by Sarah Lark
Heather smiled when Chloe’s sobs finally abated and her friend let her go.
“Better?” Heather asked softly.
Chloe rubbed the tears from her eyes. “I’m being impossible,” she muttered. “Here, you come to visit—for the first time in years—and I don’t have anything better to do than to wail. Come, I’d rather show you the house and the stables. It’s all very lovely. Remember Dancing Jewel? She had a very handsome daughter. And one of her sons is a stud for us. She . . . or should I make tea first?”
Chloe turned busily toward the house. She chattered on and was annoyed with herself for doing so. Yet, she could not pour her heart out to Heather just like that. So far, she hadn’t said anything to anyone. She always pretended she was happy. This way, she would not have to admit that everyone who had warned her about Colin had been right. And now with Heather of all people, she could not admit that her life and her love were one giant lie.
Heather seized Chloe by the shoulder and held her back. She turned her around and pulled her gently toward herself and forced her to look her in the eye.
“Chloe, I don’t want to see your house or drink tea. No doubt Dancing Jewel’s offspring are charming, but I didn’t come for their sake. I came for your sake, Chloe Coltrane. I longed for you. And if you look me in the eye now and say that you didn’t feel the same, that you didn’t long for me, then I will just go.” Heather looked at Chloe searchingly.
Chloe lowered her gaze. “No. No, don’t go. I, I did long for you. I’ve missed you so.”
Heather smiled. “Well, good, and to people for whom she longs because she, well, maybe she loves them a little bit, she wouldn’t lie, would she?”
Chloe shook her head but still would not look her friend in the eye. “I won’t lie to you,” she whispered. “I don’t lie to anyone anyway. Except myself.”
As it turned out, Heather had really chosen the ideal day for her visit. The friends had the house all to themselves. Colin was at the racetrack, and Chloe had given the cook the day off.
“Colin goes to the pub afterward, anyway,” she explained nervously. “Whereby, whereby I don’t mean to say he spends too much time there. He’s actually a homebody, though he has to travel around a lot. We do start horses in Woolston and—”
“You don’t need to make excuses for him,” Heather responded drily. “And please don’t say ‘we’ when you’re speaking of that whole business out there. That’s not you, Chloe. That gaudy sign, the horse trading, and possibly the bet rigging. I hope your name doesn’t appear in connection with that. Chloe, if that becomes public, you’ll both end up in hot water.”
“Bet rigging?” Chloe asked, confused. “I, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Heather sighed. “I thought as much. But that’s not so important now either. In any case, don’t tell me what a jolly fellow Colin is. Instead, tell me how he ousted you from everything. Oh yes, and where is Violet?”
“She also has the day off. Women’s Franchise League,” she said, as if that explained everything. “Apparently, it was just founded, and Violet’s part of it, although Eric makes her life hell because of it. Every day I hear new excuses about where the bruises come from. The bastard beats her black and blue. But yesterday, she went to Dunedin anyway. With a few other friends from the area, they all took the train to hear this rally for women’s suffrage.”
“But not you?” Heather asked almost accusingly.
“God knows I have other things to worry about,” Chloe said. “In any case, Eric was traveling yesterday. They picked up a little stallion somewhere. He’s supposed to start off today in the conditions race. But they don’t tell me anything.” It sounded embittered. “Violet hopes, with all that going on, her husband won’t notice she’s away. But there’s no chance. Joe will blab as soon as Eric walks in the door tonight. The boy idolizes his father.”
Heather sighed. It was always the same story. Now it was Violet’s son, back then her brother Colin. He had grown up in his father’s stables where he had learned horse swindling and his father’s hate for his mother.
“Very well,” said Heather. “We’ll worry about that later. Now, tell me about you and Colin. Which of you was the first to stop loving the other?”
“I don’t think, from the start, that Colin loved me,” said Chloe. “I loved him. But if he ever loved anyone, it was Matariki Drury.”
“And not even her enough,” Heather said drily. Then she wrapped her arm around Chloe. “How is it that you no longer have anything to do with this racetrack? It was your money, after all. What happened?”
Chloe told her about Colin’s horse buying, his employee policies, his opaque machinations.
“I discovered too late that my name was not on any ownership documents,” she said.
Heather rolled her eyes. “But, Chloe, that was obvious, you know. When you finalize a purchase, you have to sign. Whoever doesn’t sign doesn’t get to be an owner.”
I did once sign something,” Chloe recalled. “A preliminary contract, with Desmond McIntosh. I did not need to be there for the second appointment with the notary. That was just before the wedding.”
“That was before the wedding?” shouted Heather. “You must have been out of your mind. Sean or another lawyer needs to take a look. We’ll have to see how we can get you out of this.”
“Get me out of this?” Chloe asked helplessly.
The women had gone into the living room, and she remembered her duties as a hostess. She opened one of the cabinets and reached for her tea service.
“Chloe, you don’t mean to stay with him, do you? You can’t keep up pretenses to yourself and the world for the rest of your life. And besides, I’m back now. I want to ask you to live with me, Chloe. As, as my wife.”
Chloe almost dropped the teapot. Confused, she stared at Heather who sat quite relaxed on the sofa. “As your . . . ?”
Heather stood up and took the teapot from Chloe. Then she pulled her friend down beside her on the sofa. She told her about Svetlana, and Mireille, about Juliet and Ana.
“Now I know, Chloe, what Colin had that I didn’t,” she said with a smile. “And he and all other men will always have something that I don’t, but believe me, you won’t miss it.”
Chloe swallowed. She had listened wordlessly, at first disbelieving and then amazed. London, Paris, Rome, Madrid. Chloe herself had always been the friend who rushed from one adventure into the next. And now, shy Heather of all people had dared to take the leap and crossed borders. Not just those between England, France, and Italy, but also those guarded much more carefully.
“You mean, in France something like that is totally normal?” Chloe asked hesitantly. “For, for two women—”
Heather shook her head. “It’s not exactly common for two women to love each other and live together,” she admitted, “but it happens. More often in artists’ circles. And they don’t always stay together forever. Some only love women; some love men too. And I, well, I love you, Chloe. And I want you. If it’s forever, good; if not, then someday another Terrence or Colin will come along. But I’d like to try in any case.”
“A Colin will never come along again,” Chloe said firmly. “As for how things would look with someone else, I don’t know, but now, now I just don’t know anything anymore, anyway. Except that you’re here. And that I’ve always loved you more than any other person in the world. Even if, well, even if you didn’t, or you did, well, if we—what are you doing, Heather? Do you want to kiss me?”
Heather seduced Chloe very softly and very slowly. She kissed her lips and her face, opened her riding dress and her bodice and caressed her breasts. Chloe let herself be swept away. At first, it was perhaps only curiosity or the joy of being loved, touched, caressed, and admired again. But then Heather unleashed feelings of lust in her. Chloe’s body vibrated beneath Heather’s lips and her skilled hands. Just before the climax, Chloe thought how it would have been better to take Heather with her into her suite. Here, af
ter all, someone could discover them at any moment. But everyone was away. Even little Roberta, who was off with the cook. Nothing could happen.
And then Chloe stopped thinking. She only arched herself toward her friend, her soul mate, her love, her second self, her wife.
Colin was aggravated. Damn it, Dancing Rose should have won. He had bet on her. And she had been ahead by a mile as the horses headed for the finish line. Guaranteed, that fellow from Dunedin’s stallion would never have passed her. But Eric had wanted to be doubly sure, so on the straightaway, he had used the whip, while pulling on the reins to prevent her from galloping. Colin had tried for years to get him to stop doing that, but in the key moment, Eric did it. And the effect on the sensitive mare was devastating. Dancing Rose had launched into a gallop, and she could not be brought back to a trot. She had run through the finish line and far past it, almost off the track and into the stables. Eric had completely lost control.
Fortunately, Rosie had been waiting at the exit, and she stopped and calmed the horse. Colin had first had a mind to shoot his stable master and the horse, too, but then the winner’s owner had approached him. A dummy from Dunedin who absolutely had to tell him that it was clear to him how wrong all the rumors about the racetrack in Invercargill and race rigging had been. This race, as everyone saw clearly, had not been rigged. His stallion had won fair and square, but naturally, he was sorry the handsome mare had galloped.
At first, Colin had let the chatter wash over him. The race had not been rigged; he would have to be crazy or stupid to do that every race day. He and Eric carefully considered when they would hold horses back to let others win, or apply a few drops of the right liquid to the coronary band of an out-of-town champion’s hoof, which then led to an irregular gait and galloping. Today, however, Colin Coltrane had bet on Dancing Rose’s phenomenal talent, and, because of Eric’s stupidity, he lost a hundred pounds. But then he listened more closely to what the merchant from Dunedin was telling him. He was in the process of building up a small but fine racing stable. He was still buying horses. This sparked interest in Colin. Perhaps he could still make up for the loss with the stallion they had picked up the day before.
Colin had no idea how fast he was, but he had signed him up for the conditions race. Not an important race, and aside from two rather hopeless competitors, only horses Coltrane had been training were starting. Three of his apprentices would be driving them—or no, he could put the best of the boys behind the young stallion and Eric behind the fastest of the other horses. The horse could then run neck and neck with the new one, and at the last moment, Eric could make the same mistake he had with Dancing Rose.
“I might have a horse for you,” replied Colin. “Something of an insider secret, you see. I bought him on a whim, so I don’t have any idea myself how he’ll race.”
A short time later, he knew that the merchant from Dunedin was one of those who believed races were won with pedigrees, just like Chloe. It was a stupid prejudice that the horses’ pedigree ultimately made them good or bad trotters. English racehorse breeding was based on the idea that the coupling of especially fast horses would lead to ever-faster horses, and long term, this also promised success. However, Colin did not think long term. Colin believed in flukes. And the greater the fluke, the higher the rate of return.
“Perhaps you’d like to look at the stallion’s papers, Mr. Willcox? I’m not sure, but as I recall, he has Thoroughbred ancestors on the mother’s side, the Godolphin Barb line.”
Mr. Willcox took the bait. And now Colin just needed to keep him interested until they got to the house. Colin hoped there was champagne there. If the man was a bit tipsy, the horse’s victory would seem even more wondrous, and the price would not be too high for his means. Colin only planned to ask for double what he had paid for the horse himself.
Heather and Chloe jumped when they heard footsteps in the receiving room.
“Come in, Mr. Willcox; have a seat. I’ll get the papers for you.”
The pedigree certificates were in the office in Colin’s apartments. To reach those, he had to cross the living room.
Chloe, who had been on top of Heather, trying out the new techniques she had just learned, tried to quickly throw a blanket over her and Heather’s naked bodies. It was too late. Colin could not miss them on the sofa. And his reaction made everything worse.
“I’ll kill the bastard.”
At first glance, Colin only recognized two bodies intertwined and his wife’s dark hair bent directly over her partner. He pounced on the two of them in a frenzy, grabbing Chloe’s hair and brutally yanking her from atop her lover. Then he looked down at his sister.
Heather sought salvation in impertinence. “Hello, dear brother,” she said.
Colin hit her in the face. He beat her heedlessly and kicked Chloe. Chloe retreated from the kicks and tried to pull her husband off her friend. And then she saw the second man in the entry to the living room, observing the scene as if frozen. Chloe forgot that she was naked, and now realized that this situation probably compromised her forever.
“Well, do something,” she screamed at the man. “You see he’s going to kill us.”
“But that’s, that’s a woman,” the man stammered.
Chloe’s fists hammered desperately on Colin’s back.
“Exactly,” she roared. “She can’t defend herself. Please!”
Finally, the man took action. And luckily, he was strong and apparently trained. A single tug sufficed to pull Colin from Heather. Then Colin moved to attack her rescuer, but a left punch from the man made him see stars for a moment. Colin fell to the carpet.
The man resumed staring at the two women. “This is, quite unnatural,” he muttered, “and you, you . . .”
In that moment, he recognized his traveling acquaintance. The young woman in the jaunty culottes. Perhaps he should have thought something was funny before.
Chloe bent down to Heather to help her. Her lip was busted and bleeding, as was her cheek. Without Chloe’s help, Heather could not have sat up. Colin’s fists had struck her in the ribs. The Dunedin horse owner suddenly found himself across from two naked women.
“Who, what’s this?”
In his confusion, Willcox turned to Colin. He was coming to and picked himself up.
“If I may, my wife,” he said biliously, “and my sister. Damn it, do you always hit like that? You should box instead of racing horses.”
“But what, what do we do now?” Willcox still found himself in a sort of shock.
Colin stood all the way up. “I suggest you go to your horse, and I’ll continue here.”
He balled his fists. Until then, he had never beaten Chloe. Today, however, he would. And afterward he would take her. He was going to beat any thought of his sister out of his wife, and then he would—
“Mr. Coltrane, not that I don’t understand you’re upset. But you can’t beat a woman.”
The situation was almost comical, and much, much later, Heather and Chloe would also laugh about it. The proper Mr. Willcox’s image of the world had just been shaken to its core, but his upbringing as a gentleman triumphed over the outrage he likely shared with the cuckolded husband.
“Oh, can’t I?” asked Colin, and moved to pounce on the women again.
This time, Mr. Willcox’s fist struck him under the eye. Colin fell like a ton of bricks. Willcox gave him an almost apologetic look. Then he turned to the women.
“Mrs., uh, Miss Coltrane. I think with that I’ve given you some, hmm, breathing time. Perhaps, uh, you ought to, hmm, put something on. And then, well, I could remain here until you’ve gone. Because I’m sure you, uh, no doubt will want to leave. Or might you be able to explain this somehow? Is this some kind of a, hmm, misunderstanding?”
“No,” Chloe said calmly, and picked up her and Heather’s things. “If you’d pardon us for a moment, Mister . . . ?”
“Willcox,” said the man, and bowed formally.
Heather could not help herself
. As Chloe pushed her out of the room, she began to laugh hysterically. Her whole body hurt as she did. Colin had certainly broken a few ribs.
Chloe, anything but amused, helped her into her culottes. “Stop that, and get dressed before he changes his mind. My God, Heather, didn’t you see Colin’s face? He’s lost it. He really will kill us.”
Heather nodded, now serious again. “I saw my father’s face,” she said quietly, “when he’d beat my mother. Do you want to take anything with you, Chloe?”
Chloe hesitated briefly but then grabbed Dancing Rose’s papers. “She belongs to me beyond a doubt,” she said. “We’ll have to send for her. And Rosie and Violet and her children, we have to take care of them too.” She trembled.
Heather nodded. “Tomorrow we’ll organize all that,” she said. “For now, we need to get to Dunedin as quickly as possible. Maybe Sean’s still there. You’re going to need a very good lawyer.”
Mr. Willcox was still sitting next to the unconscious Colin when the women returned.
“We’ll be going now,” Heather said. “Thank you very, very much.”
Chloe walked by their rescuer with her eyes downcast, but then she turned around and looked him in the eye.
“Mr. Willcox, I don’t know what horse my husband wanted to foist on you, but it’s better you don’t buy it.”
Chapter 9
When Violet returned from Dunedin, she discovered the races weren’t over yet, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Eric most likely had not missed her. Rosie was waiting for her in the summerhouse, hidden in a corner like during her worst days. Violet was immediately frightened. What might have happened? If Rosie was not talking again, it could take hours to find out. But the moment Rosie saw her sister, a torrent of words came from her.
“Rose lost; he hit her. Mrs. Coltrane is gone. With another woman. I’m supposed to tell you she’s coming back to get us. But I don’t believe it. She ran away from Mr. Coltrane.”
