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.’
Maggie arched a dark brow. ‘Her husband? The man we saw at the gatehouse when we arrived?’
‘No.’ Neil was patient. ‘The man you saw was Frank Pitt. He works on the estate. Mrs Fenwick’s husband is the gardener, and occasional chauffeur.’
‘I see.’
Maggie was impressed. By her reckoning that was at least four people working directly for Neil, and goodness knew how many more in the stables and about the estate. Some of the land was tenanted, of course—she remembered that from when they had first come here—but it was obvious that Neil took his position seriously.
Her lips twisted. Neil had always known what he wanted out of life, whereas she had spent the past ten years trying to find her own identity. It had been different when she was younger. Then, just the fact that she was Neil’s wife had been enough. When had she started being dissatisfied with that scenario? When had she begun to believe that life owed her a living too?
Luke finished his coffee, and set his cup back on the tray. ‘Well—’ he yawned, stretching his arms above his head ‘—I think I’m ready to call it a day.’ He looked at Maggie. ‘I expect I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll come over for breakfast, if it’s all right with Neil?’
‘Come over?’ Maggie moistened lips that were suddenly dry. ‘But I thought—’ She broke off, and then began again. ‘Don’t you live in the house?’
‘Not precisely,’ said Luke, grinning. ‘As a matter of fact, I have my own apartment over the garage. Oh, don’t worty—’ this as he saw her expression ‘—it’s really very comfortable. You’ll have to see it tomorrow. I’ll give you a guided tour before you leave.’
Before she left.
Maggie managed a tight smile. ‘Thanks.’
But she was still aware of a feeling of apprehension. Which was silly really, because she couldn’t have expected any support from him. But she’d felt more relaxed knowing he was within calling distance. The knowledge that there’d only be herself and Neil in the house—discounting his other employees, of course—was rather daunting.
Yet why should that be so? she asked herself as Neil escorted the other man to the door. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t spent a good portion of their lives together, even if they had been seldom entirely on their own. It was the memory of that treacherous weakening she had felt in the bath that troubled her, she knew. The awareness that she wasn’t as indifferent to him as she’d like to appear. She could think of nothing more embarrassing, more painful than allowing him to think she had some hidden agenda of her own in coming here.
She was aware that Neil had returned before he came round the sofa to resume his seat. She felt his presence the minute he appeared in the doorway, knew that he paused there for a moment, probably deliberately, assessing how he would handle her request.
Not that he knew what that request was—yet. But he must have guessed it was something serious, as she hadn’t been willing to discuss it in the car. What was he thinking? she wondered. Was he speculating on how he would refuse her? Although she had made the journey, she wasn’t totally optimistic, particularly after that crack he had made about Lindsey earlier.
‘Would you like a drink?’ he enquired, his hand hovering over the tray of bottles and decanters residing on a small table against the wall, and Maggie shook her head. She’d had sherry—and wine—and she needed her wits about her. Apart from not giving him another chance of criticising her lack of sobriety.
‘Not for me,’ she said, unable to prevent herself from shifting a little nervously in her seat. She wished he would just sit down and listen to her. She was tired
