Moondrift

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.

Moondrift

Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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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

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE island lay almost immediately below the plane now, one of a group of smaller islands that depended on the larger islands for most of their supplies. It grew coconut palms and banana plants and pineapples, and a small amount of sugar cane, but mostly it relied on tourism for its survival, which at times had not been easy. Shaped like an avocado, it lay drowsing beneath the heat of a Caribbean afternoon, and Rhys felt his nerves tightening as the Cessna banked to make its landing.

He had not wanted to come back. Indeed, there were times when he had sworn he would never come back. But it was ten years now, ten years and he had finally got the island out of his blood. He had had to come back to complete the catharsis.

‘Is that Eleutha, Daddy?’

The girl beside him leaned towards the window excitedly, gazing down at the oblong curve of sand that fringed the west coast of the island. The hotel was situated along that strip of beach, Rhys remembered unwillingly, its low-walled terrace overlooking the lagoon confined by the reef.

‘Yes, that’s Eleutha,’ he answered now, giving her a brief smile. ‘We’ll be landing in a couple of minutes. You’d better get your things together.’

‘I’ve only got my bag and my jacket,’ she exclaimed, looking down at her bare legs with some satisfaction. ‘Look, I’m getting brown already. I expect to have a really super tan when we get back to London.’

Rhys regarded her with affection. ‘You’re not wanting to go back already, are you?’ he enquired, and she shook her head.

‘No, of course not. You said we could stay for a month, didn’t you?’ Her dark gold eyes, so like his own, sparkled excitedly. ‘I can’t wait to see our house. Does it really have its own stretch of beach?’

‘It does.’ Rhys’s eyes turned irresistibly towards the window again. ‘I just hope you don’t get bored. Eleutha isn’t London, and there are no discothèques or department stores here.’

‘That’s not fair!’ A sulky look invaded her eyes at his faint criticism. ‘I didn’t get bored when we went to Mauritius, did I? And you were working there. You’re not going to work here, are you? You promised!’

Rhys sighed. ‘I said, if I remember correctly, that I didn’t think I’d feel like working here,’ he corrected her drily. ‘Besides, you won’t want my company all the time. I’m too old.’

‘You’re not old,’ she contradicted him fiercely. ‘You’re only thirty-six!’

‘Exactly twenty years older than you, madame,’ he retorted shortly, squashing the remembrance that Jordan had only been a year older than Lucy when he first came to the island. ‘Anyway,’ he pushed these thoughts aside, ‘if you do get bored, we can always go back to Nassau.’

‘I shan’t.’ She gazed through the window in delight. ‘I don’t know how you could bear to stay away all these years. Look at the water! Isn’t it absolutely fantastic!’

‘Fantastic,’ agreed Rhys, though his lips twisted as the Cessna’s wheels made contact with the runway. He shouldn’t have come, an inner voice was warning him. He should have sold the house ten years ago, instead of allowing it to stand like a silent monument to his own folly.

The pilot turned as the plane taxied to a halt near the whitewashed building that acted as both service and administration. ‘Glad to be back, Mr Williams?’ he enquired, giving the girl beside his employer a teasing wink. ‘Nothing’s changed, as you can see. Here comes Jacob, eager to shake you by the hand.’

Rhys grinned, forcing himself to relax, and levered his long lean body out of his seat. ‘We’re all ten years older,’ he remarked, thrusting open the Cessna’s door and letting down the flight of steps. ‘Come on, Lucy, let’s go and find the jeep.’

Lucy needed no second bidding, her eyes wide with excitement. Bidding the pilot a swift farewell, she followed her father down the steps, looking about her eagerly as he exchanged greetings with the coloured man who had come to meet them.

The airstrip was situated near to a sandy beach, not the beach they had seen from the plane, but the narrower strip of sand that formed the northern boundary. Even so, the sight of the fine white powdered grains bordered by the creaming surf was quite beautiful, and she tugged Rhys’s arm impatiently when he seemed disposed to linger.

‘You remember Lucy, don’t you?’ Rhys remarked with a wry smile, and the old man who had had charge of the small airport for the past fifteen years gave him a doubtful look.

‘This is Lucy?’

‘It is.’ Rhys glanced around as if familiarising himself anew with his surroundings. But the truth was, he didn’t want to get into a discussion about his daughter, and cutting Jacob off, he said: ‘Is the jeep here?’

The old man looked doubtful, but as he did so, another, younger man, came sauntering across the tarmac towards them. ‘Well, here comes Tomas now,’ he observed, evidently relieved. ‘Late, as usual, but generally reliable.’

‘Good afternoon, Mr Williams, sir,’ the younger man exclaimed now, his dark eyes taking in Rhys’s jean-clad figure and Lucy’s Bermudas with one sweeping glance. ‘It’s good to have you back. Rosa’s talked of nothing else for days.’

‘Really?’ Rhys introduced his daughter to the man, who with his wife, had stayed on as caretakers at the house. Like Jacob, Tomas had lived all his life on the island, and Rhys realised it had been a futile hope that their arrival here should have remained unannounced. Rosalie was too keen on gossiping for that and, he reflected, somewhat philosophically, it was probably better that way. There was less chance of running into Jordan if she knew he was here. He had little doubt that she would want to stay out of his way, too.

The pilot had hauled their cases out of the Cessna, and now Rhys hefted Lucy’s overnight bag and his own guitar case while Tomas took charge of the suitcases. Then, together, they crossed the uneven surface of the runway to where an ancient ex-army jeep stood waiting in the shadow of a clump of palms.

‘It still runs, eh?’ remarked Rhys, swinging the bags into the back and hoisting Lucy up into the front seat.

‘As ever,’ agreed Tomas, joining the cases in the back, and grimacing, Rhys slid behind the wheel.

The road from the airport ran parallel with the coast for some way, then took a winding track among fields tall with sugar cane. Huge sticks of it had fallen into the road in places, causing the jeep to buck a little as it bounced over the obstacle, and there was the sweet smell of rain in the air, indicating a morning shower.

‘You have a good journey, Mr Williams?’ asked Tomas, clinging tenaciously to the back of their seats, and Rhys nodded.

‘We only flew from Nassau this afternoon,’ he explained. ‘We came down from Miami on Thursday.’

‘Ah,’ Tomas nodded. ‘I thought Miss Lucy looked like she’d been doin’ some sunbathing. Plenty of time for that here,’ he added, as the girl cast him a careless look. ‘Not much else to do, really, less’n you like to swim or sail.’

‘I do,’ declared Lucy impatiently, giving her father an appealing look. ‘Is it much further, Daddy? I can’t wait to get there!’

The roads around the island were delightfully quiet after Nassau. Apart from the occasional bicycle, and one or two cattle-drawn vehicles, they didn’t see another car, and Rhys regretted Lucy’s impatience when he was feeling an unfamiliar sense of identity with his surroundings.

‘It’s not much more than a mile now,’ he said, taking his eyes from the road for a moment. ‘You can see the ocean through the trees if you look. Our house is only a few yards from the beach.’

Lucy strained her eyes to see, and Rhys allowed the little jeep to coast the last few yards to their turning. It was all so familiar, he could hardly believe it was more than ten years since he had driven here. So long as he remembered it was, he reminded himself harshly.

A narrow drive, overhung with the scarlet beauty of hibiscus, gave access to a gravelled forecourt. Lucy was already exclaiming her enthusiasm before she saw the cream-washed walls of the house, and impulsively she hugged him as he brought the jeep to a standstill.

‘It’s beautiful!’ she cried, jumping excitedly out of the vehicle. ‘Oh, I didn’t expect anything like this! You said it would most likely be overgrown with weeds and falling to bits!’

Rhys cast Tomas a rueful look. ‘I didn’t exactly say that, Lucy,’ he protested, though he admitted he was pleasantly surprised at the condition of the place. Tomas and Rosalie had evidently gone to some trouble to keep the house and grounds in good order, and Lucy’s careless candour grated a little. ‘I just said everything grew like mad, and that termites ran riot in the islands. But apparently,’ he looked at the other man again, ‘you’ve done a good job.’

‘Oh, Missy Jordan made sure everythin’ stayed the way it should,’ Tomas responded airily, sliding off the tailboard, evidently unaware of the bombshell he had delivered. ‘And here comes Rosa now. See, they’re here—all safe and sound!’

In the genuine pleasure of the housekeeper’s greeting, Rhys was able to keep other thoughts at bay, at least temporarily, and Rosalie’s ample arms engulfed him in an enveloping embrace. ‘I couldn’t believe it when Tomas told me you were comin’ back here, Mr Williams,’ she exclaimed, her voice echoing the sentiment that was evident in her moist brown eyes. ‘It’s good to have you back. Ain’t had no one to cook for in ages.’

‘You got me,’ put in Tomas goodhumouredly, but Rosalie only sniffed, her round black face wobbling with emotion.

‘You’re so thin,’ she exclaimed, her fingers clutching the lapels of Rhys’s shirt. ‘Got to do somethin’ about that, and soon!’

Rhys managed a faint smile, and extracting himself from her clinging fingers, he drew a reluctant Lucy forward. ‘What do you think of my daughter?’ he demanded, his hand resting proudly on the girl’s shoulder. ‘Quite a transformation from the infant you remember, hmm?’

‘This is Lucy?’ Rosalie cast her eyes heavenward for a moment. ‘My, my, hasn’t she grown? And so pretty?’ She subjected the girl to another of her suffocating squeezes. ‘You and me’s goin’ to be good friends, Lucy. Just like me and Missy Jordan, when she was younger.’

Rhys noticed that Lucy quickly extricated herself from the woman’s hold, and the look she cast in his direction was unmistakable. She didn’t like Tomas and Rosalie’s familiarity, and although he sympathised with the strangeness she must be feeling, he wished she had been a little more friendly.

‘Can we go inside, Daddy?’ she pleaded. ‘I can’t wait to see my room. And I want to have a swim before I change for dinner.’

‘I guess so.’ Rhys bent to pick up the guitar case he had put down to return Rosalie’s welcome, and gestured towards the house. ‘You lead the way. Just follow the path round to the verandah. It’s not difficult to find.’

Lucy needed no second bidding, and Rosalie raised her hands in understanding when Rhys cast her an apologetic glance. ‘Go ahead, Mr Williams,’ she declared, nodding in approbation. ‘It’s good to know you haven’t forgotten the old place.’

Forgotten? Rhys wondered if he would ever forget, as he followed his daughter along the paved path that circled the colour-washed wall of the house. There were too many things to remind him, not least Lucy herself, but she had no idea of the depths of feeling behind this visit. To her it was just a house her father had bought and which she had visited once when she was a very small child. She didn’t understand her father’s aversion for the place, or the reasons why they had never come back here. She simply saw it as a second home, that her father had chosen not to use.

When he reached the front of the building, Lucy was already on the slatted boards of the verandah, testing the cushioned seat of a bamboo lounger. ‘Isn’t it wonderful, Daddy?’ she exclaimed, gesturing at the view, and Rhys turned to survey the sweep of sun-kissed beach and green-gold water that spread out before them.

‘Wonderful!’ he echoed briefly, climbing the steps with grim determination, and Lucy looked at him consideringly as he paused before speaking to her.

‘I thought you wanted to see your room,’ he said at last, advancing to where folding shutters gave access to the room beyond. He propped the shaft of his guitar case against his shoulder and drew a steadying breath. ‘This is the living room, and that’s the dining room through the arch.’

‘I thought it must be.’ Lucy left her perch to come and join him, linking her arm with his. ‘Is it exactly as you remembered?’

‘More or less.’ Rhys was offhand, but he couldn’t help it. ‘Let’s go inside, shall we?’

Lucy shrugged. ‘What’s the matter?’ She was perceptive. ‘Why are you looking like that? Did I do something wrong?’

‘You?’ Rhys looked at her strangely, then his face cleared and he released her arm to hug her close against his side. ‘No, you didn’t do anything wrong,’ he assured her gently. And then, hearing Tomas and Rosalie’s voices as they came along the path, he drew her into the artificially-darkened room.

The house was comfortably simple in design. There were six rooms on the ground floor and six rooms on the upper one. As well as the living and dining rooms, there was a kind of studio, which Rhys had used as a music room in the past, as well as the kitchen, and bathroom, and Tomas and Rosalie’s bedroom. A cool tiled hallway ran from front to back of the house, with a shallow, curving stairway giving access to the upper floor.

Rhys spent little time showing Lucy around downstairs. ‘You’ll soon find your way about,’ he assured her, leading the way upstairs, and Lucy scampered up after him, matching two of her steps to his agile stride.

There were three bedrooms and three bathrooms on the first floor. Two of the bedrooms overlooked the curve of beach, and the third embraced the sweep of the drive and the glowing hibiscus blossom.

‘Which would you like?’ asked Rhys, allowing Lucy to make her choice. To his relief she chose the larger of the two ocean-facing rooms, thus removing any necessity for him to refuse that particular apartment. Even entering the translucent beauty of the bedroom evoked the most painful memories he had experienced so far, and he was glad when Lucy pushed open the louvred doors and he could step out on to the balcony.

‘Isn’t it unbelievable?’ she exclaimed, leaning on the wrought iron rail. ‘Oh, how could you neglect the place for so long?’

‘I haven’t had the time,’ Rhys responded, keeping his tone purposely light. ‘Besides, there are places I like more. Islands in the Pacific, for example.’

Lucy grimaced. ‘Oh, well, I suppose you have been busy,’ she conceded. Then she turned and rested her elbows over the rail. ‘But are you sure you don’t mind me having this room? It is the biggest room, isn’t it?’

‘The one at the back is just as big,’ replied Rhys quickly. ‘Besides, I don’t need a big room.’ He grinned. ‘I don’t have half a dozen suitcases of clothes to accommodate.’

‘Oh, you!’

Lucy dug him playfully in the ribs, then sighed half impatiently when she heard Tomas labouring into the bedrooms behind them. ‘I’ll leave these in here, shall I, Mr Williams?’ he called, attracting his employer’s attention, and Rhys strolled back into the room to give him his instructions.

‘Those two are mine,’ Rhys said swiftly. ‘Put them in next door, would you, Tomas? I’ll deal with them later.’

‘But isn’t this your room, Mr Williams?’ Tomas protested in some surprise. ‘Seems like I remember, last time you were here——’

‘Not this time,’ asserted Rhys crisply, passing him to reach the landing and walking into the other ocean-facing bedroom. ‘This will do me fine, Tomas. Put Miss Lucy’s cases in next door.’

‘As you say, Mr Williams.’

Tomas’s dark brows ascended with some disapproval, but he didn’t argue. After depositing Rhys’s luggage on the rack provided, he disappeared downstairs again for the rest of their belongings, and Rhys pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans in a gesture of repudiation.

‘Isn’t this cosy?’

Lucy’s sudden appearance from the balcony they both shared interrupted his mood, and forcing a corresponding smile to his lips, he inclined his head. ‘Very,’ he conceded, looking round the comfortable apartment. ‘And if you can entertain yourself for the next few minutes, I’ll go and have a word with Rosa and find out what the form is.’

‘Can’t I come with you?’

Lucy’s face mirrored her disappointment, but Rhys had to speak to Rosa alone. ‘You unpack,’ he advised, accompanying the rebuff with a casual caress to her cheek. ‘Find your swimsuit. There’ll be plenty of time to test the water before dinner.’

Lucy looked mutinous, but she knew better than to argue with him in this mood. There was a certain compression about his mouth that warned of his uncertain temper, and his eyes, which were usually so warm and affectionate, now gleamed like molten amber.

‘All right,’ she said, going towards the bedroom door. ‘But you will swim with me later, won’t you?’

‘I’ve said so, haven’t I?’ he responded, with that clipped edge to his voice, and Lucy dipped her head in acquiescence before making good her escape.

Left to himself, Rhys paused only long enough to cast one unwilling glance at the view beyond the windows before striding after his daughter. But whereas she had returned to the other bedroom, he quickly descended the stairs, walking surely along the tiled hallway to the airy pine-scented kitchen at the back of the house.

Rosalie was at the table, setting cups and saucers on to a polished wood tray, adding a cork stand and a rose-patterned teapot. She looked up when Rhys entered the room, but her eyes revealed no surprise. ‘You want tea or something stronger?’ she asked perceptively. ‘I guessed you’d be coming to see Rosa before too long.’

‘Something stronger,’ said Rhys, gesturing towards the refrigerator. ‘Have you got a beer or some lager? I seem to remember you kept quite a store in the old days.’

Rosa chuckled. ‘Got some in, ‘specially for you comin’,’ she declared, padding over to the fridge and fetching him an iced can. ‘Sit down. Make yourself at home. We got a lot of years to make up.’

Rhys hesitated a moment and then he wedged his hip on a corner of the scrubbed table. Pulling the ring on the can, he watched the beer ooze out in a cluster of fizzy bubbles before saying quietly: ‘What did Tomas mean about Jordan Lucas?’

‘Missy Jordan?’ Rosalie tried to sound offhand and failed. ‘What he tell you ’bout her?’

Rhys sighed, hazarding a guess that Rosalie had heard exactly what her husband said. But, deciding to play it their way, he explained patiently: ‘About the house. About Miss Jordan making sure things stayed the way they should be. Are you telling me Jordan Lucas has visited here while I’ve been away?’

Involuntarily his voice had quickened, hardened, and Rosalie responded to it, spreading her hands wide as she endeavoured to justify the situation. ‘She was just tryin’ to be neighbourly,’ she exclaimed. ‘After all, this used to be her daddy’s home when he was a little boy.’

‘I know that.’ Rhys’s voice brooked no compromise. ‘I bought it from Robert Lucas, remember? But it’s mine now. It’s not the Lucas house any more. And I don’t know by what right you thought she had leave to come here in my absence!’

Rosalie wrung her hands now, her dark eyes rolling expressively. ‘You have been away ten years, Mr Williams——’

‘Is that supposed to be an excuse?’

‘Yes. No. I don’t know.’ The housekeeper was getting more and more agitated. ‘I didn’t know I was doin’ wrong. You and she were always so close, up until—up until——’

‘Up until about three weeks before I left,’ Rhys finished for her grimly. ‘My God, I only kept the house open because of you!’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And this is what happens!’ He took a savage drink from the can. ‘If I’d known Jordan Lucas was likely to come anywhere near this place, I’d have closed the house up, boarded the windows, locked the gates, and to hell with the sense of it!’

‘Yes, sir.’ Rosalie’s bright good humour had been quenched. ‘I understand.’