Mask Of Scars. 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.

       Mask of Scars

      Anne Mather

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      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

       Copyright

       CHAPTER ONE

      BY the time the train pulled into the station at Lagos, Christina felt she had had a surfeit of glorious countryside and even more delightful coastline lit by the brilliance of the Mediterranean sun, and she would have been prepared to forgo such beauty in favour of a cooling shower and a change of clothes. Although she was wearing the minimum in underwear, the thin cotton jeans were clinging to her slender legs and the pink shirt which had been crisp and attractive when she set out from the pensao in Lisbon that morning was now limp, too. She felt hot and sticky and she half wished she had buried her pride and used the money Bruce had sent to buy an air ticket to Portugal.

      But knowing her sister-in-law as she did she was firmly convinced that she knew nothing of her husband’s generosity, and it was quite within Sheila’s capabilities for her to question how Christina, who was apparently without funds, could afford the air fare to Faro. And the very last thing Christina wanted was to create friction between her brother and his wife at the start of her stay.

      Lagos was the train terminal and there were several other passengers disembarking as Christina tugged her duffel bag and rather shabby suitcase on to the platform. Some of the other passengers were tourists, and in expensive continental gear and with porters carrying their blatantly new suitcases they were in complete contrast to Christina’s crumpled appearance. But she didn’t mind. With the inconsequence of youth it never troubled her what anyone thought about her, and she tossed back the curtain of corn-coloured hair that fell straightly about her shoulders as she bent to lift the duffel bag on to her back, and regarded her fellow passengers with something like amused tolerance in her clear grey eyes.

      Outside the station the taxis were quickly commandeered and Christina looked about her doubtfully, wondering which way was the bus station. If she had troubled to inform Bruce of her estimated time of arrival, she knew he would have either sent someone to meet her or come himself, but she preferred the independence of making her own arrangements, a trait which had landed her in trouble at the University on more than one occasion.

      Lagos seemed an attractive little town and even at this early hour of the evening, there were plenty of people strolling about, enjoying the