The Japanese Screen. 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.
The Japanese Screen
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
CHAPTER TWELVE
FERNANDO hadn’t wanted to come to the party. Parties were not his favourite form of relaxation and after the hectic negotiations of the past few days that was what he most needed. But the Castanas were friends of the family, and he could hardly have refused Lucie’s invitation without causing a rift in relationships. All the same, after over an hour of small talk, of circulating in a smoke-filled room and making conversation out of a multitude of inane pleasantries, he was more than ready to leave. He was tired and not in the best of tempers, and he was growing weary of Lucie’s determined attempts to flirt with him. She was a married woman with a child, and should have been beyond such a thing. Certainly in Spain her behaviour would have caused a number of raised eyebrows and the kind of gossip no self-respecting woman would want to arouse. But apparently Lucie imagined herself far from the rigid ethics of her own country, and as her husband was away for a few days on business, she was surrendering to the somewhat permissive society of London.
He looked round the crowded lounge wondering what excuse he could give for leaving so early. By no means were all the people present Spaniards. It was true that a large percentage were fellow compatriots, but the Castanas numbered English and Americans among their friends, too. There was a plentiful supply of wines and spirits, should he have felt so inclined, and an excellent buffet occupied the long tables to one side of the room. A hi-fi system offered an undistracting mixture of popular music and he supposed that of its type it was a reasonably successful gathering. But the truth was he was bored, and he thought with a sense of resignation that the isolation of his study back home would have offered a more than adequate substitute.
‘Fernando?’
Lucie was offering him yet another cocktail which he politely refused, summoning his determination to apologize and take his leave, when there was an unexpected interruption of the proceedings. A small boy came careering into the room, looking round a trifle desperately for a familiar face. When he saw Lucie he made straight for her, clinging to her skirts and crying wildly. He was wearing only pyjama trousers and as his face and hands were most obviously wet and possibly sticky, Lucie, not unnaturally, tried to push him away from her. But the boy cried all the louder and a ripple of amused speculation ran round the room.
A girl was following the boy, Fernando saw now, and she had halted rather uncertainly at the door to the crowded lounge. Then, with a slight shrug of her shoulders, she moved towards the boy and his mother. She was embarrassed, no doubt conscious of the conspicuousness of her blue nylon overall beside so many extravagant evening creations, and Fernando felt an unexpected stirring of sympathy. Women, young or old, did not particularly interest him, but this slender girl, a little above average height with dark-fringed eyes and a mass of ash-blonde hair that was presently secured rather inadequately by two elastic bands, aroused his compassion.
‘What do you think you are doing, Eduardo?’ Lucie was demanding in English for the benefit of their guests. ‘You know you are not permitted to come in here in the evenings. Señorita King!’ She turned on the girl. ‘What is the meaning of this?’
The girl’s cheeks were pink, but she took a firm hold on the boy’s hand before replying. ‘I’m sorry, señora. Eduardo has been unwell, and he insisted upon seeing you. I told him you could not be disturbed, but he ran away from me.’
Lucie clearly couldn’t decide whether or not to rail at the girl there and then or retire gracefully and make her feelings known at some future date. However, her Latin temperament seemed to get the better of discretion, because in heated tones she exclaimed: ‘What do you mean – he ran away from you? What were you doing, señorita? Are you not capable of controlling one small boy?’
The girl stood her ground, and Fernando admired her for it. ‘Eduardo and I were in the bathroom trying to get him cleaned up,’ she declared. ‘He slipped out of the door when my back was turned. I followed as