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.

Spirit of Atlantis
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

JULIE MADE her way down through the trees, her sandalled feet sliding on the needled slope. The smell of pine and juniper was all around her, mingling with the earthy scents of the forest, and although there were occasional scufflings in the underbrush, she was no longer alarmed. After making this particular descent every morning since her arrival, she was used to the shy retreat of the small animals that lived in these woods, and she had no real fear of meeting any human intruder. Pam and David’s cabin-style hotel was situated way off the beaten path, and she doubted any intrepid motorist would risk the forest track. Their visitors came by yacht or canoe or motor launch, and just occasionally on foot, but as no one new had arrived within the last couple of days, Julie felt safe in assuming she would not be disturbed.

At this hour of the morning, and it was only a little after six o’clock, the lake held no appeal for their predominantly middle-aged clientele, and Julie had grown accustomed to considering it her private time of the day. Soon enough, the vast reaches of Lake Huron would be invaded by speedboats towing sun-bronzed water-skiers, and paddle steamers giving their passengers a glimpse of some of the thirty thousand islands for which the lake was famous. But right now, it was quiet, as quiet as in the winter, when the lake was frozen over to a depth of several feet. Then, the animals had it all their own way, and the summer settlers returned to their centrally-heated homes, and dreamed about the long sunny days at the lake.

Georgian Bay—even the names had a special sound, Julie thought. Beausoleil Island, Waubanoka, Penetang Rock, the Giant’s Tomb—she had visited them all in the three weeks since her arrival, and she loved their natural beauty and the timeless sense of space. She was grateful to Adam for giving her these weeks, weeks to recover from the terrible shock of her father’s suicide, and she was grateful to the Galloways, too, for making this holiday possible.

She heard the splashing in the water long before she reached the rocky shoreline. It wasn’t the usual sucking sound the water made as it fell back from washing against the numerous rocks, but a definite cleaving of the lake’s surface, followed by a corresponding in-surge of rippling waves right to the edge of the incline.

Julie frowned as she emerged from the trees and saw the dark head in the water. She had half suspected it, of course, and yet she was still disappointed, the more so when she saw the heap of clothes lying on the rocks at her feet. They looked like a man’s clothes, but these days who could be sure? Jeans were asexual, and the denim shirt could have belonged to anyone.

Her brain flicked swiftly through a mental catalogue of the guests at present staying at the hotel. Perhaps it was one of them, and yet none of them seemed the type to take an early morning dip. There were the Fair-leys, but he was fat and middle-aged, and unlikely to shed his clothes in anything less than a sauna, and she was simply not the type. The Meades? Again she dismissed the idea. They were much younger, but they seldom appeared before noon, and Pam had already speculated on their being a honeymoon couple. So who? Only the Edens were left, and a Mrs and Miss Peters, but she couldn’t imagine Richard Eden being allowed to go anywhere without his wife and their two whining children, and neither Geraldine Peters nor her mother would wear anything so inelegant as jeans.

A feeling of intense irritation gripped her. This man, and she was pretty sure he was male, had ruined her day, and she felt vaguely resentful. She was in the annoying position of not knowing what she ought to do, and while it would obviously be simpler to turn and go back to her cabin, she didn’t see why she should behave as if she didn’t have the right to be there. She probably had more right than he had, even if no one had troubled to put up signs saying it was private land.

She was still standing there, gazing rather morosely in his direction, when he turned and saw her. There was no mistaking his sudden reaction, or the fact that he was now swimming strongly towards her. It made her unaccountably nervous, but she stood her ground as he got nearer. It was only as he got near enough for her to see his face that she realised his appraisal was coolly insolent, and her denim shorts seemed unsuitable apparel for someone who wanted to appear distant.

‘Hi!’

To her astonishment she realised he was addressing her, and indignation at his audacity made her gulp a sudden intake of breath. He was obviously under the delusion that she had been watching him out of curiosity, and perhaps he thought she was interested in him.

Ignoring him, she deliberately turned her head, shading her eyes, and making a display of gazing out across the water. Perhaps if she showed him she wasn’t interested, he would take his clothes and go away, and she could enjoy the solitary swim she had looked forward to.

‘Hi— you !’

The masculine tones were faintly mocking now, the familiar salutation suffixed by an equally annoying pronoun. Just who did he think he was? she thought indignantly, and turned glacial green eyes in his direction.

He was treading water a few feet from the shore, making no apparent effort to get out. The lake bed shelved quite rapidly, and he was still out of his depth, but she could see how brown his skin was, and how long the slick wet hair that clung below his nape.

‘Will you please stop bothering me?’ she exclaimed, unhappily aware that the skimpy halter bra of her bikini was hardly the kind of attire to afford any degree of dignity, and his crooked grin seemed to echo her uneasy suspicions.

‘Those are my clothes on the rock beside you,’ he called, and she was momentarily struck by the familiarity of his accent. Was he English? Was it possible to meet another English person in this very Canadian neck of the woods, or was it simply his accent didn’t match that of the Galloways or any of the other residents staying at the hotel? Whatever, she quickly disposed of her curiosity, and in her most frigid tones, she retorted:

‘I can see that. Now will you please put them on and get out of here?’

‘I will—put them on, I mean, if you’ll be a good girl and go away,’ he replied, allowing his mocking gaze to move over her in admiring appraisal. ‘Unless you’d like to join me?’

‘No, thank you.’ Julie was not amused by his invitation. ‘And why should I go away? This land belongs to the Kawana Point Hotel. You’re trespassing!’

‘The lake belongs to everyone,’ he retorted, pushing back his hair with long fingers. ‘Now will you let me get out of here? It’s pretty damn cold.’

‘I’m not stopping you,’ Julie responded coldly, flicking the towel she carried against her legs. ‘And no one asked you to swim.’

‘No, they surely didn’t,’ he agreed, his accent sounding distinctly southern at that moment. ‘But I don’t have no swimsuit, little lady, so unless you have no objections—’

Julie turned away before he had finished speaking, her features burning with indignant colour. How dare he go swimming without a pair of trunks? It was disgusting, it was indecent!

‘Okay, you can look now.’

The mocking voice was nevertheless disturbing, and she glanced round half apprehensively to find he had put on the denim jeans and was presently shouldering his way into the matching shirt. He had obviously not brought a towel either, and the pants clung in places Julie would rather not look, emphasising his lean hips and the powerful muscles of his thighs. He was tall, easily six feet, with a lean but not angular build, and he carried his height easily, moving with a lithe and supple fluidity as he crossed the rocks towards her.

Julie took a backward step. Somehow he had seemed less aggressive in the water, but now he was all male, all forceful energy, and evidently sure of himself in a way Adam could never be. But then Adam was older, more mature, and infinitely less dangerous, although how she knew this she couldn’t imagine.

‘Hi,’ he said again, holding out his hand. ‘My name’s Dan Prescott. What’s yours?’

Julie was taken aback. ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business,’ she exclaimed, in faintly shocked tones, making no attempt to return his gesture. ‘I—er—how did you get here?’

‘Motorbike,’ he said laconically, bending down to push navy canvas shoes on to his feet. ‘It’s parked up there.’ He nodded towards the trees. ‘How about you?’

Julie debated whether to answer him, and then decided it would be easier if she could prove her right to be here. ‘I’m staying at the hotel,’ she declared distantly. ‘As I told you, this land—’

‘—belongs to the Kawana Point Hotel,’ he finished lazily. ‘Okay, so I’m trespassing. What are you going to do about it?’

Julie had no answer to that. Glancing up at him, she was intensely conscious of his size and his strength, and she didn’t think she altogether trusted him. Perhaps she had been a fool to challenge him. After all, she was at least a quarter of a mile from the hotel. What could she do if he suddenly decided to attack her? No one was likely to be about at this hour of the morning.

‘If—if you’ll just leave, we’ll say no more about it,’ she said, with what she hoped sounded like calm assurance, and long thick lashes came to shade eyes that were the colour of the lake on a stormy day.

‘And if I don’t?’ he countered, half amused, and Julie realised she had as much chance of controlling him as she did one of the wild cats that occasionally roamed down to the cabins in search of food.

With a helpless gesture she turned aside. His accent was confusing her again. Sometimes he sounded almost English, but at others he had a definite transatlantic drawl. She couldn’t make him out, and she was infuriatingly aware that he was getting the better of the discussion.

‘You’re English, aren’t you?’ he asked, regarding her intently. ‘Are you on holiday? Or do you work at the hotel?’

‘You really don’t give up, do you?’ she flared, giving him an angry look. ‘Why don’t you just go back to wherever you came from and leave me alone?’

‘I’m curious.’ He shrugged. ‘As to where I came from—I’m staying along there …’ He indicated the curve of the lake.

‘I didn’t ask,’ she retorted sharply. ‘I really don’t care who you are or where you’re staying.’

‘No?’ He tipped his head on one side, drops of water from his hair sliding from his jawline to the strong column of his neck. ‘That’s a pity, because you interest me. Besides,’ the grey eyes danced, ‘we’re almost fellow countrymen. My mother is English, too.’

‘How interesting!’ Julie’s tone was full of sweet acid. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, Mr—er—’

‘Dan,’ he supplied softly. ‘Dan Prescott. You never did tell me your name.’

‘No, I didn’t.’ Julie forced a faintly supercilious smile. ‘Now, do you mind …’

‘You want to swim?’

‘Yes.’

‘Go right ahead. Don’t let me stop you.’

The inclination of his head was mocking, and Julie was infuriated. Did he really expect her to step into the water under his insolent gaze? She had no intention of giving him that advantage, and the glare she cast in his direction was venomous.

‘What’s the matter?’ he probed. ‘Afraid I may decide to join you?’

Julie tapped her foot. ‘Even you wouldn’t risk that. I might decide to run off with your clothes. Then what would you do?’

He grinned. ‘You have a point.’

Julie sighed. ‘Will you go away now?’

‘Aren’t you afraid I might steal your clothes?’

‘I don’t swim without them,’ she returned sweetly.

‘You should.’ His lazy gaze dropped down the length of her body. ‘Try it some time. There’s nothing like it.’

‘You’re insulting!’ she exclaimed.

‘And you’re over-reacting,’ he retorted. ‘Where have you been these last ten years? In a convent?’

Julie turned away, and began to scramble up the slope towards the trees. He could not know how accurate his guess had been, but it hurt all the same. Besides, it was obvious she was not going to be allowed to enjoy her swim this morning, and his particular kind of verbal fencing was alien to her.

‘Wait …’

She heard his feet crunching the shingle behind her, but she didn’t turn, and when his hands suddenly caught her she panicked. No one, not even Adam, had gripped her thighs, and those hard hands encircling the flesh at the tops of her legs seemed disturbingly familiar.

‘Let me go!’ she cried, struggling so hard that she overbalanced both of them, his feet sliding away on the loosely packed surface, and pulling her down on top of him.

‘Crazy!’ he muttered, as they slid the few feet down the slope to the rocks, and Julie, trapped by the encircling pressure of his arm, was inclined to agree with him.

‘If you hadn’t grabbed me—!’ she declared frustratedly, supremely aware of the hard muscles of his chest beneath her shoulder blades, and felt the helpless intake of breath that heralded his laughter.

‘Okay, okay,’ he said, as she scrambled to her feet, lying there looking up at her. ‘It was a crazy thing to do. But—hell, what did I do to make you so mad at me?’

Julie pursed her lips. ‘I’m not mad at you, Mr Prescott. I—I have no feelings in the matter whatsoever. I wish you’d go.’

‘All right.’

With an indifferent shrug he came up beside her, and she smelt the clean male odour of his body, still damp and faintly musky. His nearness disturbed her, not least because he was barely half dressed, his shirt hanging open, his jeans low on his hips, and she could remember how he had looked in the water. He was certainly attractive, she thought, unwillingly wondering who he was. He didn’t look like the guests at the hotel, who on the whole had that look of comfortable affluence, and to be riding a motorcycle in a country where everyone drove cars … She frowned, feeling an unfamiliar tightness in her stomach, and to combat this awareness she said:

‘Goodbye, then.’

He nodded, pushing the ends of his shirt into the belt of his pants, and she waited apprehensively for him to finish. But when he did, he didn’t immediately move away from her. Instead he looked down at her, at the nervous twitching of her lips and lower to the unknowingly provocative rise and fall of her breasts.

‘Goodbye,’ he said, and before she could prevent him, he slipped one hand around her nape and bent his mouth to hers.

Her hand came out instinctively, but encountering the taut muscles of his stomach was quickly withdrawn. She made a protesting sound deep in her throat, but he ignored it, increasing the pressure and forcing her lips apart. She felt almost giddy as her senses swam beneath his experienced caress, and then to her horror she found herself responding.

‘No!’

With a cry of dismay she tore herself away from him, turning aside and scrubbing her lips with the back of her hand. She felt cheap and degraded, and appalled that just for a moment she had wanted him to go on.

‘See you,’ he remarked, behind her, but she didn’t turn, and presently she heard his footsteps crunching up the slope to where he said he had left his motorbike.

She waited until she heard the sound of a powerful engine before venturing to look round, and then expelled her breath on a shaky sigh as she saw she was alone. He had gone, the receding roar of the motorcycle’s engine indicating that he had taken the route around the lake.

Feeling slightly unsteady, Julie flopped down on to a smooth rock nearby, stretching her bare legs out to the sun. Not surprisingly, she no longer felt like going for a swim, and she wondered if she would ever come here again without remembering what had happened.

Shading her eyes, she tried to calm herself by surveying the outline of an island some distance away across the water. Everything was just the same, she told herself severely. Just because a strange man had erupted into her life and briefly disorganised it, it did not mean that she need feel any sense of guilt because of it. He had taken advantage of the situation—he was that kind of man. He was probably camping in the woods with a crowd of similarly-minded youths, all with motorcycles, and egos the size of their helmets.

With a sigh she got to her feet, picked up her towel, and scrambled back up the slope. She would swim later, she decided. Maybe she would persuade Pam’s twelve-year-old son to join her. At least that way she could be reasonably sure of not being bothered.

The hotel was set on a ridge overlooking the sweep of the bay. It was a collection of log cabins, each with its own bedroom and bathroom, private suites, with meals taken in the main building close by. Backing on to the forest, with a variety of wildlife on its doorstep, it was a popular haunt for summer visitors, who moored their craft in the small marina below and climbed the stone steps to the front of the hotel. The only other approach was through the forest, but the trails were not easily defined unless one knew the way, and only occasionally did they attract visitors this way.

Pam Galloway’s mother had been a friend of Mrs Osbourne, Julie’s mother, and the two girls had known one another since they were children. But Pam was eight years older than Julie, and in 1969, when Julie was only ten years old, she had married a Canadian she had met on holiday in Germany, and come to live in this most beautiful part of Ontario.

Julie had missed her, but they had maintained a warm if infrequent correspondence, and when tragedy struck three months ago Pam had been first to offer her a chance to get away for a while. Canada in early summer was an enchanting place, and its distance had seemed remote from all the horrors of those weeks after her father’s death. Her friends in England, her real friends, that was, had urged her to go, and with Adam’s willing, if melancholy, approval, she had accepted. That had been almost a month ago now, and she knew that soon she would have to think about going back. But she didn’t want to. Somehow, living here had widened her perspective, and she could no longer delude herself that everything her father had done had been for her. Returning to England would mean returning to the emptiness she had discovered her life to be, and not even Adam could make up for all those years she had lived in ignorance. She had thought her mother’s death when she was twelve had unhinged him. Now she knew that only Adam’s money had kept the firm together, and her father’s whole existence had been a sham.

Pam and her husband, David, had their apartments in the main building. It was easier that way. It meant they were available at all hours of the day and night, and an intercommunication system connected all the cabins to the small exchange behind the desk. The reception area was already a hive of activity when Julie came in, and Pam herself hailed her from the doorway leading to the spacious dining room.

‘Hi,’ she exclaimed. It was the usual mode of greeting on this side of the Atlantic, and Julie was getting used to using it herself.

‘Hi,’ she responded, swinging her towel in her hand. ‘Is that coffee I can smell brewing?’

‘It sure is.’ Pam wrinkled her brow as the younger girl approached her. ‘You’re back early. No swim?’

‘No swim,’ agreed Julie, not really wanting to go into details, but Pam was too inquisitive to let that go.

‘Why?’ she asked. ‘You’re not feeling sick or anything, are you? ‘Cos if you are, I’ll phone Doc Brewster right away.’

‘No, I’m not sick.’ Julie forced a smile. ‘As a matter of fact, the lake was already occupied, and as I didn’t feel like company …’ Her voice trailed away, and passing Pam’s more generous proportions with a sideways step, she walked across the restaurant to take her usual table by the window.

The dining room was empty, but the waitresses were already about, and one of them, Penny, came to ask what she would like.

‘Just toast and coffee,’ Julie assured her firmly, aware of Pam’s enquiring face in the background, and the girl knew better than to offer the steak or eggs or maple syrup pancakes that so many of their visitors seemed to enjoy.

‘Well?’ Pam prompted, coming to stand with plump arms folded, looking down at her young friend. She had put on weight since her marriage to David, and having sampled the meals served at the Kawana Point Hotel, Julie wasn’t really surprised. Steaks tended to weigh at least half a pound, with matching helpings of baked potatoes or french fries to go with them, while the desserts of cream-filled pastries or mouthwatering American cheesecake simply added inches just looking at them. Julie felt sure she, too, would burst at the seams if she enjoyed their hospitality for much longer, although her own level of metabolism seemed to dispute this anxiety.

‘Well, what?’ she said now, hoping Pam was not going to be difficult, but the other girl seemed determined to discover the facts.

‘Who was occupying the lake? No one from the hotel, I’m sure. I didn’t know anyone else knew of that cove.’

‘Nor did I,’ replied Julie, playing with the cutlery. ‘But obviously we were wrong.’

‘So who was it?’ Pam persisted. ‘Not campers? There’s barely room to pitch a tent.’

‘No, not campers,’ Julie assured her resignedly. ‘It was just some man, a tourist, I suppose. He said he was staying down the far end of the bend in the lake near the cove.’

‘You spoke to him?’ Pam was interested, taking the seat opposite her and gazing at her with twinkling eyes. ‘Hey, how about that? All these weeks you’ve rebuffed every introduction we’ve arranged for you, and now you go and meet some guy down at the lake!’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ declared Julie wearily, wishing she had played invalid after all. ‘He was just—swimming, and—well, he spoke to me. It was all perfectly innocent and certainly nothing for you to get so excited about.’

Or was it? Julie couldn’t prevent the unwilling surge of some emotion along her veins, and the remembrance of how he had held her and kissed her brought goose-bumps out all over her body. Hoping Pam would attribute them to the chilly air-conditioning of the dining room and not to any other cause, she folded her arms on the table and surreptitiously looped her fingers over the most obvious flesh on her upper arms.

‘So who is he?’ Pam urged her, arching her blonde brows. ‘Did he give you his name?’ She frowned. ‘I don’t know who he might be staying with. The Leytons and the Peruccis have summer places along there, but they don’t normally associate with the common crowd.’

‘Pam, it was no one like that.’ Julie shook her head. ‘He was riding a motorbike, or’—she added blushing—’he said he was. He just wasn’t the type you think.’

‘Ah, older, you mean?’

‘No. Younger.’ Julie looked up in relief as Penny brought her toast and coffee. ‘Mmmm, this is just what I needed. It’s quite chilly in here, isn’t it?’

Pam waited until Penny had departed and then looked at her impatiently. ‘So what was his name? Did you get it?’

Julie sighed. ‘Prescott,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Dan Prescott.’

‘No!’

Pam was regarding her in disbelief now, and Julie wished she would go away and stop making a fuss about nothing. It was bad enough having her morning disrupted, without Pam sitting there looking as if she had just delivered her a body blow.

‘Pam, look, I know you mean well, but I am going to marry Adam, you know. It’s all arranged. Just as soon as I feel able—’

‘Julie, did he really say his name was Dan Prescott?’ Pam interrupted her, leaning across the table, her hand on the younger girl’s wrist preventing her from putting the wedge of toast she had just buttered into her mouth.

Julie pulled her hand free and nodded. ‘That’s what he said.’

Pam shook her head. ‘My God!’

Julie regarded her half irritably now. ‘What’s wrong with that?’ she demanded, popping the wedge of toast into her mouth, and wiping her fingers on her napkin. ‘It’s a common enough name, isn’t it? I mean, he’s not an escaped convict or anything, is he?’ Her features sobered somewhat at the thought.

‘No, no.’ Pam shook her head vigorously now, half getting up from her chair and then flopping down again as she realised Julie deserved some explanation. ‘Julie, Dan Prescott is Anthea Leyton’s nephew!’ She made an excited little movement of her hands. ‘Anthea Leyton was a Prescott before she got married, and the New York Prescotts are the Scott National Bank!’

Julie put down her knife and lay back in her seat. ‘So what?’

‘So what?’ Pam licked her lips. ‘Julie, don’t you realise, you’ve been talking to Lionel Prescott’s son!’

In spite of herself, Julie’s nerves prickled at the thought. The names meant nothing to her, but banking did, and judging by Pam’s awed expression the Prescotts were no ordinary banking house. New York bankers tended to be immensely rich, and she had no doubt that it was this which had stunned her friend.

Forcing herself to act naturally, she poured another cup of coffee, and taking the cup between her cold fingers she said: ‘I rather fancy you might be wrong, Pam. He—er—he said his mother was English, not American.’

‘No, she’s not!’ Pam was really excited now. ‘Heavens, that confirms it, doesn’t it? Sheila Prescott is English. I think she was only a debutante when they met. You know how these stories get around.’

Julie took a deep breath. ‘Well—’ She tried to appear nonchalant. ‘I’ve provided a little bit of gossip to brighten up your day.’

‘Julie!’ Pam looked at her reprovingly. ‘Don’t say you’re not impressed, because I won’t believe it. I mean—imagine meeting Dan Prescott! What was he doing here? What did he say?’

Julie put down her cup as David Galloway came into the dining room looking for his wife. He grinned when he saw them sitting together by the window, but before he could say anything Pam launched into an extravagant description of how Julie had made friends with Anthea Leyton’s nephew.

‘That’s not true,’ Julie felt bound to contradict her, looking apologetically at David. ‘As a matter of fact, I was rather rude to him. I—er—I told him this was private land.’

‘Good for you!’ David was not half as awed as his wife, and she adopted an aggrieved air.

‘You know how Margie Laurence always talks about the Leytons going into her store,’ she protested, getting up from the table. ‘Well, I’m looking forward to seeing her face when I tell her about Julie.’

‘Oh, no, Pam, you can’t!’ Julie was horrified, imagining Dan Prescott’s reaction if the story ever got to his ears. Pam had no idea what she was dealing with, but she did, and her face burned at the thought of being gossiped about in the local chandlery. ‘Please—forget I ever told you!’

‘You’ve got to do it, Pam,’ David asserted, shaking his head. ‘Besides, if what Julie says is true, the least said about this the better.’ He grimaced. ‘Just remember, we lease this land from the Leytons, and I’d hate to do anything that might offend them.’

Pam looked sulky. ‘You mean I can’t tell anyone?’

‘What’s to tell?’ exclaimed Julie helplessly. ‘Pam, I’m sorry, but I wish I’d never told you.’

Pam hunched her shoulders. ‘But Dan Prescott, Julie! Imagine it! Imagine dating Dan Prescott!’

Julie gazed at her incredulously. ‘There was never any question of that, Pam. Besides, have you forgotten Adam?’

‘Adam? Oh, Adam!’ Pam dismissed him with an impatient gesture. ‘Adam’s too old for you, Julie, and if you were honest with yourself, you’d admit it.’

‘Pam!’

David was horrified at his wife’s lack of discretion, and even Julie was a little embarrassed at the bluntness of her tone. It seemed that meeting with Dan Prescott had been fated from the start, and now she was left in the awkward position of having to accept the apologies David was insisting Pam should make.

‘All right,’ she was saying, when he nudged her to continue, ‘I know it’s not my business, but—well, I’m only thinking of you, Julie. Adam was your father’s partner, after all, and he’s at least old enough to take over that role. Are you sure that’s not what you were thinking of when you accepted his proposal?’

There was another pregnant pause, and then, to Julie’s relief, the Edens came into the restaurant, the children’s voices disrupting the silence with strident shrillness. It meant Pam had a reason to go and summon the waitresses, and David, left with Julie, squeezed her shoulder sympathetically.

‘She means well,’ he muttered gruffly, his homely face mirroring his confusion, but Julie only smiled.

‘I know,’ she said, grimacing as one of the Eden boys started doing a Red Indian war-dance around the tables. ‘Don’t worry, David. I’ve known Pam too long to take offence, and besides, I have disappointed her.’

‘Over the Prescott boy? Yes, I know.’ David shook his head. ‘Take my word, you’re well out of it, Julie. I wouldn’t like to think any daughter of mine was mixed up with him. I don’t know how true it is, but I hear he’s been quite a hell-raiser since he left college, and there’s been more scandal attached to the Prescott name …’

‘You don’t have to tell me all this, David,’ Julie said gently. ‘I’m not interested in Dan Prescott, and he’s not interested in me. We—we met, by accident—and that’s all.’

‘I’m glad.’

David patted her shoulder and then excused himself to attend to his other guests, leaving Julie to finish her breakfast in peace. But as with the swim earlier, her appetite had left her, and despite her assertion to the contrary, she could not help pondering why a man with all the lake to choose from should have swum in her special place, and at her special time.

CHAPTER TWO

JULIE’S CABIN was just the same as all the other cabins, except that in the month she had been there she had added a few touches of her own. There was the string of Indian beads she had draped over the lampshade, so that when the lamp was on, the light picked out the vivid colours of the vegetable dye; the Eskimo doll who sat on the table by her bed, snug and warm in his sealskin coat and fur cap; and the motley assortment of paperweights and key-rings and ashtrays—chunky glass baubles, with scenes of Ontario imprisoned within their transparent exteriors.

The cabins were simply but comfortably furnished. The well-sprung divans had rough wood headboards, and the rest of the bedroom furniture was utilitarian. There was a closet, a chest of drawers with a mirror above, a table and chairs, and one easy chair. The bathroom was fitted with a shower unit above the bath, and there was always plenty of hot water. Julie had discovered that Canadians expected this facility and remembering the lukewarm baths she had taken in English hotels, she thought they could well learn something from them. Everything was spotlessly clean, both in the cabins and in the main building, and the staff were always ready and willing to accommodate her every need. She would miss their cheerful friendliness when she returned to England, she thought, still unable to contemplate that eventuality without emotion.

Changing for dinner that evening, Julie viewed the becoming tan she was acquiring with some pleasure. She had looked so pale and drained of all colour when she had arrived, but now her cheeks were filling out a little with all the rich food Pam was pressing on her, and she no longer had that waif-like appearance.

Regarding her reflection as she applied a dark mascara to her lashes, she decided Adam would see a definite change in her. She had grown accustomed to seeing a magnolia-pale face in the mirror, with sharply-defined features and honey-coloured hair. Now she had a different image, the thin features rounded out, the hair bleached by the sun and streaked with gold. She had not had it cut for months, and instead of her usual ear-length bob it had lengthened and thickened, and it presently swung about her shoulders, curling back from her face in a style that was distinctly becoming.

She had not troubled much about clothes either since she left England. Most of the time she wore shorts or jeans, adding an embroidered smock or tunic at night instead of the cotton vests she wore during the day. Adam, who had always complimented her on her dress sense at home, would be appalled if he could see her now, she thought ruefully, putting down the mascara brush and studying herself critically. He did not approve of the negligent morals of the younger generation, and in his opinion the casual attitude towards appearance was equally contemptible. Still, Julie consoled herself wryly, she had paid little heed to what she had thrown into her suitcases before she left London, and because what she had brought was unsuitable to her surroundings, she had bought the cheapest and most serviceable substitutes available.

Now she turned away from the mirror, and checked that she had her keys. They were in the pocket of her jeans, and she adjusted the cords that looped the bottom of her cheesecloth shirt before leaving the cabin.

It was a mild night, the air delightfully soft and redolent with the scents of the forest close by. She crossed the square to the main building with deliberate slowness, anticipating what she would have for dinner with real enthusiasm, and climbed the shallow stairs to the swing doors with growing confidence. These weeks had done wonders for her, she acknowledged, and she felt an immense debt of gratitude towards Pam and her husband.

The reception hall was brightly illuminated, even though it was not yet dark outside. Already there were sounds of activity from the dining room, and the small bar adjoining was doing a good trade. Julie acknowledged the greeting of the young receptionist, a biology student working his vacation, and then was almost laid flat by an energetic young body bursting out of the door that led to the Galloways’ private apartments. It was Brad Galloway, Pam’s twelve-year-old son, and already he was almost as broad as his father.

‘Hey …’

Julie protested, and Brad pulled an apologetic face. ‘I’m sorry,’ he gasped. ‘But there’s a terrific yacht coming into the marina! D’you want to come and see?’

‘I don’t think so, thank you.’ Julie’s refusal was dry. ‘And you won’t make it if you go headlong down the steps.’

‘I won’t.’ Brad exhibited the self-assurance that all Canadian children seemed to have and charged away towards the doors. ‘See you, Julie!’ he called and was gone, leaving Julie to exchange a rueful grimace with the young man behind the desk.

‘I know—kids!’ he grinned, not averse to flirting with an attractive girl, so far without any success. ‘Did he hurt you? Can I do anything for you?’

‘I don’t think so, thank you.’ Julie’s lips twitched. ‘I think a long cool drink is in order, and Pietro can supply me with that.’

Pietro, the bartender, was an Italian who had emigrated to Canada more than twenty years ago, yet he still retained his distinctive accent. He had been quite a Lothario in his time, but at fifty-three his talents were limited, and Julie enjoyed his amusing chatter. His wife, Rosa, worked in the kitchens, and their various offspring were often to be seen about the hotel.

‘So, little Julie,’ he said, as she squeezed on to a stool at the bar. ‘What have you been doing with yourself today?’

Julie smiled. ‘What do I usually do?’ she countered, hedging her shoulder against the press of George Fairley’s broad back. He and his wife were always in the bar at this hour, and invariably hogged the counter. ‘Yes, the same as ever,’ she nodded, as Pietro held up a bottle of Coke. ‘With plenty of ice, please.’

‘Wouldn’t you like me to put you something a little sharper in here?’ Pietro suggested, pulling a very expressive face. ‘A little rum perhaps, or—’

‘No, thanks.’ Julie shook her head, her smile a little tight now. ‘I—er—I’m not fond of alcohol. I don’t like what it can do to people.’ She gave a faint apologetic smile, circling the glass he pushed towards her with her fingers. ‘It’s been another lovely day, hasn’t it?’

Pietro shrugged, a typically continental gesture, and accepted her change of topic without comment. ‘A lovely day,’ he echoed. ‘A lovely day for a lovely girl,’ he added teasingly. ‘You know, Julie, if I were ten years younger …’

‘And not married,’ she murmured obediently, and he laughed. They had played this game before. But, as always, she saw the gleam of speculation in his eyes, and picking up her glass she made her exit, carrying it with her into the dining room.

She chose a shrimp cocktail to start with. These shellfish were enormous, huge juicy morsels served with a barbecue sauce that added a piquant flavour all its own. When Julie first came to Kawana Point, she had found herself satisfied after only one course, but now she could order a sirloin steak and salad without feeling unduly greedy.

She was dipping a luscious shrimp into the barbecue sauce when she looked up and saw two men crossing the reception hall towards the bar. Her table was situated by the window, but it was in line with double doors that opened into the hall, and she had an unobstructed view of anyone coming or going. The fact that she averted her eyes immediately did not prevent her identification of one of the men, and her hand trembled uncontrollably, causing the shrimp to drop completely into the strongly-flavoured sauce.

Putting down her fork, she wiped her lips with her napkin, trying desperately to retain her self-composure. What was Dan Prescott doing here? she wondered anxiously. People like the Prescotts did not visit hotels like the Kawana Point. They stayed at their own summer residences, and when they needed entertainment they went into Orillia or Barrie, or to any one of a dozen private clubs situated along the lake shore road.

Her taste for the shrimps dwindling, she picked up her glass and swallowed a mouthful of Coke. It was coolly refreshing, and as she put down her glass again she felt a growing impatience with herself. What was she? Some kind of cipher or something? Just because a man she had never expected to see again had turned up at the hotel it did not mean he had come in search of her. That was the most appalling conceit, and totally unlike her. Was it unreasonable that having discovered the whereabouts of the hotel he should come and take a look at it, but how had he got here this time? She had not heard any motorcycle, a sound which would carry on the evening air, and although he was not wearing evening clothes he had been wearing an expensive-looking jacket, hardly the attire for two wheels.

Appalled anew that she should remember so distinctly what he had been wearing after such a fleeting appraisal, Julie determinedly picked up her fork again. Then she remembered the yacht, the yacht which had aroused such excitement from the normally-laconic Brad. Was that how they had made the trip across to the hotel?

The appearance of Pam in her working gear of cotton shirt and denims, her plump face flushed and excited, did nothing to improve her digestion. Her friend came bustling towards her, and it was obvious from her manner that she knew exactly who was in the bar.

‘Did you see him?’ she hissed, bending over Julie’s table, and the younger girl deliberately bit the tail from a shrimp before replying.

‘See who?’ she asked then, playing for time, but Pam was not deceived.

‘You must have seen them cross the hall,’ she whispered impatiently, casting an apologetic glance at her other residents. ‘They’re in the bar. What are you going to do?’

Julie looked bland. ‘What am I going to do?’ she echoed.

‘Yes.’ Pam sighed. ‘Well, I mean it’s obvious, isn’t it? He didn’t come here just to taste the beer. His cousin’s with him—at least, I think it’s his cousin. He calls him Drew, and I know Anthea Leyton has a son called Andrew—’

‘Pam, their being here has nothing to do with me,’ declared Julie firmly. ‘If they choose to come—to come slumming, that’s their affair. I have no intention of speaking to Dan Prescott, so don’t go getting any ideas.’

‘But, Julie, you can’t just ignore him!’

‘Why not?’ Julie hid her trembling hands beneath the napkin in her lap. ‘Honestly, Pam, I don’t even like the man!’

‘You said yourself, you hardly know him.’

‘All the more reason for keeping out of his way.’

‘Well, I think you’re crazy!’

‘Oh, do you?’ Julie stared up at her, half irritated by her insistence.

‘Yes.’ Pam dismissed the younger girl’s objections with an inconsequent wave of her hand. ‘Julie, you may never get another chance to meet him socially—’

‘I don’t want that chance, Pam.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m not interested.’

Pam gazed at her disbelievingly. ‘You mean you’re afraid.’

‘Afraid?’ Julie gasped.

‘Yes, afraid.’ Pam straightened, resting her hands on her broad hips. ‘You’ve had your life organised for you for so long, you’ve forgotten what it’s like to take a risk—’

‘So you admit it is a risk?’

Julie tilted her head, and Pam pulled a wry face. ‘All right. So he does have a reputation. What of it? You’re an adult, aren’t you. You can handle it.’

Julie sighed. ‘I don’t want to handle anything, Pam. I just want to sit here and eat my dinner, and afterwards I’m going to watch some television and then go to bed.’

Pam made a defeated gesture. ‘I give up.’

‘Good.’

Julie determinedly returned to her shrimp cocktail and Pam had no alternative but to leave her to it. But she shook her head rather frustratedly as she crossed to the door, and Julie, watching her, doubted she had heard the last of it.

By the time she had eaten half a dozen mouthfuls of her steak, she knew she was fighting a losing battle. The awareness of the man in the bar, of the possibility that he might choose to come into the dining room and order a meal, filled her with unease, and she knew she would not feel secure until she was safely locked behind her cabin door.

Declining a dessert, she left her table, walking swiftly through the open doors into the reception area. It was usually deserted at this hour of the evening, most of the guests either occupying the dining room or the bar, and she expected to make her escape unobserved. What she had not anticipated was Brad Galloway, deep in conversation with the man she most wanted to avoid, or to be involved in that discussion by the boy’s artless invitation.

‘Julie!’ he exclaimed, when he saw her. ‘Do you remember that yacht I told you about? Well, this is Mr Prescott who owns it.’

‘I didn’t say that, Brad.’ Dan Prescott’s voice was just as disturbing as she remembered. ‘I said it belonged to my family. It does. I just have the use of it now and then.’

His grin was apologetic, both to the boy and to Julie, but she refused to respond to it. In fact, she refused to look at Dan Prescott at all after that first dismaying appraisal. Yet, for all that, she knew the exact colour of the bluish-grey corded jacket he was wearing, and the way the dark blue jeans hugged the contours of his thighs. His clothes were casual, but they fitted him well, and she realised something she had not realised before. Men like Dan Prescott did not need to exhibit their wealth. They accepted it. It was a fact. And that extreme self-confidence was all the proof they needed.

‘What do you say, Julie?’

Brad was looking at her a little querulously now, and she forced herself to show the enthusiasm he was expecting. ‘That’s great,’ she murmured, realising her words sounded artificial even to her ears. ‘You must tell me all about it tomorrow.’

‘Why not right now?’

The words could have been Brad’s, but they weren’t, and Julie was obliged to acknowledge Dan Prescott’s presence for the first time. Even so, it was almost a physical shock meeting that penetrating stare. The lapse of time had been too brief for her to forget a second of their last encounter, and it was only too easy to remember how she had had to tear herself away from him, breaking the intimate contact he had initiated. Nevertheless, she had broken the contact, she told herself firmly, and he had no right to do this to her. But as his eyes moved lower, over the firm outline of her breasts and the rounded swell of her hips, she felt a wave of heat flooding over her, and nothing could alter the fact that if she were as indifferent to him as she liked to think, it wouldn’t matter what he did.

With a feeling of mortification she felt his eyes come back to her face, and then the heavy lids drooped. ‘Why not right now?’ he repeated, as aware of her confusion as she was herself, and conscious of Brad’s puzzled stare Julie tried to pull herself together.

‘I—why, I don’t have time just now, Brad,’ she offered, addressing her apology to the boy. ‘Some other time perhaps …’

‘Okay.’

Brad shrugged, obviously disappointed, and she was sorry, but then, to add to her humiliation, Pam appeared. It only took her a couple of seconds to sum up the situation, and acting purely on instinct Julie was sure, she exclaimed:

‘Oh, there you are, Brad. I’ve been looking for you.’ Her smile flashed briefly at Dan Prescott. ‘Come along, I want you to help me hang those lamps in the yard.’

‘Oh, Mom!’

Brad’s voice was eloquent with feeling, and after only a slight hesitation Dan said: ‘Perhaps I could help you, Mrs Galloway.’

Pam was obviously taken aback, but Julie’s hopes of reprieve were quickly squashed. ‘That won’t be necessary, Mr Prescott, thank you,’ her friend assured him warmly. ‘Brad will do it—he always does. He’s such a help around the place.’

‘I’m sure he is.’ Dan’s expression was amused as it rested on the boy’s mutinous face. ‘Sorry, old son, but there’ll be another time.’

‘Will there? Will there really?’

Brad gazed up at him eagerly, and with a fleeting glance in Julie’s direction Dan nodded. ‘You have my word on it,’ he nodded, pushing his hands into his jacket pockets, and Brad’s demeanour was swiftly transformed.

‘Oh—boy!’ he exclaimed, and grinned almost defiantly at Julie before his mother ushered him away.

But when Julie would have left too, lean brown fingers looped themselves loosely around her wrist. ‘Wait …’

The word was uttered somewhere near her temple, and the warmth of his breath ruffled the strands of silky hair that lay across her forehead. It was a husky injunction, a soft invocation to delay her while Pam and her son got out of earshot, yet when she tried to release herself his fingers reacted like a slip knot that tightened the more it was strained against. His command might have been mild, but it was a command nevertheless, she realised, and she was forced to stand there, supremely aware that if she moved her fingers they brushed his leg.

‘So,’ he said at last, when they were alone, the student receptionist having departed to take his dinner some time before, ‘why are you running out on me?’

Julie contemplated denying the allegation, but she had no desire to start an argument with him. Besides, he was experienced enough to know if she was lying, and opposition often provoked an interest that otherwise would not have been there.

‘Why do you think?’ she asked instead, assuming a bored expression, and the long thick lashes came to shade his eyes.

‘You tell me,’ he suggested, and with a sigh she said: ‘Because I don’t want to get involved with you, Mr Prescott.’

‘I see.’ His look was quizzical.

‘Now will you let me go?’

He frowned. ‘Why don’t you like me? What did I do to promote such a reaction?’

‘I neither like nor dislike you, Mr Prescott,’ she retorted twisting her wrist impotently. ‘Please let go of me.’

‘Is all this outraged modesty because I kissed you?’

‘I’d rather not discuss it.’ Julie held up her head. ‘I don’t know why you’re here, Mr Prescott, but I’d prefer it if you’d forget we ever met before.’

‘Would you?’ The smoky grey eyes drooped briefly to her mouth, and it was an almost tangible incursion. ‘Would you really?’

‘Yes,’ but Julie had to grind her teeth together to say it. When he looked at her like that she found it incredibly difficult to keep a clear head, and almost desperately she sought for a means of diversion. ‘I—where is your cousin? Won’t he be wondering where you are?’

‘Drew?’ Dan Prescott’s look changed to one of mocking inquiry. ‘How did you know I came with Drew?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Do you know him?’

‘Of course not.’ Too late Julie realised she had made a mistake. ‘I—er—I saw the two of you come in, that’s all. And—and Pam said something about him being your cousin.’

‘Pam? Oh—Mrs Galloway, of course.’ With a shrug he released her, but as she moved to go past him he stepped into her path. ‘One more thing …’

‘What?’

‘I want you to come out with me tomorrow.’

The invitation was not entirely unexpected, but its delivery was, and Julie felt a sense of stunned indignation that he should think it would be that easy.

‘No,’ she said, without hesitation.

‘Why not?’

He was persistent, and she found it was impossible to get by him without his co-operation. ‘Because—because I don’t want to,’ she retorted shortly. ‘I’ve told you—’

‘—you don’t want to get involved with me, I know.’ He pulled his upper lip between his teeth. ‘But you don’t really believe that any more than I do.’

‘Mr Prescott—’

‘And stop calling me Mr Prescott. You know my name, just as I now know yours—Julie.’

Julie found she was trembling. This verbal fencing was more exhausting than she had thought, and she looked round helplessly, wishing for once that Pam would interfere. But apart from the Meades, who were leaving the dining room with their arms wrapped around each other, there was no one to appeal to, and she could not intrude on their evident self-absorption.

‘Why are you fighting me?’ Dan’s breath fanned her ear as she turned back to look at him, and an involuntary shiver swept over her. ‘Come and have a drink,’ he invited. ‘I’ll introduce you to my cousin, and then perhaps you might begin to believe my father wasn’t the devil incarnate!’

‘You—you’re—’

‘Disgusting? Yes, you told me. But I can be fun too, if you’ll let me.’

The grey eyes had darkened and Julie felt her heart slow and then quicken to a suffocating pace. Oh God, she thought weakly, he knows exactly how to get what he wants, and she didn’t know whether she had the strength to resist him.

‘I—I can’t,’ she got out through her dry throat. ‘I can’t.’

With a laconic shrug it was over. Almost before she was aware of it, he had moved past her, walking with lithe indolence towards the bar where his cousin was waiting, and she was free to go.

With her breath coming in tortured gasps, she practically ran across the hall, dropping down the two shallow steps that led to the swing doors, going through them with such force that they continued to swing long after she had left them. She didn’t stop until she was inside her cabin, but even then she did not feel the sense of security she had expected.

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