The Horseman. Margaret Way
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“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 illusion. I was simply admiring a woman exquisite in her beauty and outward appearance of serenity.”
She couldn’t fail to pick up on the outward. “You think something entirely different goes on inside me?”
“Would it be so strange if I did? I, too, am a student of psychology. No one could say it’s a simple life any more than we are simple beings. The inner person and the outer person can be significantly different.”
“Of course. It’s no easy thing to become a well-integrated adult. We all continue to harbor the fears and anxieties we had as children, but we’ve had to learn how to master them or seek help. I see young patients in terrible self-destructive rages because they’ve had to live through years of conflict and unhappiness. I see a great deal worse, physical and sexual abuse sometimes where one least suspects.”
“That must be extremely upsetting?”
“It is.” She drew a deep breath. “I’ve seen children sent back to the care of the very people who’ve abused them and I’ve been helpless! Some of it I’ll never get out of my mind. It’s ghastly stuff. That’s one of the reasons I needed this holiday with Granddad. It’s not easy what I do and I can’t always stand aloof. In childhood we all assemble the building blocks that go into making the adult.”
“So when the building blocks are in extremely short supply and the conflicts never resolve themselves, one is left scarred and without an inner haven to shelter.”
“Exactly.” It was obvious he was following her words closely. “The violent pattern most frequently repeats itself.”
He sighed, his breath warm and sweet. “It’s difficult to disassociate oneself from intense traumas in childhood. Didn’t William Faulkner once say something about the past not being over or even past?”
“I’m not going to disagree with the great man.”
“Me, neither. So you see we do have much to talk about, Cecile, if only our mutual interest in the development or the destruction of the human psyche. The great human values of love and honor coexist with hate and evil. Now, I must surrender you to your fiancé. He’s heading very purposefully in this direction. I don’t know that I would care to see my beautiful fiancée in another man’s arms, either.”
CHAPTER FOUR
STUART TOOK HIS LEAVE at noon the following day. Exactly one minute after Cecile drove her grandfather’s Bentley through the front gates of Morelands, the argument broke out just as she knew it would, when there was no one around to overhear.
“Damn it all, I wish you were coming back with me!” Stuart exclaimed, his handsome face marred by an angry expression.
“You don’t begrudge me my vacation, surely?” She winced. Even with her sunglasses on the sunlight was much too bright.
“I simply want you with me.”
“I know.” Stuart had been simmering ever since he’d joined her and Raul Montalvan the previous night, leaving her with the sensation she was caught in the eye of a storm. Even when they met up at breakfast, she’d sensed the continuation of his mood, but as a guest in her grandfather’s house he could scarcely vent feelings of outrage or jealousy. She was very much aware he’d had to make a huge effort in the final hours of the party. The celebrations had continued unabated until after two in the morning. When they’d left the mansion, the grounds were thronged with the staff of the firm that supplied the huge marquees and the tables and chairs, among other things.
Cecile tried to remain calm. Inside she knew she was approaching her own crisis point in life. It was a real struggle to hide it; harder yet to fight back.
“I just hate the idea of your being away from me,” Stuart said tersely, equally off balance.
“Goodness, it’s only a month!” She tried a soothing, sideways glance. “We’ll be speaking to each other every day.”
“Count on it.” He stared moodily out the window. “That bloody Raul made a hit with your grandfather.”
“That’s not very nice, is it, bloody Raul.”
“I know it isn’t, but I can’t help it. He’s too suave, too charming by half.”
“That’s his Latin blood,” she offered by way of explanation. “You’re not going to blame him for being charming?”
Stuart had the grace to look embarrassed. “I just wish he hadn’t turned up. He’s the sort of guy that stirs everything up.”
God help her, hadn’t Stuart put his finger right on it? “You are in an odd mood, Stuart. No sleep?”
“Not when you wouldn’t join me,” he said, sounding painfully rebuffed.
“Not with a house full of relatives, Stuart. I told you that wasn’t likely to happen.”
He gave an angry snort. “Sometimes I think you don’t give a damn if you sleep with me or not.”
Her heart was beating painfully fast. She hadn’t asked for any of this. It had just happened. Anyone could become madly infatuated. It was what one did about it that counted. “That’s not true, Stuart.” Even to her own ears her response didn’t sound terribly convincing, yet she enjoyed their lovemaking. Stuart was a considerate lover, able to give satisfaction and not lacking finesse. “Do we really have to ruin a beautiful day with all this? I promised to marry you, didn’t I?”
“But, Ceci—” Stuart twisted in the passenger seat to stare at her “—you won’t set the date. You’ve no idea how insecure that makes me feel. Hell, it’s like Justine says. We should be married and expecting our first child by now. You told me you loved children. I’m no longer sure.”
Normally slow to temper, she felt intensely irritated. “What an alliance you and my mother have formed! Both of you pushing me into marriage and motherhood like I was the wrong side of forty. I do love children, Stuart. I think my choice of a profession proves that. If you and my mother continue to hound me—” She broke off, breathing a sharp sigh of frustration.
“It’s not like that.” Stuart reached out to stroke her arm. “Darling, it’s not like that,” he said softly.
Nothing. She felt nothing. She was greatly shocked.
“We would never be guilty of that.” Stuart faced front again as though he thought it crucial he, too, mind the road. “Justine just wants the best for you, Cecile. You can be very difficult sometimes.”
That was grossly unfair. She shook her head weakly. “I thought I rarely gave trouble. In fact, I was the model child. Ask anyone. I always did exactly what was expected of me. I had to be top in everything, grades, sports, ballet, piano. I worked so hard to keep my mother proud of me. I was never under that kind of pressure from my father, thank God. I was always obedient and respectful. I’ve never played around. I’ve never touched drugs. My mother wants her idea of the best for me, Stuart. I’m not my mother. I love her, but I’m not like her. She means well, but she spends every day of her life making plans for me. She had to give up on Dad. I want her to stop. I’m twenty-six, but she continues to act as though one day I’ll screw up. Maybe she’s right. Now there’s a thought! My mother has always been too focused on me as her only child. I wish to God I’d had brothers and sisters. Anyone to take the heat