The Shadowy Horses

"He hasn't slept," I explained.

"Has he not?" Jeannie's bright head whipped around and David cringed, his bloodshot eyes seeking mine a shade reproachfully.

"Aye, well," he said cautiously, "I think I'll just go up to the Principia, and do a bit of playing with my own notes. There are one or two things on the computer that Peter will be wanting..."

"Don't be so bloody stupid." Jeannie, hands on hips, surveyed him with a stern eye. "You're as bad as your mother, you are. You keep pushing yourself till you fall on your face, and what use would you be then to Peter?"

"I'm really not..."

"Away upstairs," she instructed him firmly, "and have an hour's sleep afore supper. You can use the spare bed in Verity's room, she'll not mind—will you, Verity?"

Enjoying the sight of the big Scotsman being firmly ordered about, I solemnly assured Jeannie that I wouldn't mind in the least.

David's dark head rolled against the wall in a negative motion. "I've not got time, lass. My notes ..."

"Adrian can take care of all that." Jeannie waved the excuse aside. "If you're just wanting to print them off the computer..."

"Ah." Adrian, settled in comfort against the wall, interrupted archly. "Well, you see, I wouldn't know exactly what files to print, would I? There's the problem."

"So print them all," Jeannie advised him, with unarguable logic. "Peter will ken what he wants when he sees it." She turned to David. "There's nothing secret in these notes of yours, is there? Nothing Peter couldn't read?"

"No, but..."

"Well, then." Satisfied, she looked from one to the other of them, expectantly. The clock on the wall ticked loudly while she waited.

With a sigh of resignation David let his chair drop forward and stood rather creakily. Even Adrian, who didn't ordinarily submit to being bossed about, rose to his feet without rebuttal, and headed for the hall in David's wake. They looked so exactly like two small boys being sent to their rooms as punishment, that I couldn't keep from smiling, just a little. I tried to hide the smile but David caught me anyway, and his eyes, as he looked back from the doorway, promised retribution.

"Now," said Jeannie, when the two of them had left us and we'd heard the sullen thud of David's footsteps fading up the stairs, “let me just move these fish out of the way, and I'll make the tea."

Taking a seat in Adrian's still-warm chair, I watched her with open admiration. "I am impressed. I don't believe I've ever seen Adrian go quite that willingly without being bribed."

She grinned at me over her shoulder. "Well, I've had plenty of practice, living in a house full of men. Not that my dad ever listens. And Brian just does as he pleases."

"I saw his boat, this afternoon."

"Oh, aye? Did you get him to give you a tour?"

I shook my head. "Brian wasn't actually there—it was some older man, with white hair.”

“Billy." She nodded, setting the teapot to brew on the counter while she started scrubbing vegetables for our evening meal. "He's all right, is Billy. It's that sleekit lad from Liverpool that I can't bide. Brian thought he'd give the kid a chance, like. Help him straighten out. But some folk," Jeannie said, with emphasis, "won't go straight. They're born fair twisted."

Something she'd said struck a chord in my memory. "Jeannie?"

"Aye?"

"What does 'sleekit' mean?" It was the word, I remembered, that David had used earlier, to describe Adrian. The word he'd advised me to look up in my dictionary.

"Sleekit?" Jeannie checked, with half-raised eyebrows. "Well, it means... when you call a man sleekit, you're saying he's sort of all charm on the outside, like, but inside he's a sly lying devil."

"Like Adrian."

Her laugh was a lovely thing. "Aye, he's a perfect example. My dad still can't believe you used to go with Adrian. He thinks you're far too clever."

"Yes, well, it's surprising what a handsome face will blind you to."

Peter poked his head in from the hallway. "Do I dare hope that you're speaking of me?"

"Well, naturally." Jeannie's smile held mischief. "There's not a man so handsome in the house."

"My dear girl," Peter said, "how very kind. Remind me to give you a raise."

"D'ye fancy some tea?"

He politely declined the offer, and turned instead to me. "I was wondering, Verity, whether you'd seen my red notebook?"

"Is it not on your desk?"

"No." He shook his head, frowning faintly. "No, I've looked everywhere that it ought to be, but I'm afraid the blasted thing's gone missing."

"Perhaps someone moved it, and forgot to tell you." But even as I suggested that, I knew it wasn't likely. Quinnell's desk was his domain, and no one in the field crew would be fool enough to touch the red notebook containing his field notes.

"Perhaps." Peter wasn't convinced. "Only it's something of a problem, you see, because without that notebook I can't finish my report for Connelly."

Jeannie brought her knife to rest against the cutting board. "I thought you put everything in the computer, like."