Impetuous Masquerade

by Anne Mather

  Harlequin 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 mystic-am@msn.com and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

  Impetuous Masquerade

  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

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘RHIA, I’ve got to see you!’

  Her sister’s voice was taut with anxiety, and Rhia sighed resignedly at the prospect of yet another awkward situation Valentina wanted her help to escape from.

  ‘Not tonight, Val,’ she said firmly, hooking the phone between her ear and one slim shoulder as she endeavoured to go on separating the sheets of carbon from the report she had just finished typing. ‘I’ve got to stay back to take the minutes of the board meeting, and Simon’s picking me up about seven-thirty.’

  ‘Simon!’ Valentina’s young voice was scathing. ‘You can put him off. You know you can see him any old time!’

  Rhia controlled the impulse to make some equally scathing retort, and continued pleasantly: ‘Nevertheless, the arrangement has been made, and I’d prefer it to stand.’

  ‘But you don’t understand!’ Valentina’s voice rose in her frustration. ‘Rhia, something awful’s happened. And—and I don’t know what I’m going to do!’

  Rhia put down the carefully typed sheets and took hold of the receiver. ‘Look here, Val, you’re not a child, you know. You’re eighteen, quite old enough to handle your own problems. Just because I’m older than you are—’

  ‘But I rely on you, Rhia!’

  Valentina’s tone broke on what sounded suspiciously like a sob, and Rhia felt the unwilling sense of responsibility her young sister invariably aroused in her. It was no use railing that it wasn’t fair; that there were only three years between her and Valentina, and that at eighteen she had had to shoulder the responsibilities of a family. Old habits die hard, and ever since their mother had been killed during an uprising in the Central African state where their father had been working, Rhia had taken her place—in Valentina’s eyes, at least. The two girls had been at boarding school at the time, and Valentina had taken the news badly. At fifteen, she had felt the bottom had dropped out of her world, and Rhia had naturally staunched her own grief to comfort her sister.

  Their father had flown home to be with his daughters, but it soon became apparent that he was irked by family affairs. When Rhia agreed to abandon her hopes of going to university and found herself an office job while she took secretarial training at night school, Mr Mallory accepted another appointment in South Africa, and left Rhia in charge of the small flat he had rented in Hammersmith.

  Valentina, of course, was expected to continue with her schooling, but at sixteen she had begged Rhia to let her come home, and because her father offered no objections, Rhia had had to agree.

  That had been the biggest mistake she had ever made, Rhia acknowledged now. Valentina had proved impossible to control, and ignoring pleas from her sister to find regular employment had skipped from one casual job to another. She had worked in cafés and betting shops, in disco joints and wine bars, and spent a good portion of her time hanging about with a group of teenagers, whose main claim to fame seemed to be their outrageous clothes and hair-styles. Rhia had lost count of the number of times she had been called upon to mediate when some irate employer had called demanding to know her sister’s whereabouts, and she had eventually been forced to write to their father and ask him to take Valentina in hand.

  The upshot of this had been that Valentina had agreed to try her hand at nursing, and six months ago she had enrolled as a student nurse at one of the local teaching hospitals. She seemed to like it, and Rhia had breathed a sigh of relief, praying that Val would learn to be more responsible. After all, she was eighteen, old enough to be regarded as an adult. She had even found herself a boy-friend, and although Rhia had never met him, she was reassured to learn that he was a student at the London School of Economics. Apparently, his name was Glyn Frazer and he was a Canadian, and although Rhia had her doubts as to how long such a relationship could last, she was glad that Valentina seemed to be settling down at last.

  Yet now here she was, phoning her sister at nine-thirty in the morning, evidently in some distress over some new disaster. Rhia used the word ‘disaster’ advisedly; all Valentina’s problems seemed to assume such unnatural proportions.

  ‘So why do you want to see me, Val?’ she enquired now. ‘If it’s so important, tell me now. I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘I can’t—that is, I can’t talk over the phone,’ insisted Valentina desperately. ‘Rhia, you’ve got to make time. I’m on duty again at eight o’clock.’

  Rhia expelled her breath resignedly. So at least Val hadn’t lost her job, she reflected thankfully. Whatever it was, it was outside the hospital, and surely anything else could not be so important.

  ‘Val—’

  ‘Rhia, please—’

  ‘Oh, very well.’ Rhia gave in, as she generally did, she conceded to herself ruefully, and drew her dark brows together. ‘How about lunch? I could manage to get over to St Mary’s for about one o’clock, if that’s any use to you.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Yes!’ Valentina was fervent.

  ‘But don’t you have to rest?’ Even now, Rhia was still mildly
suspicious. ‘I mean—if you’re on nights—’

  ‘Last night was my night off,’ explained Valentina hastily. ‘See you soon,’ and she rang off before Rhia could think of any more questions.

  Nevertheless, that didn’t prevent her sister from spending the rest of the morning brooding over why Valentina should want to see her, and why there was such urgency about it. She couldn’t think of any reason why the younger girl should be so distressed, and as with all such probings, Rhia’s sense of foreboding grew. She couldn’t help remembering how irresponsible Valentina had been prior to taking the job at St Mary’s, and how often she had been called upon to lend her money or pay her bills or simply bail her out of some particularly difficult situation. Something had gone wrong, that much was obvious. Rhia only hoped it was nothing more than another unpaid debt.

  The company for whom Rhia worked had their offices in Kensington, which meant she was within walking distance of the apartment. It was an added bonus to a job she had grown to like, and since she had become secretary to one of the company’s directors, the increase in salary had enabled her to cope with the increase in its rent. Valentina’s contribution to the apartment’s upkeep had ceased entirely, since she spent most of the week in her accommodation at the nurses’ home, and since St Mary’s was south of the Thames, there was no question of her commuting.

  When Rhia left the office at lunchtime it was raining, and the seasonable downpour had filled all the buses. Deciding she might as well use the tube, she squelched her way along the High Street, and squashed on to the train that would take her to the Embankment.

  It was late when she arrived at Balham, and she still had a ten-minute walk to the hospital. She guessed Valentina would be awaiting her at the gates, where they had met on the few occasions Rhia had visited the hospital, and she saw her sister’s dejected figure as soon as she turned into Morton Street.

  The rain had eased a little, but it was still drizzling, and Rhia’s showerproof jacket was soaked. As, too, was her hair, she realised impatiently, wondering for the umpteenth time why she didn’t simply have it cut. It was far too long and cumbersome for a girl in her position, and it spent its days either plaited into braids, or, as today, coiled in a damp chignon at her nape.

  ‘Rhia!’

  Valentina had seen her and came hurrying down the street towards her, a pathetic figure in her jeans and yellow anorak. Considering the difference in their ages, they were remarkably alike, thought Rhia, as the other girl approached. Both tall and fair-haired, though it was true that Valentina was the slimmer and her hair was short.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ the younger girl said now, tucking her arm through Rhia’s, her pale face eloquent of the fact that this was not something Rhia could iron out in the space of a few minutes. ‘Let’s go to the pub. We can get a meat pie or a sandwich there.’

  Rhia’s hesitation was scarcely noticeable, and she fell into step beside her sister without a word. She would have preferred that they had a cup of tea and a sandwich in Val’s room at the nurses’ home, where surely they could have had a more private conversation.

  ‘What a day!’ Valentina commented as they walked the few yards to the Crown and Anchor. ‘I was afraid you wouldn’t come. God, what a mess I’ve got myself into!’ and her voice broke again.

  Rhia was concerned, but a group of people emerging from the door of the public house prevented any rejoinder, and not until they had been served with a cheese roll each and a dry Martini with soda did she get the chance to make any comment.

  They managed to find a quiet corner, away from the noisy atmosphere of the bar, and although there was nowhere to sit down, Rhia insisted that it would do. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Whatever’s happened? You look like you haven’t slept for a week.’

  Valentina drew a steady breath and took a gulp of her Martini and soda. ‘I feel like I haven’t,’ she confessed fervently. ‘Oh, Rhia, it’s just awful! Glyn’s been badly hurt!’

  For a moment, an uncharitable feeling of relief swept over Rhia. So it was Glyn who was in trouble, not Val, she thought, with weak reassurance. No matter how bad it was, Val was not involved, and for that Rhia was grateful.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked now, able to give her sister her full sympathy now that she knew, or could guess, how Valentina was feeling. ‘How did it happen? How badly hurt is he?’

  Valentina caught her breath. ‘He—he’s still unconscious. He hasn’t come round.’

  Rhia frowned. ‘You mean there was an accident? Val darling, I know you’re very upset, but you’ve got to try and be a little more coherent.’

  Valentina swallowed. ‘There—there was a crash, yes.’

  ‘A car crash?’

  Valentina nodded, and Rhia’s tongue emerged to circle her dry lips. It would be futile to admit that she had worried on more than one occasion about her sister, since Val had told her Glyn had acquired a fast sports car. It had seemed such a fragile defence against any other vehicle, and she had had to steel her emotions when Val spoke of its speed and acceleration. But at least Val had not been hurt.

  ‘Where is he?’ she asked, and Valentina blinked.

  ‘Where is he?’ she echoed. ‘Why, in—in the hospital, of course. Where else would he be?’

  ‘But what hospital?’ persisted Rhia patiently. ‘Not St Mary’s, I’m sure.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Valentina put an abstracted hand to her temple. ‘He—he’s in Jude’s. They took him there, after the accident.’ She shook her head. ‘He looked terrible. I—I thought at first that—that he was dead.’

  Rhia put out a hand and squeezed her sister’s arm affectionately. ‘Poor Val, no wonder you’re in such a state. But how is he? I mean—do the doctors expect him to recover?’

  ‘He’s got to recover,’ exclaimed Valentina fiercely. ‘He’s just got to. I—I don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t!’

  ‘Hey…’ Rhia had never seen her sister so agitated, ‘don’t get so upset. He’ll recover, I’m sure he will. They can do such marvellous things these days.’

  ‘Yes.’ But Valentina didn’t sound very convinced, and Rhia sought about for something else to say.

  ‘When did it happen?’ she asked. ‘The accident, I mean. Why didn’t you ring me, as soon as you heard?’

  ‘Heard?’ Valentina looked blank.

  ‘Heard about the accident,’ Rhia prompted gently. ‘When did you get to know? Last night, I suppose. Have Glyn’s family been informed? I expect they must have—’

  Valentina interrupted her, her eyes wild and anxious, her words falling over themselves as she struggled to get them out. ‘Oh, you don’t understand, Rhia. I know I’m explaining myself badly, but surely you’ve realised: I didn’t hear about the accident. I was there! I was with him! I was part of it. It—it was all my fault!’

  Later, Rhia acknowledged that perhaps she had been a little dense in not realising that Valentina’s grief stemmed from more than the mild infatuation she had had for Glyn Frazer. She should have known that her sister’s sympathies were unlikely to be strained to this extent by anyone other than herself. It was a harsh analysis perhaps, but the truth was that Valentina had seldom shown consideration for anyone, and latterly Rhia had sensed a cooling of the relationship between her sister and her boy-friend.

  Now, however, she could only stare at Valentina, scarcely comprehending the import of what she was saying, and the younger girl’s face convulsed as she struggled with her frustration.

  ‘Don’t you understand, Rhia?’ she cried, glancing behind her to ensure her impassioned outburst was not overheard. ‘The accident happened last night—my night off. And—and I was driving!’

  ‘You!’ Rhia gasped. ‘But, Val, you don’t hold a driving licence!’

  Valentina cast her eyes briefly towards the ceiling. ‘Isn’t that what I’m trying to tell you? Oh, Rhia, what am I going to do? Glyn—Glyn may die, and—and I’ll be to blame!’

  Rhia wished she was sitting down now. Her legs felt de
cidedly unsteady, and she thrust the remains of her half-eaten roll into a nearby ashtray as nausea swept up her throat.

  ‘Well?’ Valentina’s eyes were tear-filled and intent. ‘Can’t you say anything? Can’t you at least tell me you understand? Dear God, Rhia, if you don’t help me, no one will, and—and I’m so—I’m so scared!’

  Rhia put down her glass and rubbed her unsteady hands together. Then, shaking her head, she said weakly: ‘You’ve got to give me time, Val. I haven’t taken this in yet. Right now—right now, I just don’t know what to say.’

  Valentina’s lips twisted. ‘How do you think I feel? I haven’t slept, I haven’t even been to bed!’ She sniffed. ‘I walked the streets for hours. I was exhausted, but I didn’t want to go back.’

  ‘Wait a minute.’ Rhia halted her. ‘What do you mean, you walked the streets for hours? I thought you said Glyn was taken to hospital, after the accident.’

  ‘He was. I rang for the ambulance myself.’

  Rhia could feel a throbbing beginning somewhere behind her temple. ‘And they didn’t ask you to accompany them? The police—I assume there were police involved—they didn’t ask for a statement?’

  Valentina bent her head. ‘I—it wasn’t like that. When we had the crash, there was no one else around. Oh, I don’t know how it happened. One minute I was driving happily along this side street, and the next this cat ran across the road in front of us. Glyn said: ‘Brake’, but somehow my foot hit the accelerator, and the tyres squealed and we—we hit a lamp-post.’

  ‘Oh, Valentina!’

  ‘I know. It was awful. Glyn’s head must have hit the windscreen. He—he was covered in blood. I—I just panicked.’ Her voice broke, and then, controlling herself again, she went on: ‘I knew I had to get out of there. If—if anyone saw me, if anyone identified me—’

  ‘Wait a minute.’ Rhia stared at her. ‘You said you phoned for the ambulance yourself.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I did. There was a phone box quite nearby. I made the call—then I ran away.’

  ‘Val!’ Rhia was horrified.