Читать книгу The Horseman - Margaret Way - Страница 8

THE CEREMONY WAS one of high emotion. Family and guests were infused with the bliss that surrounded the bride and her groom. As the couple came together for the ceremonial kiss, many of the women guests yielded to an emotional tear, remembering their own wedding day or perhaps the wedding of a beloved son or daughter. Taking her new husband’s arm, Sandra led the way to the wedding banquet, which turned out to be brilliant. The food and drink were superb. There were speeches, short and entertaining, that had people laughing; others were deeply touching, such as Joel Moreland’s welcoming the bride into the family, an event he said couldn’t have taken place had his grandson, Daniel, not have been restored to him.

Afterward there was a great deal of catching up to do as relatives who hadn’t seen one another in ages came together and friends from either side of the bridal party were introduced to one another. Professional photographers were on hand to record the happy occasion. The press photographer, with a large video camera in hand, worked his way through the throng while guests took photographs destined for private albums. The bride found herself surrounded by old friends all wanting to embrace her; the groom found he had even more cousins than he had ever dreamt of. There were people everywhere: inside the flower-decked house, with all the French doors standing open to the garden; in the main reception rooms, the huge living room, dining room, library, garden room at the rear of the house. Young people sat all over the steps of the grand staircase, eager to make new friends and, who knows? meet the love of their life. Or dancing to the excellent band had already begun on the broad stone terrace that wrapped the rear of the mansion. Many more guests, champagne flutes in hand, were wandering about the beautiful grounds, admiring the flowers and the antique statuary. Some of the children had stripped off their wedding finery to dive near naked and shrieking into the lake, with inevitably a few adults who’d had too much to drink falling in to join them.

Cecile roamed freely with Stuart, the two stopping frequently to converse with family and guests. Invariably someone, most often a woman, told them archly, “You two will be next!” At such times Stuart always drew Cecile close, dropping a kiss on her temple beneath the lovely garland of silk flowers. “Can’t come soon enough for me!” was his most favored response.

It was an answer that should have made Cecile glow. Instead something twisted inside her and on this day of days she found herself badly unsettled. Was it being witness to the love between Daniel and Sandra that had crystallized her long-growing uncertainties? Or was it having that man look at her as he did? She wasn’t a temperamental woman—she rather prided herself on her composure—but that look had shaken her. To think that out of the wild blue yonder she had been plunged into what amounted to panic! Such things didn’t happen to her. It didn’t seem possible that a mere look could turn her world upside down. The answer presented itself. Because it was so primitive, so much man-woman, so irrevocably physical. She might as well have been standing on the balcony with her gown transparent. She had to force herself to stop quivering

For a fraught moment Cecile felt like slumping onto one of the stone garden benches, head in hands. There would be a terrible backlash from Stuart and his family if she ever thought to break her engagement. They, who were all so much for her, would overnight turn against her. Bitterness and anger would take hold, never to let go. She would be made to feel their public humiliation. In her heart she knew part of her appeal for Stuart and his family was her being Joel Moreland’s granddaughter. She had grown up knowing that being the only granddaughter of one of the country’s richest men affected her relationship with others. Some actively pursued friendship, others, motivated by envy became detractors behind her back. She was never one hundred percent sure who actually liked her for herself except for a trusted few, whose friendship she cherished. Even Stuart, by his own admission, was a man on a mission. He wanted to be a real player. He was already on his way. A very bright associate in a leading law firm, Stuart Carlson was looking at being made a full partner within a year or two. He had political aspirations, as well, perhaps borne of his longing to be in the spotlight. She had often teased him about his ambitions. Now she thought they were too overriding. Even in the past year Stuart had become increasingly bent on cultivating the right people and discarding those he judged as not really going anywhere. It seemed to her sadly false, though she realized Stuart wasn’t alone in setting his goals on climbing the social ladder to the top rung. Marrying a Moreland greatly increased his chances.

And what of her mother? Cecile had spent her life trying to appease and placate her nerve-ridden mother, so she knew Justine would be devastated by any change of plan. For reasons she had never really been able to fathom, Stuart and her mother were huge allies. Of course, Stuart had always gone out of his way to charm her—very attentive, bringing wine and flowers, the special handmade chocolates her mother loved—but even that didn’t explain it. She knew her mother saw Stuart as someone on side with her; a young man who would make a good son-in-law, who with her guidance could develop into a pillar of society; steady and reliable, a one-woman man who could be depended upon to honor his marriage vows. A judgment Justine knew in her heart of hearts didn’t fit her husband.

ALL THE WHILE they were roaming, Cecile was very much aware of Stuart’s arm clamped possessively around her waist. She couldn’t bring herself to hurt him by breaking free, but it struck her that she wanted to walk alone, not linked to the man she had chosen to marry.

It will make it so much easier for you to find the stranger, said a harsh little voice inside her head. It was excruciating to have to acknowledge it, but it was true. She was actively searching for his tall striking figure among the milling crowd.

You idiot! the harsh little voice whispered on. He’s trouble. You know that. He’s someone who can upset your whole life.

She couldn’t claim she had no portent of this. Every nerve in her body was shrieking a warning. Wasn’t it extremely foolish then to ignore that warning when she should be listening? It was out of character for her to behave this way, but she found she couldn’t stop.

Stuart told her repeatedly how beautiful she looked. “There’s not a woman here to touch you!” Pride transformed his smooth, self-assured face, his lawyer’s face as she thought of it. They were standing in the dappled shadows of a shade tree, he playing with her fingers. Slowly, almost reverently, he lifted the hand that bore his splendid diamond engagement ring to his mouth.

“Ceci?” He looked longingly into her eyes. “You have to marry me very soon. I’m crazy about you, don’t you know?”

“I do, Stuart, I do!” Her heart felt as though it could break. How could she possibly betray him and his love? How could she even think about it? She had given her solemn promise to marry him. She’d had any number of admirers to choose from since the age of sixteen, but none she’d been able to take as seriously as Stuart. She wanted to marry. She wanted children. She loved children. She would be a good mother, shielding any child of hers from all the pressures that had attended her own childhood. There wasn’t going to be any grand passion for her. No use waiting around for it. The knowledge was a factor in her decision to marry Stuart, who had many attractive qualities and, she believed, genuinely loved her. Everyone knew lightning strikes were dangerous, anyway.

There was absolutely no way out.

Stuart threw back his dark head and laughed triumphantly. “That’s the very thing I’m desperate for you to say—‘I do.’ A June wedding would be perfect, wouldn’t it, darling? We need to be together, man and wife. I know you love the idea of Morelands for the wedding, but surely you’d want to be married from your own home? You couldn’t possibly disappoint Justine. Or my mother, for that matter, though she’s neutral. She thinks the world of your grandfather. Morelands is an incredible venue, no denying that, but Justine and I have our hearts set on Melbourne. Tell me that’s what you want, too, Ceci. I’ve known you for a dozen years and more, but sometimes I think I don’t know you at all.”

She had the eerie feeling that was true. She couldn’t tell him that many changes were taking place inside her. In retrospect she realized she rarely confided in him. Stuart was a little like her mother in that he had a tendency to close his ears on what he didn’t wish to hear. “Let’s just enjoy today, Stuart,” she begged gently. “I can’t always do what you and my mother want. Oh, look—” she shifted her gaze gratefully “—there’s Sasha Donnelly calling to us.”

“I say, she’s looking very glamorous.” Stuart was distracted by the shortness of Sasha’s skirt and the sassiness of the gala confection she had on her head.

“She is, and she’s still carrying a torch for you,” Cecile pointed out lightly.

JUST WHEN SHE THOUGHT the stranger must have left early, she saw him standing with a knot of older guests. Profound disappointment, even despondency, was transformed into soaring spirits. They rose alarmingly, threatening to make her airborne.

You fool! You’re not even putting up a struggle.

She ignored the little voice. At the center of the group was her grandfather. Her mother and father flanked him, both of them looking extremely stylish; they were handsome people. With them were close friends of the family, Bruce and Fiona Gordon and the Ardens. Bruce Gordon and George Arden were among her grandfather’s oldest friends and business partners. All of them were smiling warmly.

“Ceci, darling! Stuart!” Joel Moreland caught sight of them, gesturing them over. When they were close enough, he put out his arm to gather his much-loved granddaughter to his side. “I don’t think either of you have yet met Señor Montalvan, who is visiting us from Argentina. When Fiona told me she and Bruce had a houseguest, I insisted he come along with them today.” Joel turned his aristocratic silver head to smile at the well-to-do couple.

“Cecile, my darling—” he beamed down at her as he began the introductions “—may I present Señor Raul Montalvan from…”

She didn’t hear another word for the roaring in her ears. Every dormant cell in her body fired into life.

Damn it, damn it! This isn’t like you. Get a grip!

She might have been standing at a distance, looking at her double. The tide of feeling she was experiencing was not untainted with remorse, even shame. There was Stuart, her fiancé, proud and smiling by her side. She wore his ring. She should only be thinking of Stuart, while all the while she was racked by her attraction to another man.

He was even more stunning close up. Indeed he could have stepped out of a bravura painting. The bronze of his skin was in striking contrast to the dark caramel of his hair with its glinting golden strands. How dark his eyes were! Not black, but a brilliant dark brown with gold flecks. Their expression was very intense. She didn’t think she had seen such intensity in a man’s eyes before. They made her feel more conscious of herself as a woman than at any moment of Stuart’s most passionate lovemaking. It was as though that dark seductive gaze pierced right through her breast to her heart.

“Miss Moreland, I’ve heard so much about you.” He spoke with exquisite gentleness. “The whole of it glowing!”

This drew a smile from her grandfather, who Cecile guessed correctly had been singing her praises.

There was an intriguing hint of an accent. No more. It was a cosmopolitan voice, coming from deep in his chest, the timbre dark, beguiling, with a faint cutting edge.

Good manners demanded she extend her hand. “My grandfather has a very natural bias, señor. I’m very pleased to welcome you to our country.” Her skin seemed to sizzle at his touch. She thought she flushed. He didn’t shake her hand as she expected, but bowed over it in a way that showed his heritage. It was an entirely natural and elegant ritual courtesy that didn’t demand his lips touch her skin. She didn’t think she could have borne that given what the mere touch of his hand could do. His hands were as elegant as the rest of him, but she could feel calluses on the pads of his fingers and the palm. Was that the cause of that extraordinary surge of electricity?

Then it was Stuart’s turn. He gave a hearty, “Happy to meet you, Mr. Montalvan.” To Cecile’s ears that didn’t quite ring true. Stuart hadn’t taken to the newcomer, she could tell, but he was shaking the other man’s hand vigorously. “What brings you to the Territory?” he asked.

Montalvan gave a very European shrug. “Pleasure, business. I have always wanted to come to Australia.” He spoke in a relaxed fashion, but the gentleness, it seemed, had been reserved for Cecile. “Your Top End is not so very different to my home in Argentina. Very beautiful, very isolated, hot and humid, plenty of rain when it comes, glorious vegetation, vast open spaces.”

Joel Moreland nodded his agreement. “This is still largely frontier country, Señor Montalvan.”

“Please, do call me Raul!” Montalvan turned to his host with a charming half smile.

“Raul it is,” Joel Moreland responded, his expression revealing that unlike Stuart, he had taken a fancy to this young man. “Raul is in the ranching business,” he informed Cecile and Stuart, “so we have a lot in common. His family have been in ranching for many generations. Ranching and mining, isn’t that so? He’s also a very fine polo player, I’ve been told.”

“Not surprising, when he hails from a country that has won the World Cup every year since 1949,” Cecile’s father, Howard, contributed with an admiring laugh.

“True.” Montalvan gave another elegant shrug of his shoulder. “But you have some wonderful players here,” he added appreciatively. “I’m hoping I’ll be invited to participate in a few matches during my stay. Australia is nearly as polo mad as Argentina, I believe.”

“It’s the great sport of the Outback,” Moreland confirmed, “but we can’t challenge your world supremacy. Don’t worry, Raul, I’m sure we’ll be able to arrange something. I used to be a pretty good player myself in the old days.”

“I’m certain that’s an understatement, sir.” Montalvan gave a respectful inclination of his head.

“My father was absolutely splendid!” Justine, who adored her father, spoke proudly. “We have two polo fields on Malagari.”

“That’s my flagship cattle station toward the Red Centre,” Moreland explained before turning to his daughter with a teasing smile. “The polo fields, my dear, are still there. You should come and visit sometime.”

“I will, I will, I promise.” Justine flushed slightly. “When I get time. Father breeds some of the finest polo ponies in the country,” she added.

“So I believe.” The Argentinian’s expression lit up with interest. “My family breeds fine ponies, too, but nothing like Señor Moreland’s operation, which we do know about in Argentina. I believe, sir, you sold ponies to our famous Da Silver brothers?”

“So I did,” Joel Moreland said with great satisfaction. “A heroic pair! I’ve seen them play. Their team won the World Cup no less than four times, the last time—that was in the mid-90s—riding Lagunda ponies. That’s my horse stud in the Gold Coast hinterland of Queensland where the climate, the terrain and environment are ideal.”

“I’d love to visit it sometime,” Montalvan replied. “It would be a great honor.”

“And I’d be delighted to show you, Raul. Both Malagari, which is in the Territory and very dear to my heart, and Lagunda, way across the border. The flame for the game still burns very bright, but inevitably time has sidelined me. I still ride, of course. Now my son, Jared, was far more talented. He had effortless style, the physical strength and power to excel at the game. He had a physique like yours.” Moreland had been speaking with spontaneous enthusiasm but he stopped abruptly.

“Very sadly, Uncle Jared died young,” Cecile told their guest softly. She knew the comment had simply slipped out, borne of her grandfather’s obvious liking for their visitor. Her grandfather rarely spoke his dead son’s name. Nearly thirty years later, the pain was too great.

“I am so sorry,” Montalvan answered quietly, briefly raising his hand to touch Joel Moreland’s shoulder.

“Thank you.” Moreland bowed his silver head.

“So where are you staying, Señor Montalvan?” Cecile asked with a return to her normal fluent poise.

“Why, with us, Ceci dear,” Fiona Gordon, who had been Justine’s chief bridesmaid and was in fact one of Cecile’s godmothers, smiled fondly.

“Bruce and Fiona have been very kind to me.” Montalvan flashed the couple a smile that was simply marvelous, Cecile thought. It had much to do with his fine white teeth against his deep tan, but it went further, lighting up his whole face.

Yet another powerful tool in his seductive armory, she thought, listening to him say he couldn’t impose on Bruce and Fiona much longer.

“I’m thinking of leasing, perhaps buying an apartment overlooking the harbor,” he told them. “As I’ve come this far, I intend to make my stay fairly lengthy.”

“You have no one at home demanding your presence?” Stuart asked with the faintest lick of challenge. “Not married, I take it?”

No wife in her right mind would allow this man to roam at will, Cecile thought, acutely aware she was hanging on his answer.

“I’m still waiting for the coup de foudre, as the French say.” Oddly, Montalvan echoed Cecile’s earlier thoughts. “May I congratulate you on your engagement.” He returned Stuart’s gaze directly.

“You may,” Stuart answered, blue eyes very bright. “Getting Cecile to say yes wasn’t all that easy, but she’s made me the happiest man in the world. Or at least as happy as Daniel on this day of days. It’s been the perfect wedding.”

“Indeed it has!” Justine gave a voluptuous sigh of satisfaction. “I can’t wait until Cecile and Stuart tie the knot. You’ve no idea, Mr. Montalvan, how long I’ve been planning it in my head.”

Cecile, glancing across at her father, caught the rueful expression in his eyes. Planning was Justine’s forte. What she planned had to come off.

THE CELEBRATIONS WENT ON long after the bride and groom had left for Darwin airport on the first leg of their honeymoon trip, which would take them to Hong Kong for a few days, then on to the great capitals of Europe. Sandra had thrown her beautiful bouquet from the upstairs balcony into a sea of smiling, upturned faces and waving, raised arms. There was a great deal of laughing and scuffling, especially on the part of the chief bridesmaid, Melinda, who had her eye on a certain someone in the bridal party, but despite the fact Cecile had just stood there smiling, the bouquet flew to her as though carried on guided wings. Because she made no move to catch it, it came to land on someone directly behind her who, with a swift movement of the hand, sent it back over Cecile’s bare shoulder and into the arms she hastily raised. Sandra’s bridal bouquet was much too precious to allow to fall to the ground.

“Oh, good for you, Ceci!” Melinda, disappointed, declared.

“Isn’t that sweet? You’ll be next, Ceci darling!” An elderly Moreland relative flashed her an arch smile.

There were shouts of delight, exaggerated groans of disappointment. Stuart, who had been cheering the loudest threw his arms around her and kissed her mouth. “That settles it, Ceci. We are next!”

Cecile kept her eyes fixed steadily on the beautiful waving bride on the balcony.

She knew exactly who was behind her, it wasn’t her mind that told her. It was her body. She could feel him, feel his aura the warmth off his skin, the unique male scent of him that she inhaled into her nostrils. Jubilant at her side, Stuart got into a long, laughing exchange with another guest about where the bouquet had actually landed before being catapulted over Cecile’s shoulder. “All’s well that ends well!” he cried, and swooped to kiss Cecile again, reveling in the knowledge he was a much-envied man.

She ought to turn around. She had to turn around. She managed to do so, her eyes locking on his. The graceful little remark she made sounded quite natural and perfectly composed. It was important she did not let him see how much he affected her. Of course he did know.

She could weep for her own susceptibility. Especially now when she had given up thinking any man could evoke such a response. How could such things happen so fast? Nothing seemed real. Nothing was as it had been before. It was as simple and as momentous as that.

WITH THE BRIDE AND GROOM GONE, the party kicked up several more notches. Moet flowed like the water from a great fountain. Inside the house, the older guests settled into comfortable armchairs and sofas, relishing the opportunity for a good long chat away from the boisterous young ones. Youth was so wearing. Outside the music from the band was so compulsively toe tapping it had couples everywhere up and dancing: on the brightly lit terrace and in the grounds where the trees had been decked with thousands and thousands of fairy lights, around the huge pool area where they risked getting splashed. There was a lot of hilarity, a lot of flirting, abandoned kisses in the scented darkness, holding hands. Everyone clung to the magic of the day, the marvelous haze of pleasure. No one wanted it to end.