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greeted her. She was curled up on the sofa like a contented cat.
    “Did you have a nice afternoon.” “
    “Lovely,” she replied politely.
    “And you?” Lisa cast a meaningful glance at Patrick’s back, and her smile was unbearably smug.
    “Very stimulating.” Molly gritted her teeth, glancing around the room to see Willy, who seemed to be viewing the proceedings with a great deal of faintly drunken amusement.
    “How are you tonight, Willy?” she greeted him, desperate to remove herself from Lisa’s arch glances.
    She didn’t need her far from subtle reminder of what she’d been doing with Molly’s husband.
    “Good enough, re’ dear Willy answered, raising a dark amber drink in greeting.
    “Glad to see you eided to join us after all.”
     
    She felt a sudden spurt of anger at all of them. They must have discussed poor little Molly in their various condescending tones, conspiring to torment and embarrass her. Well, she wouldn’t let them down, she decided suddenly, throwing herself down into’ the most comfortable chair in the room and glowering at them all like a spoiled teenager.
    Patrick stalked over to her to thrust a tall glass of bright red liquid at her.
    “Here you are,” he said with false solicitude, and she controlled the urge to throw the drink back in his face.
    “What is it?” she demanded suspiciously.
    He raised an eyebrow.
    “Your usual. Cranberry juice, just as Aunt Ermy ordered for you, though tonight without the vodka. I assume you aren’t allowed to drink after your supposed blow on the head.” His voice was cool and disbelieving, and she barely controlled an equally snappish answer.
    Instead she took a small, ladylike sip of it and wondered absently if among her myriad other faults she had been a drunk as well. She took a second, larger sip and leaned back further into the protective recesses of the chair to watch her family and friends. Her participation was not missed. Willy, Patrick and Lisa were deeply involved in a discussion of horse breeding, a subject as foreign to her as mountain climbing. Though of course, she thought ruefully, she could very well have dabbled in both. She was the first one to notice the arrival of another guest, walking quietly along the stone-floored hallway. He was above medium height, though shorter than the lanky Patrick, with curly brown hair and a quiet intensity about
    Anne Smart his eyes. He looked handsome, shy, and out of place, and quite friendly in a quiet, gentle way, so far removed from the tightly leashed violence she sensed in her husband. She suddenly felt a little more optimistic.
    Maybe she’d finally found an ally among all these enemies.
    “Hello, there.” He cleared his throat at the door and they turned to greet him with enthusiasm.
    “Toby!” Patrick’s sudden, friendly grin was a revelation.
    “We were just discussing Arab’s points. We’ll forgive you for being late if you can clear something up.”
    Molly stared at Patrick, shocked into momentary silence. Remembering, almost remembering, with the sight of that sudden, devastating smile. And then Toby stepped between them, and his eyes were warm and sympathetic.
    “How are you, Molly? We missed you.”
    The others were staring at him ~with silent disapproval, as if they suddenly discovered they had a traitor in their midst, but Toby didn’t seem to notice. For the first time someone seemed sincerely glad to have her back, and Molly’s eyes threatened to fill with those unwanted tears again.
    “Thank you, Toby,” she said softly, smiling up at hilll.
    “Let’s go in to dinner,” Patrick said abruptly, breaking the moment.
    He took Lisa’s silk-clad arm and led her toward the dining room.
    “I could eat a horse. Next time I invite you for dinner you come on time, boy,” he said with mock seriousness, and Toby laughed.
     
    “I was held up, Pat,” he said, following Willy’s beefy form.
    “Miss Molly’s just about to foal and I didn’t know whether I