by Leigh Hearon
Miriam got up from her chair, using her cane.
“Annie, how nice of you to join us this evening. Let me introduce you to Judge Jean Bennett, who will be officiating tomorrow. Jean, this is Annie Carson, a friend of our good friend Patricia Winters and now a good friend of ours, as well.”
Annie blushed slightly at Miriam’s kind words. She held out her hand.
“A pleasure to meet you, Annie. Please call me Jean.”
Judge Bennett didn’t look like a crabby judge who found fault with riders at every step. She was a large woman who knew how to dress to hide her girth and still look stylish and attractive. Her long brown hair was in a soft bun, and diamond earrings dangled from each earlobe. Her handshake was warm and firm but not bone breaking, as Annie had halfway expected. She had a delicious smile that curved up one side of the face a bit more than the other, and her lips were adorned with bright red lipstick.
“Please sit down, Annie,” Hollis encouraged her. “May I bring you your usual?”
She happily nodded her assent and sat in a chair opposite the divan on which Judge Bennett and Miriam were perched. A plate of canapés sat in front of her, and included what looked like tiny cream puffs filled with something delectable. The judge saw her eyeing them.
“They’re cream puffs with lox, one of my favorites. Chef Gustav is kind enough to always remember to make them when I’m here. Try one, and tell me what you think.”
Annie dutifully picked up one of the small puffs and placed it in her mouth. The melding flavors of cheese, chives, and salmon filled her senses, and she forgot for a moment she was eating alone in front of several important people. She unconsciously reached for another puff as soon as she’d swallowed the first.
Judge Bennett laughed. “I see that you approve.”
Annie nodded, embarrassed by what she had just done, and quickly swallowed.
“All the food has been so wonderful here. I keep meaning to get to the gym but never quite make it. I’m not riding, so there’s no excuse for the gluttony you just observed.”
“Oh, you’re still young. You can eat all you want and not pack on a pound. I’m now reaching the age where I have to worry what one piece of chocolate cake will do to my thighs.”
Since this was obviously true, Annie simply smiled. She gratefully accepted the martini glass Hollis had placed in her hand. So far, Judge Bennett was turning out to be a thoroughly normal person. Empathetic, even.
“Miriam tells me you train horses back in Washington State.”
“Yes, I’m a Western rider, and so that’s the discipline I use with all my horses. But I’ve enjoyed getting to know a bit about dressage this week. I’m amazed at the level of skill to which riders advance with their horses. It’s sometimes made me feel that I still have a lot to learn about my craft.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that, Annie,” Miriam chimed in. “Not that I expect you to go home and change into a student of dressage. But I’m glad you appreciate what we’re trying to do. So many people think dressage is just a sport for women who want to control their horses.”
“Which is antithetical to the whole idea,” Judge Bennett said warmly.
“Yes,” Miriam agreed. “The ultimate purpose of dressage is the harmonious development of the physique and ability of the horse.”
“What a beautiful sentiment!” Annie exclaimed.
“Thank you. As usual, the line is not my own. It’s from the U.S. Equestrian Federation rulebook. But notice it says nothing about the rider. It’s all about the horse.”
“I’ve seen that in the way the trainers have worked with their students.” Annie thought back to the session she’d observed with Liz on Sammy. “The horses really are star athletes. Although I imagine their riders have to be in pretty good shape, themselves.”
“Yes and no.” Judge Bennett put down her glass of red wine and folded her hands together. “Of course, all riders should have good physical strength and excellent balance. But riders who pump iron often have problems in the ring. Their strength can work against them and the horse’s looseness and suppleness, two things we work hard to achieve.”
“Interesting. A friend told me the Greeks were the first to develop the training methods modern-day dressage is modeled after.”
“She’s right. In the very beginning, the objective was to control warhorses in battle to soldiers’ best advantage. Are you familiar with the term ‘piaffe,’ Annie?”
“Two days ago, I would have said no. But I believe that’s when a horse appears to be dancing in place, almost floating in air.”
“The popular tale is that horses were trained to perform the piaffe in order to stomp on a fallen enemy.”
Annie smiled. “That makes sense.”
Judge Bennett turned to Miriam. “She didn’t blanch. Most women look as if they’ll faint when I tell that story.”
“She’s very tough, our Annie,” said Hollis. “I would have no hesitation sending her out to battle on her horse, dressage training or no.”
Annie had consumed more than half her martini, and Hollis’s words caused her to inwardly swoon just a bit. She realized she was blushing and reached for a handful of nuts just as Miriam began to speak.
“I have no truck with women who swoon,” her hostess said, not aware that the guest opposite her had been in danger of doing precisely that. “When I began studying with Harriett, most of the dressage riders were men. We women had to work hard to be noticed and respected in the ring.”
This caught Annie’s attention. “Really? I assumed that dressage has always been a female-dominated sport.”
“Quite the opposite,” Hollis told her. “Up until the mid-1940s, most dressage riders in this country came out of the U.S. Cavalry. It was only after World War II, when the Army disbanded the unit, that women got into the game.”
“And when Lis Hartel won the silver medal at the 1952 Summer Olympics, the invisible barrier was gone forever,” Miriam added.
“You’ll still find a lot of male dressage riders in Europe,” Judge Bennett told Annie. “Dressage riding is part of their culture, one that goes back generations. Here, young men are expected to excel in contact sports. It’s really too bad.”
A soft knock on the door announced the arrival of dinner, which was delivered in a series of trays. Two waiters stood back unobtrusively, waiting to serve the first course.
“Ah! Soupe à l’oignon. My favorite. Chef Gustav never forgets.”
The four sat down before steaming bowls of soup, covered with a crust of melted cheese on a slice of baguette. Annie quietly inhaled the scent rising before her. It smelled wonderful.
“I take it Margaret will be arriving later this evening?” Hollis inquired after the wine had been poured and approved.
“That girl!” For the first time, Annie saw the judge react with real irritation. “She was supposed to drive up with me today, then canceled, and now, she tells me she won’t be able to get here until tomorrow morning.”
“How frustrating for you.”
“Yes, I must find another scribe to work with locally. Margaret’s done this once before. She showed up less than five minutes before the first horse was scheduled to enter the ring. I can’t tolerate a scribe who plays fast-and-loose with showtimes.”
Annie’s ears perked up. Finally, this was her chance to learn what this arcane role actually was.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” she began. “What exactly does the scribe do? When I hear the word, I think of a monk copying a religious tract in the bowels of a monastery.”
Miriam laughed. “She’s the right-hand person for the judge. Indispensable, wouldn’t you say, Jean?”
“The good ones are. Is this your first dressage show, Annie?”
“It is.”
“Do you have a copy of the day sheet yet?”
“I don’t even know what the day sheet is.”
“Miriam, you must get one to Annie before she leaves tonight. The day sheet tells the order in
which the riders appear before me, along with the name of their horse and the level at which they’re testing. It’s a very tight schedule. Tests take less than ten minutes to perform, and we work hard to stay on time. Miriam’s right, the scribe is literally my right-hand person, who takes down my comments, scores, and any errors I note during each test. It’s her job to make sure each rider appears in order and that everything I say is recorded accurately. My former scribe was wonderful, but she decided to have a child, and so that relationship ended. I’ve been trying out Margaret, but frankly, I don’t think our working relationship will extend beyond this weekend.”
“Let’s hope Margaret arrives in good time tomorrow.” Hollis was excellent at placating distressed guests. Annie murmured her thanks to the judge and returned to her soup. She was not going to leave a spoonful if she could help it.
Sole meunière was served next, and Judge Bennett again expressed her delight at Chef Gustav’s prescience to serve one of her favorite dishes.
“Do you have many guests staying with you this week?”
Miriam gave a quick glance at Hollis.
“Oh, our usual roundup. I believe you know many of our riders. Lucy Cartwright was afraid she wouldn’t be able to test—her horse developed a sudden abscess although thankfully that’s been resolved.”
“Good. I hope Lucy’s performance has improved since her last disaster in the ring.”
“She’s been working very hard, Jean. If she can control her nerves, I think she’ll do just fine.”
“Who are the other riders? Anyone else I know? And who’s the technical delegate for this show?”
Annie noticed another quick glance between husband and wife before Miriam replied.
“Several riders have appeared before you before. I’m sure they remember you if not the other way around. In fact, I believe Gwendolyn Smythe is the only one you haven’t seen before.”
“And Liz,” added Annie. “She’s from the Pacific Northwest, and a relative newcomer to dressage, although her horse has some prior training.”
“Yes, our guests are presenting at a variety of different levels, from training level one all the way to Prix St.-Georges.”
“I noticed Nicole Anne Forrester’s name on the day sheet. I hope she’s improved. I can’t forget the image of her maneuvering her horse around corners as if she were driving a Mack truck.”
Annie reached for her water so she wouldn’t laugh.
“Now, Jean, Nicole’s also improved immensely since you last saw her. Promise me you won’t let her prior performances affect your opinion now.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Hollis spoke up. “So how are things at the university? Students keeping you busy? Any internecine battles with the evil administrators?
“Hollis, I do believe you’re trying to change the subject. You always were such a diplomat. I think you missed your calling.”
“Ah, but I’ve played the role of diplomat in several films. That’s better than the real thing.”
* * *
Dinner ended at nine o’clock, and by the time cognac and coffee had been served, Annie was beat. When Hollis rang for Jorge to take away the last dishes, Annie excused herself, citing an early morning, although she knew the judge would probably be rising even before she did. She gratefully accepted a copy of the day sheet and made her departure. Fortunately, she didn’t have far to go—just up another flight of stairs to her own bedroom. She flopped on top of her bed and vowed that was the last formal dinner party she would attend for the remainder of the year, superlative food or not.
She was up a minute later after realizing that the dress she was wearing would probably be back in service a few days hence. Wishing Marcus were there to help, she struggled out of the slim dress and hung it up, looking for any telltale spots that might be difficult to get out later. Thankfully, she found none, and got into her sweats and a T-shirt in preparation for bed.
Yet she found her mind still swirling as she recalled the conversations over dinner. She’d found the judge intelligent and entertaining but definitely with a critical edge to her that might make less confident dressage students cringe. Annie understood that the judge had to firmly abide by the rules, but she didn’t seem to have a lot of leeway in her feelings concerning tight corners and late scribes. And then there was the interesting news about Nicole’s late entrance at the cocktail hour on Wednesday. Had she really been talking to her fiancé—or had she been ensuring the death of Betsy Gilchrist?
She found sleep impossible. Putting on the one pair of sneakers she’d packed, she tiptoed down the stairs to take a quick stroll around the grounds. Perhaps the fresh air would make her bed more inviting.
This time, the living room was dark and silent, and Annie hoped the alarm had not been set, assuming the Darbys had one for their vast house. But she hadn’t heard Patricia, Liz, and the other women enter, and she was certain the house would not be shut down until their arrival. Nicole also hadn’t returned from traipsing around an art gallery, most likely still hanging on the arm of her precious Douglas.
The outdoor light came on, flooding the circular driveway. Annie decided to walk to the right, past the kitchen, and near the path she knew led to the tennis courts and other exercise venues. It was immensely quiet. The tall incense cedars gently swayed from some far-off breeze, and the moon shone brightly overhead. She had no qualms about walking alone or without a flashlight. The illumination from above was more than enough to guide her way.
She turned at the fork in the path to begin a brisk walk around the sports pavilion but abruptly stopped. Somewhere amid the giant trees surrounding her, two people were speaking. She assumed they had to be guests in the house, and pressed back against the stucco wall closest to her to find out who was in an intimate conversation. If it were Lucy and Amy, she could join them. If it were Nicole giving her fiancé a last lingering kiss, she would remain frozen to her spot. That was one image she had no desire to see.
It was neither. She quickly recognized the voice of the woman she’d just said good night to, and that of a woman she’d only met this afternoon. Judge Bennett and Brianna Bowen were in deep conversation. The technical delegate who seemed so concerned about not encountering the judge was now talking to her urgently, only twenty steps away from Annie’s hiding place.
“You’re not being fair!” Annie heard Brianna tearfully tell the judge.
“I have no choice, Brie,” came the tired reply. “The divorce is way too messy. If I remain your thesis adviser, you’ll be thrown in the dirt, too. I can’t do that to you. And you don’t want it either, trust me.”
“But don’t you see what that does to me? Where am I going to find another adviser now? Christ, I’m supposed to be defending in a month. How could you do this to me? Will you at least find someone else who can substitute for you?”
“Brie, I can’t even be on your thesis committee anymore. Look, I’m fighting for my career, too. If this gets out more than it already has, I’m possibly looking at disciplinary action that could strip my tenure status.”
“Oh, you’ve always thought about yourself first,” came Brianna’s bitter reply. “All the time we’ve been together, that’s all you’ve thought about. What will this do to your marriage, your career, your freakin’ dog, for that matter. Who will walk Caruthers if I’m not home in time because you’re spending time with me? But this is my life, too, Jean. If you fail me now, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“I’ve tried and tried to think of a way, really I have. But if I’m involved at any level in getting your thesis approved and published, it will come back to bite both of us. Jim is not about to show either of us any mercy. We have to keep our heads low and just go it alone for now. It’s just the way it has to be.”
“You never used to be like this. You used to love me.”
“I still do, Brie! I just can’t be with you right now. And I can’t help you. I’m sorry. I wish I could, but I can’t.”
The
re was silence, and Annie held her breath as she continued to let the wall prop her up. She was glad her sweats and T-shirt were dark-colored but wished she was barefoot instead of wearing bright turquoise athletic shoes. Her heart hammered in her chest. She was hearing a very private conversation—one that she very much wished she’d never come across.
“Fine.” Brianna’s pleading tone had changed to one of stone. “I guess there’s not much point in talking anymore. You’ve made yourself clear. From now on, I’m on my own.”
“I hope someday things will change.”
“They’ve already changed. But don’t bother chasing me again. I won’t be there. And you’d better hope you don’t see me in your rearview mirror. You might regret it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I’m leaving. Good-bye.”
Annie watched Brianna run away from the trees and toward her cottage. A minute later, she saw Judge Bennett leave the canopy of the trees and slowly walk out and away from Annie, toward the private parking lot. Only when she saw the judge’s Prius silently approach the front gates of the estate did she move from her place of concealment. She walked noiselessly back to the front of the house and let herself in, gently shutting the front door.
She knew sleep would not come easily to her tonight. Nor to the women she’d just overheard.
Chapter Thirteen
SATURDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 14
Annie awakened to the sound of a long, persistent buzz from her phone. She grabbed it, thinking someone must be calling her. But it was simply the alarm. She’d set it two days ago but had never needed the reminder. Today she did. The time on the screen showed seven thirty, hours later than when she usually arose. What could have kept her in bed this long? The uncomfortable scene between Brianna and the judge flooded back into her consciousness, and she groaned. It had taken forever to drift off to sleep last night, and when it finally came, troubling dreams kept jarring her awake.
She showered and dressed in record time and would have raced down the stairs if she hadn’t worried about encountering one of her hosts. The dining room was nearly deserted. There were signs that many other people had breakfasted before her, but the only person who now remained at the table was the one Annie least wanted to see—Nicole.
