She stared back and said, “In case you’re interested, I’m Carly. Sorry, I don’t know your names or anything about you.”
“Gilles. Oh, and this misery is Armand. We met through university, in Canada. When he’s not so morose, we call him Loup.”
She was about to ask which university when Gilles continued, “He’s the old one in our group. He was doing a late Ph.D. at Québec à Montréal. I graduated in business studies from McGill. My family are in pharmaceuticals, and breeding horses. I’m down for the weekend from one of our studs and jumping at a local show tomorrow, so maybe I’ll buy some more. Can never have enough...”
She let him talk more about himself, amused that here was the rich guy her friends joked about catching. The words drifted past Carly unheeded, because of his caress on her knee. She was tempted to brush it away. Like a butterfly beating its wings against her, the touch wove patterns along her thigh. Her skin tingled, and the feeling spread, making every nerve-ending twitch in anticipation. Her breathing sharpened, and her heart beat faster. She needed to shut him out, close her eyes. As he loosened his bow tie and took off his jacket, she wanted to ignore the line of his broad shoulders and the flex of the muscles under the shirt. The rise of his chest matched her breathing.
Escape was imperative, but as she stood up, Gilles swept her into his arms and back onto the dance floor. The music slowed and she moulded herself against him, evading his kiss-stealing lips.
When the music ended, he was caressing her, and she couldn’t let go. She was losing control. Her head was swimming, and she clung to him not in passion, but in fatigue. Her legs were giving way, and she finally broke from his grasp, collapsing onto the nearest chair.
“Are you alright?” Gilles asked, concern rising in his voice.
“Yes, it’ll pass... I just need a moment.” Embarrassed and feeling a little foolish, she tried to calm herself down. What would he think? Some guys could be so insensitive and stupid if they discovered she had diabetes as if it was catching. “Don’t worry, I’ll be okay. I don’t know what came over me—maybe it was something I ate.”
She smiled and slipped away to the ladies’ room, her whole body shaking. She found that she was sweating, and her pulse was racing. For a second, she feared the worst and dug around in her purse, unsure whether to take a tablet or inject. She needed to check her blood sugar. Something was wrong.
She had forgotten to adjust for the evening, unlike at competitions where she had a fixed regime to control her insulin levels. She laughed, feeling stupid. Dancing with Gilles had done this, and the emergency snack bar in her purse was the solution. She needed to end the situation before it went too far.
When she returned, the band was playing a slow number, but Carly never reached Gilles. Her past waylaid her in the form of her cheating ex-boyfriend, Mick Roper, arriving to spoil the party. Despite her desire not to confront him, Mick knew how to sweet-talk her, and had soon steered her back into the throng. At times, she detested him after their messy break-up, but found it impossible when he turned on the charm. His pleading eyes and soft words had warmed her life, while he was more than happy to indulge her with gifts and thrills. Even though she had walked out on Mick, she retained some of her feelings for him, and they had remained friends. How could she refuse him?
Mick took her in his arms, but she could never forgive his betrayal, even if his passion tempted her. She knew that it was a moment to be elsewhere, yet for once, the familiar embrace was safer than the headlong thrill. As the song ended, she slipped away, confused.
When she reached the Canadian’s table, she said, “Sorry Gilles, I must drive home now as I have an early start—” she glanced at her watch, “—in five hours. Perhaps I’ll see you jumping at the show.” She gave him a quick hug and, guided by her French inheritance, kissed him on both cheeks. She then said goodbye to Armand with the same gesture.
*
Instead of chasing after her, Gilles sat at the table stunned, staring at the glass of wine in his hand.
“Losing your touch? Twice in two days, that’s bad,” said Armand.
“Don’t see you with anyone. Lina deserted you fast. At least mine actually wanted to dance with me, and tomorrow she’ll come looking for me. Wonder how good she is at riding?”
“Well, if we find out, please ensure you concentrate on the horses.”
He was beginning to worry about Gilles finding a new distraction just when focusing on the future competitions should be his priority.
“Cool it. Carly’s a perfect challenge. It’s fun charming a showjumper groom for a change.”
“You’re being reckless. Why waste time seducing her when your horses need you? Anyway, I’m going as well—to sleep. I'm taking the Impreza. You’re not fit to drive, nor is Lina. I’m sorry but you’ll be safer in a taxi.”
Gilles dropped the keys on the floor. “Great friend, chasing after my girl, you’ve no chance.” He finished his glass of wine and stood up. “The night’s young so I’m going to rock. I’ll get a lift and a bed, no problem. You’ve struck out big time, you know. Lina has some real admirers. Just go.”
Armand wanted to say, “Carly means nothing to me. Why would I chase after one of your women?” But the Canadian was already with another female on the dance floor.
Outside, the night was cold, and a corona ringed the moon, glistening on the treetops. On the slope above were shadows that gave the venue its name, High Rocks; yet another cruel echo of the towering crags of the Cevennes.
No one realises how desperate I am to escape this half-life that chains me to the past.
He had been shaken by Lina’s comment before they danced, “You lost your soul in Canada. Why don’t you enjoy yourself for once?”
This space is my lifeline. Can I find peace when I can’t stop reliving my guilt? Odette, my precious Cygne, you’re the one I’ll hold close, forever. I welcome the warm memories, even soaked by grief. Beyond resolution and redemption, you are all I live for.
FIVE
“Câlice. That’s all I need, a horse that can’t jump the simplest poles.”
His perfect dismount didn’t disguise Gilles’s mood as he lit a cigarette. The collecting ring inside the showground’s indoor arena was busy with riders and grooms preparing their horses for the next class. It was going to be a long day of indoor jumping, particularly for any revellers from the previous evening’s dance.
Gilles had tried to convince everyone in earshot that Willow was at fault for fences down in both classes and the failure to make either jump-off. He inhaled the smoke in short gasps, snorting it out towards the ground.
“Maybe you tried too hard,” said Armand, although his opinion would go ignored as usual.
Gilles always blamed the mare, especially when the odds against winning even a rosette increased when competing against sizeable fields that included many riders preparing for the eventing season that was only a fortnight away.
The cigarette was discarded and ground underfoot, and Gilles thrust the reins into Armand’s hand.
“Just get this Witch to the box. She’s the one that always lets me down. Thank God I brought Drac. Make sure he’s ready for the next class. I’ve work to do.”
“Can I help?”
“Don’t worry, it’s only stud business—so if you see Lina, send her over.”
Frustrated at being cut out of all the horse dealings, Armand shook his head, but Gilles had already turned away. Did it matter that Armand hadn’t seen Lina since they arrived five hours earlier? He had last noted her wandering off talking to Gilles.
Will Gilles wait for Lina? Does he even need her guidance? She's here for a purpose, though, as the stud’s nutritionist.
He noticed a familiar redhead beside a blonde woman on a black gelding. Carly was checking the tack over and gesturing at the fences. He tried to read her body language. Was she the groom or the instructor? He guessed groom, but he only had time to acknowledge her with a raised hand.
Outsid
e, the sun gave some warmth and relief from the foot-numbing sand of the indoor arena. If the day yielded anything valuable, then Armand could put up with the minor discomforts. Extreme cold and wet were among the many occupational hazards he had long ago learnt to ignore.
*
Armand had taken Willow to the horsebox and was on his way to the collecting ring with Drac when he saw a knot of people watching some horses warming up in the outdoor arena. He stopped and watched the riders, which a female journalist was taking photos of and scribbling in her notebook.
Joining the spectators, he found Lina leaning on the railings.
“So, if Willow is not right for Boissard Équestre what are we searching for?” he asked her.
She gave a good imitation of a Gallic shrug and embellished it, tossing her head, making her raven ponytail flick like a whip.
“Well, I was convinced she was. But I’m not sure even Gilles knows when he’s distracted by the riders, especially today. He’s really looking for that redhead.”
“Carly.”
He hoped this was professional concern and not female rivalry.
“Better to ignore him. Carly means nothing. He'll move on and find another and then another—always does. Anyway, I’ve noticed a few horses that I liked—a mare and two stallions—right build and length for breeding, performance potential and all the signs of good care and nutrition. But then I feel Sorcière is good, as you do. Not sure if Gilles makes the final decision anyway.”
“Roman?”
“Exactamente. I can handle Gilles with his flirting while working and even his attitude to mares—”
“And demands on his friends,” said Armand.
“Si, but Roman meddles and tries to thrust his ideas and advisors on us.” She stopped, her face darkening. “Being here won’t thwart him, Loup. Gilles is wasting time. He has to tough up and tackle his father.”
The vehement edge to her voice concerned Armand, but an innocent smile washed away her Latin intensity. Her laughter warmed the day.
“We’re paranoid. Gilles is shrewd and will make this move work. Even if he has to flirt with every woman pretending they’re his next groom.”
“Even you, Lina?”
“Hell no, I’ve more sense than to be taken in by him. Anyway, he needs me professionally—in the lab—not chasing him.”
They led Drac towards the indoor arena and near the entrance they saw Gilles talking to a large man with a moustache and gesturing towards a black stallion.
“That’s one of the horses and he made the Newcomers class look easy,” said Lina. “Bueno. I am right as usual, so I will continue checking out the horses. Hasta luego.”
Resisting the urge to follow and sound Lina out more, he walked Drac towards the entrance into the arena. Gilles and the owner were making a deal inside the door, so he melted into the background, asking someone for the time.
Gilles examined the stallion. By the Canadian’s gesticulations, a price was negotiated, although it would be subject to a vet’s thorough inspection of the horse. Armand turned away as the parties shook hands and exchanged business cards. He hovered unnoticed, as his friend made a call on his mobile.
“I have one... yes... I’ll check tonight and confirm. Possibly another one... the usual arrangements. Bury him... yes, today.”
The word ‘bury’ reverberated like a rifle crack in Armand’s head and the glistening snow blinded him. At his feet, her body was dying, blood smeared against white. Then, the pain—he stumbled and tried to clutch at life. A hand grabbed him and the snow dissolved along with her body and her blood.
“Criss Loup, I thought you could hold your drink. You look terrible.”
“I’m okay, Gilles, probably my cooking. I’ve brought Drac, have you sorted your business?”
“Oh sure, checked out the Newcomers winner, a Hanoverian with a fast time too. Not convinced he’s quite right for Papa. The owner might have others, and says he’ll stay in touch.”
Armand was glad Gilles had forgotten the near collapse, as any explanation would be awkward. First, the nightmares had returned, and now another flashback had almost exposed him.
I’m not ready for this. Did Gilles's dealings trigger it? I need to make sense of his call.
The French-speaker on the other end had not been Roman. The casual tone had suggested a very different relationship and Gilles had instigated the arrangements. Is Roman being cheated by his son, or is this part of the family intrigues? Was the voice another partner in Boissard Équestre? Armand wasn't desperate to trawl through the chaotic computer records on a vague suspicion. There were authorities to deal with infractions - if anything illegal existed.
“I’ve found the person I want as my groom,” said Gilles.
“Person, that means Carly. So you’ve talked to her?”
“Sort of, a blonde was fourth in the Newcomers and Carly’s grooming for her. Two horses in her charge, so she’s perfect. Carly, for our head groom I mean.”
“Don’t rush into this. Okay, Carly may be brilliant but check her out first. What do we know about her?”
“Well,” said Gilles chewing his lip. “Just look at the gelding: beautifully plaited mane, oiled hooves, shining coat, immaculate saddle, and smart tack. That takes a conscientious groom. It’s obvious. She’s the one.”
Armand agreed, but there were other criteria, even if Gilles was already satisfied that Carly was his target. I’m willing to be convinced if we learn more.
Gilles pointed to where Carly was heading out into the arena to walk around the fences with the blonde rider. “Time to check her out, and the course, naturally.”
*
Pacing out the distances between the jumps and assessing her options on approaches, Carly realised how much she missed her mother’s guidance. Her friend Beth might be a rider, but her good advice was limited, and not just over jumping.
Beth nudged her. “There's your guy and that weird bloke. Are you trying to ignore him? Good technique for keeping his attention.”
Carly had noticed Gilles earlier, jumping a beautiful grey mare that to a casual onlooker would resemble a young Torc.
“I don’t have time to worry about him, not now when—”
“Shame, I understand you chucking Mick out your life, but you're totally stupid if you lose this one. You can’t afford to.”
Carly ignored her friend, even if she was the boss today, and instead focused on walking the course. Only when they were in the food queue, ten minutes later, did she explain.
“I don’t need any distractions when I’m riding Torc. I can’t rely on her always sorting me out, or so you all keep reminding me.”
“You’re an idiot, Carly Tanner. This guy is your break, your chance to avoid being an itinerant groom forever. Okay, you’re good, but you deserve more than a yard on a failing farm.”
Carly concentrated on ordering a cup of homemade soup, plus a bottle of water for later. “I’m not chasing him, especially here. It’s not my style, even if it worked for you. Sorry, your husband’s brill but–”
“Still, I say you’re crazy. That’s one fit hunk, and you say he’s loaded. Don’t blame me if someone else steals him from under your nose. Just take my advice, go for him, Vix.”
“No, not until I’ve won the class.” The perfect riposte silenced her friend. Winning was unlikely, and for regular riders, the hard graft was the only way to progress.
SIX
Armand suppressed his amusement at his confused friend. “So, you thought she was a groom and now she’s riding. You might have to offer her more than the grooming job.”
“Working pupil then, and she’ll cover all the work you do,” said Gilles. “It’s brilliant. Thanks.”
“If she’s interested. She seems pretty single-minded today.”
“Then I’ll just have to beat her, prove that I can offer the best deal in town.”
Armand was not optimistic that the situation could be resolved. He had noticed a British flag on the
jacket underneath Carly’s fleece. “Wait, impress Carly another time. Please pay attention to the horses, you need results.”
Gilles walked up to Carly, ignoring Armand. “Bonjour chérie. Clever, you not saying you competed. That’s a fine mare you’re riding. Selle Français?”
“Selle Français cross Arab, but she’s not for sale. She’s out of my mum’s jumper so very special. But this lady –” said Carly, placing a hand on the blonde’s arm, “– owns a superb gelding you can buy, at the right price.”
“Ah, except he’s no use to a stud,” said Gilles. ” Then again, nor is my mare on today’s performance.”
“She’s fab—Anglo-Arab I’d guess. Home-bred?”
“Only the stallion – he was bred at Du Noroît, our Canadian stud. I run the one in Suffolk, so I’m talent-spotting potential.”
Armand rolled his eyes and sighed. Locked into the gameplay, Gilles ignored Carly’s polite smile. She noticed Armand and blushed, then glanced away before asking, “So you want just proven competition horses to breed from?”
Before Gilles could reply, the loudspeaker called for the first competitor in the Foxhunters.
“I so need to concentrate on this, but you never know, we might see each other later.”
She was moving towards the arena when Gilles took her right hand. “Please, we’re both in this class, so why not make a bet? If I beat you, I’ll treat you to a meal, and you tell me why you speak French. Otherwise, I’ll leave you alone. Deal?”
Carly grinned, pursing her lips and nodding before she kissed him on each cheek. “Sealed. Better watch out, I thrive on challenges.”
*
The day was getting colder with the weakening winter sun and encroaching darkness. It ate into Carly, feeding the diabetes that only activity was keeping controlled. A few brief moments of jumping weren’t worth suffering for another freezing hour. A chance to beat the cocky Canadian, with his strange half-French, half-American accent was motivation enough, but what mattered was giving Torc an opportunity to shine. The mare had the speed and the turns for the shorter jump-off track. His stallion might be fast, but Gilles was over-confident.
Spiral of Hooves Page 3
