The two men sat in the front seats of the Silver Shadow, with Laurel and Peter in the back. She had been offered the passenger seat, but said she preferred to be with the child. Luis had given her a quizzical look, but made no comment, but Esteban had grinned and remarked:‘The lady is very discreet.’‘She needs to be, with you around,’ Luis retorted, which she took to be a veiled allusion to the night before. If Esteban had been driving, she might have taken the offered place, for she thought his feelings had been hurt by his brother’s caustic dismissal, but she wanted to avoid intimacy with Luis—no, ‘wanted’ was the wrong word—but she knew it was unwise. She was wearing her beige trousers, with a white blouse, and a long sleeveless over-jacket which came nearly to her knees, a concession to Spanish susceptibilities. It was in knitted acrylic, with a metallic thread running through it, which toned with her hair. Esteban had paid her a flowery compliment when she had appeared in it, but Luis had not even glanced at her.
