Long Night's Loving

‘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

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.’