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.’