeper of yours if she's got a nice can of lager residing in the fridge.'

  Heath slung the jacket he had been carrying over one shoulder and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. Watching him, Helen wasn't at all sure what he wanted her to do, but somehow she sensed, rather than guessed, that he was not happy with the present arrangement.

  'I'll tell her,' she said, getting to her feet. 'I'll tell Mrs Gittens you'd like a beer, Mr Marsden.' And before any of them could stop her, she hurried away through the French doors into the morning room.

  Mrs Gittens was in the kitchen with Cook as Helen had expected, preparing a tray to bring out. 'Is it tea they want?' she asked, as Helen came through the swing door, and the girl drew a deep breath before explaining. 'So—beer for one. And how about your uncle?'

  'I'll take tea, Mrs Gittens, thank you.' Heath's low attractive tones brought Helen round with a start. 'If you'll serve it on the patio, I'll be very grateful.'

  'Of course,' Mrs Gittens smiled, and with an apologetic grimace, Helen made her retreat. But in the corridor outside the kitchen, Heath's voice arrested her, and she turned back reluctantly to find him striding after her.

  'Wait,' he said severely, reaching her in a few paces. 'Come into the library. I want to have a word with you.'

  'Can't it wait?' Helen looked down pointedly at her swimsuit and bare feet, but Heath shook his head.

  'We may not have an opportunity later,' he essayed, going ahead of her and pushing open the leather-studded door. 'Go on. Don't look at me like that. The Marsdens will wonder what's going on, if I don't go back and join them soon.'

  She sighed, stepping across the thickly carpeted floor on slightly uncertain legs. She was selfconscious with Heath now, as she had never been selfconscious before, and her body reacted by thrusting hardened nipples against the thin cotton cloth. Sinking into one of the green leather armchairs, she tried to disguise the provocative evidence of her arousal, but Heath came round the chair to face her, and she knew from his hardening expression that he was not unaware of her body's betrayal. But he made no comment, merely adjusted his eyes to the level of hers, whether or not she could sustain that intent appraisal.

  'Why did you ask me on the phone whether I wished you to find a job?' he asked, propping his lean hips against the rim of the table behind him, his voice cool and expressionless. 'Have I ever given you the impression that I was unhappy with your financial situation?'

  'N—o—'

  Helen drew the word out, and before she could add anything more, Heath went on: 'Then has Angela insinuated that an occupation of some sort might help to solve your problems?'

  'No—o—'

  Once again Helen made a negative response, her eyes sliding away from his, and he ran an impatient hand under his collar, as if the heat of the day was not aiding his temper. 'So why suggest such a thing?' he demanded sharply. 'Aren't you happy here?'

  Helen looked at him then, her eyes mirroring her indignation. 'Do you have to ask that?'

  He shrugged. 'I'm just trying to make sense of a conversation we had just a
few hours ago,' he retorted flatly. 'There has to have been some reason for you to ask that question. I'm just trying to find out what that reason was.'

  Helen moved her shoulders now. 'I expect I was just making conversation,' she declared carelessly. 'Is that all? Can I go and dress now?'

  His mouth compressed. 'When did you get that—that thing you're wearing?'

  She bent her head. 'I don't remember. Last year—the year before—'

  'Burn it,' said Heath harshly. 'I don't want to see you wearing it again. It's not decent. Get Miss Patterson to add bathing suits to the list of items you require. I presume you have got something decent to wear this evening.'

  Helen got to her feet. 'I won't disgrace you, if that's what you mean.'

  'For God's sake!' He straightened away from the desk. 'What's the matter with you, Helen? For the last few days—ever since Miss Patterson came to Matlock, in fact—you've been acting completely out of character. Disobedience I can understand; temper tantrums I can understand; what I can't understand is this sudden urge you have to make me feel like a bastard!'

  Helen's eyes widened. 'Is that how I make you feel?'

  He drew in his lips. 'I want you to stop all this nonsense about jobs and worrying over our rela­tionship and start behaving like the young woman you are becoming. Marion's right—you are growing up. And with Angela's help, who knows, you may find yourself a husband before the year is out.'

  Helen caught her breath. 'Is that what you want?' she demanded accusingly. 'Is that why you've brought Angela Patterson here? To get me off your hands?'

  'Oh, for heaven's sake!' Heath raised his eyes heavenward. 'Stop taking everything so seriously. Finding a husband is not something I'm threatening you with. Good grief, most girls are looking for someone to marry from the minute they realise what the opposite sex is!'

  'Not me!'

  'What do you mean—not you?' Heath drew a deep breath. 'You're not old enough yet to know what you want.'