by Anne Mather
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.
No Gentle Possession
Anne Mather
www.millsandboon.co.uk
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 long room with its pine-logged walls and low-beamed ceiling was full of people, most of whom were stamping their feet and clapping excitedly to the sound of Tyrolean music gone slightly mad. The small band of local musicians had all imbibed rather freely of their host’s hospitality, as indeed had everyone else, and by now the party was totally uninhibited, dancing and singing, or keeping time with their feet. At the far end of the room a huge fireplace was filled with logs which blazed brightly, adding their own illumination to the scene, while the atmosphere, thickened by cigar and cigarette smoke, exuded the mingled scents of perfume and shaving lotion, wines and lager, or plain body heat.
At the opposite end of the room to the fire, a man sat apart from the rest, lodged on a tall stool beside the long buffet tables where food and drink were being dispensed by several white-coated attendants. For time to time, someone would approach him with the obvious idea of rousing him from his solitude, but from their expressions when they turned away it was just as obvious that they had not succeeded.
Alexis Whitney was bored. It was no new experience for him. He was often bored, more frequently with people than with places, and right now he was in no mood to appreciate the kind of bonhomie that was created at such a gathering. He was well aware that his attitude would have been noted and commented upon; it wasn’t very kind, it wasn’t even very polite, but quite honestly he didn’t particularly care. He was all too compellingly aware that no matter how rude or objectionable he might be, his so-called friends would forgive him, and if that forgiveness was conceived all the more rapidly because of his father’s undoubted wealth and social position, then who was he to complain? It was a cynical attitude, he knew, but events had generated that cynicism, and looking ahead he could see no reason to change his opinions.
Finishing the remaining Scotch in his glass, he rose to his feet, flexing his back muscles tiredly. He Had spent the day on the ski slopes above the village and although during the past couple of weeks he had done a lot of skiing, today he had really taxed his strength and endurance. It had been another attempt to shed the boredom that seemed to be seeping like a poison into his soul.
His amber eyes surveyed the room critically. There must have been about forty people present, almost all the guests from the Grüssmatte Hotel, in fact. But Axel Fritzlander was like that. He threw open his chalet without reserve, inviting anyone and everyone to his parties. Alexis had known him for about twenty years. He was a contemporary of his father’s, and Alexis could remember coming here years ago when he was only a child and his mother had been alive. They had spent many winter holidays at the Grüssmatte Hotel, and in consequence they knew its owner intimately. Now, of course, Grüssmatte was much busier than it had been then, and there were other small hotels and pensions catering for the ever-increasing influx of tourists, but still the hotel owned by Axel Fritzlander maintained its individuality, and his guests expected and received personal service. It was expensive, of course, much more expensive than the Hochlander, or the Gasthof, but that, said Axel, was the only way to ensure that his guests would be of the right type and background to mix socially. To Alexis, in his present frame of mind, it was all rather pretentious, and he half wished he had chosen to stay at one of the other hotels, just to see what kind of a reaction that would have aroused.
Still, he thought reflectively, these weeks in Austria had served their purpose in that they had taken him away from London at a time when he most desired it. He had come to the Grüssmatte with David Vanning, a young barrister in London, and one of his few real friends. They had gone to school together, but nowadays, since David began his career, they didn’t see much of one another. Alexis recalled with wry humour his father’s astonishment when he had told him he was going away with David. The usual crowd he mixed with didn’t go in much for actual working, and until recently he had been quite happy to go along with their philosophy so long as he remained conscious of his father’s displeasure …
At the moment, David was at the opposite end of the room, sitting near the fire with Rosemary Lawson, whose parents had not joined the party. Rosemary had been David’s prime objective in coming to the Grüssmatte, he had made that clear from the start, but Alexis had not minded. It had suited him to have some time alone; it had given him a chance to think, and while he didn’t particularly care for his thoughts, at least he had enjoyed the sense of release gained in purely physical achievement.
Now he made his way towards the door, but before he reached it, a small, slim, red-haired girl interposed herself between him and his goal.
‘Alex darling,’ she exclaimed appealingly, grasping the sleeve of his dark blue suede suit. ‘You’re not leaving!’
Alexis looked down at her wryly. ‘Aren’t I? I thought I was.’
‘Oh, Alex, you can’t go now! It’s only just after midnight! Darling, why aren’t you joining in the fun like everybody else? It’s not like you to be so – so – detached!’
Alexis sh
rugged. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. But it was a refusal.
The girl’s hand dropped from his sleeve. She had to tip back her head to look up at him. ‘What’s the matter? What have I done? You’ve scarcely spoken to me for the last five days!’ Her voice quivered a little. ‘I thought – I thought you liked me.’
Alexis controlled his impatience. He despised women who ran after a man, who could not control their emotions. ‘I do like you, Sara,’ he replied briefly. ‘But right now I’m tired, I want to go to bed.’
Sara Raymond touched a strand of her hair provocatively. ‘I don’t mind where you want to go, if I can go with you.’
Alexis expelled his breath on a long sigh. ‘No, Sara,’ he said definitely, and with a faint smile he walked past her to the door.
No one else tried to stop him. Only Axel was likely to have attempted to do so, and he was occupied with a group of people near the band. Alexis cast one last look at the scene, and then went out into the hall.
He collected his sheepskin coat, and fastened it warmly before stepping out into the frosty air. He scorned the fur hats worn by some and his hair, which at first sight could appear almost white because of its silvery lightness, lay thick and smooth against his head. It was a magnificent night, the sky an arc of inky blue above, inset with a million jewel-like stars. All around the chalet, and the village on whose outskirts it lay, the mountains slumbered beneath their pall of snow like rampant giants, their startling whiteness illuminating the scene with brilliant clarity.
Hunching his shoulders, Alexis set off to walk back to the hotel, but as it was only some hundred yards from Axel’s chalet, he decided to walk the length of the village before retiring. Now that he was away from the party, from the thick, cloying atmosphere, his brain felt sharper, and clearer, and the weariness in his bones seemed to ease as he moved.
There were still one or two people about, although most were enjoying the kind of après-ski entertainment Axel provided, and the sound of accordion music drifted on the air. But it was not an unpleasant sound, and Alexis felt more at peace with himself at that moment than at any time he could recently remember.
It did not take long to reach the end of the village where the bare iron supports of the ski-lift stood out starkly against the background of snow. Motionless now, they stretched up towards the line of spruce and pine trees which marked the beginning of the higher slopes. During the day, these lower slopes were thronged with people, young and old alike, but the more rarefied atmosphere of the upper slopes was what Alexis preferred.
He was about to turn back again when a movement some way up the slope caught his attention. Someone was up there, and because they were wearing something light, they had not immediately been noticeable. Alexis frowned. Surely no one was foolhardy enough to be messing about at this time of night without anyone on hand to offer assistance should it be necessary. Even these lower slopes could be treacherous, providing their users with twisted ankles, sprained muscles, and sometimes actual broken limbs.
He hesitated. It was really nothing to do with him. If his eyes were not so accustomed to searching the slopes for possible dangers on his own perilous descends he might never have noticed that there was anyone up there.
But even as he considered this, there was a startled cry and the person, whoever it was, overbalanced and came tumbling down the slope towards him. It was obvious in that undignified descent that whoever it was was not wearing skis, and Alexis gave a resigned sigh before he went to help the unfortunate climber out of the drift of snow into which he had tumbled.
However, as he reached the place where the snow was thickest, the climber was scrambling to his feet, and brushing himself down, so that clearly there was no damage done. Alexis halted, and then said:
‘Are you all right?’
The climber started, as though until that moment he had thought himself alone, but as he looked up Alexis saw that his supposition of which sex had been wrong. It was a girl who stood regarding him with obvious impatience, a tall girl with an oval face, unnaturally pale in the moonlight, and dark, very dark hair that strayed in a deep fringe across her forehead, and pushed out from the bottom of the cream fur hood of the parka she was wearing.
She stared at him for a moment, her eyes narrowing so that he could scarcely see them between the thick lashes, and then dropping her gaze she said: ‘I’m perfectly all right, thank you,’ dispelling any doubts he might have had as to her nationality. Her voice was low and attractive, and unmistakably English.
Alexis inclined his head. ‘That’s good.’ He paused. ‘However, I wouldn’t advise you to do this very often. These slopes have been known to produce quite serious accidents, and as you’re not even wearing skis …’
She looked up then, anger quickening her speech. ‘I’m quite aware of the hazards involved, thank you.’
‘Are you?’ his expression was wry. ‘Is that why you made that ungainly descent from up there?’ His eyes flickered up towards the firs. ‘I’m sorry – it’s something quite new to me. I always thought the idea was to remain in an upright position. Obviously, I was wrong—’
‘Very amusing!’ She made an irritated little grimace at him and giving one last flick to her cream trousers began to walk towards the village.
Alexis smiled, watching her retreating back with humour. Then with a characteristic shrug of his broad shoulders he quickened his stride to fall into step beside her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, with that innate charm which was so much a part of his attractiveness. ‘But I couldn’t resist it. You looked so indignant standing there, all covered in snow. It’s a pity I was around at all.’
‘Yes, it was.’
The girl looked at him out of the corners of her eyes, and something stirred way back in his subconscious. Something about her was vaguely familiar; he had the disturbing suspicion that at some time she had looked at him like that before. But how was it possible? It was obvious from her accent that she was not from the southern part of England, nor did she have the cultured overtones in her voice that he was used to. How could he have met someone like her? Unless it was at university …
He frowned. It was an infuriating impression, and on impulse, he said: ‘Have we ever met before?’
Immediately the words were out he regretted using them. She lifted her dark eyebrows mockingly, and replied: ‘Is that the best you can do? I expected something quite devastating after that introduction!’
Alexis’s frowned deepened. He didn’t like being made to feel small. ‘It was not a line,’ he said. ‘I meant it.’
‘Really?’ She sounded uninterested, and a slow feeling of anger began to burn inside him. It was a long time since any woman had treated him to such a show of indifference, and he resented her assumption that he might be interested in her.
In cool tones, he said: ‘I should have realized it was impossible to ask such a question without you assuming I was necessarily voicing a personal interest in you. I’m sorry if I’m exploding the high opinion you have of yourself, but there it is.’
The girl tensed at this, and for a moment he felt contrite. He felt quite sure that could he have seen her in normal lighting and not the eerie artificiality of the moon he would have found her cheeks to be blazing with colour at the intended slight.
But she made no reply and not really knowing what prompted him to do so, Alexis said: ‘Are you staying long in Grüssmatte?’
There was a moment’s silence while she obviously fought with herself as to whether to reply, and then she said: ‘Actually no. We leave in the morning.’
‘I see.’ Alexis thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his sheepskin coat. ‘Will you be sorry to leave?’
‘Not really,’ she conceded quietly. ‘I – well – two other teachers and myself are responsible for thirty teenagers. It hasn’t exactly been a picnic.’
Alexis was interested in spite of himself, but at that moment she halted and gestured towards the small hotel standing back from the road. ‘We’re sta
ying here,’ she said. ‘Good night.’
Alexis’s brows drew together. All of a sudden he wished they had not had that altercation. He would have liked to have continued talking to her. But she was already walking up the slope towards the hotel and short of going after her and risking another rebuff there was nothing he could do. And he still had that annoying sensation that he had met her before.
He arrived back at the Grüssmatte Hotel, not in the best of tempers, and when the hotel manager stopped him in the hall with a tentative: ‘Herr Whitney!’ he turned to him with ill-concealed impatience.
‘Yes? What is it?’
Jurgen Blass gave an apologetic smile. ‘So sorry to trouble you, Herr Whitney, but there has been a telephone call for you – from your father.’
Alexis sighed. ‘Yes?’
‘He – er – would like you to ring him back as soon as you come in, Herr Whitney. He said it was urgent.’
‘Urgent? At this time of night?’ Alexis glanced at the gold watch on his wrist.
‘Yes, Herr Whitney.’
Alexis considered the man’s impassive face for a moment and then shrugged. ‘Very well. Arrange the call for me, will you? I’ll be in my suite.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The manager bowed his head politely and Alexis went on his way to the stairs. For all its excellence, the Grüssmatte had no lifts.
While he waited for the call to come through, Alexis took a shower. It was when he was towelling himself dry that the telephone in the adjoining bedroom began to ring. Wrapping the huge towel around him, he went to answer it. Until that moment he had not paid a great deal of attention as to why his father should want to speak to him at this time of night, his thoughts had still been absorbed with the girl from the ski slopes, but now as he lifted the receiver recollections of his life in London came back to him, and he felt a sense of resentment that because of this medium there was no real escape.
‘Alexis Whitney,’ he responded automatically.
