ANNE MATHER says âIâve always wanted to writeâwhich is not to say Iâve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I wrote only for my own pleasure, and it wasnât until my husband suggested that I send 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, more than one hundred and fifty books later, Iâm literally staggered by what happened.
I had written all through my childhood and on into my teens, the stories changing from childrenâs adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! The trouble was, I never used to finish any of the stories, and Caroline, my first published book, was the first book actually 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.
I now have two grown-up childrenâa son and daughterâand two adorable grandchildren, Abigail and Ben. My e-mail address is [email protected], and Iâd be happy to hear from any of my readers.â
âHE WAS everything a woman might ever want in a man: tall, dark, ruthless good looks masking a dangerous will that had made him a millionaire before his twenty-fifth birthday. He sat beside her on the sofa, too close for comfort, and oozing the kind of blatant sexuality that weakened her defences. Power and determination had made him successful in business, but Lavender had no intention â¦â
âI donât have to go if you donât want me to, Mum.â
Rachel had been lost in the intriguing love life of her latest heroine when Daisy appeared in her office doorway, but her daughterâs words brought a crushing end to that imaginary world.
âOh, Daisy!â Rachel exclaimed, getting up from her desk to give the girl a swift hug. âWhen did I say I didnât want you to go?â
âYou didnât,â said Daisy, recoiling from her motherâs embrace with all the youthful independence of a thirteen-year-old. âBut I know what you think of Lauren. I donât like her much either. And the last time I visited them they were still living in England.â
Rachel sighed. She was always amazed at Daisyâs capacity to understand her feelings. She wasnât always amenable. Like any teenager her age, she and her mother didnât always see eye to eye. But where her father was concerned, there was no contest.
Daisy had known that his invitation to spend at least two weeks of her summer holidays with him and his second wife at their home in Florida could prove controversial. For the first three years of his marriage to Lauren, Steve had only seen his daughter a handful of times, even though Rachel had agreed to share custody. But suddenly, since Steveâs move to the companyâs headquarters in Miami last year, heâd been eager to have her spend every holiday with him.
Rachel hadnât voiced any objections. She wanted Daisy to know her father. But there was still a twinge of apprehension at the thought that Daisy might find life in the United States far more exciting than living here in Westlea, a quiet English country town.
âLook, I donât mind,â she assured Daisy now, refusing to consider how she would feel if Daisy did decide to live with her father. Rachelâs unexpected success in recent years as a romantic novelist had proved satisfying, but it certainly wouldnât compensate for the loss of her daughter as well as her husband.
âWell â¦â Daisy still looked doubtful, and Rachel wanted to hug her again. âIf youâre sure?â
âYouâll have a lovely time,â said Rachel, unable to resist tucking a strand of dark hair behind her daughterâs ear. She paused. âI just wish your father hadnât arranged for you to travel across the Atlantic with some strange man.â
Daisy laughed then. âHeâs not a strange man, Mum,â she protested. âI have met him before. When Daddy lived in London. Heâs his boss, actually. His family owns Mendez Macrosystems. Lauren really likes him. I know she thinks heâs hot.â
Rachelâs jaw dropped. âHot?â
âYeah.â Daisy stared at her. âDuh. As opposed to boring? Honestly, Mum,â she grimaced, âif youâre writing for a modern audience you ought to know these things.â
âI know.â Rachel was defensive. âBut what makes you think Lauren regards this man as hot?â She pulled a face. âFor heavenâs sake, she and your father have only been married for four years.â
âAnd your point is?â Daisy was sardonic. âOh, Mum, get real, will you? Women like Lauren are always on the lookout for the next good thing.â
Rachel shook her head. âI donât think we should be having this conversation, Daisy.â