Gideon deliberately went closer, leaning provocatively on the half-door.
After a moment or two of indecision, the bay took two quick steps forward and snaked its head towards him, teeth bared and ears flat against its skull. Instantly, and without conscious thought, Gideon slapped it hard across the nose.
The bay threw its head up and retreated hastily. Then, thoughtfully and from a safe distance, it proceeded to regard the human who had challenged it.
Gideon half-turned away as if losing interest. This was the crunch point. If he'd read the horse right it would take the opportunity he'd offered to approach without losing face. If not, he'd have to move fast to avoid being the victim of a powerful set of teeth.
A long moment passed, during which Gideon sensed rather than saw the horse capitulating, its ears flicking back and forth, its jaws working in a chewing motion. Then, with one slow step and a pause to gauge his reaction - carefully non-existent - the bay made up its mind to approach. Within moments it was standing with its head over the half-door, next to Gideon if not precisely close. He didn't attempt to touch it. It had made sacrifice enough for the time being. After they'd studiously ignored one another for a minute or so, he spoke quietly to the horse before walking back to the waiting pair.
`That was one of the strangest things I've ever seen,' Rachel said as he approached, then turning to Quentin, `He got it right, didn't he?'
`We'll see,' the farmer said, watching Gideon through narrowed eyes. `Well, young fella. What do you say? Which one is my problem horse?'
`The grey in the middle box,' he stated. Rachel frowned. `But, I don't understand . . .'
Quentin chuckled delightedly. `That's why this guy is doing what he's doing and the likes of you and me's standing here watching, my girl. Yes, Molly is the one. I thought Rattler might try it on with you,' he added to Gideon.
`Yeah, he's an absolute classic Alpha. He'd need another session or two before I'd be sure of him.'
Quentin grunted. `Took me two months.'
`Nice horse, though. They're nearly always the most intelligent. The most trouble and the greatest reward.'
`Not always the best for racing.' `There is that.'
Rachel cleared her throat pointedly. `If you're trying to make me feel left out, you can stop now. Mission accomplished.' They apologised.
`So at the risk of sounding a complete ignoramus, what is an Alpha? And why is the grey horse the problem and not the bay?' `An Alpha is what it sounds like - literally; the first one, a natural leader,' Gideon explained.
`A stallion.'
`A stallion is usually an Alpha, yes. But there are Alpha mares too. Usually the Alpha mare is second-in-command to the stallion. She's his favourite and often has more say in what the herd do and where they go than the stallion does. He's got other things on his mind, such as sex and fighting off challengers. You get Alphas in every species that naturally lives in herds or packs, but dogs and horses are the most noticeable because they're the ones we mostly try to train. Alphas are usually very intelligent and also very strong-willed, so they're not about to give up their dominant position to any Tom, Dick or Harry. You have to win their respect but, if you can do it, the relationship is very special.'
`I never realised it was so complicated, though I suppose I've never really thought about it.'
`Not many people do,' Gideon said with regret. `And probably something like eighty percent of the problems people come to me with are the result of the wrong people owning the wrong animal. Alpha dogs and horses need Alpha people.'
`And Molly? Is she an Alpha too?'
`No. Molly is a nice everyday sort who suffers badly from claustrophobia.'
`Honestly?' Rachel said warily. `No. You're having me on, surely?'
`I knew she wasn't happy,' Quentin put in. `She doesn't do well when she's stabled. Picky about her food, that sort of thing. But what can I do? I can't get her hard fit on grass.'
`You're serious!' Rachel said, looking from one to the other in wonderment. `I thought horses liked being stabled. Warm and dry and safe.'
`Most do,' Gideon agreed. `They usually become accustomed to it very quickly but it goes against all their natural instincts nonetheless. I mean, what does a horse do if you startle it?'
'Runs away? Ah, I see what you mean. In a stable it can't.' `That's right. But most horses soon learn to settle indoors. I suspect the grey mare has had a bad experience or has been shut in too small a space at some time.'
He glanced at Quentin who shrugged his shoulders. `I wouldn't know, lad. She was bought at a sale. Are you saying she won't be any good?'
Gideon shook his head. `I wouldn't go that far. If it's possible, and you think she's worth it, I'd try to get her into a covered pen with open sides. Even if you have to put a New Zealand rug on her. She'd feel a lot less shut in.'
`She's worth it. One of the most promising I've ever trained. But what about the lorry? Will we ever get her into that?'
`Well, I don't s'pose she'll ever enjoy it but maybe we can get her to tolerate it at least. We'll give it a try.'
Quentin went in search of a head collar but Rachel was still puzzled.
`So, how do you know what's going on in these horses' heads? You're surely not expecting me to believe that they talk to you?' Gideon smiled faintly and shook his head. `No.'
`Then how?'
He looked up and away to the horizon, trying to find the words to explain, but as always, they wouldn't come. He sighed. `It's ... well ... instinct, I suppose,' he said lamely. `You have to see the world from the animal's point of view. There are only a limited number of issues that figure in a horse's world, when all's said and done. It's purely a matter of hitting on the right one. Discounting the misplaced Alpha's, almost all problems have their root in fear.'
Quentin led the grey from the stable and took her rugs off. She was a tallish, good-looking animal that could have done with a bit more flesh on her bones. Even from where she stood, some thirty feet away from the lorry, she eyed the vehicle with apprehension. Quietly, Gideon went to work.
After ten minutes or so of familiarisation, he was satisfied that he'd established his role as leader. The grey was following him around happily with no pressure at all on the lead rope, stopping and turning whenever he did. She'd walked past the lorry several times; the ramp was raised and lowered beside her; the engine switched on and off; and finally, when she'd accepted these things as harmless, Gideon attempted to lead her inside.
The lorry had been positioned on a slight slope so the angle of the ramp was not too steep, and although Molly approached it without any trouble she stopped short of actually stepping on to the slatted walkway. Tossing her head, she tried to pull back towards the other horses.
They had opened the groom's door at the front of the compartment and removed all the partitions but the grey still viewed the gloomy interior with trepidation. Gideon could feel the horse's conflict. She was conditioned to do as she was told and wanted to, but instinct held her back.
Careful not to look at her, Gideon stepped on to the ramp himself. The grey stiffened and threw her head up but didn't pull back. After a moment, Gideon walked slowly all the way up the ramp and into the box with the horse one step behind.
Once inside the lorry, the grey began to regret her cooperation. She shifted her weight restlessly, pushing Gideon with her nose and trying to turn round. Gideon spoke softly to her, gently rubbing circles on the dappled grey neck. The horse quietened but Gideon could feel her trembling and her coat was damp with sweat.
Somewhere at the front of the house a car door slammed and Molly started, eyes rolling anxiously.
`Whoa, silly girl. You know what that is. Nobody's going to hurt you. Just a moment more and we'll go back out, okay?' The horse flicked her ears to and fro, not understanding the words but taking comfort from the tone. Feeling she'd done enough for one day, Gideon gave her one final scratch under her mane and prepared to turn her towards the ramp.
Beside
the lorry someone shouted, `You in there, Pops?' and thumped on the metal sheeting of the bodywork with enough force to wake the dead.
Molly's nerve broke. Instinct took over and flight became imperative. Too bad for Gideon that he was in the way.
With his size, Gideon was probably a good deal stronger than the average man, but compared to that of a panicking horse his strength was totally inconsequential. Molly whipped round, cannoning into him and slamming him into the inner bodywork of the box with an impact that drove every vestige of breath from his lungs. The lead rein that he'd been loosely holding whipped round his arm and dragged him sideways for an instant before it pulled free, as with a flurry of iron-shod hooves the thoroughbred launched herself down the ramp.
Lying full-length on the rubber matting that carpeted the floor of the lorry, Gideon could think of nothing for a moment except to be glad he'd learned at an early age never to wrap any kind of lead rein around his hand for better grip. If he'd done so in this instance, he could now have either been short of several fingers or being dragged across the gravel of the yard behind the wildly galloping horse. Neither prospect held much attraction.
The sense of having had a lucky escape filled him with gratitude for all of ten seconds. That was about how long it took for the multitude of ill-treated nerve endings to organise their protest to his brain. As the brief stunning effect of the impact passed, his left arm, shoulder and shoulder-blade all began to shout for his attention, but they had to compete with the agony of his forcibly deflated lungs.
He could hear Quentin and Rachel approaching, calling his name with touching concern, and wished them a million miles away. All he needed, for a moment, was time alone.
He wasn't going to get it.
'Gideon lad, are you all right? Did she tread on you?'
Gideon shook his head. No to both questions, he thought grimly. With an effort he looked up. Quentin stood at the top of the ramp, bending towards him, his face creased with anxiety. Behind him, Rachel looked white and shaken. He supposed he must look at least as bad as he felt. In an attempt to reassure them both he managed a smile.
It didn't seem to have the desired effect. Rachel burst into tears. `I never meant to frighten her,' a new voice protested. `I thought it was you in there, Dad, working on the lorry like you was this morning.'
Gideon was coping with shallow breaths now. He gritted his teeth and sat up. The faces above him swam about in an annoying fashion until he blinked and they settled again.
Quentin was finding release for his fright in berating his unhappy offspring, who had begun to whine and deny all responsibility. Rachel was sniffing quietly.
`Look, it was a misunderstanding,' Gideon said soothingly. Back on his feet, he felt battered and bruised but didn't think there were any broken bones. It was much like falling off the bike, really, and he'd done that a few times, heaven knew.
`See? It was a misunderstanding,' Quentin's son declared sulkily. `I told you!'
`Why don't you do something useful?' his father asked. `Go and catch the horse.'
`Er ... No offence meant but if you don't mind, I'd rather do that myself,' Gideon suggested. `I want to make sure she doesn't associate me with the fright she's had.'
A quarter of an hour later, having politely refused all anxious offers of hospitality, Gideon eased himself gingerly into the passenger seat of the Mini, wincing a little as his back came into contact with the seat.
Rachel was watching him closely. `Are you sure you're all right?' she asked for the umpteenth time.
`It's nothing that a good hot bath and a stiff drink won't put right,' he reassured her, wishing he could believe it himself. He'd a notion he was in for an exceedingly uncomfortable night and, judging by her expression, his optimism didn't fool Rachel either.
She was very quiet on the return journey, in spite of Gideon's assurances that incidents like the one she had witnessed were very much the exception rather than the rule. He could see she'd convinced herself that his line of work was second only to Mafia bodyguard in its potential for serious risk. He gave up, attempting instead to divert her thoughts to other matters.
They arrived back at the Gatehouse with Rachel having been coaxed into a marginally less anxious state of mind, which good work was abruptly overturned by the discovery of a note from Duke pinned to the front door.
Gideon cursed under his breath as he detached the slip of paper and read the angular, childish writing. It was written on a small sheet of lined paper that had obviously been torn from a spiralbound notepad. Dated at the top of the sheet with yesterday's date, the next few lines consisted of precise times listed on the left-hand side, coupled with observations on the right.
08.45 - Rachel leaves in Mini.
09.15 - Gideon leaves the house on foot going to the Priory.
14.35 - Gideon and Pippa drive past in Volkswagen heading for main road.
17.05 - Rachel back. Sits in Mini. (Scared to go in?) 18.17 - Gideon back.
And so it went on, up to and including the hour and minute that they had left the house that morning.
Underneath this meticulous list he had written: Just wanted you to know I was still around.
D. S.
Beside him, Gideon could feel Rachel beginning to tremble. He quickly unlocked the front door and, putting his arm round her shoulders, marched her firmly indoors.
`No, don't look back! It's what he wants, if he's still there. Don't give him the satisfaction.' He pushed the door shut with his foot and turned Rachel to face him. Her dark eyes looked
helplessly up at him, and the terror in them moved Gideon to uncharacteristic anger.
`He won't hurt you, you know. I won't let him get to you.' Rachel scanned his face, desperately seeking reassurance. Whatever she saw there obviously didn't do the trick, for her eyes became misty with tears.
`I know you'll do everything you can, but what if he's got a gun? If he's over there in the wood, we'd never even see him . . .' She gulped. `I don't want you to get hurt on my account.'
Her words jolted Gideon. He hadn't considered the possibility of a gun.
`Has he had guns before?'
`Once.' Rachel nodded. `He brought one back from the pub one night and teased me with it but I don't know if it was loaded. It didn't matter, he knew I was terrified.'
Gideon put his undamaged arni round her and pulled her gently towards him, kissing the top of her head. `Poor lamb,' he murmured softly. `When they locked him up, they should've thrown away the key.'
Rachel leaned against him, clinging like a child and bringing Gideon's bruises sharply to his attention.
`I used to hope he'd die in prison,' she said in a voice that was perilously close to breaking. `You hear of it, don't you? People being found dead; attacked by the other prisoners. Five years seemed such a long time. I thought anything might happen. I suppose I just didn't want to face the fact that one day he'd be free again.
`Shhh,' Gideon said, sensing her rising panic. `Let's get something to drink, shall we? I know I could do with it. Coffee would be good.'
She nodded, drawing away from him reluctantly and heading for the kitchen. The sudden ringing of the telephone stopped her in her tracks and she looked sharply at it, and then back at Gideon. `I'll get it,' he said, walking forward. `You get the coffee.'
He lifted the receiver, warily.
'Gideon. Hi!' the voice on the other end of the line greeted him cheerfully, and he breathed a small sigh of relief, in spite of himself. He was tired and aching and not over anxious for any more tussles that day, be they physical or verbal.
'Giles,' he said gratefully. `What can I do for you?'
`Pippa and I are having a small dinner party this evening,' Giles announced. `And we wondered if you and Rachel would like to come along?'
`How small?' Gideon asked doubtfully, feeling that Rachel probably wasn't in the best of moods for socialising, and that after the effects of several hours' stiffening on wrenched muscles and joints, he mightn
't be either.
`Well, just us four, actually,' Giles admitted. `But I thought "dinner party" sounded more impressive.'
Gideon laughed. `Well, okay, thanks. As long as we're not expected to wear evening dress,' he added, reflecting that on balance it would be for the best if Rachel were out of the house that evening.
Giles was pleased. `Great! I've got a new case of wine I want your opinion on. Just bought it at an auction.'
`You mean, you want to use me as an excuse to open a bottle of it.'
`Well, wine is meant to be shared and it's wasted on Pippa. She can't tell a five-hundred-pound bottle from supermarket plonk. "As long as it's fruity," she says. I ask you! What did they teach her at that catering school?'
`Goodness knows,' Gideon said, not at all sure he could do any better than Giles' sister in the matter of wine-tasting.
When Giles rang off, Gideon telephoned the local police, who were inclined to take the business of the note with its record of observations seriously, and promised to send someone round right away.
They were as good as their word. Barely had Gideon reported the gist of the two conversations to Rachel as she made coffee on the Aga than somebody knocked heavily on the front door.
Rachel jumped visibly, spilling hot milk on to the hotplate, where it smoked and burned.
`That'll be the police, I expect,' Gideon said, hoping it was. The two officers at the door, Constables Hillcott and Roach, were the two who'd come when Gideon had reported his abduction, what now seemed like a lifetime ago.
He showed them into the sitting room, where they perched awkwardly on the edges of the soft leather armchairs, as if to relax would somehow undermine their authority. Gideon sank back on to the sofa with an inner smile. Body language spoke volumes, whatever the species.
Rachel, who made extra cups of coffee and handed them out, seemed a little ill-at-ease around them but Gideon noticed wryly that they unbent noticeably in the presence of a pretty girl and became far more eager to please.
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