'No.' Helen glanced over her shoulder anxiously, half afraid Angela Patterson had come to listen in to their conversation. 'We'll talk about it some other time, Heath. I'll tell Mrs Gittens to get a room prepared for the Marsdens, shall I?'

Heath was silent for a moment, and then he agreed. 'You do that,' he conceded tersely, and she rang off abruptly before he could say anything else.

'We're having company this weekend,' she told Angela offhandedly, when she returned to the dining room. She had already given Mrs Gittens the news, and although she was loath to do so, she knew Angela had to be told, too.

'Oh, who?' the other girl asked with interest. 'Anyone I might know?'

'That depends whether you're interested in computers,' replied Helen shortly. 'It's Greg Marsden and his wife. He runs H.M. Technical.'

'I see.' Angela absorbed the information consideringly. 'And Mr Marsden is a business colleague of your uncle's?'

'They're partners in the company,' conceded Helen shortly. 'Would you pa.s.s me the salt?'

'I thought your uncle's interests were all in wool,' ventured Angela, handing over the item requested, and Helen sighed.

'Well, they're not,' she retorted, looking down at the mixed salad on her plate without enthusiasm. There was a delicious quiche residing in the middle of the table, but she had purposefully avoided that. Now, however, she viewed the lettuce and tomato with little appet.i.te, wishing she had never paid any attention to Angela's remarks about counting calories.

'Tell me, does your uncle travel much in the course of his work?' the older girl enquired now, and Helen controlled her sense of impatience.

'It's not important, is it?' she asked, meeting her gaze with cool determination, but Angela was not deterred.

'I'm intrigued, that's all,' she declared smoothly, deliberately helping herself to a large slice of the ham and egg flan. 'Daddy and I spent quite a lot of time out of the country when he was alive.' She paused and then continued: 'He was an archaeologist, you know-terribly interested in ancient civilisations, all that sort of thing. He knew Egypt intimately, and one of my earliest memories is of standing at the foot of the Great Pyramid wondering -'

'I thought you said your father was a writer,' Helen interrupted her frowning. 'You told Heath-'

'Oh, well, yes, he was,' Angela quickly amended her story. 'He wrote about archaeology, of course. I did tell you his books were rather technical, didn't I?'

'You also said your father moved away from London because he needed solitude for his writing,' Helen reminded her shortly. 'You said you moved to Cornwall. Was that before or after you went to Egypt?'

'Well, afterwards naturally.' Angela's smile was frosty. 'Just because one lives in Cornwall it doesn't mean one is necessarily cut off from the rest of the world.'

'I suppose not,' Helen conceded the point.

'I suppose you've travelled with your uncle,' Angela added resentfully, and Helen shrugged.

'Some,' she agreed. 'But not usually when he's on business,' and Angela's nostrils flared at the carefully spoken evasion.

CHAPTER FIVE.

Helen was sitting disconsolately by the swimming pool when Heath and his guests arrived. They turned up in separate cars: Heath driving his own Porsche, and Greg Marsden broad and expansive behind the wheel of his Volvo estate. Helen heard the individual engines as she was dipping the toes of one foot into the water, and her nerves tightened familiarly at the sound of Heath's voice. She expected Mrs Gittens would meet them, and show the Marsdens to their rooms, but because it was such a beautiful afternoon, Heath escorted his guests along the path by the orchard, and Helen was caught in the process of scrambling hastily to her feet.

'Well, well!' Greg Marsden's booming tones matched his appearance. Tall and broad, the evidence of his success bulging carelessly over his waistline, he looked years older than his business partner, but his manner was jovial, and infinitely more friendly, thought Helen, glancing away from her uncle's dark face. 'What have we here? You didn't tell me you had other guests, Heath.'

'Stop teasing, Greg!' Marion Marsden smiled sympathetically at Helen.

'How are you, love? I must say you're more grown-up every time I see you.'

Helen smiled rather nervously, aware of the brevity of the bikini and Angela's opinion of it, but Greg did not allow his wife to have the last word.

'Isn't that what I'm saying?' he demanded, patting Heath heavily on the shoulder. 'Your niece is quite a young lady, isn't she, old man? The last time I saw her she was still in a gymslip.'

'The last time you saw her was at Easter,' replied his wife firmly. 'And she wasn't wearing a gymslip then. Don't run away, Helen. Don't let this big idiot of mine embarra.s.s you. Stay and have tea with us.'

'Oh, really, I-' Helen broke off awkwardly, wishing she had antic.i.p.ated Heath might bring his guests this way and that she had had time to get dressed before this meeting. Heath had said nothing so far; just looked at her as if he thought she had engineered this encounter, and the memory of that other occasion by the pool was too close to dismiss.

'Where's Miss Patterson?' Heath asked now, breaking the uneasy silence between them, and Helen moistened her lips before replying.

'She-er-she went to get changed,' she offered, perching rather edgily on the arm of a cushioned lounger. 'I really think I should get changed, too.'

'Why?' Greg lowered his weight into the lounger beside her, grinning up at her irrepressibly. 'Why deny a poor hara.s.sed businessman the chance to dream? You're not cold, are you? It's a perfectly marvellous afternoon. Come on, Helen. Relax. Heath, go ask that housekeeper of yours if she's got a nice can of lager residing in the fridge.'

Heath slung the jacket he had been carrying over one shoulder and unb.u.t.toned the collar of his shirt. Watching him, Helen wasn't at all sure what he wanted her to do, but somehow she sensed, rather than guessed, that he was not happy with the present arrangement.

'I'll tell her,' she said, getting to her feet. 'I'll tell Mrs Gittens you'd like a beer, Mr Marsden.' And before any of them could stop her, she hurried away through the French doors into the morning room.

Mrs Gittens was in the kitchen with Cook as Helen had expected, preparing a tray to bring out. 'Is it tea they want?' she asked, as Helen came through the swing door, and the girl drew a deep breath before explaining.

'So-beer for one. And how about your uncle?'

'I'll take tea, Mrs Gittens, thank you.' Heath's low attractive tones brought Helen round with a start. 'If you'll serve it on the patio, I'll be very grateful.'

'Of course,' Mrs Gittens smiled, and with an apologetic grimace, Helen made her retreat. But in the corridor outside the kitchen, Heath's voice arrested her, and she turned back reluctantly to find him striding after her.

'Wait,' he said severely, reaching her in a few paces. 'Come into the library. I want to have a word with you.'

'Can't it wait?' Helen looked down pointedly at her swimsuit and bare feet, but Heath shook his head.

'We may not have an opportunity later,' he essayed, going ahead of her and pushing open the leather-studded door. 'Go on. Don't look at me like that. The Marsdens will wonder what's going on, if I don't go back and join them soon.'

She sighed, stepping across the thickly carpeted floor on slightly uncertain legs. She was selfconscious with Heath now, as she had never been selfconscious before, and her body reacted by thrusting hardened nipples against the thin cotton cloth. Sinking into one of the green leather armchairs, she tried to disguise the provocative evidence of her arousal, but Heath came round the chair to face her, and she knew from his hardening expression that he was not unaware of her body's betrayal. But he made no comment, merely adjusted his eyes to the level of hers, whether or not she could sustain that intent appraisal.

'Why did you ask me on the phone whether I wished you to find a job?' he asked, propping his lean hips against the rim of the table behind him, his voice cool and expressionless. 'Have I ever given you the impression that I was unhappy with your financial situation?'

'N-o-'

Helen drew the word out, and before she could add anything more, Heath went on: 'Then has Angela insinuated that an occupation of some sort might help to solve your problems?'

'No-o-'

Once again Helen made a negative response, her eyes sliding away from his, and he ran an impatient hand under his collar, as if the heat of the day was not aiding his temper. 'So why suggest such a thing?' he demanded sharply. 'Aren't you happy here?'

Helen looked at him then, her eyes mirroring her indignation. 'Do you have to ask that?'

He shrugged. 'I'm just trying to make sense of a conversation we had just a few hours ago,' he retorted flatly. 'There has to have been some reason for you to ask that question. I'm just trying to find out what that reason was.'

Helen moved her shoulders now. 'I expect I was just making conversation,' she declared carelessly. 'Is that all? Can I go and dress now?'

His mouth compressed. 'When did you get that-that thing you're wearing?'

She bent her head. 'I don't remember. Last year-the year before-'

'Burn it,' said Heath harshly. 'I don't want to see you wearing it again. It's not decent. Get Miss Patterson to add bathing suits to the list of items you require. I presume you have got something decent to wear this evening.'

Helen got to her feet. 'I won't disgrace you, if that's what you mean.'

'For G.o.d's sake!' He straightened away from the desk. 'What's the matter with you, Helen? For the last few days-ever since Miss Patterson came to Matlock, in fact-you've been acting completely out of character.

Disobedience I can understand; temper tantrums I can understand; what I can't understand is this sudden urge you have to make me feel like a b.a.s.t.a.r.d!'

Helen's eyes widened. 'Is that how I make you feel?'

He drew in his lips. 'I want you to stop all this nonsense about jobs and worrying over our relationship and start behaving like the young woman you are becoming. Marion's right-you are growing up. And with Angela's help, who knows, you may find yourself a husband before the year is out.'

Helen caught her breath. 'Is that what you want?' she demanded accusingly. 'Is that why you've brought Angela Patterson here? To get me off your hands?'

'Oh, for heaven's sake!' Heath raised his eyes heavenward. 'Stop taking everything so seriously. Finding a husband is not something I'm threatening you with. Good grief, most girls are looking for someone to marry from the minute they realise what the opposite s.e.x is!'

'Not me!'

'What do you mean-not you?' Heath drew a deep breath. 'You're not old enough yet to know what you want.'

'I don't want to get married!' declared Helen unsteadily. 'I know that.'

'Why not, for heaven's sake?'

'You're not married.'

'I'm different.'

'No, you're not. You need women. Mrs Gittens said so.'

'Oh, did she?' Heath's eyes darkened. 'And what else has Mrs Gittens been saying?'

'Oh, nothing.' She shifted uncomfortably, realising her reckless words could cause the old housekeeper some embarra.s.sment. 'She wasn't talking about you! It was just something I-I overheard.'

'Really?'

'Yes, really.' She looked up at him helplessly, more than ever at a disadvantage without shoes. 'Honestly, Heath, you've got to believe me. I'd hate you to confront Mrs Gittens with something like that. She'd die, she would, honestly!'

'Isn't it the truth, then?' Heath took the step that brought him closer to her, his eyes glinting dangerously, and Helen gasped.

'I'm not lying, if that's what you mean.'

'So she did say it?'

'Yes. No.' Helen shook her head. 'Oh, you're just doing this to confuse me!

You don't really care what Mrs Gittens says about you. You don't care what anybody says about you.'

'I wouldn't say that.'

'I would.' She hunched her shoulders. 'Can I go now, please?'

Heath shrugged. 'I suppose you'd better.'

'Thanks.'

She made for the door, but he was swifter, reaching past her to turn the handle for her, his green eyes mocking as they surveyed her confusion.

'Don't hate me, Helen,' he said, surprisingly, and her face flamed with sudden colour.

'I don't hate you,' she exclaimed, but he deliberately inclined his head.

'You could-very easily,' he essayed, his warm breath fanning her bare shoulder, and her breathing was laboured as she ran up the stairs to her room.

Marion Marsden came to Helen's room when she was getting ready for dinner. 'I'm not intruding, am I?' she asked doubtfully, when she saw Helen was still in her dressing gown, and the girl quickly shook her head.

'Of course not. Come in,' she invited, stepping aside. 'You can help me to decide what to wear.'

Marion entered the bedroom, surveying its ample proportions with renewed admiration. 'This really is a lovely room, Helen,' she declared, spreading her arms expressively. 'You'll miss it when you get married. There aren't too many houses like Matlock around.'

Helen moved her shoulders half impatiently as she closed the door. 'Why is everybody talking about marriage all of a sudden?' she exclaimed. 'I don't expect I'll get married-at least, not for ages anyway.'

'Who else has been talking about marriage?' enquired Marion innocently, seating herself on the edge of the bed, but Helen was not prepared to tell her.

'You look nice,' she said instead, changing the subject. 'That shade of pink becomes you. I just wish I knew what I was going to wear.'

Marion tilted her head to glimpse her reflection in the mirrors of the dressing table and then sighed. 'I'm going grey!' she said, touching her cap of light brown curls resignedly. 'Be thankful you don't have to worry about things like extra inches and unbleached roots!'

'I wouldn't say that,' Helen sighed. 'Miss Patterson thinks I'm overweight.'

'Miss Patterson? Oh, you mean this woman Heath's employed to look after you?' Put like that it didn't sound half so intimidating, Helen realised in amazement. 'I met her at tea. I shouldn't worry about what she says. She's probably envious. After all, you have got everything going for you, haven't you?'

'Have I?'

Marion gave her an old-fashioned look. 'Stop fishing for compliments, Helen. You know you have. Now, what is it you're planning to wear?'

'No, really, Marion, I wasn't fishing for compliments, honestly.' Helen chewed unhappily at her lower lip. 'I just want you to be honest with me.

Don't you think I'm-fat?'

Marion sighed. 'Of course not.'