Long Night's Loving. Anne Mather

refused to be stampeded. ‘When I phoned, you said I could spend the night.’

      ‘That doesn’t mean I’m prepared to entertain you,’ replied Neil, in a controlled voice. ‘Luke is at the house. It may be some time before we can talk privately. If what you have to say concerns Lindsey I’d rather know what it is now.’

      Maggie couldn’t disguise her sudden intake of breath. ‘Why are you so aggressive?’ she protested.

      ‘Because of the way you avoided answering me before,’ he replied in a weary tone. ‘Don’t be tiresome, Mags, I’m not an idiot. What’s the matter with her? Has she got herself pregnant?’

      Maggie gasped. ‘No!’

      But she half wished she had. She might have been able to cope with an unwanted pregnancy. She wouldn’t have had to approach Neil for a start.

      ‘What, then?’

      He was slowing now, indicating that he was turning right at the next junction, turning onto the narrower road that led first to Chollerford, and then on, into the less populated heart of Northumberland.

      Maggie turned to look out of the window. ‘I’d rather not discuss it in the car.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Because I wouldn’t.’ She was feeling indignant now. ‘What’s the matter, Neil? Don’t you want to take me to the house?’

      ‘Not particularly,’ he answered, almost cruelly, and it took an enormous effort of will-power not to demand he take her back to the station right away. She should never have come here, she thought. She should have realised how he would regard it. She’d sworn she’d never ask him for anything ever again, and she hated going back on her word.

      ‘Well, at least I know where I stand,’ she said at last, managing to conceal the anguish his words had given her. ‘But I’m sorry. I have no intention of discussing your daughter at this moment. If you hadn’t wanted to accommodate me, you should have booked me a room at a hotel.’

      ‘Yes, I should,’ he remarked, pausing at the traffic lights at Chollerford Bridge. ‘How about here?’ He gestured towards the lights of the George Hotel that stood at the crossroads. ‘You could always get a taxi back to town.’

      For a moment, she thought he meant it, and her face turned towards his in sudden anxiety. But when the lights changed, and he accelerated over the bridge, he didn’t turn into the hotel yard, and she realised he had only been baiting her again. It seemed he had accepted that, however compromised he might feel, he had to take her to Bellthorpe, to the dower house he’d purchased on the Haversham estate.

      It was full dark by the time they reached Bellthorpe, and the rain that had accompanied them from Newcastle was now a steady downpour. Yet, for all that, there were a few people about in the village, and the windows of the post office and general stores cast a shaft of yellowish light across the road.

      When Neil had first bought the house here, Maggie had thought he was crazy. When would he ever find the time to live here? she’d asked. His work was in London. The recording studios were there.

      Of course she hadn’t realised then that Neil was planning on giving up his recording career, that his ambition had changed to one of writing music instead of performing it. She’d been so wrapped up in creating her own identity, she had not noticed he was having a crisis with his. She’d been so selfish—she could admit it now—and stupid. But she doubted Neil would believe her if she said so.

      The Haversham estate extended almost to the outskirts of the village. When Neil had moved here from the house they had owned in Buckinghamshire—how many years ago? Six? Seven?—the estate had been owned by an elderly recluse called Sarah Cavendish, and Maggie remembered making a rather poor joke about Great Expectations, and what a pity it was that Miss Cavendish hadn’t been called Haversham, too. She’d even made fun of Neil, by suggesting that if he stayed here long enough people would forget him, as well. But, of course, they never had...

      The house Neil had bought had once been occupied by the various widows of the family who’d owned the estate in the nineteenth century, when the eldest son inherited his father’s position in the community. But it was years since it had been used for its original purpose, and when Neil had bought the property it had been in an appalling state of repair. The last tenant had been a farm labourer, who had left before the last war, and Maggie had considered Neil’s offer ludicrous, for a house that, in her opinion, wanted pulling down.

      Of course, she had had to eat her words. Time—and money—had worked wonders, and by the time it was ready for habitation even she had had to agree that it had become a home to be proud of. The trouble was, she had still wanted to live near London, and no house in Northumberland, however luxurious, could compensate her for that.

      She remembered they had had their own entrance to the estate. The dower house was situated some distance from Haversham House itself, and it had been convenient, not just for Neil but for Miss Cavendish as well, for them to use an alternative way in. Consequently, she was surprised when Neil slowed at the tall iron gates that guarded the main entrance, and she cast him a puzzled look as they turned into the entry.

      But before she could say anything a man emerged from the conical-roofed lodge that stood just inside the gates, and with some ceremony threw the gates wide for them to drive through.

      ‘Evening, Mr Jordan,’ he said as Neil lowered his window to thank him. He shielded his eyes against the downpour, and looked at Neil with evident respect. ‘I found that break in the fence, like you said, and I’ve had a word with Ben Armstrong’s man just this afternoon.’

      ‘Great.’ Maggie got the impression Neil would have avoided this discussion if he could. ‘I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow, Frank. You get on in out of this rain.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’ The man pulled a wry face. ‘At least it’s better than the snow. Did you hear the forecast? They say there’s a depression coming over from the continent.’

      ‘No, I didn’t hear that.’ Maggie could hear the controlled patience in Neil’s voice. ‘Goodnight, Frank. Give my regards to Rachel.’

      ‘I will.’

      The man stood back, and Neil accelerated away along the drive. In the wing mirror on her side of the car, Maggie could see the lodge-keeper closing the gates behind them, and her brows drew together in an expression of disbelief.

      ‘You know,’ she said, trying to sound casual, ‘if I didn’t know better, I’d say that man was treating you like his employer.’ She paused. ‘Are you?’

      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,