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.

Caroline
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

ADAM STEINBECK strode swiftly through the swing glass doors of the Steinbeck Corporation Building in Park Lane. A big man with broad shoulders, dressed in a dark suit and a sheepskin overcoat, he looked powerful and assured. As he paused for a moment to light a cigar, his keen eyes surveyed the reception hall. At his entrance, apart from the usual ‘Good morning, sir’ from the porters and female receptionist, an uneasy hush had descended and with a wry smile Adam acknowledged them before crossing to the lift. He was quite aware that the moment he was out of sight, a telephone call would hastily be put through to his suite of offices to warn his staff of his presence in the building. He rarely came in during the morning, but today he wanted to see Mercer and get those contracts wrapped up.

He stepped into the lift and was about to close the gates when a young voice called: ‘Oh, please. Wait for me!’

Frowning slightly, Adam saw a girl rushing across the hall towards him. He got a swift impression of long, straight, fair hair, almost white hair in fact, a tall slim body dressed in a dark blue duffel coat, a shoulder bag swinging from one hand.

It was obvious from her manner that she was unaware of his identity and the hall staff looked agitatedly at Adam who moved his shoulders in a slight, deprecating gesture and stood aside for the girl to enter the lift.

‘Oh, thank you,’ she gasped with a smile, looking up at him with a pair of eyes which were incredibly green.

Adam closed the gates. ‘Do you work here?’ he asked, realising that she was probably an employee of his, although as it was almost nine-thirty, she was obviously late.

‘Yes,’ she replied, trying to get her breath back. ‘I work in the typing pool. Miss Morgan’s domain. Do you know her?’

Adam half-smiled. His rather dragon-like senior in the typing pool had always amused him.

‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘floor three, I believe.’

‘That’s right. I’m awfully late and I’ll get into such a row, but honestly, we never heard the alarm this morning and Mandy said she was sure she had set it last night.’

‘Mandy?’

‘Amanda Burchester, the girl I share a room with. Two rooms actually and it’s supposed to be a flat. Amanda is an apprentice window dresser at Baileys.’

‘I see.’ Adam found himself strangely attracted to this young woman. She was such a refreshing change from the women of his acquaintance, and not recognising him she spoke freely and without any ulterior designs. Of course she was very young, probably about eighteen, but charming nonetheless.

‘I haven’t seen you before,’ she continued, looking up at him. ‘If I had I should have remembered. All the boys I know are my height themselves. I’m five feet seven, you know, but you make me feel quite small.’

‘Thank you. I believe this is your floor.’

‘Oh, yes. Gosh, it would be just like me to go straight past.’

‘I wouldn’t let you do that,’ he said smoothly.

‘Do you work here, too? Are you late as well? I’ve only been here two weeks, so of course I don’t know everybody yet.’ She stepped into the corridor.

‘Yes, I work here,’ he replied with a wry smile. ‘I trust you won’t have too much trouble with Miss Morgan.’

‘So do I,’ she averred fervently. ‘Well, goodbye, then. I may see you again some morning.’

‘You may, indeed,’ he said easily, and closed the gates, firmly pressing the button for the top floor.

His office suite was accommodated on this floor, along with the offices of his co-directors and the imposing board room. He had his own staff of typists and his personal assistant, John Mercer, was in the adjoining office. The corridor here was thickly carpeted and all the rooms were soundproof and luxurious.

He entered the outer office of his own domain and saw that his private secretary was diligently typing as though unaware of his arrival. Laura Freeman was thirty and had been with him for over ten years. She always looked bandbox fresh and wore her long dark hair piled on top of her head in a neat knot. Whereas the rather severe style made some women look austere, with Laura Freeman it merely enhanced her good looks, giving her a businesslike air. Adam was well aware of her personal feelings for him but could not find any appeal in her himself. Their relationship remained strictly businesslike, much to Laura’s chagrin.

As he closed the door now she looked up and upon seeing him she rose to her feet. ‘Why, Mr Steinbeck,’ she exclaimed as though surprised at his appearance. ‘We didn’t expect you in this morning.’

‘Come now, Miss Freeman,’ remarked Adam, crossing the room to his own office. ‘Surely reception hasn’t slipped up for once. I could almost hear the wires tingling as I rode up in the elevator.’

Laura remained unembarrassed, and refused to rise to his baiting.

‘The mail is on your desk,’ she said in her most correct manner. ‘Shall I bring in my notebook?’

‘No, don’t bother, I’ll ring when I want you. Oh, and Miss Freeman, get me Miss Morgan on the phone immediately please.’

‘Miss Morgan in the typing pool?’ exclaimed Laura.

‘Who else?’ said Adam easily, entering his office and closing the door firmly behind him. Caroline Sinclair sat drinking her morning coffee with a fellow typist, Ruth Weston. It was ten-thirty and the typing pool staff were allowed ten minutes for their coffee break. Ruth was smoking, but Caroline was sitting staring thoughtfully into space, her shoulder-length hair framing her piquantly attractive face.

‘Penny for them,’ remarked Ruth, bringing Caroline back to earth abruptly.

Caroline smiled. ‘Oh, I was only wondering why Miss Morgan was so understanding this morning. I’ve only been late once before and that time she was furious about it. Today she simply said she knew what it was like with alarms and that I should hurry and catch up with my work.’

Ruth, who was nineteen and two years older than Caroline, raised her eyebrows. ‘Heavens,’ she exclaimed. ‘You’ve only been here a fortnight and I’ve never known her understand about anybody sleeping in before, let alone a new girl. Maybe she’s got herself a man at last.’

Caroline giggled. ‘Ruth, if she could hear you! By the way, that reminds me, I came up in the lift with the most gorgeous man this morning.’

Ruth looked interested. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘How old was he?’

‘Oh, in his thirties, I’d say,’ replied Caroline blandly.

Ruth chuckled. ‘Rather older than you,’ she remarked dryly.

‘So what!’ exclaimed Caroline. ‘I prefer men to boys. Boys always bore me.’

Ruth shrugged. ‘Well, you know best about that, I suppose. What was he like anyway? To look at, I mean?’

‘Oh, big and broad and very attractive,’ murmured Caroline, smiling. ‘Thick black hair cut very short and he was wearing one of those short sheepskin coats. He was what I call a real male.’

Ruth laughed. ‘Honestly, Caroline, you must be joking, talking like that about a man who’s probably old enough to be your father. Mark Davison should be more in your line. He’s trying to date you, isn’t he?’

Caroline grimaced. ‘Ruth,’ she exclaimed, ‘Mark Davison is just an overgrown schoolboy, and is he big-headed! He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.’

Mark Davison worked in one of the adjoining offices in the building and had dated most of the girls in the typing pool from time to time, including Ruth. Caroline, being the new girl, was now being subjected to the treatment, but she was not interested and all the other girls were amused at Mark’s persistence.

‘Well, anyway,’ went on Ruth, ‘who was this man? Where did he get out of the lift?’

‘I don’t know. He stayed on after I’d got off,’ answered Caroline. ‘Do you know all the men who work here?’

‘No, not all,’ replied Ruth. ‘There are too many different departments. I know a lot of them by sight, of course.’

Caroline nodded thoughtfully. Suddenly an imperious voice broke in on their conversation.

‘Miss Sinclair, Miss Weston, I think your break should be over by now.’ It was Vera Morgan on the warpath and with hasty steps the two girls returned to their machines.

The small flat which Caroline shared with Amanda Burchester was in an old converted mansion standing in a cul-de-sac off the King’s Road. Once the home of a titled lady, the house now accommodated twelve separate couples and no children were allowed, although the scratched paint and peeling wallpaper had seen much better days.

Caroline’s parents were dead, having died in a car crash when she was three, and she had been brought up by an elderly aunt. When Amanda had the chance of this flat six months ago, she had invited Caroline to share it with her, and Caroline herself had been very keen. Aunt Barbara was a dear old soul but not good company for a teenager, and she had been very understanding and allowed Caroline to go. Caroline had known Amanda since their schooldays and sharing a flat was great fun.

Although Caroline was less effusive, Amanda had a steady stream of boy-friends, some of whom gravitated to Caroline after meeting her. However, her height deterred many, and in any case, the boys who often appealed to Amanda did not often appeal to Caroline. Amanda was a redhead and eighteen years old. Her parents lived in the North of England now and as Amanda had not wanted to leave London when they did she and Caroline had acquired this flat.

Boys were only of secondary importance to Caroline. She loved reading and visiting art galleries. She attended most of the exhibitions and revelled in learning about the artists. She also enjoyed classical music and Amanda could never understand how she could dance madly one evening and then go into raptures over Grieg’s Piano Concerto the next. She occasionally visited the Festival Hall when some famous musician was playing, but in the main she had to be content with the concerts on the radio, as after paying her keep at the flat she had very little left to do anything with.

When she woke up one morning about a week later and padded to the window she found a thick fog outside probing at the panes. Drawing the curtains quickly closed again, she groaned inwardly. Then she looked at Amanda, who was stirring, disturbed by the light that Caroline had switched on.

‘Come on, Mandy,’ said Caroline sleepily. ‘There’s a peasouper outside, and goodness know how long it will take us to get to work.’

Amanda rolled over in her twin bed, rubbing her eyes.

‘Oh, dear,’ she moaned unhappily. ‘I feel terrible, Caroline.’

‘Don’t we all,’ remarked Caroline, making a face at her, and crossing to the wash basin she began to clean her teeth.

‘I’m serious,’ exclaimed Amanda in a croaky voice, lying back on her pillows. ‘I think I’ve got ‘flu. I always seem to get ‘flu in November.’

Caroline sighed and hastily washed and dressed. ‘Are you going to work, then?’ she called as she filled the kettle in the minute alcove off the living-room which served as a kitchen.

‘I don’t think I can,’ replied Amanda miserably. ‘Oh, Caroline honey, make me some tea and put a drop of that cooking sherry in it, will you?’

Caroline smiled at this, but went back into the bedroom and switched on the electric fire.

‘Okay,’ she agreed. ‘Now, give me your hot water bottle and I’ll refill it for you. I’ll have to hurry, though, or I’m going to be late.’

‘Never mind,’ groaned Amanda. ‘Nobody can expect you to be on time this morning. Besides, you might meet your dream man again.’

Caroline chuckled. ‘Oh, Mandy, you’re incorrigible!’

When the kettle had boiled she filled the hot water bottle and made the tea.

‘Do you want anything to eat?’ she shouted to Amanda.

‘No, just some aspirin,’ replied Amanda rather hoarsely. ‘I expect I’ll be all right if I have the day in bed and dose myself like mad.’

‘Well, don’t overdo it,’ said Caroline severely. ‘I’ll try and get home at lunchtime to get you something to eat.’ She brought in the tea. ‘Where are the aspirins?’

She left the flat a few minutes later after making sure that Amanda had everything she needed. She had not had time to have any breakfast herself and had had to make do with a cup of tea, gulped scalding hot.

Outside it was bitterly cold. The fog cast a gloom over everything and the thought of the winter months ahead was not a pleasant one. She joined the queue at the bus stop, but all the buses were so full that they did not stop and she realised she could probably have walked there in the time she had been standing, freezing.

At last a bus did stop and she was squashed inside. The bus crawled along. The traffic was congested and the fog was so thick that the driver could hardly see at all.

She reached the entrance to the Steinbeck Building at nine-forty-five and thought with a sinking feeling that she might really get the sack this time. After all, this was the third time she had been late and she had not been there a month yet. It was no joke, and she walked into the reception hall feeling very small and rather scared. Today there was no sign of the handsome stranger whom she had half-hoped to see and Miss Morgan was just as angry as Caroline expected. Caroline had hardly got through the door before she pounced and stood staring at her grimly.

‘Do you realise, Miss Sinclair,’ she stormed, ‘that this is the third time in as many weeks you have been late?’

‘Yes, Miss Morgan,’ Caroline managed to say, shakily. ‘But I’m afraid the girl I share a flat with has developed influenza, and I couldn’t come away and leave her without making her some tea and filling her hot water bottle.’

Miss Morgan was not impressed.

‘Save your excuses for the personnel manager,’ she replied icily. ‘I intend to report you this time. I won’t have such lackadaisical behaviour in my department. It’s getting quite out of hand.’

‘But, Miss Morgan…’ Caroline began.

‘Say no more,’ commanded her superior. ‘You’ve wasted quite enough time already. Kindly go and get on with your work.’

Caroline went to her desk feeling near to tears. She saw Ruth looking at her sympathetically but hadn’t the heart to acknowledge her. The fog also did not seem to be thinning at all and she dreaded the rush she was going to have at lunch time, rushing back to the flat to attend to Amanda and then getting back here again, all in an hour.

She was summoned to Mr Donnelly’s office at eleven o’clock. Mr Donnelly was the personnel manager and when Caroline met him at her interview she had thought him very kind and pleasant. Today, however, he was far from pleasant. After hearing a tirade from Vera Morgan he felt justly annoyed and the suggestion that his judgment had been lacking when he hired Miss Sinclair irritated him immensely. He was thus in no mood to be his usual amiable self.

‘You realise, Miss Sinclair,’ he snapped angrily, ‘that I could fire you for this! You’ve let everybody down, especially me. It was in my power to employ you or not to do so. Having done so you go ahead and ridicule my recommendation!’

‘Oh, no, sir,’ exclaimed Caroline. ‘I truly am a punctual employee in the normal way. It’s simply that my flatmate has developed ‘flu and I had to attend to her before leaving home. And then the fog…’

Donnelly strode up and down restlessly. He wanted to believe this girl with the honest eyes. He was almost convinced she was telling the truth.

‘You’ve placed me in a very awkward position,’ he said at length. He sighed heavily. He could see how distraught she looked and how she genuinely seemed to want the job.

‘Very well, then,’ he decided slowly. ‘I’ll give you one more chance. Any deviation from regular times after this will mean instant dismissal. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Caroline’s heart was heavy. How on earth was she to manage at lunch time? She was tempted to ask him whether the might be permitted an extra quarter of an hour for lunch, but decided against it. He had been very fair and that would probably have been too much, even for him. As for asking Vera Morgan, that was unthinkable!

Back at her desk she did her work automatically, mentally calculating the time required to do what she wanted to do. An hour would just not be long enough. It would take her nearly half that time to get home, if she was lucky enough to get a bus, and as for getting back…

Ruth was frankly amazed when Caroline explained that she intended going home. She was quite sure that Caroline would never make it and Caroline wondered whether she ought to develop ‘flu too, and not bother going back at all. At least they couldn’t fire her for that!

Ruth went off to the staff canteen at lunch time where both she and Caroline always ate in the normal way, while Caroline almost flew down the stairs, not waiting for the lift. She rushed across the hall and out of the glass doors. The fog did not seem so thick, but it was bad enough. In her haste to reach the bus stop, Caroline ran full tilt into a man coming from the opposite direction.

‘Gosh, I’m awfully sorry,’ she began, and then as he steadied her she stopped. ‘Why, it’s you!’ It was the man from the lift.

He released her and smiled.

‘Miss Sinclair,’ he said easily. ‘I am right, aren’t I?’

‘Why, yes, but how do you know my name?’

He shrugged and ignored the question. ‘You’re in an enormous hurry.’

Caroline realised she was wasting time and grimaced. ‘Yes, it’s too long a story to tell you now, but I nearly got fired this morning and now I’m taking my life into my hands again. I’m sure to be late.’ She sighed heavily.

Adam Steinbeck hesitated and then he said: ‘Perhaps I could give you a lift.’

‘A lift?’ Caroline was incredulous. ‘In a car?’

‘Well, I didn’t intend carrying you on my back,’ he remarked rather dryly, and she chuckled.

‘But you’re not going in my direction,’ she exclaimed.

‘No, but I’m quite prepared to do so. My car is just parked along here. If you’d like a lift, that is.’

‘Gosh, would I?’ she cried in relief. ‘Please.’

‘Good.’ He put a hand beneath her elbow and guided her swiftly along the busy street. She was intensely conscious of the nearness of him and of how attractive he looked in a dark blue suit and dark overcoat. The collar of his overcoat was turned up and she found him quite fascinating.

The car turned out to be a Rolls, while a uniformed chauffeur was seated behind the steering wheel. He sprang out at Adam’s approach and said:

‘Are you ready to go already, sir?’

‘I am, Jules,’ replied Caroline’s companion smoothly. ‘However, I intend to drive myself. You can go along to the office and explain that I’ve been called away and will be rather late.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The chauffeur saluted smartly. If he was at all surprised at this turn of events he did not show it and although the sight of Caroline in her rather shabby duffel coat could not have been a usual one his face remained impassive. After he had gone Caroline looked curiously at her companion. Who on earth could he be, to run a Rolls and a chauffeur? He must only be a director, she decided nervously, and bit hard at her lip.

Adam smiled at her obvious discomfiture. ‘Don’t look so perturbed,’ he remarked lazily. ‘The car belongs to me, I can assure you.’

Caroline flushed. ‘I don’t doubt that,’ she replied, sighing and allowed him to assist her into the seat beside the driver. After closing her door firmly, he walked round the bonnet and slid in beside her. He looked perfectly at ease and she thought rather wistfully that he fitted the car. Both were well groomed and immaculate.

‘And now,’ he said, before she had any time to ask questions, ‘where am I to take you?’

Caroline told him her address and wondered whether when they arrived he would expect to be invited in. She hoped not. The old building was hardly the sort of background she would have chosen.

Their route through some unknown side streets brought them to Gloucester Court in a very short time. As they had avoided the main roads the traffic had been much lighter and although Caroline was sure she would have got lost in the fog, it was obvious that this man knew London very well. The big car looked out of place in the small court and Caroline hoped Amanda was not looking out of the window. They had spoken little on the journey and when the car halted Caroline made to get out as quickly as she could.

‘Just a moment,’ he muttered easily. ‘How long will you be?’

Caroline’s eyes widened. ‘Not long,’ she exclaimed guardedly.

‘Then I’ll wait,’ he said surprisingly, and took out a case of cigars.

Caroline was astounded, but with a hasty ‘Thank you’ she sprang out, carefully closed the door and ran inside the building.

The flat was on the first floor and soon she was unlocking the door and going in. A glance at her watch told her it was barely twelve-forty-five. Only a quarter of her hour had gone already.

Amanda was still in bed, breathing nasally. ‘Is that you, Caroline?’ she called feebly.

‘Who were you expecting?’ replied Caroline cheerfully. ‘Now then, how do you feel?’ She came to the bedroom door.

‘I’m bearing up,’ answered Amanda with a forced smile. ‘You’re nice and early. Could I have some soup, do you think? I feel quite hungry now.’

‘Of course,’ said Caroline, pulling off her mitts. ‘That’s a good sign.’ She hurried into the kitchen and filled the kettle before opening the tin of beef broth.

When the kettle had boiled she refilled Amanda’s hot water bottle again and made some more tea. She put ten pence in the electric meter, ensuring that the fire would remain on, and put the soup in a saucepan to heat up.

‘Did you get into trouble this morning?’ asked Amanda thickly, as Caroline set a tray of steaming soup, toast, and tea in front of her.

‘Well, I’m still on the payroll,’ replied Caroline, evading the question. She didn’t want Amanda worrying about her and as for telling her about accepting a lift from a stranger! Well! She just couldn’t do it. Amanda would think she was the village idiot; after all, she knew nothing about him at all.

After making Amanda comfortable, she put on her mitts again.

‘I must go,’ she said quickly. ‘I don’t want to be late again.’

Amanda’s eyes widened. ‘But, Caroline, it’s only one o’clock and you’ve had nothing yourself.’

‘Oh, I’m not hungry,’ lied Caroline blithely, aware of feeling particularly empty. ‘Anyway, I can get a sandwich from the canteen when I get back.’

‘Oh, all right, pet. Thanks for everything, and mind how you go. Let’s hope I’m feeling better by tonight. I have a date with Ron.’

Ron Cartwright was her current boy-friend. A cub-reporter for the Daily Southerner who imagined himself the editor, was Caroline’s private opinion.

‘Well, you won’t be going out,’ stated Caroline indignantly. ‘It’s absolutely freezing out there, and it’s so damp and foggy.’

Amanda shivered and sipped her soup appreciatively. ‘All right, all right, it was only a thought.’

‘Well, forget it,’ ordered Caroline with a smile. ‘I must go now.’ She walked to the door. ‘See you about five-thirty, I expect.’

‘Okay, don’t get lost.’

Caroline ran down the stairs again and out into the street. The cold atmosphere was numbing and feeling very nervous she approached the car. It had been turned in her absence and as she neared it the man pushed open the door from inside. She slid in beside him, into a world of luxurious comfort, warm air and the delicious scent of Havana tobacco.

‘Good,’ he said as she slammed the door. ‘Do I take it you have executed your business?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Caroline was subdued.

‘Sir?’ He frowned. ‘Why are you calling me that?’

Caroline shrugged. ‘Well, you must be somebody important with a car like this,’ she replied carefully. ‘I don’t know who you are, and if you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t seem awfully keen to tell me. Are you married and afraid your wife finds out? Oh, I hope that doesn’t sound rude.’

He smiled slightly. ‘I am not married,’ he stated firmly, ‘and you can call me Adam. Does that satisfy you?’

Caroline flushed scarlet. ‘Yes, sir…I mean Adam,’ she answered, feeling rather foolish.

He started the car and they moved away from the kerb. However, once they had joined the main stream of traffic he took the opposite turning to the proper one and Caroline realised they were not going in the direction of the Steinbeck Building.

‘Wh…where are you taking me?’ she enquired, trying to keep her voice calm when suddenly it felt very shaky.

‘To a roadhouse I know near Kingston,’ he replied easily. ‘I gather you haven’t eaten yet, so over a meal you can tell me all your troubles.’

Caroline gasped. ‘But I’m due at the office in twenty minutes,’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, please, take me back.’

‘Don’t worry,’ he murmured, quite amused at her expression. ‘I’ll speak to Miss Morgan myself. Relax.’

Caroline’s tensed body suddenly went weak. What could she do now? She had been stupid and she was now paying the penalty. He could do what he liked with her! Take her where he liked, for that matter! It was her own fault for trusting him. She looked desperately out of the window and wondered whether, if she shouted for help, anyone would take any notice. Driving in a car like this the odds were decidedly against it.

She was most astonished therefore, when a short while later, the powerful car turned between the wrought iron gates of a driveway and drew up outside the imposing façade of a country house with ‘The Copper Kettle’ printed on a sign which hung over the doorway.

Adam slid out and walked round the bonnet to assist Caroline to alight. She forestalled him, however, and with a smile he slammed her door and locked it.

‘Did you think I was kidnapping you?’ he asked in her ear, as he drew her through the entrance and into the wide hallway.

‘That thought had crossed my mind,’ she admitted with a smile, which she suddenly couldn’t control.

At their entrance a waiter appeared immediately and greeted them. ‘Your usual table, Mr Steinbeck?’ he asked politely, his sophisticated eyes taking in the blue duffel coat that Caroline was wearing and finding it sadly lacking.

‘Yes, thank you, André,’ replied Adam, and urged Caroline forward. But Caroline had been arrested by the man’s words.

‘Steinbeck,’ she whispered in an awed voice. ‘Oh, glory!’

The restaurant was quite full, but a table near the window was awaiting them. Andre saw them comfortably seated and then produced the menu with a flourish. All the diners looked with surprise at Caroline. The women were all wearing expensive furs; minks and sables; and the men were as immaculately groomed as Caroline’s companion.

Quite a number of people had greeted Adam, and Caroline, now aware of his identity, felt awkward and out of place. She wished that he had not turned out to be so important a person. Had he been just an ordinary person like herself he might have seriously become interested in her, but now that she knew who he was she was convinced that any interest he had in her must be simply curiosity. She ought to have realised the day she met him in the lift, by the impeccable cut of his clothes, that he was no ordinary office worker. It was fantastic to consider the difference in their positions and she sighed dejectedly.

Adam asked her if she had any preference regarding the food, but she shook her head and was glad when he said he would choose for her. What did she know about menus that were large enough to cover the table?

After he had ordered the meal the wine waiter appeared and there followed another discussion about the choice of wines. As an aperitif he ordered Martinis, and Caroline found herself with a glass in her hand and a cigarette between her fingers.

Looking about her, Caroline was extremely conscious of the limitations of her red pinafore dress and white jumper and was convinced she must be the topic of conversation of all these elegantly fashionable women. They must be wondering why such a man as Adam Steinbeck was giving her lunch when he was obviously much more accustomed to dining with the élite of society.

Her eyes returned to Adam as he smoked his cigarette and she saw wonderingly that his eyelashes were extremely long and thick. Combined with his dark skin, strong face and fathomless eyes, he was quite the most attractive man Caroline had ever seen. He had a kind of animal magnetism against which she felt herself to be completely defenceless.

Suddenly his eyes turned on her and caught her staring at him and she hastily drew on her cigarette and took a sip of her Martini. She choked in the process and had the ignominy of spluttering and coughing arousing the amused attention of the whole of the restaurant.

Adam, however, was not perturbed and said softly:

‘I suppose you ought not to be drinking that, ought you?’

Caroline flushed anew. ‘I’m almost eighteen,’ she exclaimed, feeling embarrassed.

‘Almost, but not quite,’ he remarked slowly. ‘However, in this instance, no one but ourselves is aware of the facts, so there need be no disgrace.’

Caroline, sure he was amusing himself by teasing her, put down her drink before she made any more mistakes.

‘Why didn’t you tell me immediately you were Adam Steinbeck?’ she said suddenly.

He shrugged. ‘It was a new experience to be treated like a fellow employee. I quite enjoyed it’

She sighed. ‘I never know when you’re serious,’ she said, looking very young and vulnerable.

‘Don’t you?’ he smiled. ‘Perhaps that’s just as well,’ he said enigmatically.

The meal was the most delicious Caroline had ever tasted. A clear consomme was followed by fresh salmon, then Aylesbury duckling and green peas and finally a strawberry mousse.

‘Strawberries in December!’ she exclaimed in delight, and Adam smiled rather indulgently, like an uncle who was taking out his favourite niece for a special treat.

When they were having cigarettes with coffee made with fresh cream, she sighed contentedly.

‘I gather you enjoyed it,’ he remarked, dropping the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray.

‘Oh, I did,’ she exclaimed. ‘It was fabulous! I’ve never had such a meal.’ She flushed. ‘I must seem very stupid.’

‘No, just very young,’ he replied softly. ‘Now, tell me about this morning.’

‘Oh, my being late, you mean,’ she said with a grimace. ‘Amanda has got ‘flu and I had to make sure she was comfortable before I left. I didn’t know she was ill until I got up, you see, so consequently I was late. The fog delayed me too and Miss Morgan was positively breathing fire when I got in. Mind you, it was a quarter to ten, so I guess she was right in a way. Although she wouldn’t let me explain and reported me to Mr Donnelly. I had to go and see him at eleven and although he was angry I think he understood. Miss Morgan rather ravages him, you know, and the poor man doesn’t know what to do for the best.’

‘Really?’ Adam sounded intrigued, and suddenly Caroline realised just who she was talking to. With a hasty frown she exclaimed:

‘You wouldn’t cause any trouble about this, would you? I don’t wan’t to get anyone into trouble.’

He smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll treat what you’ve told me as confidential, although I think Miss Morgan needs taking down a peg or two.’ He laughed softly. ‘So Donnelly decided to keep you on, did he?’

‘Yes. But I mustn’t be late again, because if I am, I’ll be dismissed.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘That’s a joke, do you realise it’s a quarter to three?’

He relaxed lazily, studying her flushed face. ‘I’ve told you, don’t worry. Today you certainly will not get fired. I personally vouch for that.’

Caroline smiled. ‘Honestly, this is all like some crazy dream,’ she exclaimed. ‘I still can’t believe it’s true. Even though I know I’m sitting here, it seems too fantastic.’

He smiled in return. ‘But you have enjoyed it?’ he asked interestedly.

She sighed. ‘How could I do anything else?’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s been marvellous!’

‘Good, I’m glad.’ He stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Are you ready to go?’

A few minutes later they were back in the Rolls and heading towards the city. Caroline felt unusually depressed. It had all been so unexpected and exciting and now it was all over. The skyscraper structure of the Steinbeck Building was soon in sight and Adam parked the car in its earlier position which was apparently reserved for him.

As soon as the car had stopped, Caroline turned towards him impulsively. ‘I can’t thank you enough,’ she said, sighing. ‘I’ve really had a fabulous lunch and I hope I haven’t been too much of a liability.’

He grinned, and rested his arms on the steering wheel. ‘Not at all,’ he said easily. ‘Tell me, would you like to have dinner with me one evening?’

Caroline’s cheeks grew scarlet. ‘Me?’ she exclaimed. ‘Why, I…are you sure you want to take me?’

He smiled lazily. ‘Why else would I ask you? How about tomorrow?’

Caroline clasped her hands. Suddenly the day was much brighter. ‘Oh, I’d adore it,’ she cried.

‘Good. I’ll pick you up outside your apartment at seven. Is that too early?’

‘No, I can manage that,’ she answered eagerly. ‘I’d better go now.’

‘Hold on,’ he exclaimed, sliding out from behind the wheel. ‘I, too, am going into the building. And I too, am very late.’

‘But you won’t want to be seen with me,’ she protested, and was surprised at the look of annoyance that crossed his face.

‘Do you personally object?’ he queried quietly.

‘Of course not,’ she denied swiftly.

‘Then don’t say that again,’ he said curtly, and taking her arm firmly he led her towards the entrance.

It was three-fifteen and Caroline’s legs felt like jelly. Her consternation must have shown in her face, because he said:

‘Relax, I’ve told you, you’ll be all right.’

She looked up at him and suddenly felt assured. The touch of his fingers on her elbow, the nearness of his strong, powerful body all reassured her and she knew she would always feel safe and secure with him.

They entered the impressive reception hall of the Steinbeck Building and were immediately the cynosure of all eyes. The intimacy of their relationship seemed suddenly blatant for all to see and self-consciously Caroline released herself from his hold.

The hall staff were quite obviously astounded and once they were inside the lift Adam turned thoughtfully to her.

‘You were embarrassed,’ he said softly. ‘Why?’

Caroline shrugged, turning pink. ‘I was thinking of you,’ she said.

‘What about me? That I was very much older than you?’ He sounded amused.

‘No,’ denied Caroline hotly. ‘It’s just that those porters are such dreadful gossips and the whole building will know we came in together by tea-time.’

‘And so?’ he prompted. He was leaning against the wall of the lift. It had stopped at the third floor, but he made no attempt to open the gates.

‘Well, don’t you care?’ she asked, aware of a breathlessness about her.

‘Should I?’ he asked, shrugging his shoulders carelessly. ‘What I do is my own affair, surely. Are you sure it isn’t yourself who feels upset?’

‘Not at all,’ exclaimed Caroline. ‘Honestly, I quite enjoyed the feeling of being important for once.’

‘Then you do still want to have dinner with me, tomorrow?’

Caroline moved her shoulders in a helpless gesture. ‘Of course. I’m looking forward to it.’

‘Good.’ Straightening up, he opened the gates and allowed her to pass through. ‘Then I’ll see you tomorrow as arranged.’ He smiled. ‘I trust you have no trouble with Miss Morgan.’

He pressed the button for his floor and the lift went on up. Sighing, Caroline walked along to the typing pool. It was three-thirty.

It really was amazing, thought Caroline later that same afternoon, how very charming Miss Morgan could be when it suited her. It had been obvious from the moment that Caroline entered the large office which reverberated with the sound of a score of machines that Vera Morgan had been forewarned of her delayed return from lunch. Caroline was asked politely whether she had enjoyed herself and then advised that the other girls would help her if she had not got time to finish her work herself.

But Caroline did not think it fair to delegate her work to the others who had plenty to do themselves, so she worked steadily all the rest of the afternoon, and by five o’clock she was almost up to date. Sufficiently so to inform Miss Morgan that she could manage on her own in the morning.

Miss Morgan was aware of an unwilling admiration for Caroline, upon hearing this. Many girls in her position, although what that position was she was not quite sure, would have taken advantage of the situation and purposely sat back and allowed their work to be done by the others. As it was, Caroline had contrived to do all her work herself and Miss Morgan was quite pleasantly surprised.

When Caroline arrived home she found Amanda up and dressed, but she looked very pale and wan.

‘You should have stayed in bed,’ exclaimed Caroline, sitting down to sausage and eggs prepared by Amanda. Actually, Caroline did not feel very hungry after her enormous lunch, but she made a show of enjoying the meal so as not to hurt Amanda’s feelings.

‘Oh, well,’ replied Amanda, having only one sausage herself and a slice of toast, ‘with Ron arriving at six-thirty I had to do something.’

Caroline snorted in disapproval. ‘You’re not going out,’ she stated flatly, and Amanda had to laugh.

‘All right, don’t fly off the handle,’ she answered, sighing. ‘I only wanted to look reasonably fit, that’s all. As it is I feel as though I’m dying on my feet.’

Caroline shook her head. As if she couldn’t have put Ron Cartwright off until another evening! She finished her tea and cleared away the dishes. While she washed up, Amanda re-did her face, heavily, disguising as best she could the hollows beneath her eyes and the greyish pallor of her skin. She still looked very drawn when Caroline came back in and she was about to tell her to get herself back to bed when the doorbell rang.

Caroline answered it and let in Ron Cartwright. As usual he looked cheekily pleased with himself, but he stopped dead at the sight of Amanda.

‘Blimey!’ he exclaimed, taking a step back. ‘Marley’s ghost!’

Amanda looked gloomily at Caroline. ‘Ha…ha,’ she said, with a forced smile.

‘Hey, really, doll,’ went on Ron, ‘you do look a sketch. What’s wrong?’

‘She’s got flu,’ said Caroline. ‘I’m sure you don’t want to catch it, do you?’ this last very pointedly.

Ron shrugged. ‘Well, there’s a thing,’ he commented, flinging himself on to the couch. ‘I guess the flicks is out for us, then.’

Caroline winced at his language and looked at Amanda with raised eyebrows. Amanda took the hint.

‘Yes. I’m going back to bed.’

‘I see,’ Ron turned his gaze speculatively on Caroline. ‘How about you and me taking in a show?’ he asked brightly.

Amanda gasped. ‘Don’t mind me!’ she snorted, and flounced into the bedroom slamming the door.

‘What’s bitten her?’ asked Ron blandly. ‘Well, Caroline? What about it?’

‘You must be joking,’ said Caroline, a look of distaste on her face.

Ron was undaunted. ‘You know I always fancied a date with you,’ he said, standing up. He tried to grasp her wrist playfully, but she twisted away from him.

‘Don’t you dare to touch me!’ she exclaimed furiously. ‘You can leave just as soon as you like, Mr Cartwright!’

Ron shrugged, still confidently unabashed. ‘Okay, doll. I’m going. Nobody can say that Ron Cartwright forces his attentions where they’re not wanted. It’s not necessary, chum. I can date a dozen like you just as easily as that.’ He snapped his fingers in her face.

‘Then go and find one,’ retorted Caroline wearily. ‘Really, you overgrown approved-schoolboys appal me!’

That caught him on a sore spot, for he flung her a baleful glance before sauntering out.

Caroline closed the door after him and went into the bedroom to find Amanda. She was back in bed and surprisingly was smiling.

‘I heard,’ she said before Caroline could speak. ‘I guess we’ve seen the last of him.’

‘Well, honestly,’ exclaimed Caroline ruefully, ‘how you could become involved with anyone like him amazes me. He’s so boring.’

Amanda shrugged. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ she replied, sighing. ‘You may find out one day. Girls like you and me just don’t meet up with the cream of the male population.’

Caroline flushed scarlet. She had not told Amanda about her second meeting with Adam Steinbeck or their subsequent lunch together. She realised with a sense of shock that comparing Ron Cartwright with Adam was like comparing tomato juice with champagne.

Amanda had noticed her heightened colour, however, and said perceptively: ‘Have you seen that dreamboat from the lift again, by any chance?’

Caroline moved restlessly, now she had no choice but to tell Amanda.

‘As a matter of fact,’ she said casually, ‘I saw him at lunch time.’

‘Oh, really?’ Amanda’s eyes were huge. ‘How?’

‘Well, actually, I bumped into him outside the offices and when I told him I was rushing home he offered me a lift in his car.’

Amanda gasped. ‘Caroline Sinclair,’ she exclaimed accusingly. ‘You weren’t going to tell me this, were you?’

‘Of course,’ retorted Caroline. ‘I’ve not had the chance before. Anyway, he brought me home. That’s how I was so early.’

‘Indeed. Weren’t you being rather reckless? After all, you don’t know the man. Did you find out his name?’

Caroline hesitated. ‘Well, yes. He’s Adam Steinbeck.’ It came out with a rush and Amanda’s face was a picture, registering astonishment, incredulity and finally disbelief with lightning rapidity.

‘Are you serious?’ she gasped, a hand to her cheek. ‘The Adam Steinbeck?’

Caroline sighed, feeling slightly overawed herself. ‘Yes. It was a surprise to me too.’

‘Surprise?’ cried Amanda. ‘It’s nothing short of a miracle. No wonder poor old Ron got the cold shoulder. You’re playing for higher stakes.’

Caroline frowned. ‘It’s not like that at all,’ she said irritably.

Amanda shook her head, bewildered. ‘And you were serious that day when you said you didn’t know who he was?’

‘Of course. Good heavens, Amanda, I’ve only been there three weeks. How could I possibly recognise him? Anyway, I didn’t.’

‘It really is fantastic. And you say he’s an attractive man?’

‘He’s fabulous,’ exclaimed Caroline, hugging herself suddenly. ‘By the way, he took me to lunch at a roadhouse called the Copper Kettle.’

If it had been possible for Amanda to look even more shocked she would have done so.’

‘He’s a very nice person,’ went on Caroline. ‘He made me feel at ease. I didn’t get back to work until three-thirty and Miss Morgan was as nice as pie.’ She smiled. ‘Yes, he’s very nice indeed.’

Amanda looked wryly at her. ‘Millionaires couldn’t be anything else in my book,’ she said, sighing. ‘Boy, do you have all the luck!’

‘His money doesn’t particularly appeal to me,’ replied Caroline lazily, flinging herself on the foot of her bed. ‘I’d probably be better pleased if he was just a two-thousand-a-year clerk. At least he might seriously be interested in me then. As it is…’

‘Now, hold on,’ exclaimed Amanda sitting up. ‘Lunch is all right, dinner maybe, but as for getting seriously involved with a man of his age, well, you must be joking!’

Caroline flushed. ‘Don’t say that,’ she said tensely.

Amanda frowned. ‘Why not? Someone’s got to. Think, Caroline! He probably eats girls like you for breakfast. Men like Steinbeck can have their pick of any woman, and I mean any woman. Be your age. Besides, he’s probably married with half a dozen kids.’

Caroline rolled on to her suddenly churning stomach.

‘He said he wasn’t married,’ she muttered quietly. ‘I can easily find out if he’s lying, so why should he lie?’

Amanda shrugged. ‘Okay, he’s not married. That doesn’t make him any younger.’

Caroline clenched her teeth. Amanda was probably right in everything she said, but she still wanted to see him again. She had to see him again! She had never heard anything derogatory spoken about him at the office, but that was no guarantee; money could close a lot of mouths.

‘Well, anyway,’ she said defiantly, ‘I’m having dinner with him tomorrow night.’

Amanda spread her hands, palms upwards. ‘I can’t stop you. I can only say that the Steinbeck Building must have been up about fifteen years and he’s been there probably as the head for most of that time.’

Caroline sighed. ‘I expect he’s in his thirties,’ she said casually.

‘Late thirties,’ corrected Amanda grimly. ‘Hell, you’re really hooked aren’t you? I’m sorry, kid, but you shouldn’t take people at their face value.’

Caroline shrugged. ‘You’re a great one to talk. What about you and that creature who called this evening?’

Amanda frowned. ‘At least he’s in my age and income group,’ she retorted, and Caroline got up off her bed and walked moodily into the living-room.

No matter what Amanda said, she was going.

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