'I know what happens.'

'From biology textbooks, no doubt,' retorted Heath grimly. 'For Pete's sake, Helen, you know nothing about what it's like to have a man make love to you. You talk blandly about s.e.x, as if you were. an experienced woman of the world! You're not. You're a teenager; a crazy teenager, who doesn't know the first thing about it.'

'You do,' said Helen innocently, and Heath scowled.

'Don't talk like that.'

'Is it important to you?' she asked suddenly. 'Would you prefer it if I were experienced?'

'For heaven's sake, no!' Helen raked savage fingers across his scalp. 'And that doesn't mean I want you as you are! Helen, listen to me-listen to me carefully: you're my responsibility, but that's all there is between us.'

'I don't believe you!' She spoke indignantly, but there was a glimmer of doubt in her voice, and he pressed home his advantage.

'I mean it,' he said tensely. 'We've known each other too long. We're too- closely related. I don't think of you in that way.'

She groped blindly for the sheet, dragging it over her. 'When-when you kissed me-' she began, but Heath interrupted her.

'I felt sorry for you,' he declared bleakly. 'I'd been rough with you, and I was sorry. It shouldn't have happened. It wouldn't have happened if I hadn't felt so b.l.o.o.d.y guilty.'

Helen looked at him bitterly. 'So why are you hanging about?' she exclaimed. 'Why don't you go to Manchester or Montevideo, or wherever it is you're going? You've had your little victory. Now leave me alone.'

'Oh, Helen-'

'Please go away,' she cried, rolling over to bury her face in the pillow, and with a muttered oath Heath walked out, slamming the door behind him.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Of course, as soon as she heard the Mercedes pull away, Helen regretted sending him off like that. For the remainder of the day she plagued herself with thoughts of how she would feel if his plane came down or some other disaster befell him. But by the next morning she was able to breathe more easily. No plane crashes had been reported during the night, and so far as she could ascertain, Heath had reached his destination safely.

Nevertheless, she missed him desperately. The house wasn't the same with the knowledge that he would not be coming home in the evenings. Even Angela's jibes had no power to penetrate the wall of reserve she built round herself, and the days pa.s.sed slowly, dictated by the weather.

On fine, sunny days the two girls spent most of their time outdoors, swimming in the pool, or sunbathing on the patio. Safe behind the pages of a book, Helen was not obliged to be sociable, and as Angela basked in the sunshine like a seal, she made few demands upon Helen.

But by Thursday the weather had changed, and imprisoned indoors, Angela seemed to take a delight in keeping Helen under her eye every minute. She wanted to know where Helen was going, even when she went to the bathroom, and the younger girl grew pale and listless, desperate for some diversion.

On Friday morning Helen determined that today things were going to be different. Instead of staying in bed until Mrs Gittens came to disturb her, she got up at seven o'clock, and pulling on a leather jerkin over her tee-shirt and jeans, she made her way down the back stairs and out through the kitchen garden.

It was a relief to wheel the Honda out of its shed, and donning her helmet, she swung her leg across the saddle. With a bit of luck, she'd make her escape before Miles came to work. He, like Angela, was someone else she had no wish to encounter this morning.

Realising Miles would use the private road to reach the house, Helen took off over the fields, the little machine bucking bravely as it negotiated the muddy bogs left by the rain. Her legs were getting splashed with mud, too, but she didn't care, and for the first time since Heath went away, she felt a lifting of her spirits.

Beyond Jacob's Hollow, she came out on to the Starforth road, and stopped a moment to examine the damage. As far as she could see, she had only covered herself and the motorbike with a coating of soft earth, and once it had dried it would easily brush away. Her jeans might have to be washed, of course, but that wasn't important. They had already been washed half a dozen times, and they were unlikely to shrink any more.

The road was busy with early morning traffic, and after travelling for some miles with a continual escort, she turned off on to a country lane, just before the village, bouncing along more happily without the noisy roar of other vehicles.

She came to another village called Shipwell, and paused on the green to read the signpost. Evidently she could take the road to Bishopston from here, which was some miles further on than Matlock Edge in the opposite direction, which would mean she had completed a circuit of the estate, without riding over any more of Heath's land.

She was perhaps halfway to Bishopston when the motorbike began to sputter and finally died on her. No matter how she tried, it refused to start again, and she looked about her helplessly, aware of how vulnerable she was. It was ages since she'd seen a signpost, ages since she'd seen any kind of habitation other than a farmworker's cottage, and who could possibly help her when she didn't know what was wrong?

Sighing, she tried to think positively. She was, she estimated, approximately eight miles from Bishopston and probably an equal number from Shipwell. There didn't seem much point in going back. She would be nearer home at Bishopston. Perhaps if she could push the Honda to a garage there they might be able to do something for her, and if not, at least she would be able to phone home and let Mrs Gittens know she was all right. The old housekeeper would worry terribly if she found Helen was missing, and for the first time she realised how selfish she had been in riding off without even leaving a note.

It was amazing how heavy the Honda was, now that she had to push it. It made her wish she had stayed on the main road after all. She would certainly have felt less isolated, and seen more garages, too, than on a winding country lane that merely connected two villages.

She had been walking for almost half an hour and her legs and arms were aching and she was soaked with sweat, when she heard the sound of a vehicle. Although it was not a sunny morning, it was warm, and the leather jacket which had seemed ideal for riding had begun to stick to her neck and arms. She turned her head wearily when she heard the engine, and then pulled the motorbike off the road when a Land Rover came into sight.

The Land Rover slowed however as it neared her, and Helen prepared herself to parry the comments of some would-be knight-errant. With Heath's warning still ringing in her ears, she was in no mood to accept a lift from anyone she didn't know, and she gripped the handlebars tightly as the vehicle stopped beside her.

'Want some a.s.sistance?'

The voice did not have the broad West Yorkshire accent she had expected, and Helen looked up unwillingly to find a man in his early twenties looking down at her sympathetically.

'Oh-no,' she declined firmly, accompanying her refusal with a faint smile nevertheless. 'I can manage, thank you.'

'Have you run out of petrol!' asked the young man casually, pushing open his door and getting out. 'I know these machines do a fantastic number of miles to the gallon, but they do need refilling sometimes.'

'I don't know. I never thought.' Cursing herself, Helen bent over the fuel tank and removed the cap. Peering inside, she saw to her disgust that it did indeed appear to be empty, and she sighed. d.a.m.n it, why hadn't Miles refilled the tank? He had always done so in the past.

'It is empty, I see,' the young man commented, making his own inspection before looking up at her quizzically. 'I guess you're going to have to push it some distance. There's not another garage until you reach Bishopston.'

Helen pursed her lips. 'Thanks for the information,' she muttered.

'My pleasure.' The young man swung open his door. 'Of course, I could always dump the bike in the back of the Rover and drive you there, if you'd let me. But if, as you say, you can manage without my a.s.sistance, there's nothing more I can suggest.'

Helen pressed her lips together, looking down at the Honda with some frustration. She couldn't really blame Miles for not filling the petrol tank. She should have checked it herself before she left. Heath had always advised her to check the tank at regular intervals, and if she hadn't been so all-fired keen to get away this morning, she would have done so.

'Well?'

The man was waiting for her reply, and she looked up at him uncertainly.

He looked harmless enough, she thought doubtfully. He looked rather nice, actually. Brown-haired, brown-skinned, with warm brown eyes to match; he didn't look like a villain, but how was she to judge?

'I promise I'm not planning to abduct you,' he remarked suddenly, as if reading her thoughts and Helen flushed.

'Am I so transparent?'

'Well, you've evidently been told not to accept lifts from strange men,' he agreed drily. 'And I'd endorse that. But I'm not entirely strange. Your uncle's land and my father's has a mutual boundary.'

'My uncle's land-' Helen broke off. 'You know who I am?'

He grinned. 'At a guess, I'd say you were Helen Mortimer, am I right?'

Helen gasped. 'Yes. But-' She paused. 'Who are you?'

'Nigel Fox,' he replied, at once, and Helen's eyes widened.

'You're-Sir Malcolm Fox's son?'

'The same.' He gave a rueful grimace. 'So-will you accept my offer? Or do you still have doubts?'

Helen hesitated. She had only his word that he was Nigel Fox, and in any case, his ident.i.ty meant nothing to her. Heath knew the Foxes, of course.

They belonged to the same golf club, they supported the same charities, and they had mutual business interests. But Heath had never spoken of the son, or encouraged her to get to know him.

'Would you like to see my driver's licence?'

Nigel Fox was regarding her with slightly amused eyes now, and Helen quickly came to a decision. He was not so big that she need have any worries of him overpowering her, and in any case, he'd be driving the vehicle, which would occupy his hands.

'I'd like a lift,' she said determinedly. 'Thank you.'

'Okay.' Nigel grinned. 'You get in while I put your motorbike into the back.

Thank G.o.d it's not a bigger machine-these things weigh a ton!'

Helen giggled as he hefted the Honda into the back of the Land Rover, and then came round to join her in front, wiping his hands on an oily rag. In a grey-checked shirt and tweed jacket, shabby riding breeches covering his thighs, he didn't look much like a baronet's son, but his smile was infectious as he slid behind the wheel.

'Okay,' he said. 'Where do you want to go? To Carron, to the garage in Bishopston, or home?'

Helen moistened her lips. 'Carron? That's your home, isn't it?'

'That's right,' Nigel nodded. 'I thought you might like to come and have some breakfast before you continued on your way.'

'That's very kind of you, but-'

'-you'd rather go home.'

'Well, I'd rather go to the garage in Bishopston,' confessed Helen ruefully.

'If you take me home, there's bound to be a post-mortem.'

'Won't there be one anyway?' asked Nigel, starting the engine. 'I mean, it's nearly nine o'clock, and I'd guess you left home before your uncle was up.'

'Oh, Heath's away,' exclaimed Helen carelessly. 'He's in South America.

There's only Mrs Gittens, that's our housekeeper, and Angela of course.'

'Angela?'

'Angela Patterson,' replied Helen flatly. 'She's-staying with us at the moment. She's a-friend of Heath's.'

'Heath?' Nigel frowned. 'Is that what you call your uncle?'

'He's not my-' began Helen quickly, and then changed her mind. 'Rupert Heathcliffe,' she agreed, looking out of the window. 'Is this all your land? Do you farm it yourselves?'

'Some,' said Nigel, nodding. 'I was sent to agricultural college to learn all about modern farming methods, but a lot of the land has had to be sold to meet taxes. We still have one or two tenant farmers, people who've worked for my family since the year dot, but compared to the estate as it was in my grandfather's day, it's much depleted.'

Helen inclined her head. 'I suppose you're sorry.'

'Not really.' Nigel shrugged. 'What do we need all this land for? I'd prefer to have fewer responsibilities, and more time to do the things I wanted to do.'

'Such as?' Helen was interested.

'Oh-I guess I just like my freedom,' he responded easily. 'How about you?

What do you do?'

She bent her head. 'Not a lot. If Heath-if my uncle had his way I'd still be in school.'

'In school?' He stared at her disbelievingly. 'How old are you?'

'Nearly eighteen.' Helen was defensive. 'Heath believes in education. The trouble was, I didn't know what I was being educated for. I've never had a job.'

He shook his head. 'There's no likely boy-friend on the horizon?' he queried, and she gave him a sidelong look.

'No.' She paused. 'Are you married?'

'Who would have me?' Nigel grimaced.

'You are, as a friend of mine would say, fishing for compliments,' declared Helen, relaxing. 'I'm sure you know exactly how eligible your father's t.i.tle makes you.'

'Is that all?' He gave her a wounded look, and she laughed.

'You know what I mean. Most girls would like to be called Lady something- or-other?'

'Would you?'

'Me?' Helen gurgled. 'Oh, no, not me. I just can't see myself as Lady anything, can you?'

'I think you'd carry it off beautifully,' he declared gallantly. 'Well, here we are at Bishopston. Are you sure you wouldn't like me to take you all the way?'

'Oh, no.' Helen looked about her eagerly, and was relieved to see a garage just across the road. 'This is fine. I'm very grateful, Mr Fox, honestly.'

'Nigel.'

'Nigel, then.' She pressed his arm impulsively before climbing out. 'I hope I haven't messed up your Land Rover. I'm very muddy.'

'That's what Land Rovers are for,' said Nigel, hoisting the motorcycle out on to the road again. 'Here, I'll wheel it across to the garage for you.'

The petrol pump attendant knew Nigel and attended to them straight away. 'Put it on our account, Ted,' he said, causing Helen to protest loudly, but he insisted, and she gave in.

'You really have been a good Samaritan,' she exclaimed, pulling on her helmet again before mounting. 'I don't know how to thank you.'

'Let me take you out to dinner tomorrow evening,' declared Nigel simply.