Green Lightning

by Anne Mather

  CHAPTER NINE

  Angela was infuriatingly reticent about what Heath had said the next morning.

  'I can't remember,' she said, coming down to breakfast when Helen had nearly finished, drinking her coffee slowly with an annoyingly faraway look in her eyes. 'Did you have a nice evening? Was it a good meal? I must admit your young man seemed very presentable.'

  'He's not my young man,' retorted Helen shortly, and Angela's narrow brows arched.

  'What else would you call him, then?' she countered. 'He's hardly a friend of the family. Heath has never even met him.'

  'Is that what he said?' Helen took a calming breath. 'Heath, I mean?'

  'Yes.' Angela reached for the coffee pot. 'What a pity you missed his call.'

  'Did he ask where I was?' Helen probed, and Angela inclined her head. 'Naturally he wanted to know who you were out with, so I told him.'

  Helen sighed. 'Did you explain the predicament I was in when I met Nigel? Did you tell him the motorbike had broken down?'

  'I think he thought you should have checked the petrol tank on the bike before leaving,' essayed Angela smoothly. 'He said it was irresponsible to ride round the country without taking reasonable precautions.'

  Helen hunched her shoulders, resting her elbows on the table and cupping her chin in her hands. 'I suppose you agreed with him,' she muttered, and Angela smiled.

  'Well, it was rather foolhardy, wasn't it?'

  'I forgot,' said Helen wearily. 'I just forgot.'

  Angela lifted her slim shoulders. 'Well, perhaps Heath will have forgotten about it by the time he gets home.'

  Helen wished she could be so certain, but she kept her thoughts to herself and asked instead: 'Did he say why he was going to be delayed? I thought he was coming home tomorrow.'

  'Oh, I'm not sure.' Angela frowned. 'Something to do with a contract not being signed, I believe. In any case, he'll be leaving on Friday, which I assume means he'll be back in this country on Saturday morning.'

  'So long?' Helen was overwhelmed by dejection, but Angela looked quite complacent.

  'It will give us a little longer to get used to one another,' she remarked. 'That's what Heath wants. It's what he said. Perhaps we ought to devote the time to your appearance. You're still wearing those scruffy jeans you were wearing when we met.'

  Helen shrugged. 'They're a different pair,' she declared staunchly. 'And I don't need your help. I can choose my own clothes.'

  'Oh, really?' Angela's smile was frosty. 'And did you tell Mrs Marsden what Heath thought of her efforts?'

  Helen didn't answer her, resting her head on one hand and drawing figure eights on the tablecloth with her nail, until Angela grew impatient. 'Perhaps your uncle's right,' she exclaimed spitefully. 'Maybe a school far away from Matlock Edge is the only answer.'

  Helen's head jerked upward. 'Did Heath say that?'

  'It's been on the cards all along, hasn't it?' retorted Angela obliquely. 'When your uncle asked me to come here, he expected you to make an effort to change. But you haven't, have you? And Friday's little escapade has made things worse.'

  Helen caught her breath. 'All right, I won't see Nigel again.'

  'Oh, no—' Angela's previously malicious expres­sion gave way to unexpected benevolence, 'that's not what I meant at all.'

  'You said Friday's little escapade,' Helen reminded her suspiciously, but Angela only lifted a placating hand.

  'I meant going out without petrol, of course,' she explained swiftly. 'Meeting Nigel Fox may have been the best thing you could do.' She paused. 'After all, if Heath meets Nigel and likes him, he can't have any objections to your friendship. It's exactly what he expects of you.'

  'What do you mean?' Helen was still suspicious, and Angela quickly explained.

  'He can hardly accuse you of acting like a child, if you behave like an adult. Having a steady boy-friend is the first step towards marriage, and—'

  'I'm not getting married!' Helen interrupted her fiercely, but Angela only continued with what she was saying as if she hadn't spoken.

  '—although you may have dozens of boy-friends before you find the one you want to spend the rest of your life with, you'll be proving you're no longer a social liability.'

  Helen looked doubtful. 'Aren't you worried that Heath might make you redundant?' she asked, with a trace of defensive malice, but Angela shook her head.

  'Your uncle brought me here to help you, it's true, but also to act as chaperone, and I don't think he'll change his mind just because you've found yourself a boy-friend.'

  Helen absorbed this in silence. So that was Angela's true function, was it? A chaperone. Giving her ad­vice was only a sideline. Her real value was to silence those local gossips, whose greatest pleasure was to blacken Heath's character. She sighed. Since when had Heath cared what anyone said? He had often maintained that evil, like beauty, was in the eye of the beholder.

  She linked her fingers tightly together. But what if Angela had got it wrong? What if their roles were reversed? What if she was actually the chaperone without even knowing it? What did it mean? What might it mean? That the woman Heath intended to marry should have no scandal attached to her name?

  For the rest of the day Helen suffered her thoughts in silence, and on Monday morning she put her differences with Miles aside and went round to the garage. She needed to get out of the house. She needed to talk to somebody. And for all his amorous advances, Miles was still one of the best friends she'd got.

  He was bent over the engine of the lawnmower when Helen strolled casually into the yard, and he gave her only a cursory glance before continuing with what he was doing.

  'Hi,' she said offhandedly, coming to stand beside him. 'What are you doing?'

  'What does it look like I'm doing?' retorted Miles shortly. 'What do you want, Miss Helen? It's some time since you came slumming round here.'

  'Oh, Miles!' Helen tucked her thumbs into the belt to her jeans. 'Don't be like this. I'm sorry if I offended you, but really, I still want us to be friends.'

  He looked up at her from his crouched position. 'What if I don't want to be friends with you?' he countered brusquely. 'I hear you've found yourself another sucker. Does he know he's wasting his time, too?'

  She flushed. 'I don't know what you mean.'

  'Sure you do.' Miles straightened, wiping the spanner he had been using against the leg of his overalls. 'It took me some time to figure it out, but I think I've got the picture now. No wonder Heath was so mad when he came upon us together! I didn't know I was trespassing on his property!'

  'Miles!' Helen stared at him aghast, and the young man shrugged indifferently.

  'It's true, isn't it? You are in love with your uncle, aren't you?'

  'He's not my uncle, you know that,' exclaimed Helen tremulously, pushing her hands into her back hip pockets.

  'So it is true,' said Miles harshly. 'Oh, Helen, he's far too old for you!'

  'I don't know what you're talking about.' Helen turned abruptly away, feeling suddenly empty inside. She had thought she could still talk to Miles. But apparently he, like everyone else, had his own axe to grind.

  'Yes, you do.' He came behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders and turning her resistingly to face him. 'I just wouldn't have expected it of Heath, I wouldn't. For heaven's sake, I thought he cared about you!'

  'He does.' Helen swallowed convulsively. 'And—and you're wrong.'

  'Wrong about what?' Miles looked disbelievingly.

  'Heath's not interested in me. At least, only as an uncle, as you say. If you thought you read something into his attitude, you were wrong. On the contrary, he would have sent me away from Matlock, if I hadn't begged and pleaded with him to let me stay.'

  'You mean the finishing school,' said Miles scornfully. 'You don't really think that was a possibility, do you?'

  'Yes, I do. And it still is.' Helen wrenched herself out of his grasp and faced him indignantly. 'Oh, Miles, you're so blind, aren't you? It's not me Heath is in
terested in, it's Angela Patterson!'

  Miles snorted. 'The blonde bombshell!'

  'Yes, the blonde bombshell!' declared Helen tautly. 'Now do you believe me?'

  Miles shrugged. 'Heath has had dozens of women like her.'

  She winced at his frankness, but she was not diverted. 'Not like this one,' she averred unsteadily. 'You know as well as I do that since I got old enough to understand Heath hasn't brought any women to stay at Matlock. Until now.'

  Miles shook his head. 'I thought she was here to give you lessons in deportment.'

  'So did I, at first. But honestly, is it feasible?' She sighed. 'She told me herself this morning that Heath had invited her here for an indefinite period. Does that sound like lessons in deportment?'

  Miles hesitated. 'You really believe this?'

  'Yes.'

  He frowned. 'And you? What about you? I may have been wrong about Heath, but I'm damn sure I'm not wrong about you.'

  'How?' Helen took a step backward.

  'You are in love with him,' he said flatly. 'I don't know why I didn't think of it before. I guess I didn't want to believe it.'

  'Oh, Miles …' Helen bent her head. 'I came here because I thought you were a friend.'

  'I am a friend,' said Miles heavily. 'I'd like to say I wasn't, but we've known one another too long.' He looked at her steadily. 'That's why I hoped you'd be honest with me.'

  'All right.' The words broke from her desperately. 'All right, I am in love with Heath. I guess I always have been. At least, since I was old enough to understand.'

  Miles shook his head. 'Are you sure it's not just hero-worship? He has been a powerful influence in your life, hasn't he? Are you sure you're not fantasising about' someone who doesn't really exist, except in your imagination?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'I mean Heath's a man like other men, Helen. He has needs, appetites; he uses women, as all men use women, to satisfy their own sexual desires.'

  'I know that.' Helen bent her head. 'You think I don't know what it's all about.'

  'Do you?'

  'Yes.'

  He looked disbelieving. 'When I kissed you with something approaching passion you froze up!'

  'That was different.' Helen lifted her shoulders. 'It's not like that with Heath.'

  'How do you know?' he demanded forcefully. 'You'd probably freeze up just the same with him.'

  'I wouldn't. I didn't.'

  As soon as the words were out, she knew she had made a mistake, and Miles was not about to let her get away with it. 'What do you mean—you didn't? he exclaimed, stepping nearer to her. 'Helen, has he touched you? Because if he has—I'll—I'll—'

  'You'll what?' Helen's momentary dismay dispersed beneath a wave of sudden depression. 'And yes, yes, he has kissed me.' She scuffed her toe against the paving. 'But only because I made him do it.'

  'You made him?' Miles stared at her. 'How?'

  'Does it matter?' She was resigned. 'That's why I know he doesn't care about me. If he did, he would have—well, you know what I mean.'

  He was appalled. 'Oh, Helen!'

  'I know.' She continued to push her toe against the stone slab, avoiding his shocked gaze. 'I'm a bitch. He said so.'

  'So what are you going to do?'

  'Do?' She gave up her attempt to dislodge the slab, and walked disconsolately across the yard. 'I'm not going to do anything. What can I do, short of leaving here?'

  'Is that why you're dating Nigel Fox?' asked Miles grimly. 'Are you hoping that relationship may eventually lead to your departure?'

  Helen didn't jump on him as she might have done a couple of days ago. 'Who knows?' she declared bitterly. 'If Heath is serious about Angela, I couldn't stay here, that's for sure. She and I barely tolerate one another as it is.'

  Miles expelled his breath impatiently. 'You could always marry me,' he said quietly. 'Or maybe I'm not good enough for you.'

  'Oh, Miles!' Helen tugged his sleeve impulsively. 'Of course you're good enough for me. You're too good for me, actually.' She grimaced. 'But you know it wouldn't work. I don't love you.'

  'We could work at it.'

  'Is that what you want?'

  'No.' Miles was honest. 'What I really want is for you to love me, but if that can't be, I'm prepared to settle for whatever is left.'

  Helen touched his cheek with the back of her hand, and he caught her hand in his and raised it to his lips. 'Just remember,' he said huskily, 'I saw you before Nigel Fox!'

  Nigel phoned Helen on Monday as he had promised.

  At first, after her conversation with Miles, she had been tempted to refuse to see him again, but the remembrance of what Angela had said made her wary. There was always the chance that she was wrong, that Heath had not brought Angela here because he was seriously attracted to her, and if that were so, the last thing Helen wanted to do was give him any cause to reconsider the school in Geneva.

  They went to the cinema in Bradford, as Nigel had suggested, and afterwards they had a supper of chicken chow mein at a Chinese restaurant. 'You know, I can never remember the difference between chow mein and chop suey,' Nigel confessed, forking bean sprouts into his mouth. 'I just know they have crispy noodles, and that's the thing I like best!'

  'I love Chinese food,' said Helen, rescuing a grain of rice from the corner of her lip. 'But then, you see, I love English food, too.' She grimaced. 'Angela doesn't approve at all.'

  'I imagine her appetite is rather fragile,' remarked Nigel perceptively. 'I shouldn't like you to be as thin as that. It isn't really healthy.'

  Helen grimaced. 'You're very gallant.'

  'No, I mean it.' He looked at her warmly. 'You're exactly right the way you are.'

  'You're very good for my ego.' Helen was rueful, but Nigel's gaze didn't flatter.

  'You're just very good for me,' he declared, leaning across the table to squeeze her hand. 'Now, eat up. I rather fancy some pineapple fritters, don't you?'

  He delivered her back to Matlock Edge soon after ten-thirty, and once again he suggested another date. 'How about coming to a party with me on Friday evening?' he invited. 'I know you said your uncle's coming back on Friday, but I promise I won't keep you out too late.'

  Helen hesitated. 'Heath's not coming back until Saturday, actually,' she admitted slowly. 'Where is the party being held? I'd have to let Angela know where I was.'

  'It's at the flat of a friend of mine in Harrogate,' Nigel explained, causing Helen to look doubtful. 'I know it's not exactly on the doorstep, but we'd leave for home in plenty of time.'

  'Are you sure?' She was uncertain. 'It's about twenty miles to Harrogate!'

  'Nineteen, actually,' said Nigel pedantically. 'But don't let that worry you. The old M.G. is quite reliable.'

  Helen shook her head. 'I don't know …'

  'Why not?'

  'I don't think Heath would approve.'

  'But your uncle won't be here, as you've just pointed out,' replied Nigel reasonably. 'Oh, come on, Helen! You're not a baby. You've got to strike out on your own sometime.'

  'Oh, very well.' Helen gave in reluctantly, not at all sure she wouldn't live to regret it. 'But I must be back here by eleven o'clock at the latest. Do you agree?'

  Nigel sighed. 'If you insist.' He looked at her wryly. 'Now, do I deserve some gratitude?'

  Helen allowed him to kiss her, participating to the extent of putting her arms around his neck, but when his mouth sought the scented hollow of her throat, she drew back. 'I'm not—I don't—that is, I think I'd better go, Nigel,' she averred with determined firm­ness, and he traced the contours of her mouth with his finger before obediently letting her escape him.

  'You're very sweet,' he said softly. 'And very sexy. I just can't believe my luck.'

  'What do you mean?' Helen asked curiously, and he leant past her to the push open the door.

  'I can't believe I'm the first guy to think so,' he said, though she had the suspicion that was not what he had been thinking at all. 'No wonder that unc
le of yours keeps you to himself! So would I.'

  Helen got out abruptly. She didn't want to be reminded of Heath just then. She didn't want to remember why she had accepted Nigel's invitation, or be forced to imagine the number of times Heath must have said something similar to a girl. She had purposely avoided ever picturing Heath with other women. Until now, it had been taboo. But Nigel's suggestive words had triggered her imagination, and suddenly she found herself facing the fact that Heath went to bed with those other females.

  'Goodnight,' she said tautly, slamming the door and striding swiftly towards the house, almost as if she believed she could outstrip her thoughts, which she couldn't.

  'Goodnight,' Nigel called after her, a trace of speculation in his tone, and Helen guessed he was probably wondering what he had said to upset her.

  On Friday evening, she was ready and waiting when Nigel arrived. They were leaving earlier than usual, because of the distance to Harrogate, and Mrs Gittens viewed Helen's appearance critically when she came down the stairs.

  'Is that new?' she asked, surveying the lacy camisole dress Helen had bought with Marion nearly two weeks ago.

  'It is. Do you like it?' Helen smoothed the honey-coloured cotton over her hips with unknowingly sensuous hands. 'It's a warm evening. I shouldn't need a coat.'

  'I should take a scarf with you, if you're going to ride in that sports car of Mr Fox's,' pronounced the housekeeper dourly. 'And you watch what you're doing. I'm not at all sure Mr Heathcliffe would let you go.'

  'Oh, leave her alone, Mrs Gittens.' Angela's drawling voice interrupted them. 'Whatever do you think is going to happen to her? Mr Fox seems a respectable young man.'

  'Mr Heathcliffe wasn't too pleased to hear she was out the other evening,' asserted the housekeeper staunchly, put out at having her authority thwarted, and Helen turned to her anxiously.

  'What did he say, Mrs Gittens?' she demanded. 'I didn't know you'd told him where I was.'

  'Well, of course she told him. I told him, too,' inserted Angela impatiently. 'Naturally he was disap­pointed that you weren't here to speak to him, but I don't recall any animosity because you had a date.'