'Spoiling? Spoiling? he repeated savagely. 'The spoiling was done last night. I behaved like an oaf, a barbarian-a drunken brute, without the sense to satisfy my baser needs with someone who knew what it was all about!'

Helen's hands were trembling so much, they would hardly push into the narrow pockets of her jeans, but she forced them to do so, not wanting Heath to see how badly shocked she was. A small part of her brain kept insisting that this could not be happening, that it was some bad nightmare she was having, and any minute she would wake up in the pink and gold luxury of her own room. But the major part of her consciousness was aware of what was going on. The major part of her consciousness was telling her that Heath had not intended to make love to her, that it had been a combination of circ.u.mstances that had driven him to do what he had, and that without the lateness of the hour, the amount of alcohol he had consumed, and her state of undress-her actual mistake in being there, in fact-he would never have allowed her to see that side of his nature.

'Stop looking at me like that!'

Heath's fists clenched as he met her helpless gaze, and Helen shook her head in bemused disillusion. 'I don't know what to say,' she said, her eyes darting away from his. 'I've obviously made a terrible mistake.'

'No,' he said violently. 'I made the mistake, Helen. It was all my fault. But that doesn't alter the situation, or rea.s.sure me about the state of your emotional development.'

She gasped. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean-' Heath broke off awkwardly, and then went on harshly: 'It seems to me, you don't understand the implications of what happened last night.'

'The implications?'

'Yes.' He ran a hand round the back of his neck, where the ash-blond lightness of his hair brushed the collar of his dark jacket. 'Look, this isn't easy for me to say-I'm not your mother-but,' he paused, 'what would have happened if it had been-Nigel Fox or-or Miles Ormerod who tried to seduce you?'

'They wouldn't have succeeded,' declared Helen unsteadily. 'I don't love Nigel Fox or Miles Ormerod.'

'Oh, for heaven's sake, you don't love me!' grated Heath angrily. 'You- you just think you do because I'm the first man to-to make you feel-'

'That's not true,' she interrupted him fiercely, unable to listen to any more without defending herself. 'You surely can't believe I'd let any other man touch me? For heaven's sake, Heath, what do you think I am?'

'You're crazy! he muttered, but there was an unmistakable trace of uncertainty in his voice now, and Helen responded to it.

'I'm not,' she exclaimed. 'I've told you-I love you. I could no more have stopped you making love to me than-than I could change the days of the week.'

'Oh, Helena He shook his head in resigned defeat. 'I suppose I should have suspected you would say that.'

'Why not?' Helen took a hesitant step towards him. 'It's the truth, Heath.

Why won't you admit it? What happened between us, it-it was beautiful! I couldn't let anyone else-do that.'

'Well, I could-and have,' he declared grimly. 'Helen, you may not be crazy, but this situation certainly is. I am not in love with you. I care about you, of course. You're in my care, such as it is,' he added derisively. 'But what happened last night was-a mistake, as you suggested a few moments ago. I must have been out of my mind. It was not marvellous-or beautiful; it was just a s.e.xual experience and please forgive me, my only consolation is that your first experience was not the traumatic affair it might have been with someone else.'

Her jaw quivered defensively. 'Oh-you're good, I'll give you that,' she burst out painfully. 'You actually made me believe you cared.'

'Helen, I did care,' retorted Heath roughly. 'But that's no excuse, is it?

What we have to decide now is what we're going to do with you.'

She blinked. 'To do with me?' she echoed. 'Why, nothing, I suppose. We just go on as before-'

'No!'

Heath was vehement, and her stomach churned unpleasantly. 'What do you mean? What else is there to do?' Her lips twisted. 'I promise I won't tell Angela, if that's what you're afraid of.'

'I don't give a d.a.m.n about Angela,' replied Heath flatly. 'Angela will have to go.'

'To go?' She stared at him apprehensively.

'Yes, to go,' he agreed, pacing across the room restlessly. 'If you go to Geneva, there'll be no use for her here.'

Her cry of protest was heartfelt. 'But you can't do that!' she exclaimed.

'You said-you brought Angela here-'

'-to try and improve a deteriorating situation,' he interrupted her harshly.

'That hasn't happened, has it? I won't bother to specify each individual incident, but all in all, Angela's presence has not proved a huge success, has it?'

Helen's mouth was too dry to speak, and he went on inexorably. 'I'm sorry it has to be like this, but I can't say I haven't had fair warning. My mother was of the opinion-'

'Your mother? she overrode him tearfully. 'Since when has your mother had anything good to say about me? Oh, Heath, don't do this! Don't send me away! I'll die if you send me to Geneva!'

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Of course she wouldn't, she couldn't die to order, Helen reflected miserably, staring out at Manchester's rain-wet streets. Even though she had wished desperately that she could; even though she had given up eating and drinking, and sleeping too, with any degree of regularity, she had stayed very much alive, and she was painfully aware that she would remain so.

People didn't die of a broken heart, at least, not these days. If the worst came to the worst, she would be taken into hospital and compulsorily fed, Mrs Heathcliffe had informed her severely, and Helen's bid for immortality had died instead of her mortal self.

Around her, the strangeness of the room provided no comfort. Oh, Heath had transported all her clothes and her personal belongings to his mother's apartment, when Mrs Heathcliffe had agreed, somewhat grudgingly, to accommodate the girl for a few weeks. But she missed the open s.p.a.ces of Matlock, and the familiarity of the room she had lived in all her conscious life.

Of course, rooms and belongings, even open s.p.a.ces, were just a symptom of what was really wrong with her, what she really missed. Most of all, she missed Heath, with a desperation that knew no bounds, and every waking moment was a torment, knowing he was never going to take her back.

Sometimes she wondered what she would do, given her time over again.

Would she have allowed him to make love to her, knowing what the outcome was going to be? Would she have left him, as he had asked her to do so many times before it became too late?

Mostly, she acknowledged that she wouldn't. Mostly, she was honest enough with herself to admit that given her time over, she would still have encouraged Heath to make love to her. It was what she had wanted, what she had longed for, since she was old enough to have such feelings. How could she have run away from his lovemaking, when every nerve and sinew in her body had cried out for his fulfilment?

Three weeks ago, when Heath first brought her to stay with his mother, she had prayed every night that she might be carrying Heath's baby. She was convinced that given that ultimatum, he would have been unable to refuse her, and given time, she had convinced herself, he would learn to love her.

But time, and the uninterrupted cycle of her body, quickly destroyed this faint hope, and gradually she came to acknowledge that finding herself pregnant would have solved nothing. She didn't want Heath on those terms.

She didn't want him to take her, whether in wedlock or without, just because she was expecting his child, and only the agony of betrayal remained of that fatal night.

A tap at her door heralded Mrs Heathcliffe's entrance, and Heath's mother came into the room, dressed ready for going out.

'I'll be back about six,' she declared, pulling on tan leather driving gloves.

'If you want something to eat, Mrs Henley has left some sandwiches in the kitchen. She'll be back later to prepare dinner, so don't bother to wash your dishes.'

'I don't mind,' Helen said indifferently, but Mrs Heathcliffe was not.

'I know you don't mind,' she declared tartly. 'However, I'd prefer it if you didn't break any more of my bone china. Leave your things for Mrs Henley.

She knows how to handle them.'

'Yes, Mrs Heathcliffe.'

Helen slid off the windowseat where she had been kneeling to face the older woman, and Mrs Heathcliffe's sharp glance flicked appraisingly over her wine-coloured sweater and matching pleated skirt.

'So you'll be all right until I get back,' she demanded, brushing a speck of cotton from the suit covering her ample form. 'Amelia never provides much in the way of refreshment, so when the cards are over, I'll take my leave.'

'Don't hurry on my account,' said Helen stiffly. She was used to Mrs Heathcliffe's regular bridge afternoons, and in all honesty, she welcomed having the apartment to herself.

'Very well.' Heath's mother inclined her head in agreement. 'I'm pleased to see you're learning some manners at last. I can't imagine what they'll make of you at St Helena's. Perhaps it's just as well they're not warned in advance.'

Helen swallowed convulsively. 'Has-has Heath mentioned St Helena's to you recently?' she ventured faintly, realising she had begun to believe she was to remain at the apartment indefinitely.

'Of course.' Mrs Heathcliffe was without compa.s.sion. 'Rupert's making arrangements for you to go there at the start of the autumn term in two weeks' time. I forgot-he won't have told you. He only speaks to me when he rings.'

'Two weeks!' Helen said the words disbelievingly, and Mrs Heathcliffe sighed.

'You really must stop behaving as if it was the end of the world, Helen,'

she a.s.serted impatiently. 'You've known, ever since Rupert brought you here, that it was only a matter of time before you departed for Switzerland.

And not before time, in my opinion. Keeping you at Matlock all these years!

I've not known where to show my face.'

Helen bent her head. 'There was nothing wrong with my living at Matlock.'

'When you were a child, perhaps.'

'No.' She looked up. 'When I was an adult. Heath and I-we were happy together.'

'But no longer,' remarked Mrs Heathcliffe acidly. 'For some reason best known to himself, Rupert has at last come to his senses, and I for one am delighted that he's done so before any serious harm was done.'

Helen frowned. 'What do you mean?'

'What do you think I mean, you foolish girl? I may be sixty, but I'm not in my dotage yet. You're-well, you're a reasonably attractive girl, and Rupert was always far too interested in the opposite s.e.x, in my opinion.'

Helen caught her breath. 'Oh, I see. You think-you think perhaps-Heath and I-' Her throat constricted, and she started to laugh, peals of hysterical laughter that rang around the modestly-proportioned bedroom and caused Mrs Heathcliffe to stare at her as if she had gone mad.

'Helen, stop that!' She stepped towards her. 'Stop that at once! I really don't know what's the matter with you, I'm sure I don't. I always said Rupert was a fool for getting himself involved with you. Just because my daughter was reckless enough to marry your father there was no reason for him to take the responsibility for a child that wasn't even his own flesh and blood.'

Helen's laughter died as abruptly as it erupted, and wiping her eyes with her wrists, she turned away. 'Please leave, Mrs Heathcliffe,' she said, wishing desperately that she had a tissue, and Heath's mother uttered a sound of irritation before marching out of the room.

Alone with her thoughts again, Helen left her room to pace restlessly along the corridor to the living room. Mrs Heathcliffe's taste in decoration was not like her son's. She went in for elaborately-embossed wall coverings, rooms filled to overflowing with chairs and tables, and dozens of small ornaments, cluttering up s.p.a.ces that would have been better left empty. The living room was like that: armchairs, sofas, even an enormous china cabinet to take the overflow from a collection of occasional tables, all adorned with lacy cloths to prevent their surfaces from getting scratched. Mrs Henley, Heath's mother's housekeeper, spent her days grumbling about the number of articles she had to move before she could start to dust, and Helen guessed there were times when she would have liked to sweep the whole lot on to the heavily patterned Persian carpet. Helen felt like that now as she curled up on a striped Regency sofa beside the artificial glow of the electric fire. She felt sick and miserable and totally alone. She did not even have the consolation of a close friend to share her troubles with. Heath had forbade her to have anything further to do with either Nigel or Miles, and her girl friends were too far away to see her now that she was living in Manchester.

Cupping her chin on one hand, she stared unseeingly into s.p.a.ce. Mrs Heathcliffe's words had brought the future into perspective, and the prospect of being sent to school in Switzerland was no longer just a possibility. Heath was arranging it. She would probably hear nothing about it until it was time for her to leave. He would spring it on her, as he had sprung the news that she was going to stay with his mother here in Manchester, and Helen's emotions stirred with belated indignation. She would be eighteen at Christmas; he had no doubt conveniently forgotten about that. So far as he was concerned, she was still a minor, and a liability. What he really wanted was her off his hands, only he was too polite to say so. What she should be doing was finding herself a job and other accommodation, so that when he came along with his plans for her future, she could throw them back in his face.

Pushing herself up from the chair, she made her way back to her own room, rummaging in a drawer for her handbag and pulling out the wallet tucked inside it. When Heath brought her to Manchester, he had given her some money to be going on with. An allowance, he had called it, though Helen had showed little interest in it at the time. Now, however, she withdrew the handful of notes from the leather wallet, counting them swiftly, and with growing jubilation.

There were sixty pounds altogether, in various denominations of notes; sixty pounds, an enormous sum to someone who had never had any real conception of the value of money. Helen was sure that with that amount of money she could easily find herself accommodation until she got a job, and once she was actually earning, she could save up and send it back.

Breathing quickly, she tucked her thumbnail between her teeth, rationalising what she was planning. What she was actually doing was removing herself from Heath's protection, she realised hollowly. If she walked out of this apartment now, she might never see him again, and her legs grew horribly weak at that agonising prospect.

But what were the alternatives? she asked herself fiercely. A school in Switzerland until she was eighteen or even older. And then what? She sighed. She doubted Heath would ever let her return to Matlock. No. Some other arrangement would be made for her, she might even be expected to come back here; and as soon as she showed an interest in some young man, she would be married off as Angela had predicted and consequently out of Heath's hands.

Poor Angela, she reflected ruefully. She hadn't lasted long in her chosen career. Not that she had lost by the deal, Helen amended broodingly.

According to Mrs Heathcliffe, her son had given Miss Patterson a very generous bonus, in lieu of the termination of her employment, and Angela would not have to work again for quite a considerable time.

But Angela's good fortune was not hers, and Helen knew that if she was going to do anything with her life it would have to be soon. Two weeks was not long to find a job and somewhere to live, and she intended to do it without any help from anyone.

During the next few days, she spent all her free time combing the employment agencies and visiting various landladies whose advertis.e.m.e.nts she had read in the local press. Mrs Heathcliffe didn't question her activities.

Her own social life was such that Helen's disappearing in the morning, ostensibly to do some shopping, and reappearing again in the afternoon with the same excuse, pa.s.sed without comment. However, Helen did catch Heath's mother looking at her once or twice with a rather curious expression, and she guessed the older woman was looking forward to her departure.

The job she eventually found was not gained through an agency. It was outlined on a notice stuck in a hairdresser's window, and Helen enquired within as she was requested, and discovered her employer was to be the man who had been so understanding about her own hair.

'I have two salons,' he said, explaining why the notice had been put into this particular window. 'Are you sure you really want this job? I got the impression you were unlikely to be needing the money.'

'You were wrong,' declared Helen, torturing the strap of her handbag. 'It's fifty-six pounds a week, you say? What exactly will I have to do? I've never done anyone's hair before.'

'Oh, my dear, you won't be doing hair!' exclaimed Ricardo impatiently.

'That's why I asked you if you wanted the job. It's really nothing more than charring.'

Helen gave him a rueful smile. 'Honestly, I want it,' she a.s.sured him firmly. 'Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get a job, when you've never had any experience at anything?'

'I know,' Ricardo grimaced. 'Okay, young Helen, I'll take you on. Who knows, we may find you have some talent for hairdressing. If you do, I may give you the chance to train.'

'Oh, thank you!' Helen was eternally grateful. 'When do you want me to start?'

'How about tomorrow?' suggested Ricardo drily. 'Come in tomorrow morning, and get the feel of the place. My senior stylist here is Elaine. I'll introduce you now, and you can make your own arrangements.'

'I won't be working with you, then?' Helen asked disappointedly, and Ricardo smiled.

'Not immediately anyway,' he temporised cheerfully. 'But we'll see in the future. I have a girl at my other salon who looks suspiciously as if she's got herself pregnant. If she has and she leaves, I'll see what I can do.'

Helen went back to the apartment that evening feeling amazingly heartened. She had a job, she told herself incredulously, she actually had a job, and all that remained now was for her to find herself a bedsitter, one whose rent would not decimate her fifty-six pounds a week.

She found a place the following afternoon-just a tiny room in a Victorian house not far from the city centre. It was not a particularly salubrious neighbourhood, but at least it was clean and cheap, and Mrs Fairweather, her landlady, seemed sympathetic to her youth.

'You're not from Manchester, are you, la.s.s?' she asked, as they were going downstairs again after seeing the room. 'What's up? You had a barney with your father, have you? I get all kinds of family problems here. But don't you worry, you can tell them I'll see that you get properly fed. Skinny as a lath, you are. Look like you need some good Lancashire hotpot inside you!'

Helen was amazed. Until that moment she had scarcely paid any attention to her appearance, not even noticing that the waistbands of her skirts and pants were looser, or that her face had lost its usual bloom. But walking back to the apartment, she glimpsed her reflection in the plate-gla.s.s windows of the department stores, and she realised, with a pang, that she no longer had to worry about counting calories.