The Horseman. Margaret Way
She could have been one of her own patients: an adolescent whose hormones raged out of control.
“One doesn’t always see such a true love match,” he remarked after a long pause. “It’s commonplace in Argentina and many parts of the world for material considerations to be put first. Fiona explained to me how your cousin came to be restored to his family. It’s an extraordinary story, though many families have dark secrets and tragic histories. Still…incredible to think it took all this time before his identity came to light. Your cousin deserves his great happiness.”
“He does. Blood is very binding,” she agreed in a low voice.
“No matter the separation.” Again there was a certain nuance that caused her to look up at him.
“You sound as though you know all about the trials of separation.”
“What gave you that idea?” He stared down into her eyes.
“You do know though, don’t you?”
He was silent a moment. “You’re obviously a woman of admirable perception. Separations happen all the time. Some perhaps in a way that others do not. Some separations bring misery and trauma, others make us, as they say, fonder. You and your cousin are very much alike. Anyone seeing the two of you together would assume you were sister and brother. You don’t have a brother of your own?”
She shook her head with deep regret. “I’m an only child. I would have liked a brother, preferably brothers and sisters, but my mother had difficulty having me, so no more family! It was wonderful when Daniel came into our lives, and now Sandra. We’ve become good friends. And you, señor, you have siblings?”
“Didn’t I beg you to call me Raul?” His tone dropped low into his chest. It was almost a deep purr. “After all, I intend to call you Cecile.”
He pronounced it in the French fashion. It sounded… lovely. Like being stroked. Featherlike strokes all over her face and up and down her body. He was using his voice like the finest of instruments. One could fall in love with such a voice, she thought shakily, even if the owner were plain.
That night bird called again. Was it serenading them? The scent of gardenias was heavy in the air, their waxy white flowers dazzling in the dark. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing much of each other, however.”
“You say it like it cannot be,” he challenged. “Your distinguished grandfather has already invited me to a dinner party he’s giving Wednesday of this coming week. Perhaps you are wrong. I might be often on your doorstep. I understand you are staying with your grandfather for a month? There is much you could show me if you would only be so kind to a stranger to your country.”
Kind? Kindness wasn’t what he wanted from her, of that she was sure. Though he mesmerized her with his charm, the idea that he might have an agenda of his own wouldn’t have shocked her. He could even be exploiting her. Such attempts had been made before, but she had easily staved them off. “I’m sure there are many others who would be delighted to play that role,” she said with a slight air of irony.
He didn’t appear to notice.
“But you’ll have some time on your hands, Cecile. I could at least be some company, as your fiancé has to return to Melbourne.”
She stopped dancing, aware of her burning cheeks. “My grandfather told you that?”
“He did when he issued his invitation.”
A curious thing—he kept hold of her hand. “He also told me your fiancé is a lawyer with a prestigious Melbourne firm.”
“He is,” she said, defeated and unnerved by the thought that Stuart didn’t mean as much to her as he should. How, if she loved Stuart, could she put herself into Raul Montalvan’s hands? “He should make full partner in a year or so.”
“You see yourself as the perfect wife to a man of law?”
“What’s behind that question, Raul?” She withdrew her trembling hand and walked on.
“Ah. So I’ve made you a little angry.” He caught her up easily, bending his head as if to search her expression.
“You would know if I were angry.”
He only smiled. “Fire and ice. However, I don’t think your eyes could sparkle any more dangerously than they do now. I apologize if I’ve somehow given offense. I never meant to. You asked if I had siblings. I have. A younger brother, Francisco, and a sister, Ramona, who is so beautiful she turns heads. But then you would know all about that.” The resonance of his voice deepened. “So tell me, do you feel rewarded working with children who are in much mental pain? Your grandfather told me you were a child psychologist. I’d very much like to hear why you chose such a profession. It seems to me to reveal a deeply maternal streak, does it not?”
In her high heels she stumbled slightly over an exposed tree root and he swiftly steadied her. “Thank you,” she murmured, fathoms deep in awareness.
“So?” he prompted with what sounded like real interest.
She made an effort. “I do love children. I want children of my own. My guiding star is to help ease the pain. It’s greatly rewarding to be able to steer badly hurting young people through very real and sometimes just perceived crises in their lives.”
He nodded agreement. “There are so many areas of conflict to contend with, especially during adolescence.”
“Children are far less secure these days than ever before. Marriages break up, and the fallout can be very damaging. Some children tend to blame a particular parent for the breakup of the marriage. Usually the mothers. Daddy’s gone and Mummy drove him away. This can lead to profound upset for the parent who has to bear the blame. Then again, I find a lot of the time that problems originate with the parents’ behavior. They have one another and kept the children at arm’s length. That can make change very difficult. Other parents persist in keeping up a front. They disguise, disown or actively lie about the part they play in these conflicts. Children are so helpless. They suffer loneliness, excessive stress and acute depression just as we do. I have a little ten-year-old patient at the moment, a girl called Ellie. I’m trying very hard to help. In fact, she’s been constantly on my mind while I’m here on holiday. Ellie has a good many behavioral problems that are getting her deeper and deeper into trouble both at home and school. In some ways she’s a contradiction. I’m prepared to back my initial impression she’s highly intelligent, yet she’s earned the reputation for not being very bright, even with her parents.”
“Good people?” he questioned, frowning slightly.
“Good, caring people at their wits’ end,” Cecile confirmed. “So far I haven’t been able to make a breakthrough, either, though it’s early days.”
“Then I wish you every success with young Ellie,” he said, sounding earnest. “Perhaps she’s grieving about something she can’t or won’t talk about? The innocent grieve. It is so very interesting, your choice of a profession. Surely you wouldn’t have known suffering or conflict in your privileged life? A princess, Joel Moreland’s granddaughter?”
She felt a moment of unease. “Is that your exact interest in me, Señor Montalvan? I’m Joel Moreland’s granddaughter? I have to tell you I’m long used to it, consequently forewarned. I saw how you were secretly studying me while I was standing on the balcony.”
“Perhaps I was only thinking how beautiful you were,” he answered, smoothly turning her into his arms again. “As serene as the swans that glide across your lake.”
She had little option but to continue dancing. “Somehow I don’t think that was it. The look wasn’t at all an admiring glance or even friendly.”
“What was it, then?” he asked, his wide shoulders blocking the light.
She wished she could see his expression more clearly. “Extremely disconcerting.”
“Perhaps that was only an