Long Night's Loving

‘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.’