By Anne Mather

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Surely she should remember something? Were all amnesiacs so devoid of memories? The man who claimed to be her father's cousin left with Dr Patel. She was glad he didn't attempt to emrace her or kiss her before he went, even if it left their relationship still in that limbo land between what was real and what wasn't. She would have liked to have asked him more questions, but Dr Patel's arrival and his own strange reticence had precluded all but the most perunctory of exchanges, and he didn't even say when-- or even if--he intended to return.

Jessica wasn't sure. Her enthusiasm to see members of her family had waned considerably since Laura Bentley's visit. And as this man was related, however distantly, to Laura Bentley, he must know about that visit, too. And obviously he knew about her parentage. Her father had been his cousin, after all. Just because he hadn't told her the circumstances of her birth was no reason to suppose he felt any differently about it than his cousin's wife. Was that why he had come back? To reinforce the accusation Laura Bentley had made?

But I had to stand for fifteen bleeding minutes to be served, so I'm going to have to go to the little girls' room before I have mine. Help yourself. I won't be long. Oh, and keep an eye on the skins, will you? ' Ceci smiled as Jessica wove her way between the tables to the end of the carriage. The high heels she was wearing caused her to exaggerate the sway of the train, and the lighted cigarette she was carrying skimmed dangerously close to the hair of one of the men seated by the door. Then a light came on to prove she had gained her obective, and Ceci barely hesitated before helping herself to a sandwich.

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Dark Mosiac (Harlequin Presents) by Anne Mather
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