Dark Moonless Night

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.

Dark Moonless Night

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

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE Boeing had landed in the early hours of the morning, local time, and there had been little to see but the lights of the airport; which, as far as Caroline could remember, had been much the same as any other airport she had visited, except of course that all the personnel were black. It had been cold, too, much colder than one would have imagined a place to be that was within a couple of hundred miles of the Equator. There had been the usual landing procedure, the usual delays with passport control and Customs, but then they had been free to take the company car to the hotel.

David and Miranda had been fractious, which hadn’t really been surprising. Any young child would be fractious at having to be wakened from a sound sleep to face a series of irritating airport formalities, and even Elizabeth had been inclined to moan a little. It had been left to Caroline to marshall their suitcases for the black chauffeur and cope with two small pairs of clinging hands, both of which demanded her undivided attention.

At last they had all been able to pile into the back of the opulent limousine sent by Freelong Copper Incorporated to meet the wife and family of one of its minor executives. They had been driven along a smooth, tarmacked highway to Ashenghi, Tsaba’s capital, and installed in a luxurious hotel in the very heart of the city. Then the chauffeur had departed leaving them to explore the comfortable suite of rooms which had been put at their disposal.

Elizabeth had said it had all been too much, much too much, and she had pleaded exhaustion and a raging headache before taking herself off to seek the cool sheets of her bed. Consequently, it was Caroline who gave the children their brief but thorough wash, helped them into their pyjamas, and tucked them up in the twin beds in the room adjoining her own. And it had been Caroline who had been woken twice in the night—once when a particularly large species of moth had somehow invaded the children’s room, and secondly when David awoke, terrified at the strangeness of his surroundings.

But all that had happened several hours ago now, Caroline realised, as the heat of her room and the activity of her thoughts brought her fully awake. As yet, no one seemed to be stirring in the apartment, but the brilliance of the sunlight which was penetrating even the shutters of her windows was sufficient to arouse her to a full awareness of exactly where she was. And besides, there was a distinctly alien lack of inhibition about the noises coming from outside the hotel.

She thrust back the cotton sheet which had suddenly become too heavy on her slender limbs and slid out of bed. Her feet appreciated the coolness of the floor tiles as she went to the window, but when she thrust the shutters wide the heat caused her to draw back into the shadows as her eyes adjusted themselves.

Her windows overlooked the side of the hotel and immediately below she could identify the noises she had heard. Three stories below were the hotel kitchens and from there came the clatter of dishes and the shouted commands of someone in charge. Dustbin lids clattered as black-skinned houseboys in white shirts and shorts covered by long aprons came to empty rubbish, and an assortment of mangy dogs hung about the outer precincts obviously hoping for scraps.

Beyond the less salubrious environs of the kitchen yard a stretch of browned grass gave on to the road down which they had travelled the night before. Although there was quite a lot of traffic using it now it was a much more motley collection than Caroline was used to seeing from the windows of her London flat. There were carts and bicycles, fruit and vegetable drays drawn by oxen, and lorries and cars thickly smeared with dust. Although the road itself was smoothly surfaced, there were no pavements to speak of, just mud-baked paths at the side along which moved a steady stream of women and children. The women carried baskets of clothes or produce on their heads, and Caroline could only assume they were going to the market. This unsophisticated view of humanity went oddly with the skyscraper blocks of hotels and offices and other commercial buildings which formed the nucleus of this apparently thriving African capital.

Turning back into her bedroom, Caroline tried to dispel a sense of disappointment. After all, she had chosen to come to Tsaba, no one had forced her to do it, and just because it was far removed from the picturesque jungle clearing of her imagination it did not mean that she regretted coming. On the contrary, her surroundings were immaterial. She was here to do a job of work, and if by chance she should get to meet Gareth, well …

There was only one bathroom to serve the whole suite, so as everyone else seemed to be sleeping on Caroline made the most of it. She took a shower, smoothed a perfumed anti-sunburn cream into her arms and legs, and brushed her hair until it shone. Her hair was her best feature, she thought. Thick and lustrous, it swung in a dark chestnut curtain to her shoulders where it tilted under, curving confidingly under her chin in front. She was not unaware that amber eyes edged by long thick lashes and a wide, attractive mouth gave one a distinctly appealing appearance, but she had never considered herself beautiful. She was too tall, she thought. Girls who were five feet seven inches in their stockinged feet could never appear weak and clinging, and while she could get away with strongly coloured dramatic clothes, the envy of some of her friends, frilly, feminine garments did not suit her.

After her shower, she dressed in slim-fitting cotton pants in a rather unusual shade of lilac, and a sleeveless yellow tank top. By the time she returned to her room she could hear David and Miranda arguing and when she reached the door of their room Miranda burst into tears. As soon as she saw Caroline, she rushed across to her, wrapping her arms around Caroline’s thighs and clinging to her.

Caroline released the little girl’s arms and went down on her haunches beside her. ‘Now what’s going on?’ she asked gently.

‘She’s just a baby,’ remarked David, with all the disgust of a seven-year-old describing a five-year-old. ‘I only said there’d be spiders at La Vache!’

‘Oh, David!’ Caroline gave him an impatient look.

‘He—he didn’t just s-say that!’ stammered Miranda, drawing back to look with tear-wet eyes into Caroline’s face. ‘He—he said they’d—they’d be ‘normous ones and they’d—they’d come into my bed at night!’

Caroline rose to her feet and faced her eldest charge. ‘Oh, he did, did he? Well, that was clever of you, wasn’t it, David? Frightening a little girl. And not just any little girl. Your sister!’

David had the grace to look a little shamefaced. ‘It was only a joke,’ he muttered into the neck of his pyjamas.

‘And I suppose it was a joke last night when you woke up, terrified and shouting for Mummy?’

David hunched his shoulders. ‘That was different,’ he exclaimed, colouring, as Miranda’s eyes turned in his direction. ‘I—I had a nightmare.’

‘And don’t you think what you’ve been telling Miranda is enough to give her nightmares?’

‘I s’pose so.’

‘Right. Then let’s have no more of it.’ Caroline looked back down at Miranda. ‘All right now?’

Miranda shook her head. ‘But are there spiders at La Vache?’ she persisted.

Caroline sighed. ‘Miranda, there are spiders everywhere. There needs to be. They’re very useful creatures.’

‘How? How are they useful?’ David scrambled off his bed to come across and join them.

Caroline seated herself patiently on Miranda’s bed and was explaining the role of the spider to her intrigued listeners when a slim, negligée-clad figure drifted through the open doorway.

Elizabeth Lacey, Caroline’s employer, was almost thirty but looked younger. Small and vulnerable in appearance, she belonged to that breed of women who seem incapable of managing even the most uncomplicated of tasks, and Elizabeth traded on it. Caroline, who had known Elizabeth for several years before becoming her employee, knew perfectly well that should it suit her, Elizabeth could tackle anything; but as she had a husband who was susceptible to reproachful looks from wide blue eyes and who continually felt guilty that his work should constantly take him away from his family, she managed to avoid anything closely approaching exerting herself. In England, her mother was her standby, or unpaid housekeeper, thought Caroline with reluctant candour, but when it had come to leaving England, to spending several weeks in Africa, even her mother had drawn the line.

And that was where Caroline had come in. The spring term was at an end, she could afford to take a decrease in salary, it suited her to be out of touch for a while, and besides, Elizabeth’s husband worked in Tsaba.

Now Elizabeth flexed her neck muscles tiredly, and said: ‘What time is it? My watch hasn’t been adjusted yet.’

Caroline glanced at the broad masculine watch on her wrist.

‘A little after nine,’ she replied. ‘Are you hungry?’

‘Hungry?’ exclaimed Elizabeth, aghast. ‘No——’

‘I am!’

‘I am!’

Two eager voices drowned what their mother had been about to say, and Elizabeth looked at them reprovingly.

‘Do you mind?’ she said, putting a languid hand to her head. ‘I have a headache. Do try and behave like polite children and not hooligans!’

Any two children less like hooligans Caroline could not have imagined, but she put Miranda firmly off her knee and rose to her feet. ‘Aren’t you feeling any better, Elizabeth?’

Elizabeth sighed. ‘It’s so hot, isn’t it?’ Then she seemed to gather herself. ‘Has Charles called yet?’

Caroline shook her head. ‘I expect he’s giving you time to rest before disturbing you,’ she comforted.

Elizabeth’s blue eyes hardened. ‘I should have thought he could have made the effort to be at the airport last night instead of leaving us in the hands of—of—foreigners!’

Caroline glanced at the children, realising they were listening to every word of this exchange. ‘You know perfectly well that it was impossible for him to leave La Vache yesterday, Elizabeth,’ she said, guiding the other woman out of the children’s bedroom. ‘Go get washed, you two,’ she added over her shoulder. ‘Then we’ll have something to eat.’

In her own bedroom, Elizabeth was quite happy to be helped back into bed. ‘You’re so capable, Caroline,’ she sighed, resting back against her pillows. ‘I’m so glad you agreed to come with us. I don’t know how I should have managed in this dreadful place without someone to help with the children.’

‘You relax,’ advised Caroline, straightening the bedclothes. ‘The children and I will go down to the restaurant for breakfast. Shall I have you something sent up?’

Elizabeth blinked. ‘Well—perhaps some coffee,’ she conceded. ‘And do you suppose one can get toast here?’

‘I’ll see.’ Caroline’s lips twitched. ‘You just rest and leave everything to me.’

‘But what about Charles? Do you think perhaps you should telephone him——’

‘Charles will get in touch with you when he’s able,’ replied Caroline firmly. She walked towards the door. ‘You’ll be all right?’

Elizabeth plucked at the sheet. ‘I suppose so. Caroline, you do think I was right to come out here, don’t you? I mean—well, what do you think La Vache will be like?’

Caroline hesitated. ‘Your place is with your husband, Elizabeth. And if his work is in some Central African state then that’s where you should be.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t live here!’ Elizabeth was horrified.

‘No one’s asking you to live here,’ retorted Caroline calmly. ‘Just to spend a few weeks with your husband because he’s unable to come to England and spend them with you.’

Elizabeth nodded. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ But she didn’t sound convinced.

‘Now look,’ said Caroline, ‘if my husband spent the better part of nine months of the year away from me, I’d have to do something about it.’

‘Would you?’ Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. ‘Like not getting married, for example?’

Caroline flushed now. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Oh, yes, you do, Caroline.’ Elizabeth didn’t look half so defenceless when she was on the attack. ‘As soon as you discovered that Gareth Morgan had no intention of giving up his overseas appointment and settling to an office job in London, you turned him down—flat!’

‘Elizabeth, I was only seventeen——’

‘That doesn’t matter. You had more sense than to tie yourself to an engineer with wanderlust in his veins instead of blood——’

‘It wasn’t like that——’

‘Wasn’t it?’ Elizabeth sounded sceptical. ‘I wonder what he’s doing now? Gareth, I mean. Where he is? The last time I heard he was in charge of a hydro-electric project in Zambia——’

‘I’ll see about your toast and coffee.’ Caroline refused to discuss the matter further.

Elizabeth was instantly contrite. ‘Oh, Caroline, I haven’t offended you, have I, darling?’ she began, resuming an appealing tone.

‘No, of course you haven’t offended me,’ exclaimed Caroline rather shortly, and went quickly, closing the door behind her.

But it was not so easy closing the door on her own thoughts. After all, there had been some truth in Elizabeth’s allegations, even though the passage of time had served to nullify the less pleasant aspects of that situation seven years ago. She even felt a sense of guilt at not having told Elizabeth that she knew that Gareth Morgan was working in Tsaba now, building a dam on the River Kinzori not too many miles distant from La Vache. But how could she tell her that when she had no idea how Gareth would take her presence in Tsaba, when he himself had no idea that she was coming?

Thrusting the difficulties she might have to face at some future date away from her, Caroline went in search of the children. Miranda was obediently putting on the cotton dress she had worn to travel in and Caroline made a mental note to find a sunsuit for her to wear after breakfast, but David, it appeared, had not yet come out of the bathroom and when Caroline went to see what he was doing she found him naked under the shower, and the floor swimming with water.

‘Oh, David!’ she gasped in exasperation, quickly kicking off her sandals to walk barefooted through the pools of water to turn off the shower. ‘Go and get dressed at once before I find a more painful method to put a tan on your small bottom!’

David giggled and grabbing a towel edged his way out of the bathroom, leaving Caroline to mop the floor. Fortunately the tiles soon dried, and she emerged in time to prevent the children going into their mother’s room.

‘Mummy’s resting,’ she explained quietly. ‘We’re going down to the restaurant to have our breakfast, and then later on I expect Daddy will telephone and let us know how and when we can go to La Vache.’

Miranda tugged at her short fair curls which were so much like her mother’s. ‘Will it be today?’ she asked excitedly. ‘Will we see Daddy today?’

‘Possibly.’ Caroline didn’t want to raise their hopes too high. ‘La Vache is all of seventy miles from here, and the roads aren’t like our roads in England. They’re just tracks after you leave the city behind.’

‘How do you know?’ asked David, practical as ever. His hair was plastered to his head now, but Caroline thought that in this heat it wouldn’t take long to dry. She herself was already sweating from the mild exertion of mopping up the bathroom floor and she dreaded to think how Elizabeth would cope if she was expected to do anything physical.

But now she said: ‘I’ve read books. And I know what your daddy has told us when he’s been home on leave. Besides, if you knew a little more about the climate you’d realise that things don’t stay the same here as they do back home.’

She saw that Miranda was frowning at this and as they traversed the wide corridor to the lifts she tried to explain how lush and luxuriant was the vegetation that could overnight undo the work of the day. In truth, she found it hard to accept herself. She had never witnessed the destructive power of liana creepers, strangling the life out of struggling undergrowth, entwining trees together into an impassable living mesh that had to be hacked away with machetes. And yet it did happen, and the children were morbidly fascinated by her revelations.

Downstairs, a wide hall with an enormous revolving fan opened into the various public rooms of the hotel. Flowering, climbing plants rioted over low ornamental trellises, while huge stone urns spilled exotically coloured lilies and flame flowers over the cool, marble-tiled floor. It was obvious that no expense had been spared in making the Hotel Ashenghi as attractive to its guests as was humanly possible in a climate verging constantly on the unbearable.

As Caroline paused to get her bearings she encountered the eye of a man who appeared to be the head waiter standing in the arched entrance to the restaurant, keeping his waiters under surveillance. He bowed courteously as she approached him, and asked if she required a table. His English was quite good, so Caroline thanked him, and after he had shown them to a table set in a window embrasure, she said:

‘Mrs. Lacey—the children’s mother—is not feeling well. She’d like some coffee in her suite, and would it be possible for her to have some toast?’

The head waiter smiled, his teeth startlingly white in his black face. ‘Of course, madam. I will see to it myself. Now, what would you and these children like to eat?’

Caroline had coffee, but David and Miranda chose fruit juice, and they all tried the warm rolls spread with conserve. The butter that was provided in a dish of ice cubes wasn’t to their taste and David, with his usual lack of discretion, said in a clear, distinct voice that it was rancid. Of course, it wasn’t, but even Caroline preferred to avoid it. There was a dish of fruit on the table, too—mangoes and bananas, pawpaws and oranges, but Caroline advised the children to wait before trying anything too unfamiliar to their stomachs. All in all, it was an enjoyable meal, the fans set at intervals about the room creating a cooling draught which was most acceptable. Clearly, the air-conditioning kept the temperature down, but the fans helped to disperse the flies.

Judging by the number of used tables it appeared that by this hour of the morning most of the hotel’s guests had already partaken of breakfast, and Caroline and the children were the last to leave. They were walking towards the lifts when a man who had been talking to the receptionist turned away from the desk and saw them. He was a tall man, lean and muscular, dressed in narrow fitting mud-coloured pants and a cream bush shirt, but what attracted Caroline’s attention was the man’s hair. It was corn-fair, streaked with a lighter shade, as though the sun had bleached it, and it was startling against the dark tan of his skin. She had only known one man with hair like that, one man whose ice-blue eyes could turn to green when he was emotionally aroused, one man who had once asked her to marry him, and she had turned him down because she had youthfully asserted that she didn’t intend to marry a penniless engineer and go and live in some awful, Godforsaken, undeveloped country. How stupid she had been, how careless with the one thing in her life she had ever really wanted …

The man was standing quite still now staring at her, and she moved uncomfortably under that intent scrutiny. But for a moment she had felt as shocked as he must be at seeing her here. What could he be thinking? What kind of a coincidence did he think this was?

Realising that it was up to her to make the first overture, she took a few steps towards him and said: ‘Hello, Gareth. This is a surprise, isn’t it?’

Gareth Morgan seemed to recover admirably quickly from his momentary pause. In fact, he didn’t seem too shocked at all. It was Caroline who could feel the tremor of this encounter rushing through her veins, moistening her palms, sending a rivulet of sweat down her spine. She had not realised until then just how much she had wanted to see him again, and she had the most ridiculous impulse to run to him, to press herself against him, and beg his forgiveness for what happened seven years ago.

But of course the very fact that it was seven years ago precluded any show of emotion. Seven years was a long time, and a lot had happened—to both of them. Why else had she waited so long before making any attempt to contact him? Even now, facing him, the width of the years stretched between them, made even wider by the cold detachment on his face.

‘So you really came, Caroline,’ he remarked at last. ‘I never believed you would.’

He made no attempt to take the hand that she had tentatively offered, and awkwardly she allowed her arm to drop to her side. She was aware of Miranda’s speculative interest, of David’s curiosity, and gathering all her composure, she said: ‘I don’t know what you mean.’