Innocent Sins

Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous

collection of fantastic novels by

bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun— staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

OLIVER could hear the phone ringing as he vaulted up the steps to the front door. Light shone out through the fan-shaped skylight above, illuminating the crisp piles of snow that he guessed Thomas had cleared earlier in the day. But although he was fairly sure his manservant was at home it seemed obvious that the old man was not going to answer the call.

Which pointed to the fact that he knew who it was. Which, in turn, led Oliver to believe it must be his mother. Only if Stella had been ringing fairly constantly all day would Thomas choose to ignore the summons. He and Stella had never liked one another, and the fact that his mother had expected her son to return yesterday morning would perhaps explain her eagerness to ask him about his trip.

Or not.

Oliver’s mouth eased into a wry smile as he inserted his key in the lock. In his experience, Stella was seldom interested in anything that didn’t immediately affect her, and if she had been ringing on and off all day there was probably something personal on her mind.

The warmth that accompanied the opening of the door was welcome. Oliver would have preferred not to return to London in the middle of one of the coldest spells of the winter. Particularly since he’d spent the last three weeks sweltering in the extreme heat of the Malaysian jungle.

‘Mr Oliver!’

To his relief the phone stopped its shrill bleating at the same moment that Thomas Grayson appeared at the end of the long hallway that ran from front to back of the house. Although Oliver had tried to persuade the old man that such formality wasn’t necessary, Thomas insisted on addressing him that way.

Now Oliver hoisted the bag containing his camera equipment inside and, closing the door, leaned back against it for a moment’s rest. He didn’t often take the time to appreciate the elegant beauty of the narrow, four-storey Georgian house that was his home, but he was always relieved to find that nothing had changed in his absence.

‘I expected you back yesterday, Mr Oliver.’

Thomas’s tone was almost reproving and Oliver wondered if he considered he was to blame for the delay. ‘The plane was late leaving Singapore, and there’s been a snowstorm over western Europe for the past twenty-four hours, in case you hadn’t noticed,’ he responded drily. ‘But, hey, don’t let that worry you. And it’s good to see you, too.’

Thomas, who had been about to wrest his employer’s rucksack and garment bag from his hands, straightened abruptly. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Mr Oliver,’ he said, with evident sincerity. ‘Of course it’s good to have you back. But—’ He paused. ‘I’m afraid there’s been something of an emergency while you’ve been away.’

‘What now?’

Oliver was wearily aware that he wasn’t in the best mood to suffer another of his mother’s crises, if that was what Thomas meant. Resignation replaced his earlier optimism. Where Stella was concerned, there were always emergencies, most recently occasioned by his mother’s inability to live within the allowance Griff gave her.

‘Your mother’s been trying to reach you for the past forty-eight hours,’ Thomas continued, and just for a moment Oliver wondered if Laura could be involved. His stepsister used to be a constant thorn in his mother’s side, but she’d gone to live in the United States almost seven years ago now. ‘I regret to have to tell you that your stepfather died two days ago,’ Thomas added gently. ‘Mrs Williams has been desperate to get in touch with you ever since.’

Oliver’s resignation vanished. ‘So that’s why you refused to answer the phone?’

‘Well, yes.’ Thomas was defensive. ‘Mrs Williams was getting rather—well, abusive. She accused me of not giving you her messages. She wouldn’t believe that I didn’t know where you were.’

Oliver pulled a wry face. He knew his mother must have said something upsetting for Thomas to ignore her calls at a time like this. ‘If she’d rung the airline, she’d have found out why I was late,’ he said wearily. He’d been travelling for the past forty-eight hours and he was tired. He’d been looking forward to nothing more exhausting than taking a hot shower and collapsing into bed. Now he was going to have to deal with his mother, and he could imagine how harrowing that was going to be.

‘I’d better give her a ring,’ he said, abandoning any hope of getting some rest. He picked up the bag containing his camera equipment and started up the stairs ahead of Thomas. ‘Perhaps you’d repack the rucksack with some clean underwear. If I have to go down to Penmadoc, I might as well be prepared.’

‘You’re not proposing to drive down to Penmadoc tonight!’ Thomas was horrified.

‘I’ll probably have no choice in the matter,’ replied his employer, entering the lamplit room on his left at the top of the stairs. The first floor of the house was given over to this room, which was Oliver’s study, the dining room, and a comfortable sitting room, with his bedroom suite and two guest suites on the second floor. He went straight to the wet bar to help himself to a small shot of whisky. ‘I know, I know,’ he groaned, when Thomas stood shaking his head in the doorway. ‘But I need some fortification. I’ll have a sandwich and some coffee before I leave, I promise.’

Thomas’s disapproval was apparent, but in the eight years since he’d come to work for Oliver he’d learned when to back off. Leaving his employer to make his call, he continued on his way to the second floor and Oliver heard him opening and closing drawers and sliding hangers about in his dressing room.

The phone seemed to ring for a long time before anyone answered it. Oliver was beginning to wonder if his mother had guessed it was him and was paying him back for not being there when she needed him. It was the sort of thing Stella might do, only not at a time like this, surely.

He could imagine the sound echoing round the draughty old hall, with its beamed ceiling and uneven polished floor. He couldn’t ever remember feeling warm at Penmadoc in the winter. Laura used to say the house was haunted and, when he was younger, he’d half believed her.

Laura…

‘Penmadoc Hall.’

A voice with a strong Welsh accent interrupted his maundering. ‘Oh, hello,’ he said, putting the past behind him. ‘This is Oliver Kemp. Is my mother there?’

‘Oliver.’ The tone was familiar to him now, and Eleanor Tenby was surprisingly amiable for once. ‘Your mother will be pleased to hear from you. I’ll get her for you.’

‘Thanks.’

Oliver didn’t attempt to detain her, even though it was unusual for Laura’s aunt Nell to show any consideration towards either him or his mother. Had it not been for the fact that she was Maggie Williams’ sister, and Penmadoc had always been her home, Stella would have got rid of her long ago. But, although Griff had indulged her in most things, where Eleanor was concerned, he wouldn’t be moved.

And, ultimately, it had suited his mother to have a readymade housekeeper, thought Oliver wryly. Because Laura’s mother had been ill for several years before her death, Eleanor had taken over the running of the household from her. When Maggie died and Griff married again, Eleanor had retained her position. Stella might have grumbled at first, but she’d never been the kind of woman to enjoy domestic duties.

‘Oliver?’

His mother’s voice came shrilly over the wires, and although he was used to her dramatics by now Oliver sensed she was more than usually distrait. There was a note of hysteria there that he hadn’t expected, and he prepared himself to comfort her as best he could.

‘Hi, Ma,’ he greeted her, with his usual irreverence. Then he said, gently, ‘I was so sorry to hear the news about Griff. You must be shattered.’

‘Yes. Yes, I am.’ Stella’s response was taut and uneven. ‘Where the hell have you been, Oliver? I’ve been trying to reach you for days.’

‘I know. Thomas told me.’

‘Thomas!’ His mother fairly spat the old man’s name. ‘That little weasel had the nerve to tell me that he didn’t know how to reach you. As if you’d have gone away without leaving a forwarding address.’

Oliver heaved a deep breath. ‘He wasn’t lying, Ma. I left Singapore yesterday morning. But the plane was delayed with engine trouble in Bahrain, and then, what with the weather—’

‘You could have phoned home.’

‘Why?’ Oliver could feel his sympathy dissolving into irritation. ‘Thomas has eyes. He could see the problem the weather was creating for himself.’

‘Is that a dig at me?’

Stella’s voice wobbled a little now and Oliver realised that Griff’s death had hit her even harder than he’d thought. He was more used to her complaining about the disadvantages of being married to a man considerably older than herself, who apparently didn’t understand why she was perpetually short of funds.

‘It’s not a dig,’ he said gently. ‘Naturally, if I’d known about Griff—’

‘Yes.’ To his relief, his mother seemed to have herself in control again. ‘Yes, well, I suppose that’s a fair point. There didn’t appear to be anything wrong with him when you went away, did there? How was any of us to know that in three weeks he’d be dead?’ Her voice rose again, but she managed to steady it. ‘You’re coming down, of course?’

‘Of course.’ Oliver conceded to himself that there was no way he could avoid it. ‘I’ll get something to eat and then I’ll be on my way.’

‘Thank God!’ Stella was obviously relieved and Oliver acknowledged the fact that so far as his mother was concerned his feelings counted for little. But then, he’d always known that, hadn’t he? ‘I’ll wait up for you.’

She would have rung off then, but Oliver had to ask. ‘Griff?’ he said awkwardly. ‘I mean—how did it happen?’

‘He had a heart attack,’ said Stella shortly, clearly not prepared to elaborate on the phone. ‘Drive carefully.’

The line went dead and Oliver replaced his receiver with a troubled hand. A heart attack! As far as he knew, Griff had never had any problems with his heart. But what did he know? In the twenty years since Griff had married his mother, they’d hardly become bosom buddies, and although age had brought a certain understanding between them they’d never been really close.

There was still so much he wanted to know. Was Laura coming home for her father’s funeral? Of course, she must be. She hadn’t come home when her marriage to Conor Neill had foundered, but that was different. Her work was in New York. She’d made a niche for herself there. Why would she come back to England, or, more precisely, Wales, when she had a perfectly good job in the United States?

His lips twisted. Naturally, Stella had been relieved that she hadn’t returned to Penmadoc. The last thing she’d wanted was for her stepdaughter to come back and form an alliance with her father against her. Oliver couldn’t deny that Stella had always been jealous of the relationship Laura had had with her father. And Laura had never forgiven his mother for replacing Maggie less than a year after her mother’s death.

‘I’ve laid out some clean clothes in your bedroom, Mr Oliver.’ Thomas spoke somewhat diffidently from the doorway, evidently cognisant of the disturbed expression his employer was wearing. ‘I assume you’ll be taking a shower before you leave?’ he added. ‘I’ll have some coffee and a light meal ready when you come downstairs.’

Oliver flexed his shoulders. ‘Just a sandwich, thanks,’ he said wearily. ‘I had something to eat on the plane, and I’m not really hungry.’ He paused before saying gratefully, ‘But the coffee would be welcome. Is there plenty of fuel in the car?’

‘I expect you’ll use the Jeep?’ Thomas arched an enquiring brow and Oliver nodded. He owned a Mercedes, too, but the four-wheel-drive vehicle was obviously the safest choice tonight. It wasn’t the weather for breaking the speed limit, and he was likely to run into some really nasty conditions after he crossed the Severn Bridge.

By the time he’d had his shower and dressed again, it was dark. The short winter afternoon had given way to a bitterly cold evening and he wasn’t looking forward to the long journey into Wales. Downstairs, Thomas had the promised coffee, and some soup as well as a sandwich, waiting. ‘Just to warm you up,’ he said apologetically as Oliver came into the kitchen.

Thomas’s own apartments were in the basement of the building. Oliver had his darkroom there, too, and on summer evenings Thomas sometimes served his meal in the sheltered charm of the walled garden at the back of the house. Tonight, however, the paved patio was a transparency in black and white, the reflection in the windows of the room behind giving the scene an eerie beauty.

The phone rang again as Oliver was drinking the soup, and this time Thomas had no hesitation about answering it. ‘It’s Miss Harlowe,’ he said, covering the mouthpiece with his fingers. ‘Do you want to speak to her, or shall I tell her you’ve already left?’

‘And lie about it?’ mocked Oliver drily. Then, taking pity on the old man, he held out his hand. ‘I’ll speak to her,’ he said, deciding he owed Natalie an explanation of where he was likely to be for the next few days. ‘Hi, sweetheart. It’s good to hear your voice. Have you missed me?’

‘Do you care?’ Oliver stifled a sigh at the realisation that Natalie was angry with him, as well. ‘I’ve been expecting you to call all afternoon. I rang the airport and they said your plane had been delayed, but—’

‘I got back about half an hour ago,’ Oliver interrupted her quickly. ‘I was going to ring you, but—well, things came up.’

‘What things?’ Natalie was not placated.

‘A phone call from my mother,’ said Oliver, taking a bite from his sandwich. Then, chewing rapidly, he added, ‘She’s been trying to get in touch with me, too.’

‘Are you eating?’

Natalie sounded outraged and Oliver swallowed before attempting to speak again. ‘Yeah,’ he said resignedly. ‘I’m just trying to fortify myself for the journey. I’ve got to drive down to Penmadoc tonight.’

‘Penmadoc!’ Natalie gasped. ‘You’re not serious.’

‘I’m afraid I am.’ Oliver shook his head at Thomas when he mimed making him another sandwich. ‘My stepfather had a heart attack two days ago.’

‘Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry.’ Natalie was all sympathy now. ‘How is he? Is it serious?’

‘He’s dead,’ answered Oliver flatly. ‘That’s why my mother wants me to drive down there tonight. I am her only blood relative. Naturally she wants my support.’

Or did she? Oliver wasn’t absolutely sure what his mother wanted. She’d been decidedly strange when he’d spoken to her. Despite the years they’d spent together, he would never have expected Griff’s death to affect her so badly.

‘Would you like me to come with you?’

Natalie was speaking again, and for a moment Oliver was tempted. But then he remembered Laura and his refusal was automatic. ‘I don’t think so, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Funerals are family occasions, as you know. And I’m not sure what the arrangements are yet.’

‘Will your stepsister be there?’

Natalie’s enquiry sounded innocent enough, but Oliver sensed her irritation. Ever since he’d mentioned the fact that his stepsister had brains as well as beauty, Natalie had resented her; which was ridiculous really when they’d never even met.

‘She may be there,’ he said now, evenly. ‘But, if she is, I’ll be the last person she wants to see.’

‘Do you expect me to believe that?’ Natalie snorted. ‘I haven’t forgotten what you told me about her flinging herself at you when she was hardly more than a kid!’

Oliver swore silently then scowled. He must have been drunk if he’d told Natalie about that. ‘You didn’t believe me, did you?’ he scoffed, striving to sound incredulous. ‘Come on, baby, I was only kidding. For God’s sake, it’s been over eight years since Laura and I even met!’

Natalie was silent for a moment, and then she said cautiously, ‘So she didn’t come to your room and get into bed with you?’

‘No!’ Oliver stifled a groan. He must have been drunker than he’d thought.

‘And your mother didn’t find out and threaten the pair of you?’

‘I’ve said no, haven’t I?’ Oliver knew he could do without this. ‘Come on, Natalie, I was only having a bit of fun. You’re so gullible sometimes, I can’t resist teasing you.’

‘You bastard!’ Natalie swore now. ‘You were so convincing. I thought it was true.’

‘So sue me,’ he said, desperate to avoid any further revelations. ‘Look, sweetheart, I’ve really got to get going.’

‘But what about the Rices’ party?’ Fortunately, she was easily diverted. ‘Couldn’t you come back tomorrow? Surely there can’t be that much you can do.’

‘Except be there for Ma,’ suggested Oliver drily. ‘I’m sorry, baby, but you’re going to have to go on your own.’

‘Don’t I always,’ muttered Natalie, not altogether truthfully. ‘Oh, all right. But you will ring me and let me know what’s going on?’

‘I promise.’

Oliver was relieved to escape so easily, but after he’d hung up the phone the images Natalie’s words had evoked were not so effortlessly dispelled. This was not the time to be thinking about Laura, he thought impatiently, or to be remembering what had happened that unforgettable summer night. Or why, instead of taking up his place at university that autumn, he’d left the country, spending a year trekking around Europe, trying to get what had happened out of his system.

‘You do realise it’s after six, don’t you, Mr Oliver?’ Thomas’s anxious tone interrupted him. ‘I’m sure it’s not wise to drive down to Wales tonight. There’s reduced visibility on the M4 and the motoring organisations are warning people only to travel if it’s absolutely necessary. Don’t you think your mother would understand if you—?’

‘Forget it.’ Oliver pushed away from the table. ‘As far as Ma’s concerned, this is an emergency. Besides, there’s always the chance that the weather could worsen. I don’t want to find I can’t get there tomorrow because they’re snowed in.’

Thomas shrugged. ‘Well, if you’re determined…’

‘I am.’ Oliver was adamant. ‘But don’t worry, old man. I won’t do anything rash. If I find I’m getting into difficulties, I’ll find a motel.’

‘You hope.’

Thomas wasn’t convinced, and Oliver grimaced at the negative vibes he was giving off. ‘Look, I’ve got to go,’ he said. ‘Don’t you think I’ve got enough to contend with without you jumping all over me as well?’

Thomas sniffed. ‘I’m only thinking of your welfare, Mr Oliver.’

‘I know.’ Oliver paused to give the old man a rueful look.

‘But I must say, this is the first time I’ve seen you so determined to obey your mother,’ he added peevishly, and Oliver’s lean face creased into a mocking grin.

‘That won’t work either,’ he said, looping the strap of his rucksack over his shoulder. ‘Now, I’ll phone you tomorrow, wherever I am, and I’ll give Stella your condolences, shall I? I’m sure you don’t want her to think you don’t care.’

‘I’ve already offered Mrs Williams my condolences,’ retorted Thomas indignantly. ‘Although I have to say she didn’t seem to want any sympathy from me.’ And then, because the affection he had for his employer was genuine, he said, ‘Do take care, won’t you?’

‘I will.’

Oliver patted the old man’s shoulder in passing, and then, after a regretful thought about the photographs he’d planned to process tomorrow, he picked up his keys and started for the door.

CHAPTER TWO

LAURA shivered.

Despite the heat that was still emanating from the old Aga in the corner, the kitchen at Penmadoc was decidedly chilly tonight. The cold struck up through the soles of her mules and she wondered why Stella hadn’t had the stone floor removed and modern tiles installed in their stead. She could guess why, of course. The kitchen was still Aunt Nell’s domain and even Stella baulked at locking horns with her. Besides, she doubted if Stella ever entered the kitchen except to issue orders. Domestic duties and cooking had never appealed to her stepmother.

But it was a relief to find that some things at Penmadoc hadn’t changed when so much else had. Her father was dead. Impossible to believe, but it was true. Stella was the mistress of the house now. Laura was only here on sufferance.

Was it really only six months since she’d seen her father in London? He’d seemed as hale and hearty as ever, if a little more boisterous than usual. She’d put that down to his usual high spirits at seeing her again, but she wondered now if it had been a screen for something else. Stella had said that she’d known nothing about him having any heart trouble, but he could have been hiding it from her, as well.