Windward Crest Page 17
‘Yes; it was Jake I was worried about.’
‘Then you need worry no more. He’s a very happy man, Dominie, and both he and Erica say they have you to thank.’
Dominie opened her mouth to protest, then changed her mind, saying instead,
‘You, Rohan ... you didn’t waste much time either.’ This sounded out of place, once it had been voiced, and a soft flush of embarrassment rose to Dominie’s face.
Rohan laughed and flicked her cheek caressingly. ‘Erica came over soon after my return, and the whole absurd story came to my ears. Had you been anywhere at hand I’d have beaten you, I was so angry at your jumping to such a ridiculous conclusion. However, you were quite out of reach and so escaped my wrath. But be warned, my girl, and don’t let your imagination run away with you like that again.’ He was laughing with his eyes as he spoke, and the French accent seemed very pronounced. Dominie caught her breath at the attractiveness of him. ‘I managed to get a seat on the first available plane and so here I am—with my own dear girl.’ His tones dropped to a very tender note and his gaze was serious now. For a while he had been fingering a thin gold chain which Dominie wore around her neck, and now he slipped a thumb beneath it with the intention of bringing to light whatever hung on the end of it.
‘I’m quite unable to contain my curiosity a moment longer, my love. What have you got down there, so close to your heart?’
A small embarrassed smile fluttered.
‘Guess,’ she bade him, and his brow knit thoughtfully.
‘A locket with my picture in it. You must have come by a snapshot somehow—from Jake, probably. He’s always busy with that camera of his.’
‘It isn’t a locket. Have another guess—’
‘My imagination runs only to a locket...’ Tugging gently, he brought up her engagement ring. Dominie had had it repaired and cleaned and now it lay in the palm of her fiancee’s hand, warm from its contact with her body. Unfastening the chain, he slipped it off and dropped the chain on to the table. ‘My own dear sweet darling...’ The words, spoken with such tender emotion, trailed away on a husky note and Dominie saw to her astonishment that his mouth actually quivered in a little convulsive movement. Taking her finger he slid the ring on to it, then enclosed her small hand in his, gripping it hard. Too full to speak, Dominie could only lift her eyes to his, silently conveying all that was in her heart.
A WORD ABOUT THE AUTHOR
For Anne Hampson, writing is more than just a livelihood. It is also an exciting hobby. Time and again she travels to foreign shores, where she mingles with the people who live there, gets to know them and even consigns a few interviews to tape. She takes a great many snapshots, buys dozens of postcards and collects maps of the area. Then, when she returns home to England, she makes notes, files them according to category and begins to write.
But long before Anne became a published author, she led a varied and often challenging existence, gathering a wealth of experiences along the way. Her working life began when she was very young—she left school at fourteen—and she has done everything from running a cafe to delivering milk at five-thirty in the morning. This last job was arranged so that she could return to school, a teacher-training college, as a “mature” student. And before deciding to write fulltime, Anne taught for a number of years.
Anne Hampson likes to describe herself as a collector; not only of maps and picture postcards, but of rocks, fossils, antiques and experiences.