Margaret Way - The Horseman

“Ahhh, Ceci,” he groaned, “You’re making quite an effort to put me off the scent, but there was a little more to it than that. Even Sasha noticed.”

“Sasha?” Cecile gave an incredulous laugh. “The two of you were spying on me?”

“Of course not.” Stuart spoke in an aggrieved tone. “It was only by chance she spotted you.”

“I bet!” She swung her head toward him. “Sasha always was a troublemaker.”

“Actually she’s very fond of you. She wouldn’t want to see you put a foot wrong any more than I would. Women are very sharp. You catch on to things we men don’t. But the way the two of you moved together it would have crossed anyone’s mind, even trusting ol’ me. There was just some aura for all to see.”

“Could it have been an alcoholic haze?” she asked with some sarcasm. She was rebelling against the accusations, even as she knew she was in denial. “Sasha was sloshed. I could equally well point out you had no objection to Sasha’s clinging on to your arm.”

Stuart grimaced. “She doesn’t mean a thing to me and you know it. I bet you weren’t a bit jealous of Sasha even though she’s a damned sexy girl. Doesn’t that tell you something about our relationship?”

“I’ve learned to trust you, perhaps?” Cecile maneuvered the big car into the busy right lane so she could take the freeway turnoff.

“You can trust me. I don’t want anyone else but you, Ceci. And I have some ethics, if that bloody Argentinian doesn’t. Who is he, anyway? He appears out of nowhere and makes a beeline for you.”

She felt like she wanted to sleep for hours. Shut it all out. “One dance!” she said sharply. “You call that making a beeline?”

Stuart sat straighter, rubbing his trousered knees. “Steady on.”

Cecile gritted her teeth. “Do you want to miss your plane? I’ve had a license since I was seventeen, Stuart. I’ve never had an accident, which is more than I can say for you.”

“Don’t be so touchy!” He raised his brows. “I know you’re a good driver, very controlled and decisive about what you do, but this is a big powerful car. Women shouldn’t really drive big powerful cars in my view, and you do have a worrying tendency to be impetuous, especially if you’re running late. As for my one accident, how was I to know a bus was going to pull out in front of the car ahead of me?”

“By studying the road well ahead,” she said tartly. “Look, let’s stop this, shall we?”

“Certainly. I’m sorry, darling. I apologize. I was jealous. I freely admit it, but I can only say what I fear. To get to know this Montalvan would be to court danger. Knowing your grandfather, the guy’s bound to be offered plenty of entertainment while he’s here. He’s not a suitable companion, that’s all. I’m five years older than you. I work in an area where I see a lot more suspect characters than you.”

“To hell with that!” she said hotly. “Do you see children and adolescents who’ve been sexually, physically and mentally abused? Do you see suffering on the grand scale? Little people who’ve been beaten, burned, tied up with rope or whatever is to hand, had their bones broken, their bodies violated and infected, been threatened with weapons? The most you see, Stuart—you’re so bloody pompous at times—is white-collar crime. The socially prominent scoundrels you help beat the charges.”

“Well, really, that’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?” Stuart’s voice was taut with shock. “And there’s no need to swear. It scarcely suits you. I’ve never heard you call me pompous before.”

“Clearly, sometimes you are!”

“This is too much, Ceci,” he complained. “Personally I don’t believe attack is the best form of defense. All I was saying is I don’t think business-pleasure is all there is to it with this Montalvan guy.”

“Why don’t you have him investigated?” she suggested, suddenly very aware of Stuart’s tendency to patronize her. “That should solve the problem.”

Stuart, the lawyer, took the suggestion seriously. “It could be done,” he said, nibbling hard on his lip. “All that charm, the expensive clothes, the handmade shoes, the solid gold watch, the meticulous grooming—it could all be window dressing. He could be an experienced con man, for all we know. There’s nothing would suit a con man more than to latch on to a beautiful heiress. Seduce her if he could. He certainly latched on to you and your grandfather.”

So he did, said that harsh little voice in her head. He made a huge attempt to reach you and succeeded. As a man, Raul Montalvan was very, very seductive. It was one way to cut across all borders.

“You can’t deny it’s a possibility.” Stuart frowned as he searched her tense profile.

“Fascinating if you were writing a novel, Stuart, but I haven’t the slightest doubt Señor Montalvan is who he says he is. I think you’ll find he comes from a wealthy well-respected family. Bruce and Fiona must know all about him. I’m sure you could find the Montalvan estancia on the Internet, as they breed polo ponies.”

“Maybe he’s using someone else’s identity,” Stuart suggested, still frowning hard. “It’s been done before today. Australia is a long way from Argentina.”

She clicked her tongue angrily. “Nowhere is a long way from anywhere these days. Granddad would soon discover if Raul knew little about ranching, and polo isn’t the sport for a man without means. Besides he has all the graces expected in the son of a cultured family. He’s bilingual. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he didn’t speak other languages, as well. Italian, French, who knows?”

“I’m getting the strong impression you admire him,” Stuart said angrily.

“I’d say a lot of people admire him,” she said dryly. “Actually, Stuart, I’m on side with you. For all his charm, there’s something mysterious about Raul Montalvan. Something steely, possibly dangerous? He’s an enigma.”

Stuart reeled back at some note—perhaps betrayal—in her voice. “Aw, bugger that!” he said with a burst of violent jealousy. “All I know is, such men are best left alone.”

Such a pity, then, you’ve already burnt your fingers!

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