White Rose Of Winter. Anne MatherЧитать онлайн книгу.
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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.
White Rose of Winter
Anne Mather
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LONDON AIRPORT seemed drab and miserable after the colour and vitality of Kuala Lumpur, its illuminated buildings sheltering in a mist of fine rain. There were no exotically patterned cheongsams here, not even the tantalizing glimpse of a songbok among the throng of people bustling towards waiting relatives and friends. It was as cold and alien as Malaysia had seemed six years before, thought Julie unhappily, hunching her slim shoulders beneath the soft sable coat which she had bought on Barbara’s advice for the homeward journey.
And yet London no longer looked like home. Home was a single-storied dwelling on the shores of the South China Sea, and although when she had first seen it she had thought she was going to hate living there, hate everything about her new life, in fact, time and affection had served to make it the reality and her life in London merely the hopefully forgotten past.
But now she was back in England again, and somehow she had to accept that the bungalow outside of Rhatoon was no longer the refuge it had become. It was up to her to adapt to her changed circumstances quickly so that Emma should not find it all too painful.
An attractive stewardess was urging her passengers forward towards the Customs and clearance buildings, smiling as she bade some of them farewell, saving a particularly warm expression for the small girl holding Julie’s hand.
‘Good-bye, Emma,’ she said, bending down to take her hand. ‘And thank you for your assistance during the flight. I don’t know how we should have managed without you.’
Emma glanced mischievously up at Julie, her grey eyes dancing. Then she looked back at the stewardess. ‘Did I really help? Mummy said I was probably more nuisance than I was worth.’
The stewardess’s smile widened. ‘On the contrary. Who else would have handed out all those magazines, if you hadn’t been around?’
Julie’s lips turned up at the comers. ‘It was kind of you to let her help,’ she said. ‘It made the journey so much less arduous for her.’
The stewardess made a deprecatory gesture. ‘That’s all right, Mrs. Pemberton. We enjoyed her company.’
‘Well, thank you again.’ Julie bit her lip. ‘Say good-bye now, darling. We shan’t be seeing Miss Forrest again.’
‘G’bye, Miss Forrest,’ responded Emma politely, and Julie smiled before walking on.
The stewardess had been kind, but then most people were kind to Emma. She was one of those children that attracted attention wherever she went. It wasn’t that she was a particularly rosy-cheeked individual; on the contrary, her skin was pale and did not respond to sunlight, and her hair was black and completely straight, yet for all that she possessed that certain something that singled her out from the ordinary. In the beginning, this knowledge had caused Julie no little anxiety, but as time went by she realized it was simply a family resemblance and not something that belonged exclusively to Emma’s father.
Their luggage was being cleared, their passports checked; everyone was so friendly and polite to the attractive young woman who was travelling with only her five-year-old daughter as companion. But beyond the glass partitioning a throng of people were waiting impatiently and Julie hugged her coat closer about her suddenly, feeling cold and apprehensive. She avoided looking in that direction. Somehow she wanted to delay the moment when she must take up contact again with Michael’s family, and only when Emma tugged her hand and demanded excitedly: ‘Where’s Grandma? Can you see her, Mummy?’ did she cast a cursory glance towards the reception lounge.
‘Not yet, darling,’ she murmured faintly, glancing round to ascertain that their cases were all together. Most of their heavier luggage had gone by sea, in trunks, but they had a couple of cases with them containing necessary changes of clothing.
‘But you did say that Grandma was coming to meet us, didn’t you, Mummy?’ Emma asked persistently. ‘I ‘spect