Caroline

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 [e-mail] and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

Caroline

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

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

ADAM STEINBECK strode swiftly through the swing glass doors of the Steinbeck Corporation Building in Park Lane. A big man with broad shoulders, dressed in a dark suit and a sheepskin overcoat, he looked powerful and assured. As he paused for a moment to light a cigar, his keen eyes surveyed the reception hall. At his entrance, apart from the usual ‘Good morning, sir’ from the porters and female receptionist, an uneasy hush had descended and with a wry smile Adam acknowledged them before crossing to the lift. He was quite aware that the moment he was out of sight, a telephone call would hastily be put through to his suite of offices to warn his staff of his presence in the building. He rarely came in during the morning, but today he wanted to see Mercer and get those contracts wrapped up.

He stepped into the lift and was about to close the gates when a young voice called: ‘Oh, please. Wait for me!’

Frowning slightly, Adam saw a girl rushing across the hall towards him. He got a swift impression of long, straight, fair hair, almost white hair in fact, a tall slim body dressed in a dark blue duffel coat, a shoulder bag swinging from one hand.

It was obvious from her manner that she was unaware of his identity and the hall staff looked agitatedly at Adam who moved his shoulders in a slight, deprecating gesture and stood aside for the girl to enter the lift.

‘Oh, thank you,’ she gasped with a smile, looking up at him with a pair of eyes which were incredibly green.

Adam closed the gates. ‘Do you work here?’ he asked, realising that she was probably an employee of his, although as it was almost nine-thirty, she was obviously late.

‘Yes,’ she replied, trying to get her breath back. ‘I work in the typing pool. Miss Morgan’s domain. Do you know her?’

Adam half-smiled. His rather dragon-like senior in the typing pool had always amused him.

‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘floor three, I believe.’

‘That’s right. I’m awfully late and I’ll get into such a row, but honestly, we never heard the alarm this morning and Mandy said she was sure she had set it last night.’

‘Mandy?’

‘Amanda Burchester, the girl I share a room with. Two rooms actually and it’s supposed to be a flat. Amanda is an apprentice window dresser at Baileys.’

‘I see.’ Adam found himself strangely attracted to this young woman. She was such a refreshing change from the women of his acquaintance, and not recognising him she spoke freely and without any ulterior designs. Of course she was very young, probably about eighteen, but charming nonetheless.

‘I haven’t seen you before,’ she continued, looking up at him. ‘If I had I should have remembered. All the boys I know are my height themselves. I’m five feet seven, you know, but you make me feel quite small.’

‘Thank you. I believe this is your floor.’

‘Oh, yes. Gosh, it would be just like me to go straight past.’

‘I wouldn’t let you do that,’ he said smoothly.

‘Do you work here, too? Are you late as well? I’ve only been here two weeks, so of course I don’t know everybody yet.’ She stepped into the corridor.

‘Yes, I work here,’ he replied with a wry smile. ‘I trust you won’t have too much trouble with Miss Morgan.’

‘So do I,’ she averred fervently. ‘Well, goodbye, then. I may see you again some morning.’

‘You may, indeed,’ he said easily, and closed the gates, firmly pressing the button for the top floor.

His office suite was accommodated on this floor, along with the offices of his co-directors and the imposing board room. He had his own staff of typists and his personal assistant, John Mercer, was in the adjoining office. The corridor here was thickly carpeted and all the rooms were soundproof and luxurious.

He entered the outer office of his own domain and saw that his private secretary was diligently typing as though unaware of his arrival. Laura Freeman was thirty and had been with him for over ten years. She always looked bandbox fresh and wore her long dark hair piled on top of her head in a neat knot. Whereas the rather severe style made some women look austere, with Laura Freeman it merely enhanced her good looks, giving her a businesslike air. Adam was well aware of her personal feelings for him but could not find any appeal in her himself. Their relationship remained strictly businesslike, much to Laura’s chagrin.

As he closed the door now she looked up and upon seeing him she rose to her feet. ‘Why, Mr Steinbeck,’ she exclaimed as though surprised at his appearance. ‘We didn’t expect you in this morning.’

‘Come now, Miss Freeman,’ remarked Adam, crossing the room to his own office. ‘Surely reception hasn’t slipped up for once. I could almost hear the wires tingling as I rode up in the elevator.’

Laura remained unembarrassed, and refused to rise to his baiting.

‘The mail is on your desk,’ she said in her most correct manner. ‘Shall I bring in my notebook?’

‘No, don’t bother, I’ll ring when I want you. Oh, and Miss Freeman, get me Miss Morgan on the phone immediately please.’

‘Miss Morgan in the typing pool?’ exclaimed Laura.

‘Who else?’ said Adam easily, entering his office and closing the door firmly behind him. Caroline Sinclair sat drinking her morning coffee with a fellow typist, Ruth Weston. It was ten-thirty and the typing pool staff were allowed ten minutes for their coffee break. Ruth was smoking, but Caroline was sitting staring thoughtfully into space, her shoulder-length hair framing her piquantly attractive face.

‘Penny for them,’ remarked Ruth, bringing Caroline back to earth abruptly.

Caroline smiled. ‘Oh, I was only wondering why Miss Morgan was so understanding this morning. I’ve only been late once before and that time she was furious about it. Today she simply said she knew what it was like with alarms and that I should hurry and catch up with my work.’

Ruth, who was nineteen and two years older than Caroline, raised her eyebrows. ‘Heavens,’ she exclaimed. ‘You’ve only been here a fortnight and I’ve never known her understand about anybody sleeping in before, let alone a new girl. Maybe she’s got herself a man at last.’

Caroline giggled. ‘Ruth, if she could hear you! By the way, that reminds me, I came up in the lift with the most gorgeous man this morning.’

Ruth looked interested. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘How old was he?’

‘Oh, in his thirties, I’d say,’ replied Caroline blandly.

Ruth chuckled. ‘Rather older than you,’ she remarked dryly.

‘So what!’ exclaimed Caroline. ‘I prefer men to boys. Boys always bore me.’

Ruth shrugged. ‘Well, you know best about that, I suppose. What was he like anyway? To look at, I mean?’

‘Oh, big and broad and very attractive,’ murmured Caroline, smiling. ‘Thick black hair cut very short and he was wearing one of those short sheepskin coats. He was what I call a real male.’

Ruth laughed. ‘Honestly, Caroline, you must be joking, talking like that about a man who’s probably old enough to be your father. Mark Davison should be more in your line. He’s trying to date you, isn’t he?’

Caroline grimaced. ‘Ruth,’ she exclaimed, ‘Mark Davison is just an overgrown schoolboy, and is he big-headed! He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.’

Mark Davison worked in one of the adjoining offices in the building and had dated most of the girls in the typing pool from time to time, including Ruth. Caroline, being the new girl, was now being subjected to the treatment, but she was not interested and all the other girls were amused at Mark’s persistence.

‘Well, anyway,’ went on Ruth, ‘who was this man? Where did he get out of the lift?’

‘I don’t know. He stayed on after I’d got off,’ answered Caroline. ‘Do you know all the men who work here?’

‘No, not all,’ replied Ruth. ‘There are too many different departments. I know a lot of them by sight, of course.’

Caroline nodded thoughtfully. Suddenly an imperious voice broke in on their conversation.

‘Miss Sinclair, Miss Weston, I think your break should be over by now.’ It was Vera Morgan on the warpath and with hasty steps the two girls returned to their machines.

The small flat which Caroline shared with Amanda Burchester was in an old converted mansion standing in a cul-de-sac off the King’s Road. Once the home of a titled lady, the house now accommodated twelve separate couples and no children were allowed, although the scratched paint and peeling wallpaper had seen much better days.

Caroline’s parents were dead, having died in a car crash when she was three, and she had been brought up by an elderly aunt. When Amanda had the chance of this flat six months ago, she had invited Caroline to share it with her, and Caroline herself had been very keen. Aunt Barbara was a dear old soul but not good company for a teenager, and she had been very understanding and allowed Caroline to go. Caroline had known Amanda since their schooldays and sharing a flat was great fun.

Although Caroline was less effusive, Amanda had a steady stream of boy-friends, some of whom gravitated to Caroline after meeting her. However, her height deterred many, and in any case, the boys who often appealed to Amanda did not often appeal to Caroline. Amanda was a redhead and eighteen years old. Her parents lived in the North of England now and as Amanda had not wanted to leave London when they did she and Caroline had acquired this flat.

Boys were only of secondary importance to Caroline. She loved reading and visiting art galleries. She attended most of the exhibitions and revelled in learning about the artists. She also enjoyed classical music and Amanda could never understand how she could dance madly one evening and then go into raptures over Grieg’s Piano Concerto the next. She occasionally visited the Festival Hall when some famous musician was playing, but in the main she had to be content with the concerts on the radio, as after paying her keep at the flat she had very little left to do anything with.

When she woke up one morning about a week later and padded to the window she found a thick fog outside probing at the panes. Drawing the curtains quickly closed again, she groaned inwardly. Then she looked at Amanda, who was stirring, disturbed by the light that Caroline had switched on.

‘Come on, Mandy,’ said Caroline sleepily. ‘There’s a peasouper outside, and goodness know how long it will take us to get to work.’

Amanda rolled over in her twin bed, rubbing her eyes.

‘Oh, dear,’ she moaned unhappily. ‘I feel terrible, Caroline.’

‘Don’t we all,’ remarked Caroline, making a face at her, and crossing to the wash basin she began to clean her teeth.

‘I’m serious,’ exclaimed Amanda in a croaky voice, lying back on her pillows. ‘I think I’ve got ‘flu. I always seem to get ‘flu in November.’

Caroline sighed and hastily washed and dressed. ‘Are you going to work, then?’ she called as she filled the kettle in the minute alcove off the living-room which served as a kitchen.

‘I don’t think I can,’ replied Amanda miserably. ‘Oh, Caroline honey, make me some tea and put a drop of that cooking sherry in it, will you?’

Caroline smiled at this, but went back into the bedroom and switched on the electric fire.

‘Okay,’ she agreed. ‘Now, give me your hot water bottle and I’ll refill it for you. I’ll have to hurry, though, or I’m going to be late.’

‘Never mind,’ groaned Amanda. ‘Nobody can expect you to be on time this morning. Besides, you might meet your dream man again.’

Caroline chuckled. ‘Oh, Mandy, you’re incorrigible!’

When the kettle had boiled she filled the hot water bottle and made the tea.

‘Do you want anything to eat?’ she shouted to Amanda.

‘No, just some aspirin,’ replied Amanda rather hoarsely. ‘I expect I’ll be all right if I have the day in bed and dose myself like mad.’

‘Well, don’t overdo it,’ said Caroline severely. ‘I’ll try and get home at lunchtime to get you something to eat.’ She brought in the tea. ‘Where are the aspirins?’

She left the flat a few minutes later after making sure that Amanda had everything she needed. She had not had time to have any breakfast herself and had had to make do with a cup of tea, gulped scalding hot.

Outside it was bitterly cold. The fog cast a gloom over everything and the thought of the winter months ahead was not a pleasant one. She joined the queue at the bus stop, but all the buses were so full that they did not stop and she realised she could probably have walked there in the time she had been standing, freezing.

At last a bus did stop and she was squashed inside. The bus crawled along. The traffic was congested and the fog was so thick that the driver could hardly see at all.

She reached the entrance to the Steinbeck Building at nine-forty-five and thought with a sinking feeling that she might really get the sack this time. After all, this was the third time she had been late and she had not been there a month yet. It was no joke, and she walked into the reception hall feeling very small and rather scared. Today there was no sign of the handsome stranger whom she had half-hoped to see and Miss Morgan was just as angry as Caroline expected. Caroline had hardly got through the door before she pounced and stood staring at her grimly.

‘Do you realise, Miss Sinclair,’ she stormed, ‘that this is the third time in as many weeks you have been late?’

‘Yes, Miss Morgan,’ Caroline managed to say, shakily. ‘But I’m afraid the girl I share a flat with has developed influenza, and I couldn’t come away and leave her without making her some tea and filling her hot water bottle.’

Miss Morgan was not impressed.

‘Save your excuses for the personnel manager,’ she replied icily. ‘I intend to report you this time. I won’t have such lackadaisical behaviour in my department. It’s getting quite out of hand.’

‘But, Miss Morgan…’ Caroline began.

‘Say no more,’ commanded her superior. ‘You’ve wasted quite enough time already. Kindly go and get on with your work.’

Caroline went to her desk feeling near to tears. She saw Ruth looking at her sympathetically but hadn’t the heart to acknowledge her. The fog also did not seem to be thinning at all and she dreaded the rush she was going to have at lunch time, rushing back to the flat to attend to Amanda and then getting back here again, all in an hour.

She was summoned to Mr Donnelly’s office at eleven o’clock. Mr Donnelly was the personnel manager and when Caroline met him at her interview she had thought him very kind and pleasant. Today, however, he was far from pleasant. After hearing a tirade from Vera Morgan he felt justly annoyed and the suggestion that his judgment had been lacking when he hired Miss Sinclair irritated him immensely. He was thus in no mood to be his usual amiable self.

‘You realise, Miss Sinclair,’ he snapped angrily, ‘that I could fire you for this! You’ve let everybody down, especially me. It was in my power to employ you or not to do so. Having done so you go ahead and ridicule my recommendation!’

‘Oh, no, sir,’ exclaimed Caroline. ‘I truly am a punctual employee in the normal way. It’s simply that my flatmate has developed ‘flu and I had to attend to her before leaving home. And then the fog…’

Donnelly strode up and down restlessly. He wanted to believe this girl with the honest eyes. He was almost convinced she was telling the truth.

‘You’ve placed me in a very awkward position,’ he said at length. He sighed heavily. He could see how distraught she looked and how she genuinely seemed to want the job.

‘Very well, then,’ he decided slowly. ‘I’ll give you one more chance. Any deviation from regular times after this will mean instant dismissal. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Caroline’s heart was heavy. How on earth was she to manage at lunch time? She was tempted to ask him whether the might be permitted an extra quarter of an hour for lunch, but decided against it. He had been very fair and that would probably have been too much, even for him. As for asking Vera Morgan, that was unthinkable!

Back at her desk she did her work automatically, mentally calculating the time required to do what she wanted to do. An hour would just not be long enough. It would take her nearly half that time to get home, if she was lucky enough to get a bus, and as for getting back…

Ruth was frankly amazed when Caroline explained that she intended going home. She was quite sure that Caroline would never make it and Caroline wondered whether she ought to develop ‘flu too, and not bother going back at all. At least they couldn’t fire her for that!

Ruth went off to the staff canteen at lunch time where both she and Caroline always ate in the normal way, while Caroline almost flew down the stairs, not waiting for the lift. She rushed across the hall and out of the glass doors. The fog did not seem so thick, but it was bad enough. In her haste to reach the bus stop, Caroline ran full tilt into a man coming from the opposite direction.

‘Gosh, I’m awfully sorry,’ she began, and then as he steadied her she stopped. ‘Why, it’s you!’ It was the man from the lift.

He released her and smiled.

‘Miss Sinclair,’ he said easily. ‘I am right, aren’t I?’

‘Why, yes, but how do you know my name?’

He shrugged and ignored the question. ‘You’re in an enormous hurry.’

Caroline realised she was wasting time and grimaced. ‘Yes, it’s too long a story to tell you now, but I nearly got fired this morning and now I’m taking my life into my hands again. I’m sure to be late.’ She sighed heavily.

Adam Steinbeck hesitated and then he said: ‘Perhaps I could give you a lift.’

‘A lift?’ Caroline was incredulous. ‘In a car?’

‘Well, I didn’t intend carrying you on my back,’ he remarked rather dryly, and she chuckled.

‘But you’re not going in my direction,’ she exclaimed.

‘No, but I’m quite prepared to do so. My car is just parked along here. If you’d like a lift, that is.’

‘Gosh, would I?’ she cried in relief. ‘Please.’

‘Good.’ He put a hand beneath her elbow and guided her swiftly along the busy street. She was intensely conscious of the nearness of him and of how attractive he looked in a dark blue suit and dark overcoat. The collar of his overcoat was turned up and she found him quite fascinating.

The car turned out to be a Rolls, while a uniformed chauffeur was seated behind the steering wheel. He sprang out at Adam’s approach and said:

‘Are you ready to go already, sir?’

‘I am, Jules,’ replied Caroline’s companion smoothly. ‘However, I intend to drive myself. You can go along to the office and explain that I’ve been called away and will be rather late.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The chauffeur saluted smartly. If he was at all surprised at this turn of events he did not show it and although the sight of Caroline in her rather shabby duffel coat could not have been a usual one his face remained impassive. After he had gone Caroline looked curiously at her companion. Who on earth could he be, to run a Rolls and a chauffeur? He must only be a director, she decided nervously, and bit hard at her lip.

Adam smiled at her obvious discomfiture. ‘Don’t look so perturbed,’ he remarked lazily. ‘The car belongs to me, I can assure you.’

Caroline flushed. ‘I don’t doubt that,’ she replied, sighing and allowed him to assist her into the seat beside the driver. After closing her door firmly, he walked round the bonnet and slid in beside her. He looked perfectly at ease and she thought rather wistfully that he fitted the car. Both were well groomed and immaculate.

‘And now,’ he said, before she had any time to ask questions, ‘where am I to take you?’

Caroline told him her address and wondered whether when they arrived he would expect to be invited in. She hoped not. The old building was hardly the sort of background she would have chosen.

Their route through some unknown side streets brought them to Gloucester Court in a very short time. As they had avoided the main roads the traffic had been much lighter and although Caroline was sure she would have got lost in the fog, it was obvious that this man knew London very well. The big car looked out of place in the small court and Caroline hoped Amanda was not looking out of the window. They had spoken little on the journey and when the car halted Caroline made to get out as quickly as she could.

‘Just a moment,’ he muttered easily. ‘How long will you be?’

Caroline’s eyes widened. ‘Not long,’ she exclaimed guardedly.

‘Then I’ll wait,’ he said surprisingly, and took out a case of cigars.

Caroline was astounded, but with a hasty ‘Thank you’ she sprang out, carefully closed the door and ran inside the building.

The flat was on the first floor and soon she was unlocking the door and going in. A glance at her watch told her it was barely twelve-forty-five. Only a quarter of her hour had gone already.