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.

Dark Moonless Night
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

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE Boeing had landed in the early hours of the morning, local time, and there had been little to see but the lights of the airport; which, as far as Caroline could remember, had been much the same as any other airport she had visited, except of course that all the personnel were black. It had been cold, too, much colder than one would have imagined a place to be that was within a couple of hundred miles of the Equator. There had been the usual landing procedure, the usual delays with passport control and Customs, but then they had been free to take the company car to the hotel.

David and Miranda had been fractious, which hadn’t really been surprising. Any young child would be fractious at having to be wakened from a sound sleep to face a series of irritating airport formalities, and even Elizabeth had been inclined to moan a little. It had been left to Caroline to marshall their suitcases for the black chauffeur and cope with two small pairs of clinging hands, both of which demanded her undivided attention.

At last they had all been able to pile into the back of the opulent limousine sent by Freelong Copper Incorporated to meet the wife and family of one of its minor executives. They had been driven along a smooth, tarmacked highway to Ashenghi, Tsaba’s capital, and installed in a luxurious hotel in the very heart of the city. Then the chauffeur had departed leaving them to explore the comfortable suite of rooms which had been put at their disposal.

Elizabeth had said it had all been too much, much too much, and she had pleaded exhaustion and a raging headache before taking herself off to seek the cool sheets of her bed. Consequently, it was Caroline who gave the children their brief but thorough wash, helped them into their pyjamas, and tucked them up in the twin beds in the room adjoining her own. And it had been Caroline who had been woken twice in the night—once when a particularly large species of moth had somehow invaded the children’s room, and secondly when David awoke, terrified at the strangeness of his surroundings.

But all that had happened several hours ago now, Caroline realised, as the heat of her room and the activity of her thoughts brought her fully awake. As yet, no one seemed to be stirring in the apartment, but the brilliance of the sunlight which was penetrating even the shutters of her windows was sufficient to arouse her to a full awareness of exactly where she was. And besides, there was a distinctly alien lack of inhibition about the noises coming from outside the hotel.

She thrust back the cotton sheet which had suddenly become too heavy on her slender limbs and slid out of bed. Her feet appreciated the coolness of the floor tiles as she went to the window, but when she thrust the shutters wide the heat caused her to draw back into the shadows as her eyes adjusted themselves.

Her windows overlooked the side of the hotel and immediately below she could identify the noises she had heard. Three stories below were the hotel kitchens and from there came the clatter of dishes and the shouted commands of someone in charge. Dustbin lids clattered as black-skinned houseboys in white shirts and shorts covered by long aprons came to empty rubbish, and an assortment of mangy dogs hung about the outer precincts obviously hoping for scraps.

Beyond the less salubrious environs of the kitchen yard a stretch of browned grass gave on to the road down which they had travelled the night before. Although there was quite a lot of traffic using it now it was a much more motley collection than Caroline was used to seeing from the windows of her London flat. There were carts and bicycles, fruit and vegetable drays drawn by oxen, and lorries and cars thickly smeared with dust. Although the road itself was smoothly surfaced, there were no pavements to speak of, just mud-baked paths at the side along which moved a steady stream of women and children. The women carried baskets of clothes or produce on their heads, and Caroline could only assume they were going to the market. This unsophisticated view of humanity went oddly with the skyscraper blocks of hotels and offices and other commercial buildings which formed the nucleus of this apparently thriving African capital.

Turning back into her bedroom, Caroline tried to dispel a sense of disappointment. After all, she had chosen to come to Tsaba, no one had forced her to do it, and just because it was far removed from the picturesque jungle clearing of her imagination it did not mean that she regretted coming. On the contrary, her surroundings were immaterial. She was here to do a job of work, and if by chance she should get to meet Gareth, well …

There was only one bathroom to serve the whole suite, so as everyone else seemed to be sleeping on Caroline made the most of it. She took a shower, smoothed a perfumed anti-sunburn cream into her arms and legs, and brushed her hair until it shone. Her hair was her best feature, she thought. Thick and lustrous, it swung in a dark chestnut curtain to her shoulders where it tilted under, curving confidingly under her chin in front. She was not unaware that amber eyes edged by long thick lashes and a wide, attractive mouth gave one a distinctly appealing appearance, but she had never considered herself beautiful. She was too tall, she thought. Girls who were five feet seven inches in their stockinged feet could never appear weak and clinging, and while she could get away with strongly coloured dramatic clothes, the envy of some of her friends, frilly, feminine garments did not suit her.

After her shower, she dressed in slim-fitting cotton pants in a rather unusual shade of lilac, and a sleeveless yellow tank top. By the time she returned to her room she could hear David and Miranda arguing and when she reached the door of their room Miranda burst into tears. As soon as she saw Caroline, she rushed across to her, wrapping her arms around Caroline’s thighs and clinging to her.

Caroline released the little girl’s arms and went down on her haunches beside her. ‘Now what’s going on?’ she asked gently.

‘She’s just a baby,’ remarked David, with all the disgust of a seven-year-old describing a five-year-old. ‘I only said there’d be spiders at La Vache!’

‘Oh, David!’ Caroline gave him an impatient look.

‘He—he didn’t just s-say that!’ stammered Miranda, drawing back to look with tear-wet eyes into Caroline’s face. ‘He—he said they’d—they’d be ‘normous ones and they’d—they’d come into my bed at night!’

Caroline rose to her feet and faced her eldest charge. ‘Oh, he did, did he? Well, that was clever of you, wasn’t it, David? Frightening a little girl. And not just any little girl. Your sister!’

David had the grace to look a little shamefaced. ‘It was only a joke,’ he muttered into the neck of his pyjamas.

‘And I suppose it was a joke last night when you woke up, terrified and shouting for Mummy?’

David hunched his shoulders. ‘That was different,’ he exclaimed, colouring, as Miranda’s eyes turned in his direction. ‘I—I had a nightmare.’

‘And don’t you think what you’ve been telling Miranda is enough to give her nightmares?’

‘I s’pose so.’

‘Right. Then let’s have no more of it.’ Caroline looked back down at Miranda. ‘All right now?’

Miranda shook her head. ‘But are there spiders at La Vache?’ she persisted.

Caroline sighed. ‘Miranda, there are spiders everywhere. There needs to be. They’re very useful creatures.’

‘How? How are they useful?’ David scrambled off his bed to come across and join them.

Caroline seated herself patiently on Miranda’s bed and was explaining the role of the spider to her intrigued listeners when a slim, negligée-clad figure drifted through the open doorway.

Elizabeth Lacey, Caroline’s employer, was almost thirty but looked younger. Small and vulnerable in appearance, she belonged to that breed of women who seem incapable of managing even the most uncomplicated of tasks, and Elizabeth traded on it. Caroline, who had known Elizabeth for several years before becoming her employee, knew perfectly well that should it suit her, Elizabeth could tackle anything; but as she had a husband who was susceptible to reproachful looks from wide blue eyes and who continually felt guilty that his work should constantly take him away from his family, she managed to avoid anything closely approaching exerting herself. In England, her mother was her standby, or unpaid housekeeper, thought Caroline with reluctant candour, but when it had come to leaving England, to spending several weeks in Africa, even her mother had drawn the line.

And that was where Caroline had come in. The spring term was at an end, she could afford to take a decrease in salary, it suited her to be out of touch for a while, and besides, Elizabeth’s husband worked in Tsaba.

Now Elizabeth flexed her neck muscles tiredly, and said: ‘What time is it? My watch hasn’t been adjusted yet.’

Caroline glanced at the broad masculine watch on her wrist.

‘A little after nine,’ she replied. ‘Are you hungry?’

‘Hungry?’ exclaimed Elizabeth, aghast. ‘No——’

‘I am!’

‘I am!’

Two eager voices drowned what their mother had been about to say, and Elizabeth looked at them reprovingly.

‘Do you mind?’ she said, putting a languid hand to her head. ‘I have a headache. Do try and behave like polite children and not hooligans!’

Any two children less like hooligans Caroline could not have imagined, but she put Miranda firmly off her knee and rose to her feet. ‘Aren’t you feeling any better, Elizabeth?’

Elizabeth sighed. ‘It’s so hot, isn’t it?’ Then she seemed to gather herself. ‘Has Charles called yet?’

Caroline shook her head. ‘I expect he’s giving you time to rest before disturbing you,’ she comforted.

Elizabeth’s blue eyes hardened. ‘I should have thought he could have made the effort to be at the airport last night instead of leaving us in the hands of—of—foreigners!’

Caroline glanced at the children, realising they were listening to every word of this exchange. ‘You know perfectly well that it was impossible for him to leave La Vache yesterday, Elizabeth,’ she said, guiding the other woman out of the children’s bedroom. ‘Go get washed, you two,’ she added over her shoulder. ‘Then we’ll have something to eat.’

In her own bedroom, Elizabeth was quite happy to be helped back into bed. ‘You’re so capable, Caroline,’ she sighed, resting back against her pillows. ‘I’m so glad you agreed to come with us. I don’t know how I should have managed in this dreadful place without someone to help with the children.’

‘You relax,’ advised Caroline, straightening the bedclothes. ‘The children and I will go down to the restaurant for breakfast. Shall I have you something sent up?’

Elizabeth blinked. ‘Well—perhaps some coffee,’ she conceded. ‘And do you suppose one can get toast here?’

‘I’ll see.’ Caroline’s lips twitched. ‘You just rest and leave everything to me.’

‘But what about Charles? Do you think perhaps you should telephone him——’

‘Charles will get in touch with you when he’s able,’ replied Caroline firmly. She walked towards the door. ‘You’ll be all right?’

Elizabeth plucked at the sheet. ‘I suppose so. Caroline, you do think I was right to come out here, don’t you? I mean—well, what do you think La Vache will be like?’

Caroline hesitated. ‘Your place is with your husband, Elizabeth. And if his work is in some Central African state then that’s where you should be.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t live here!’ Elizabeth was horrified.

‘No one’s asking you to live here,’ retorted Caroline calmly. ‘Just to spend a few weeks with your husband because he’s unable to come to England and spend them with you.’

Elizabeth nodded. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ But she didn’t sound convinced.

‘Now look,’ said Caroline, ‘if my husband spent the better part of nine months of the year away from me, I’d have to do something about it.’

‘Would you?’ Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. ‘Like not getting married, for example?’

Caroline flushed now. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Oh, yes, you do, Caroline.’ Elizabeth didn’t look half so defenceless when she was on the attack. ‘As soon as you discovered that Gareth Morgan had no intention of giving up his overseas appointment and settling to an office job in London, you turned him down—flat!’

‘Elizabeth, I was only seventeen——’

‘That doesn’t matter. You had more sense than to tie yourself to an engineer with wanderlust in his veins instead of blood——’

‘It wasn’t like that——’

‘Wasn’t it?’ Elizabeth sounded sceptical. ‘I wonder what he’s doing now? Gareth, I mean. Where he is? The last time I heard he was in charge of a hydro-electric project in Zambia——’

‘I’ll see about your toast and coffee.’ Caroline refused to discuss the matter further.

Elizabeth was instantly contrite. ‘Oh, Caroline, I haven’t offended you, have I, darling?’ she began, resuming an appealing tone.

‘No, of course you haven’t offended me,’ exclaimed Caroline rather shortly, and went quickly, closing the door behind her.

But it was not so easy closing the door on her own thoughts. After all, there had been some truth in Elizabeth’s allegations, even though the passage of time had served to nullify the less pleasant aspects of that situation seven years ago. She even felt a sense of guilt at not having told Elizabeth that she knew that Gareth Morgan was working in Tsaba now, building a dam on the River Kinzori not too many miles distant from La Vache. But how could she tell her that when she had no idea how Gareth would take her presence in Tsaba, when he himself had no idea that she was coming?

Thrusting the difficulties she might have to face at some future date away from her, Caroline went in search of the children. Miranda was obediently putting on the cotton dress she had worn to travel in and Caroline made a mental note to find a sunsuit for her to wear after breakfast, but David, it appeared, had not yet come out of the bathroom and when Caroline went to see what he was doing she found him naked under the shower, and the floor swimming with water.

‘Oh, David!’ she gasped in exasperation, quickly kicking off her sandals to walk barefooted through the pools of water to turn off the shower. ‘Go and get dressed at once before I find a more painful method to put a tan on your small bottom!’

David giggled and grabbing a towel edged his way out of the bathroom, leaving Caroline to mop the floor. Fortunately the tiles soon dried, and she emerged in time to prevent the children going into their mother’s room.

‘Mummy’s resting,’ she explained quietly. ‘We’re going down to the restaurant to have our breakfast, and then later on I expect Daddy will telephone and let us know how and when we can go to La Vache.’

Miranda tugged at her short fair curls which were so much like her mother’s. ‘Will it be today?’ she asked excitedly. ‘Will we see Daddy today?’

‘Possibly.’ Caroline didn’t want to raise their hopes too high. ‘La Vache is all of seventy miles from here, and the roads aren’t like our roads in England. They’re just tracks after you leave the city behind.’

‘How do you know?’ asked David, practical as ever. His hair was plastered to his head now, but Caroline thought that in this heat it wouldn’t take long to dry. She herself was already sweating from the mild exertion of mopping up the bathroom floor and she dreaded to think how Elizabeth would cope if she was expected to do anything physical.

But now she said: ‘I’ve read books. And I know what your daddy has told us when he’s been home on leave. Besides, if you knew a little more about the climate you’d realise that things don’t stay the same here as they do back home.’

She saw that Miranda was frowning at this and as they traversed the wide corridor to the lifts she tried to explain how lush and luxuriant was the vegetation that could overnight undo the work of the day. In truth, she found it hard to accept herself. She had never witnessed the destructive power of liana creepers, strangling the life out of struggling undergrowth, entwining trees together into an impassable living mesh that had to be hacked away with machetes. And yet it did happen, and the children were morbidly fascinated by her revelations.

Downstairs, a wide hall with an enormous revolving fan opened into the various public rooms of the hotel. Flowering, climbing plants rioted over low ornamental trellises, while huge stone urns spilled exotically coloured lilies and flame flowers over the cool, marble-tiled floor. It was obvious that no expense had been spared in making the Hotel Ashenghi as attractive to its guests as was humanly possible in a climate verging constantly on the unbearable.

As Caroline paused to get her bearings she encountered the eye of a man who appeared to be the head waiter standing in the arched entrance to the restaurant, keeping his waiters under surveillance. He bowed courteously as she approached him, and asked if she required a table. His English was quite good, so Caroline thanked him, and after he had shown them to a table set in a window embrasure, she said:

‘Mrs. Lacey—the children’s mother—is not feeling well. She’d like some coffee in her suite, and would it be possible for her to have some toast?’

The head waiter smiled, his teeth startlingly white in his black face. ‘Of course, madam. I will see to it myself. Now, what would you and these children like to eat?’

Caroline had coffee, but David and Miranda chose fruit juice, and they all tried the warm rolls spread with conserve. The butter that was provided in a dish of ice cubes wasn’t to their taste and David, with his usual lack of discretion, said in a clear, distinct voice that it was rancid. Of course, it wasn’t, but even Caroline preferred to avoid it. There was a dish of fruit on the table, too—mangoes and bananas, pawpaws and oranges, but Caroline advised the children to wait before trying anything too unfamiliar to their stomachs. All in all, it was an enjoyable meal, the fans set at intervals about the room creating a cooling draught which was most acceptable. Clearly, the air-conditioning kept the temperature down, but the fans helped to disperse the flies.

Judging by the number of used tables it appeared that by this hour of the morning most of the hotel’s guests had already partaken of breakfast, and Caroline and the children were the last to leave. They were walking towards the lifts when a man who had been talking to the receptionist turned away from the desk and saw them. He was a tall man, lean and muscular, dressed in narrow fitting mud-coloured pants and a cream bush shirt, but what attracted Caroline’s attention was the man’s hair. It was corn-fair, streaked with a lighter shade, as though the sun had bleached it, and it was startling against the dark tan of his skin. She had only known one man with hair like that, one man whose ice-blue eyes could turn to green when he was emotionally aroused, one man who had once asked her to marry him, and she had turned him down because she had youthfully asserted that she didn’t intend to marry a penniless engineer and go and live in some awful, Godforsaken, undeveloped country. How stupid she had been, how careless with the one thing in her life she had ever really wanted …

The man was standing quite still now staring at her, and she moved uncomfortably under that intent scrutiny. But for a moment she had felt as shocked as he must be at seeing her here. What could he be thinking? What kind of a coincidence did he think this was?

Realising that it was up to her to make the first overture, she took a few steps towards him and said: ‘Hello, Gareth. This is a surprise, isn’t it?’

Gareth Morgan seemed to recover admirably quickly from his momentary pause. In fact, he didn’t seem too shocked at all. It was Caroline who could feel the tremor of this encounter rushing through her veins, moistening her palms, sending a rivulet of sweat down her spine. She had not realised until then just how much she had wanted to see him again, and she had the most ridiculous impulse to run to him, to press herself against him, and beg his forgiveness for what happened seven years ago.

But of course the very fact that it was seven years ago precluded any show of emotion. Seven years was a long time, and a lot had happened—to both of them. Why else had she waited so long before making any attempt to contact him? Even now, facing him, the width of the years stretched between them, made even wider by the cold detachment on his face.

‘So you really came, Caroline,’ he remarked at last. ‘I never believed you would.’

He made no attempt to take the hand that she had tentatively offered, and awkwardly she allowed her arm to drop to her side. She was aware of Miranda’s speculative interest, of David’s curiosity, and gathering all her composure, she said: ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Gareth looked sceptical. ‘No? Oh, well, never mind.’

Caroline frowned. ‘Did you know I was coming, then?’

‘Know? Of course I knew. I thought that was the general idea. I just can’t imagine why you bothered.’

Caroline coloured. ‘I’m afraid you’re mistaken if you think I supplied advance notice of my arrival——’ she began hotly.

‘Am I?’ Gareth’s tone was mocking. ‘Didn’t you expect us to meet?’

Caroline bent her head to the children. ‘Look!’ she said. ‘There’s a monkey hiding in that tree just outside the window. Why don’t you go and see what it does?’

David looked at Caroline and then at the tall man standing nearby. ‘You’re just wanting to get rid of us,’ he declared, with his usual candour. ‘Why? Who is this man? Does he work for Daddy?’

Caroline straightened, her cheeks burning now. This was hardly the way she had envisaged her first meeting with Gareth Morgan. She had thought to surprise him, and if she had hoped for any reaction from him it had not been this mocking derision and scarcely concealed contempt.

‘Are these Lacey’s children?’ he asked now, and David said:

‘I’m David Lacey, and this is my sister Miranda. Who are you?’

‘My name is Gareth Morgan,’ replied Gareth, his expression changing somewhat as he went down on his haunches beside them. ‘I suppose you could call me a friend of your daddy’s.’

‘Do you live at La Vache, too?’ asked Miranda.

Gareth shook his head. ‘No. I live at a place called Nyshasa, but it’s not far from La Vache. I live near the river.’

David’s eyes were round. ‘Are there crocodiles in the river? My teacher at school said there were crocodiles in Africa.’

‘Oh, there are. But they prefer calmer waters than where I live. We do have hippos, though, and they’re quite interesting.’

‘How super!’ David was enthralled. ‘Do you think my daddy would take me to see them——’

‘And me,’ piped up Miranda, when Caroline interrupted them.

‘Not now, children,’ she exclaimed, realising the sharpness of her tone had less to do with them than with the man talking so casually to them. ‘Er—I’m sure Mr. Morgan has more important things to do than waste his valuable time talking to us.’

Garth straightened, flexing his back muscles, unwillingly drawing Caroline’s eyes to the broadness of his chest. He was leaner than she remembered, but no less attractive because of it. ‘On the contrary,’ he was saying mildly, ‘I came here to meet you and take you back to La Vache.’

‘What?’ Caroline gasped, and then quickly tried to hide her astonishment. ‘But—but I don’t understand——’

‘Nicolas Freeleng and I are old friends. Lacey told him that an old—acquaintance—of mine was coming out here with his wife to help her with the children. Then, when they ran into some trouble at the mine, and it was going to be difficult for Lacey to get away, Nick asked me whether I’d do it—seeing that we were old acquaintances.’

‘I—I see.’ Caroline digested this with reluctance. ‘Well, I’m sorry if we’re being an inconvenience to you.’

‘Did I say you were?’

‘No. No, but——’

‘But what?’ Gareth’s eyes narrowed to thin slivers of blue ice. ‘Wasn’t this the way you intended us to meet? What did you hope to do, Caroline? Disarm me with surprise—and seduce me with what might have been?’

Caroline was shocked at the bitterness in his tone. ‘Of course not,’ she denied defensively. ‘Surely after all these years we can meet as—as friends.’

‘Friends?’ There was pure contempt in his voice now. ‘Caroline, you and I can never be friends, and you know it. Now, I don’t know what you hoped to achieve by coming here—I imagined you’d be happily married to some comfortably-off business man by now. That was your intention, wasn’t it?’ His lip curled. ‘I might even be doing you a disservice by suspecting that I figure in any way in your plans. But I’m giving you fair warning, if you have any foolish notion of entertaining yourself while you’re here by trying to rekindle old fires, you’ll be wasting your time!’

CHAPTER TWO

THE heat in the station wagon was intense, but to wind down the windows was to invite clouds of choking dust into the car, and therefore the heat was the lesser of the two evils. All the same, Caroline felt as though every inch of her body was soaked with sweat, and she wished David would stop bouncing about from side to side in his determination not to miss anything. Even Elizabeth, more comfortably ensconced in the front of the vehicle beside Gareth, fanned herself constantly with her handkerchief, and could no longer keep up the inconsequent chatter she had bubbled with when first they started off. Elizabeth was invariably at her best when in the company of an attractive man, and the fact that Gareth made only monosyllabic replies to her inane questions seemed to bother her not at all.

But the afternoon was wearing into early evening now, and the shadows were lengthening beside the mud-baked track. There was a dank smell of rotting vegetation from the jungle-like mass that encroached on the narrow road, and from time to time the shrill cry of some wild animal rent the dying afternoon air. Miranda had long since passed the excitable stage and now curled into her corner, persistently sucking her thumb in spite of Caroline’s reprovals and David’s jeering.

Caroline herself felt that her awareness of everything around her had been sharpened by the tension between herself and Gareth. Not that anyone else appeared to be aware of it. On the contrary, from the moment Elizabeth was introduced her only interest had been to draw his attention to herself.

Gareth had accompanied Caroline and the children up in the lift to Elizabeth’s suite. After making his shattering statement in the hall of the hotel, he had diverted his attention to David and Miranda, and while Caroline had burned with resentment and a painful kind of humiliation, he had talked casually to the children about safaris he had made into nearby Tanzania, and the dramatic nature reserve of the Ngorongoro Crater. By the time they reached the suite David was completely won over, and Caroline did not have to introduce her employer to the tall, lean stranger: David did it for her.

Elizabeth’s headache seemed to miraculously disappear. She immediately left her bed to seek the bathroom and when she emerged at last she had looked cool and feminine in a pale pink dress that clung to her shapely figure.

Caroline had spent the time that Elizabeth had taken to get ready standing nervously by the window, staring down desperately on to the yard below, willing the whole scene that had just taken place to have been some awful nightmare. But of course it was not. Gareth was there in the room with her, apparently indifferent to her presence, showing a boyish interest in the toys that both David and Miranda had produced for his inspection.

When Elizabeth finally had joined them, it had been worse. Caroline had had to listen to the other woman laughing about the fact that only that morning she and Caroline had been talking about him, and what a lovely surprise it was to find he was working in Tsaba now.

Gareth had responded courteously enough, but Caroline had sensed his desire to get away. He had advised them to have an early lunch, then rest on their beds, and he would come back for them at about four o’clock when the heat was beginning to wane. He cleverly evaded Elizabeth’s suggestion that he should have lunch with them, saying that he had business to attend to in Ashenghi, and then he left them with a polite smile, and a casual salute that was meant for David.

After he had gone, Caroline had had to face Elizabeth’s questions. Had she known he was working in Tsaba? How had he reacted when he had found her in charge of the children? And what exactly did he do?

Caroline had parried them as best she could. Fortunately for her David was not paying a great deal of attention to their conversation. It was boring stuff after what Mr. Morgan had just been telling him, and so Caroline did not have to suffer his recollections of her confrontation with Gareth. Instead, she had allowed Elizabeth to assume that it had been as much a surprise to her as to anyone else meeting him like that, and therefore she was no wiser as to his present activities than she had been before. It had been a cowardly little subterfuge, she thought now, disgusted at her own duplicity, but the last thing she wanted was to give Elizabeth any reason to suspect that she had come here for any other reason than to help out a friend in need. What small portion of pride that was left to her must remain intact or she might be tempted to funk the whole thing and take the next flight back to England.

It was dark by the time they reached La Vache and thousands of insects were visible in the headlights’ glare, dying in their hundreds against the windscreen. An enormous moth hit the car with a sickening thud, leaving a trail of fluid to run unheeded down the glass, and Caroline felt slightly nauseated. Last night, driving to the hotel, she had been tired but excited, eager to experience the thinly-veneered primitiveness that was Africa. But tonight she felt bruised and uncertain, more convinced as every moment passed that she was going to regret coming here.

La Vache was a collection of houses, built for the white population, and adjoining a sort of village compound. In the half light thrown from lighted windows, Caroline glimpsed an open fire and a collection of curious black faces turned in their direction before Gareth swung between some trees and brought the station wagon to a halt before a corrugated-roofed bungalow. Almost before the vehicle’s engine ground to a halt a door was thrown open and a man dressed in white shirt and shorts came hurrying down the shallow steps towards them. Gareth had got out of the car before the other man reached them, but it was obvious that the newcomer had eyes for no one but Elizabeth.

Caroline levered herself stiffly out of the back of the station wagon, trying to avoid watching the languid way Elizabeth responded to Charles’s enthusiastic welcome, and was glad when the children scrambled out and broke it up, shouting: ‘Daddy! Daddy! We’re here!’

Ignoring the hand that Gareth had offered to help her out of the vehicle, Caroline stood on the hard track, flexing her aching muscles, and looking about her with reluctant interest. Her first impressions were of the closeness of the community, and a certain sense of claustrophobic unease at the encroaching forest. Was this her jungle clearing? Was this to be the romantic communion with nature which had sounded so delightful when viewed from a distance? It all seemed so different, so primitive and yet perversely prosaic somehow. And that smell of rotting vegetation—one didn’t learn about things like that from books.

Gareth was unloading their suitcases from the back of the station wagon. Caroline supposed she should be helping him. After all, that was why she was here, wasn’t it? To help! But right now, she felt as though she was the one who needed to be helped, and there was no one to do it. For the first time since leaving England she thought rather nostalgically about the comfortable relationship she had shared with Jeremy Brent, and wondered whether he would accept the severance of their engagement as she had insisted he should.

Then Charles turned from his family and gave her a warm, comforting smile. ‘Good to see you again, Caroline,’ he said. ‘Glad you made it.’ Then he turned to Gareth: ‘I’m in your debt, Morgan. Come along inside and we’ll all have a drink to celebrate.’

Gareth made a deprecating gesture. ‘Thanks, but I can’t stop,’ he demurred. ‘I’ve got to get back to Nyshasa.’

‘Oh, must you?’ That was Elizabeth, and even the children echoed her disappointment. Only Caroline said nothing, made no effort to detain him.

Gareth shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. But I have been away since early this morning. Some other time, perhaps.’

‘Oh, yes, you must come and have dinner with us one evening while we’re here, mustn’t he, Charles?’ exclaimed Elizabeth.

‘Of course, of course,’ Charles smiled. ‘I’ll be in touch, Morgan.’

‘You do that.’

Gareth nodded pleasantly and walked round the station wagon to get into the driving seat again. He had to pass Caroline to do so and for a brief moment hard blue eyes bored into hers. Deliberately she assumed a defiant stance, returning his gaze challengingly, refusing to let him see that he could in any way disconcert her, and then he was past and climbing into the vehicle, raising his hand in farewell to the others. The engine fired, he let in his clutch, put the car into gear and it moved smoothly away. Only then did Caroline realise that she had been holding her breath for fully one minute.

‘Come along, Caroline.’ Charles ushered his family across the stretch of dried grass that formed a sort of garden at the front of the bungalow. ‘Thomas has a meal all ready for you.’

Thomas turned out to be Charles’s houseboy. He had a permanently smiling face, and the children took to him at once. Also, Charles explained, it made it very difficult for one to chastise him. It was impossible to remain angry for long with someone who looked so cheerfully innocent.

Before sitting down to their meal, Charles suggested that they might like to familiarise themselves with the layout of the bungalow, and as the children were keen, Elizabeth agreed. The building was divided into two halves by a long, narrow hall that ran from front to back. On one side was the large lounge-cum-dining area, with a small bedroom at the back where Caroline was to sleep; and on the other were the two larger bedrooms where Charles and Elizabeth, and the children were to sleep. The bathroom, like the kitchen, was annexed to the back of the bungalow, and comprised of a chipped wash basin and rather primitive toilet, with a shower that could only be used if an overhead tank had first been manually filled.

The children found this tour of inspection fascinating, and Miranda had cast away the slightly dejected air she had worn during the latter stages of their journey. The sight of the mosquito nets draped above their beds made the prospect of sleeping so much more exciting, and David asserted that he was going to take a shower the very next day.

But Caroline could see Elizabeth’s face changing as she began to appreciate the lack of facilities. The bungalow bore no resemblance to the comfort of the hotel in Ashenghi, and perhaps it was a pity that they had had to spend a night there. The contrast would not have been so much in evidence if they had driven on to La Vache last night. The furniture, for instance, was starkly practical, and because there had been no feminine hand in the design there was not even a brightly patterned cushion to add colour to the dull browns and beiges that made up most of the curtains and upholstery.

However, the meal that Thomas had prepared was waiting for them and it fortunately precluded any immediate discussion of their surroundings. Introducing a new topic to divert Elizabeth’s attention, Caroline asked what education was provided for the African children.

‘It’s quite good, actually,’ replied Charles, obviously enjoying the somewhat stringy beef that Thomas had served together with beans and sweet potatoes. ‘There’s a mission only a mile away at Katwe Fork, and the padre’s wife, Helen, teaches the younger children. The padre teaches the older children himself, and if by the time they reach eleven or twelve they show potential, he arranges for them to be transferred to the school at Luanga.’

Miranda choked then, and had to be thumped vigorously on the back by her brother before she could dislodge the piece of meat from her throat. Her eyes were streaming with tears by the time she coughed it up, as much with the hardness of David’s pounding as with the shock of choking. But before Caroline could say anything to comfort her, Elizabeth turned on her husband:

‘My God, Charles,’ she exclaimed tremulously, ‘I hope you’re satisfied! Bringing us out to this dreadful place and expecting us to stay for weeks! Why, the food’s not even edible, and you don’t care that we might all die of dysentery or worse in these appalling conditions!’ She flung her napkin down on the table and rose to her feet, ignoring Miranda’s wail of: ‘Mummy! Mummy!’ and marched to the door. ‘I’m going to bed, and don’t you dare to try and stop me!’

Apart from Miranda snuffling unhappily into her napkin there was complete silence for several minutes after Elizabeth had left the room. Charles looked absolutely staggered, and Caroline felt terribly sorry for him. Obviously, in the excitement of their arrival he had not noticed Elizabeth’s lack of enthusiasm, and her outburst had been completely unexpected so far as he was concerned.

At last it was David who broke the silence by saying: ‘What’s the matter with Mummy? What was she talking about? We’re not going to die, are we, Daddy?’

Charles’s mouth worked nervously. ‘No—no, of course you’re not going to die, son!’ He put a slightly unsteady hand on David’s head. ‘I—er—I expect it’s all the travelling. Mummy’s tired, that’s all, like she said. She’ll feel better in the morning. Won’t she, Caroline?’

As he looked across the table at her, Caroline realised that he was looking for reassurance, too, just as David had been. Poor Charles, he hadn’t the faintest idea of how to deal with someone like Elizabeth. The trouble was he had always been too soft with her, too gentle and considerate. Living apart for most of the year as they did he was inclined to indulge her in everything when he came home, and Elizabeth had never known what it was to be thwarted. What she needed was a firmer hand, a less understanding nature; someone who would mete out to her the kind of treatment she usually allotted to other people. But whether Charles had it in him to adopt that kind of attitude towards his wife, Caroline had her doubts.

Now she said: ‘I think we’re all tired, Charles. And I shouldn’t let what Elizabeth says bother you. It’s all so different, you see. It takes time to get used to.’

Charles pushed his plate aside, his appetite obviously deserting him. ‘I haven’t noticed you making too much fuss,’ he remarked, swallowing a mouthful of the lager which Thomas had provided to have with their meal.

Caroline smiled wryly. ‘I don’t have anyone to fuss at,’ she replied cheerfully. ‘Now, David, Miranda—who’s going to try this blancmange that Thomas has made for us?’

Charles fidgeted his way through the sweet course which even Caroline had to admit was not very palatable. Made with dried milk, the blancmange was still powdery, and both David and Miranda refused to finish theirs. But when Thomas brought in the coffee, Charles rose to his feet.

‘Look here, Caroline,’ he exclaimed awkwardly, ‘will you excuse me? I mean—well, I really think I ought to go and see if Elizabeth’s all right …’

Caroline nodded. ‘That’s all right, Charles. You go ahead. The children and I can manage perfectly well.’

Charles breathed a sigh of relief, bestowed a warm smile on his two youngsters, and then made a hasty exit.

‘Why can’t we go with Daddy?’ asked Miranda, still rather tearful.

David nudged her in the ribs with his elbow. ‘Don’t be stupid, baby! They don’t want us. They want to kiss and cuddle and that sort of thing, don’t they, Caroline?’

Caroline hid a smile. ‘If you say so, David,’ she answered mildly, pouring herself another cup of coffee.

Later, Caroline got the children ready for bed while Thomas was clearing the table, and then, with his assistance, settled them beneath their mosquito nets. Fortunately Thomas spoke very good English although his manner of phrasing things wasn’t always right, and she was glad of his help. She dreaded to think what would happen if either of the children wanted to go to the bathroom during the night. However would they manage to get back beneath their mosquito nets? She shook her head. Oh, well! That was a problem they would have to face if and when the occasion occurred.

Neither Charles nor Elizabeth had reappeared, and Caroline hoped that this was a good sign. At any rate, Elizabeth hadn’t made another scene and turned him out of the bedroom.

After that, the bungalow was very quiet. Thomas had wished her goodnight and left for some private destination of his own, and Caroline sat in the lounge for a while wondering what one did in the evenings here. It was scarcely nine o’clock and yet bed seemed the only sensible conclusion.

Turning out the lights, she eventually went to her own cubbyhole of a room. Thomas had left her suitcase standing at the foot of the bed, and she lifted it on to a plain stinkwood chest that would apparently have to serve as a storage container for her underwear. The only other furniture in the room, apart from the iron-framed bed, was a tall hanging-closet, which, when she opened the door, smelt so strongly of disinfectant that she was deterred from hanging anything inside; and a kind of marble-topped wash-stand, on which stood a basin and a jug of rather brackenish-coloured water in which floated a motley assortment of flying insects. The floor was covered by a kind of cheap linoleum, and there was a rag rug beside the bed. All in all, it was not a very inspiring apartment, but at least the bed felt comfortable when she bounced on it.

Scooping away most of the insects, she managed to rinse her face and hands before taking off her clothes and putting on her nightdress. Quite honestly, she wished she had brought some pyjamas with her. There was something rather vulnerable about a nightdress when one couldn’t be sure that one’s bed might not be invaded by ants in the night.

Thrusting such disquieting thoughts aside, she turned out the light and climbed into bed. She supposed Elizabeth ought to be grateful that there was electric light here, run from a community generator. They could quite easily have found themselves with only oil lighting and no kind of refrigeration for food.

Lying there in the darkness, Caroline found her thoughts turning back to her meeting with Gareth Morgan. She had known this would happen, and that was why she had been loath to go to bed, but sooner or later she had to face the fact that whatever he had once felt for her, now he despised her and any crazy ideas she had had about effecting a reconciliation should be forgotten.

All the same, her reasons for coming here had not changed. The pity of it was that she had been unable to come any sooner. Anything she said now he would disbelieve even were he prepared to listen, which he so obviously was not. Why was it that one never recognised the value of something until it was out of reach?

She rolled on to her stomach, burying her face in the pillow. Could she ever be excused for her behaviour of seven years ago? She had only been seventeen years old, after all, whereas Gareth had been thirty even then. Perhaps that was why he had been so easily deterred. Perhaps he had considered himself too old for her. But it hadn’t been that. It had been her own stupid belief that without a secure background—without money—no love could hope to survive. From an early age her mother had drilled it into her—the old adage: when poverty comes in the door, love flies out of the window. And she had believed it, believed it blindly. Hadn’t her own father left her mother when she was small for those very reasons? Hadn’t he taken off with some flighty young thing who had a job of her own and wouldn’t saddle him with a home and family to support? Hadn’t she seen the marriages of people around who were finding it hard to make ends meet and who indulged their frustrations in rows? And she had determined not necessarily to marry for money instead of for love, but rather only to love where money was.

Time had passed, changing things, changing Caroline’s ideas, and bringing with it the realisation of exactly what she had lost. But by then it had been too late to regress. Gareth had placed himself out of her reach, and she had had to go on alone and make a life for herself.

And she had succeeded admirably. She had gone to college and become a qualified teacher, obtaining for herself a good post at a large comprehensive school. She was well liked among the staff and popular with the pupils, and after her mother died two years ago she had managed to get a small flat and become independent. From time to time she had had word of Gareth. His married sister lived in Hampstead, not far from where Caroline and her mother had lived, and whenever Caroline went back to visit old friends she had heard of Gareth through them.

Eventually, the thing that Caroline had once wanted to happen became reality. Through the headmaster at the school, she became friendly with Jeremy Brent, the headmaster of a well-established boys’ preparatory school in Kensington. He was everything she had once looked for in a husband—rich and attractive, of a good family with excellent prospects, and what was more would inherit his father’s baronetcy one day. He was instantly attracted to her and lost no time in asking her out and showing his interest was serious. Caroline should have been delighted, she should have been proud that a man like Jeremy wanted her for his wife, but something stopped her from falling in love with him. She knew that some part of her still hankered after a man who within a year of their separation had married and was still married to someone else. She used to tell herself that she was a fool, that if she wasn’t careful she’d end up like her mother, a lonely and embittered woman, but nevertheless, although she became engaged to Jeremy she delayed the inevitability of marriage.

Naturally, Jeremy became impatient. There was absolutely no reason why they should not get married right away. As well as his service flat in town, and his apartments at the school, he owned a small house in Sevenoaks which would suit them ideally until they started a family. He offered her a cruise to the West Indies for their honeymoon, and an unlimited account at Harrods to buy her trousseau. But still Caroline hesitated.

And then, early in the New Year, she had learned that Gareth’s wife had left him, that they were getting a divorce, and suddenly she had known that this was why she had been delaying her marriage to Jeremy.

She had half expected that Gareth would come home, to England. She knew his parents were dead, but there was his married sister in Hampstead who hadn’t seen him for years. But Gareth didn’t come to England, and as the weeks passed Caroline had become impatient and restless. Then, when the opportunity arose to accompany Elizabeth Lacey and her children out to Tsaba, she had not hesitated. She had told Jeremy the truth—that she was very much afraid she loved someone else—and that before settling down with him she had to make sure.

Jeremy had not seemed too surprised. He had sensed for weeks that something was troubling her, but when it came to her giving him back his ring he became obstinate. He insisted that he was convinced this was just a phase she was going through, that when she got out to Africa and met this man again she would realise how foolish she had been, that no emotion she had felt when she was still a schoolgirl could possibly survive her maturity to womanhood.

However, Caroline could be obstinate too when she chose, and she had made him take back the ring.

‘Who knows?’ she had commented lightly, ‘in the six weeks I’m away, you might meet someone far more worthy of your love than I am.’

‘Don’t be facetious!’ Jeremy had snapped, snatching her in his arms and pressing his lips to hers. ‘I won’t let you go like this. I won’t let you leave the country without the badge of my possession on your finger.’

‘But you don’t possess me,’ Caroline had replied, rather quietly, and Jeremy had become angry.

‘Perhaps I should have done,’ he had exclaimed furiously. ‘Perhaps if you were already mine, this fellow wouldn’t want you anyway. Or were you his possession first?’

Caroline had slapped his face then. She had been unable to prevent herself and Jeremy had had the grace to look ashamed. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Caroline,’ he had cried frustratedly, ‘but can’t you see? I can’t bear to let you go!’

But of course he had had to, although he had threatened that if she was not back within the six weeks she had promised, he would come out to Tsaba and fetch her back himself.

Caroline rolled on to her back and stared unseeingly up at the darkened roof above her. From time to time, she could hear rustlings outside the bungalow, and her flesh crept at the possibilities these noises conjured up. But mostly there were just the sounds of the night—the incessant scraping of the insects, the harsh croaking of bullfrogs, and occasionally the startled cry of some wild thing caught by a predator.

What was she doing here? she asked herself honestly. What was driving her to remain here and possibly risk further humiliation? What if Jeremy’s turned out to be the love she craved and he grew tired of waiting for her? What would she do?

The answers were simple but stark. She was here because in spite of everything she was still attracted to a man who had shown that his feelings for her had soon been replaced by those for another. And if Jeremy got tired of waiting, if he found someone else in her absence, then she hoped he would be happy. Because she very much doubted her ability to make herself happy, let alone anyone else …

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