Spiral of Hooves

by Roland Clarke

  “Ten seconds—ready—go. Good luck.”

  They set off at a steady pace, dismissing the distractions. The gelding took everything in his stride and seemed keen. At the corner combination, on the far end of the course, Carly had to hold Huginn back slightly. Then, his enthusiasm carried them across the ridge along the field margin.

  She found her focus slipping; an image of Gilles with Lina that made her shudder.

  Huginn was too fast. The light dimmed as they entered the wood with the first water. She tried to give Huginn time to adjust to the dark and shadows. The gelding clipped the fence hard and stumbled on landing. She attempted to sit back as he dropped into the water, but he skewed again, and she was pitched off the saddle.

  The water dulled the pain but not the humiliation as she lay there in her inflated air jacket like a beached whale. A fence judge ran to help her to her feet, and she saw a black shape bounding up through the water. She clutched at names. Guinness? He should be with Arnold. No, Armand. This wasn’t good. Confusion was dangerous. She had to focus on her breathing; slowly, deeply; and the shaking, she needed to control it and ignore the pounding in her head. She needed to concentrate and focus on priorities.

  “My horse?” she asked. Her breathing was still erratic, and she was made to sit on the bank by the attentive judge.

  “The young man with the dog ran to catch it. He was fast so it won’t get far.”

  Two vehicles pulled up, and two people leapt out and asked how she was. This situation was getting difficult. She had two more horses to ride, but would they let her? She had to cover up any signs of injury. Her sodden state might explain the shivering, but she knew that she needed glucose or her low blood sugar would bring on a hypoglycaemic reaction. This was not the moment to collapse.

  *

  The sprint had ensured that Armand could head off the loose horse before it ran into an obstacle, like a rope. Leading the gelding back to the horsebox, he was relieved that the horse had no serious injury from the fall, although there was a slight swelling that would need monitoring. He wasn’t so sure about Carly.

  While an event vet had checked the horse, Gilles had rung to say he and Lina were with Carly. She blamed herself for the fall but insisted she was fine. Gilles had been sure something was wrong, but the doctor, taken in by her fitness demonstration, had permitted her to continue to ride. Lina, unconvinced by the display, had warned she could still face suspension.

  Armand led the horse across the natural amphitheatre in which the show jumping arena was set. Flanked by an array of marquees and trade stands, people sat along the banks overlooking the fences, enjoying the jumping and the spring day.

  For a moment, he glimpsed a figure in the crowd who looked like Mick Roper, but the figure vanished. Entering the lorry park, the pungent mix of horses and cooking assailed his nostrils. In the sea of boxes, people were getting horses ready, while riders in smart top hats and tails for international dressage passed by those wearing a pallet of cross-country colours.

  He noticed some vets challenge a rider, then perform tests on her horse, storing the samples in a metal briefcase. They seemed to be checking horses competing in the advanced and international classes, which meant Torc and Wanda—the next ones he had to get ready.

  Two tested riders were debating the issue.

  “Blasted vets and their spot tests. They seemed more interested in blood than urine.”

  “Well, drawing blood is easier than expecting them to pee to order.”

  “When they flashed those IDs, my heart sank even though I know Scrub is clean. I so hate officials.”

  At the box, Armand rubbed the gelding down, and then he rang Gilles. “Salut, Gilles. How is Carly? Is she riding?”

  He suspected the answer, although he worried about the outcome, as an injury to a person with diabetes would take longer to heal; but she knew that.

  “We tried to persuade her to withdraw, but she’s determined. I even offered to ride the Wi... Wanda. I think...”

  There was some muffled scrabbling as the other phone changed hands, then Carly said, “I’m perfectly okay, and the doctor agrees. I’m riding Torc, and then I’m riding Wanda. It’s my damn decision, and no one is stopping me. Hell, Roman would love for me to fail now.”

  EIGHTEEN

  “Badminton! You’re crazy. There’s no way.”

  “Lina and I feel it’s the right moment, Vix. You’re ready for the challenge,” said Gilles. “And it’s what you’ve always dreamed of doing.”

  Carly was completely against this, even if it was her dream. It was why they had been talking at Burnham.

  “The ultimate test—isn’t that what riders say?” said Armand, pausing in his yard sweeping.

  “Well, in eventing, yes. Ever since pony club I’ve wanted to ride there, but–”

  “But nothing,” said Gilles. “You’re riding there. It’s just one level above what you’ve been doing for years, not some strange new discipline.”

  “I can’t groom for you at a four star and ride. You and Drac have to be my priority.”

  Gilles stared into her eyes, so she turned away and continued mucking out the stall. “Babe, you’ve proved that you can ride and groom, at Burnham. Forget your fall, we all make mistakes. Most importantly, you jumped double clears on Wanda and Torc.”

  Third and seventh in the Advanced had been a timely confidence boost. “Thanks to your birthday present—the surprise Devoucoux saddle…”

  “And your ability. The saddle was just an aid. Plus, I love you.”

  “Don’t forget us,” said Lina. “Loup and I'll help at Badminton, amiga. We’ve discussed it.”

  Armand nodded. Her friends were right, but she said, “No way Roman will accept this.”

  “Papa treats you like a groom, but I took you on as my working rider as well.”

  “You have talent, and we believe in you. Ignore Roman and go for what you’re best at,” said Lina.

  The world’s most prestigious three-day was daunting, and she should have done it, but she had never risked even attempting to get there. She knew deep down that now was the right moment to live her dream. Maybe her father would find time to support her. As she gave into the others, she rationalised her decision to herself, and said, “Okay. Torc and I have done a few three stars, so we need a challenge.”

  “Don't worry, Vix. You can both handle it. I have faith in you,” said Gilles, putting his arm around her waist.

  “Well, Torc's usually consistent, even out of the field. For Badminton, she needs another advanced run, so okay. But, there’s a problem.” She paused and shut the stable door. “Even though that double clear qualifies us, entries have closed.”

  Silence.

  Then Gilles grinned in his enigmatic way. “And yours was accepted just after Great Witchingham as soon as–”

  “Damn you. You used my rider and horse info—how dare you! You bastard, you used me.”

  She stormed across the yard fighting back the tears. “You had no right. That’s it, I quit—now.”

  Gilles followed, with his friends in tow. Were they his moral support or witnesses? Carly didn’t care. Gilles’s deceptions stopped today.

  “Hey hang on, please, Vix! I only did it because you’re the most talented rider I’ve met, ever—except when you lose it, like now.”

  Carly knew she was being impetuous and stupid, but she didn’t want to stop herself.

  “...and I love you to bits, babe.”

  She turned, and he was there, behind her. She flung her arms round him and kissed him. “I hope that's the last time you make decisions behind my back and... what else you planned for me?”

  Gilles shuffled and chewed his bottom lip.

  Lina said, “We think, as a wannabe French rider, you should do Saumur, on Wanda.”

  Her stomach flipped. France’s elite three-star, at the renowned cavalry school? She gulped. Her mother would have been so impressed with Carly competing there.

  “Well, y
ou said you're okay at that level. So, why not, amiga? You and Wanda are a perfect combo. Third in your first advanced—that rocks.”

  Their smiles inspired her self-belief, although Armand’s face bore a furrowed concern he was unable to hide.

  “So we all agree, then. Armand, do the Saumur entry, now, before anyone upsets this.”

  “Okay, Gilles, but I may not be able to make France. I’ve work to do around here. The place needs a lot done.”

  “You’re coming. We need you, and that's final.”

  *

  Dark clouds heralded Roman’s arrival, although he wore an air of beatitude. He began his inspection by checking the horses and talking to them softly. If only humans had hooves, he might respond to them better, thought Armand.

  “So, did you win yesterday, boy?”

  It was unlikely he didn’t know the answer.

  Gilles continued sharpening the plaiting scissors before answering. “Bottom line: obtained the qualifications in the advanced we needed to do spring three-days.”

  “We? You let that slut ride again when I–”

  “Yes, and she was third on Sorcière des Saules. Cut her some slack. She’s better than me.”

  “Not difficult, as you’re useless, and that’s no excuse for disobeying me. Don’t think I am blind to what you and your salope are trying to do. It won’t work.”

  Armand saw Gilles breathe in deeply and square his shoulders before saying, “These horses are mine to compete with as this team sees fit. Du Noroît is your stud, Fenburgh is mine.”

  “And next week you’ll be back home riding to my orders. You and Serac D’Or need to prove yourselves at Kentucky.”

  “He’s not ready, Papa.”

  “I want you in the Canadian Team. It’s the only thing that stallion’s good for.” He turned to Lina as he said, “Your useless feeding regime has ensured he’s firing blanks.”

  Gilles said nothing.

  “Señor Boissard. You forget I ran extensive tests when he was here, and he was performing - until he contracted the virus. The vet confirmed my findings.”

  The two Boissards glared at each other.

  “Papa, you ignored our vet who said that he shouldn’t fly, so now this has happened when Pin reaches Du Noroît. I am not wasting my time competing him until he is one hundred percent fit. He will do Saumur like Sorcière des Saules.”

  Roman strode towards his son. “Don’t tell me, she’s riding, as you’re incapable. While you’re denying that, what about Badminton? You’ve failed to tell me she’s riding there too.”

  “Sir, it’s my choice,” said Carly, stepping forwards. “Torc needed a challenge. If I mess up as a groom because of it, then you have every right to sack me.”

  “Tanner, don’t worry I will—maybe before you get there. My son may protect you now, but not forever.”

  Gilles continued sharpening the scissors. Then he turned to his father. “Papa, these are my friends, and I have a share in this business—unless you want to buy me out?”

  Roman tossed his head and marched towards the archway out of the yard. “Watch it, boy, don’t think I won’t. I know your weakness. Let sex blind you in business, and you will fail. I think it’s time you moved out before I end this... at your expense.”

  The scissors whistled through the air and embedded themselves in a post, having narrowly missed Roman’s head. He wheeled round and pointed at Gilles. “I can deliver a messy resolution.” He strode out, swearing.

  It was either a lucky throw, or Armand had another suspect.

  “Did you mean to miss your father?” Lina asked jabbing an imaginary dagger. “If not, let me take the next shot.”

  Perhaps I have two more suspects.

  “If I meant to hit him, I would have. Next time he pushes me too far, he'll regret it. Karma is a bad kickass. Period.”

  “Hang on guys. This is not the way. Okay, the idiot insulted me, us, but you don’t mean kill—do you, honey?” Carly stared at Gilles and Lina, eyebrows raised.

  “Don’t worry, babe. I will deal with this, but we may have to be ready to move. Papa has friends who may force our hand—unless I can talk to them too.”

  Armand tried to find reassurance in the words, but there was none if unpredictable allies were involved.

  Does Gilles mean Vidarranj or someone else? Who's making the decisions? Neither of my friends is a killer, yet someone murdered Odette.

  NINETEEN

  “Fantastic Lina, you’ll so love it there,” said Carly. “Well, it needs work, but–”

  “Perdón, I have to stay here, where the research facilities are, for now.”

  The fork hovered in front of Carly’s open mouth, the chunk of chicken ignored.

  “Damn. I so wanted you there. Hazelmead is like my dream place.”

  She had been so stupid to suspect Gilles and Lina when all they had been doing was talk about the spring three-days.

  “I’ll come at weekends to be with the team, and so Mistico can spend time with Guinness. Vecheech, the company that bought Hazelmead, asked me to stay on here at Fenburgh, so Gilles agreed.”

  “I thought this was a simple move until he started explaining it. He’s never mentioned Vecheech before. Who are they?”

  “Amiga, it’s just typical Gilles, straightforward until challenged... by Roman. All I know is that the owner of Vecheech knows the family and wants to help. No doubt make a profit too—they’re rumoured to be that type of company, but we keep our jobs.”

  “Well, let’s hope Gilles is right in agreeing to manage Hazelmead for them.”

  Carly took their plates to the sink and started counting back the weeks. “Damn him, he’s done it again. He told Vecheech the farm was in trouble soon after we met.”

  “Surely that’s good? It’s special, so he’s ensured it survives.”

  “Yes, but for all the money he... the family has, he doesn’t buy it, just lets someone else.” Her mind jumped to a troubling conclusion. “Shit, you don’t think he’s been spending too much? He mentioned the horsebox being extravagant, but it’s his pride and joy.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time he ditched a toy or ran out of money.”

  Carly remembered the Devoucoux saddle he had bought for her birthday and his comment, “You can never have too many,” as he showed her the tack room for the first time. The list went on, from the state-of-art lab equipment to his car, but she wondered if this was a flying change or a U-turn.

  “Well, let’s make the most of the next few days when I’m here. Although, Gilles has plans to take me to the beach and teach me to jet ski. But we can still fit in some quality time with the dogs.”

  *

  Armand sat on his bed reflecting on the relocation. This decision was strange, as somehow, Vecheech Enterprises had engineered a solution that, on the surface seemed to satisfy both father and son; it was too contrived.

  Roman gained control of Fenburgh, while Gilles had a new base to compete from. Yet neither of them had total control of Boissard Équestre or their individual futures. Armand suspected Gilles was still a partner, although Roman must have retained the majority share.

  Vecheech—were they the shadow that he sensed lurking out of sight? They were reputed to be a corporate raider, so what had they gained? Hazelmead was theirs outright, with Gilles managing it. Can Vecheech keep Gilles’s excesses in check? They must have some financial hold over him. Could the mysterious horse dealings be for them?

  Armand stood up and paced the room.

  Lina’s actions should be beyond question. She had agreed to stay at Fenburgh and continue her research until they could install the equipment at Hazelmead, although she would stay at Hazelmead before driving to Badminton.

  Vecheech—Lina wasn’t working for Gilles or Roman. She was working for a company with a ruthless business reputation, headed by a shadowy figure, Patrick Harfang—a man that was so rarely seen that even the paparazzi had never photographed him close-up.

  TWENTY
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  The ke-wick twoo of owls and the scent of jasmine drifted on the night air. Guinness’s snoring mingled with the sound of Gilles’s breathing, and his arms cocooned her, just as the sounds and smells of Hazelmead had enveloped her, welcoming her home.

  She was back, and the dream was alive—alive with the man she loved. She stroked his hair, not wishing to wake him, but desperate to savour all of him. Everything had been enhanced, including their lovemaking, the climax to the day.

  After the four-hour drive from Fenburgh, she had mixed emotions coming up the rutted farm track past fields that were idle and empty. Sadness at the feeling of abandonment, but not quite dejection as the yard was as spotless as when she had left it, thanks to the liveries. They had jumped at the chance to return and had already painted and varnished the stables, festooning them with flowers in boxes and hanging baskets.

  Although the sporty 4x4 and the luxury horsebox with its satellite dish would have looked out of place at Hazelmead, she was worried about Gilles’s finances when he so willingly sold them and a few horses. However, the four-horse lorry, which Armand had driven down, was more appropriate to the stud of her dreams; and it was cosier.

  Guinness leapt out of the second-hand 4x4 station waggon and bounded around checking everything. He was so busy rediscovering his domain that he was nearly left behind when they had to leave for the showground. At least the event was on familiar territory, and once again home-turf for Carly. She intended to withdraw Torc before the cross-country, but the course tempted her with a mix of new tests and old favourites, so she notched up a confidence-boosting win.

  Gilles secured sixth in the Advanced Intermediate on Drac but seemed devastated by her return to Ardingly form. “Lost again and here. There’s no beating you on home ground.”

  “Maybe next time... if I let you.”

  “Don’t think I stand a chance. There are days when I wonder where the dressage hater went.”