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 [email protected] and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.
A Woman of Passion
Anne Mather
Table of Contents
THE man was there again. Helen could see him striding away along the shoreline, the creamy waves lapping the soles of his canvas boots. It was almost impossible to make out any distinguishing features from this distance, but he was tall and dark-haired, and the way he walked made her think he was not seeking recognition. On the contrary, if she was an imaginative female—which she’d always assured herself she wasn’t—she’d have speculated that he took his walk so early to avoid meeting anyone.
She had no idea who he was. And doubted that if she’d observed him at any other time of the day he’d have aroused any interest at all. But for the past three mornings—ever since her arrival, in fact—she had seen him walking the beach at six a.m. Always alone, and always too far away for her to identify him.
Of course, if she herself had not been suffering the effects of the time-change between London and Barbados, she probably wouldn’t have been awake at six a.m. But, as yet, her metabolism hadn’t adapted to a five-hour time-lag, and each morning she’d found herself leaning on her balcony rail, waiting for the sun to make its appearance.
And it was probably just as well that the man chose to walk along the shoreline, she reflected ruefully. Standing here, in only the thin cotton shift she wore to sleep in, she would not have liked to think herself observed. At this hour of the morning, when no one else in the villa was awake, she could enjoy the beauty of her surroundings unhindered. Once the children were awake—and Tricia—her time was no longer her own.
Yet she shouldn’t complain, she told herself severely. Without Tricia’s help, she had no idea what she’d have done. A young woman of twenty-two, with no particular skills or talents, was anathema. Would-be employers wanted written qualifications, not heartfelt assurances that she could do the job they had to offer.
Of course, until her father’s untimely death, she hadn’t given a lot of thought to earning her own living. She’d been reasonably well educated, though she’d be the first to admit she was no academic. Nevertheless, she had attended an exclusive girls’ school and an equally exclusive finishing-school in Switzerland, and she’d considered herself admirably suited to maintain her role in life.
Which had been what? She pulled a wry face now. Well, to find a man like her father, she supposed—or like the man she had thought her father to be—and get married, raise a family, and repeat the process with her own children.
She sighed. Only it wasn’t to be. She wondered if her father had given any thought to her dilemma when he’d taken his yacht out for the last time. Had he really jumped, or had he only fallen? With the sea calm and the yacht found drifting, unmanned, ten miles south of the Needles, it was hard not to think the worst.
Naturally, she had been distraught when they brought her the news. She couldn’t believe that her father, who had been an excellent yachtsman, could actually have drowned. And the fact that they’d not found his body had kept her hopes alive. Whatever the coastguards said, he wasn’t dead.