“Lionel, what the hell are you doing?” Michael demanded.
“Nothing. Accolade seemed to be a bit off this afternoon in training, and I just came by to give him an anti-inflammatory.”
“There are very few anti-inflammatories that aren’t banned for international competition. What is it you’re using?”
“Never mind, it’s something my home vet recommended for inflammation.”
“You need to clear anything like that with the Team vet, you know that. I’ll call him right away. You don’t want to get in trouble for something like this.”
“No, Michael, please.” Desperation and fear were clearly evident in Lionel’s voice.
“I don’t know what you’re up to, Lionel, but you jeopardize all our chances if you make the Team and you’re doing something illegal. I’ve got to call the vet.”
Michael did just that, and Lionel was ejected from the trials and any hope of competing in the Olympic Games. He left the Olympic trials in very public disgrace. Word of his disgrace made it to the press, of course, and headlines all over the country trumpeted his willingness to break the rules in order to succeed. Lionel’s reputation was ruined. As a direct result of all the negative publicity, Lionel and his partner and lover Nigel Crawford’s business suffered, and it became a chore just keeping their heads above water.
The reduction in income had seriously drained the couple’s finances, and the stress took a heavy toll on Nigel’s already ailing heart. Lionel watched helplessly as Nigel’s health steadily declined. Lionel had taken him to specialists in an attempt to stop the decline, but it hadn’t done any good. The only solution the doctors could offer was to find a way to reduce Nigel’s stress, and Lionel was helpless to do anything in that regard. The reduction in income had seriously drained the couple’s finances, and the constant stress caused by the relentless calls from creditors took a heavy toll on Nigel. One day, Lionel awoke to find Nigel’s lifeless body next to him in their bed. He had died from a massive heart attack.
To add insult to injury, Michael had the nerve to attend Nigel’s funeral. Their conversation that day was burned into Lionel’s memory.
“Lionel, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Michael had said, extending his hand.
Lionel had been tempted not to shake it, but decided that the others, who had been watching their exchange with interest, would have interpreted his gesture as petty and grasped Michael’s hand in his own. “Thank you, Michael. Frankly, I’m surprised you came. You weren’t particularly close to Nigel.”
“I know how important Nigel was to you. Lionel, and I wanted to be here to support you in your grief.”
Not knowing how to respond to that statement without cursing, Lionel quickly changed the subject. “Congratulations, by the way on your success at the Games. You deserve all the acclaim you’ve been getting. You should be very proud.”
“About that,” Michael replied. “I’m also here to ask for your understanding and even your forgiveness for what happened at the Trials.”
“Understand? Forgive?” Lionel barely contained his rage. However, he was again very conscious that the two of them had an audience. He ruthlessly schooled his features to mask his inner turmoil. Nevertheless, his voice was strained. “Your actions in turning me in to the authorities ruined my life, and I’m not exaggerating. I’m an outcast, a pariah in my own country, forever marked as a cheater and a fraud. It will be some time before I ever even consider forgiving you, much less understanding your actions. We were friends, Michael. Did that mean nothing to you? You could have easily looked the other way, and no one would have been the wiser.”
“If you believe that, you’re incredibly naïve. The drug testing used by the authorities nowadays is so sophisticated that I have no doubt they would have found out about your drugging Accolade. You would never have gotten away with it, and when they eventually discovered that I knew and didn’t turn you in, your actions would have brought me down, too. And what if you had felt you had to do the same thing at the Olympic Games? Discovery there would have led to not only your own disqualification, but also the disqualification of the entire team. You must see that I couldn’t allow that to happen.”
Lionel refused to accept Michael’s excuse, and turned to leave. “If you’ll excuse me, I have other guests to attend to. Goodbye Michael.”
Lionel watched from the corner of eye as Michael, evidently disappointed by Lionel’s response, left. Still appalled that Stafford had the nerve to even be here when his actions had been the cause of Nigel’s death, it was then that Lionel made up his mind. Without Michael’s interference, Lionel was sure he would have made the British Olympic Team, and have the medal that Michael now possessed, as well as all the fame, fortune and acceptance that went with it. As far as Lionel was concerned, the blame for Lionel’s disgrace, his failing business, and Nigel’s tragic death fell squarely on the shoulders of Michael Stafford.
From that day forward, Lionel plotted his revenge. The first step had been to contact Michael two weeks after Nigel’s funeral to offer his apology for his behavior at the funeral, and to offer Michael his forgiveness and make an offer to renew their friendship. Michael accepted him with open arms.
Chapter 2
Michael stood at the bathroom sink and looked in the mirror. “My God, old man,” he told his reflection, “you look bloody awful.” He gazed critically at his reflection and saw his brilliant blue eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and alcohol, his thick, wavy black hair was sticking up all over the place, and a day’s growth of beard covered his square chin. Right now it was hard to imagine this was the same man that had been crowned “Britain’s Sexiest Man” in a magazine article published soon after the Games. Now, at thirty years of age, the reflection in the mirror frightened him more than a bit. He mentally shook himself out of his reverie. There was no time to waste contemplating his reflection. All he could do now was pull himself together and try to figure out how to get Ian out of this latest scrape. Heaven knew this one seemed much more serious than anything Ian had gotten into so far.
He turned toward the tub and started the water for a shower and slowly removed his clothes. As he stepped into the shower, and stood under the blessedly hot stream of water, he considered how much his life had changed in the past year, and how much he needed something positive in his life. He needed to get a hold of himself and get his life back on track. Ian needed him, and he had to be able to step up and support him. If only the stars would align, he could compete one of the horses he already had in training to a level that would attract the attention of a wealthy patron who could afford to buy him a horse to compete on the international stage once again. Only then could he afford to keep his farm and his dreams for a future career training and riding horses in dressage, the sport he loved.
Michael’s thoughts turned to his brother, Ian. Michael had to admit that Ian was a different man since his tour with the British Army in Afghanistan, but deep down, he was still the Ian he had grown up with and loved. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to help him now when he needed him most. All of those years as children, when Michael had taken care of Ian while his parents ran their restaurant in Brighton, came back to him in a rush. He had always been responsible for keeping Ian out of trouble, and those habits die hard. Even as adults, Michael felt responsible for keeping Ian safe. After his return from Afghanistan and subsequent honorable discharge, Ian had temporarily moved in with Michael until he was ready to find a place of his own. Now, Ian had gotten himself into some very serious trouble, and Michael, admittedly through his own recklessness and irresponsibility, didn’t have the financial wherewithal to help.
His shower finished, Michael toweled himself off and dressed. He went out to the barn to let his barn manager, Tiffany, know he was going into town. As he searched the stable for Tiffany, Michael slowed his pace and took some time to listen to the sounds of
several horses pleasantly munching their hay, gently snorting and occasionally stamping at flies as they consumed their breakfast, and noticed the air was filled with the sweet, inviting smell of horses, fresh hay, wood shavings, and the more pungent odor of fresh manure.
Brilliant sunlight was streaming into the barn from skylights he had insisted be cut into the barn roof to allow as much natural light as possible into the horses’ stalls. At the time, it had seemed an unnecessary extravagance, but this being England, the land of clouds, fog and rain, Michael wanted his stable to be as light and airy as possible. Today, the effect of the bright sunlight on the fine mist of sawdust and hay dust kicked up as the barn workers swept the aisles clean created a halo effect that sparkled in the sunlight and gave the stable a magical feel. Michael’s breath caught. It had been ages since he had taken time to just wander through the aisles and absorb the atmosphere in the company of his horses. This few minutes taken in their presence calmed him like nothing else could. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and felt centered for the first time in weeks. After what must have been just a few seconds, but felt longer, Tiffany’s voice interrupted his reverie, and he located her, informed her he was leaving for a while but didn’t provide her any more details, then drove to the police station.
Michael had lived in Surrey for only a year, and in that time he had never had the need to visit the local police station. The particular station that was holding Ian was located in the town of Guildford, a twenty-minute drive from Michael’s farm in Cranleigh. The building was small, but Michael could see that despite the historical exterior, the inner workings of the station were very modern. He quickly located the reception desk, and purposefully approached the desk officer. “Excuse, me, Constable. I’m Michael Stafford. I’m here to see my brother, Ian.”
“Of course, Mr. Stafford, right this way.” The officer took a set of keys off of a hook behind the desk, opened a door to the left of the reception desk and indicated that Michael was to follow him.
The officer took Michael down a long corridor, through a door, and into a separate area with four ten-foot by ten-foot cells. Michael spotted Ian lying on his back on a cot in one of them, his fingers laced behind his head on the pillow, staring at the ceiling.
The constable spoke to Ian. “Your brother’s here, Stafford.”
Ian looked over at Michael from where he was laying, and slowly, gingerly swung his legs over the side of the bed and winced as he raised himself to stand beside the bed. “It’s about time you got here,” Ian growled. “What took you so long?”
“You should be grateful I’m here at all,” Michael responded. “You look like hell.”
Ian was normally a handsome but ruggedly built young man of twenty-seven, equal in height to Michael with an aristocratic nose very similar to Michael’s with the exception of a slight bump in the middle where it was broken when a viciously kicked football had hit him in the face as a youth of ten. He had the same blue eyes as Michael, but instead of their father’s raven black hair, Ian had their mother’s sandy blond locks. Ian had never had any problem attracting female attention, and his time in the service, with its demanding physical requirements, had only increased the attraction as he developed a muscular, body-builder-like physique. This day, however, Ian definitely looked like he had been in a barroom brawl. His left eye was black and blue and swollen nearly shut, his lip was split and had been bleeding, and his jaw had a bruise on it. Michael could also see that Ian’s knuckles were scraped and bruised. It was clear to Michael that it was difficult for Ian to stand up straight without grimacing in pain. He wouldn’t be surprised if some of Ian’s ribs were bruised, or even broken. Ian walked stiffly over to where Michael was standing.
“What happened, Ian?”
Ian looked over Michael’s shoulder at the constable, who nodded slightly and stepped away, moving closer to the door to allow the brothers some privacy. Ian sighed and beckoned Michael to come closer to the cell. He grabbed the bars of his cell with both hands and bowed his head, gritting his teeth in frustration. He spoke softly in case the constable had stayed within hearing distance of the brothers. “I didn’t go to the pub to make trouble, Michael, I swear it. I had gone to the pub to get something to eat, and had a beer, just one beer, mind you, with my meal. There was a group of four blokes about my age that started harassing a woman at the bar. She kept telling them to leave her alone, but they just kept after her, until one of them grabbed her arm, and started trying to drag her to the back of the pub. She got away from him, and slapped him. It looked like he was going to hit her back, and no one else seemed to care what was happening, so I decided to intervene and do something to help her.”
“They obviously didn’t appreciate my intervention, and remember there were four of them. One of them drew a knife and threatened me with it. I had my Army knife in my boot for protection, and I took it out to get them to back off, but one of them snuck up on me from behind and pinned my arms, another tried to take the knife. I struggled against the man holding me, managed to break loose, but his sudden release made it impossible to stop my right arm from moving forward. My knife caught the man in front of me in the belly, and he fell immediately. Two of his friends drove him to the hospital, but the fourth convinced others in the pub that I was dangerous, and that they should help him detain me. After they bound me, he and others knocked me around a bit. In the chaos that followed, I looked for the woman to make sure she was okay, but she was nowhere to be seen. I assume she was able to get away. Then the police arrived.
“Unfortunately, the blokes were locals and the pub owner thought them good enough customers to back up their story that I started the fight, and that I had threatened them with my knife. They even convinced the constables that I was drunk and dangerous, since I had so brutally stabbed their mate. I tried to tell them that I was only defending myself, but they didn’t believe me. They even roughed me up a bit before handcuffing me. The woman could have backed up my story, but she was gone.”
Michael realized immediately that Ian’s case was going to be difficult. “We’ll have to see what we can do to find her. She may be the only eye witness that isn’t biased against you. She’s the key witness to support the fact that you acted in self-defense. First, though, we have to get you out of here.”
“The sooner the better. I have a splitting headache, and I think one of my ribs is broken.”
“He’s being charged with manslaughter,” the constable intoned. “You’ll have to post bail to take him out of here.” Michael tensed. The constable had reappeared at Michael’s back without him noticing. Hopefully, Ian had noticed his presence and not revealed the woman’s existence for the constable to hear. If the men who had beaten Ian found out the woman might be available and willing to testify, they might try to find her and do something to convince her she should stay quiet.
“How much will bail be?” Michael recovered sufficiently to ask the constable without any strain in his voice.
“The magistrate has set bail at fifty thousand pounds, due to the seriousness of the charge. He will also have to appear here regularly to ensure he hasn’t left the jurisdiction, leave us his passport, and there’s a good possibility he will have to wear an electronic monitoring device on his ankle so we can make sure he doesn’t leave the jurisdiction until trial. He will most likely come up for trial in six or eight months.”
“Fifty thousand pounds!” Michael said. It might as well be a million. He quickly composed himself and responded to the constable with what he hoped was an attitude of confidence. “I don’t have that kind of money with me now, but I’ll be back as soon as I can with the funds. Is there any way in the meantime he can be seen by a doctor? I’m concerned about his condition.”
“We have a doctor on call in case we need him for emergencies. I don’t see this as an emergency, but I’ll see what I can do.” The constable led Michael back out to the desk
area, and Michael waited while the constable made a phone call. When he was satisfied that the doctor would be out to the station soon, Michael left to see what he could do to get Ian out of there.
His first call was to his parents. His mother answered the phone after just two rings.
“Hi, Mum,” Michael said. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, and your father says hello. How are you, Michael, and more importantly, how is Ian doing?”
Michael sighed. “Actually, that’s why I’m calling. Ian has been arrested and charged with manslaughter. He got in a fight in a nearby pub, and killed a man with his knife. He swears it was self-defense, and I believe him, but the police aren’t convinced, so they’ve got him jailed until we can raise fifty thousand pounds for bail.”
“My God, Michael! My poor Ian. Is he all right?”
“He’s been better, I’m sure, but he’s okay for now, though he has some visible cuts and bruises, and he might have at least one or two broken ribs. What worries me most is that I don’t know how long he’ll be able to live in a cell the size of a large closet without losing his cool.” Both Michael and his mother knew that Ian had been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder upon his return home from service with the Army in Afghanistan, and had been exhibiting symptoms that worried them both. As a result, Ian had moved in with Michael and was helping his barn staff clean stalls and turn out the horses as a form of therapy. He had also started seeing a National Health Service therapist in Guildford that specialized in treating military veterans with PTSD, for more intensive treatment.
Dressage Dreaming (Horses Heal Hearts Book 1) Page 2
