Armand wondered whom the journalist was criticising, the Duchesnes or the Boissards or even Vecheech? Had Patrick Harfang's reputation spread this far?
Carly fielded the question and diverted the journalist. “It’s up to the owners of course, and it depends if I keep the ride. I would compete for Great Britain as I did as a Young Rider, but the Selectors have other more qualified and more experienced riders to choose from. Those riders are more suitable than a rider without their credentials.”
A British journalist asked, “After your thirteenth at Badminton with Sylvan Torc, haven’t you improved your chances of selection today—if not this year, then next year?”
Before Carly could answer, a voice from the back said, “Didn't you want to ride for France then?”
Armand turned and glimpsed a familiar face, but not a journalist.
“Thanks, Mick. Yes, my mother was from Brittany, and I approached the French Federation about riding as French—it was her final wish.”
A murmur swept through the press conference, but she stemmed it by saying, “It’s for her. I don't exactly qualify to ride for La France at senior level. As with Britain, there are others better suited—like those beside me.” She smiled at the French rider who had taken third.
“So, if we discount any team ambitions, what are your plans for the season now?” asked another journalist.
“To give Wanda a well-deserved holiday, and then do another three-star. Or, even move a step up and do the four star at Burghley—but of course, that’s also up to the owners.”
*
The Duchesnes embraced her warmly.
“You have a real gift, a sensitive understanding of Sorcière... of Wanda that is precious.” Natalie smiled. Glancing at Armand, she continued, “We bred her for... someone like you, someone special, so we’re very pleased.”
Blushing, she said, “That means so much, thank you.”
Jean-Pierre waved over another man with a cavalry bearing, even in a suit rather than a black uniform. He was younger, about Armand’s age.
Introduced as Captain Blavet, he said, “Congratulations, very well ridden. You have talent, and with training, we can use you.”
She raised her eyebrows, wondering if by ‘we’ he meant the Cadre Noir.
“Mademoiselle Tanner, you said your mother was French, so I presume you have dual nationality. If so, we could help, if you want to ride for La France.” That ‘we’ again. Who was he? “I gather that you have applied to the FFE for acceptance as a French rider. It’s a slow process, but there are ways to expedite the procedure. Would you and Sorcière des Saules’s owners consider doing an international three star in June?”
Carly swallowed. Was this stranger asking her to ride at an international event? Except, if he was a friend of the breeders then he might be able to help her realise her mother’s dream.
“I don’t have plans, so probably—if it would help. Of course, it depends on the approval of the owners and British Eventing, but I’ll try to be there.”
“Let us know what you decide to do. We will then ask the right people and see what we can do.”
He bowed and shook her hand.
“It has been charming to meet you.”
He smiled at the Duchesnes before saluting Jean-Pierre and walked over to Armand, whom he led to one side.
If Captain Blavet was Cadre Noir, Armand could have served with them, but on a horse, he didn’t look cavalry trained. So, what was he?
From everything that Lina had said, he was a victim of gang warfare and an intellectual recluse, but now he was talking with an army officer that had saluted Jean-Pierre Duchesne. Carly tried to tie up all the contradictions. Maybe it was as simple as Armand working for the Duchesnes, to escape from a troubled background. It made sense and even explained the shoulder wound.
Did she dare ask the Duchesnes, or was she digging up the past Armand wanted to keep buried? It could wait.
For now, she needed to spend some time with her father before work pulled him away again.
THIRTY-THREE
With her eyes closed, Lina sat in the horsebox, her fingers twisting her hair, foot tapping on the dashboard. She was anxious about what awaited them.
“Roman won’t want to provoke Vecheech,” said Armand. “The equipment will be intact, chérie.”
Lina opened one eye. “Madre de Dios, I hope you're right. I fear the worst after Saumur. He’ll blame me because they won when they’re meant to be useless.”
“What can he do without annoying Harfang?”
“Destroy my research material. Roman will be pissed with Harfang and say the guy’s a thief.”
“What do you know about Patrick Harfang?” asked Armand, digging.
“Not much. He’s shadowy—hard to approach. Gilles used to joke about him back in Canada...”
“I vaguely remember,” said Armand, recollecting one fancy dress party when Gilles had attended as an obese ogre, Baron Harfang, which had irritated Roman.
“But he’s rumoured to be a tough operator.”
“And Roman claims he’s a friend?”
“They belong to the same golf club near Bromont,” said Lina. “The hellhound played golf with him, once, so thought they were friends—no longer, I expect.”
They turned into Fenburgh, up the long drive.
Fewer horses grazed the fields, but there was activity. The sun glinted off the fences and the roofs, and the security cameras. He began counting them as he parked the horsebox behind the lab building. Was Lina doing the same security check? She seemed to be inspecting the place in detail—unless she was assessing to see if the stud had changed.
The rear doors were closed, so Lina reached over and tapped in her pass code. It was no use; Roman had changed it, forcing a frontal entry.
As they walked into the office, with Mistico adding his intimidating presence, they found Roman waiting with Mick.
“So, you’ve the impudence to come back. Haven’t you stolen enough from me?”
Lina replied, “You were paid for everything. We’re here for the rest of what Vecheech bought.”
“Cheats,” said Mick. “The mare alone was worth ten times what Vecheech paid us.”
Armand noted the salesman’s use of ‘us’. Vidarranj must be a partner in Boissard Équestre.
“Hog shit,” said Lina. “You never rated Wanda, until Carly won on her.”
“La salope deceived us,” said Roman. “Someone has to pay, now.”
Mick intervened, although his words didn’t convince Armand it was out of friendship to Carly.
“It was not the rider’s fault. Her employer should have provided a proper assessment based on what she reported and of course, Miss Jardero’s research.”
He pointed to the desk and a metal briefcase, which Lina checked.
“You found my research notes. I thought I’d lost them.”
Does this explain her anger at Badminton and alarm at Saumur?
She glanced from Roman to Mick.
“Carajo, you took this and passed it to... the Vidarranj bastards.”
“Why not? You did the work here, Jardero,” said Roman, “so this is Boissard Équestre property. Mine to use and–”
Lina thrust her finger towards Roman. “You value nothing, shit face, horses least of all.”
“Hear Pin was useless as a stallion, thanks to you. So, Mr Boissard had to take a knife to him—cut his nuts off.” Mick gestured, slicing a finger across his neck. “Never forget that.”
Armand resisted saying something, but Lina shifted position and took up an aggressive stance; Mistico bared his teeth.
“Shut up Mick, unless you want someone to do that to you, pervert.”
Mick responded by crouching and raising one defensive palm, but he said nothing.
Observing the stand-off, Armand wondered if either would attack. The martial arts stances were familiar.
Lina picked up the briefcase. Mick moved to stop her, but she shot out a warning leg; the side kick feint st
opped short of the salesman’s chin, freezing him.
Spinning on her heels, Lina strode towards the lab.
“I hope the equipment is ready. I'm not wasting more time here.”
“Jardero, halt.” Roman was on his feet. Pushing past Armand, he joined Mick. “You’re not going anywhere until I get paid in full.”
“Monsieur Boissard,” Armand pulled out a sheaf of papers that Gilles had entrusted to him, “this includes a complete list of what we paid for, and you've signed it.”
Roman grabbed the papers and threw them into the wastepaper bin.
“They’re worthless now. My lawyers will deal with this so you can leave.”
Lina turned on him. “No way, idiot, you will so lose. Better to give me the key now, or I will drive the truck through the damn doors.”
Lina was resolute, and Armand was ready to help.
“You don't need the equipment, sir. You have us, one hundred and ten percent. I assure you I have what we both want, or can obtain it, our way.”
Roman punched his code in the lock and led Lina inside the lab.
Armand retrieved the contract from the bin and followed, noting Mick’s assurance. Was the salesman reminding them of his earlier threat?
*
As they drove away from the stud, Armand asked, “That kick, did you know Mick would do nothing?”
“He was bluffing. The stance was a pose. Carly says he’s a phoney and easily conned.”
Armand wasn’t so sure but guessed Carly knew her ex. If only he knew more about Lina.
“Your move was impressive. Where did you learn the side snap kick?”
She hesitated before replying.
“I needed to learn ju-jitsu. My father was... beating Mama and us kids... I left home to prove myself, make my own life.”
“Merde, I’m so sorry, I never realised your childhood was that rough.”
“No one does. Well, I told Carly a bit, but reliving those years is too painful.”
“I’m here for you, if you need a friend.” He was ready to talk about himself, although some details would have to remain hidden.
As he pulled onto the A11, she said, “I had to handle cruelty and prejudice. And violence, like your shoulder, poor Loup. Looks like a gunshot wound.”
What does she know?
“You recognise one? How?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head.
Is she like me? Have I finally found an ally? Impossible. I need someone to trust. But is that Lina?
“Si, sometimes I had to fight to protect myself and anything I valued.”
THIRTY-FOUR
“We would like to invite you to join the Elite training squad, for those who we feel might be team prospects.”
The official’s words had left Carly stunned by the recognition. They favoured Wanda over the more experienced Torc, but maybe they were looking for future potential, so the results for both mares on their return to competition would now be under scrutiny.
Thinking back over the phone call, “team prospects” must mean next year or more likely later, but she was amazed the selectors would consider an unknown rider with no track record beyond a brief stint with the Young Riders team. Her health had to be a liability, and when they made the final choices next spring, or in the future, there would be others more suitable. This invitation was just to encourage her, and to ensure she stayed a British rider. However, competing with Wanda at an international one-day for the French Federation, as Captain Blavet had requested, might be misunderstood by British Eventing.
There was no urgency for now, but she should be doing something—there must be horses to exercise. She didn’t need the afternoon off, even if Gilles had insisted she relax in front of the TV with Guinness while he dealt with the horses. He had claimed all the paperwork was up to date, but she checked anyway.
Gilles had done everything from the accounts to the entries. He had even made the travel booking for the Spanish three-star international, even though Pin might be fit sooner and able to do the three-star at Bramham in Yorkshire.
Checking through the paperwork, it seemed Vecheech had unleashed the Business & Economics graduate in Gilles—at last. He had also entered Wanda into the international one-day at Bramham. Had he intentionally ignored her French application, or was the entry a logistical decision? Whatever his motive, a good result there might satisfy both British and French Federations, without forcing Carly to make a premature decision over her nationality. She did love the Yorkshire venue, so it was tempting to ride Wanda there.
Relaxation beckoned, and Guinness looked at her, wanting her to share the sofa or at least let him warm her toes; but a nagging concern kept her online.
Odette Fédon. Gilles had said so little about Odette after the funeral, but Carly still needed to know more. So she searched and found three online newspaper articles. The first was a report of the funeral, confirming what she knew, but the second story, from the Montreal Gazette, disturbed her.
PREGNANT GROOM KILLED
According to forensic sources, the autopsy of Odette Fédon, 26, of Les-Trois-Ponts, has revealed that she was pregnant when she died in December while exercising a horse for her employers, Du Noroît Stud near Bromont.
A spokeswoman for the Québec Provincial Police says, “Mademoiselle Fédon was three weeks pregnant, but we are still treating her death as misadventure. All our evidence indicates that Fédon was knocked off her horse by a tree branch during a blizzard.”
However, the police have interviewed several people, including her former employer Gilles Boissard, who now lives in England.
Did they suspect Gilles of being the father? Was that why he went alone to Québec? Did he fear that the police and the Fédon family would ask questions? She kept reading.
The Boissard family have denied any relationship between Gilles Boissard and Odette Fédon beyond her employment. However, the Fédon family have demanded a paternity test and expect an acknowledgement along with a financial apology.
The discovery was hard to absorb. She needed a strong black tea.
*
Odette’s pregnancy must have been ill-timed when she was alive, given this Boissard reaction after her death. How did Gilles react? Odette had spent enough time alone with Gilles for the relationship to be well developed. Had Roman killed Odette, or paid to have her killed to stop her marrying his son and claiming a share of the Boissard fortune? There had to be other less extreme options, like attempting to pay Odette to renounce any claim. So, why pay a killer?
She had to read the next article and hoped that it brought closure. Instead, it stated that after the DNA tests, Gilles was determined to have been the father of Odette’s unborn child. The Boissard family’s lawyers would contest the Fédon family’s financial claim, of course.
Despite that news, she was relieved the police had closed the case as misadventure. She didn’t want Gilles caught up in a murder investigation, even if he had lied to her about his relationship with Odette.
Familiar sounds outside drifted into the room, birds singing, horses neighing and a tractor chugging. Everything seemed so normal.
She stood up and gazed out of the window.
Why hadn’t Gilles told her? Again, he had been minimal with the truth. She had to challenge him about Odette.
Back at the computer desk, she bent down and stroked Guinness, kissing his head, comforted by her faithful companion.
Odette—what was Armand to her? Could he have killed her because he was jealous of Gilles’s relationship? Was he hiding from that memory? She had to learn more about Armand Sabatier to be able to prove him innocent.
The search indicated that the Sabatiers came from the south, or Massif Central area of France; unless he was one of the knife makers from Thiers, which made her shudder. She found no living Armand Sabatier, but she recognised the limitations of the Internet. Why should someone be there unless they were famous or wanted to publicise themselves? That was not Armand, the lone wolf.<
br />
At Saumur, he had contacts, so the Duchesnes’s stud website might throw up some clues. She blushed at the latest stud news item, which stated that Sorcière des Saules, the Saumur winner, was bred by them and praised the contribution of her classy Anglo-French rider with sympathetic hands.
The website impressed her, and among the photos of the stunning horses bred at Des Saules, she found Wanda’s parents Phénix and Lune, who both had excelled in their careers. There were also details of their parentages. She was tempted to explore more, but resisted, saving the link for later.
How did Armand know them? She found the link to the family and clicked on it. Both Duchesnes were from equestrian backgrounds and Jean-Pierre’s father, Maurice had started the stud. Jean-Pierre and Natalie had expanded the stud after they left the army, but there was no clue as to what regiment, only a brief mention of their commitment to breeding the best Anglo-Arabs in France.
Were the Cadre classed as the army? She remembered some French riders doing their National Service with them. Did Armand do that? But he was not a natural horseman and no Cadre Noir, although he was sensitive around horses. Maybe he had done his National Service with Jean-Pierre’s son—except there was no sign of any Duchesne son. Was Captain Blavet a cousin perhaps? He seemed to be the right age to have served with Armand, and they clearly knew each other. Armand had even driven back from Saumur with a military-looking jeep.
She stared at the page, desperate for a clue. Guinness put his head on her knee, comforting her. She clicked through the stud’s photo archives for inspiration and then froze.
The mare was staring at her: Lune des Saules with her filly Sorcière and the Duchesnes, as well as a groom. No, not a groom, but their daughter who was holding Wanda close. The “someone special” whom Natalie and Jean-Pierre had bred the mare for. Odette Duchesne. Around her neck was a pendant so similar in style to Armand’s that Carly had to check it. She saved the photo and then zoomed in with her photo software.
It was a bird—a swan, like Armand’s tattoo.
THIRTY-FIVE
Carly was lying in Gilles’s arms, but she wasn’t ready for what he wanted. There was too much to deal with, and only he could resolve this, or else it was over.
Spiral of Hooves Page 13
