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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.
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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
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
TAMSYN STANFORD cupped her chin in her hands and stared moodily through the drug-store window, completely oblivious of the smoky atmosphere and the deafening din of the record machine. Outside a steady drizzle was falling, wetting the sidewalks and causing homeward-bound shop and office workers to quicken their step. Cars swished through puddles, queues formed at bus-stops, but Tamsyn seemed lost in a depressed world of her own making.
Her companion, a rather long-haired young man of her own age, with a drooping moustache, studied her expression thoughtfully, and then said: ‘Let me get this straight. Your mother has decided to marry this professor guy she’s known for several years?’
‘That’s right,’ answered Tamsyn, nodding, without looking at him. ‘He’s a sort of friend of the family. He knows my father, too.’
‘And during the summer vac they’re going on this lecture tour of the west coast as a sort of honeymoon, right?’
‘Yes.’ Tamsyn sounded impatient. ‘I’ve told you so.’
‘I know it. But what I can’t understand is—why should you have to change your plans—our plans, in fact?’
Tamsyn turned green eyes in his direction. ‘Apparently, no matter how she’s felt about Daddy in the past, she feels I would be—well, less of an anxiety if I go and spend several weeks with him.’
The young man gave an angry exclamation. ‘But, gee, Tammy, it’s crazy! You’re almost eighteen. Surely you’re old enough to look after yourself! Besides, your father is the last person I’d have expected her to ask you to stay with.’
‘It’s not a question of looking after me!’ Tamsyn was stung to retort. ‘And don’t call me Tammy!’
‘Well, it’s stupid!’
‘I know that.’ Tamsyn heaved a sigh. ‘But you see, it’s not as straightforward as it sounds. When Daddy—well, when they split up, naturally I stayed with Mummy. But later, after the divorce, he was given authority to visit me and have me visit with him. But although he has come very occasionally, Boston isn’t exactly on his doorstep, is it?’
‘I agree. But similarly Wales isn’t on your doorstep either.’
‘No. And whenever he has suggested me visiting with him and Joanna Mummy hasn’t been very keen. But now—well, she thinks it’s the ideal opportunity!’ She bent her head. ‘I’m sorry, Gerry, but what can I do?’
Gerry Thorpe stubbed out the cigarette he had been smoking with savage movements. ‘I think your mother is a selfish—–’ He bit off an epithet. ‘Can’t you see what she’s doing, Tammy—Tamsyn? I mean, it’s obvious that until now she’s guarded you jealously, not even allowing you to spend any time with your father. But suddenly, because she wants something, she’s prepared to send you to England without a second thought—–’
‘Not to England, to Wales,’ contradicted Tamsyn shortly. ‘Oh, what’s the use of talking about it? We can’t do anything. I shall have to go. We’ll just have to cancel our plans, that’s all.’
‘You could defy her.’
Tamsyn shook her head. ‘No, I couldn’t do that. Look, do you honestly think I’m looking forward to going to—to Trefallath? I can assure you I’m not. I’ve only met Joanna once and we didn’t exactly take to one another, which is only natural, I suppose.’
‘The other woman,’ remarked Gerry dryly.
‘Yes.’ Tamsyn lifted her untouched cup of coffee and sipped it experimentally.
‘Have you ever been to Wales before?’
‘No.’ Tamsyn frowned. ‘I can hardly remember London, let alone anywhere else. I was only seven when they split up, you know, and Mummy came back to the States.’
‘Your father must be like a complete stranger to you.’
‘He is. Although on the rare occasions he’s visited Boston he’s tried to be kind. It’s rather a difficult situation for me. I can appreciate the difficulties on both sides. Not that I sympathise with what my father did, of course,’ she added hastily. ‘He made my mother terribly unhappy.’
‘Did he?’ Gerry hunched his shoulders sceptically. ‘Knowing your mother as I do I can’t somehow see her ever being at a loss.’
‘That’s not a very nice thing to say,’ exclaimed Tamsyn indignantly. ‘When has she ever been other than polite to you?’
Gerry shook his head. ‘Okay, okay, don’t bite my head off. I’m just feeling a bit fed up, that’s all.’
Tamsyn’s face softened. ‘I’m sorry, Gerry, truly I am. But I’ve got to go to Wales. Perhaps we could arrange something for the Christmas vac.’
‘Who wants to go hitching in the middle of winter?’ asked Gerry gloomily. ‘Besides, by then your mother will be good and married to this guy, and who knows, he may decide to move to the west coast if this trip appeals to him.’
Tamsyn’s dark brows drew together. ‘You don’t think he’d do that, do you?’
‘How should I know?’ retorted Gerry shortly. ‘Gee, what a day!’ He indicated the rain outside. ‘And I was going to suggest we went to the ball game tonight.’
Tamsyn smiled and her companion wondered, with a pang, however Lance Stanford would bear to let her go once she had spent some time with him. In his eyes, Tamsyn was perfect, his ideal, and not the teenage crush his mother thought she was. Tall and slender, yet warmly rounded, Tamsyn was as tall as he was, with straight corn-coloured hair that fell several inches below her shoulders. He had seldom seen her in anything other than jeans and sweaters, and the kind of loose smocks that were so popular nowadays. Yet for all that she retained a certain femininity that attracted her fellow students without any effort on her part. She was a popular girl at college, but she would be the first to admit that boys figured more largely among her friends than girls.
Now she slid off her seat, brushing back her hair with a careless hand. ‘I must go,’ she said. ‘I promised Mummy I’d be home early. Charles is coming to dinner.’
‘Charles Penman, I suppose.’
‘Correct.’ Tamsyn slid the hood of her coat over her head. ‘Will I see you tomorrow?’
‘I guess so,’ conceded Gerry, sighing. ‘Aw, heck, Tamsyn, won’t you change your mind?’
‘I can’t, Gerry.’ Tamsyn was firm. ‘Goodbye.’
‘’Bye, Tamsyn.’ Gerry gave her a swift kiss on the mouth, but before he could prevent her she had slipped away, a hand raised in farewell.
About half an hour later, Tamsyn let herself into her home in Vestry Square. It was one of those tall, narrow old Boston houses which had been successfully modernised and was now a fitting background for Laura Stanford, Tamsyn’s mother. Softly textured carpets ran into all the corners, while the elegant staircase which mounted out of the entrance hall was panelled in mellow oak.
Rebecca, Laura’s housekeeper and personal maid, encountered her employer’s daughter in the hall and gave her slow Southern smile. ‘You’re back early,’ she said in her drawling voice. ‘Your mother’s not home yet.’
Tamsyn slipped off her coat. ‘Mr. Penman’s coming to dinner, so I thought I’d give myself plenty of time to bathe and change.’ She sighed and looked thoughtfully at Rebecca’s shiny black face. ‘I suppose you’ve heard that I’m to stay with Daddy while Mummy and Charles are away.’
Rebecca nodded. ‘Yes, Miss Tamsyn. Your mother told me this morning.’ She frowned, tipping her head on one side. ‘Why? Don’t you want to go?’
‘No.’ Tamsyn tugged impatiently at a strand of hair. ‘Well, after all, it’s more than three years since I’ve seen him and then only when he visited Mummy here. I hardly know him.’
Rebecca folded her arms across her ample stomach. ‘Then perhaps it’s time you did,’ she said, with the familiarity of an old servant. ‘My, visiting England and all! You’ll likely have a wonderful time.’
‘My father lives in Wales,’ remarked Tamsyn distinctly, walking through into the comfortable lounge that overlooked the quiet square. ‘And I’m sure I shan’t enjoy it at all. Good heavens, I’ve scarcely exchanged more than two words with Joanna—she’s his second wife, you know.’
Rebecca had followed her and was standing squarely in the doorway. ‘It will do you good to get away,’ she insisted. ‘Besides, you know your mother never approved of you planning that holiday with Gerald Thorpe.’
‘I know that.’ Tamsyn flung herself moodily into an armchair. ‘Why do I have to go away, though? I could perfectly well stay here with you!’
‘I shan’t be here. I’m to visit my sister in New Orleans.’
Tamsyn pressed her lips together mutinously. ‘Then I could stay here alone.’
Rebecca was scandalised. ‘Now don’t you go upsetting your mother with talk like that. She’s only thinking of what’s best for you. Why, if I was to be offered a trip like that, I’d be thrilled!’
‘Would you, Rebecca?’ Tamsyn was doubtful. ‘I wonder. I just can’t see myself fitting in with them. My father’s a doctor, as you know, with a country practice. I’ve always lived in the city—mixing with eggheads like Mummy and Charles—not nature-lovers!’
‘Miss Tamsyn!’ Rebecca couldn’t hide her impatience. ‘Don’t you talk like that no more. Your mother’s going to be home soon, and how do you think she’d feel if she thought you were so opposed to going to England?’
‘Wales,’ said Tamsyn automatically, getting to her feet. ‘I think I’ll take my bath. Oh, don’t look so anxious, Rebecca. I shan’t say anything to spoil the idyll. I just wish sometimes I was consulted before plans were made for me.’
She was in the bath, her body concealed beneath scented soap bubbles, when her mother entered the bathroom. Laura Stanford was not much like her daughter. Although they were of a similar height and build, Laura’s hair was brown and undistinguished, and now she wore it dragged into a rather severe knot which added years to her age. She wore horn-rimmed spectacles, too, and looked every inch the university lecturer she was. Tamsyn had sometimes wondered whether it was her mother’s lack of femininity which had driven her father into the arms of a woman who hadn’t an original thought in her head. She couldn’t really understand how they had ever got married at all. They were not alike. Her mother was so much that breed of American woman who needed to feel intellectually superior to her mate and her father had obviously disliked the image. But such thoughts were faintly traitorous, Tamsyn had decided long ago, and she usually kept them at bay. However, this evening, with the prospect of spending several weeks with her father and his wife uppermost in her mind, she couldn’t help the inevitable comparison.
Laura was carrying a sheaf of papers and waved them in her daughter’s face playfully. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I’ve got your tickets and travelling arrangements.’
Tamsyn smoothed soap over her arms. ‘When do I leave?’
Laura appeared not to notice the slightly dry note in Tamsyn’s voice and pretended to consult the documents. ‘Early on Sunday morning, darling.’ She looked at her daughter again. ‘Charles thought you would prefer to stay overnight Saturday at the hotel and make a fresh start Sunday morning.’
‘I see.’ Tamsyn played with a handful of bubbles. ‘And you leave Saturday night.’
‘That’s right, darling. On the first stage of our journey. It’s rather exciting, isn’t it?’
‘If you say so.’ Tamsyn couldn’t entirely hide her own feelings then.
Laura frowned. ‘What’s wrong? You’re not still hankering over those plans you made with Gerry, are you?’
Tamsyn sighed. ‘I saw him this afternoon. He was pretty disappointed, and so am I.’
‘But, Tamsyn, even had I not been about to take one of the most serious steps a woman can take, I should still have found the idea of you hitching about the country in the company of that young man rather hard to swallow.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, Tamsyn, don’t be naïve! You know perfectly well what I mean.’
‘Do you think if Gerry and I wanted to do something wrong we’d need to arrange a holiday first?’ exclaimed Tamsyn scornfully. ‘Honestly, Mummy, it’s ridiculous!’
‘Very well. Perhaps it is. Perhaps I’m doing you both an injustice. And no doubt in other circumstances I would have to agree. But right now I’m just relieved that you’re going to stay with Lance. Besides, it will do you good to travel. And England is a beautiful country, no matter what it’s climate’s like.’
Tamsyn expelled her breath loudly. ‘Okay, Mummy. I won’t make a fuss.’ She forced herself to be interested. ‘Where did you say Charles was lecturing first?’
Laura regarded her intently for a moment as though realising for the first time that Tamsyn had a mind and a will of her own. Then she shrugged, as though to dispel the unease she had suddenly experienced, and began to tell her daughter the details of their schedule.
Charles arrived before Tamsyn went down to dinner, and when she entered the exquisitely appointed lounge he was standing helping himself to a drink from the cabinet. It was strange, she thought with a pang, that when she returned from visiting her father, Charles would be a permanent fixture here, sharing their lives, and sleeping in her mother’s bedroom. She would no longer be able to go into her mother’s room in the early hours of the morning and tell her all about the party she had just been to, or climb into bed with her on Sunday mornings and have Rebecca bring them breakfast together.
Charles turned when he heard her step and regarded her admiringly. He was a man in his early fifties, of medium build with a rather angular face and body. Like her mother he, too, lectured at the university, and it was their mutual interests which had brought them together. Tamsyn neither liked nor disliked him, but she could understand his appeal for her mother. Theirs was a blending of minds rather than spirits, but Tamsyn knew that that kind of a union would never do for her.
‘You’re looking charming, my dear,’ he said now, pouring her some sherry with the familiarity of long use. ‘Here you are.’
‘Thank you.’ Tamsyn took the glass and looked down into its depths without drinking the liquid. ‘Has it stopped raining yet?’
Charles finished his bourbon and poured himself a second. ‘More or less. It’s quite cool for June, don’t you think?’
Tamsyn nodded, and seated herself comfortably in an armchair, smoothing the skirt of her long amber-coloured caftan about her. ‘Mummy tells me you’re visiting Seattle first.’
‘Yes. Then we’ll drive south through California, finishing up at San Diego.’
‘A wonderful trip,’ commented Tamsyn.
‘Indeed.’ Charles looked rather smug. ‘I’m sure your mother will enjoy it.’
‘I’m sure she will,’ agreed Tamsyn amicably.
‘You’re not bitter, are you, Tamsyn?’
‘Bitter?’ Tamsyn was taken aback. ‘No. Why should I be bitter?’
‘About being sent to your father, of course. I mean—well, Laura has cared for you all these years without a break, you know. It’s time he fulfilled his commitment.’
Tamsyn was staggered. Was that what her mother had said? Had she told Charles that Lance Stanford had virtually disregarded his responsibilities? Tamsyn found this possibility vaguely distasteful. After all, her mother had never encouraged her father to keep in touch with his daughter, and Tamsyn recognised the fact that Lance Stanford must have resented this from time to time. But Tamsyn had always allied herself with her mother, never ever imagining that Laura would take it upon herself to get married again.
But just then Laura came into the room, mature and slightly intimidating in a gown of black silk. ‘Oh, good,’ she said, when she saw the glass of bourbon in Charles’s hand. ‘You’ve helped yourself. I hoped you would.’ She allowed him to kiss her cheek. ‘After all, you’ve got to get used to making yourself at home here, hasn’t he, Tamsyn?’
Tamsyn managed a faint smile, and then her mother’s voice changed: ‘Tamsyn, go and find Rebecca, darling. Ask her how long dinner will be. I’m starving.’
Tamsyn got up and went obediently out of the room, closing the door behind her. She understood her mother’s request for what it was, an attempt to get her out of the way for a few minutes, but it was not a pleasing experience being made to feel an intruder in one’s own home. Perhaps it was a good thing they were going away. By the time they came back the newness of their relationship would have been blunted and perhaps then it would not be so hard to take.
The Boeing 747 landed at London Airport in the early evening, London time. It had not been an arduous journey for Tamsyn, but the time change would take some getting used to. Dinner had been served on the flight, but she had been too strung up to eat anything, the events of the past forty-eight hours gradually taking their toll of her.
Her mother and Charles Penman had been married the previous afternoon in a civil ceremony that had lasted only a few minutes. There had been few guests, mainly members of the university fraternity, and it had all seemed rather cold and irreligious to Tamsyn. But her mother was happy, and that was all that mattered. Laura’s happiness was evident in her heightened colour, in the excitement of her voice, and in the way she behaved with an increased confidence.
After the ceremony there had been a private reception before they all left for the airport, Laura and Charles on the first stage of their journey to Seattle, and Tamsyn to stay overnight at the airport hotel to be ready for her flight the next morning.
After her mother had left, Tamsyn had sought the privacy of her room and indulged herself in a way she had not done since she was a child. But the tears had relieved her tension somewhat, and only now, with the huge jet taxiing to a halt outside the airport buildings, did a little of that tension return.
Her father was to meet her at the airport, and she wondered whether Joanna would be with him. She hoped not. She would like to have a few moments alone with her father before coming into contact with her—stepmother! It sounded unreal somehow: stepmother. How could one have a stepmother when one’s own mother was alive and well? It didn’t seem right somehow.
Her cases were cleared without incident and a porter carried them through to the reception lounge. But there was no sign of her father, and her heart sank. Surely he hadn’t forgotten she was coming. Surely he hadn’t mistaken the time of the flight. Knowing her mother as she did she felt sure all the details would have been arranged meticulously.
She sighed and glanced down at herself. Did she look all right? What would he think of her? She had been a child when last he saw her. Her mother hadn’t wanted her to travel in trousers, but in this Tamsyn had been firm. She preferred casual clothes, and besides, the dull green suede trouser suit had cost her mother over a hundred dollars and nothing so expensive could look all bad.
A breeze blew in through an open doorway, taking several strands of her hair and stroking them across her face. She was wiping the hair from her mouth when she became aware that she was being scrutinised rather closely by a man across the lounge from her.
An unaccustomed feeling of apprehension slid down her spine as for a brief moment her gaze locked with his and then she looked away, aware of a strange sense of disturbance. She had never before exchanged such a glance with a man of his age—he could be anything from thirty-five to forty-five—and she felt shaken for a moment. Not that he interested her, she told herself sharply. He was too big, too broad, too muscular, too masculine in every way, with dark skin and dark hair and sideburns that reached his jawline. He was not a handsome man by any standards, although she thought that some women might find his harshly carved features and deeply set eyes attractive; if one found such primitive strength appealing, of course.
She ventured another look at him and found to her embarrassment that he was still watching her, his expression vaguely speculative. Tamsyn turned her back on him, but she was intensely aware of his eyes boring into her shoulder blades and she wished desperately that her father would appear and rescue her from this awful situation.
When a low, deep, faintly musical voice spoke just behind her she almost jumped out of her skin. ‘As everyone else appears to have departed, you must be Tamsyn Stanford—are you?’
Tamsyn spun round and to her astonishment she found herself confronted by the man who had been staring at her for the last few minutes. ‘I—I—yes,’ she stammered. ‘I’m Tamsyn Stanford. But—but who are you?’