didn’t answer. His eyes had widened at the sight of Isadora.
“Aha!” he grinned like a hyena. “The chica! The little girl who beat me in the race! I should have known she was behind this!”
“What are you talking about, Vega?” Roberto Nunez was losing his good humour rapidly. “You storm into my house and…”
“Do not try to blame this on me!” Vega shot back. “You know what you have done, Roberto. No doubt the girl was involved. Well you will not get away with it! Give her back!”
Roberto was baffled. He looked at Isadora.
“No, no!” Vega shook his head. “Not the girl. I don’t want her back. I want the mare. The one you stole from me!”
“What?” Roberto was stunned.
“Hand her back now and we will say no more about it,” Vega said. There were beads of sweat appearing in the furrows of his brow, glistening beneath the black oil slick of his hairline.
Roberto Nunez’s voice became cool. He was no longer amused. “If there is a mare missing from your herd then it is none of our affair.”
“Your land borders mine,” Vega replied. “It had to be you. I have just brought my herd in for the evening and Laeticia is gone. She was one of my favourites. A great breeding mare and I know that you have long admired her too, so do not play games with me!”
“Miguel,” Roberto said stiffly. “I think you need to leave now. To accuse a man of theft in this way is a very serious business.”
“But you accused me of it once!” Vega shot back.
“Yes,” Roberto conceded, “but then you had stolen Nightstorm, hadn’t you?”
Vega shrugged. He couldn’t argue with this logic since he had indeed stolen Issie’s colt.
“You have my word as a gentleman that I had nothing to do with your mare’s disappearance.” Roberto continued, “Our own mares were disturbed recently. Perhaps this is not an isolated occurrence. If so, then all of our horses may be in danger. Instead of charging about like madmen we should be working together to solve this problem.”
Vega’s lip curled beneath his moustache. The whole time he had been speaking, he had also been making furtive, greedy glances at Francoise, who sat silently at the table. “Perhaps you are right, Roberto,” he said with a greasy grin, “we should work together. Perhaps the lovely Francoise might accompany me on a ride around the farm in the moonlight to look for my mare?”
Francoise had long ago learned to ignore Vega’s romantic attentions, but that never seemed to stop him from pestering her with leering stares or asking her out. She gave Vega a cool stare. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. There is no point in looking for the mare in the darkness.”
“What a pity!” Vega said, his eyes still fixed on her. “A moonlight ride is so romantic and you do look so lovely tonight, my dear Francoise. Your hair looks very nice.”
Vega gave a bow to Francoise and then a nod to Roberto as he took his leave, slamming the door shut behind him.
There was silence at the dinner table as all eyes turned to Francoise. “That is it!” she snapped. “There will be no more talk about my hair ever again!”
Issie bit her lip but it was no good. She took one look at Alfie and the pair of them collapsed into fits of giggles.
After dinner Issie went to bed, still puzzling over the mystery of the missing horse. Normally she might have considered Vega’s story to be some kind of cunning ruse to divert suspicion. And yet she didn’t think so this time. She had seen the genuine fury on Vega’s face when he stormed through that door, and the look of concern too. Vega was jealously possessive of his horses. He was clearly worried about the missing mare, Laeticia.
Issie lay awake for a long time thinking about this, before she eventually fell asleep. In her dreams Spanish castanets were clack-clacking away. The clacking became louder and louder and then an even louder noise jolted her out of her slumber. It was the sound of a horse whinnying. Drowsy and jetlagged, she realised that the first sound she’d heard hadn’t been castanets at all, but hoofbeats on the cobblestones directly outside her balcony window.
Issie got out of bed and padded across the wooden floor to the balcony. Down below in the courtyard, illuminated in the moonlight of this warm summer night, was a grey horse. Not an enormous elegant breed like the Lipizzaners in the stallions’ stables, but a pony. Not much more than fourteen hands high, and very old, with a sway back and just the slightest smattering of faded dapples on his rump. He had a snowy white face and his eyes were deep black. The pony stared up at Issie expectantly, stamping and pacing. How long had he been there? She had been in such a deep sleep and now to wake and find him here once more! She felt her heart racing.
“Mystic!” she whispered down to him. “It’s OK, I’m coming!”
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