The Horseman

by Margaret Way

  FOR DAYS AFTER Cecile returned to Melbourne, Rolfe battled his demons. It was an unexpected twist for someone to make him feel really bad, but she had succeeded, a Moreland. Now he was far too involved with Cecile not to put away all thoughts of revenge. His dark quest had obsessed him for too long. After that afternoon when they had made such sublime love he had discarded all his old hatreds like so much broken furniture held for too long in an attic. History hadn’t been kind to his family. It. hadn’t been kind to the Morelands, either. He had to look to the future.

  There was no future without Cecile. No future that offered such glorious promise. But what could he offer her? Well, he had worked hard and put away enough. Wealth didn’t automatically bring happiness, anyway. More often, it was the reverse.

  Finally he made up his mind what he should do. He would go to Joel Moreland and make a clean breast of everything: his background, his dark intentions, his once all-consuming quest for revenge. He would tell Joel Moreland what he had managed to find out. Joel Moreland, because of his grandson Daniel’s sad story, already knew what his late wife, Frances, had been capable of. He had to lay it all on the line. Make a full confession. He had hated deceiving Joel, anyway. He would tell Joel everything save his love for Cecile. That was a secret he intended to hold close to his heart.

  She had gone away without a word to him, no parting message. He knew she was shocked at his deception. He knew she no longer trusted him, and trust was very important to her. It would be a long road back to regain her confidence. But what they had shared that tumultuous afternoon, the glory of it, continued to warm him, heart and soul. It gave him the courage to confront the Man with the Midas Touch.

  WHEN HE ARRIVED at the Moreland mansion, the house manager, a pleasant, competent man in his late fifties, showed him into the garden room at the rear of the house. A large collection of tropical orchids was in spectacular bloom, many he was familiar with from his mother’s extensive collection. Great luxuriant ferns suspended in baskets from the huge beams that supported the soaring ceiling drew the eye upward. It was a beautiful room. Joel was sitting at a large circular glass-topped table surrounded by papers, enjoying a cup of tea, but he rose and held out his hand. I

  “Raul, how nice you’ve come to keep me company.” The welcoming smile made Rolfe feel even more sick at heart. How long would the smiles last? “How are you, sir?” His nerves on edge, he slipped back into formal address.

  “Missing my beautiful Cecile.” Joel sighed. “Apart from that, I feel like a million bucks. And you, Raul? You look a little tense. Sit down, sit down. Would you like tea, coffee, a cold drink?”

  “Nothing, thank you, sir.”

  “You’re very formal today.” The remarkable eyes scanned him. Eyes that took in everything about a person.

  “I hold you in the greatest respect,” Rolfe answered gravely.

  “So what’s on your mind?” Joel asked. “You’ve obviously got a problem. I suspect you’re missing Cecile, too?”

  Rolfe’s face went taut. “I doubt she’s missing me.”

  “Oh? I thought you two were madly in love?”

  Rolfe’s expression registered his shock. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “I’ve got eyes, my boy!” Joel scoffed. “You must remember I’m Cecile’s granddad. I know every expression that crosses her face, every little inflection in her voice. She’s the closest person in the world to me. Closer than my daughter, who has never forgiven me for neglecting her with my absence. Closer even than my grandson, Daniel, so new to me. But I love all three. So you could say Cecile is an open book to me.”

  “Then you must have sensed she’s finished with me now?” Rolfe asked somewhat grimly.

  “Well, I knew something was wrong,” Joel acknowledged. “There was the trauma of the broken engagement, but then there has been another major concern. You’ll find out soon enough. My daughter, Justine, and her husband are splitting up after thirty years of marriage. I understood that was the reason Cecile hurried off home.”

  “I never knew,” Rolfe confessed, feeling more and more rejected. “I had thought Cecile’s parents’ marriage was rock solid.”

  “Well, it might have appeared to be. It was certainly no battlefield, but sadly at the end of the day it has no real meaning. In many ways Justine and Howard led isolated lives. Howard devoted himself to the business. I have nothing but praise for him in that regard. My daughter devoted her life to being the perfect wife, and in many respects she was. But one reaches a stage in life when all the old ambitions take a back seat. People as they age begin to think very seriously about the quality of their emotional life. Making money, keeping it intact is no longer as important as it once was. I would have traded everything in the blink of an eye for the life of my son. That was not to be, but I have Daniel, for which I daily thank God. My daughter Justine is understandably devastated, but I’m confident she’ll slam down a few barriers and regroup. She has never suffered from loneliness you see, or introspection.”

  “So it was Cecile’s father who wanted to leave?” Rolfe remembered Howard Moreland as being an uncommonly attractive and charming man.

  “Apparently. There’s another woman, of course. There always is. But this woman—it’s not a case of Howard leaving my daughter for a much younger woman—must be able to make my son-in-law happy; Cecile flew home to be with her mother, but that wasn’t overly successful, she tells me. Justine is quite capable of doing Howard a lot of harm. I’ll get drawn into it fairly soon. So will you.”

  Rolfe gazed unseeingly around the beautiful plant-filled room. “Not when you hear what I have to say. There are things about me, Joel, you don’t know.”

  “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me,” Moreland invited briskly, then held up a staying hand. “I think I will get a fresh pot of tea made and some coffee, maybe a few sandwiches?” he suggested. “You look like you need a bit of bucking up. I’m happy you’ve come to me with your problems, Raul. I’ll help you in any way I can.”

  Would he be happy afterward? Rolfe thought. Having made his decision, he had no option but to launch the missiles that would shatter Joel Moreland’s good opinion of him. He suddenly realized that the man’s opinion mattered a great deal.

  Rolfe began to speak in a low measured tone. He started from when he first arrived in the Territory. He didn’t attempt to tone down his reason for returning to the place of his birth. He had meant to cause the Morelands pain….

  He was not interrupted. No matter what the revelation, Joel Moreland never said a word. He waited until Rolfe finished speaking before sitting back in his chair, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

  “Revenge never works, Rolfe, does it?” he said finally, in a quiet musing tone. “Rolfe suits you better than Raul, by the way. Hate is corrosive. It eats away at the soul. I’ve firsthand experience of that—not so much myself, hate doesn’t seem to be part of my nature—but I’ve seen it become an integral part of the lives of so many others. First of all I must tell you not all of this comes as a surprise.”

  Rolfe pulled upright in his chair. “I should have known.”

  “Yes, you should,” Joel agreed “I had no intention whatever of doing any check on you if that’s what you’re thinking. I liked you, that’s all there was to it. I took to you on sight. My instincts have never let me down. I could see Ceci was attracted to you. But I have many contacts in the international world of polo. You must realize that.”

  “Of course.” Rolfe had allowed for the fact Joel Moreland might check on him. He had taken the chance.

  “I sell many of my polo ponies overseas, including Argentina,” Joel explained. “However, it was sheer chance that drew me into conversation with a South American buyer, a Brazilian actually, who knows your stepfather, and has in the past done business with him. I had accepted you were who you said you were—Raul Montalvan. I mentioned your name in passing. When this man told me something of your story, which he’d had from your stepfather,
my heart went out to you. I heard how your father was killed, how your mother was left virtually a penniless young widow in a strange country with a young son to rear. How she later married Ramon Montalvan, an excellent man. I received quite a shock when I further learned your mother was an Australian, as was her late husband and of course, you. I hadn’t been expecting that at all. After that, I made my own inquiries. I felt in my bones—some presentiment, some fragment of memory—there was a connection. Possibly it was your father’s name. I vaguely remembered him as being a promising polo player. It was easy to fill in the rest.”

  “Dear God!” Rolfe leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. How long had Joel known? How could he still smile?

  “My son’s death overwhelmed me,” Joel said. “You must understand that. You, too, know all about grief. I was desolate. For a time all the life drained out of me. My success, my position in life, meant nothing, though I was forced to keep going. So many people, towns, depended on me for their livelihood. I know now my wife, Frances, was the cause of great unhappiness, great hurt and great wrong. I should have been more aware of what was going on, so I, too, bear the burden of guilt. I can only plead I was adrift in a nightmare and ask for forgiveness. I had such grand plans for Jared. Plans that differed from my wife’s. One of her pet objectives was to marry him off to some young woman suitable in her eyes and one I imagine Frances thought she could control. Instead all my son got was a marble headstone. I have arranged that fresh flowers be laid on his grave every day that I live.”

  “My uncle Benjie didn’t get that,” Rolfe pointed out quietly. “When did you first know?” He looked into Joel Moreland’s eyes. “You gave no sign. You never told Cecile, obviously.”

  “I think I’m a good judge of men, Rolfe. I held my tongue, waiting to see what you would do. I’ve gone further. It’s something I felt I should do. I’ve bought back your grandfather’s property. It’s very run-down, but it’s yours to do whatever you like with. Work it, put a manager on it. I don’t imagine you want to sell it.”

  Rolfe looked back in a daze. “But surely…” He could get no further, spearing his hand into his hair in distraction. Whatever he’d expected of today’s traumatic encounter it wasn’t this.

  “I’ve made other investigations into my son’s death—far too late—though nothing will bring Jared back or your uncle Benjamin. It seems appalling to me to malign my poor Frances—I know she passed many many unhappy years—but she held to denying her own grandson until she was on her deathbed. She carried the secret of how she had imperiled your family to her grave. I ask you to forgive her. To forgive me. On the level of family, Frances was obsessive to a cautionary degree. She adored Jared. That he fell in love with one of our little housemaids and got her pregnant goaded Frances beyond endurance. Then Jared was killed. I knew my son. I’m absolutely certain he had no idea Johanna was carrying his child. If he had, he would have married her and I would have stood beside them both. Your family had the great misfortune to face a bereaved mother’s wrath. It falls on me, Rolfe, all these many years later, to make retribution. I ought to have known. With Johanna and my son, I was too involved with my business affairs to notice a romance going on right under my nose. When Jared was killed was like a man in a coma. I functioned on one level but not on another. That’s not much of a defense, I know.”

  “I think it is, sir.” Rolfe’s voice was both gentle and understanding.

  “You’ve suffered greatly, haven’t you, Rolfe?” Joel asked, looking into the younger man’s dark eyes.

  Rolfe shrugged off the many blighted areas of his life. Something so far he had been totally unable to do. “Not in any material sense,” he said. “My stepfather, Ramon, is a generous, good-hearted man. He adores my mother and because of her he tried very hard with me. Gradually I settled down, though for a long time I was pretty wild. For the last five years I’ve been in charge of the breeding program of our polo ponies and their training, as you now know. Horses are my passion. I have a special way with them. Ramon thought so, too.”

  “Horses are my passion, as well,” Joel confirmed. “I understand from my Brazilian friend, you were gaining quite a reputation; I’ve been told your stepfather is particularly proud of your ability to turn out the finest polo ponies. I’ve checked the sales for the Montalvan estancia. Top prices.”

  For the first time Rolfe smiled. “It’s a great satisfaction to my family—my Argentinian family—I’ve been so successful, but it wouldn’t have happened without my stepfather. It was Ramon who gave me the opportunity and authority over others much longer in the business. If he hadn’t, perhaps I would be dead on the polo field like my father from a fatal kick in the head.”

  Joel visibly shuddered. “Don’t say that, Rolfe!” he implored. “Has what I’ve said given you any peace at all?”

  Rolfe looked away, much moved. “I thought you’d brand me an impostor, a fortune hunter, someone utterly untrustworthy.”

  “Well, there are such men about,” Joel said dryly, “but I was and am still prepared to put my trust in you.” He put out his hand.

  Rolfe took it. “I can never thank you enough for the kindness and understanding of your response. It means a great deal to me. I know I’ve lost and deserve to lose Cecile’s trust. In her beautiful eyes I’m a badly flawed man.”

  “Then you’ll have to work to persuade her otherwise, won’t you?” Joel told him bracingly. “I can say it now, but I wasn’t happy about her marrying Stuart Carlson. I didn’t think I had the right to interfere. Although before you appeared on the scene, I was getting around to it. My daughter Justine is a very strong-minded woman like her mother before her. She has always tried to deny Cecile complete freedom of action. Stuart was Justine’s choice.”

  “Carlson had his own dossier compiled on me.” Rolfe brought it out into the open.

  “Did he now!” Joel whistled softly. “I think I’ll have to persuade him to burn it. Not that there could be anything in it to actually discredit you in any way, which obviously was what he hoped. Cecile knows about this?”

  Rolfe nodded. “He sent it to her. She thinks the worst of me.”

  “He sent it to her, did he?” Joel Moreland’s voice filled with contempt. “Tells you what sort of man he is. Give Cecile a little time,” he advised. “My granddaughter is not the sort of woman who likes to think the worst of anyone. She has a compassionate heart. That’s why she’s so successful with her little patients. She’s compassionate and she’s clever. She comes up with breakthrough ideas. She’s very highly regarded by her peers. She has the gift of healing.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a moment,” Rolfe said with deep fervor. “She healed me.”

  IT WAS EARLY AFTERNOON some three weeks later. Cecile was sitting at her desk, looking at Ellie Wheeler’s drawings. Cecile, who thought she was beyond being shocked, was brought to the edge of actual nausea. Since returning to her practice, she had made special time for Ellie, fitting her into her very busy schedule to the extent she was starting earlier and finishing late with many a lunch break missed. But what did that matter? Ellie was in need of intensive therapy. Ellie’s mother had brought in the girl originally because Ellie’s latest school had insisted on Ellie’s getting counseling. There would have been no counseling otherwise, Cecile knew. But as hard as she tried, she hadn’t been able to make the breakthrough she was seeking, although they were doing a lot better now that Cecile had confined Mrs. Wheeler to the waiting room. Mrs. Wheeler had been adamant she be allowed in, but Cecile had quietly said no. Ellie was a very difficult child, physically abusive to her mother, to her schoolmates and of recent times to her younger brother. Both parents—Cecile had met the father once—to all appearances were good caring people, patient and understanding. But they were almost at the end of their tether, now that Ellie had begun attacking her brother. Ellie was under a two-week suspension from school—her previous school had asked for her to be removed—because she had spat at and kicked the male sports ma
ster when he attempted to help her tie up her shoelaces. Ellie had been deliberately dawdling, holding up the class. “A small fury!” was the way the teacher described her during the attack. “She even punched me!”

  Ellie, despite her angelic appearance, beautiful blond hair and big blue eyes, acted as much like a little devil. Cecile had tested her for a number of personality disorders, as well as ADD and autism. Her behavior didn’t match any of those. Previously Ellie had been considered of exceptional intelligence—her father was a doctor, her mother a music teacher—but at her new school Ellie had gained the reputation for not only being highly disruptive and aggressive, but down-right stupid. Many teachers along the way had tried to help her, baffled and challenged by the child. Because of her looks, other children had tried to befriend her, only to be met with bites, scratches and hostile rejection.

  “Is she psychotic?” Dr. Peter Wheeler, Ellie’s father, had asked in his pleasant cultivated voice, his gray eyes behind dark-framed glasses deeply concerned.

  “She wasn’t always like this,” Marcie Wheeler added, sounding so close to tears her husband had grabbed for her hand.

  ELLIE WASN’T STUPID. Far from it. Cecile had divined that from the moment she had met the child. But Ellie was emotionally disturbed. There had to be good reasons for why the child was acting so badly. Cecile knew there was a lot going on behind the either perfectly blank or wildly mutinous little face. Just those two expressions. With her mother present Ellie was given to extreme temper tantrums that her mother appeared totally unable to control. Now that Cecile was working with the child alone, Ellie’s behavior had settled closer to normal, and the way she swiftly solved puzzles showed an exceptional intelligence at work. She was even allowing Cecile to come close and she was directly meeting Cecile’s eyes, something she hadn’t done until that very week. Cecile knew she had been under close scrutiny by the child, and thankfully she appeared to have passed whatever tests Ellie had set. To gain the trust of a child was great progress. Cecile had been quietly thrilled.