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 Anneâs powerful, passionate writing has given.
We are sure you will love them all!
Iâve always wanted to writeâwhich is not to say Iâve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasnât until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishersâ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, Iâm literallyâexcuse the punâstaggered by whatâs happened.
I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from childrenâs 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 Iâd 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 thatâs 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 canât imagine not having a current book on the typewriterâyes, itâs my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. Heâs 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 Iâd be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.
CHAPTER ONE
FLISS let herself into the cottage and dropped her tote bag onto the iron chest that stood just inside the door. The living room was deliciously warm after the chilly air outside, and after bending to pick up the mail she surveyed her small domain with a certain amount of relief. It had been a long day and she was tired, and it was so nice to think that she had the weekend ahead, two whole days without any demands being made on her.
Well, apart from Grahamâs coffee morning, she acknowledged ruefully, but that wasnât exactly an arduous affair. Sheâd promised to make some of her cheese scones, of course, but she could do them in the morning. Scones were always nicest fresh from the oven, and Graham was always so grateful for anything she did for his church.
Dear Graham. She smiled and, crossing the living room, she entered the tiny kitchen that adjoined it. A cup of tea first, she decided, dropping the letters on the counter and plugging in the kettle. Then she was going to take a long hot bath. Graham had his bible class this evening, so she wasnât expecting to see him again until the next morning at the church hall. Which meant she had no one to please but herself.
Not that there was anything the least bit intimidating about seeing Graham, she mused, taking off her cashmere coat and Paisley scarf and hanging them in the understairs cupboard. Indeed, she had a lot to thank Graham for. She couldnât forget all that he had done for her and their relationship had deepened over time. Without him, she might never have found the strength to drag herself out of the hole Morganâs death had thrust her into, and it was in part thanks to him that she now had a home and a job in a place that was as far removed from the ravages of war-torn Nyanda as it was possible to be.
And it was only natural, she thought, that the gratitude she had initially felt towards him should have eventually deepened into a stronger emotion. Graham was that kind of man; all his parishioners loved him, and she was sure Morgan wouldnât resent her finding a less frenetic kind of happiness with another man.
Or would he? As the kettle boiled, she admitted to herself that she didnât really know how Morgan would feel. Their relationship had left little room for that kind of speculation, and there was no doubt that when they had been together no other man had stood a chance.
Her mouth quivered with remembered anguish, and she hurriedly reached for the tea caddy, determined not to let any maudlin thoughts of her dead husband destroy the very real happiness she had found with Graham. Graham wasnât Morgan, and she wouldnât have wanted him to be. Her love for Morgan had been too strong, too passionate, and the pain she had suffered when it had ended so violently had convinced her that perhaps it was better not to feel so deeply. If sheâd cared for Morgan as she cared for Graham, she would have been distressed when she had received the news of his death but she wouldnât have been devastated; she wouldnât have felt that life no longer had any meaning; that her whole world had fallen apart...