The group turned to look at Manuel and Santiago. Catarina came to the edge of the drive, the boy struggling in her arms. As soon as she put him down, the little fellow galloped toward the two men. When Samuel was a couple of yards away, Santiago opened his arms and leaned down to receive him, but the boy eluded the marquis and wrapped himself around Manuel’s legs instead. Manuel looked down in consternation, moved and yet disturbed by the embarrassing situation the boy in all his innocence had provoked.
Santiago straightened up. He rubbed the boy’s neck but got no reaction; he turned without a word and headed back to the manor. He paused briefly when he got to his wife, leaned over as they stood shoulder to shoulder, and muttered a few words. Catarina looked down and trailed after him without speaking. Manuel didn’t hear their exchange, but perhaps Vicente and Elisa had. Manuel saw them exchange a glance. Elisa quickly busied herself with the flowers, but Vicente went to the pickup and slammed the tailgate shut so hard that he startled the women. Everyone turned to look at him, Santiago included.
Manuel lifted the boy, hugged him, and chatted, all the while keenly aware of the tense situation. The marquis went quickly out of sight, but the others were strung out in a long line, with Catarina halfway between him and the duo of Elisa and Vicente. A seemingly interminable pause probably lasted only a couple of seconds before Catarina hesitantly approached him. As she came forward Manuel saw her pretending to arrange her hair while wiping away tears with her forearm. Her eyes were still glistening when she got to him.
“Hello,” she said, and held out a small, firm hand with close-trimmed nails and scratched green nail polish. She was short but not heavy; her frame was muscular. Her tan was evidence of long hours of outdoor work. “I’m Catarina. We saw one another for a moment at Gri?án’s office, but it wasn’t a day for . . .”
“Very pleased to meet you,” he said, shifting the boy to the other arm so he could awkwardly shake her hand.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there the other day when you visited the greenhouse. Oh, and I hope you’re feeling better. Vicente told me you got dizzy.”
He smiled and made a dismissive gesture. “I have no idea why.”
She smiled back and seemed relieved to speak of something other than what had just occurred. “It’s not unusual, what with the heat, the humidity, and the heavy perfume. The atmosphere in the greenhouse can be just too much.”
“You have gorgeous flowers,” Manuel said and gestured toward the pickup. “Do you sell them?”
“Yes,” she responded with pride. “Most of them go to perfume manufacturers and other cultivators, but sometimes we do flower arrangements for special occasions. We’re taking these to my parents’ estate. There’s a wedding there this weekend, and I enjoy doing the flowers.” She paused and a shadow passed over her face. She looked back at the big house and bowed her head in apology. “Santiago doesn’t like to see me working.”
Manuel nodded at that incongruous remark as if he understood or accepted it. The pickup’s engine started and put an end to the conversation.
“We have to go.” She held her arms out for the boy. Samuel flung himself fearlessly into her embrace. “I hope you’ll come back to visit. I’m always at the greenhouse in the morning.”
“Perhaps I will.”
Manuel stood relaxed where he was, watching as they got into the vehicle and left. Elisa and the boy waved as the pickup passed him. His eyes followed them as they drove out of the estate and silence settled over the premises.
The sun was high and a mild breeze rustled the trees. Birds were quiet, stunned by the unexpected heat of that September afternoon. He took out his cell phone and called Gri?án.
A drowsy voice responded. Manuel checked his watch and found it was four in the afternoon. He’d probably interrupted the man’s siesta. So what? “I just spoke to Santiago. He doesn’t deny asking for the money and tells me it was for a horse. Claims you were aware of it, all part of álvaro’s plan to improve the stock at the stable.”
“All right . . . give me just a moment.” That confirmed it—the man had been sleeping when the phone rang. “That’s right . . . over the past year they bought several horses with that idea in mind, including an English nag that was a disaster. Santiago made that decision and spent close to three hundred thousand.” Gri?án paused. “They haven’t bought any others since.” He seemed to search his memory. “They did discuss buying a breeding mare two or three months ago. Horses aren’t my responsibility, but purchase prices are. I can tell you right now that given the expenses and what the other horses cost, a breeding mare wouldn’t have cost three hundred thousand euros.” He cleared his throat. “And besides, if the money was for the purchase of a horse, don Santiago would have told me so. As he did before.”
Manuel said nothing for several seconds while he turned the administrator’s doubts over in his mind.
“Manuel, I hope you were discreet enough not to tell him you got the information from me.”
“Believe me, Gri?án, right now that should be the least of your worries.” He ended the call.
He shaded his eyes and squinted toward the upper floor of the manor house. He thought he saw a dark figure by a window. The tall dark figure didn’t move. It stood motionless as a statue, not making itself obvious but not hiding its presence either.
She’s always up there, keeping an eye on everything.
Noise from the stalls attracted his attention, and Manuel remembered that Santiago had been headed in that direction when he’d caught sight of Manuel. Santiago had changed his mind about riding after that. Manuel bowed toward the distant window with mock formality, reoriented himself, and walked to the stables.
The veterinarian, a man probably less than forty years of age, was the same one who’d greeted Manuel on his previous visit. The vet was guiding a handsome horse into a stall. Manuel waited until he’d latched the gate and then approached him.
The vet appeared pleased to see him. “Oh, yes, I saw you the other day. You must be . . .”
“The new owner,” Manuel replied assertively. He couldn’t take half measures when he was looking to enlist the man’s cooperation. And after all, he did own everything here.
The man took a deep breath, pulled off a suede glove and held out his hand, clearly revising his assumptions. “Oh! It’s just that . . . I thought, well . . . It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“I have some questions about the horses, and perhaps you can help me.”
The man smiled again. “Of course! That’s one area where I certainly do have some expertise.”
“How many horses do we have here?”
“Twelve, for the moment. Most of them are Spanish horses. Fine animals.” He waved toward the row of stalls. “There’s also an Arabian mare and Slender, an English racehorse. That’s the one I was attending to the other day when you came by with se?or Gri?án.”
Manuel kept it casual. “I heard there was some problem.”
The vet puffed in exasperation. “Some problem is an understatement. Slender’s back legs have a congenital defect. It wouldn’t be so serious in any other type of horse, but he’s a racehorse. The pain makes him unfit for racing.”
“How long ago did they buy the horse?”
“Just over a year ago.”
“You said it’s a congenital defect—in other words, the horse was born with it. Why didn’t they return it or at least ask for their money back? Surely that’s a valid reason for canceling the sale.”
The vet had nodded as Manuel spoke. He turned toward the inside. “Come with me.” He took Manuel on a tour of the stables, stopping to show him each animal. A gold-colored plaque with the name was attached to the gate of each stall. “This building houses some fine specimens: Noir, for example, is a robust Arabian mare, spirited and with a noble character. Swift, Orwell, and Carrol are Spanish horses they purchased last year, and I assisted Santiago with each purchase. They’re well-tempered specimens, obedient and excellent in shows.”