Markov stopped. That surely had to be enough. McGuire was now looking concerned. He felt pleased with himself. The lie indirect. Perhaps it needed one final tiny gloss.

“And of course,” he went on, “when the woman still loves the man concerned—then it’s worse. It makes me really angry, as a matter of fact.” He shot Rowland a quick glance. “I don’t like to see a good woman wasted. I mean, the way I look at it—from the sidelines, all right—Lindsay’s got everything going for her. She’s pretty. She’s smart. She’s kind. She’s generous. She’s good. She’s a great mother—and she ought to make some man a great wife.”

“I’m sure she will. In due course.”

“Maybe. I have my doubts. Because there’s a few problems. One of them being—as far as Lindsay’s concerned—other men don’t exist.”

Rowland, as Markov had hoped, looked faintly encouraged by this. “That’s why,” Markov went on, pressing home this advantage, “I approached you. I mean, I had reservations at first. Mr. Lothario, right? The last thing Lindsay needs right now is some other guy taking advantage of the state she’s in, making some cheap pass—”

“If that’s a warning,” Rowland said with edge, “I can assure you it’s unnecessary. It’s not my practice to take advantage of women. Particularly unhappy women. Despite what you may have heard.”

“My opinion too. Now that I’ve met you, that is.” Markov flashed a smile. “Besides, it’s just for a few weeks. Escort duties. At most a shoulder to cry on. Someone to give her reassurance and advice.”

This was met with further silence. They walked on, descending the final slope and approaching the entrance to Max’s orchard. McGuire paused at the gate, frowning again. Apple blossoms drifted from the trees, and lay like confetti at their feet.

“Look,” he said in an abrupt way. “If Lindsay truly needs that kind of help, then I’d be glad to provide it. Of course I’d be delighted to take her out for a meal, take her to the theater. I told you—I like Lindsay. But advice? Reassurance? A shoulder to cry on? I’m not sure I’m the best candidate. I always try to avoid getting involved in other people’s personal problems. Particularly those of women. I’ve found—”

“Yes?”

“—I’ve found I just end up making them worse. I’m not sure why that is.”

“I can’t imagine,” Markov said with the smallest of glances at Rowland’s magnificent physique.

“But if Lindsay just needs an escort occasionally, someone to listen, of course I’d do that…”

“And it is only for a few weeks,” Markov put in. “You’ll be my understudy. Then, when I get back from Tangier…” There was a slight pause.

“Or,” Rowland said evenly, “the remote part of the African bush…”

“Right. Right. Up the Zambezi someplace…”

Markov, feeling triumphant—this was not so very difficult after all—threw open the orchard gate.

“It just seems slightly odd that no one mentioned this to me before,” Rowland said in a thoughtful way. “And no one did. Not Max. Not Charlotte.”