Long Night's Loving. Anne Mather
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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,