Green Lightning. Anne Mather

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СКАЧАТЬ anger he had exhibited earlier was back there in the agate hardness of his eyes.

      ‘Look,’ he said at last, ‘I guess we were both a little reckless this afternoon. I spoke—hastily, I admit it. I’m not saying it wasn’t warranted. It was. But—well,’ he thrust one hand to the back of his neck, ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you the way I did.’

      Helen’s lips trembled, and she turned her back on him again to unfasten the strip of leather holding the end of her braid in place. ‘Who says you hurt me?’ she asked, her voice annoyingly unsteady, and Heath uttered a muffled oath before striding back to where she was standing.

      ‘Mrs Gittens told me you’d been crying,’ he essayed quietly.

      ‘Oh—Mrs Gittens!’ Helen tugged fiercely at the hair she was releasing from the braid.

      ‘Yes, Mrs Gittens,’ agreed Heath, once more putting her hands aside and taking over. He allowed the thick silky hair to slide sensuously through his fingers. ‘I suppose I was speaking out of turn. You’ll be eighteen next year. Old enough to get married, if you want to. Certainly too old for me to object if you choose to allow young Ormerod to kiss you.’

      ‘Oh, don’t be silly!’ Helen tore her hair out of his grasp and reached for her brush. For a moment, she had thought he was regretting his anger over her treatment of Miss Patterson. Instead, he was actually condoning the way Miles had treated her! ‘I’m not interested in “young Ormerod”, as you call him!’ she snapped. ‘Don’t patronise me, Heath. You’re not my father!’

      ‘Maybe not. But I am old enough to be so,’ he retorted, his own tone responding to the sharpness of hers. ‘Anyway, as it seems obvious you don’t desire my forgiveness, I’ll go, and allow you to complete your toilette.’

      The trace of mockery in his words was not lost on Helen, and she longed to say something to wipe that look of smugness from his face. But it would not do to antagonise him yet again, particularly with the prospect of the evening looming ahead of her like a visit to the dentist.

      So instead, she said: ‘Thank you,’ and allowed him to walk to the door before adding in an undertone: ‘I’m glad you’re not still cross with me, Heath.’

      ‘I don’t remember saying I wasn’t,’ he retorted, his mouth twisting in acknowledgement of her counteraction. ‘I just want you to know I’m not indifferent to the fact that you’re growing up.’

      Helen turned, her hair curling irrepressibly about her shoulders, her face suddenly alight with sudden hope. ‘Do you think so?’ she exclaimed. ‘Do you really think so?’

      ‘Yes,’ he agreed flatly. ‘You make me feel quite old,’ and before she could respond, he had let himself out of the room.

      Dinner was just as awful as Helen had anticipated.

      They ate in the family dining room, which was one of the smaller rooms at Matlock Edge, with a circular dining table that dated from the eighteenth century. In daylight, the dining room looked out over the patio at the back of the house, but tonight the lamps were lit, and only the urns of flowers that flanked the french windows were illuminated from inside.

      The dining room was panelled in oak, with delicately-carved clusters of rosebuds decorating the wood. The ceiling was high and moulded, and although there was a crystal and bronze chandelier suspended over the dining table, they mostly ate by lamp or candlelight, on those occasions when Heath had company.

      As Helen had expected, Angela Patterson was present at the dinner table, sleek and self-satisfied in an ice-blue chiffon creation that left a good deal of her shoulders bare. She was not tanned, as Helen was tanned, from days spent almost exclusively outdoors. Her skin was white, whiter than any skin Helen had ever seen before, and smooth as alabaster, and just as soft.

      In her white blouse and dark blue pleated skirt, Helen felt as if she was wearing school uniform again, and she guessed Miss Patterson was enjoying the evident contrast between them. It made her wish she had worn the floral nylon after all. At least then Heath would have been forced to notice her. With her burgeoning young body bursting from every seam, he could hardly have failed to do so.

      It soon became obvious that Angela Patterson had made good use of the time Helen had spent sulking in her room. She and Heath were already on the best of terms, and Helen wouldn’t have been at all surprised if Miss Patterson had called him Rupert. But she didn’t. She addressed him as Mr Heathcliffe, though she spoke his name with a certain air of intimacy, and the conversation between them was relaxed and easy, as if they had known one another for years, instead of just hours.

      ‘How fortunate for me that I went to Matt Hodge’s party,’ Heath remarked, while Helen was making an effort to swallow the mouthful of lamb she had been chewing for the past three minutes. ‘He and I are not exactly friends, more business associates, and it was only because I wanted to speak to him about a certain export order that I went along.’

      ‘It was fortunate for me, too,’ responded Angela Patterson eagerly. ‘I mean, I didn’t know what I was going to do. The rent on my apartment was due, and as you know, my qualifications don’t exactly equip me for any ordinary job.’

      ‘What are your qualifications, Miss Patterson?’ Helen interspersed politely, ignoring Heath’s sudden intake of breath, and the older girl uttered a tolerant laugh.

      ‘Oh, I’m afraid, like you, I was brought up expecting not to have to work. Mr father was a successful author, of technical books, you understand—–’ this for Heath’s benefit, Helen was sure—‘but when he died, the death duties were crippling. I’m afraid I was left almost destitute, my only accomplishments to dress well and look pretty!’

      She turned helpless eyes on Heath as she said this, and Helen wanted to curl up with embarrassment. Dear heaven, she thought, did Angela really think she could get away with that? Surely no one could expect to make such a statement without being laughed out of sight. But apparently Heath had accepted it, for, as Helen was gazing at her incredulously, he went on:

      ‘The ideal accomplishments so far as I’m concerned. I suppose I am to blame for allowing Helen to persuade me that she was happy here at Matlock, doing nothing but race that noisy machine of hers. It’s time she began to look like my niece, not to mention act like it. I’m beginning to believe my mother was not so far wrong when she said I was letting her grow up like a gipsy.’

      Helen gasped, but before she could speak, Angela added: ‘Yes. Well, I only hope she’s prepared to listen to me. One can only teach when there is a willingness to learn.’

      ‘Oh, I’m sure she will,’ remarked Heath infuriatingly, raising his wine glass to his lips, and Helen’s jaw clenched at this deliberate attempt to provoke her. They were speaking as if she wasn’t there, and she had what she recognised as a childish desire to storm out of the room. But she didn’t. She remained where she was, lifting her wine glass to Heath in a mocking kind of salute, so that his mockery faded to a brooding preoccupation.

      ‘You have such a beautiful home,’ Angela interjected, and Helen guessed she had noticed Heath’s sudden lapse of interest in herself. ‘Has it been in your family for a number of years? I noticed the exquisite carving on the stairs. Is it Grinling Gibbons?’

      ‘A contemporary of his, I believe.’ Heath recovered his manners, and forced a faint smile. ‘Actually, the house was bought by my grandfather in the early part of this century. Before that, it was owned by the Countess of Starforth.’

      ‘How СКАЧАТЬ