Lina stared at him and then said, “Makes sense. The fox is a predator—out of control, but we must ensure enough vermin die, cleanly. When an animal threatens another’s existence–” She glanced at Gilles then continued, “–like a fox with chickens or even a wolf with caribou, then it needs to be culled.”
As Carly and Gilles agreed, Armand sat holding back the past, fearing what he was going to say. “Except man is the most dangerous predator. Are we condoning man killing man, like in Carly’s dream? Are we that ruthless? Or maybe nature will turn on us?”
His friends stared at him, and he wished he had kept quiet and played his meek self. Carly diverted their attention, saying, “Suppose that’s sort of what my dream said. Well, the man as predator problem, but how do we weigh up lives when the balance has already gone?”
Nobody answered, letting her continue.
“Do we save all the threatened creatures first? What about the research that uses animals to save lives—the lives of children? No, don’t answer, just change the subject.” Carly put her arm around Gilles and rested her head on his shoulder. He enfolded her in his arms like a cocoon of safety.
Are we all killers in some way? Are we all hiding from the knowledge that others die to keep us alive? Am I running away from my guilt?
FOURTEEN
The alarm on his laptop had woken Armand early. The network sniffer, which he had set to monitor any Vidarranj activities on the Boissard system, had detected an email.
Re: Explain!
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Boissard. Goods stoppage. Explain and rectify. Roper.
Having accessed the message and read it, he marked it as unread, leaving no trace of his incursion. The email must be addressed to Roman in Canada, but was Gilles still a part of Boissard Équestre? With Gilles and Carly at a weekend show, he dealt with the remaining horses as he mulled over the cryptic message. Although Mick would be the one supplying supplements, Boissard Équestre could only provide horses, but none had been exchanged—unless they had never passed through Fenburgh.
Chores done, he checked the computer records in the yard office. There were no acquisitions recorded since they had arrived in the UK, not even Gilles's dealings, like the stallion bought at Ardingly.
He scanned the list for other omissions and noted that neither of Wanda's embryo transplant foals was recorded. Was Gilles hiding information from his father, or from Vidarranj? Were they a partner in Boissard Équestre? Rumours of a new partner had been implied in Canada, but not since.
Was Vidarranj meant to be receiving horses, or something else?
He had no time to delve as he heard a voice barking in Québécois French. He realised with shock that it was Roman, whose arrival was rolling across the yard like a storm cloud and disturbing the horses settled in their stables.
Outside, a tall man with oiled black hair strode across the yard pointing a swagger stick at Armand.
“Plane was late, then nobody met me at the airport, and now nobody’s here. I had to take a taxi, which is coming out of your wages, Sabatier. Should have guessed you were behind this mess. You’re useless, but think you’re so damned clever with your books. Army discipline would sort out your sloppy ideas. Get rid of that hair for a start.” The decibels continued as he targeted a new victim. “Don’t expect that new salope is any better. One goes, and he finds another.”
Armand weathered the storm and looked busy. “Many apologies, sir, we were never told to expect you. What can I do for you?”
The glower and the stick poking at the cobbles suggested he should grovel, but he knew Roman’s type too well. No more dangerous than a regimental mascot, he was all parade-ground bark and no real guts in his rigid manner or stance. Major Boissard might have retired, but he still needed everyone to know how important he was.
“We’ve finished the horses for the afternoon. I was preparing for your son’s return.”
“I see. My son gets the service, and my emails go unanswered. You knew when I was coming. I even had to ring the butler to have the master bedroom cleared. So, is my son still letting that useless groom ride? He never learns—grooms are only good for one thing.”
Armand pointed at Torc, who was in her box. “That’s her mare. Carly is grooming for Gilles, and he’s riding the two stallions and resting the mare Sorcière.”
“The one whose foal was born last Sunday to the surrogate? That’s another idiotic thing, calling it Poisson d’Avril.” He shook his head and muttered some curse about his stupid son. The tapping stick intensified as he asked, “So, where is the foal? I need to see it if it really exists.”
Armand led Roman to a stable with its own paddock, where the foal was suckling an Irish draught mare. A week old, the colt stood on firm legs and nudged his surrogate mother as he drank.
For a moment, Armand saw another side of Roman. He was genuinely captivated, especially when the colt gambled around the old mare, demonstrating his breeding with turns, dinks, and bursts of speed, which was a beautiful echo of Wanda.
“The sire’s genes will make up for that disappointing Witch mare.” Like son, the same insult, except more. “Tabernac, Gilles has no judgement. First, he buys a useless horse, and now he thinks the groom can get results on her.” He stared at Armand. “Don’t lie to me, Sabatier. She’s still riding that Witch—not today but other times, I know.”
The eyes burned into him with the intensity of a sergeant-major, but Armand could handle such men.
“Don’t think for a moment I admire this misplaced loyalty to my son. Be warned that it will cost you, and at a time of my choosing.”
Roman strode back to the yard and began a thorough inspection, moving anything he deemed out of place and running a finger across every surface.
“Sloppy, not good enough. Tomorrow it has to be spotless and ordered.”
Armand was made to feel personally responsible by Roman. In Canada, he had envisaged upending the larger man onto the ground as the move was so simple, but pointless even now. Better to defer the moment.
“By the morning, Sabatier, I expect to see my face in these stones.”
Armand half-expected to be told to use a toothbrush like a raw recruit, but the stick was tucked back under an arm, and the strut echoed out of the yard leaving some barked clues. “Roper said the stud was in incompetent hands, but not now that I’m here. Plus, that foal goes to Du Noroît.”
Armand had believed Roman’s incompetence was a key factor in the studs’ problems. Now he realised that appearances could be deceptive and dangerous. Roman’s military record needed exposure. Bombastic outbursts could disguise military precision.
It had been so easy at Du Noroît to be lulled by the stud staff talking behind Roman’s back, suggesting, “The nearest that the major came to combat was with a potato peeler. Command promoted him, so the troops didn’t starve.”
Armand had searched the Canadian Army list and discovered Roman had served in a combat service support regiment, but details on the nature of the postings were missing. A thorough investigation into Roman's career was imperative and could indicate whether the Boissard activities masked something illegal.
FIFTEEN
It had been a pre-dawn start so the four friends could all pitch in to ensure that once they had fed the horses, mucked out their stables, and polished all the tack until it gleamed, they had time to clean the yard until it was spotless in every cranny for the dreaded inspection.
However, by midday, the horses were restless and noisy amidst the tension that Roman stirred up. He was everywhere, finding invisible dirt or fault, shouting orders and insisting that everyone update him about their work. His foul mood grew as the morning progressed and the quartet stood firm; that didn’t stop him from taking out his frustration on everyone.
As Carly trudged back to the cottage with Lina for lunch, she said, “My position as Head Groom is under threat.”
“Why?” Lina had sto
pped outside the house, looking concerned.
“He’s as controlling as you said. He feels the horses are in poor condition and unfit. That it’s my fault, even the results, and I can’t even get their training regime right. Damn the bastard!”
“Ridiculous. Only Pin has had bad results, and after lunch, I want to test him, before we have to call the vet.”
“Roman will still insist I get my priorities right. He says Wanda is useless and he wants her sold. And I’m not to ride her or any of the horses competitively. I can't even ride Torc if it affects my job. Damn, I could kill him.”
“Typical, he ignores the facts and demands what he wants. We will find a way to stop him. Fenburgh is Gilles’s domain, and his father knows that. Roman is only provoking him.”
“Which is why Roman claims I'll be judged by Gilles's results. Plus, I must provide a progress report on the exercise schedule today and every day. Should I refuse?”
“No. There is another way. I'll help you after lunch. He will demand one from each of us. He's obsessed with paperwork, so we blind him with reports, as we did in Canada, for a while.”
“Oh, for a while? What happened?” Carly remembered the accident, which must have been connected.
Lina said nothing as she buttered her toast and added some peanut butter, seemingly reluctant to remember such a horrendous event. But she finally answered.
“It was like now, with Roman abusive and irrational in his demands. Gilles started making plans to move out.”
“Planned with you or with Odette?” asked Carly.
“With Odette. She was with him when he found Fenburgh. I wondered back then if she was...” Lina hesitated and wiped the hair from her face.
“Gilles was having an affair with her? Not Loup? What were the rumours saying? They hardly talk about her. You’re the first one to share.”
Lina looked at her toast then said, “It was the way she kissed Loup, too familiar. But he just backed off, which was sensible since she was Gilles’s head groom–”
“So, Gilles seduced her?”
“They travelled a lot together. I think she may have fallen for Gilles and expected him to... well, it was never like you. You’ll never be like Odette, gracias a Dios. But then...”
“...she was killed?”
“Si—it was a tragedy that affected us all at Du Noroît. Well, all except Roman, who callously said she was une salope and he could never understand–”
Carly had to interrupt. The situation was horribly familiar, and she shuddered, saying, “…what Gilles saw in her, as she was so incompetent, except just one repulsive thing.”
“Exactamente.” Lina was staring at Carly, who tried not to shake as she finished her juice. “So, he told you the same today?”
“Yes, and now I’m worried. Was the accident as reported?”
Lina went as white as snow and turned her head away. “Yes, she disappeared in a blizzard. The same one nearly killed Armand, but with the shock, I think he has forgotten... gracias a Dios.” She crossed herself then stood up, glancing at her watch. “We are going to be late if we don’t leave. Bring Pin to the lab as soon as you can.”
*
“There are signs that he’s not right, but nothing points to the feed or exercise regime.”
Lina was carefully studying the data on her laptop, after an extensive half hour of tests using the equipment in Fenburgh’s lab. Carly had rarely seen such an array of high-tech gear, from the treadmill and bio-sign monitors to the latest capnograph and pulse oximeter.
“So, what next?” asked Carly pointing to the stallion hitched next to Drac. Pin looked anxious, unsure if they would subject him to more tests.
“I have to tell Gilles he needs to call the clinic. Probably a virus but the vet will know.”
“Infectious?”
“Unlikely. None of the others show these symptoms and certainly not Drac. He’s been the perfect comparison.”
“Proof your feeding regime and my exercise schedule are working. But, will Roman accept your findings?”
“I will give the results to Gilles as he’s the one who has to ride Pin at Kentucky, not Roman. But if the vet says it’s a virus then he won’t fly Stateside or go anywhere. Rest and then slow work, maybe even the aquatred.”
Lina gestured at some smaller electrodes and monitors. “Okay, you’re next amiga, not that I doubt your fitness.”
Earlier, during one of Pin’s treadmill runs, Carly was taken aback when Lina mentioned the athlete performance tests, so she asked, “Aren’t humans outside your remit?”
“Not when they’re athletes as well,” Lina had reassured her.
Carly was still chuffed at being thought of in those terms, even with diabetes.
“These should show what you can do, and I've personally tested the equipment,” said Lina. “I needed to know if my euphorbia allergy slowed me down. The effect seems to vary per species.”
“Is it bad like say, a nut allergy?”
Lina laughed. “Don’t aim to eat the plants. Anyhow, we have to get on. I need to know about you.”
Carly built up a steady pace on the treadmill, and her heart beat rose, while Lina noted down figures for her pulse and breath. Despite tiny beads of sweat she was breathing with minimum effort, so Lina told her to increase her speed.
“Fantástico. You are magnifica. No way is your ability troubled, but can I have a blood and sugar sample, please? We must ensure you stay at your best. After that, please run again.”
Carly was beginning to feel like the two stallions. Like the horses, she trusted the Latina, who was placing the labelled samples into her metal briefcase.
“One final time, please.”
Again, she built her walk up to a steady jog then found her normal focus so she could maximise her performance.
“What the hell is that salope doing on there? She’s not even a horse.”
Roman filled the door to the offices. Carly jumped but managed to slow down with the treadmill.
“I have tested the stallions and now have to check the riders. It’s no good if they aren’t fit, and competing at this level is demanding. All the top teams do this.”
“Ridiculous. She isn’t the jockey and might not be a groom for long. That boy is an idiot for employing another useless one. Back to work girl, you have lots to do—now.”
As Carly headed towards Pin and Drac, to take them back to their stables, she noticed Roman was looming over Lina and staring at her laptop.
“So, do these results prove anything, other than the fact that you are wasting time, too?”
SIXTEEN
Everything was unravelling again like a constant nightmare. Armand was concerned, even though Lina was preparing a report to prove her case. Gilles was reassuring his friends that everything was under his control.
Why do I sense a third force at work undermining Boissard Équestre? Who can I trust if the past replays itself?
As he exercised and stretched, he unravelled the facts from his negative fears. Roman’s arrival had upset the new beginning at Fenburgh. Mick must have been reporting to both Vidarranj and Roman. Maybe Gilles’s behaviour had made them suspicious of his horse dealings. From a rational standpoint, the envisaged threat was just a regular business manoeuvre and the adversaries would eventually withdraw.
Yet, parallels with the last two months at Du Noroît were unavoidable. Back then, Lina had tried to use science to combat Roman, while Gilles had insisted he could deal with the problems and ensure the move to Fenburgh would happen.
Armand replayed his conversations with Lina at the cabin in Canada, and the fear crept back. Odette’s death had followed the plotting against Roman. If that was repeated, then Carly was under threat. But, why? She was the head groom, but not as outspoken as Odette, nor was she involved in Gilles’s scheming.
Climbing into bed, Armand calmed his overactive brain, shutting out his anxieties—but sleep kept slipping from his grasp. The walls glared white in the moonlight a
nd swirled into a snowstorm, which whirled around him and tried lifting him off his feet. Then through the blizzard, he saw a woman grappling with an invisible assailant. She staggered and then crumpled—a mannequin dissolving into the mist as he tried to reach her.
He woke sweating, his heart pounding as he gasped out a name—Odette. Someone had killed her; he was sure of that. But he was confused about everything.
Didn’t I bury Cygne? Or is that my guilt and my memories?
No, Odette Fédon—they had never found his cousin. Lina and Mistico had rescued him—from the same storm that Odette had vanished in.
Was I there when she disappeared?
The snow buried her along with the truth.
Reality slipped into his periphery.
Did I see her killed?
The questions tumbled like an avalanche.
Why was she killed? Why was I there? Why have I so easily forgotten? Did the killer see me?
He held his head in his hands and sought for a ray of light.
Then his wife was there, reassuring her soul mate that he was not to blame for her death and she would be waiting for him forever.
My precious Cygne. I laid your body to rest in France. My mind has used the past as a barrier to protect me from new horrors. Except now I remember something hurling my cousin Odette into the river in Québec. Somebody murdered her.
SEVENTEEN
Carly tried ignoring them, but Gilles was being too friendly with Lina. Why was his arm around her? He had no reason.
She circled the start box again, concentrating on the starter who was saying “Two minutes.”
Ever since Roman's tirade, the others had left her out of all the counter-plotting, which was understandable, but annoying.
“One minute.”
She turned the six-year-old back towards the railed start box. After a neat dressage and a clear show-jumping earlier in the day, this was the final test of the bay gelding Huginn’s first intermediate. Gilles only wanted to compete his stallions, Drac and Pin, so Carly was taking on his discarded rides. She welcomed the challenge, and riding three horses over two days at Burnham Market was straightforward.
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