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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.
