Cathy looked across at Pearce and her heart twisted Letter to Reader Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN Copyright
Cathy looked across at Pearce and her heart twisted
She had fallen for him but how it had happened she didn’t know. All she knew was that she loved him with every fiber of her soul. She needed to tell him the truth about herself. Her article for the paper was unimportant, compared with the depth of feeling inside her.
If she told him now, what would his reaction be? she wondered. Obviously he would be livid to begin with, but whether he would forgive her or not was down to how much he felt for her.
He was watching her silently and she knew that her confusion—her indecision—was there for him to see.
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The Editors
Look out next month for:
A NANNY NAMED NICK by Miranda Lee (#1943)
The Love-Child
Kathryn Ross
CHAPTER ONE
THE French Riviera shimmered in blistering heat. Cathy lay on a sun-lounger next to the pool at her hotel and tried to gather up the energy to move into the shade.
This was really quite blissful, she told herself dreamily. Coming away on holiday on her own wasn’t as awful as she had feared; it was a chance to recharge her batteries. London and her job at the newspaper had been getting very hectic, very stressful.
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she was interrupted by a waiter, telling her there that there was a phone call for her.
‘For me? Are you sure?’ She frowned and swung long shapely legs over the side of the lounger, drawing admiring glances from two men who were sitting at the pool bar.
‘Definitely for you, Mademoiselle Fielding,’ the waiter said patiently.
‘OK, merci.’ Brushing her long blonde hair back from her face with impatient fingers, she took the cordless phone from him.
‘Cathy, it’s Mike. Have I got news for you,’ a cheerful voice boomed down the line, sending ominous shivers down her back.
It was her editor, Mike Johnson. Forty-five, crusty and as hard as nails. He sounded far too cheerful for her liking. ‘Only if the premises have burnt down or the Prime Minister has run off with a nun can this phone call be justified, Mike,’ she told him straight. She didn’t want to be reminded of work...it wasn’t fair. Everyone was entitled to a vacation.
‘Come on, Cathy, I’ll lay money on the fact that you are bored to tears and just dying to get back to work,’ her editor shot back quickly. ‘I know you. You’re a damn good journalist and you are never happier than when I give you a good assignment. You’d rather be in the pouring rain with a good story than sunning yourself in the South of France.’
‘Dream on,’ Cathy murmured abrasively.
Mike continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘I’ve got a real scoop and it’s right on your doorstep.’
There was a brief pause while Cathy fought with herself not to ask. She bit down on her lip but the words refused to be held back. ‘So, what is it?’
‘Pearce Tyrone is staying at his villa ... just down the road from your hotel.’
‘So?’ Cathy frowned. ‘What’s the big deal? He’s a successful writer; I’m sure he stays at his French home a lot.’
‘Jody Sterling’s child has been sent to him. It’s all strictly hush-hush and as yet none of the other papers are on to it—’
‘How reliable is your information?’ she interrupted swiftly.
‘Very.’ He emphasised the word heavily. ‘I have it on good authority that little Poppy arrived at the Tyrone house early this morning.’
Cathy felt a flicker of interest. Jody Sterling had been all over the newspapers recently, having had a near-fatal car accident. She was a phenomenally talented actress. Blonde and beautiful, she was frequently the centre of a lot of media attention, but never more so than when she had given birth to an illegitimate child nine months previously and had refused to name the father.
Speculation had been rife. Cê Va magazine had featured the actress on the arm of prominent, married politician Jonathan Briars and the scandal had deepened to almost ruin the man’s career. The other name to be linked with the actress was Pearce Tyrone.
Pearce was an enigma. No one knew much about the thirty-seven-year-old except that he was an exceptionally successful author, persistently in the bestseller list. Cathy had seen his photograph on only a few occasions when someone had surreptitiously managed to snap him leaving a restaurant or hotel.
The man shunned interviews and refused to let a journalist within striking distance. He held his privacy like a dark protective cloak around him. There was no information about his life on the covers of his books, and no photograph—even though he had the fabulous dark looks of an Adonis. The more he refused to be drawn into giving an interview the more interested the public became in him.
Was he the father of Jody Sterling’s baby? The question hovered tantalisingly in Cathy’s mind.
‘Well are you interested?’ Mike’s gruff voice interrupted her thoughts.
‘It’s