Green Lightning Part 9

'Yes, you do.' Angela was complacent. 'Heath gave you a piece of his mind last night, didn't he? Don't bother to deny it. I can see from your expression that he did. And not before time, in my opinion. Letting him think I'd devised that ghastly outfit!'

Helen told herself she would not let Angela rile her, but it was difficult to remain indifferent when the other girl was trying so hard to annoy her.

'Heath approved of that-ghastly outfit, as you call it,' she declared evenly.

'He should. The shirt was his.'

Angela's lips thinned. 'He was being polite, that's all. Heath is always polite, or hadn't you noticed?'

Helen pushed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. 'Since when do you call him Heath?' she demanded, and then wished she hadn't when Angela a.s.sumed a smug smile.

'Since last night,' she replied smoothly. 'He said as everyone else called him Heath, why shouldn't I?' She paused, her eyes surveying Helen in a way she didn't like, and then continued: 'By the way, I wouldn't wear a top like that without a bra, if I were you. Those cords at the front are rather- revealing, and to be honest, your b.r.e.a.s.t.s are too big to do without any support.' She glanced down at her own slim figure with some satisfaction before adding? 'I don't need a bra. My b.r.e.a.s.t.s are small and high. Yours ...'

She shook her head. 'Just a suggestion, of course.'

Helen's face blazed with colour now, and she knew an almost irresistible urge to scratch Angela's eyes out, but she controlled it. Turning away, she cast a surrept.i.tious glance at the low neckline of the camisole, but she couldn't see anything to object to. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were full, it was true, but they were not pendulous as Angela had implied, and her wrist brushed against them rea.s.suringly, as if to convince herself that they were still as firm as when she got dressed. Angela was just being b.i.t.c.hy, that's all, she told herself indignantly, but she couldn't help wishing she was as slim as her adversary.

As Marion had predicted, Heath and Greg arrived back soon after half-past two. The three women had eaten their lunch earlier, but Mrs Gittens had left a cold buffet laid in the dining room for the men. Marion joined them while they ate, and Helen could hear the sound of their conversation, if not the actual words. Curled up in a chair in the library, she half hoped she could get away without being seen until dinner, but the Marsdens' departure necessitated her appearance.

'Be good, love,' Marion told her affectionately, giving Helen a warm kiss.

'Don't forget, if you get fed up with life at Matlock, you can always come and stay with us in London.'

'Thanks, Marion.' Aware of Heath's eyes upon them, Helen returned her embrace and then backed off a little nervously as Greg came to say farewell.

'Just don't grow up too quickly,' he declared, respecting her reticence and confining himself to a kiss on her cheek. 'What would he do if you weren't around?' he demanded, flicking his thumb in Heath's direction.

It was only a rhetorical question, but it was not one Helen wanted to consider just then. Avoiding Heath's eyes, she stepped out on to the gravel courtyard to wave goodbye, and as she did so, she wished rather foolishly that she was going with them, if only to get away from Heath until she had had time to think.

To her relief, Heath seemed as eager as she was to avoid a confrontation after the Marsdens had departed. Leaving the two girls to their own devices, he disappeared into his study, and deciding she was not obliged to entertain Angela today, Helen escaped to her own room.

Switching on the stereo unit Heath had had installed for her personal enjoyment, she flicked carelessly through her records, choosing one of the new wave of groups, whose music was more in keeping with her mood. She still felt raw and vulnerable, and it had hurt to realise Heath had no intention of apologising. No doubt, so far as he was concerned, it had been just another of their flare-ups, but for Helen it had been much more than that.

Once and for all, he had exhibited his dislike of any emotional demonstration on her behalf, and the nebulous dreams she had had concerning their relationship had been proved to be just so much hot air. He didn't see her as a woman, certainly not as a woman he could become attracted to, and she was wasting her time imagining that he would ever change.

Locked into her mood of remorse, Helen prepared for dinner that evening with an air of indifference. Ignoring the pretty things she and Marion had bought on Sat.u.r.day, she chose instead one of the dresses Angela had chosen, allowing its clinging lines to emphasise the rounded curves of her figure.

Heath and Angela were in the library when she went downstairs, and she hesitated a moment before interrupting their conversation. But then, steeling herself to face whatever comment Heath might care to make, she stepped determinedly into the room, and had the satisfaction of witnessing his surprise.

'Can I get you a drink?' he asked, after a moment, and she nodded.

'A sherry, thank you,' she acknowledged, and ignoring Angela's speculative glance, she seated herself on the leather sofa below the windows.

Observing the dress Angela was wearing, Helen couldn't help but compare her spare slenderness with her own appearance. As Marion had a.s.sured her, the dark blue sheath would have suited Angela so much better, and she hoped rather grimly that Heath liked what he had created.

'Have you known the Marsdens long?' enquired Angela, during dinner. The bulk of the conversation had been left to her-Heath seemingly absorbed in his own thoughts and Helen broodingly morose-and her host took some time before making his response.

'About twenty years, I guess,' he said at last, as if he had expected Helen to answer her. 'We used to go to the same school. When my father died, he came to work for me.'

'In computers?' Angela tried to sustain his interest, and Heath frowned.

'Not initially, no. Greg's good with figures, and he became my financial adviser.'

'Oh, I see.' Angela paused. 'His wife seems older than he is.'

Helen's head jerked up then, but realising it was a deliberate ploy to bring her into the conversation, she quickly lowered it again. It was again left to Heath to reply, and he lifted his shoulders carelessly as he gave his opinion.

'I don't think so,' he declared slowly. 'I was best man at their wedding, and as I recall it, Marion's about the same age.'

Angela crumbled her roll delicately. 'I suppose it's difficult for me to judge.

She's so much older.'

Helen took long steady breaths. She would not be brought into this, she told herself fiercely, but Angela's ingenious comments were designed to frustrate her.

'They're a nice couple,' said Heath at last, either unaware of Angela's b.i.t.c.hiness or dismissing it. ;Marion thinks a lot of Helen. She has a son and a daughter almost the same age.'

'Really?'

Helen thought Angela made it sound as if she had imagined Marion's children would be years older. But just then she was more concerned with the inflection in Heath's voice, and she chanced a look at him to see if she could read anything from his expression. But his face was averted his eyes studying the wine in his gla.s.s, and without their revealing message she could make no confident a.s.sessment.

'I have to go away tomorrow,' he said suddenly, startling both women by the unexpectedness of his announcement.

'Away?' All of a sudden Helen was unable to remain silent. 'Away where?

London?'

'No. Montevideo,' replied Heath flatly, meeting her gaze now without revealing any of his thoughts, and she gulped.

'Montevideo!' echoed Angela, almost as hastily. 'But that's in South America!'

Helen paused only long enough to give Angela an irritated glance before exclaiming accusingly: 'You've not mentioned this before.'

'I didn't know before,' retorted Heath, with annoying coolness. 'You may remember, I got a phone call from South America last evening.'

'And you knew then!'

'No.' He spoke distantly. 'I received another call this evening. I'll be away about a week. I'm sure you'll be well looked after in my absence.'

Helen looked down at her plate. It was over a year since Heath had last visited South America, and not long ago he had commented that he was unlikely to be called upon to undertake such a journey again. He had men who worked for him, managers and directors, who could be relied upon to act in his best interests, men to whom a trip to South America provided a welcome break in their busy lives. Yet now Heath was proposing to make this trip himself, and Helen couldn't help thinking that she was to blame for his sudden decision. Like her, he wanted to get away; like her, he felt he needed time to think. What worried her most was the possibility that he might decide he had had enough, and in spite of her humiliation, Helen knew she would rather live with Heath as his niece than not live with him at all.

The telephone rang again as they were having coffee in the sitting room, but this time the call was for Angela. Left alone with Heath, Helen knew she had to take this chance to try and heal the breach between them, but her tentative opening was overridden by his more powerful voice.

'I suppose I should apologise,' he said stiffly, startling her into silence. 'If that dress is an example of Angela's choice of clothes for you, then you were right to refuse to wear them.' He sighed. 'Once again, I've overreached my responsibilities. I have to remember you're too old to be treated like a little girl.'

Helen didn't know what to say, and Heath impaled her with an ice-green gaze. 'That's not to say the spanking wasn't justified. It was,' he stated harshly. 'But I am not usually so barbaric, and for that, I do offer my apologies.'

Helen moistened her lips. 'Is that why you're going away?' she asked impulsively, and saw the look of loathing that crossed his face.

'Why should you imagine that?' he demanded tautly. 'I'm going to Montevideo on business. What possible connection can that have to what happened last night?'

Helen shrugged. 'It seems rather sudden, that's all.'

He arched his brows. 'It happens that way sometimes.'

'Does it?' She looked at him through her lashes. 'You told me a few weeks ago that you wouldn't have to go there again. You said you could delegate all your-'

'This is different,' Heath interrupted her shortly. Then he sighed. 'If you must know, Seor Garcia has insisted that I sign the contract between us myself. And as it happens, his eldest daughter is getting married next week also. He's invited me to the wedding, and this way, I can accomplish both feats. All right?'

Helen pursed her lips. 'Seor Garcia has-other daughters?'

'Three, I think,' agreed Heath, getting up to pour himself a gla.s.s of brandy. 'Now, are you satisfied? I'm obliged to go.'

'Take me with you!'

The words slipped out almost involuntarily, but they could not be withdrawn, and Heath turned to face her, his face dark and forbidding. 'No.'

'Why not?'

He took a mouthful of the brandy, and then said harshly: 'You're not invited.'

'I don't believe you. Seor Garcia knows about me. He used to send me little gifts from time to time, didn't he? That painted fan, and the doll, dressed in-'

'You're not going,' said Heath flatly. 'Whether or not you were invited is irrelevant. You stay here, with Angela.'

Helen's chin quivered. 'You-you b.a.s.t.a.r.d-' she choked, then broke off abruptly as Heath took a menacing step towards her.

'What did you say?' he demanded, but before he could reach her, Angela reappeared.

'So sorry for the interruption,' she said, sitting down on the couch again and picking up her coffee cup. 'It was a friend of my father's. He just wanted to rea.s.sure himself that I was happy here.' She paused, and then added demurely: 'Of course, I told him I was .'

Helen was in that drowsy state between sleeping and waking when Heath came to her room. She had dozed only fitfully throughout the night, so that when he opened her bedroom door she was immediately alert to his presence. It was light outside, so she guessed it must be morning, but the coolness of the air suggested it was not long after sun-up.

'Oh-you're awake,' he said shortly, as she struggled up on to her pillows.

'I just came to say goodbye. I'm leaving in a few minutes.'

'So soon?' Helen was too bemused to sustain any hostility, and Heath's expression softened at her unguarded exclamation.

'It's seven-thirty,' he told her, the darkness of his suit contrasting sharply with the silvery lightness of his hair. 'My flight leaves Heathrow at a quarter to twelve. Ormerod is driving me to Manchester to catch the shuttle.'

Helen sighed. 'How long will you be gone?'

'You know-about a week.'

She looked anxious. 'I'll miss you.'

'I'll miss you, too,' agreed Heath tautly. 'But I guess this trip will give us both a break. And give you and Angela a better chance to get used to one another.'

She bent her head. 'If you say so.'

'Oh, Helen-' with an exclamation of frustration, Heath came down on the bed beside her, uncaring that the sheet might muss his dark pants. 'What do you want me to say?' he demanded, taking one of her hands between both of his. 'Last night-well, the least said about last night the better, don't you agree? I don't like being called a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, not by anyone. And don't pretend you didn't use the word. My hearing's still as acute as it ever was.'

Helen moved her shoulders helplessly, taking care to keep the sheet tucked under her arms. 'You just seem to do things to hurt me,' she murmured unwillingly, and his fingers tightened round hers as he expelled his breath impatiently.

'To hurt you!' he exclaimed. 'I don't do things to hurt you,' he protested.

'For heaven's sake, Helen, I care about you too much for that.'

'You do?' she ventured to look at him and he gave a deep sigh. With her hair loose and tumbled about her shoulders and the delicate blush of colour in her cheeks, she had a natural sensuality, and Heath was not unaware of it.

'Of course I do,' he told her roughly. 'All right, so I lost my temper on Sat.u.r.day night, but surely that was understandable. You must learn not to take advantage of our relationship.'

Helen hunched her shoulders. 'You used not to object. You used to like me to kiss you.'

'That was different.' He released her hand abruptly. 'And you know it, Helen. You're growing up now, and-and what you did-well, with anyone else it could have got you into a lot of trouble.'

'But not with you,' she tendered softly, and sensed the sudden tensing of his body.

'No, not with me,' he agreed shortly. 'And stop looking at me like that! I don't want us to part in anger.'

She looked away from him. 'All right, go then,' she said, pushing back her hair with annoyingly unsteady fingers. 'Have a good trip. Give Seor Garcia my regards.'

'Helen!' His use of her name was tormented, and relenting a little she looked back at him.

'Goodbye,' she whispered, her eyes filled with unshed tears, and with a groan of anguish, Heath bent towards her.

'Goodbye,' he said, but he said it against her mouth, and her lips parted in instinctive response. With a little moan deep in her throat, she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back, and the sweetness of her lips was an irresistible invitation.

'Ah, Helen-' he muttered, his hands curving unwillingly over her shoulders, and she lifted herself from the pillows to facilitate his embrace.

With unknowing s.e.xuality, she invited his response, and the urgent pa.s.sion of his kiss became a moist and searching intimacy.

The protective sheet was forgotten and it fell away to expose the thrusting beauty of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and it was only when she parted the b.u.t.tons of his shirt and he felt the taut peaks probing at the hair-roughened skin of his chest that he seemed to come to his senses. But when he pressed her away from him, she made no attempt to cover herself. Instead she faced him proudly, uncaring that he might despise her, and his fingers dug painfully into her shoulders as he met that deliberate challenge.

'No, Helen,' he said, but his voice was as unsteady as hers had been earlier, and she knew he was not as indifferent as he maintained.

'Why not?' she breathed, tipping her head so that she could rub her cheek against the back of his hand, and with a m.u.f.fled groan he got swiftly to his feet.

'What am I going to do with you, Helen?' he demanded harshly. 'For heaven's sake, what do you think I am?'

'I think you're a man and I'm a woman,' replied Helen softly. 'I think you want me, and I know I want you.'

He swore savagely. 'Want? Want) What do you know about wanting? How many men have you wanted?'

'Only you,' she replied honestly, and he swore again.

'You're crazy,' he declared. 'You know nothing about the relationship between a man and a woman!'