The Shadowy Horses

I wasn't thrilled to see him. It must have shown plainly on my face when I glanced round, but Adrian took no notice. He was doing his dog-in-the-manger again, and his eyes were not on me, but on David.

"God, you look awful," he said, with typical tact. "You ought to be in bed."

I caught the uncharacteristic gleam of mischief deep in David's eyes as his gaze swung meaningfully to me. Leaning back against the red painted railing, he folded his arms across his wide chest and turned to Adrian. "Plenty of time for that, yet."

One could almost hear the slap of a gauntlet thrown down upon the pier. Adrian smiled smoothly and raised his chin a fraction, measuring the challenge.

I frowned at him. "You don't look very wonderful yourself, you know. Or haven't you seen a mirror recently?"

Adrian, being somewhat more appearance-conscious than David, had showered and shaved, and his clothes and hair were as sleekly neat as ever, but his face looked rather ravaged. It was the wrong color, and his bloodshot eyes had pouches underneath. "My dear girl," he said smoothly, "if you will insist on keeping me up until all hours of the night..."

Oh, no you don't, my lad, I thought. Tipping my head up, I showed him a smile that was dangerously sweet. "I'm surprised you're up and walking, after all that drink. Peter was rather concerned about you."

"Was he indeed?" Adrian grinned and let my dart glance off him harmlessly. "Well, he didn't look at all concerned an hour ago, when he came downstairs and turfed me out of the sitting room. In fact," he added, rubbing the back of his neck with a rueful hand, "T can't prove anything, but I believe the old boy kicked me."

I thought it unlikely, and said so. "You've probably just got a hangover."

"I never get hangovers."

"Fancy a few raw eggs then, do you?"

He sent me a withering glance. "I don't know why you're picking on me, my love. I look a damned sight better than he does," he said, with a nod toward David, "and Peter looks a damned sight worse."

"Peter," I reminded him, "is twice your age. And David's had rather a stressful night.''

Adrian stopped rubbing his neck and turned to David, suddenly remembering. "Oh, right. Of course you have. She's all right, though, your mother, isn't she? Peter said..."

"She's doing fine the now," said David. He fixed his eyes on Adrian's face, as though trying to focus. "Did you say Peter's not looking so well?"

"Just exhaustion, I expect. Nothing too serious. He seemed to be in good spirits, when he woke me up. Said he wanted the sitting room all to himself, to write his report for the university ..."

"Oh, Christ, that's tomorrow, isn't it?" David levered himself upright, away from the support of the railing, and winced at the effort. "Connelly comes tomorrow. I clean forgot. Peter'll be needing my notes ..."

"Peter," I said firmly, "is not an idiot. He knows where to find your notes, if he wants them."

"Aye, but—”

“But nothing. The man's been doing this for fifty years, you know. I'm sure he'll manage. You'd hardly be a help to him, anyway, the state you're in."

He raised his eyebrows. "Would I not?"

"Well, look at you—you're falling asleep on your feet. I'll bet if I gave you a nudge you'd go straight over into the harbor."

A warm glint of amusement lit the weary blueness of his eyes. "Come on, then. Give it a try."

Adrian, always suspicious of bantering that didn't include him, smoothly put his oar in. "I wouldn't dare the girl, if I were you. It's like waving a red flag in front of a bull. You're liable to find yourself treading water."

"Och, I'd not be budged so easily," David promised. With a fleeting wink at me he bent his head to check his watch. "But if you've a mind to push me in, lass, you'd best do it from the far side of the harbor, or we'll be late for the auction."

Adrian greened a little. "The fish auction, do you mean?"

"Aye. She's never seen one."

"Fancy that." The smile he summoned up was rather sickly, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"You don't have to come, you know."

"No, no," said Adrian, with a deceptively languid glance at the big man standing close behind my shoulder. "No, the auction's open-air, I'll be all right."

"And you're absolutely sure," I checked, "that it's not a hangover?"

"Absolutely. The smell of fish can turn my stomach any day, drink or no drink. You know that." His tone had grown intimate again, purposeful, and as the three of us moved to walk along the middle pier he briefly slung his arm across my shoulders, not in his normal friendly way but with a touch that implied possession.

I stiffened—I never had liked being anyone's possession— but then it wasn't my reaction that interested Adrian. The male of the species, I thought with a sigh, could be so bloody maddening. As we passed through the shadow of Brian's fishing boat, its nets rolled up alongside the pier, I pretended to lose my footing and ducked neatly out of Adrian's embrace.

He scarcely seemed to notice. Flashing a thoughtful look at the bright red hull of the boat, he raised a hand to rub his jaw. "Anyone seen Brian today?"

"He was up at the house, earlier," I said, straightening. "He and Fabia were going to move some boxes up from here, I think he said."