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      MILLS & BOON

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      CONTENTS

      PROLOGUE

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      PROLOGUE

      THE lawyer cleared his throat and looked miserable. This was nothing short of blackmail, and the girl before him deserved so much better.

      But the old man finally had her where he wanted her. Robert Fleming had manipulated people all his life. The only person who’d broken free had been his stepdaughter, and now he was controlling her from the grave.

      The will was watertight. Fleming would succeed and there wasn’t a thing the lawyer could do about it.

      ‘Just read it,’ Amy said, stony-faced. The lawyer collected himself. And read.

      ‘To my stepdaughter, Amy Freye, I leave my home, White-Breakers. I also leave her the land on Shipwreck Bluff and sufficient funds to build a forty-bed nursing home. The home is to be built in the style of a resort, to ensure resale is possible, and I set aside the following to be invested for maintenance…

      The above bequest is conditional on Amy living permanently in Iluka for at least ten years from the time of my death. If she doesn’t fulfill this condition, White-Breakers and the nursing home are to be sold and my entire estate is to be divided evenly between my nephews. The nursing home is to be sold as a resort for holiday-makers who’ll appreciate Iluka. As Amy never has.’

      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘IF IT doesn’t stop raining soon I’ll brain someone.’ Amy put her nose against the window and groaned. Outside it was raining so hard she could barely see waves breaking on the shoreline fifty yards away.

      ‘Great idea. Brain Mrs Craddock first.’ Kitty, Amy’s receptionist, was entirely sympathetic. ‘If I hear “Silver Threads” one more time I’ll do the deed myself.’

      It was too late. From the sitting room came the sound of the piano, badly played, and Mrs Craddock’s warbling old voice drowned out the television.

      ‘Darling, we are getting old,

      Silver threads among the gold…’

      Murder was looking distinctly appealing, Amy decided. ‘Can you taste arsenic in cocoa?’ she muttered. ‘And just what are the grounds for justifiable homicide?’

      ‘Whatever they are, it can’t be more justifiable than this. A week of rain and this lot…’

      It was the limit. Nothing ever happened in Iluka, and this week even less than nothing was happening. The locals jokingly called Iluka God’s Waiting Room and at times like this Amy could only agree.

      It did have some things going for it. Iluka was a beautiful seaside promontory with a climate that was second to none—apart from this week, of course, when the heavens were threatening another Great Flood. It had two golf courses, three bowling greens, magnificent beaches and wonderful walking trails.

      On the cliff out of town was Millionaire’s Row—a strip of outlandishly expensive real estate. At the height of summer the town buzzed with ostentatious wealth.

      But the rest of the time it didn’t buzz at all. Iluka was a retiree’s dream. The average age of Iluka’s residents seemed about ninety, and when the rain set in there was nothing to do at all.

      Nothing, nothing and nothing.

      Card games. Scrabble. Hobbies.

      Lionel Waveny had made five kites this month and he hadn’t flown any of them. The sitting room was crowded at the best of times, and if he made one more kite they’d have to sit on them.

      From the sitting room came excited twittering. ‘Amy… Bert’s won.’

      Great. Excitement plus! Summoning a smile Amy headed into the sitting room to congratulate Bert on his latest triumph in mah-jong. She stepped over Lionel’s kites and sighed. She really should stop him making them but she didn’t have the heart. They were making him happy. Someone should be happy. So…

      ‘Great kite,’ she told Lionel, and added, ‘Hooray,’ to the mah-jong winner. ‘Bert, if you win any more matchsticks you can start a bushfire.’

      Despite her smile, her bleak mood stayed.

      Oh, for heaven’s sake, what was wrong with her? she wondered. What was a little rain? This was a decent sort of life—wasn’t it? The nursing home she’d set up was second to none. Her geriatric residents were more than content with the care she provided. She could start a cottage industry in knitwear and kites, she had a fantastic home—and she had Malcolm.

      What more could a girl want?

      Shops, she thought suddenly, and a decent salary so she could enjoy them. She stared down in distaste at the dress she’d had for years. What else? Restaurants. A cinema or two, and maybe a florist where she could buy herself a huge bunch of flowers to cheer herself up.

      Yeah, right. As if she’d ever have any money to buy such things.

      She looked out the window at the driving rain and thought…

      What?

      Anything.

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