Книга - Long Night’s Loving

Long Night's Loving
Anne Mather


Mills & Boon are excited to present The Anne Mather Collection – the complete works by this classic author made available to download for the very first time! These books span six decades of a phenomenal writing career, and every story is available to read unedited and untouched from their original release.He could still make her want him…The last person Maggie ever wanted to see again was her ex-husband Neil! But with no option but to seek out his help, Maggie is forced to once again confront him.To her dismay, her feelings for him remain as fiercely strong as ever – and he’s never forgotten his attraction to Maggie either! As old tensions resurface, their explosive chemistry reaches boiling point. Neil makes it clear that he won’t let her go again without a fight…but can they both let go the past?







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




Long Night’s Loving

Anne Mather







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Table of Contents

Cover (#u45e80183-e491-5de3-a1ce-875a3db7a360)About the Author (#u7e66bb8c-9c20-5344-b345-e02c0f8e0fa8)Title Page (#ua55f48d4-fc81-5009-8932-8693e4e07a5f)CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_c459a541-8847-53ba-89e1-0557bb4e6848)CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_7a923b06-ec9b-58ea-a41a-1c09b7cfa4b6)CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_ea743bb0-bed3-59ee-8096-fa3c3074a52c)CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_408773cf-4910-5da8-b098-0d2d6e303589)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_a9e0e3b4-3616-569c-9650-6a18737d55e0)

MAGGIE got off the train at Newcastle.

The icy wind hit her as soon as she emerged from the insulated warmth of the carriage, and she shivered, in spite of the long cashmere coat and fur-lined boots she was wearing.

The shiver was more than just a reaction to the elements, however. For the past three hours she had felt a curious kind of detachment within the bustling community of the train. She’d almost been able to enjoy the journey, despite her apprehension at its completion. For a while, at least, she had put the reasons for making it aside, allowing herself the luxury of putting her fears on hold.

Still, now that she had actually made the decision to approach Neil, she was feeling a certain amount of relief. She hadn’t realised it, but she had been fighting the idea for so long, she was weary, and, giving in to what he would probably see as a sign of weakness, she had surrendered the independence she had once considered so important.

Of course, he could refuse to help her. To help Lindsey, she amended firmly, even though she knew she was here as much for herself as for her daughter. Lindsey’s attitude in recent weeks had left her feeling helpless, and curiously lost. Lindsey seemed to blame her for everything, and the knowledge that she could no longer get through to the girl was more than she could take.

Maggie knew her daughter had taken her parents’ divorce badly, and for that she had no one to blame but herself. But it wasn’t her fault that Lindsey refused to discuss the present situation with her, and ignored her mother’s wishes out of hand.

Now, looking hopefully round the platform, she was not really surprised that there was no sign of Neil, or Luke Parry. She hadn’t really expected her ex-husband would take the time to come and meet her, but she had hoped that Luke might have made the trip. She pulled a wry face. But then, she reflected, why should Neil make this easy for her? If past experience was anything to go by, she was probably wasting her time—and his.

She sighed. It wasn’t the first time she had come here, hoping for Neil’s understanding. When he’d first told her he was getting a divorce, she had flown up from London then, desperate to explain what had happened, but Neil wouldn’t listen to her. He was not a man who forgave easily, she had discovered, and she had no reason to believe he had changed since. Her only justification for making this trip was that in this instance he had agreed to see her, and that only after she had mentioned Lindsey’s name, and the fact that it was their daughter and not herself she wanted to discuss.

It was a cold grey day. It wasn’t the time of year to come this far north and she thought, with a momentary trace of wistfulness, of the winters they had once spent in Antigua or St. Lucia. She hadn’t appreciated it then. She’d been too young and foolish to be grateful for the advantages Neil’s success had given her. She’d taken everything for granted, not least that as Neil’s wife she was given the kind of respect she had neither earned nor warranted.

There were taxis waiting, their windows steamed by the breath of their idling drivers. She wondered how much it would cost to take a taxi to Bellthorpe. It used to cost quite a lot five years ago, and what with the rising cost of petrol, and inflation...

The alternative was to take a bus, and she seemed to remember the coach station was off Percy Street. Which meant quite a walk lugging her belongings. She didn’t have a suitcase—she wouldn’t have presumed to look as if she expected to stay the night—but she did have a canvas holdall, and she knew from experience how heavy it could feel after she’d carried it some distance.

There was a canopy outside the station, enabling travellers to get in and out of their cars without the inconvenience of getting wet. But it didn’t prevent the wind from sweeping up from the river, and Maggie cast a doubtful look at the waiting cabs.

At last deciding she couldn’t stand here indefinitely, she moved with some reluctance to the front of the queue of cars. The taxi occupying the pole position wasn’t the one she’d have chosen, if she’d had the chance, but she knew better than to approach one of the other drivers, and have him accused of jumping the queue.

But, as she bent to ask the driver how much he’d charge to take her the twenty or so miles to Bellthorpe, another car accelerated into first place. Not a taxi this time, but a mud-splattered Range Rover, with a scowling, dark-haired man at the wheel.

‘Mags!’

Neil’s curt voice arrested her, and she turned, not without a quiver of anticipation, to see her ex-husband thrusting open the passenger door from inside. The irritation she used to feel at his diminution of her name was absent, however. She was so relieved to see him; so relieved that she wouldn’t have to spend more of her hard-earned cash on a taxi fare.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said, exchanging a challenging look with the driver of the cab, who had suddenly lost a passenger. ‘Get in.’ he added, as if the other man’s feelings mattered to him, but she knew of old that however resentful the driver might be he’d get no satisfaction from Neil.

‘Thanks.’

Because of the tightness of her skirt, Maggie scrambled without much dignity into the car. God, she thought, with a feeling of impatience at her ungainly entry. Had Neil brought this vehicle deliberately? It was worse than getting on a bus.

Once she was inside, however, she had to admit it was comfortable. And roomy; and it was warm, which was something she appreciated. She thrust her holdall into the back and slammed her door securely. Only then did she glance at her ex-husband as he concentrated on rejoining the stream of traffic heading towards Elswick.

It was a nerve-racking moment. It was almost five years since she’d seen him, and somehow she’d expected he would have changed. The fact that, apart from a certain narrowing of his features, he hadn’t was hardly reassuring. He was obviously living his life quite happily, without worrying about her—or Lindsey—at all.

A few specks of rain hit the windscreen and because the silence in the car was getting to her Maggie gestured towards the darkening sky. ‘Typical,’ she said. ‘It’s raining. It always rains when I come to Newcastle.’

‘Then it’s just as well the reservoirs don’t depend on you for their existence,’ remarked Neil drily. ‘We’d have had a drought.’

Maggie’s breath surged from her lungs. ‘Is that supposed to mean something?’ she demanded, hurt by his sarcasm, and Neil sighed.

‘It was supposed to be a joke,’ he said shortly, and without much sympathy. ‘Did you have a pleasant journey? Perhaps we can talk about that without you getting in a snit.’

‘I’m not in a snit.’ Maggie took a defensive breath, calming herself. ‘And—yes, I had a very pleasant journey. The train wasn’t full, and it was on time.’

‘Unlike me?’ suggested Neil, with another wry look in her direction, and Maggie wondered if it was his intention to provoke her.

‘As you say,’ she answered, without rising to his bait. ‘But that wasn’t what I meant either. I—wasn’t sure you’d meet me.’

‘As a matter of fact, I didn’t intend to,’ said Neil, his hands drawing her attention against her will. He had attractive hands, long-fingered and artistic. ‘Luke was going to meet you, but he twisted his knee this morning, so he had to cry off.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Maggie meant it. For all he was Neil’s ally, not hers, she had always had a soft spot for Luke Parry. He and Neil had grown up together in Byker, and when Neil had formed his first band Luke had played keyboard. But that was many years ago now, long before Neil had struck out on his own. In later years, Luke had been his road manager, before disillusionment—and the problems she and he were having—had driven Neil back to Tyneside. Luke was his assistant now, and part-time secretary. Their friendship had withstood the test of time.

‘No sweat,’ Neil declared now, switching on the wipers to clear the screen. ‘He probably won’t mention it, but he’s having some trouble with his hip. He had a motorcycle accident about two years ago, and none of us are as young as we were.’

‘Luke’s not old!’

‘He’s nearly forty, the same as me,’ observed Neil carelessly. ‘We’re not kids any more, Maggie. We’re almost middle-aged.’ His lips twisted. ‘Not that I’ve forgotten I can give you a few years.’

Maggie said nothing, concentrating on the wet slick of the road ahead instead of giving in to the urge to look at him again. Almost forty, she thought, which meant she was almost thirty-six. As he’d said, they weren’t kids any more. So why did she feel so immature suddenly?

‘Are you well?’ she asked, aware of the muscled length of his thigh, taut beneath its worn covering of denim. Almost involuntarily she was aware that he was wearing a loose knitted sweater beneath his leather jacket, long boots on his feet, manipulating the controls.

‘Fine,’ he answered briefly. ‘And you?’

‘Fine,’ she mimicked, without thinking. ‘Um—is Mrs Benson still at the house?’

‘No. She retired,’ he responded, and Maggie felt an enormous sense of relief. The elderly housekeeper had always resented her for being a ‘Southerner’, and it was one less person for her to confront.

‘So—so who’s looking after you now?’ she asked, and he cast her an amused look.

‘Do you really care?’ he asked, his dark eyes bright with unconscious irony. ‘As I remember it, my welfare was never high on your list of priorities, not even when we were living together.’

‘That’s not true!’

Her denial was instinctive, but although she stared at him indignantly he turned his attention back to the road. It was getting dark, so she could hardly blame him for that, but it was infuriating that he should still be able to wound her after all this time.

While she absorbed this evidence of her own weakness, they negotiated the southern outskirts of the city, and turned west onto the road for Carlisle. Signs indicating the nearness of the Roman Wall loomed at frequent intervals, and the announcement that this was ‘Catherine Cookson Country’ was vaguely familiar.

But it was a bleak landscape in the fading light of a January afternoon. Skeletal trees bent into the wind, and the few animals that had braved the weather huddled together in the corners of the fields, seeking shelter. It was the time of year, of course, but she felt a sense of isolation. Perhaps she’d lived too long in London, as Neil used to say. Perhaps she was afraid of the silence of her thoughts.

At least it wasn’t snowing, she thought gratefully, and it could have been. These border counties of England saw more than their fair share of severe winter weather. She wondered what she’d have done if it had been snowing. Bellthorpe had been known to be cut off in the past.

‘How’s Lindsey?’

His question was sudden, if not unexpected. But Maggie didn’t want to get into their daughter’s problems in the car. No, she and Neil had to talk—it was why she was here, for heaven’s sake—and she wanted to be able to see his face when she told him. She had no intention of revealing her reasons for coming here in the anonymous shadows of the vehicle.

So, ‘She’s OK,’ she replied, after a moment’s consideration. ‘Um-did you have a good Christmas? I seem to remember there was snow in your part of the country, wasn’t there? White Christmases are so rare these days. I imagine it was quite—’

‘What do you want, Maggie?’

His curt interruption caught her unawares, and for a moment she could only look blankly in his direction.

‘Well, you didn’t come here to discuss the weather, did you?’ he countered, dark eyebrows raised in an interrogatory stare. ‘Come on, Maggie, spit it. out, why don’t you? It will save us from all this meaningless chatter.’

Maggie took a steadying breath. ‘I see you haven’t changed,’ she remarked, without answering him. ‘Patience was never your strong suit.’

‘And candour was never yours,’ he retorted harshly, accelerating to pass another car. ‘I’m tired of your secrets, Maggie. You’re here, aren’t you? At least have the decency to get to the point.’

Maggie refused to be stampeded. ‘When I phoned, you said I could spend the night.’

‘That doesn’t mean I’m prepared to entertain you,’ replied Neil, in a controlled voice. ‘Luke is at the house. It may be some time before we can talk privately. If what you have to say concerns Lindsey I’d rather know what it is now.’

Maggie couldn’t disguise her sudden intake of breath. ‘Why are you so aggressive?’ she protested.

‘Because of the way you avoided answering me before,’ he replied in a weary tone. ‘Don’t be tiresome, Mags, I’m not an idiot. What’s the matter with her? Has she got herself pregnant?’

Maggie gasped. ‘No!’

But she half wished she had. She might have been able to cope with an unwanted pregnancy. She wouldn’t have had to approach Neil for a start.

‘What, then?’

He was slowing now, indicating that he was turning right at the next junction, turning onto the narrower road that led first to Chollerford, and then on, into the less populated heart of Northumberland.

Maggie turned to look out of the window. ‘I’d rather not discuss it in the car.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I wouldn’t.’ She was feeling indignant now. ‘What’s the matter, Neil? Don’t you want to take me to the house?’

‘Not particularly,’ he answered, almost cruelly, and it took an enormous effort of will-power not to demand he take her back to the station right away. She should never have come here, she thought. She should have realised how he would regard it. She’d sworn she’d never ask him for anything ever again, and she hated going back on her word.

‘Well, at least I know where I stand,’ she said at last, managing to conceal the anguish his words had given her. ‘But I’m sorry. I have no intention of discussing your daughter at this moment. If you hadn’t wanted to accommodate me, you should have booked me a room at a hotel.’

‘Yes, I should,’ he remarked, pausing at the traffic lights at Chollerford Bridge. ‘How about here?’ He gestured towards the lights of the George Hotel that stood at the crossroads. ‘You could always get a taxi back to town.’

For a moment, she thought he meant it, and her face turned towards his in sudden anxiety. But when the lights changed, and he accelerated over the bridge, he didn’t turn into the hotel yard, and she realised he had only been baiting her again. It seemed he had accepted that, however compromised he might feel, he had to take her to Bellthorpe, to the dower house he’d purchased on the Haversham estate.

It was full dark by the time they reached Bellthorpe, and the rain that had accompanied them from Newcastle was now a steady downpour. Yet, for all that, there were a few people about in the village, and the windows of the post office and general stores cast a shaft of yellowish light across the road.

When Neil had first bought the house here, Maggie had thought he was crazy. When would he ever find the time to live here? she’d asked. His work was in London. The recording studios were there.

Of course she hadn’t realised then that Neil was planning on giving up his recording career, that his ambition had changed to one of writing music instead of performing it. She’d been so wrapped up in creating her own identity, she had not noticed he was having a crisis with his. She’d been so selfish—she could admit it now—and stupid. But she doubted Neil would believe her if she said so.

The Haversham estate extended almost to the outskirts of the village. When Neil had moved here from the house they had owned in Buckinghamshire—how many years ago? Six? Seven?—the estate had been owned by an elderly recluse called Sarah Cavendish, and Maggie remembered making a rather poor joke about Great Expectations, and what a pity it was that Miss Cavendish hadn’t been called Haversham, too. She’d even made fun of Neil, by suggesting that if he stayed here long enough people would forget him, as well. But, of course, they never had...

The house Neil had bought had once been occupied by the various widows of the family who’d owned the estate in the nineteenth century, when the eldest son inherited his father’s position in the community. But it was years since it had been used for its original purpose, and when Neil had bought the property it had been in an appalling state of repair. The last tenant had been a farm labourer, who had left before the last war, and Maggie had considered Neil’s offer ludicrous, for a house that, in her opinion, wanted pulling down.

Of course, she had had to eat her words. Time—and money—had worked wonders, and by the time it was ready for habitation even she had had to agree that it had become a home to be proud of. The trouble was, she had still wanted to live near London, and no house in Northumberland, however luxurious, could compensate her for that.

She remembered they had had their own entrance to the estate. The dower house was situated some distance from Haversham House itself, and it had been convenient, not just for Neil but for Miss Cavendish as well, for them to use an alternative way in. Consequently, she was surprised when Neil slowed at the tall iron gates that guarded the main entrance, and she cast him a puzzled look as they turned into the entry.

But before she could say anything a man emerged from the conical-roofed lodge that stood just inside the gates, and with some ceremony threw the gates wide for them to drive through.

‘Evening, Mr Jordan,’ he said as Neil lowered his window to thank him. He shielded his eyes against the downpour, and looked at Neil with evident respect. ‘I found that break in the fence, like you said, and I’ve had a word with Ben Armstrong’s man just this afternoon.’

‘Great.’ Maggie got the impression Neil would have avoided this discussion if he could. ‘I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow, Frank. You get on in out of this rain.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The man pulled a wry face. ‘At least it’s better than the snow. Did you hear the forecast? They say there’s a depression coming over from the continent.’

‘No, I didn’t hear that.’ Maggie could hear the controlled patience in Neil’s voice. ‘Goodnight, Frank. Give my regards to Rachel.’

‘I will.’

The man stood back, and Neil accelerated away along the drive. In the wing mirror on her side of the car, Maggie could see the lodge-keeper closing the gates behind them, and her brows drew together in an expression of disbelief.

‘You know,’ she said, trying to sound casual, ‘if I didn’t know better, I’d say that man was treating you like his employer.’ She paused. ‘Are you?’

Neil’s eyes were glued to the streaming track illuminated by the headlights. ‘Am I what?’ he asked, but she knew he was only avoiding the question.

‘His employer,’ she repeated tightly. ‘Dear God, Neil, do you own the whole estate?’

‘And if I do?’

Her lips parted. ‘You never told me!’

‘Why should I? What I do has nothing to do with you.’

There was an edge to his voice now, but she didn’t notice it. ‘So what happened to Miss Cavendish? Did you force her to leave, too?’

Neil cast her a look that she could only sense in the dim light from the dashboard, but the temperature in the vehicle had dropped several degrees. ‘She died,’ he said coldly. ‘People do, when they get old. Don’t judge everyone by your standards, Maggie. Miss Cavendish had done nothing wrong.’

Maggie’s jaw felt tight. ‘And I had?’

‘Well, hadn’t you?’ he queried, with an irritating trace of contempt in his voice. He heaved a sigh. ‘I think it’s best if we don’t discuss the past, don’t you, Maggie? We said all there was to say five years ago. There’s not much point in rehashing old scores now.’

Maggie said nothing. She was already regretting coming here, giving Neil the right to treat her as he liked. She didn’t want to be beholden to him; she didn’t want to ask him for anything. If it weren’t for Lindsey she wouldn’t be here. Couldn’t he at least give her the benefit of the doubt?

There were bushes edging the drive, dripping with water at present, a far cry from the riot of colour they presented in spring. When she’d first seen them, Neil had told her they were rhododendrons, and even she had had to admit that their lush blooms of yellow and red and purple were magnificent. On a clear day, they had provided a useful screen for the house, but tonight there was no need of any cultivated concealment.

Nevertheless, when they emerged from the tall banks of greenery onto the open forecourt before the house Maggie couldn’t deny a sudden feeling of liberation. The front of the house was illuminated, and the light spread over the blocked paving of the courtyard. She could see now that the stagnant pool that had once provided a centre-piece was gone, and in its place a fountain, in the shape of a nymph playing coyly in the water, added its rhythm to the falling rain.

Outwardly, the house itself was little changed. There was still greenery growing over its walls, and the tall mullioned windows still flanked the double doors with their pedimented portico. But instead of being dark many of the windows were lit, and in the late afternoon gloom it had an undeniable appeal.

Maggie drew her lower lip between her teeth. She thought she understood why Neil had been reluctant to bring her here. The dower house—well, they had once shared that, if only infrequently, but this place could hold no memories for him. It must have been deliberate, a desire to move into a place in which she had played no part? Or had he always intended to move here, once old Miss Cavendish had gone?

The Range Rover stopped, and as if on cue the doors of the house opened, and a man appeared in the aperture. He was heavier than she remembered, but no less recognisable, and she cast a glance at Neil, as if waiting for his permission to alight.

‘As you can see, Luke is looking forward to meeting you,’ he remarked without expression. He opened his door. ‘You’d better run. This is the kind of rain that can soak you through in seconds.’

Maggie knew a moment’s panic. ‘Nei!—’

‘Go on,’ he said, rather more harshly. ‘He’s waiting. If you hesitate any longer, he’ll think there’s something wrong.’

Maggie’s lips tightened. ‘And isn’t there?’

‘Not as far as I’m concerned,’ remarked her ex-husband coolly. ‘I’ve got your bag. Go ahead.’


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_a9e0e3b4-3616-569c-9650-6a18737d55e0)

MAGGIE paced restlessly about the bedroom, wondering when Neil was going to find the time to talk to her. Since they had arrived at the house, he had become frustratingly elusive, and it had been left to Luke Parry to make her feel at home.

Well, perhaps not that, she conceded, admitting that even Luke—dear Luke—had found it difficult to treat her as if nothing untoward had happened. It was five years for all of them, after all, and there was no denying that, however friendly he appeared, in any argument between them he would always take Neil’s side.

Which was only as it should be, she supposed. What had happened between her and Neil would have stretched any bonds of friendship between herself and Luke, and he was unlikely to forget how much he owed his friend and employer.

Nevertheless, he had eased the awkwardness of her arrival. When Neil had stood back to allow her to precede him into the house, it had been Luke who had taken her hands and drawn her into the warmth of the firelit entrance hall, who had helped her out of her coat, and handed it to the round dumpling of a woman who she had later learned was Mrs Fenwick, Neil’s new housekeeper.

‘Maggie,’ he’d said, gazing at her in his old approving way, as if he couldn’t see the dark rings that underlined her eyes, or the traces of grey in her ash-blonde hair. ‘Beautiful, as always. How do you do it?’

‘By hypnotising the beholder,’ she replied, with a wry glance over her shoulder. But Neil hadn’t followed them into the spacious drawing room that opened off the hall, so he hadn’t heard what Luke had said. Instead, she could hear his voice as he spoke to Mrs Fenwick, and although she couldn’t hear every word she heard enough to know he was telling the woman that she would be spending the night.

‘I don’t think that’s true,’ declared Luke, indicating that she should seat herself in front of yet another log fire. Although the house was obviously centrally heated, the open fires created an atmosphere of warmth and comfort in the huge, high-ceilinged rooms. Rooms which had been expertly designed and renovated, so that Maggie’s vision of cobwebs and crumbling plaster was banished for ever. ‘How are you, Maggie? It’s been a long time.’

It was only as Luke lowered himself with rather more care than usual onto the teal-green velvet sofa beside her that Maggie remembered what Neil had told her about him twisting his knee. He had made such a good job of hiding it up until that point, but bending it was obviously painful and Maggie felt a sense of shame.

‘I’m fine,’ she responded. ‘How about you? Neil told me you’d twisted your knee. And that you’d had a motorcycle accident.’

‘Neil should mind his own business,’ declared Luke firmly, but there was no real censure in his voice. ‘Believe it or not, I twisted my knee getting down from Sinbad. Oh—’ he grinned at her puzzled expression ‘—he’s the old hunter Neil keeps in the stables.’

Maggie’s brows arched. ‘You ride?’

‘Yeah.’ He grinned. ‘Amazing, isn’t it? Ten years ago, I wouldn’t have known one end of a horse from the other.’ He grimaced. ‘But Neil is the biggest landowner hereabouts, and it’s not always possible to reach every part of the estate in the four-by-four.’

‘I see.’ Maggie shook her head, trying to picture it. ‘Neil rides too?’

‘Oh, sure.’ Luke’s pale, still boyish features were a little ruddy now with embarrassment. ‘Things have changed around here since Miss Cavendish died. No offence to you, Mags, but I think Neil’s beginning to enjoy life again.’

Maggie managed a smile, but it took an effort. Yet it was what she wanted, wasn’t it? she asked herself. The past— well, the past was water under the bridge now, as they say, and whatever resentments Neil might still be nurturing towards her she was glad that she apparently hadn’t ruined his life.

‘That’s good,’ she said, albeit a little tensely, and determinedly turned her attention to the beautifully appointed room.

However doubtful she might have been about Neil’s decision to move into the house, it was obvious that someone with taste had done the renovations. She refused to speculate how much money Neil must have spent, or why he had felt the need to buy a larger property. Nevertheless, it crossed her mind that the rug alone must have cost a small fortune, and what use she could have made of such a sum when her business had started to Hag.

She drew a breath. How things had changed. When she’d first met Neil, he’d regarded her parents’ modest semi with some admiration. He’d been brought up in a terraced house near the docks. Abandoned by his mother, he’d been raised by elderly grandparents, and he freely admitted he’d run wild when he was a teenager. But a spell in the army, and the opportunity to learn a musical instrument, had been the making of him, and pretty soon his ability both to write and perform his own music had been noticed.

Neil himself had always been essentially modest about his own achievements, which was another reason why he had become so successful. He could communicate with young people, and they could identify with him, and his pop career had gone from.strength to strength...

‘How’s Lindsey?’

There it was. That question again, and this time no reason not to answer Luke. ‘Oh—she’s OK,’ she replied, smooth- ing the fabric of her skirt along the thigh. She glanced towards the door. ‘Where’s Neil gone?’

‘To arrange for some tea, I should think,’ declared Luke, leaning towards the fire and jabbing at a precariously balanced log with his boot. ‘Unless you’d prefer something stronger.’ He gestured towards the cabinet behind him. ‘Scotch, perhaps? Or a sherry?’

‘Tea will be fine.’

Her response was less than enthusiastic, but she hadn’t bargained on this long tête-à-tête with Luke. But it was typical of Neil to attempt to turn the tables on her. He must know she wouldn’t have come all this way unless it was something serious. Just because she’d refused to discuss her problems in the car, he was choosing to keep her waiting.

‘Did you have a good journey?’

Luke was speaking again, and, realising that she couldn’t blame him for Neil’s shortcomings, Maggie nodded. ‘It was quite a novelty,’ she said. ‘It’s ages since I’ve travelled on a train.’

‘You could have flown up,’ Luke pointed out, inadvertently putting his finger on something she preferred not to discuss. How could she explain that she’d needed the time the train took to cover the miles to gather her composure? A flight would have been too quick. It was important that she maintain the fiction that there was a huge physical distance between them.

‘I—’

‘Maggie doesn’t really like planes. Don’t you remember?’

While she had been struggling to come up with a suitable answer, Neil had entered the room behind them. He had shed his jacket, and now he walked across to prop one foot on the fender. It enabled her to take her first real look at him, and despite all her fine resolutions her stomach clenched.

It wasn’t fair, she thought. She had changed. She knew she had. She had lines where she had never had lines before, and although she wasn’t fat her waistline was a couple of inches thicker than it used to be. But Neil had barely changed at all. He was still tall, still lean, still moved with the unconscious grace of an athlete, and his raw-boned, angular features still possessed their addictive charm.

He was not a handsome man, but then, Maggie had never been attracted to men who were simply good-looking. The smooth-chested hunks she’d come into contact with in the course of her work had usually proved to have brawn, but no brains, whereas, for all his chequered upbringing, Neil’s wit was as sharp as a knife.

Which was why, when he draped his elbow on the black marble mantel and looked down at her with dark, mocking eyes, she found herself incapable of parrying his remarks as she should. Dear God, she thought, looking down at her hands in sudden horrified confusion, he shouldn’t still be able to disconcert her, but he did. She had been apprehensive of seeing him again, it was true, but she hadn’t imagined the emotional upheaval it would cause her.

‘Oh, yeah.’ To her relief, Luke was answering him, giving her a few moments to collect herself. ‘I’d forgotten,’ he was saying. ‘But it is some time since I’ve seen her. In any case, she overcame it. Isn’t that right, Mags?’

Mags!

Maggie steeled herself against the urge to scream at him—at both of them—that that was not her name, but she knew it was just a reaction to the way she was feeling. She had to come to terms with the fact that the way Neil looked should not concern her. She wasn’t an impressionable girl any more, and Neil wasn’t interested in her body.

The reappearance of the housekeeper came as a welcome relief. The woman came bustling in, carrying a tray containing tea, shortbread biscuits and thickly buttered scones. She set the tray on the square lacquered table that stood between the sofa Maggie and Luke were occupying and its twin which stood opposite, and then straightened to give her employer a beaming smile.

‘Will you be wanting anything else, Mr Jordan?’ she asked, and Neil shook his head.

‘This is fine, Mrs Fenwick,’ he said. ‘And by the way, this is Miss—I beg your pardon—Ms Freeman. As I said before, she’ll be staying until tomorrow, and I know you’ll make her welcome.’

‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Ms Freeman,’ declared the housekeeper cheerfully, and Maggie was forced to give her an answering smile.

‘And I you, Mrs Fenwick,’ she said, flushing with indignation at Neil’s introduction. And, although it wasn’t a question she would normally have asked, she added, ‘Have you been at Haversham long?’

‘About two years, Ms Freeman,’ Mrs Fenwick replied, apparently seeing nothing wrong with the enquiry. ‘I came to work for Mr Jordan when he moved here from the old dower house.’

‘Did you?’

Maggie’s eyes Hicked over her ex-husband’s face, registering the irritation he was feeling at her curiosity. But at least she knew how long Neil had lived in this house now, which was something she’d have been loath to ask him.

‘Well...’ As if sensing that her employer didn’t approve of her chattering with his guest, Mrs Fenwick smiled again and made for the door. ‘I’ll let you get your tea. Supper’s at eight o’clock, Ms Freeman. But I expect Mr Jordan will tell you about that.’

‘Thank you.’

Maggie was almost sorry the woman had gone, not least because Neil was now glowering at her with undisguised impatience. ‘If you wanted to know how long I’d lived here, you should have asked me,’ he declared tersely. ‘Mrs Fenwick isn’t here to satisfy your morbid interest in my affairs.’

Aware of Luke’s discomfort, Maggie didn’t respond as she might have done. ‘It’s not a morbid interest,’ she denied, making an effort to speak politely. ‘I just didn’t remember Lindsey mentioning the fact that you’d moved.’

‘As you’ve stopped Lindsey from coming to Haversham for the past two years, that’s understandable,’ retorted Neil, seating himself on the sofa opposite. He picked up the teapot. ‘As you never liked being mother, shall I pour the tea?’

Maggie’s nails dug into her palms. ‘You have no right to say that,’ she declared, deciding that if he wasn’t prepared to respect Luke’s feelings why should she?

‘To say what?’ Neil countered, and she took a quivering breath.

‘That I never like being a mother!’ she exclaimed, casting a helpless look in Luke’s direction. ‘And I’ve never stopped Lindsey from coming here. If she’s stayed away, it’s no fault of mine.’

Neil’s eyes bored into hers. ‘Are you saying it’s mine?’

Maggie held up her head. ‘I don’t make accusations,’ she replied, wishing she had never given him the chance to make her feel small. She glanced at Luke once again. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘Neil always has to win every argument.’

Luke shifted a little uncomfortably. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said, clearly unwilling to take sides. ‘Um—why don’t you have one of Mrs Fenwick’s scones? She’s a far better cook than Mrs Benson.’

Maggie felt as if she couldn’t eat a thing. Her throat had closed up, and there was a sickly feeling in her stomach. ‘Maybe later,’ she said as Neil set a cup of tea on the table in front of her. ‘I’m not very hungry right now.’

‘Perhaps you’d like to rest for a while before supper,’ suggested Luke, when Neil made no further comment. ‘You’ll find we have a wonderful view from the upstairs windows, although of course you won’t be able to see anything tonight.’

‘I—’

‘That’s a good idea,’ declared Neil infuriatingly, leaning back against the soft velvet upholstery and taking a bite out of the warm scone he held in his hand. He licked a curl of butter from his lip with what Maggie knew was deliberate provocation. ‘We’re in no hurry to talk, are we, Maggie? I’m sure you’d appreciate some time to freshen up.’

Which was how she came to be pacing the bedroom she had been allotted now, facing the prospect of several more unproductive hours before Neil might deign to grant her his undivided attention. What was she supposed to do? He couldn’t really expect her to rest when she had so much on her mind. But, of course, he’d say that he wasn’t aware of that. After all, she hadn’t confided in him.

She paused by the curtained windows, peering out, but all she could see was darkness. And raindrops, sliding continuously down the window-panes, dripping in eerie counterpoint from the trees.

She turned to look at the room behind her. It was a huge apartment, reaching up some twelve feet to the embossed ceiling, with a delicately sculpted cornice above the silklined walls. The bed dominated the room; large and four-posted, it nevertheless possessed a very comfortable mattress, as Maggie had already noted. The headboard was carved, and the bedspread was made of peach-coloured brocade, buttoned, to match the heavy curtains at the windows.

Beside the bed were two small cabinets, on which resided a pair of peach-shaded lamps. There were flowers there, too, a fragrant display of roses and chrysanthemums, whose colours blended perfectly with the rest.

Two comfortable armchairs flanked a studded chest, which Maggie guessed served the dual purpose of storage compartment and table, while several other tables and an exquisite French bureau gave the room an appealing sense of intimacy.

She’d already discovered that there was an adjoining dressing room, where guests could hang their clothes in huge closets that could surely never be filled. And beyond the dressing room she had her own spacious bathroom, again furnished with every conceivable luxury.

Maggie sighed. She hadn’t come here to admire Neil’s house, she thought frustratedly. She hadn’t even known he’d moved house, for heaven’s sake, and although it was all very beautiful it could mean nothing to her. But, the way he was behaving, it might be tomorrow before she got to speak to him alone, and she couldn’t afford to stay away too long.

She wondered what Lindsey was doing at this moment. She knew better than to hope that her sister had had any more success with her than she had. If Lindsey wanted to see Mike Reynolds, she’d see him whether her mother and her aunt wanted her to or not. She was completely uncontrollable, and Maggie was at her wits’ end worrying about her.

She took a deep breath and straightened away from the window. Perhaps if she took a shower she’d feel better, she thought. At least it would fill in some time, and although she hadn’t brought a change of outfit she had brought a change of underwear. Or perhaps a bath, she considered as she entered the bathroom. It was years since she’d had a jacuzzi. Not since she and Neil had shared one in Singapore...

But she didn’t want to think of that now, didn’t want to think of Neil in any other way than the way he had behaved earlier that afternoon. He’d expected her not to say anything, not to do anything to embarrass Luke. Yet he’d had no qualms about embarrassing her.

Pulling off her knitted waistcoat, her hands went to the buttoned fastening of her skirt. It fell to the floor, pooling about her ankles, and she stepped out of it to pull off her boots.

When she straightened, her eyes were irresistibly drawn to her reflection in the mirrored walls around her. God, she thought, this room did nothing for her ego. In her black skinny-rib sweater and pantihose, she was sure she looked every inch her age.

The sweater came off next, revealing the lacy contours of her bra. Her breasts were fuller these days, almost spilling out of the low-cut fabric, the V between them accentuated as she leant forward to turn on the taps.

Yet, for all she deplored the image the mirrors threw back at her, her eyes were drawn to them again and again. There was something almost sensual—almost sinful—in watching herself undress, and she was glad when the bath was full, and she could subside beneath the water.

And it was relaxing, amazingly so. Lying there, gazing up at the recessed lights above her head, she could feel much of the tension seeping out of her. She was here, wasn’t she? she thought placidly. She had achieved her first objective. And she’d get to speak to Neil eventually, if she succeeded in avoiding the arguments he seemed to enjoy provoking.

Her eyes closed. Her head was propped on the rest at the end of the bath, made specially for just that purpose, and it was so delightful to submit to her own body’s needs for a change. For weeks—months—all she’d thought of was Lindsey. Lindsey’s needs, Lindsey’s demands, Lindsey’s future. It was heaven not to think of her daughter for a while, not to worry about what she was going to do...

‘Don’t you know it’s dangerous to sleep in the bath?’

For a moment, Maggie didn’t know where she was, and Neil’s mocking voice didn’t mean anything to her. She must have fallen asleep, she thought, because the water was beginning to feel cold, and she shivered as she forced herself to sit up.

And then she saw him, his lean frame reflected over and over in the mirrors all around her. He was propped against the open doorway that led into the adjoining dressing room, watching her with careless indifference as she struggled to hide her reaction from him.

‘How did you get in?’ she demanded, her hand reaching automatically for the facecloth to cover her puckered breasts, and then withdrawing again. Why should she be coy when he knew exactly what she was hiding? she decided tautly. Her breasts were one of her better features, even if they weren’t as young and firm as they’d once been.

‘How do you think?’ Neil responded, and although his tone was just as careless she knew he’d noticed her body. His eyes had flickered. nothing more, but between her legs she felt a melting sensation that had nothing to do with why she was here.

‘Then I suggest you get out again,’ she said, realising that such feelings were exactly why she hadn’t wanted to come. The last thing she wanted to do was let him see he could still disturb her. She must not let him get the upper hand, however emotional he made her feel.

Neil straightened, but he didn’t turn away. He had changed his clothes, and she couldn’t help noticing how well the cream collarless shirt and dark brown trousers suited him. The shirt was loose, but the trousers were tight, enveloping his long legs and powerful thighs like a second skin. Dear God, she thought, why had she ever thought Oliver Massey was attractive? Compared to Neil, he was just a cipher—a man she had trusted, and who had betrayed her in the cruellest kind of way.

‘Believe it or not, but Luke was worried about you,’ he said, raising one hand to support himself against the overhead lintel. ‘It’s nearly eight o’clock, or hadn’t you noticed? He’s waiting for you to join us downstairs.’

Maggie tightened her lips. ‘And you’re not?’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’ Now there was no mistaking the studied appraisal he gave her. ‘You’re still a beautiful woman, Maggie. I’m sure you know that as well as me. How many men have told you so in the last five years, I wonder? How many men have seen you as I’m seeing you now?’

Maggie bit back the urge to tell him. None! None! she wanted to cry, but admitting it would just be playing into his hands. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ she remarked instead, deliberately standing up so that he could see all of her. She reached for a towel and began to dry herself. ‘What’s the matter, Neil? Have you taken to being a voyeur in your old age?’

If she’d thought to disconcert him, she was sadly disappointed. ‘Perhaps I have,’ he answered, his dark eyes mirroring his contempt. ‘When you’re ready, we’ll have supper. I’ll tell Luke you’re on your way, shall I?’

‘If that’s what you want to do,’ said Maggie, hardly aware of what she was saying with those penetrating eyes stripping away everything, even her skin. She was naked before him, naked and vulnerable, but how vulnerable she hadn’t realised until this moment.

‘You have no idea what I want to do,’ he retorted, just when she was thinking he was completely invincible, and she was trembling so badly, she could hardly step out of the bath. ‘Just don’t push your luck, Maggie. I’m not the fool I once was. Believe me, I’m still tempted to send you back where you belong.’

Maggie wrapped the towel about her, and took a deep breath. ‘Lindsey, too?’ she asked tautly, and he scowled at her defiant face.

‘Why not?’ he said carelessly.

‘Because she’s your daughter,’ retorted Maggie harshly, and Neil’s arm dropped to his side.

‘Is she?’ he asked, and Maggie stared at him disbelievingly. ‘How do I know that some other man’s not her father?’

Maggie gulped. ‘That’s a foul thing to say.’

‘But not unwarranted,’ he declared, turning so that his back was against the jamb. ‘You’ve lied to me before, Maggie. Don’t make me go into details. I’m fit to pay her bills, but little else, it seems.’

‘That’s not my fault!’

‘So you say.’

‘It’s the truth.’ Maggie shook her head helplessly. ‘If you’d let me explain...’

‘Later,’ he said, wearily now. ‘Luke’s waiting for his supper. I suggest you put some clothes on and join us.’


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_a9e0e3b4-3616-569c-9650-6a18737d55e0)

MAGGIE wished she’d brought a change of clothes with her when she saw that Luke had put on a fresh shirt and tie, too. He got awkwardly to his feet as she walked into the drawing room fifteen minutes later, and she offered a rueful apology for being late.

‘No sweat,’ he averred, glancing at Neil, who was standing in his previous position on the hearth. ‘Did you have a rest?’

Hardly, thought Maggie half-impatiently, her eyes seeking Neil’s, as if for confirmation. Had he told Luke what had happened? She rather doubted it. She sighed. Of course. He wouldn’t want to embarrass the other man.

‘I had a bath,’ she said, aware that Neil was watching her and wondering what he’d say if she told Luke he’d entered her bedroom without permission. More than that, he’d entered her bathroom, and shown no shame at the intrusion. He’d violated her privacy. No wonder he hadn’t told his friend.

‘Good idea,’ approved Luke, totally unaware of the undercurrents in the room, or, if he was, making a valiant effort not to show it. ‘I enjoy a shower as much as anyone, but nothing beats the comfort of a hot bath on a cold day.’

‘Or night,’ said Maggie, accepting the glass of sherry he offered her. She sipped it experimentally. ‘Mmm, this is nice. Amontillado.’

‘That’s right.’ Luke was pleased. ‘I remember now. It’s your favourite.’

‘I don’t recall Maggie having a favourite,’ retorted Neil, spoiling the moment. ‘Unless it was Scotch. I remember she was once very fond of that.’

Maggie refused to be provoked and, as if grateful for her forbearance, Luke urged her to sit down. He joined her on the sofa again, clearly glad to be off his injured leg, and Maggie contented herself with looking about the room.

Like the bedroom upstairs, the high ceiling gave it an added elegance. Tall Chinese cabinets were set against wine silk walls, with a proliferation of pictures in between. There were two pairs of end tables, adorned by either vases of flowers or in one case a Tiffany lamp, and beneath the long windows, swagged now with dark green velvet curtains, a grand piano stood, with its lid upraised. Maggie guessed that when the curtains were open the view from its matching stool must be quite impressive.

‘Your bedroom’s warm enough?’ Luke persisted, obviously feeling an obligation to make their guest feel at home, and Maggie nodded.

‘It’s lovely,’ she assured him, pressing her back against the cushions behind her, and Luke reached for his own glass of Scotch, residing on the table nearby.

‘I suppose Lindsey’s quite grown-up now,’ he continued, and although Maggie refused to look in Neil’s direction she sensed his close attention to her answer. She was tempted to change the subject, to see how he’d react. But she didn’t.

‘She’s seventeen,’ she agreed instead, taking refuge in her sherry. Then she asked, ‘Do you ever see Barbara these days?’

She hadn’t meant to embarrass him, but it was obvious she had. Luke and Barbara had got married soon after herself and Neil, but it had been apparent, right from the start, that it wasn’t going to work. Maggie had had the suspicion that Luke had only got married to prove he could sustain a relationship, and by the time he’d realised his mistake Barbara was expecting twins.

The twins—both boys—must be nearly sixteen now, she thought—about a year younger than Lindsey. It would have been good if they’d lived close by. When she’d known them they’d been a lot like Luke: shy and sensitive. They might have had an improving influence on her daughter.

‘Barbara’s married again,’ Luke conceded at last, and Maggie sensed that Neil resented her enquiry more than he did. She didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if Luke had been heartbroken when they’d split up. And he’d maintained a good relationship with his sons, which said a tot for his character.

‘Would you like to come through?’

Mrs Fenwick’s arrival eased the moment, and Luke got almost eagerly to his feet. His face twisted in pain as he jarred his knee, but it proved he welcomed the opportunity to avoid any further discussion of his affairs.

The dining room was across the hall, and Maggie took more notice of her surroundings. When she’d first entered the house, she’d allowed Luke’s welcome to distract her, but now she was able to admire the Italian tiles beneath her feet, and the huge stone fireplace, above which the portrait of a seventeenth-century woman and her children took pride of place.

‘That’s Neil’s Velazquez,’ said Luke, seeing her interest and grateful for any diversion, however oblique.

‘It’s beautiful,’ said Maggie, wondering when Neil had become such a connoisseur. Was that what this house had done to him? Turned him into a man she barely recognised?

The dining room was panelled in oak, with a long polished table that was presently set for only three. But, looking along its length, Maggie could quite believe it could seat at least twenty, and she wondered if her ex-husband often gave dinner parties.

If he did, that too was a change from his previous way of living. When they’d been together, he had deplored the parties given by his friends and colleagues in the music business—parties where drugs and alcohol had been freely available, and you weren’t considered to be enjoying yourself unless you were high. Maggie hadn’t liked them to begin with, but they had been a way of asserting her independence, and when things between them had become unpleasant she had gone on her own...

The food Mrs Fenwick served was superb, and quite endorsed Luke’s assertion that she was a better cook than Mrs Benson. The previous housekeeper had served what she called ‘good English food’ but Maggie would have argued with that presumption. She was sure Mrs Benson’s stodgy puddings and soggy vegetables would have turned a stronger stomach than hers.

They ate a creamy watercress mousse, saddle of lamb with new potatoes and green beans, and a fruit compote to finish. Nothing stodgy, nothing heavy, nothing to lie uncomfortably on the stomach when you retired. The whole meal was a delight, as was the freshly brewed coffee that followed, which was served back in the drawing room, in front of the fire.

In spite of her misgivings earlier, the conversation during the meal had not been stilted, even if they had stuck to uncontroversial issues. And, toasting her toes before the fire, Maggie reflected that they could be old friends—at least, that was the image an outsider might be forced to believe.

‘Does—er—does Mrs Fenwick do everything?’ she asked, accepting a second cup of coffee, and this time Neil chose to answer her himself.

‘In a house this size?’ he asked wryly. ‘No, I don’t think she could manage alone, even though she is very efficient. But she and her husband are the only members of staff who live on the premises.’

Maggie arched a dark brow. ‘Her husband? The man we saw at the gatehouse when we arrived?’

‘No.’ Neil was patient. ‘The man you saw was Frank Pitt. He works on the estate. Mrs Fenwick’s husband is the gardener, and occasional chauffeur.’

‘I see.’

Maggie was impressed. By her reckoning that was at least four people working directly for Neil, and goodness knew how many more in the stables and about the estate. Some of the land was tenanted, of course—she remembered that from when they had first come here—but it was obvious that Neil took his position seriously.

Her lips twisted. Neil had always known what he wanted out of life, whereas she had spent the past ten years trying to find her own identity. It had been different when she was younger. Then, just the fact that she was Neil’s wife had been enough. When had she started being dissatisfied with that scenario? When had she begun to believe that life owed her a living too?

Luke finished his coffee, and set his cup back on the tray. ‘Well—’ he yawned, stretching his arms above his head ‘—I think I’m ready to call it a day.’ He looked at Maggie. ‘I expect I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll come over for breakfast, if it’s all right with Neil?’

‘Come over?’ Maggie moistened lips that were suddenly dry. ‘But I thought—’ She broke off, and then began again. ‘Don’t you live in the house?’

‘Not precisely,’ said Luke, grinning. ‘As a matter of fact, I have my own apartment over the garage. Oh, don’t worty—’ this as he saw her expression ‘—it’s really very comfortable. You’ll have to see it tomorrow. I’ll give you a guided tour before you leave.’

Before she left.

Maggie managed a tight smile. ‘Thanks.’

But she was still aware of a feeling of apprehension. Which was silly really, because she couldn’t have expected any support from him. But she’d felt more relaxed knowing he was within calling distance. The knowledge that there’d only be herself and Neil in the house—discounting his other employees, of course—was rather daunting.

Yet why should that be so? she asked herself as Neil escorted the other man to the door. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t spent a good portion of their lives together, even if they had been seldom entirely on their own. It was the memory of that treacherous weakening she had felt in the bath that troubled her, she knew. The awareness that she wasn’t as indifferent to him as she’d like to appear. She could think of nothing more embarrassing, more painful than allowing him to think she had some hidden agenda of her own in coming here.

She was aware that Neil had returned before he came round the sofa to resume his seat. She felt his presence the minute he appeared in the doorway, knew that he paused there for a moment, probably deliberately, assessing how he would handle her request.

Not that he knew what that request was—yet. But he must have guessed it was something serious, as she hadn’t been willing to discuss it in the car. What was he thinking? she wondered. Was he speculating on how he would refuse her? Although she had made the journey, she wasn’t totally optimistic, particularly after that crack he had made about Lindsey earlier.

‘Would you like a drink?’ he enquired, his hand hovering over the tray of bottles and decanters residing on a small table against the wall, and Maggie shook her head. She’d had sherry—and wine—and she needed her wits about her. Apart from not giving him another chance of criticising her lack of sobriety.

‘Not for me,’ she said, unable to prevent herself from shifting a little nervously in her seat. She wished he would just sit down and listen to her. She was tired of this game of cat-and-mouse, tired of bearing the burden she carried alone.

‘You don’t mind if I do?’

She shook her head again, biting hard on her lower lip to stop herself screaming. Her nerves felt as if they were stretched to breaking point, and she was pretty sure he knew it, too.

‘OK.’ At last, he seated himself across the table from her again, sitting forward on the sofa cushions, legs splayed, hands holding his glass of either Scotch or brandy suspended between them. ‘How much?’

Maggie swallowed her chagrin. ‘How much what?’ ‘Oh, please.’ Neil heaved a weary sigh. ‘How much is it going to cost me to get rid of you?’

Maggie could hardly speak now. ‘Why, you—you—’ ‘Bastard?’ he queried flatly. ‘I sensed your feelings towards me in the car. Nevertheless, I think we should be honest with one another. There’s nothing much else left between us. You implied that Lindsey’s in some kind of trouble, so how much is it going to take to bail her out?’

Maggie pressed her lips together to prevent them from trembling. ‘You think money can cure everything, don’t you?’

‘And you’re going to tell me it can’t?’

‘Yes.’ Maggie shook her head. ‘If only it were that simple. Do you think I’d have come to you if all I needed was money?’ Her lips quivered. ‘I’d have mortgaged everything I owned before I asked you for a loan!’

Neil’s eyes flickered. ‘Then I don’t see what else I can do,’ he averred. ‘Lindsey’s too old for me to punish. I doubt she’d take any notice if I did.’

‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ Maggie permitted him a fleeting look from between her lashes. ‘I suppose we haven’t set her a very good example.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ retorted Neil sharply. ‘I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of, and don’t you forget it.’ He halted, as if realising they’d get nowhere by sniping at each other. ‘So what is it? What’s she done? What kind of trouble is she in?’

‘She says she’s in love with Mike Reynolds.’

‘You’re crazy!’

She’d caught his attention now, and Maggie allowed herself a moment’s satisfaction at his furious reaction. Then, ‘I wish I were,’ she declared offhandedly. ‘Now do you see why I had to come?’

Neil stared at her in horror. ‘But Reynolds is my age!’

‘Do you think I don’t know that?’

‘So what the hell is he doing playing around with someone who’s little more than a kid?’

‘Lindsey’s seventeen,’ Maggie reminded him gently.

‘She wouldn’t appreciate your calling her a schoolgirl. These last two years—well, she’s grown up. I can’t tell her what to do any more.’ She paused. ‘If I ever could.’

‘Have you tried?’

That caught her on the raw. ‘Of course I’ve tried. Do you think I want her involved with him?’

‘I don’t know what you want,’ said Neil dourly, getting up from his seat and pacing restlessly about the room. ‘I sometimes think I never knew you at all.’

‘That’s not true!’

‘Isn’t it?’ He shrugged his shoulders, clearly using her as an outlet for his frustration. ‘You’ve never given a damn for anyone but yourself. Is it any wonder Lindsey’s screwed up now?’

Maggie chose not to answer that, and then stiffened when Neil came back to where she was sitting. But all he did was pick up his glass and empty it, returning to the tray to pour himself another. Having mixed it to his liking, he turned back to her again, swallowing a mouthful, and then crossing his arms at his waist.

‘So, what am I supposed to do about it? As I’ve already said, I don’t have any magic potion. I doubt if she’d even want to hear what I had to say.’

‘She might.’ Maggie composed herself. ‘It’s worth a try, anyway. If not...’ she paused ‘...Mike has his own agenda. He says he’ll drop Lindsey if you agree to make another album.’

‘What?’

Maggie drew an uneven breath. ‘I think you heard what I said.’

‘OK, I heard,’ he bit out savagely, ‘but you don’t seriously expect me to do it? I gave up performing seven years ago, and I don’t intend to make a come-back, for you or anyone else.’

‘Or Lindsey?’ ventured Maggie tautly, and Neil paused behind the sofa opposite to give her a killing look.

‘Or Lindsey,’ he snarled. ‘Goddammit, what are you trying to do to me? Why the hell should I disrupt my life for someone I hardly know?’

‘Someone you hardly know?’ Maggie could sit still no longer. She sprang to her feet to gaze angrily at him. ‘Until she was twelve, there was no one else in her life but you!’

‘Because you had no time for her.’

‘No. Because she idolised you, and you know it. For pity’s sake, don’t deny her identity, Neil. If you haven’t seen her recently, that’s as much your fault as hers.’

‘How is it?’ Neil scowled. ‘I’ve invited her here—several times. If she’s chosen not to come, that’s not my fault.’

‘She’s a teenager, Neil,’ retorted Maggie wearily. ‘Isn’t it natural that she finds there’s more to do in London?’

‘Are we talking about Reynolds here?’

‘No, we’re not.’ Maggie sighed. ‘That’s a fairly resent aberration. But she has friends—boyfriends, even—and a fairly active social life. She told me that the last time she came here you were working most of the time.’

A trace of colour entered Neil’s face now. ‘I didn’t realise she was bored.’ he said defensively. ‘Luke took her riding. They hired hacks from the local riding school in those days. She probably told you. And I believe he took her to the speedway stadium at Gateshead. When she was younger, she used to be keen on that’

‘She didn’t come all this way just to spend time with Luke,’ Maggie pointed out steadily. ‘She said she thought you weren’t really interested in what she did.’

‘Oh. and I suppose you jumped on that as a reason for keeping her away,’ inserted Neil angrily. ‘If she’d been living at Haversham, she’d never have got involved with the likes of Mike Reynolds, would she?’

Maggie stiffened. ‘Do you expect me to answer that?’

‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it? You never had any time for Lindsey when we were together, but as soon as I suggested I should have custody you did everything you could to stop me seeing her.’

‘That isn’t true.’ Maggie stared at him indignantly. ‘You know I’ve never stopped you seeing her whenever you wanted.’

‘But you wouldn’t let her live with me.’

Maggie sighed. ‘A girl needs her mother.’

‘And it was another way to hurt me—isn’t that nearer the truth?’

‘No.’ Maggie bent her head. ‘This is getting us nowhere.’

‘I agree.’ Neil finished his drink and went to pour himself a third. Then, turning, he surveyed her with bitter eyes. ‘Why should I help you now? You’ve never wanted my help before.’

Maggie expelled her breath. ‘No.’

Neil’s jaw compressed. ‘Why didn’t you bring her with you?’

Maggie shrugged. ‘She wouldn’t have come.’

‘She wouldn’t have come?’ Neil stared at her. ‘Why didn’t you make her? How the hell am I supposed to talk some sense into her if she’s in London and I’m here?’

‘You could go—’

To London?’ Neil shook his head. ‘No way.’

‘Then I’m wasting my time,’ said Maggie flatly. ‘Because you’ll never get her to come to Haversham. Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said? She thinks she’s in love with Mike Reynolds, and he’s the only person who can get through to her these days.’

‘The hell he is.’

Maggie started towards the door. ‘I’ll say goodnight,’ she said, making no attempt to repudiate his statement, but Neil muttered a savage oath before stepping deliberately into her path.

‘Like hell you will,’ he snarled. ‘We haven’t finished—not by a long way. Don’t think you can walk out of here after dropping that bombshell and expect me to forget all about it!’

‘I thought that was what you wanted to do.’

Maggie was forced to look up at him now—either that or appear afraid to do so. But it wasn’t easy facing him, when he was so close she could feel the heat of his body, so near she could smell the scent of what she could now recognise as brandy on his breath.

‘I never said that,’ he retorted harshly, and her eyes dropped to the shadow of his beard already darkening his jaw. To his mouth, which at present expressed all his frustration, and which she had once known as intimately as her own.

A quiver went through her, and she forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying. ‘You’re going to help me?’

‘We’ll see.’ Neil set his empty glass on a table, and flexed his fingers against his thighs. ‘Why don’t you come back and sit down and we’ll talk about it?’

Maggie held up her head. ‘If this is some sort of game...’

‘It’s not.’

Maggie hesitated, and with a muffled groan Neil turned her back into the room. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he said grimly, prodding her towards the sofa. ‘I’ve no intention of wasting my time—or yours.’


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_a9e0e3b4-3616-569c-9650-6a18737d55e0)

NOT for the first time since she’d arrived at Haversham, Maggie wished she had something different to wear. Her skirt was creased, and the skinny-rib sweater had a wine stain, she noticed unhappily.

Still, she had no choice but to wear it—and the skirt, she conceded ruefully. This wasn’t some fairy tale where, when she opened the wardrobes in her dressing room, she was suddenly confronted with a magical choice of clothes. Her cupboards were disappointingly empty. There wasn’t even a change of shoes.

Not that she had expected any. When she and Neil had separated, someone had taken intense pleasure in packing up all her belongings and forwarding them to her London house. They’d even sent the half-empty shampoo bottles she’d left in the bathroom. As if ensuring that she never attempted to visit Neil again.

Neil.

Still dressed in only her slip and pantihose, Maggie sank down onto the stool before the mirrored dressing table and regarded her reflection without liking. Hazel eyes stared back at her, green in some lights, and presently full of scorn for herself, and for the reason why she had come here. She’d known, before she left London, that, whatever resentment she might still hold towards her ex-husband, what she was going to ask him was outrageous. She’d known he’d never agree to it, not after all these years of sequestration. It wasn’t his problem. She’d made it hers when she’d accepted custody of their daughter. She couldn’t expect him to feel the same responsibility for Lindsey that she did. He was right. He owed Lindsey nothing. Certainly not the curtailment of his freedom, of the privacy he’d sought so long to maintain.

Yet when he’d insisted on her postponing her going to bed the night before she had known a brief spurt of expectation. She couldn’t think of any other reason why he might want to delay her and, for all her feelings of guilt and culpability, she had returned to her seat on the sofa, with the first shreds of hope she’d felt in a long time.

She should have known better. She should have realised that Lindsey’s involvement with a man old enough to be her father, and Neil’s estranged agent to boot, was unlikely to stir any but the most primitive feelings of resentment. Oh, sure, Neil didn’t like it, but throwing away his future for it was something else. He might find some other way to get back at Mike Reynolds for trying to blackmail him, but as far as he was concerned she was to blame.

Maggie’s lips trembled for a moment and, seeing it, she pressed an impatient hand against her mouth. You fool! she berated herself. You stupid fool! Did you have to lose what little dignity you possessed? Did you have to let him see how weak you were?

She sought blindly for her make-up case which was lying on the glass tray in front of her. Pulling out a jar of moist- urising foundation, she began to smooth it onto her face. Her skin was still supple, but she could only see the incipient wrinkles. Why was it that men aged so much slower? It wasn’t fair that women should bear that as well as everything else.

The first inkling she had had that Neil had more than a simple discussion in mind had come when, after getting them both a brandy, he’d chosen to sit beside her on the same sofa. Instead of removing himself to the comparative distance of the other sofa, he’d chosen to stretch his length beside her, his heels propped carelessly on the edge of the polished table, his thigh depressing the cushion by her hip.

‘So, tell me,’ he said, supporting his head with his hands linked at his nape, ‘how did Lindsey meet a rat like Mike Reynolds?’

Maggie endeavoured to appear unmoved by his proximity. ‘He—I—he already knew her.’

‘As a baby,’ he amended drily. ‘Lindsey was only ten when Reynolds and I parted company.’

‘I know that.’

‘So?’

‘So, all right.’ Maggie sighed. ‘She met him at a party given by the fashion wholesalers. They thought it would be fun, having some celebrities present.’

Neil looked at her out of the sides of his eyes. ‘Mike Reynolds is a celebrity?’ he said disbelievingly. ‘Since when?’

‘He has some celebrity clients,’ said Maggie uncomfortably, far too aware of the intensity of his gaze. ‘Not least yourself—at least, when you were working.’

Neil’s mouth turned down. ‘I haven’t stopped working.’

‘You know what I mean,’ declared Maggie, sighing.

‘Touring, doing gigs, appearing on Top of the Pops, that sort of thing.’ She ignored his ironic stare, and hurried on impulsively, ‘He still has several good bands on his books.’

‘Has he? I wouldn’t know.’

Neil’s tone was dismissive, but Maggie didn’t quite believe him. If she knew her ex-husband, he’d know exactly what Mike Reynolds was doing, and with whom. Since the man had cheated Neil out of more than a million pounds, she’d have expected him to be waiting for a chance to get even.

‘So, to advertise that rubbishy little business of yours, you introduced our daughter to the jerk of the year!’

‘No.’ Maggie was defensive. ‘And it’s not a rubbishy little business. We have two shops now. We have one in Bournemouth, as well as the one in London.’

“‘We?”’ Neil arched dark brows. ‘Is that the royal “we”, or do I take it you’ve got another man in tow?’

‘It’s we as in myself and Jackie,’ retorted Maggie hotly. ‘You knew my sister was a partner. It was because of her that I opened the boutique in the first place.’

‘I thought it was to—how did you put it?—find yourself? Or something equally unlikely,’ said Neil mockingly. ‘Well, have you found what you were looking for? Or are you still searching?’ He grimaced. ‘It’s a hell of a way to live your life.’

Maggie felt the unexpected prick of tears behind her eyes now. ‘You’re a cruel devil, Neil,’ she told him. ‘You never could resist making fun of me.’

‘Then why don’t I find it amusing?’ he enquired sardonically. ‘Come on, Maggie. Tell me about Reynolds. And why you would allow that bastard to get near my daughter.’

Maggie managed to stop herself from commenting on his sudden wish to assume paternity, and replied, ‘I didn’t allow her to get to know him. They already knew one another. Have you forgotten how often he used to come to the house?’

‘But she was a kid.’

‘She was when you and Mike broke up—’

‘Like I said, a kid.’

‘—but old enough to recognise him again when she saw him.’ Maggie sighed. ‘And she knew nothing about why you sacked him, and it wasn’t something I’d discussed with her since. I never thought it might become a problem. He was out of our life—out of all our lives. Or so I thought’

‘But now he’s back again?’

‘Yes.’

‘Doing what, exactly?’

Maggie lifted her shoulders. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that Lindsey is crazy about him, and she won’t listen to any objections I make.’

Neil hesitated. ‘Is he sleeping with her?’

Maggie’s face flamed. It was ridiculous, really, but his question was so unexpected, and she had forgotten what it was like to be that outspoken with a man. ‘Um—I haven’t asked her,’ she admitted at last, wishing she’d anticipated what he might say. ‘I doubt if he’s capable of sustaining any other kind of relationship, and Lindsey’s not—not unaware of sex.’

Neil’s expression revealed his frustration. ‘You mean she isn’t a virgin?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Maggie wished she’d never started this. ‘Whether I like it or not, girls of Lindsey’s age are sexually active. They get the Pill as soon as they’re old enough to be interested in boys. I might not have, but society has recognised that teenagers will experiment, and it’s better that they’re protected than not.’

Neil half turned in his seat towards her. ‘Since when have you become so knowledgeable about what teenagers think?’ he asked softly, and Maggie felt the draught of his warm breath against her cheek.

‘Since I was obliged to cope as a single parent,’ she responded stiffly, refusing to look at him. ‘I’m sure you think it’s all my fault, but, as I said earlier, Lindsey’s too old to be told who she can and cannot date.’

Neil frowned. ‘What did you say when she first told you she was going out with Reynolds?’

Maggie slumped back against the cushions. ‘She didn’t tell me. At least, not initially. I don’t know if he’d told her to keep it quiet, but they’d been seeing one another for almost three months before I found out.’

‘And how did you find out?’

‘He told me.’ Her lips twisted. ‘He called at the shop one afternoon when I was alone, and took great pleasure in relaying the fact that he was Lindsey’s new boyfriend. I knew she’d been seeing someone, but I’d assumed it was a boy she used to know. Mike said he’d been dating her since the night of the party, and that she was mad about him. And she was—is.’

Neil was silent for so long that she was obliged to look at him, half afraid of what she might see in his gaze. But to her surprise—and dismay—his eyes were fixed on her anxious face, and she froze into startled immobility when he reached out and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand.

‘Poor Mags,’ he said, drawing his fingers across her parted lips. ‘I can imagine how you felt when he said that. He always admired you, you know, so perhaps Lindsey is just a substitute. Not to mention what he thought he had to gain from it.’

Maggie blinked. ‘You’re not angry?’

Neil shrugged. ‘Sure I am, but I’m coming to terms with it. Besides, why should I give him the satisfaction? It would serve him right if I chose to call his bluff.’

‘But you can’t.’ Maggie was horrified.

‘Why can’t I?’

‘Well, because you can’t want Lindsey to go out with a snake like him.’

‘But as you said,’ he pointed out softly, ‘it’s not as if she was totally innocent. And Reynolds will soon get sick when he finds his plan isn’t working.’

Maggie stared at him. ‘I don’t believe this.’

‘What don’t you believe?’

‘That—that you’d abandon your daughter to get back at me.’

‘At you?’ Neil was taken aback. ‘What has it got to do with you?’

Maggie swallowed. ‘That—that crack, about him admiring me; what did you mean by that?’

Neil’s eyes widened. ‘I didn’t mean anything,’ he said innocently. ‘But Mike was attracted to you. You knew that.’

‘Well, I wasn’t attracted to him.’ Maggie eyed him fiercely. ‘You’re not implying that I’m in league with him or anything?’

‘In league with Mike Reynolds?’ Neil’s lips twisted. ‘Now there’s a novelty.’

‘Because I’m not,’ she added firmly. ‘I can’t think of anyone I dislike more.’

‘Not even me?’ he taunted her, trailing provocative fingers down her sleeve, and Maggie shivered in spite of herself.

‘No. Not even you,’ she assured him tightly, lifting her arm to remove his teasing caress. ‘Don’t play with me, Neil. I’m serious. There must be something we can do.’

‘Oh, there is.’

Neil’s words—and the sensual caress of his eyes—caused a blistering wave of heat to engulf her. Her hands, which had been cold, were now slippery with sweat, and she could feel the awareness that had started in the bath centred like a pulse low in her stomach.

‘Wh-what?’ she asked jerkily, looking anywhere but at him. God, did he know what he was doing to her, or was he just testing his famous charm?

‘Ride with it,’ he declared, startling her into another unwary appraisal. ‘As I see it, Lindsey wouldn’t want to be with him if he wasn’t treating her well. I was mad, sure, when you first told me, but that’s what he wants. Don’t you see? He expects me to come rushing back to London. When I don’t, he’s going to be seriously disappointed.’

Maggie stared at him disbelievingly. ‘But you said—’

‘What did I say?’

‘You said there was something we could do.’

“There is.’ His arm was along the back of the seat behind her, and now she could feel his fingers toying with the ends of her silky blonde hair. ‘We can spend a pleasant evening together. It’ll be like old times. Before your ego—and Oliver Massey—got in the way.’

Maggie felt like bursting into tears. This couldn’t be happening, she thought. Not only was Neil refusing to help her, but he seemed to think her coming here had given him some divine right to torment her, not just mentally but physically as well. When his fingers brushed her neck, she almost jumped a mile, and when Neil’s hand descended on her shoulder, she thrust her empty glass onto the table and tried to move away.

‘Mags,’ he said, and even the way he said her name caused every nerve in her body to tingle, ‘why shouldn’t we enjoy this while it lasts?’ He looped the veil of her hair behind her ear so that he could see her profile, his breath fanning her nape as he spoke. ‘You know you want to. You’re trembling so badly, you’re in danger of shaking both of us off the sofa. Not that I’d object to that entirely. It wouldn’t be the first time we’d made love on the floor.’

’M-made I-love?’ she stammered, her eyes wide and panicky, gazing into his.

‘Why not?’ he asked, his free hand cupping her face, the pad of his thumb moving sensuously over the delicate contours of her ear. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how good it always was between us.’ His hand moved down, pausing so he could rub one swollen nipple with his palm, before coming to rest on her knee. ‘You used to tell me you ached,’ he added, his thumb defining the separation of her legs. ‘Here,’ he said, his voice uneven, but when he would have lifted the hem of her skirt she brought both hands down to stop him.

‘No.’

‘No?’

Patently, he didn’t believe her, and she couldn’t altogether blame him. Dear God, her muscles were shaking with the effort of holding her knees together, when all she really wanted to do was open her legs.

‘We can’t,’ she insisted unsteadily, wishing his lean, dark face weren’t so destructively sensual in the lamplight. His narrowed eyes were watching her mouth, and almost instinctively, it seemed, her tongue emerged to moisten her parted lips.

He disturbed her so much. He always had. She felt like someone who had been lost in the desert, desperate for water, and who had suddenly come upon a pool of fresh clean water. She was dying of thirst; she wanted to plunge in; but she was afraid it was a mirage—that if she took that final step she’d find it was only sand.

She tried to distract herself by dissecting his features. What was there about him that held her so in thrall? Hooded eyes, narrow cheekbones, a thin, almost cruel mouth should not hold such power over her. Yet she knew her control was as fragile as gossamer. If he touched her, her resistance would shatter like a mirror.

‘Why can’t we?’ he countered, permitting her to prevent his hand from exploring farther, but not giving up. He bent towards her, the edges of his shirt parting to reveal the brown column of his throat, and caught her earlobe between his teeth. He bit her, hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to do any real damage. ‘I want to touch you, Maggie. Don’t you want to touch me?’

Did she?

Maggie quivered. ‘I am touching you,’ she said, gripping his hand in her lap still tighter. ‘But I think I ought to go to bed. I—I’ve got to be up early in the morning.’

‘Well, I agree about going to bed,’ murmured Neil, transferring his attention to the curve of her neck. She felt his tongue making sensuous circles against her flesh, and wondered how much more of this she could take without giving in. ‘Mmm, you smell nice. I guess you’re still using the same perfume. Do you still cover all your pulse-points like you used to? Well, most of them,’ he amended, loosening the buttons at the neckline of the skinny-rib sweater. There are certain points I wouldn’t want to contaminate with artificial scents.’

‘Neil!’

‘What?’ His face was only inches from hers now, and she could see the raw sexuality in his gaze. That. and something else she didn’t recognise, and which she was too distraught to worry about at that moment.

‘Don’t do this,’ she wailed, but he had never obeyed her.

‘Do what?’ he breathed. ‘Do this—?’ He brushed her lips with his tongue. ‘Or this—?’ He cupped her nape and tipped her face up to his. ‘Or do you mean this?’ he asked, with sudden harshness, and his lips covered her protesting mouth.

Maggie’s resistance snapped. Desire, hot and strong, swept through her veins, quickening her pulse and thickening her blood. She could hear it pounding in her head, could feel the hammering beat of her heart in her chest. The sound was thundering in her ears, deafening her to any voice of caution. It had been so long since Neil had held her in his arms, so long since she had felt anything but bitter regret.





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