-7f8c-5a43-ac1e-d29da9a594c4">
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.
Legacy of the Past
Anne Mather
Table of Contents
MADELINE folded the last letter and placed it in the envelope, sealing it thankfully. There; she was finished!
She pulled the plastic cover over her typewriter, locked her drawer and slipped the keys into her shopping bag. Walking to the door she lifted down her sheepskin coat and put it on, surveying the room as she did so to satisfy herself that everything was tidied up for the week-end. Then, satisfied, she opened the door and stepped into the corridor outside.
The lone, rubber-tiled corridors stretched away ahead of her, flanked by classrooms and more corridors. Deserted now, without the chattering throng of boys and girls, it looked stark and uninspiring.
Suddenly the figure of George Jackson, the school porter, appeared from around one of the many comers and made his way towards her. Madeline smiled at his approach, liking the elderly custodian who looked after things so efficiently.
‘Not away yet, Mrs. Scott?’ he asked, as he neared her. ‘It’s past five o’clock, you know.’
Madeline nodded. ‘I’m just going, George. I’ve left the last few letters on my desk, as usual.’
‘All right, I’ll see to them.’ George searched his pockets for his pipe. ‘You get along now, my dear. That daughter of yours will be wondering where you are.’
‘You may be right,’ said Madeline, smiling again. ‘See you on Monday.’
She walked away down the corridor, her heels almost soundless on the rubber flooring. Although it was empty the school still had appeal for her. She enjoyed working there as secretary to Adrian Sinclair, the headmaster. She had been his secretary for over five years now, ever since they came to Otterbury, in fact.
The staff entrance opened on to the school car-park. Madeline, who owned a scooter, left it here and she walked quickly across to where it was parked, the only machine left on the car-park. As she kicked the starter she shivered. Although it was late March, the air was still icily cold in the mornings and evenings, and riding the scooter was not as much fun as it had been during the warm summer months.
She rode to the exit and slowed as she reached the main road. Traffic streamed by, mostly workmen leaving the nearby automobile factory. Although Otterbury was only a small town, the big new factory
