Guilty. Anne Mather

       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.

      Guilty

      Anne Mather

      

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

       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

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       CHAPTER FIFTEEN

       Copyright

       CHAPTER ONE

      THE phone was ringing as Laura opened the door, and her heart sank. She had been anticipating kicking off her shoes, helping herself to a well-deserved drink, and running a nice deep bath in which to enjoy it. But all these pleasant prospects had to be put on hold while she answered the call. And as she could think of no reason why anyone should be calling her at this time of the evening, she was necessarily reticent.

      After all, it was only twenty minutes since she had left the school, after a particularly arduous session with the parents of her fourteen-year-old students, and she had hoped to indulge herself for what was left of the evening. Mrs Forrest, who came in two days a week to keep the house in order, had, as she often did, left something simmering in the oven, and, although it was probably overcooked by now, the smell emanating from the kitchen was still very appetising. But someone, another parent perhaps, or a colleague—though that was less likely—or even her superior in the English department, had decreed otherwise, and she mentally squared her shoulders before going into the living-room and picking up the phone.

      ‘Yes,’ she said evenly, her low attractive voice no less sympathetic in spite of her feelings. ‘Laura Fox speaking.’

      ‘Mum?’ Her daughter’s voice instantly dispelled any trace of resignation in her attitude. ‘Where’ve you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours!’

      ‘Julie!’ Laura’s initial sense of relief at hearing her daughter’s voice was quickly followed by concern. After all—she glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist—it was almost ten o’clock. ‘Is something wrong? Where are you? I thought you said you were going to New York this week.’

      ‘I was.’ But her daughter didn’t sound concerned, and Laura sank down on to the arm of the sofa and tucked one foot behind the other. Experience had taught her that her daughter’s telephone calls—though infrequent—tended to be long, and Laura prepared herself for protracted explanations. ‘I told Harry I couldn’t go.’

      ‘I see.’

      Laura didn’t. Not really. But it seemed a suitable reply. If Julie wanted to tell her why she should have chosen to turn down a proposedly lucrative opportunity to work in the United States she would do so. Laura knew her daughter well enough to know that asking too many questions could illicit an aggressive response. Ever since she was sixteen, and old enough to make her own decisions, Julie had resisted any efforts on her mother’s part to try and offer her advice. Her favourite retort, if Laura had attempted to counsel her, was that Laura was in no position to criticise her plans, when she had made such a mess of her own life. And, although the barb was hardly justified, Laura was too sensitive about her own mistakes to carry the argument.

      Now, however, her daughter was speaking again, and Laura forced herself to concentrate on what she was saying. Now was not the time to indulge in rueful recollection, and there was no denying that Julie had made a success of her career.

      ‘So,’ her daughter exclaimed impatiently, ‘aren’t you going to ask me why I’ve been trying to get in touch with you? Don’t you want to know why I turned down Harry’s offer?’

      Laura stifled a sigh. ‘Well—of course,’ she said, looking longingly towards the sherry decanter residing on the bureau, just too far away to reach. ‘But I assumed you were about to tell me.’ A twinge of anxiety gripped her. ‘What’s happened? You’re not ill, are you?’

      ‘No.’ Julie sounded scornful. ‘I’ve never felt better. Is that the only reason you can think of why I should want to stay in London?’

      Laura lifted her shoulders wearily. Her neck was aching from looking up at people, and her spine felt numb. It had