Come Running Read online

  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.

  Come Running

  Anne Mather

  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 marquee was crowded with friends and relatives all wanting to wish the happy couple every happiness, and Darrell sought the coolness of the moist air outside. It was a pity it had rained, a wet day in the small North Yorkshire town of Sedgeley was not exactly the ideal beginning to a marriage, but Susan and Frank looked so happy that Darrell had to concede that the weather meant little to them. She sighed without envy. Without that move from the London hospital to the Sedgeley Infirmary, it could well have been herself and Barry taking the plunge, but she was glad it was not. She had liked Barry well enough, she still liked him, but not enough to marry him.

  She glanced back into the marquee. The toasts were over. Any minute now, Susan and Frank would be leaving for Susan’s mother’s house to get changed before leaving on their honeymoon. They were going to Majorca—where else? thought Darrell wryly—and then chided herself for her cynicism. Susan was a nice girl, she liked her, and as fellow nurses, they worked well together.

  Her heels were sinking into the damp ground beneath her feet and she looked down impatiently. The hem of her coffee-coloured gown was going to be ruined, but that couldn’t be helped. No one could have expected a week of torrential rain at the beginning of June which had made the area around the marquee a veritable quagmire.

  A sudden breeze brought her hand to her head to secure the wide-brimmed straw boater and with her other hand plucking the hem of her skirt out of the mud, she became aware that she was being observed with some amusement by a man standing just inside the entrance to the marquee.

  She knew who the man was. She had been introduced to him earlier. He was Matthew Lawford, Susan’s eldest brother, who, together with his wife, had come up from London for the wedding. But Darrell had heard about him before then. Susan talked about him a lot. She was very proud of her brother who had succeeded in getting to Oxford and was now one of the youngest financiers in the city. A tycoon, Susan called him, although Darrell suspected that was a word coined by her family and not by Matthew Lawford himself.

  Her initial impressions of him were mixed. Physically, he was a very attractive man, with straight brown hair, brown eyes, and the kind of tan not associated with summers in Sedgeley. She guessed his age to be around thirty-two or thirty-three, and although his beginnings were not in doubt, several years living in London had smoothed out most of his accent. He was tall, without an ounce of superfluous flesh on his bones, and his clothes, obviously out of the class of those of his father and brothers, fitted him with ease and elegance. And yet elegant wasn’t a word Darrell would have used to describe him. His face was too hard for that, his manner occasionally exhibiting a toughness which would not be out of place in the wrestling ring. It was the sinuous way he moved that drew attention to his appearance, a kind of grace simulated with animal-like ease.

  No, his appearance, his magnetism with women, was not in any doubt, and in other circumstances Darrell might have felt wary of him. But to counteract this feeling, there was the presence of Celine Lawford, his wife.

  She was the discordant note in the whole proceedings, and Darrell had been unable to avoid noticing how unsuited she was to her present surroundings. Small and slender, with a cap of silvery blonde hair framing her piquantly attractive face, Celine was as striking as her husband, but it was obvious that she neither liked nor made any effort to mix with Matthew’s family. It was evident in the bored expression she had worn throughout the ceremony, and afterwards at the reception she had made it painfully apparent that she considered the arrangements gauche and lacking in refinement. Clearly, she had not attended the wedding willingly, and she considered her husband’s relatives coarse and vulgar.

  It wasn’t true, of course. The Lawfords were a friendly crowd, and during the eight months Darrell had lived in Sedgeley, she had grown very fond of these down-to-earth northern people. But she, like everyone else, had had to learn to accept them for what they were and not try to change them. They had no time for artifice or pretension, whereas Celine no doubt was used to the bland sophistication of city life.

  Matthew Lawford was different. Darrell had had to admit that to herself. He had fitted back into his surroundings with the ease of a chameleon, swallowing beers in the pub before the wedding with his father and four younger brothers as if he was used to doing this every day of his life. The Lawfords were a large family, Susan had two older married sisters as well as the younger one who had been bridesmaid, but it was Matthew who appeared to be the family favourite, and to be charitable Darrell had at first thought that Celine was jealous. She might well be, but it wasn’t just that. Whatever feelings she had for her husband, she cared nothing for his family, and Darrell had hoped that her attitude wouldn’t spoil Susan’s day. It hadn’t. The Lawford clan was too closeknit for that.

  “Having problems?”

  The attractive unfamiliar voice brought Darrell’s head up with a jerk to find the subject of her thoughts standing right in front of her, regarding her steadily. “Oh—not really,” she demurred, with a rueful smile. “It’s my fault for com
ing out here.”

  Matthew’s eyes travelled down to the toes of her shoes emerging from the hem of her gown. “It was pretty humid in there, though, wasn’t it?” he commented, looking into her eyes again. He had a disturbingly direct stare that disconcerted her. “You’re Miss Anderson, aren’t you? Susan’s nursing friend?”

  “Darrell Anderson,” supplied Darrell, nodding. “It’s a pity it’s been such a miserable day.”

  “Do you believe in omens, Miss Anderson?” he enquired, and she thought he was teasing her.

  “Not really.”

  “Nor do I.” He smiled. “Would you believe I got married in a heatwave?”

  Darrell found herself smiling, but she couldn’t help it, even though his remark had been outrageous. “I—are you going back to London tonight, Mr. Lawford?”

  “You know who I am, then?”

  Darrell looked up at him in surprise, and in spite of her five feet six inches she had to look up at him, holding her boater on to the back of her head. “Of course. You’re Susan’s brother.”

  “And do you call all her brothers Mr. Lawford?”

  Darrell shook her head, and he nodded. “So—the name’s Matthew, or Matt, if you’d rather. That’s what the family call me. And no, I’m not driving back to London tonight.”

  Darrell could feel her hair working loose from the coronet she had secured on top of her head, and red-gold tendrils were tumbling about her ears. Dropping the hem of her skirt, she gave herself up to securing her hair, taking off her hat and sighing resignedly.

  “I think I’m fighting a losing battle, don’t you?” she asked lightly, and then pointed into the marquee behind them. “Oh, look! Susan and Frank are leaving.”

  The bride and groom left in a shower of confetti, the crowd surging after them to wave them off, and Darrell felt Matthew’s hand close round her wrist for a moment to prevent her from being swept along with them. For a moment she was close against him, his chest hard against the softness of her full breasts. Then he had set her free again and was saying apologetically: “Sorry about that, but people get carried away here—literally!” He smiled. “I understand my mother has invited you to join us at the house this evening. They don’t allow the excuse for a freak-out to go unchallenged around here. Perhaps you’ve noticed. Not that they’d call it a freak-out,” he amended wryly. “A knees-up, perhaps.” He paused. “Anyway, if you’d like to go home and change first, my car’s at your disposal.”

  Darrell didn’t know what to say. She, who was usually so cool and collected with men, felt as nervous as a schoolgirl on her first date, and the feeling was unfamiliar and not altogether pleasant. She didn’t even know why she was feeling this way. Matthew Lawford had been amusing and polite, but nothing more. He was no doubt used to making small talk with his wife’s friends, and it meant no more to him than that. But a few moments ago, when his fingers had fastened round her wrist, she had experienced a terrifying new sensation that bore little resemblance to casual acquaintanceship.

  “I—er—I came with Doctor Morrison and his wife—from the hospital,” she explained awkwardly. “I expect I’ll go home with them. I can always get a bus back later.” She glanced at her watch as though to confirm this. “After all, it’s only half past four.”

  Matthew Lawford inclined his head. “If that’s what you prefer.”

  Darrell felt terrible. It wasn’t what she preferred at all, but something, some inner sense warned her that further association with this man would be dangerous for her. She glanced round and saw to her relief that people were coming back again. The bride and groom had left for the bride’s home in Windsor Street to get changed. Pretty soon, the reception would break up and only the family and close friends would gather later on at the house. She felt vaguely relieved when another of Susan’s brothers came to join them.

  Jeff Lawford was twenty-two, a year younger than Darrell, and a welder at a local steel works. For the past three months, he had been trying to persuade Darrell to go out with him, and he smiled at her now, flicking a speculative glance towards his older brother.

  “Well?” he commented. “It went off very well, didn’t it? In spite of the lousy weather!”

  “Susan looked beautiful,” exclaimed Darrell enthusiastically and Jeff gave her an old-fashioned look.

  “Susan could never look beautiful!” he asserted with brotherly candour. “But she did look nice.” He surveyed Darrell thoroughly and with evident approval. “Now, if you had been the bride…”

  Darrell coloured. “Oh, Jeff!”

  “What’s wrong? With that red hair, you’d be a sensation!”

  “It’s not red,” she retorted. “It’s darker than that.”

  “If you say so.” Jeff grinned, and then slapped Matthew on the shoulder. “Fancy a beer, Matt?”

  Matthew flexed his shoulder muscles. “I wouldn’t say no,” he conceded, glancing at Darrell. “Will you excuse us?”

  “Of course.”

  Darrell managed a smile in return, and then breathed a sigh almost of relief as they moved away. A small, motherly little woman was approaching her, and she turned to greet Susan’s mother with real warmth.

  “Oh, Darrell,” said Mrs. Lawford, patting her arm. “I haven’t had a minute to talk to you since this morning. How did it go? Did you enjoy yourself? Did everyone have enough to eat and drink, do you think?”

  Darrell relaxed. “Oh, of course they did. The meal was delicious. And everything went off perfectly. Susan looked a dream, didn’t she?”

  “Do you think so?” Mrs. Lawford beamed with motherly pride. “I must say, I thought she looked really lovely. She and Frank have gone back to the house to change. I’m hoping they’ll be able to slip away unobserved. You know how it is.”

  “That’s what I’m planning to do, too,” remarked Darrell dryly, indicating the hat in her hand. “My hair’s coming loose, and this dress is beginning to annoy me.”

  “Oh, but you looked lovely, dear. You have such pretty colouring. And your hair always looks nicer, loose about your shoulders.” She gave an encompassing look around her. “You are coming over this evening, aren’t you? I’m expecting you to. The boys will be there, and Evelyn and Jennifer and their husbands. Matt’s staying over, too. Have you met Matt yet?”

  “Oh—y-yes.” Darrell’s fingers tortured the brim of the boater. “I was talking to him a few moments ago.”

  “Were you, dear?” Mrs. Lawford wasn’t really listening to her. She clicked her tongue impatiently. “Oh—there’s Celine sitting over there looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth! Why doesn’t she try to join in the fun? She’s done her best to spoil the day!”

  “I expect she feels out of place,” murmured Darrell, unconsciously allaying a little of the guilt she felt about her attraction to Matthew, by defending his wife. “She doesn’t come from Sedgeley, does she?”

  “Heavens, no.” Mrs. Lawford made a gesture of negation. “She was Celine Galbraith before she married Matt. Her father’s an important man in the city, and the family own some estate in Wiltshire. Thinks herself too good for the likes of us, she does.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Lawford…”

  “Don’t you think so?”

  Darrell shrugged awkwardly. “It’s not for me to say.”

  Mrs. Lawford’s sniff was expressive. “Well, how about you coming over and having a word with her? Perhaps she’ll take to you—you being from the south, like.”

  Darrell wanted to demur, but Mrs. Lawford was already moving away and she had, perforce, to follow her. Celine looked up languidly at their approach, her expression mirroring her boredom at the proceedings.

  “There now, Celine,” exclaimed Mrs. Lawford comfortably. “I’ve brought someone to see you. This is Darrell Anderson, Susan’s friend from the hospital. They’re nurses together.”

  “Isn’t that nice?” Celine drawled sardonically, looking up at Darrell without enthusiasm. Close to, Darrell could see the fine lines of dissipation about Celin
e’s eyes, and a certain nervous agitation in the way they darted about. “We were introduced earlier, weren’t we?”

  Darrell nodded. “Yes. At the house. Before the wedding.”

  “Ah, yes.” Celine’s lips curled as her mother-in-law moved away. “You don’t come from around here, do you?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. I was born in Essex. In Upminster, actually. Do you know it?”

  “Do I not! Civilised country!” Celine uttered a short laugh. “Don’t be afraid to tell anyone, my dear. Who’d want to come from around here anyway?”

  “I like it,” defended Darrell at once. “I love the north. It’s so much—cleaner, for one thing.”

  “Cleaner! Sedgeley?” Celine shook her head pityingly. “You can’t be serious!”

  “I am. You don’t get the diesel fumes up here that you get in and around London. Besides, there’s more room to breathe—to live!”

  Celine’s mouth twisted cynically. “I can see they’ve got to you all right.”

  “No one’s got to me. I mean it. I really like it here.”

  “Well, sit down,” Celine invited, patting the wooden seat beside hers. “At least we can talk about somewhere else, even if you don’t find Sedgeley a pain in the neck.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Darrell had no desire to prolong this tête-à-tête. “I’m leaving now. I want to go home and change. Mrs. Lawford has invited me over to the house this evening.”

  “Oh, lord!” Celine uttered a groan of dismay. “The family get-together! Oh, God, why can’t Matthew take me back to London tonight?”

  There was no answer Darrell could make to this and with a faint smile she began to move away. But Celine got to her feet and halted her with: “Where do you live?”

  Darrell hesitated. “Susan and I used to share a flat near the hospital. I’m keeping it on until I can find someone else to share.”

  “The hospital?” Celine frowned. “Is that near here?”

  “No. It’s on the outskirts of Sedgeley. At the other side of town.”