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
