by Anne Mather
'He wasn't pleased,' insisted Mrs Gittens. 'I've known him a lot longer than you have, Miss Patterson, if you don't mind me saying so, and I know when Mr Heathcliffe's happy about something and when he's not.'
'Oh, nonsense!' Angela made a sound of derision. 'Helen, your uncle wants you to get out and mix with people of your own age. Mrs Gittens is probably colouring her recollection of what Heath said with her own opinion. To her, you're still a little girl, but we both know you're not, don't we?'
Helen was doubtful, influenced more by Mrs Gittens' red face than by Angela's cool-eyed persuasion, but it was already too late. As she was standing there looking from one to the other of them, Nigel rang the bell, and the housekeeper went to answer the door with hollow-cheeked disapproval.
The flat where the party was being held was in a modern block near to the new conference centre. At least fifty young people were crowded into a living area not much more than twenty feet square, and in consequence they had overflowed into the hall and the bedrooms. Helen and Nigel were greeted by a thin young man in glasses, who took one look at Helen before expelling his breath in a low whistle.
'Hey, where have you been hiding all my life?' he exclaimed, eyeing her admiringly, and Nigel explained reluctantly that this was their host.
'Helen, meet Vic Boulton,' he said tolerantly. 'Vic, this is Helen Mortimer. You remember, I told you I was bringing her.'
'Oh, sure, I remember.' Vic tucked his arm possessively through hers. 'Come on, Helen, let me introduce you around. Nigel, get lost, will you?'
There followed one of the most bewildering interludes in Helen's life. She was introduced to so many people that eventually the names didn't mean a thing, and she looked around rather desperately for Nigel, wishing he would come and rescue her. With a glass of some unidentifiable liquid in one hand and an equally bizarre sandwich in the other, she felt totally isolated, and Vic's sudden departure to meet another guest left her stranded at the other side of the room.
'You can never be sure Vic's not serving grass in his sandwiches,' remarked a girl beside her, dressed all in black, with curious orange streaks in her dark hair. 'Anything to get the party rolling, that's his maxim. You want to beware of the joints they'll be passing round later.'
'Grass?' Helen looked at her sandwich suspiciously. 'He wouldn't put grass in sandwiches, would he?'
'Who knows?' The girl rolled her eyes expressively. 'I've heard he had acid at a party he gave in Kingston. Our Victor's not a nice man. Not a nice man at all.'
Helen swallowed convulsively. 'When—when you say grass, you mean—marijuana, don't you?'
The dark girl arched her brows. 'Who wants to know? Do you belong to the drugs squad, or something?'
'Of course not.' But Helen had her answer. She now knew what the joints were that the girl had mentioned earlier.
'I guess you've never been to one of Vic's parties before,' she was saying now. 'I thought you looked kind of—innocent. Who brought you?'
'Er—Nigel. Nigel Fox,' said Helen, looking about her desperately. 'I—could you tell me where the bathroom is? I'd like to use the loo.'
In the event, she dropped all her drink and the remains of her sandwich into the toilet, before examining her flushed cheeks in the mirror above the basin. Dear lord, she thought, what had she got herself into now? And how the devil was she going to get away when Nigel apparently had known what to expect?
He was waiting for her when she emerged into the corridor, and her eyes avoided his as she adjusted the strap of her dress. She had been considering leaving without his knowledge, but now that he was facing her, she knew she had to tell the truth.
'I'd like to go home,' she said, without preamble, causing him to do a double-take. 'You didn't tell me your friends used drugs. I'm sorry, but I don't want to stay.'
'What did Vic say?' exclaimed Nigel impatiently. 'Helen, you mustn't believe all his lies.'
'It wasn't Vic. It was someone else, actually,' replied Helen, sighing. 'I'm sorry, Nigel. I don't want to spoil your evening.'
'But you are spoiling it, don't you see?' He spread his hands. 'Look, no one's going to insist you smoke, if you don't want to. Just give it a bit longer, will you? The night's still young.'
Helen shook her head. 'I want to go, Nigel. I want to go now.' She was imagining what Heath would say if he ever found out, and the possibility that the party might be raided was not as outrageous as it seemed.
'Oh, Helen—'
Nigel was raking his fingers through his brown hair when the girl Helen had spoken to earlier appeared beside them. In black leather pants and jacket, and high-heeled boots complete with spurs, she was a total contrast to Nigel's clean-cut appearance, but her eyes were sympathetic when they rested on Helen.
'You leaving?' she asked, shifting her gaze to Nigel. 'I don't think your lady likes the company.'
'Was it you she's been talking to?' Nigel demanded angrily. 'Why don't you keep your mouth shut, Alanna? Helen was enjoying herself until you interfered.'
'Oh, I don't think she was.' The girl called Alanna was not put out. 'I should take her home if I were you, Nigel. She might tell your daddy, and then what would you do?'
'Oh, shut up!' Nigel snapped aggressively, and Helen was surprised at this totally new side to his character. 'If she wants to go home, then she can do so. But I'm not leaving. It's barely nine o'clock.'
Helen caught her breath. 'All right, I will,' she declared tensely, and Nigel turned scornful eyes in her direction.
'And how are you going to get home?'
'There are buses. And taxis,' replied Helen coldly. 'Don't worry about me, Nigel. I'm not entirely helpless.'
He sighed, his expression mirroring his frustration. 'Aw, hey, Helen, don't go,' he exclaimed weakly. 'I'll take you home later, like I promised. Come on, come back to the party. We'll have some fun—'
'Where do you live?' asked Alanna, as she was shaking her head, and Helen looked at her in surprise.
'Near Starforth,' she answered. 'A house called Matlock Edge, in the Pendle Valley.'
'I know it,' said Alanna, nodding. 'Okay, I'll take you home, if you like—'
'Now, wait a minute,' began Nigel indignantly. 'Helen came with me—'
'And you don't want to leave,' put in Alanna reasonably. 'Come on, Helen. You don't belong here. Nigel shouldn't have brought you, and I think he knows that now.'
'Well—'
Helen was undecided and Nigel caught her arm. 'Take no notice of her,' he ordered, giving Alanna a killing glance. 'She's only trying to ruin my evening. Come on, give a little, can't you? You'd think I was trying to get you into bed!'
'And aren't you?' enquired Alanna coolly. 'What do you want to do, Helen? Stay or go? Make up your mind.'
'I want to go,' decided Helen firmly, releasing herself from Nigel's possessive grasp. 'Are you coming, Nigel? Or do I have to make other arrangements?'
'Get lost!' said Nigel harshly, using an ugly epithet, and Helen's cheeks flamed as she pulled open the door and ran down the steps. Thank goodness she had found out in time, she thought weakly. Without Alanna's intervention, she might well have found herself without the will to resist any suggestion he made.
'Hey—wait!'
The other girl's voice arrested her, and she turned reluctantly as Alanna followed her down the steps of the apartment building. She wasn't at all sure she could trust her either, and she half wished she had insisted on taking a taxi.
'Do you want a lift?' Alanna joined her on the first landing, her plucked eyebrows arching interrogatively. 'Don't worry, I promise I'm quite reliable. Just so long as you don't object to riding on the pillion.'
Helen's eyes widened. 'You've got a motorbike?'
'Dressed like this, did you think I'd drive a car?' Alanna gave her a wry smile. 'Look, I know you're probably not used to motorbikes, but you'd be quite safe, believe me.'
'Not used—' Helen broke off to shake her head. 'Alanna, I have a motorbike of my own. It's not
a big machine, only a little one, actually. But Miles, that's my uncle's mechanic, he's sharpened it up for me, and it can really go.'
'You don't say!' Alanna was clearly delighted. 'Come on then, I'll show you my piece of metal. Here was I thinking you were fragile and feminine, and you're really just another rocker, like me!'
Alanna's motorbike was a sleek Suzuki, almost a thousand horse-power, with a capacity well beyond the limit of current speed limits. She was evidently very proud of it, and Helen could understand why, her own modest model fading into insignificance beside the more powerful machine.
'We'll borrow one of these,' said Alanna, filching a helmet for Helen to wear from the motorbike parked beside her own. 'Right. Are we ready? Okay, let's go!'
It was an exhilarating, if rather chilly, ride home. Although the night was warm, they were moving through the air at such a pace that Helen's arms were soon frozen, and they remained clamped to Alanna's leather jacket as much by the fact that she could scarcely move them as by any fear of falling off.
The motorbike roared through the lodge gates soon after half-past nine, and Helen could imagine old Jenkins rushing to his window to see if they were being invaded by a crowd of punk rockers. It sped up through the park like a bat out of hell, and when they reached the drive gates, Helen hardly had the strength to extricate herself and climb down to open it.
'You okay?' asked Alanna, as Helen climbed back on again, and the younger girl nodded.
'Just a bit cold,' she admitted, hugging her shivering body, and Alanna opened the throttle to cover the last few yards.
'Are you sure this is where you live?' she asked, as Helen climbed down again at the front door, and her companion smiled.
'Yes. It's nice, isn't it? Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?'
The shaft of light that suddenly illuminated them as they stood there on the drive came from the abrupt opening of the front door. The stream of radiance was only interrupted by the figure of the man who stood in the doorway, and Helen's lips parted as she identified that lean frame.
'Heath!' she exclaimed disbelievingly. 'Oh, Heath, I thought you weren't coming back until tomorrow!' She clasped her hands together uncertainly as she looked from his shadowy outline to that of Alanna. 'How—how fortunate that I've got back early.'
Heath came down the steps with Mrs Gittens hovering at his back, and Alanna raised mocking brows in Helen's direction. 'No wonder you wanted to get back,' she remarked for Helen's ears only, as Heath stepped out of the shadows. 'With that at home, who'd want to waste time with Nigel Fox?'
Helen gave a nervous smile, but she wasn't really listening. Now that she could see Heath's face, she was able to see his expression, and it did not augur well; it did not augur well at all.
'I thought you said she went out in a sports car,' Heath enquired of Mrs Gittens, and Helen, on the point of rushing towards him and throwing herself into his arms by way of a greeting, froze to the spot.
'She did, Mr Heathcliffe. I saw her myself,' Mrs Gittens assured him worriedly, and Helen's spirits sank as Heath's dark gaze was turned on her.
'I can explain—' she began helplessly, and Alanna re-started the engine of the Suzuki.
'Time for me to go, sweetie,' she said, taking the spare helmet from Helen's unresisting fingers. 'I'll have that tea some other time,' she added. 'I can see that right now I'm not exactly welcome.'
'No, wait—'
Helen would have stepped in front of her had Heath not already done so, and Alanna's tyres screamed in the gravel as she endeavoured to control the bike.
'I want to have a word with you,' Heath grated, his dark features grim and unyielding, and Alanna grimaced behind her mask as she made a swift evasion.
' 'Bye, Helen,' she called, as the motorbike accelerated swiftly down the drive, and Helen was glad she had left the gate open as the bike's tail-lights swiftly disappeared. It had been kind of Alanna to bring her home, and Heath's behaviour had been far from reasonable. He might at least have listened to their explanation before behaving like some avenging angel, and she turned to him rather mutinously, aware that the homecoming she had been looking forward to had been abruptly spoiled. Things hadn't changed, she thought miserably. He was just as overbearing now as he had been before he went away, and her hopes that his absence might have made him think more fondly of her were evidently doomed from the outset.
'Oh, Helen!' It was Mrs Gittens who noticed how the girl was shivering, and putting a hand out to touch her arm, she gave a scandalised exclamation. 'She's frozen!' she declared, looking appealingly at her employer, and Heath stepped back abruptly and gestured towards the house.
'You'd better go inside,' he said, without expression. 'I'll go and shut the gate. I assume it was left open, or your friend would have killed himself!'
Helen opened her mouth to contradict him, then closed it again. Why should she defend herself to him? she thought bitterly. He was always prepared to believe the worst of her, so let him go on doing so. Mrs Gittens was right. She was cold, and empty, and more defeated now than she had ever felt before.
CHAPTER TEN
To her relief, Angela was not about as Helen made her way upstairs to her room. Instead she was able to reach the security of her apartments undeterred, with only Mrs Gittens' clucking presence for company.
'Riding home on a motorcycle without a coat!' she declared disapprovingly, going straight into Helen's bathroom and turning on the taps. 'It'll be a wonder if you haven't caught pneumonia. Whatever happened to the car? Don't tell me you had an accident!'
'Oh, no, nothing like that.' Helen sighed wearily, too depressed to prevaricate. 'That wasn't Nigel who brought me home. He—he wanted to stay on at the party.'
'I see.' Mrs Gittens added liquid salts to the water, their aromatic perfume scenting the steamy air. 'I must admit I was surprised to see you back so early. What went wrong? Did you have a fall-out or something?'
'Or something,' agreed Helen carelessly, perching on the rim of the bath. 'Is this absolutely necessary, Mrs Gittens? Surely a hot drink would have served the purpose.'
'A summer cold is the worst kind,' stated the housekeeper firmly. 'You do as I say and get into this hot water. I don't want an invalid on my hands for the next week.'
'Oh—all right.' Obediently Helen stood up and reached for the laces of the camisole. 'But don't let Heath come up here, please. Tell him I'll speak to him in the morning.'
'Since when have I been able to tell your uncle what to do?' asked Mrs Gittens drily, gathering the girl's hair in her hands and securing it on top of her head with some hairpins, as she had used to do when she was a little girl. 'Well, I'll do my best,' she added, as Helen stepped out of her dress, and gathered the rest of her clothes together before leaving her to soak.
The bath was wonderfully warming, and by the time Helen emerged from the water, she felt infinitely better. Drying herself with one of the fluffy pink towels, she felt enormously grateful to Alanna for bringing her home, and she wished she had thought to ask her name so that she could thank her again.
Mrs Gittens appeared with a mug of hot chocolate as Helen was tying the cord of her silk wrapper about her, and she viewed the girl's appearance with evidently more approval. 'At least you've lost that pinched look you had when you came home,' she remarked, setting the mug down on the bedside table. 'Now, you get into bed. You can have an early night.'
Helen sighed. 'In a minute, Mrs Gittens. What did Heath say? Is he very angry? What time did he get back?'
The housekeeper hesitated. 'I suppose he got back about two hours ago,' she declared, answering her last question first. 'His flight from Uruguay was delayed by several hours, otherwise he'd have been home this afternoon.
'But I thought Angela said he wouldn't be back until tomorrow.'
'I believe that was his original intention,' said Mrs Gittens, frowning. 'But apparently his business was finished and he wanted to get back.' She shrugged. 'It couldn't be helped.'
H
elen bent her head. 'He is angry, isn't he?'
'You don't need me to tell you that,' retorted Mrs Gittens flatly. 'For heaven's sake, if you'd come home with Mr Fox it would have been bad enough, but on the back of some strange man's motorbike—'
'It wasn't—he wasn't—I mean, it was a girl, not a man,' said Helen reluctantly.
'The motorcyclist?' Mrs Gittens was incredulous. 'You mean that leather-clad individual was female?'
'Yes.' Helen looked at her defensively. 'It was kind of her to bring me.'
The housekeeper shook her head. 'I think you've got some explaining to do, young lady. To begin with, why didn't Mr Fox bring you home, if that was what you wanted?'
Helen shrugged. 'Does it matter? I'm home now. How or why isn't important.'
'I don't think your uncle would agree with you,' remarked the housekeeper severely, and Helen looked at her anxiously.
'But he's not going to cause a fuss tonight, is he?' she asked desperately. 'You did ask him to wait until tomorrow morning, didn't you?'
'Well, I gave him the message,' agreed Mrs Gittens briefly. 'But whether he chooses to take notice of it or not is not really my business.'
After Mrs Gittens had gone, Helen sat down on the side of the bed and picked up the mug of chocolate. But the thick sweet liquid was not appealing now that her temperature was back to normal, and she put the beaker down again and stared unhappily into space.
Perhaps it would have been better if she had allowed Heath to come and see her this evening after all, she reflected miserably. As it was, she had the prospect of a restless night ahead of her, and the uneasy conviction that leaving their encounter until the morning could only worsen an already critical situation. She ought to have explained the circumstances of her being brought home on a motorbike to him, she realised belatedly, and explained that Alanna was not another doubtful entanglement. Allowing him to go on thinking that the other girl had been a boy had been just another piece of foolishness, and she could imagine Heath's irritation over her apparent lack of responsibility.
She sighed, getting up from the bed to walk disconsolately over to the window. Drawing the curtain aside, she looked out on to the moonlit slopes of Jacob's Hollow, and reflected rather bitterly that without Angela Patterson's company as a deterrent, nothing would have kept Heath from demanding an explanation tonight. In addition, the other girl's presence prevented Helen from going downstairs and precipitating their confrontation, and she allowed the curtain to fall into place again with unconcealed frustration.
