by Feliz Faber
“For her retirement. This little beauty is going to be a mama soon, won’t you, princesse?” Nic smoothed the blanket along the horse’s back. “No more races for you, my girl. Green pastures and babies and a hot stallion now and then, that’s quite the life, isn’t it?” He cast Will a grin. “She’s going to Germany today. Zut alors!” Nic fiddled with a buckle, cursing when the strap slipped through his gloved fingers. “She hurt herself in her last race, and there’s no point keeping her in training since she’ll never race again. She isn’t even suitable as a riding horse anymore. Francis said he didn’t mind, he’d pay charity for her, but I thought that’d be a waste—”
“Francis?” Will interrupted. Nic cut him a glance.
“Well, yes, she’s his. He has another horse here in training—actually, Dauphine belongs to his father, Francis gave her to him for his sixty-fifth birthday—but it’s Francis who pays for her keep. The LeBons visited here the last two years for the races in August. Didn’t you know that?”
“No.” Will thought he must look quite stupid, going from Nic’s amused chuckle.
“Really, Will, what did you two talk about? Anyway, Dauphine. I knew a German breeder who’d be interested in her, brought him in touch with Francis, and voilà—everybody’s happy.” He pulled off one glove with his teeth, spat it to the ground, and attacked the buckle again.
Still working on processing this new information about Francis, Will jumped when Nic cursed again. “Merde!” Apparently, the buckle still refused to behave. Nic came up from under the horse’s belly, rubbing his fingers. “Could you lend me a hand here? My fingers are stiff.”
While Will helped strap down the blanket, he pondered over what had been said. Why hadn’t Francis told him that? It added just another aspect to his relationship with Louis and Nic, didn’t it?
Nic gave Dauphine’s mane some finishing touches, and Will stepped back, studying him unobtrusively. Last night, he’d been too taken with Louis to give Nic much attention; the older man’s presence had paled in comparison to the jockey’s intensity. And yet at second sight, Nic took up a lot of space, and not only physically. He appeared quiet, unshakeable like a rock, but there was something within him that glowed like a banked fire. Like the magma chamber to Louis’s volcanic energy.
Those two men’s lives had been woven together for decades. What did it take to live a commitment like that—a shared passion? Necessity?
Love?
Those two got more intriguing the more he learned about them.
A FEW minutes later, a battered red Volkswagen Golf drove into the yard. Close behind it followed an older model Land Rover Freelander pulling a dark green horse trailer that proudly displayed La Thillaye’s logo on both sides. From the Land Rover emerged a short, stocky man who looked like the cliché of a Frenchman down to his beret and ’stache, and from the Golf descended Mme. Kim.
“Ah, there’s our driver, Jacques,” Nic said, gesturing at Will to follow him outside for an all-around exchange of greetings. Mme. Kim pulled some grocery bags from her car and ducked into the house, smiling sweetly at Will, who held the kitchen door open for her. Nic and Jacques proceeded to load Dauphine into the trailer with the help of the grooms, providing Will with the knowledge of some choice French swear words since the horse apparently didn’t feel like traveling today. As he watched the mare literally put her foot down and give four men a hard time moving her, Will recalled that he’d crawled under this very same horse’s belly without hesitation only a few minutes ago; the thought sent a decidedly uneasy shiver down his spine.
In the end, Dauphine went where she was supposed to go, and Will ventured closer. The grooms latched an iron bar across the bay behind her and went back to their mucking. Jacques and Nic took shelter from the rain in the stable doorway, putting their heads together over some papers.
While they were still at it, Mme. Kim appeared in the kitchen doorway. She gestured urgently at Nic, calling out in fast French. Will didn’t understand what she said, but Nic turned pale and ran off. The papers he’d held fluttered unheeded to the ground.
“What’s wrong?” Will asked, but he was talking to himself, as Jacques was busy picking up the papers, muttering away in French, and Nic had already disappeared into the house.
Upon entering the kitchen, Will found Mme. Kim alone. She worried the hem of her sweater in her hands as she answered his repeated question.
“Louis had an accident at the track. Claude only said for Nic to come quick, then hung up. I don’t know anything!” She lapsed into French then, calling out toward the back of the house. Nic’s voice answered right before the man himself appeared, jabbing furiously at the keys of a cell phone in his hand.
“They won’t pick up! I can’t get anyone on the phone!” Nic punched in another number and held the phone to his ear. “Got to go.” Scowling, he brushed past Will and jerked the door open. “Merde!” Will heard him shout, and then came a stream of nasty-sounding French. Following Nic, Will could see the problem.
The horse trailer, its ramp still down, effectively barred in both Nic’s and Mme. Kim’s cars. Nic was heaving at the ramp and yelling at Jacques, who still fiddled with his papers while yelling something back. Will could hear Dauphine neighing and stomping inside the trailer. Jean-Yves and Rémy came running out of the stable, and behind Will, Mme. Kim called out, presumably trying to mediate but only adding to the chaos. Among all the hubbub, Will realized his Twingo stood free and ready for takeoff on the narrow dirt track that snaked between the trees at the other side of the yard.
Will hurried over and dangled his keys in Nic’s face. “Come on, I can drive you.”
Nic took one look at Will, another at Will’s car, and dropped the ramp with a splash. A moment later, they tore off in the Twingo, spinning its tires on the gravel.
“Can you tell me what’s going on?” Will asked once they left behind muddy dirt roads, sharp turns around trees, and a short ride across a pathless lawn and were safely back on the road he remembered from yesterday. Nic was still stabbing away at his phone. Holding it to his ear, he turned his frown to Will.
“I wish! All I know is, Louis fell. Kim said she heard sirens in the back when our man called. Granted, there’s a main road near the racetrack, but still….” He lowered the phone and dialed again, his face grim. “Louis won’t have his phone on him while riding, but there are six grooms around, for God’s sake, one of them would know— Claude! Finalement! Comment va-t-il? Comme si je viens….”
Will listened with half an ear, intent on finding his way to Le Touques racetrack by GPS and road signs. Eventually, Nic snapped his phone shut and leaned back with a sigh.
“And?” Will demanded.
“Turn left here.” Nic sighed again. “He’s fine, Claude said. The doctor’s just checking him out.”
“Thank God.” Will glanced over at him. Nic acknowledged him with a nod and closed his eyes. His lips were a taut line, and he restlessly worked the phone through his hands like a stress ball. He wore only one glove.
“This used to be the hardest part, you know,” Nic said without opening his eyes. “The wait. Knowing something happened to him, but being unable to find out if he was hurt, or how bad….” He looked at Will. “About a year after we came back from the States, Louis took a hard fall when he rode in Newmarket. He was in a coma for two days, and they wouldn’t let me see him, they wouldn’t even tell me what was wrong with him, since I wasn’t family. By the time Louis finally woke and asked for me, I was quite a mess.” He wiped a hand across his face.
“Weren’t you listed as his emergency contact?” Will asked tentatively.
Nic snorted. “Yes, weren’t I? That’s the best part, Will. We forgot! We of all people…. It’s just, you know a jockey’s life is on the line every time he’s out there, but for some reason you always think you’re exempt. And then it hits you right between the eyes, and you’re well and truly fucked. We made sure to fix that, of course. But it still kills me, every time so
mething happens to him when I’m not with him.”
“Every time? Louis wasn’t seriously injured before, or was he?”
“No. Only minor stuff. Broken bones, dislocations, bruises. We were incredibly lucky that way.” Nic knocked a fist against his head. “For not jinxing it. He can be reckless at times. All jockeys are. And when it happens abroad, it’s always such a fuss with the paperwork and stuff. Sometimes I wish….” he paused again, shook his head and gave Will a wan smile. “I’m rambling. Just ignore me. Our people know to inform me, of course, but they were all busy chasing Louis’s horse earlier.”
“Huh?” Will had been so absorbed in their talk that he missed a road sign. He cursed under his breath when he realized they were going the wrong way.
“No problem, there’s another roundabout ahead,” Nic said after a short glance out the window. He pulled off his remaining glove and stuffed it in his pocket. “Presque Minuit, Louis’s horse, he took off after Louis fell. They were lucky to catch him before he ran on the street. I dread to think what could’ve happened….” He shook his head and flipped his phone open again. “They’re waiting for the vet right now. Sorry, Will, I need to make some more calls. You’ll find your way from here?”
“I’m fine,” Will said. The rest of the ride passed in relative silence, with Nic on the phone and Will listening to the voice on the GPS and scanning for road signs.
Arriving at Le Touques, Nic led them past the main entrance to a staff parking lot. He got out of the car but leaned back in to give Will directions.
“The barn is this way.” He pointed. “Just ask someone. Tell them you’re with us.” He stepped back with a slap to the car’s roof. “Thanks, Will! See you.”
Once he found an empty spot to park, Will made his way between horse trailers, trucks, and all sorts of cars. The rain had subsided to a fine mist by now, but Will was still glad for his borrowed parka. The thought brought him back to Nic and their talk on the ride over.
Nic’s alarm had struck a chord with Will. What must it be like, having someone care so deeply? Being the one who cared so much to be driven half out of his mind from worry?
Since he’d never had that kind of connection with anyone, Will hadn’t known that he missed it. But now a vague longing bloomed deep within him, took a face and a name, and he was digging about in his pocket for his cell phone before he knew it, driven by the sudden need to hear Francis’s voice.
Francis would certainly mock him mercilessly about this, Will thought, smiling in anticipation. Then he started cursing loudly and pulled his hand back empty.
Hadn’t the man made himself clear enough last night? And yet here Will was, acting like a lovesick teenage girl who called her sweetheart twenty times a day for nothing at all, only to hear his voice. Couldn’t get any more pathetic.
His cell phone wasn’t there anyway. He’d left it charging in his room that morning. With a sigh, he squared his shoulders and walked on toward the white picket fence gate Nic had pointed out to him.
The barn area consisted of an assembly of stables along an L-shaped, cracked-concrete main lane, with a few narrow passageways between the buildings. Under high, steep shingle roofs, the walls were framework, white with vertical narrowly spaced dark brown beams, broken at regular intervals by brown Dutch doors and some yellow glass-and-wood doors that stood out like markers. Gnarled apple trees on a small strip of lawn shaded the stables from the road. The whole complex breathed time-honored serenity while at the same time it teemed with life. Horses prevailed: coming in, going out, bearing riders, or being led on reins. People with buckets, wheelbarrows, pitchforks, or brooms milled about between them, everyone intent on their own purposes yet never getting into each other’s way. As if they were dancing an oft-practiced dance to which hooves on concrete, creaking of leatherwork, nickering and snorting of horses, and dozens of human voices set the tune.
Will’s direction requests in broken French didn’t raise any eyebrows; some of those who answered him had accents worse than his. Following pointing fingers and jerked heads, Will eventually found the La Thillaye barn, its yellow door wide open.
“HELLO?” he called softly as he entered. Inside, the smell of horses and leather got even stronger. Hooks and pegs holding leatherwork and saddles lined the wall to his right, and to his left a wide doorway opened into a stable aisle. Will counted eight stalls, all open and empty.
Louis’s voice reached him from somewhere in the back. “Will? Come right through.”
Following the light that spilled out from an open door at the end of the hallway, Will stepped into a narrow office space. An old-fashioned black leather doctor’s bag sat open on the small desk there, and by a sink in the corner, an ash-blonde woman was drying her hands with a towel. Will spared barely a glance for her, his gaze captured by Louis.
Shirt in hand, he stood half turned away in front of the desk, a bandage covering his left shoulder and upper arm. Each movement made his long, lean muscles ripple and dance enticingly under taut honey-colored skin. There didn’t seem to be an ounce of fat on him.
Frozen in place in the doorway, Will ogled shamelessly. Who wouldn’t have? A pity all this gorgeousness disappeared under a white cotton undershirt all too soon.
Louis shrugged into his fleece jacket, then smiled at Will as he pulled the zipper up.
“Salut, Will. Come on in, Dr. Maricheau and I are about done here.”
After a short, vague look at Will, the woman put the towel away and went about gathering her things. Bag in hand, she rounded the desk, stopping to exchange a few sentences in French with Louis.
The doctor struck Will as vaguely familiar, though he didn’t know where to place her. Wiry and slender, she stood about a head taller than Louis, her beauty sharp and cool like a steel blade’s. Will only caught about one word in ten from their conversation, but it sounded a lot like some kind of polite argument was going on. Will could relate to Louis’s defensive stance. He wouldn’t have wanted to cross this woman, either.
Eventually, she gave an exasperated shrug, exchanged cheek-pecks with Louis, and left with a parting nod at Will.
Only when the sound of her footfalls had faded away did Louis let out a deep breath and visibly relaxed, wincing as he did so.
“You okay?” Will asked.
Louis bowed and stretched his left arm, thoughtfully looking at his hand as he flexed it. “I will be soon enough, whatever she thinks. That woman! I wish she’d spare me the sermon every time she patches me up.” He rolled his shoulders, wincing again when the left one gave a cracking sound. “I don’t get any younger, I should let more flexible bones take the punishment, blah, blah. Anybody else I’d tell to shove it, but she’s Nic’s sister. She’s a hell of a doctor, too.”
Nic’s sister? It sure explained the feeling of familiarity.
Noticing a slight limp as Louis walked around the desk to rummage through a drawer, Will asked carefully, “Is she right?”
“I’ve been riding races for more than twenty years now, Will. What do you think?” Louis squeezed two pills out of a blister pack, making a face as he swallowed them dry. “Of course she is! Doesn’t mean I have to like her rubbing my nose in the fact that I’m way too close to my expiration date. It isn’t as if I could afford to take her advice anytime soon anyway.”
He was making light of something that apparently bothered him a great deal. Deciding to go with the flow, Will grinned. “Hard to argue with a force of nature, isn’t it?”
This earned him one of Louis’s lopsided smiles. “Exactly. Come, let’s go. Nic’s out in the paddock with Minuit. Let’s hope the vet has turned up by now.”
As they made their way along the still busy barn road, Louis answered Will’s question about what had happened.
“A seagull, would you believe it? The damned things are just about anywhere. They’re a real pest. We were the first on track today, and Minuit must’ve all but stepped on one when we came around the first bend. It got right in his face and
he just freaked, it went so fast…. Next thing I know, I was on the ground, my shoulder and ass hurt, and my horse was nowhere to be seen.”
They ducked between the apple trees, out of the way of a huge tractor that slowly wedged its way between the horses and humans. They crossed behind the vehicle and proceeded single-file along the picket fence. Once they’d left the barn area through a small back gate and could walk next to each other again, Louis continued, “My own fault, I guess, should’ve paid better heed, but I didn’t see that one coming. Hope to God Minuit didn’t hurt himself, for that would be—oh, merde!” He took off at a faster pace, leaving Will behind.
A couple dozen meters ahead was another white fence, which framed a neat square of lawn. The paddock, Will guessed, since Nic stood inside with a huge black horse running in circles around him. There was a stutter in the horse’s gait, even Will could see that, and its eyes were wide and white-rimmed. Foam flecked its dark breast.
Some other horses and a number of people were standing around the paddock in small groups. By the time Will reached the fence, the black horse had slowed to a walk. Once it came to a halt, Louis ducked through the beams, followed by another man who Will assumed was the vet, as he immediately started an examination, talking quietly to Louis and Nic.
Will recognized Claude, La Thillaye’s head groom, and went to stand beside him. “How bad is it?” he asked.
Claude’s English was nowhere near as perfect as Mme. Kim’s, but he spoke enough to answer Will’s question. “Minuit, he has fear. He has hurt on his leg, but Nic says it is not bad. See? All goes well.”
Louis had mounted Minuit and was taking him through his paces. As far as Will could tell, the horse moved indeed more evenly now.
“Walk and gallop are fine, just a small hitch left in his trot,” someone said next to Will. Turning in surprise, he found a stout, elegantly dressed elderly gentleman on his other side. After a short, polite exchange of nods with Claude, the stranger leaned on a cane and offered Will his hand with a thin smile. “Jeremy Collins. How do you do?”
