The Shadowy Horses

After scrutinizing his face a moment I decided he was telling the truth. More likely, I thought, Peter had pitched the fake survey results on the fire himself, thus solving a prickly problem. Having "lost" the results, and being unable to obtain a duplicate printout from Adrian's computer—I was sure Adrian would have thought of some suitable technical excuse for that—Peter would be wholly justified in asking for another survey of the southwest corner. Not only would that erase all traces of the false record; it also gave Adrian a chance to redeem himself professionally.

As a solution it was, I thought, decidedly Peter's style, and endearingly gallant.

Adrian, who didn't know that Quinnell knew, and therefore didn't fully appreciate the subtleties of his mission, cast a vaguely impatient look at my knees. "Does that blasted animal have to follow you everywhere?"

I looked down in mild surprise, and Kip looked back at me, one ear flopped softly forward. During the hours when Robbie was at school, the collie had taken to keeping me company, trailing at my heels so quietly that I frequently forgot he was even there. Wally had joked that the dog, like its young master, was faintly besotted with me. Personally, I put it down to the sausage.

"It's like you have six legs, these days," said Adrian. He paused, his eyes flicking past my shoulder toward Rose Cottage. "Do me a favor, Verity love, and measure how far it is from where I'm standing to that bit of wall over there.”

“What, with this?" I bent to pick up his yard measure with a sinking heart. "Where's your little wheel thing? You know, the one you just push around?"

"Oh, don't be such a baby. You know how to use a yard measure, I've seen you do it." He nodded firmly in the direction I was meant to go. "Just to the wall, please."

"I thought you had this corner all mapped out."

"Verity . .."

I measured. At the crumbling stretch of dry-stone wall, I stood up and called back, "Fifty-six feet, two inches."

He cupped a hand to his ear. "What?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake." With Kip trotting at my heels, I patiently retraced my steps. Across the field, I could sec David and Quinnell, heads bent in contemplation of the rough turf at their feet, while Wally stood to one side, frowning, and Brian leaned close over Fabia's shoulder as though offering an expert opinion.

Jeannie, I noticed, had disappeared. Gone back to the house, no doubt, as it was now less than an hour till lunch-time and she probably had some culinary masterpiece to pop into the oven. My stomach gave a small anticipatory rumble as I drew level with Adrian.

"Fifty-six feet, two inches," I repeated.

"Thanks." He jotted the number down, tossing a quick glance over his shoulder at the others. A few minutes later he repeated this motion, and grinned. "Well, well," he said slowly, "I do believe the old man's jealous."

"What, Peter? Who would he be jealous of?"

Adrian's eyes came back to mine, vaguely pitying. "God, you are thick, aren't you? No, my love, not Quinnell. The other one. He's looking daggers at me."

I turned in time to catch the blunt edge of David's scowl before his head angled down again. Staunchly ignoring the tiny, unnamed thrill that coursed through me, I advised Adrian not to be an idiot. "It's nothing personal. He's been looking daggers at everyone since Jeannie's husband arrived."

"Ah, yes. The inimitable Brian." Adrian's tone was dry. "And what did you think of him?”

“I thought he seemed rather nice."

"You always did have rotten taste in men."

I shot him a sidelong glance. "Doesn't say much for you, that, does it?"

"Yes, well, I meant myself excepted. Although," he mused, "you did throw me over, didn't you, which only goes to prove my point. Was that a drop of rain, or did I imagine it?"

"I didn't feel anything."

"Good." Another pause, while he stretched a length of tape between two surveyed points. "You've noticed, of course, that our Fabia shares your high opinion of Brian McMorran?''

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"Meaning just what you think I mean." He slanted me a faintly superior look and jerked his head in the direction of the small group down the hill. "Look for yourself, if you don't believe me. It doesn't take a rocket scientist." He broke off, squinting skywards. "Damn, that was a drop of rain. I knew it."

Beyond his shoulder, Fabia threw back her head and laughed, her artfully tousled mop of hair whipped backwards by the wind to brush against Brian McMorran's jaw. He, too, was laughing, leaning closer, not touching her, but...

"She's very pretty," I commented, slowly.

"Yes, she is. If you like that type." Adrian had developed an intense interest in his preparations, hurrying his pace along to beat the darkening clouds, but though his voice sounded offhand, I wasn't in the least fooled.

"What type would that be?" I teased him. "The sexy-as-hell blond type? All legs and eyes and perfect teeth?"

He grinned. "That would be the one, yes."

"Ah."

"Mind you, I've gone head over heels on at least one occasion for the dark-haired, smart-talking type as well," he said lightly.

I knew him far too well to fall for the intimacy of that smile, those dark eyes levelled warmly on my own. He was lather like one of those snakes, I mused—those giant snakes that tried to mesmerize you, held you captive, unresisting, with the force of their gaze alone. I looked away with ease, and held my hand palm upwards to catch the light but unmistakable scattering of raindrops.