by Leigh Hearon
After a half hour of watching Gwendolyn on horseback, Annie had seen all she needed to. The woman was a good rider, that was clear, but even Nicole, who was about as egocentric as anyone Annie had ever met, showed more connection with her mount. Gwendolyn, she noted, had to be reminded to pat her horse when it had done a good job. The Dutch Warmblood was a big, beautiful chestnut, and as far as she could tell, had an unending supply of patience and willingness to try the same repetitive movements over and over. But the woman who rode him seemed to treat him more like an exotic sports car. Gwendolyn seemed to think all you had to do was put it in gear, and it would automatically perform.
And, truth be told, Annie was confounded by the terms Harriett used to elicit improvement in horse and rider. She kept asking for “half-halts,” a term that completely confused her. How do you half-halt a horse, and more to the point, why would you? Whatever the action was, it happened very quickly. Annie noticed similar responses from the Warmblood after each call for one occurred—he looked more balanced, somehow, although she couldn’t have put her finger on exactly why. It was obvious that keeping the horse supple was paramount, and Annie wholeheartedly approved of that. But the attention to the minutest detail was mind-boggling.
She slid off the rail she’d been using as an uncomfortable spectator seat, quietly nodded at Tabitha, and walked off toward the main house. She’d go back later to see how Liz and Patricia were getting on and to privately get answers to the many perplexing terms that she’d heard today, “half-halt” on the top of the list. But now it was time to explore the property, as Miriam had encouraged her to do last evening.
* * *
As she walked around the side of the house that flanked the kitchen, she saw Chef Gustav knee-deep in a lush vegetable garden nearby, a straw basket on one arm.
“Bonjour!” she called over to him.
“Ah, salut, Mademoiselle Annie!”
She was pleased to hear the chef use her first name.
“Lunch was magnifique! Merci beaucoup!” Annie could feel her French vocabulary rapidly dwindling.
“You like the salade de crabe et de crevettes? It is a fitting repast, n’est-ce pas, before your dinner of magret de canard tonight.”
Annie did not spend a lot of time in her kitchen, unless it was to unwrap mystery packages from her freezer, usually opened long after their original purchase date. But she did recognize the French dish just mentioned as breast of duck. Yum.
“But so much work, Chef Gustav! Would you like some help?”
“Non, mon amie, it is not necessary. I have my kitchen staff and will soon have the help of a most charming lady, Mademoiselle Tabitha. And Mademoiselle Amy has promised to come by when she is done with her lesson. So, you see, I have more than enough helpers to make a superb dinner.”
“Très bien! Then I think I’ll look around a bit. À bientôt!”
She left him in the garden examining a row of radicchio and headed for the sports pavilion Miriam had earlier referenced. She’d need to acquaint herself with this building if she expected to fit into her Levi’s when she returned home from this jaunt.
She found the gym first, an adobe building that melded into the natural flora beautifully. State-of-the-art exercise equipment filled a huge workout room, with mirrors, yoga mats, and rows of white towels strategically placed near each machine. Small HDTVs had been thoughtfully placed in front of several mind-numbing treadmills. Like most private gyms, the machines looked pristine and virtually untouched; although for all she knew, Nicole and Gwendolyn were here every morning, toning their inner thighs and strengthening their cores. She was delighted to find a beverage dispenser with healthful sodas and snacks inside, and which did not require any coinage—she only had to select the product and it popped out. Annie snared a bottle of water and continued her exploration of the compound.
Shower facilities for both sexes were behind the exercise room, along with a sauna, hot tub, and private room for massage. She wondered if the Darbys had their own masseuse or if someone nearby was brought in on demand; she was sure this would be one pastime all guests would enjoy. A door next to the women’s showers found Annie looking at squash and pickleball courts. Another exit led her to the outside again, and into a lighted tennis court. A row of racquets neatly lined one wall, and an electronic ball machine at the far end of the court looked as if it had recently been in use.
It was an incredible setup, and Annie wished she’d brought along some sweats to work out in, or at least a swimsuit. Although she wouldn’t be surprised that both items would magically appear if she told Miriam of her desire to do something of a physical nature while she was enjoying the Darbys’ hospitality. That is, until Marcus arrived.
The Darbys had taken the recent long drought to heart, because Annie found pockets of hardscape gardens along a new, winding path that provided glimpses of small cottages farther in the distance. These must be the guest homes where the trainers were staying, she thought, which made her confident the path she was on would lead her back to the main house. It did, and she saw Lucy, looking hot and tired, coming up the front walkway at the same time.
Annie waved and caught up with her in the circular driveway in front of the house.
“How’s Prince doing?”
“Better, I think. He’s in his run-in now and doesn’t seem to be in pain.”
“Good. Well, I guess you’ll just have to check him in the morning.”
“Melissa said she’d check on him later tonight. And the vet’s coming by early tomorrow morning, too.”
“Then you’re in good hands.” Although why the owner of the horse couldn’t participate just a tad more in his health care still escaped Annie.
* * *
It was tempting to hang out by the pool, but Annie reminded herself that she was here for Patricia and Liz, and besides, the walk back to the stables would be good exercise, especially since she intended to double up on dessert again. Besides, she’d never seen what lay in the back of the stables. She decided to walk the loop around the horse barn to complete her tour of the Darby grounds.
Gwendolyn and Harriett were still at it when she walked by, and she waved but declined to stop. When she came to the far corner of the stables, she saw workmen loading folding stadium tiers onto a small pickup truck. These undoubtedly would be set up tomorrow, in preparation for the show on Saturday. Sprinklers already were in the two unused outdoor arenas although not yet activated. Annie was sure the dust would fly in this hot climate if the footing were not completely doused beforehand. In the back of the barn and under a grove of cottonwood trees, she saw numerous single wide buildings—housing for the stable hands, she guessed. Behind the stables she also found two hot walkers, neither currently in use, and a spacious wash rack with electronic groomers nearby. Turning into the rear entrance, she discovered an immense tack room, filled with saddles, bridles, saddle pads, halters, riding whips, and a few equestrian items Annie couldn’t identify. A row of tack trunks lined one wall on a floor of bright red ceramic tile, a nice, albeit somewhat extravagant touch.
Once more, Annie appreciated the climate-controlled environment she’d just entered. She’d been walking for the past hour in a temperature seldom felt in her native environment, and the sudden coolness was more than welcome on her skin.
A chopped-off whinny echoed through the stables, and Annie instantly wondered where the horse was pastured. This was a barn where horses were used to staying in stalls and turnouts for long hours at a time, and she knew every horse on the premises always was within eyesight and accounted for. She walked out the rear entrance, scanning her eyes against the bright horizon. She saw nothing except a round structure, approximately thirty feet behind the stables. It had a high, corrugated wall at least twenty feet tall. Wooden stairs had been built by it, culminating in a small stand on top so a person could look inside the structure without entering. She’d missed this building on her way into the stables.
She trotted outside and heard the
sound again. It was as if a horse was trying to talk, but its words could not come out. This time, she was sure it came from the direction of the round structure, and it flashed on her that what she was looking at was the Southern California version of a round pen. It was a large one indeed, at least eighty feet across by her estimation. She walked as quietly as she could to the wooden stairs and crept up, then peered over the top.
Nicole was astride her Andalusian, which Annie was horrified to see had its head restrained so that it rested on its chest. Its eyes were pulled so low that the only view it possibly could have had was the ground cover of dirt. Nicole’s hands were braced to keep the confinement in place, and a leather strap attached to a girth wound through the horse’s bridle and bit and back to the girth again. Annie could see that the strap alone prohibited the horse from moving its head in any direction. The sight sickened her. She tried to tell herself there was a reasonable explanation for what she was seeing and failed. She had been so impressed by the Andalusian’s round neck and collected body—but now she wondered if this was the method by which it was achieved. It looked painful and completely unnatural, and she anxiously waited for Nicole to release the pressure and let the Andalusian stretch. After several long minutes, Annie could take the sight of unyielding pressure on the horse’s neck and chest no longer. She knew she was a mere novice in the ways dressage was taught, but she did know animal cruelty when she saw it. Trembling with rage, she carefully made her way down the steps and ran lightly into the stables toward the indoor arena.
Patricia, Liz, and Miriam were talking quietly in one corner; Liz had a loose rein on Sammy, who stood patiently by them. The stirrups on Sammy’s saddle were run up in back of the leathers, and Annie knew the lesson was over for the day. Annie raced over to the women, and they turned around in surprise.
“Annie! We expected to see you earlier. What happened?”
She shook her head to let them know that how she spent her afternoon was not part of her news.
“I don’t know what exactly is going on, but Nicole’s got her horse in some kind of stranglehold in the round pen out back,” she panted. “He can’t move his head at all; it’s strapped down to his chest. I don’t know how long he’s been in that position, but I couldn’t take it anymore. What exactly is she doing?”
“Draw reins,” both Patricia and Miriam said at once, their voices grim, and then Patricia ran out of the arena. Annie started to follow, but Miriam laid a light hand on her arm.
“Let Patricia handle it, Annie.”
“Fine. But will someone tell me what’s going on?”
Miriam shook her head sadly.
“It sounds very much like Nicole is abusing draw reins on her horse to achieve rollkur, an extreme form of hyperflexion that’s been banned by the FEI.”
“FEI’s the world governing body for dressage, Annie,” Liz added. “The Prix St.-Georges test Nicole is riding is under its banner.”
“It’s been a controversial technique as long as I can remember,” Miriam went on. But it’s thoroughly out of favor by the FEI and other dressage organizations because it’s considered aggressive force that can cause mental and physical damage. If used incorrectly, it’s like putting a razor blade in the hands of a monkey. You have to understand that we all want our horses’ necks to be deep and round, but not at the expense of their suffering. What you described goes beyond accepted practices. Nicole knows this very well.”
Annie was relieved to know the Andalusian would soon be—if not already—released from its captive stance. The only problem was that once Nicole knew it was Annie who had turned her in, she might direct her malicious intent toward her.
Chapter Eight
THURSDAY EVENING, OCTOBER 12
The explosion came a few seconds later. The high walls of the hollow round pen reverberated with the screams of one very angry horsewoman, and Annie knew they weren’t coming from Patricia. Patricia never lost her temper. Annie wasn’t sure her friend even knew how. But the shrill, strident voice of Nicole Anne Forrester came through loud and clear, if not the precise words.
Annie winced. She sneaked a quick look at Miriam, who looked as unsettled as she felt.
“Girls, I think I’d better intervene,” she said quickly. “You stay here. Put Sammy away and go up to the house. I’ll see you there.”
Annie and Liz looked at each other. Neither of them was thrilled at the idea of Miriam’s slight frame encountering the wrath of one of her guests, who outweighed her in size, strength, and clearly lung power. But they merely nodded their assent and watched Miriam walk with her cane toward the rear exit. She looked remarkably determined, and Annie realized that, diminutive as she might be, Miriam Darby could walk into a full-on tornado and emerge unscathed if that was what lay ahead of her.
“Come on, Sammy, you don’t need to hear this,” Liz told her unruffled horse.
“He certainly doesn’t,” Annie agreed. The two women left the arena and led Sammy toward the tack-up area, where the echoes of Nicole’s unleashed temper no longer could be heard.
It would have been a perfect time to leisurely groom the Warmblood, but both women knew that Nicole could come bursting in at any moment to untack her own horse. So Sammy got a quick brush-down and hoof check and, to his delight, was soon munching on a flake of alfalfa in the sunshine.
“Should we wait for Miriam and Patricia?”
Annie asked the question, unsure of what was best to do. On one hand, she was dying to know how Nicole defended her actions since her tone of voice clearly told her this was the tack she’d chosen. On the other hand, she didn’t want to interfere with what the dressage professionals were doing.
“I think we should make ourselves scarce,” Liz replied. “Besides, judging by Nicole’s initial reaction, I wouldn’t be surprised if she came after you with her riding whip. Let’s retreat to a safer environment, such as the pool. Besides, Miriam told us to go up to the house. I think we should honor her wishes.”
“You’re right. By the way, did you think to bring your bathing suit?”
“Briefly. But I figured I wouldn’t have time. Now I’m regretting it.”
“It didn’t even cross my mind.”
“Well, we can dangle our feet in the water. Let’s just stay in the shallow end and the side facing the patio doors. I don’t want to get pushed in by an irate Nicole.”
“Good thinking.”
* * *
Annie could hear the bustle of people active in the kitchen, but the rest of the house was silent and empty, for which she was thankful. Quickly changing her clothes, she snagged a towel from her room and headed for the patio.
Her second-least-favorite rider was already there.
Gwendolyn was lying facedown in one of the chaise longues, one cheek resting on an open magazine. She had on a scant bikini, and obviously was on a serious tanning mission. Her entire body gleamed with oil, while a stretchy headband kept her short blond hair at bay. She looked up briefly, then put down her head again.
“Oh, hello.”
“Hi.”
Annie crossed over to the area where Gwendolyn was lying and sat by the pool. She’d changed into shorts and a sleeveless blouse and was wearing sandals. She tossed aside the sandals now. She might feel obligated to be in the vicinity of her fellow guest, but she would not be deterred from enjoying the pool, even if only from the ankles down.
“Didn’t you bring a bathing suit?”
“No, it slipped my mind.”
“I guess that’s reasonable, considering where you live.”
Gwendolyn was absolutely right. It was reasonable to forget about swimming when short summers deterred most homeowners from building private pools. Still, there was something about the way Gwendolyn had said it that irritated her. Maybe it was the implied put-down of her home territory. Who could be induced to live in the rainy Northwest when all of sunny California was there for the taking?
She heard the patio door slide open. Liz appeared, and
Annie was delighted to see her. She was attired the way Annie was, and after nodding hello to Gwendolyn, sat down beside her at the pool’s edge and sank her feet in.
“Ah. That feels good.”
No response came from the oiled beauty on the chaise longue, and Annie hoped this meant their presence no longer interested her.
“What time is it?” Liz asked.
“Just five o’clock.”
“So, what’s happening back at your place right now?”
“Lisa, bless her heart, will have just finished feeding the horses, and they’re all happily munching hay in their stalls. How about you?”
“My husband is pulling out a frozen lamb chop and figuring out how to defrost it in the microwave. He’ll give up trying and decide to broil it rock solid. There’s an HBO sports special on that he’ll watch while he eats the chop and drips beans, which he’s eating out of a can, all over the counter.”
“Wow! You really know your husband well.”
“Actually, I just talked to him. The part about dripping beans over the counter came from years of seeing it happen.”
Annie laughed. It was nice to talk to a normal human being, especially when the subject wasn’t always about dressage. There was another normal human being she wanted to connect with. She felt as if she hadn’t talked to Marcus in ages and vowed to try to reach him tonight. Annie knew that at five o’clock, Marcus would still be at his office and probably wouldn’t leave for several hours. He’d told her he considered the hours after everyone else had left his most productive time.
“What are your plans for Sammy tomorrow? Does he get a day off, or are you and Patricia going to work some more?”
Annie never received an answer. At that moment, the patio doors opened again, and Amy and Tabitha, clad entirely appropriately for getting their bodies wet, came out, chattering away. Tabitha walked to the shallow end and cautiously dipped her toe in, but Amy walked straight into the pool.
“C’mon, Tabitha! It’s great! Practically bathwater!”
