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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.
Proud Harvest
Anne Mather
Table of Contents
‘BUT he is Carne’s son, Lesley,’ Mrs Matthews exclaimed in the same tone of frustrated affection she often used to her grandson. ‘Surely that means something to you.’
Lesley finished her coffee before replying, regarding her mother over the rim of the coffee cup with hazel eyes presently darkened to brown with impatience. The long curling lashes did nothing to disguise the indignation burning in their depths, and Mrs Matthews shifted rather uncomfortably under their penetrating gaze.
‘What are you trying to say, Mother?’ Lesley enquired at last, setting down the fragile cup in its equally fragile saucer. ‘Has the idea of babysitting begun to pall?’
‘To pall, no!’ Mrs Matthews was offended now, wrapping the folds of her satin wrapper about her, putting a nervous hand up to touch the immaculately combed set of her hair. ‘It’s just that—well, as I say, he is Carne’s son, and I see no reason why he shouldn’t be allowed to spend at least part of the holiday with his father—–’
‘You see no reason!’ Lesley’s eyes sparkled angrily now. ‘And what about me? Don’t I have any say in the matter?’
‘Oh, of course you do.’ Mrs Matthews made a sound of exasperation with her tongue against her teeth. ‘It was just a suggestion, that’s all. I might have expected you would react emotionally instead of rationally. Lesley, people can be practical about these things, you know. Why, if everyone behaved as you do, the world would be in a very sorry state!’
‘And isn’t it?’
Mrs Matthews rose from the breakfast table with a sigh, and went to get herself one of the small cigars she favoured from the carved onyx box on the mantelpiece. Lighting it with the heavy silver lighter that squatted beside the cigar box, she drew on it deeply before turning to face her daughter again.
‘I don’t intend to get involved in reactionary discussion with you, Lesley,’ she stated at last, holding her head stiffly. ‘As I say, I thought you might see reason—–’
‘Reason!’ Lesley bestowed another irritated glare in her mother’s direction and then rose abruptly from the table. She was late. It was after nine already and she still had to get across town. She’d never make it, but with luck Lance wouldn’t be in before ten as it was Monday morning, and there was nothing spoiling.
Brushing the crumbs from the skirt of her brown suede suit, she turned to face Mrs Matthews. ‘Don’t you know those things are bad for your health?’ she exclaimed acidly, but her mother merely pulled a face.
‘Why should I worry about my health?’ she retorted. ‘No one else does.’
Lesley, on her way to the door, halted uncertainly. ‘Now what is that supposed to mean?’ Her brows drew together in sudden concern. ‘You’re not—ill, are you?’
Mrs Matthews sniffed. ‘Would you care if I was?’
‘Oh, Mother!’ Lesley glanced helplessly at her watch. ‘I don’t have time for discussion right now.’ Talking about Jeremy had already taken up far too much time. ‘Can’t we leave this until later?’
‘That’s what I mean,’ declared her mother peevishly. ‘You never have time for anything—or anybody. Why, even your own son is a nuisance—–’
‘Mother!’