Her Secret, His Son. Barbara Hannay

couldn’t risk carrying a bulky pack through the dark house. It would be a disaster if she knocked something over and woke her parents. Besides, she would be travelling on the back of Tom’s motorbike, which meant travelling light.

      Travelling light and lighthearted and in love.

      With Tom.

      Her insides jumped and danced with excitement. She was so heart-and-soul in love with Tom that it still came as a shock that he loved her back. She had to be the luckiest girl in Australia. No, make that the universe.

      Without a backward glance at the pretty bedroom that had been home to her secret dreams for so many years, she hurried out into the hallway.

      Here, there was danger.

      The polished timber floors of the living areas were noisy, so she carried her shoes in her hands and prayed that her socks would muffle her footsteps. All would be lost if her father woke up.

      Oh, help! At the thought of her father, Mary came to an abrupt halt, frozen by a panicky rush of guilt. Heaven knew this wasn’t the way she wanted to be married. Until she’d met Tom she’d enjoyed a happy relationship with her parents, and it was just awful now to be torn between her family ties and her passion for her man.

      But her father wouldn’t listen when she tried to defend Tom, so he’d left her with absolutely no choice. She could only hope that once she and Tom were married all would be well. Her father would have to see that they were meant for each other.

      She had no doubt that she and Tom would win her parents around. Once her dad got to know Tom, he couldn’t help but admire him. Tom would be an adoring husband. In the years to come he’d be a wonderful father for their children and the perfect son-in-law for her parents. Everything would be fine just as soon as she was safely outside. With Tom.

      She took a deep breath and began to tiptoe forward again.

      She’d practised creeping through the midnight-silent house several times in the past weeks, so she knew about the creaking board outside her parents’ bedroom and another near the entrance to the dining room. Once these were safely bypassed she began to breathe more easily.

      As she neared the front of the house she could hear the hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen. It was reaching the end of its long cycle. Brilliant timing! She could coordinate the moment she opened the front door with the final gush of the rinse water gurgling down the drain.

      At last she was safely through the house and in the slate-tiled front entry, where faint light from the street filtered through long narrow panels of glass on either side of the front door. Almost free.

      The hiss of water in the kitchen was her signal. Quickly, Mary thrust her feet into her shoes, took a deep breath and stepped to the door, then slowly, slowly, turned the handle of the doorknob, praying that it wouldn’t make a sound. Not now. Not with freedom so near.

      Not with Tom waiting outside.

      Already she could picture the glimmer in his dark eyes when she reached him, the way he would haul her close, enfolding her inside the protection of his leather jacket. Already she could feel the warmth of his arms around her and his lips nuzzling the side of her neck as he whispered, ‘Mary-Mary.’

      Holding her breath, Mary inched the door open and the potted palm beside her seemed to move. It startled her and she jerked the door back, making its hinges squeak.

      ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

      Her father’s voice exploded beside her in the dark.

      Swift and terrible as a lightning strike, panic flashed through her. With a gasp of despair, she wrenched the door wide and hurled herself forward, but hands, strong as talons, gripped her.

      ‘No!’ she cried as she struggled to tug herself free. ‘You can’t stop me!’

      Her arm was almost pulled from its socket and her backpack fell to the floor as her father hauled her back through the doorway.

      ‘No,’ she sobbed. ‘You can’t do this! Please, no, you don’t understand.’

      She cried out as the door slammed shut. Horrified, she slipped sideways out of her father’s grasp and took off through the dark kitchen, skirting the island bench as she headed for the back door.

      ‘Don’t be so stupid, girl,’ her father roared, hot in pursuit. Again his hands came from behind her and he seized her arm. Again she tried to break free, but he was too big and too strong. She had no hope of trying to outrun a trained army officer in his own home. She was yanked backwards and pushed hard against the slats of the louvred door on the pantry cupboard.

      ‘You’ve got to let me go,’ she panted. ‘I’m an adult. I have every right.’

      Colonel Cameron’s dark face loomed above her. ‘Call yourself an adult?’ he sneered. ‘An adult wouldn’t slink away in the middle of the night to a pick up with a no-good lout like Pirelli.’

      ‘He’s not a lout. You don’t know him.’

      Light flooded the kitchen and, through her pain and her tears, Mary squinted against the sharp brightness. She saw her mother standing in the doorway in her nightgown and, behind her, her cousin Sonia, staring with huge, fascinated eyes.

      ‘You can’t hold me prisoner,’ Mary sobbed at them. ‘I’m not going to let you spoil this. I have to go. Let me go!’

      ‘Mary, be reasonable,’ came her mother’s voice.

      ‘No! You be reasonable,’ Mary cried back, as she struggled against her father’s tight hold.

      Refusing to look at his angry red face, she focused on her mother, who looked so much more vulnerable at midnight in her pale nightgown and without the careful mask of the make-up she always wore.

      ‘You’re backing Dad against Tom when you don’t even know him. You won’t let me bring Tom into our house, but you can’t do this to me. I’m twenty, Mum. I’m old enough to know what I want. Tom and I love each other and you’ve got to let me live my life. I’ve got to go to him. I’ve got to!’

      ‘Over my dead body,’ her father roared and, to emphasise his point, he gripped her shoulders harder and forced her back against the cupboard again.

      ‘Ralph, there’s no need to be rough,’ came her mother’s voice.

      Mary moaned and tears streamed down her cheeks. Tears of rage, not pain. Tom was waiting on the footpath. What had he heard? What had he thought when the kitchen lights came on? What would he do if she didn’t show up?

      Would she ever be able to see him again? She had to. No one could possibly understand how desperately she needed him. Every cell in her body yearned for the reassurance of his strong arms around her. She needed him to hold her as he murmured his pet name for her, over and over—the way he did when they made love. ‘Mary-Mary, Mary-Mary.’

      Her father’s vicelike grip loosened a fraction, but not enough to release her. ‘Stop snivelling, girl,’ he hissed. ‘I can’t believe my own daughter could be such a fool. When you come to your senses you’ll be grateful. You’ll thank me for this.’

      ‘Never!’ Mary cried, hating him. She couldn’t bear to look at him and she let her tears fall, making no attempt to stop the sobs that racked her. ‘You’ve d-decided you don’t like T-Tom simply because he’s not an officer and—and he rides a motorbike.’

      Her father swore and gave her shoulders a shake. ‘Pirelli is a hooligan, Mary. You know he’s been up before the Provost marshal for speeding, and he was involved in a brawl at a local nightclub. I’m not letting a man like that touch my daughter.’

      ‘But he has!’ Mary cried with a surge of triumphant defiance, and she lifted her head to meet her father’s hard grey glare.

      I live for Tom Pirelli’s touch.

      ‘Where is he? I’ll kill him!’

      ‘Ralph,