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.

Storm in a Rain Barrel
Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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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

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE rain fell in a steady downpour, causing rivulets of water to run continually down the window, obliterating, if only momentarily, the dripping trees and sodden grass. The sky was dark and heavy, and every now and then a low rumble of thunder echoed round the heavens accompanied by a flicker of lightning which lit up the prematurely darkened room. There was a high wall all round the garden outside and Domine wondered why its presence, which had previously suggested the environs of a prison to her, should now represent all that was secure and familiar.

Why didn’t he come? she asked herself again. What could possibly have delayed him?

She moved from her seat by the window and walked restlessly about the room, hugging herself as though to ward off the sense of apprehension that assailed her. She glanced at the small wrist watch she wore. Was it really only a little after three-thirty? It seemed much more than two hours since lunch was over. If only it wasn’t so dark and dismal, maybe she might have felt better. As it was, the weather had added its own sense of gloom to an already gloomy occasion.

She returned to her seat by the window, pressing her nose against the pane, breathing a misty circle, and then drawing on it with an idle finger in the way she had often been chastised for doing. Impatiently, she rubbed out the clown’s face she had etched, and heaved a sigh.

How much longer was she going to have to wait?

Reaching for her handbag, she rummaged about in the bottom and came out with the packet of cigarettes which had been hidden there. It was strange to realize that after today no one would care whether she smoked or not. She grimaced. Unless James Mannering objected to girls smoking, of course. She quelled the sense of panic that rose within her, and hastily brought out a box of matches and lit the cigarette she had already placed between her lips. Drawing on it deeply, she removed it from her mouth with unsteady fingers and replaced the burned-out match in the box. It would not do, even now, for Sister Theresa to find her with cigarettes. The habits of nine years die hard.

She looked out of the window again. From here the sweep of the gardens could be seen, and away to the right, if she pressed her face against the pane she could glimpse the drive that led up to the main entrance of the Convent of the Holy Sisters.

Her sense of nervous tension intensified as the powerful roar of a car’s engine could be heard on the road outside the convent walls, but the sound eventually died away and she realized that whoever had been driving the car had swept on by, past the closed gates at the foot of the drive.

She shivered. Surely she would not have to wait much longer. Didn’t James Mannering realize how upset and disturbed she was bound to be? Did he imagine she would take the news of her altered circumstances impassively, without having the imagination to speculate on what would happen now?

She rose to her feet again and going across to the empty grate stubbed out her cigarette and put the stub inside the box of matches and replaced the box at the bottom of her handbag. Then she looked at herself in the tiny mirror attached to her compact. Mirrors were not in plentiful supply in the convent and the reflection she saw in the powdered glass was not very clear. What would James Mannering think of her? she thought dully. And what might she think of him? What could you think of a man you had never even met? Someone who had summarily been given responsibility for you?

She pushed back the untidy fringe of chestnut hair that strayed across her wide brow. She could see nothing of beauty in olive-tanned skin, and large brown eyes. Her brows and lashes were dark, which she supposed was an advantage, particularly as the only make-up the girls were allowed to use was powder and lipstick, and that in very small quantities. Her hair was long and thick, and rather silky when she brushed it thoroughly, but as it had always been confined in one rather chunky braid she had never had much chance to appreciate it.

Sighing, she put the compact away and began to compose what she could say to James Mannering when he arrived. It was difficult to decide with any certainty how she would treat him, she knew so little about him. Of course, as he had been a contemporary of her father’s, he must be over forty, and his work, as a playwright, was not encouraging. He was probably terribly sophisticated and ‘with-it’ and would use all those awful exaggerated adjectives she had heard artists use at the local coffee-bar whenever she and one or two of her friends had gone alone into town on special occasions like someone’s birthday. She supposed he was a kind of uncle really, except that they were not related by any blood tie. Why, why had Great-Uncle Henry done it? What had he hoped to achieve? After all these years—refusing to acknowledge him as his son, and then finally making him his heir!

She shook her head. Not that she cared about the money, particularly, except that had she been six months older everything would have been so much easier. She would have been eighteen then, and capable of refusing anyone’s charity.

As it was, she had had no choice but to fall in with the terms of her great-uncle’s will. She had not attended his funeral, but that had not surprised her. After all, in all the years that she had been in his care, she had never once visited Grey Witches, the house her great-uncle owned in Yorkshire, and where he lived for nine months of the year. The other three months he devoted to Domine, and during those times they visited a hotel in Bognor which had become Domine’s only home away from the convent. There they had spent every Easter, summer and Christmas holiday for the last nine years.

She cupped her chin on her hands, wondering what would have happened to her nine years ago, had Great-Uncle Henry not stepped in. She could still remember the horror of the train crash which had killed her parents, still recall the screeching of the brakes, the groaning of the overturning carriages, the shrieking of the women, and the cries of the children. She shivered again. Oh, yes, she still got nightmares about that time and the awful impact it had made on her life.

Then, Great-Uncle Henry had been a deliverer, taking the eight-year-old Domine away from the loneliness and misery of the orphanage and installing her in the comparative comfort and pleasant surroundings of the Convent of the Holy Sisters. Not that Great-Uncle Henry had been a religious man, he had not; but he respected the church and all it stood for, and as he affirmed that he could not possibly have Domine with him all the time, they spent these holidays together. Soon now, Domine had been hoping to leave the convent and go on to college, or maybe even university. She was bright and intelligent, and the sisters had been confident she would do well. But all that had been changed by the sudden death of her great-uncle. He had been her father’s uncle, the husband of her grandmother’s sister, and therefore his interest in Domine had been all the more admirable as their relationship had only been by marriage. But he had had no children of his own, or so he had said, and he had given Domine the kind of moral background she needed, had given a stay to her existence. But now—

She started, almost guiltily, as the door opened and Sister Theresa stood there regarding her compassionately. ‘Well, Domine?’ she said, with a smile. ‘Are you ready?’

Domine’s eyes widened. ‘You mean—he’s here!’ Her heart fluttered wildly.

‘Yes, Mr. Mannering has arrived,’ replied Sister Theresa. ‘I believe he had some difficulty locating the convent in this driving rain. And after all, these roads are not very well signposted, are they?’

Domine shook her head. ‘I—I didn’t hear the car,’ she stammered.

‘Didn’t you? Well, perhaps the storm disguised its arrival. Or maybe you were not thinking about it,’ she murmured gently.

Domine swallowed hard. In truth, she had been so wrapped up in her own thoughts she had not been conscious of her surroundings. Nodding, she lifted her handbag and smoothed the skirt of the pleated pinafore dress she was wearing over a white shirt blouse. She felt young and gauche, and wished she had something a little more inspiring to wear. But perhaps it was as well that she had not. Any attempt at sophistication on her part would appear quite ludicrous.

She followed Sister Theresa’s flowing-robed figure along the stark tiled corridor and down a flight of stairs to the ground floor. Here a beautifully carved statue of the Mother and Child gave warmth to an otherwise bare hallway. The glowing colours of their robes and the gilding of their headdresses brought their cold features to life, and Domine twisted her fingers together nervously. She was not a Catholic, and until now she had felt apart from their religion, but suddenly its strength enfolded her.

Sister Theresa knocked at the door of the study where the Reverend Mother awaited them, and ushered Domine into the room. She entered rather tentatively, her eyes going immediately to the figure of the man who stood motionless beside Reverend Mother’s desk. He had his back to the door as she entered, and was staring out of the window that surveyed the same view that previously Domine had been contemplating. The rain had not eased at all, and lamps had been lit in the study to relieve the gloom.

The man turned as Sister Theresa closed the door, and looked piercingly at Domine with eyes that were a strange light shade of blue. Cold eyes, they were, she thought palpitatingly, and could see no warmth in his face. He was not a handsome man, his features were harsh and darkly tanned, lines deeply etched beside a mouth which had a sensual curve. He was, she supposed, a little under six feet in height, with broad shoulders but an otherwise lean body. His hair was very dark and straight, and sideburns grew low on his cheeks. She couldn’t begin to guess at his age, although he was younger than she had vaguely imagined, certainly younger than her father would have been had he lived. And certainly he was not the artistic aesthete of her imaginings. He dressed like a business man in a dark suit with a matching waistcoat, and wore a thick dark car-coat overall. At the moment, his coat was unfastened, and his hands were thrust deep into the pockets of his overcoat. Raindrops glistened on his dark hair, and Domine reflected that he had not wasted any time discussing her with Reverend Mother. She wondered what Reverend Mother thought of him, and gathered from the old woman’s expression that she was still rather doubtful about delivering her charge into this man’s hands.

However, she appeared to disguise her thoughts, for she rose as Domine approached her desk, and said: ‘Ah, there you are, my child. As you can see, Mr. Mannering has at last arrived to take you home.’

Home? The word stuck in Domine’s throat. Where was home now? Some place belonging to this man? The hotel in Bognor? Or Grey Witches, finally?

‘Yes,’ she faltered now. ‘How—how do you do?’ Awkwardly she held out her hand, and with an imperceptible shrug James Mannering shook hands with her. His hands were the only artistic thing about him, she thought, long and lean, with smooth, rounded nails.

‘Hello, Domine,’ he said dispassionately. ‘Are you ready to leave?’

‘Oh, but—’ began Reverend Mother, glancing at Domine and then back at James Mannering. ‘I mean—won’t you stay and have tea with us? It—it would give Domine a chance to get to know you. After all, you are a complete stranger to her, are you not?’

James Mannering compressed his lips for a moment. ‘Yes, we are strangers, Reverend Mother,’ he agreed, ‘however, I don’t believe we could possibly begin to get to know one another with a third party present.’ His gaze flickered almost sardonically. ‘Besides, as you know, I was delayed in arriving because of the weather and I should prefer to return to London before dinner time.’

Domine felt an awful tightening of her stomach muscles. Until this moment she had been so concerned with meeting the man himself that she had not fully realized what being his ward would mean. She would be subject to his desires in everything, and wherever he said she should go she would go. She shivered, and Reverend Mother intercepted her nervousness. With a stiffening of her shoulders she said:

‘Nevertheless, Mr. Mannering, I must insist that you have tea with us. As you are a stranger to all of us, I should like to discuss Domine’s future with you. It is natural that we should want to know what your plans for her are, and what arrangements have been made for her to continue with her studies. Domine has always been one of our most intelligent pupils, and it would be a shame if she were to waste her talents—now.’

James Mannering drew out a cigar case and glanced at Reverend Mother rather shrewdly before extracting a cigar and placing it between his teeth. ‘Very well,’ he said laconically. ‘Very well, by all means have tea. But I’ll just have this’—he indicated the cigar—‘if you don’t mind?’

The question was unnecessary, Domine felt sure. James Mannering was the kind of man who would respond to few restrictions. She had the feeling he would smoke his cigar whatever Reverend Mother might say.

Reverend Mother bit her lower lip rather sharply, and walking to the door she opened it and called: ‘Sister Theresa! May we have the trolley now, please?’

Domine hovered in the centre of the carpet aware that James Mannering’s eyes lingered on her rather speculatively, and she wondered how on earth she would ever get used to being his ward. Even six months seemed to stretch endlessly ahead of her. Mannering responded to a suggestion from Reverend Mother that he should sit down, and lounged into a deep leather chair by the window while Domine perched on the edge of a high-backed chair which was placed beside the desk. Sister Theresa wheeled in a tea trolley containing cakes and sandwiches, and Domine was forced to accept a sandwich and nibbled it without enthusiasm. The grimness of the day seemed to have intensified a hundredfold, and she could hardly believe all this was actually happening. There was an air of unreality about the whole affair, and for the first time she pondered the man’s reactions to being landed with a teenage ward without a real knowledge of the world outside the convent walls. During the past few minutes she had become aware of her own ignorance of life in general, and a feeling of despair gripped her. If she had been the kind of girl who sometimes came to the convent, girls like Susan Johnson, one of her friends, she would have felt able to cope, but Susan had a normal home and background, with two elder brothers to have fun with, to share experiences with, while Domine had had no one for the past nine years but a rather elderly gentleman whose ideas of entertaining the young were confined to trips to the cinema or the theatre, and occasionally a visit to some charity function. She had listened to the other girls gossiping about clothes and pop-records and boy-friends, but apart from this she had no knowledge of their world.

Reverend Mother began to question James Mannering about his plans for Domine, but his replies were non-committal and after a while the old woman seemed to realize she would learn little this way. Instead, she turned her attention to Domine and said:

‘Have you made any plans yet, Domine? Have you thought about what kind of occupation you might find?’

Domine hesitated, conscious of Mannering’s interested attention. ‘Obviously, it’s a little early for me to have made any plans,’ she began awkwardly, ‘however, at the end of the six months—when Mr. Mannering’s responsibility towards me ceases—I expect I shan’t find it too difficult to take up some kind of office work. My examination results were good, and I have the qualifications for bank or library work if I need it.’

Mannering leant forward, studying the glowing tip of his cigar. ‘Oh, come on now,’ he said, in a harsh tone, ‘this isn’t an auction market, Reverend Mother. It isn’t necessary for Domine to sell herself to me. She’s been handed to me—on a plate, so to speak, and you need have no qualms that her future won’t be adequately attended to!’

Reverend Mother looked flabbergasted by his plain speaking, and Domine’s pale cheeks turned scarlet at his tone. ‘I wasn’t aware that Domine was attempting to sell herself to you in any way, Mr. Mannering,’ the elderly nun said tautly. ‘We are simple people here, with simple beliefs, and possibly a misguidedly simple attitude towards the world outside, but nevertheless, we are aware that for a girl of Domine’s age to obtain a suitable position she requires the necessary qualifications.’

Mannering looked up, those light blue eyes glacier clear. ‘And what do you consider a “suitable” position?’ he questioned sardonically.

Reverend Mother’s cheeks coloured a little. ‘I do not feel that I should be forced to answer your questions, Mr. Mannering,’ she replied, sharply. ‘But, as you ask, any of the positions Domine has mentioned seem perfectly acceptable to me.’

James Mannering shook his head. ‘In effect you are ruling out any occupation that might fall short of your rigid set of values,’ he said, bluntly. ‘If Domine is well qualified, she may prefer a job in something a little more inspiring than an office or a bank, or a library either, for that matter. There’s advertising, for example. Or the arts. Or even something as devastating as the theatre!’

‘Obviously, we are speaking at cross purposes, Mr. Mannering,’ said Reverend Mother, sniffing a little. ‘Am I to understand that Domine is to be thrust into the theatre because that is your world?’

‘Hell, no!’ Mannering got to his feet. ‘I agree, we are talking at cross-purposes. However, I don’t see that it matters, for a while at least. Domine won’t immediately be taking up any kind of occupation.’

Domine glanced at him. ‘Why?’

Mannering shrugged. ‘We’ll see,’ he said, dismissing her question. He fastened his overcoat and went on: ‘I don’t think we’re achieving anything by discussing it here and now. It’s too early to make any assessments.’ He looked at Reverend Mother. ‘I’ll keep you in touch with Domine’s movements, if that’s what you would like. And now, as time is fleeting, and as I said I want to be back in London before dinner, perhaps you’ll excuse us?’

Reverend Mother had no choice but to agree, and she sent Domine to collect her things and to say goodbye to her friends. Susan Johnson was waiting in Domine’s room on her return, and her eyes were wide and excited.

‘I say, Dom,’ she exclaimed at once. ‘Is that gorgeous male really your James Mannering?’

Domine gave her a weary glance. ‘What gorgeous male?’

‘Heavens! Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed!’ gasped Susan. ‘Jane and I saw him arrive. We were downstairs in the hall when he came in. Is it James Mannering?’

‘Yes.’ Domine stuffed the rest of her toilet articles into an overnight case, and lifted it together with the larger case that contained all her belongings.

Susan shook her head. ‘Well, I must say you don’t look very pleased about it,’ she exclaimed rather impatiently. ‘Surely he’s not at all like you had imagined.’

Domine glanced in her direction as she walked towards the door. ‘Well, I’d agree with you there,’ she said dryly. ‘Honestly, Susan, I know absolutely nothing about him. I don’t even know where I’m going to live!’

Some of her trepidation showed in her voice and Susan approached her sympathetically. ‘You know he’s quite a well-known playwright,’ she pointed out thoughtfully. ‘And after all, you’re not old enough to arouse any—well, other kind of interest in him, are you? I mean—I don’t want to be unkind, Domine, but you are rather naïve, aren’t you? Me!’ She laughed. ‘I’d give anything to be in your shoes! Being ward to a famous man like him! Having the opportunity to meet all kinds of exciting people! Not just to marry the first man that asks you because you think his prospects are good!’

Domine half-smiled. ‘You will write to me, won’t you? I’ll let you have the address as soon as I know where it is.’

Susan nodded vigorously. ‘Of course. After all, you might invite me to come and stay some time.’

Domine sighed, and then walked slowly along the corridor towards the stairs again. As she began the downward descent, she saw James Mannering waiting in the hall with Reverend Mother, and when he saw her struggling with the cases he left off speaking to the nun and mounted the stairs lithely to take them from her. Domine, unused to any kind of assistance with her belongings, glanced at him in surprise, and saw a faintly mocking glint in his eyes as though he had been glad to escape from Reverend Mother’s catechism.

Sister Theresa joined her superior to say good-bye to their charge and the double doors of the convent were opened to admit a blast of chilling air, accompanied by driving rain. Domine, who had donned her school coat, a navy gaberdine, pulled up the collar, while James Mannering said: ‘Wait here!’ peremptorily, before dashing out into the storm.

A few moments later, the roar of a powerful engine heralded the arrival of his car, which he drew up close to the entrance so that Domine had only to cross the terrace and climb into its warmth and luxury. She said good-bye to Sister Theresa, and then to Reverend Mother, and biting back a choking feeling in her throat, she ran and climbed into the limousine. She saw, through the pouring rain, that James Mannering had returned to say good-bye to the nuns, before striding back to the vehicle and sliding in beside her. The engine had been running and he thrust it smoothly into gear and raised one hand in farewell as they began their journey.

Domine lay back in her seat feeling overwhelmingly shaky now that she had left all that was familiar behind her, and for a few minutes she stared blankly out at the awful weather and thought she would never experience a storm without remembering this afternoon. James Mannering did not speak to her at once, giving her time to collect herself, and manoeuvring the sleek car out of the gates and along the rain-washed country roads. The Convent of the Holy Sisters was situated about five miles from Guildford, and it wasn’t until they reached the main road to London that her companion glanced her way.

‘Well?’ he said, somewhat wryly. ‘Are you going to cry? Or will you save that for tonight—in bed?’

Domine stared at him in astonishment. She was unused to his blunt manner of speaking, and endeavouring to assume a little of his candour, she replied: ‘No, I shan’t cry now, Mr. Mannering. As for tonight, I don’t even know where I’m to spend tonight!’ She compressed her lips to prevent them from trembling.

Mannering gave her a lazy stare. ‘Don’t you? Didn’t the solicitor explain the situation to you?’

‘I haven’t seen the solicitor,’ replied Domine tightly.

Mannering frowned. ‘Is that so? You mean it was all done by correspondence?’

‘Of course. Besides, what could the solicitor have told me? From the tone of his letter, he seemed as surprised as me!’

Mannering’s frown deepened. ‘Now why were you surprised, Domine? Did you expect to be Henry’s heiress?’

Domine clenched her fists. ‘I think you’re most objectionable, Mr. Mannering!’ she exclaimed. ‘I didn’t imagine anything. Great-Uncle Henry wasn’t old—at least, not that old. When I was eighteen I expected to go to college, and afterwards—well, I suppose I just thought I’d get a job and find somewhere of my own to live.’

Mannering gave her a wry glance. ‘Okay, I’ll accept that,’ he nodded. ‘I’m sorry if I’m riding you, kid. Perhaps I’m so used to the rat-race I’ve forgotten there are still mice around.’

Domine flushed. ‘You still haven’t answered my question. Where am I to stay? Where am I to live?’

Mannering drew out his cigar case and lit a cigar before replying. Then he said: ‘Tonight, you’ll stay at my apartment—in London. Tomorrow we’ll drive up to Yorkshire.’

‘To Grey Witches?’ exclaimed Domine, in surprise.

‘Sure, to Grey Witches!’ He frowned. ‘I don’t intend to sell the place, you know. What’s the matter? Doesn’t that appeal to you?’

Domine shook her head. ‘I didn’t think about that either,’ she murmured, wondering with a sense of excitement whether Grey Witches was to be her home. It would be wonderful to have a real home after all these years.

Mannering gave an exasperated shrug, and then they encountered a stream of traffic entering London and for a time his attention was focused on negotiating a series of traffic lights. Domine looked about her with interest. She had never really visited London. When she was younger, living with her parents in Nottingham, it had never appealed to her, and afterwards Great-Uncle Henry had avoided it like the plague. ‘Nasty, unhealthy place,’ he had called it, and Domine had been too inexperienced to offer an opinion.

James Mannering’s apartment was the penthouse of a block of luxury dwellings, and once inside the air-conditioned environs of the lift Domine forgot the vile weather outside. The lift swept upwards smoothly, and then whined to a halt at the thirtieth floor. They stepped out on to a pile carpeted corridor that led to double doors into his apartment, and Mannering went ahead of her, using a key to admit them.

Immediately a suave little man appeared from the direction of what she later learned to be the kitchen, and Mannering introduced him as Graham while he removed his overcoat.

Domine smiled, and shook hands, and Mannering said: ‘Graham is a gentleman’s gentleman. He was employed by Lord Bestingcot years ago, but he’s been with me for about ten years now, haven’t you, Graham? He’s endeavouring to instil the attributes of a gentleman into rough clay like myself!’ He smiled, and Domine was surprised at the change it brought to his harsh features. She was begining to see why Susan had thought him attractive. There was something particularly masculine about him, and his hardness, she thought, would appeal to some women.

Graham took Domine’s gaberdine, and suggested they might like some coffee, but after ascertaining that dinner would be ready in about fifteen minutes, James Mannering waved him away.

‘We’ll have something a little more appetizing,’ he remarked, and nodding, Graham went to attend to the meal. Then Mannering looked at Domine, standing hoveringly by the door. In truth, she was still recovering from the impact the apartment had made on her, with its plate-glass windows, giving a panoramic view of the city, and the soft carpet underfoot into which her feet sank. There were deep red leather chairs, and occasional tables made of ebony, while in the alcoves, fitted shelves supported books, hi-fi equipment, and a super-luxury television set. The room was lit by tall standard lamps designed in sprays, while the heating was concealed but comfortable. And despite its artistic design, the room was the kind of place where one could relax without worrying too much about ultra-tidiness. Just now, a pile of manuscript lay on a side table, while some magazines were strewn on a low couch. It had a lived-in air, and Domine wondered whether Great-Uncle Henry had ever been here.

‘Come and sit down,’ invited James Mannering, indicating the couch. ‘Take your shoes off; make yourself at home. If you’re to be my ward for the next six months, we might as well get used to one another.’

Domine hesitated, and then she stepped forward, and did as he suggested, subsiding on to a couch that was softer than anything she had previously experienced.

‘Now! What are you going to drink?’ he asked, walking over to a cocktail cabinet. ‘Port, sherry, Martini? Or just some fruit juice?’

Domine bit her lip. ‘Fruit juice, please,’ she said, folding her hands in her lap.

He glanced round at her, looked as though he was about to protest, and then seemed to change his mind. ‘All right,’ he agreed, and mixed her a lime and lemon. ‘There you are!’ He poured himself a stiff measure of whisky and swallowed it at a gulp, then he poured another before coming to sit opposite her, on a low chair, regarding her with lazy, yet intent, blue eyes.

Domine sipped her drink, and looked about her nervously, wishing he would not study her so intently. She could feel the colour sweeping up her neck and over her ears, washing her face a brilliant shade of tomato. Then he seemed to grow bored with embarrassing her this way, and said, instead:

‘Haven’t you any questions you want to ask?’

Domine looked down at her glass. ‘Heaps,’ she agreed candidly.

‘Well, go on, then. Ask?’

Domine felt tongue-tied for a moment. ‘Have—have you written many plays?’ she asked tentatively.

Mannering lay back in his seat regarding her impatiently. ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ he exclaimed. ‘What does that matter? Come on, Domine, stop being such a mouse for once, and speak your mind! Doesn’t it bother you that Henry should have thrust you so heedlessly into my hands?’

Domine’s fingers tightened round the glass. ‘Of course it bothers me. In fact, I wanted to speak to you about that. It—it might be a good idea if I stayed here—in London, I mean. I could easily get a job, and I suppose there are bed-sitters and things—’

‘Oh, no!’ Mannering raised his eyes heavenward. Then he stared at her again. ‘Oh, no, Domine, most definitely, no! Old Henry knew exactly what he was doing when he handed you into my care. He knew that once I’d seen you, talked with you, got to know what kind of innocent you really are, I wouldn’t dare to let you out of my sight. Leave you here in London, indeed! Good God, girl, you haven’t the faintest idea what could happen to you here—in swinging London, as they say! Oh, no! Like I said at the convent earlier, right now you’re in for a holiday.’

Domine sighed. ‘But I don’t want to be a nuisance—’

‘A nuisance?’ He shook his head. ‘My dear girl, you began being a nuisance three weeks ago when old Henry died. There’s not a chance that you’re going to stop now, and certainly not by attempting to be independent. How old are you, fifteen? Sixteen?’

‘Seventeen!’ retorted Domine, somewhat jerkily. ‘You know that as well as I do!’

He smiled. ‘Yes, well, maybe I do at that. But right now you look about fourteen, and considering the promiscuity of girls today I would place you mentally among the twelve-year-olds!’

‘Thank you!’ Domine got unsteadily to her feet. ‘You needn’t imagine that because you’ve been given my guardianship that you can speak to me as you like!’ she gasped angrily. ‘I may look like a child, and I may appear to be one in your sophisticated eyes, Mr. Mannering, but I’m not, and I’m not as ignorant of the way of the world as you imagine!’

He looked up at her mockingly. ‘Are you not? Then forgive me!’

She turned away from his mockery then, unable to stand this verbal baiting any longer, and he seemed to repent, for he said: ‘Oh, Domine, this will have to stop, you know. It’s no good our arguing all the time. All right, I’ll accept that you’re on the verge of young womanhood, but there’s a hell of a lot you’ve got to learn, and you won’t learn it in the space of a couple of weeks.’

She looked back at him. ‘I don’t expect to,’ she said unevenly.

He leaned forward then, studying her thoughtfully. ‘And you won’t get anywhere unless you start asking some questions,’ he remarked. ‘Like, for instance, why Henry left everything to me.’

Domine flushed. ‘That’s nothing to do with me,’ she murmured.

‘Of course it is!’ Mannering shook his head, apparently amazed at her lack of curiosity. ‘Look, did he never talk about me—about my mother?’

Domine shook her head uncertainly. ‘Not that I can remember.’

‘Did he talk about Grey Witches?’

Domine shook her head again.

‘I see. And you never visited there, did you?’

‘No.’

Mannering heaved a sigh. ‘Obviously his intention was to keep both sections of his life apart. He could hardly have taken you to Grey Witches without arousing a lot of unpleasant questions—unpleasant for him, that is.’

‘Why?’ Domine’s brows drew together.

‘Because my mother lives at Grey Witches. She always has.’

‘What!’

He shrugged. ‘Where else would a man’s house-keeper live?’

‘Your mother was Great-Uncle Henry’s house-keeper?’ Domine stared at him. ‘I—I see!’

He lay back in the chair again. ‘Now, just what do you see, Domine?’ he asked, sardonically.

Domine flushed. ‘Well—well, that explains a little of the mystery.’

‘There’s no mystery,’ he retorted dryly. ‘Your great-uncle was a man, like other men. His wife was an invalid for many years, or maybe you didn’t know that. After all, it was long before you were born. At any rate, my mother was ultimately more attractive than his virtue.’

Domine’s colour deepened. ‘I see,’ she murmured uncomfortably.

James Mannering got impatiently to his feet. ‘Oh, God,’ he said exasperatedly, ‘I can almost see your mind working. What kind of reading matter did you have at that establishment you’ve just left? Not the kind that lends itself to a situation of this kind, I’ll be bound. I’m not the illegitimate son, in the legal sense of the word. My mother was married when she produced old Henry’s heir!’ There was mockery in his dénouement of his father’s actions.

Domine bent her head. ‘You didn’t have to explain yourself to me.’

‘Dammit,’ he muttered, almost angrily now. ‘I’m not attempting to explain myself to you! My father was no saint, and I’ll admit when I learned of my connection with him, I hated him! That was when I was a teenager, when I was like you, beginning to find my feet—my identity, if you like. At any rate, I’d had enough of the simple life in Hollingford. I needed an excuse to escape, and that provided one. It was later, after I’d lived in London for a few years that I realized what a stupid attitude I’d adopted. Perhaps I’d realized I was human, too, by then, and humanity possesses many frailties, as you’ll discover in time.’

Domine twisted her fingers together. ‘Your—your mother? She’s still alive?’

‘Sure. Hell, she’s only about sixty now. My father’s dead, though, my adopted father, that is, and believe me, he was more of a father to me than old Henry could ever have been. Don’t expect too much sympathy, that’s all, from me regarding Henry Farriday! His ideas could never be mine!’

Domine shook her head, still slightly bewildered. ‘I wonder why he never told me that you were his son,’ she murmured incredulously. ‘We—we even went to see a play of yours once, in Brighton.’ She bit her lip, and James Mannering gave an exaggerated sigh.

‘Like I said,’ he murmured, ‘we had nothing in common.’

Just at that moment Graham arrived to announce that dinner was served, and they walked across the lounge and through to a small dining-room with a circular polished table, and chairs upholstered in buttoned brown leather. A low light hung over the table, and illuminated the crystal glasses and sparkling silver cutlery. Domine wondered what her great-uncle’s feelings had been when he discovered that his son was achieving success. Had he been pleased? Or had the knowledge soured him? The latter, from the course of his attitude in later life, seemed the most likely. Although she had been grateful to him for all he had done for her, she began to wonder what his motives had been for helping her, if indeed he had had any. Was it possible that his reasons for involving himself in her life had been anything to do with his own disappointment in not being able to acknowledge James Mannering, the playwright, as his son, as his own flesh and blood, without causing a great deal of talk and speculation, and possibly even scandal in a place like Hollingford, which she had learned from reference books and maps was not a large place? If that was so, he must have been sadly disappointed that he had died before discovering whether she was to make anything of her life. Even so, he had still kept his son in the forefront of his mind, and it was to him that he had endowed his heritage.

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