'You'd better go inside,' he said, without expression. 'I'll go and shut the gate. I a.s.sume 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.'

Helen 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 s.p.a.ce.

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 circ.u.mstances 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.

Of course, she mused, she could wait until Heath came up to bed and speak to him then. If she went straight to his room, as soon as he came upstairs, she could speak to him before he started to get undressed, and that would solve the problem of waiting until tomorrow. It would also save having to avoid Angela's unwanted audience, and she looked at the clock consideringly, estimating how long she might have to wait.

She heard Angela come up to bed soon after eleven, and she waited with some trepidation for Heath's heavier tread. Now that the moment was fast approaching, she was having second thoughts, but compunction, and her uneasy conscience, would not allow her to change her mind. It had to be faced sooner or later, she told herself severely. Who knows, Heath might even show some admiration for her, for having shouldered her responsibilities.

The ticking of her clock became irritatingly persistent in the silence of her room. It seemed to be forcing her to keep looking at it, and she had to steel herself from staring at the slow-moving pointers. Half past eleven came and went, and then a quarter to twelve; but still Heath didn't come upstairs, and Helen shifted her weight from one foot to the other with increasing regularity. What was he doing? she asked herself. Why didn't he come? And then again, more anxiously: had something happened to him? Could he possibly be ill?

Realising she wouldn't sleep until she found out, she pushed her feet into fluffy mules and opened her bedroom door. The hall outside was quiet. There was no sound of Heath coming up to bed. With a little shrug, she closed her door behind her and hurried along to the landing, descending the stairs silently. Her heart was beating erratically as she hesitated in the hall below, not knowing exactly where she might find him. But there was a strip of light under the library door, and she guessed that was where he must be.

She was tempted to knock, but she had never knocked at the library door before, and taking her courage into her hands, she turned the handle. The door swung inwards on oiled hinges, revealing the lamplit room beyond, and her heart palpitated wildly as she saw Heath gazing at her from the depths of his armchair.

For a moment there was silence: Heath seemingly unmoved at seeing her, and Helen too bemused by her own nervousness to make any comment. But as her eyes took in the gla.s.s hanging carelessly from Heath's hand, and half empty bottle of brandy at his side, her feelings clarified, and she shook her head reprovingly as she advanced into the room.

'What do you want?'

Heath's harsh enquiry brought her abruptly to a halt, and she cast about hurriedly for something to say. 'I was concerned about you,' she declared. 'I didn't hear you come up to bed, and I was worried in case anything had happened to you. What are you doing sitting down here at midnight? You must be tired. Mrs Gittens said your plane was delayed.'

'What's it to you?' Heath levered himself up into a sitting position from the slumping sprawl he had previously adopted. 'Go to bed, Helen. We'll have our discussion in the morning. Right now, I'm not in the mood for idle chatter.'

She gasped. 'I didn't come down here to indulge in idle chatter,' she protested. 'As-as a matter of fact, I came to explain about what happened earlier. I didn't want you to worry about me, but I see now that you haven't.'

Heath expelled his breath heavily, running one hand inside the unb.u.t.toned neckline of his shirt and ma.s.saging his chest wearily. 'It's too late now to start enumerating the rights and wrongs of your behaviour, Helen,' he said, dropping his empty gla.s.s on to the fireside table. 'Like I said before, go to bed. I don't have the patience to deal with you this evening.'

Helen sighed. 'But I want to talk now,' she exclaimed. 'I don't want to go to bed with this hanging over me. I'm sorry if I've left it so late, but I was waiting for Angela to go to bed. I didn't want to talk to you with her present.

What we have to say is better said in private.'

'Oh, I agree.' He pushed himself up from his chair to regard her dourly.

'What I have to say to you is for your ears only. But I suggest you leave it until the morning anyway. I'm not really fit to argue with you tonight.'

'Because you've been drinking.' Helen's lips twisted. 'I didn't know you went in for secret drinking, Heath.'

'I don't.' His jaw hardened perceptibly. 'But now and then the occasion warrants it, and this was one of those times.'

She hesitated. 'Because of me?'

Heath inclined his head. 'Maybe.' He swayed a little unsteadily on his feet.

'You must admit, you do try my patience.'

She looked at him a moment longer, and then turned and determinedly closed the door. 'That's why I wanted to talk to you,' she explained diffidently. 'I knew you could only be thinking the worst.'

He regarded her enigmatically. 'You mean I shouldn't?' he enquired sardonically. 'Forgive me, but when my niece goes out for the evening with a man whose reputation is well known in the district, and then returns home with yet another man, of equally dubious character, I find it difficult to see any virtue in either of those occurrences.'

Helen caught her breath. 'What do you mean? Does-does Nigel have a reputation?'

'You don't know?'

'No.' She stared at him. 'How could I? I didn't know him until just over a week ago. How am I supposed to know what his reputation is?'

'Perhaps you should pay more attention to what I say,' retorted Heath harshly. 'Instead of doing your utmost to infuriate me.'

'I wasn't. I didn't.' Helen spread her hands helplessly. 'Oh, what does it matter anyway? You never listen to me.'

Heath bent and picked up the bottle of brandy, examining its contents broodingly, and she took the opportunity to go on: 'And-and it wasn't another man who brought me home,' she got out jerkily. 'It was a girl- Alanna somebody or other. I didn't get her surname. I just was grateful for the lift.'

Heath lifted his eyes from the brandy and looked at her disbelievingly.

'You mean the creature who tried to run me down was a woman?'

'She didn't try to run you down. You stepped into her path,' retorted Helen defensively. 'And yes, her name is Alanna, as I've said. She was very kind to me.'

His mouth curled. 'Really?'

'Yes, really. And-and if you weren't so darned stubborn, you'd appreciate it too,' exclaimed Helen unevenly. 'It isn't everyone who'd drive forty miles out of their way just to help a fellow human being. I was really thankful she was there. Without her, I'd have had to find a bus-or a taxi.'

'And why couldn't Fox bring you home?' demanded Heath, setting the bottle down on the table beside his gla.s.s. 'It was Fox you went with, wasn't it?'

'Yes.' Helen lifted her shoulders unhappily. 'He-he didn't want to come.'

'You mean he didn't want to leave the party?'

'That's right.' Helen was offhand. 'It-it was rather early. And petrol is expensive.'

He steadied himself and took a couple of steps forward. 'Perhaps you'd better tell me the real reason why he didn't bring you home,' he said, supporting himself against the side of the desk. 'I a.s.sume you had a row.

What was it about? Did you suddenly discover that he intended to take you to bed?'

'No!' Helen exclaimed indignantly. 'No, it was nothing like that.'

'Then what was it like?' asked Heath incisively. 'If it wasn't s.e.x, what could it be? I'd have gambled on its being something of the sort.'

Helen could feel the colour creeping up her cheeks, and she hastily tried to explain it away. 'Well, I suppose it was. A bit permissive, I mean,' she mumbled, fiddling with the cord of her wrapper. 'I didn't want to get involved in all that kissing and stuff. That's why I wanted to come home.'

'Was it?' Heath didn't sound very convinced, and Helen darted a glance up at his dark face. In spite of the amount of alcohol he had consumed, he was very far from being drunk, and she wondered how he would have reacted if he hadn't been as sober.

'You know what these parties are like, Heath,' she protested, even though she herself had not known until tonight. 'People drink too much, they get too -too-'

'-fresh?'

'Yes. No! Oh, that's not what I meant, and you know it.' She sighed. 'Can't you just accept that I didn't like what was going on? I came home, didn't I?'

'As you say.' Heath's thick lashes narrowed his eyes. 'I wonder what was going on, though. Strip poker? Blue videos? Drugs?'

Helen caught her breath. 'Heath, stop it!'

'Why?' He straightened away from the desk. 'Have I hit the nail on the head? It's one of those, isn't it? Let me guess-drugs!'

Her mouth quivered. 'You think you know everything, don't you?'

'When my niece gets herself involved in the drug scene, I think I have a right to be angry,' retorted Heath grimly. 'For heaven's sake, Helen, he was probably hoping to get you high. Compared to the amount of alcohol you're used to drinking, marijuana could be lethal!'

'You'd know, of course,' she burst out bitterly. 'I suppose you've had experience.'

'Considerably more than you, by the sound of it,' replied Heath crisply.

'What do you want me to say, Helen? That I approve of you making friends with addicts?'

'They're not addicts.' Helen sighed. 'At least, I don't think so.'

'But you don't know.'

'No.' She bent her head. 'Like I say, as soon as I found out, I said I wanted to come home. Nigel-Nigel said it was too early.'

'Nigel!' Heath's tone was scathing. 'How the h.e.l.l could you have got involved with Nigel Fox? Good grief, I go away for a few days, and when I come back I find you're a.s.sociating with junkies!'

'That's not true!'

'You mean-Nigel-wasn't going to imbibe?' Heath was disbelieving.

'I don't know. He said something about cigarettes-'

'Joints!' he interceded contemptuously.

'-but I didn't see him with any.'