Island of Secrets

by Karen Abbott

  She recalled Jean-Claude’s warm smile at her approach to the breakfast table. Had Virginie noticed it and picked up a subtle change between them? Was she warning her off? How far would she allow her jealousy to go? Christi didn’t want to be the cause of disunity within the family ... but surely Jean-Claude would make up his own mind about whom he might favour romantically?

  She followed Virginie to the stables, chiding herself for feeling apprehensive. Virginie was a sixteen-year-old girl for Heaven’s sake! But, one who, at this moment, was entrusted with overseeing Christi’s work around the stables ... all of which would be totally new to Christi.

  First they had to let the younger horses have free run of the paddock.

  “Luc and some of his friends will ride them later, so we need to put their bridles on. It will make it easier for them to catch them.” Virginie called over her shoulder as she strode ahead into the stable block. “Can you do that?”

  Christi tried not to look dismayed as she silently translated Virginie’s words. She shook her head. “I’ve never been near to a horse,” she confessed, “but I’ve always longed to learn to ride.”

  Virginie tossed her head, looking like a young colt herself. “Everyone here has worked with horses. We were put in the saddle when we were babies. Watch closely.” She unhooked the bridle from a hook outside the stall, sorted it in her hands and deftly slipped it over the horse’s head, fitting the metal bit in its mouth as she did so. “Did you follow that?” she asked as she fastened it at the side.

  Christi had to admit that the girl made it look very easy—but she felt very nervous about trying it herself. She felt all thumbs and no fingers under the younger girl’s disdainful eye and didn’t quite catch the impatient words Virginie muttered as she took over from Christi’s first attempt.

  “What about the smaller horses?” Christi asked hopefully. “Maybe I’ll manage better if its head isn’t towering above me.”

  Virginie stood, hands on hip, making her disdain clear. Then she nodded. “D’accord ... Viens.” She led the way to another stall.

  When Christi looked over the low half-door, she saw three small ponies. “Oh, they’re lovely.”

  Virginie handed Christi the halter. “These small ones do not need a bit in their mouth, as they are not going to be ridden today.”

  Christi turned the halter around in her hands, thinking of how it should look when it was on the pony. With a smooth movement, she slid the halter over its head. “I’ve done it!” she cried, fastening the buckle. “Look Virginie. I’ve done it.”

  Virginie raised a superior sort of smile and shrugged as she walked away. “Fantastique,” she drawled, the word dripping with sarcasm. “Alors. See to the others.”

  Christi refused to be put down. Whatever Virginie thought of her effort, she was thrilled to bits. It was a challenge and she was determined to rise to it. By the time she had put the halter on the other small ponies, Virginie had seen to all the others and they led them out of their stalls to the field, where the leading-strap was removed. After being kept shut in for more than a week, they gambolled and kicked like young lambs.

  Christi leaned over the gate looking at them in delight. “What next?”

  Before Virginie could reply, Georges appeared dressed for riding. Virginie’s face lit up. “Oh, good. Can I come, too, Papa?”

  Georges shook his head. “No. The stalls need cleaning out and the tackle needs a good polishing. Show Christi what to do, then she’ll be able to do it on her own when you are at school.”

  “But …”

  “You can ride later … when all the work is finished.” He disappeared into the main stables.

  Virginie stood with hands on hips, then swung round to face Christi, glowering with resentment. “Here.” She thrust a pitchfork at her. “Fork out the old straw. Put it over there. Then wash out the stalls.” She pointed to a hose-pipe attached to a stand-pipe. “When you have finished, come to the tackle-room over there.”

  Christi didn’t understand some of the words but Virginie’s actions were clear indication of what was needed and Christi set to with good will. The musky, tangy smell wasn’t unpleasant and she worked with a steady rhythm. She could think of worse jobs ... like working in a collapsing ditch, thigh-deep in cold sea-water!

  Georges came back leading a string of horses. He nodded pleasantly. “Will you open the gate for me, Christi?”

  She gladly agreed and moved across the yard to the gate that led into the field where they had released the ponies. She rested on the pitchfork handle, watching as he prepared to mount.

  Despite his age, Georges mounted the leading horse with a single movement and, with a wave of his hand, he cantered through the gateway with the other horses strung out behind him. He said a few words that Christi didn’t quite catch.

  Christi returned his wave and wished him a good ride.

  By the time the straw was in a large heap outside, her hands felt raw and her shoulders ached. Now to hose down the stalls. Thankfully, that was quickly done.

  Right … now what? Where was Virginie? She went to the tackle-room—but found it to be empty. The room smelled of leather and polish—a soothing sort of fragrance. Christi breathed it in. She could quite take to this. Around the room, saddles hung on hooks, each with a horse’s name at its side, and two shelves of riding hats decorated the opposite wall, presumably for the use of the summer visitors. However, this wasn’t getting the work done.

  Where was the girl? Turning abruptly, she found herself looking straight into the open neckline of a blue-checked shirt. “Oh!” She couldn’t help jumping back a pace.

  Jean-Claude put out a hand to steady her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Is everything all right?”

  “Yes. I was just looking for Virginie. The stables are clean. I need fresh straw.” She smiled up at him. His presence made her heart thump nervously. She hoped he couldn’t see the deepened rose-hue of her cheeks in the dim interior.

  He didn’t appear to. “I’ll send one of the men to help you. The bales are heavy when you’re not used to it.”

  She could feel the warmth from his body and trembled. No-one had had this effect on her before ... and she hadn’t been short of boy-friends. Maybe, that was the difference. They were boys … whereas Jean-Claude was all man! To hide her confusion, she turned away and made a pretence of examining her hand. A big mistake.

  “Let me see.” Jean-Claude took hold of her hands and looked at her palms, running his thumb over the reddened surfaces.

  Christi held her breath and felt her face flame even more. She tried to steady her heartbeat. Heavens, she was acting no better than Virginie! If he continued to rub his thumb over her hand like that, he’d have her melting at his feet.

  “May I have my hands back, please?” she asked as lightly as she could, flicking up her eyelashes as she looked up at him.

  He met her gaze and smiled.

  Wow! He didn’t know what that did to her heart!

  “You should have worn gloves. You will need some cream on there before you do any more work. Here. We keep some medications in this cupboard.”

  He let go of her hands and rifled through the assortment of small pots and tubes of cream that adorned the two shelves. “Ah. This is the one.” He squeezed a small amount of cream onto his middle finger, smiling at her as he did so.

  “It’s all right. I’ll do it.” Christi held out her hand for the tube. She wasn’t sure she could cope with him smoothing the cream over her fingers and palms.

  “No arguing,” he said firmly. He laid down the tube and took hold of one of her hands again.

  Christi held her breath. Almost mesmerised, she watched as he carefully smoothed the cream over her palm and fingers, where blisters were already forming. His touch was so gentle, she could hardly feel it.

  “This will make them feel a lot better,” he promised, the sound of his voice drawing her eyes to his face. He looked intently at her.

  Why did she
always feel that there was an unspoken question between them? He was so close, she felt dizzy. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. “Th … That’s fine,” she said faintly. Could he hear her heart beating? She was sure it would burst out of her chest if he held her hand much longer.

  “Has my little cousin been leaving all the heavy work to you?”

  Christi shook her head. “N … no. She has been cleaning the tackle in here, whilst I cleaned out the stables. She showed me how to put a halter on the little ponies.” She wanted to give Virginie some praise. “I couldn’t manage the larger ones,” she added lamely.

  “You will get used to it. I am hoping you will be able to give Georges a hand with this part of the work for a few weeks, until the Summer Riding School teachers arrive. In the height of the summer we have lots of helpers. Horse-mad girls are more than willing to help out for a free ride.” He grinned amiably. “So, what do you say?”

  Christi laughed, waiting for her racing heart to slow down. “You’re the boss … and it sounds better than standing in cold sea water!”

  Jean-Claude looked slightly embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I wanted to see how you would tackle that sort of work … whether or not you would think it beneath you.”

  “Did I pass?”

  “Yes. The women are singing your praises … and the men!” A half-smile played around his lips, causing a catch in her throat.

  She was saved from replying by Virginie’s form darkening the doorway. “What’s going on here?” Her voice was sharp, as she looked from one to the other.

  Jean-Claude turned round, leaving go of Christi’s hand. “Nothing’s going on. Where have you been?”

  A few words in rapid French, something about the state of her hands, Christi gathered, brought a sullen pout to Virginie’s lips. She glared at Christi then tossed her head back at Jean-Claude. “Don’t blame me! I heard Dad tell her to put gloves on. It’s not my fault if she doesn’t understand everything!”

  Christi’s heart sank. Was that what Georges had told her to do as he rode through the gateway? She wished Jean-Claude hadn’t reprimanded Virginie over it. It was now something else for Virginie to feel resentment towards her. She wished she could think of a way to befriend her.

  “Christi!”

  Christi swung round. It was Luc.

  “Come and see my horse.”

  Christi smiled. “Yes. Of course.” She had finished her morning work and Jean-Claude had given her and his two cousins the afternoon off. There was a limit as what they could do until the soil dried out after the recent rainfall. “Enjoy the sunshine,” he had smiled.

  Luc had an apple, cut into four pieces, in one hand. “Here, hold these.” He ran to the paddock and climbed onto the fence. “Belle! Belle!” He clapped his hands loudly above his head.

  A horse whinnied in response. Christi saw a medium-sized brown horse detach itself from the group that were cropping grass by a knot of trees. Lifting its head, it whinnied again and trotted smartly towards them. Luc swung his legs over the top of the fence and jumped down lightly. The horse was already nuzzling his shoulder. Luc rubbed its long nose and snuggled his face against its nostrils, murmuring words that Christi couldn’t grasp. He looked up at Christi. “I am saying hello … and telling her that she is the most wonderful horse in the world.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere.” It was Jean-Claude’s voice.

  Christi jumped.

  Jean-Claude smiled down at her. “I have taught him well. Watch how a man treats his horse and you see how he will treat his woman.”

  Christi could feel her heart beating quickly. “I’ll bear that in mind,” she said lightly, in no doubt as to how she thought he would treat his horse. Not trusting herself to remain cool under his gaze, she turned back to Belle. She reached over the fence and patted Bell’s nose. The horse lifted her head and snickered.

  “Give her a piece of apple,” Luc told her. “See, like this.” He placed a quarter apple on his palm and held it out to his horse. She gently snuffled it up with her lips and then searched for more.

  Christi copied his action, holding her hand as straight as she could. She was delighted when Belle took the apple.

  “Come into the field,” Jean-Claude invited.

  He opened the gate and stood aside to allow her to pass in front of him. The faint fragrance of his after-shave wafted tantalising in her nostrils. She remembered the scent from the previous night and found herself remembering the gentleness of his brief kiss. What would it be like to be held in his arms? Would a longer kiss be as gentle? Somehow, she thought not.

  Belle tossed her head.

  Jean-Claude laughed. “How like a woman. She wants to be the centre of attention!”

  Christi reached out to stroke Belle’s long nose. “Well, you’re a beauty, aren’t you?” she admired, giving her the other two pieces of apple.

  Luc swung the saddle over Belle’s back and was reaching underneath her to fasten the girth-strap.

  Christi watched him wistfully, wishing that she had had the opportunity to learn to ride. She realised that Jean-Claude was looking at her.

  “Would you like to ride?” he asked, correctly interpreting her thoughts.

  “What? … Oh! Yes, I would … only I’m a complete beginner.”

  “All the better. There will be no bad habits to correct. Come. We will get you fitted with a hat.”

  He led the way back to the tack-room, where he chose a hard riding hat for her and explained what he was doing as he saddled up a brown mare, repeating his instructions in English after the first time in French. “I will do it for you today,” he added. “Next time, you must try yourself.” His hand caressed the mare’s long nose and indicated the star-shaped splash of white that featured there. “She is called Etoile,” he said.

  Christi smiled. She reached out her hand and stroked Etoile’s nose. Etoile snuffled and tossed her head ... and then nuzzled against Christi, causing her to laugh.

  Etoile pawed at the ground.

  “She is telling you she wants you to mount her,” Jean-Claude said, as he took hold of the halter. “Don’t be afraid. She is very gentle.”

  Christi nodded, her mouth suddenly dry.

  Mounting wasn’t as easy as accomplished riders made it seem. After seeing the ease with which Luc had mounted, she was dismayed when her first attempt left her hopping around on one foot whilst her horse circled away from her.

  “Hold the rein tighter to pull her head towards you,” Jean-Claude instructed, steadying the horse. “Now take good hold of the saddle and pull yourself up. The horse is used to it. That’s it! Spring up and swing your leg over.”

  In an undignified fashion, Christi eventually found herself astride the horse. It felt a long way up from the ground. “Whoa!”

  Jean-Claude’s hand steadied her. “Now, put your feet into the stirrups. That’s right. Now, hold the reins like this.” He reached up to her and took hold of her hands. “Relax them; and turn them palms upwards. Now, hold the reins … so.”

  The touch of his hands sent a tingle up her arms. Did he feel it also?

  He didn’t appear to. His face was impassive as he checked her grip. “D’accord! Now, wait for me.”

  He stood by the gate and whistled loudly. An answering whinny sounded immediately and a magnificent, dark brown stallion cantered towards the gate. Even Christi could tell that he was a fine horse. Jean-Claude opened the gate and led the stallion into the yard.

  “He is called Capitaine,” Jean-Claude told her proudly. “I broke him in and trained him myself. Wait here. I will saddle him up inside.”

  As he led the stallion into the stable, Etoile began to dance around in a tight circle, pivoting on her rear legs. It took all Christi’s nerve to remain seated, thankful that her feet were placed securely in the stirrups.

  “Whoa! Whoa!”

  She flexed her leg muscles and gripped Etoile’s sides tightly, aware that she wasn’t far from panicking and sliding ignominiou
sly to the ground.

  She was glad when she heard the steady clip-clop of hooves and turned to see Jean-Claude leading out his horse. She watched as he mounted in a single fluid movement. He sat with his back straight and moved at one with his horse, as they set off side by side. She had known he would look good on a horse. He’d look good anywhere, she added silently.

  “Sit up straight,” he instructed her. “Keep your hands relaxed but in a firm hold of the reins. Good. We will just walk today. Capitaine will have his gallop later.”

  Side by side, they walked down one of the lanes between rows of static mobile homes, towards the salines where they had worked through the past week. Leaning over from the saddle, Jean-Claude opened the barrier and shut it again when they had passed through.

  “I will go in front now,” he explained. “Etoile is used to following other horses in single file. It is how we take groups of novices out on rides.” He led the way along the two-metres-wide grassy banks that divided the area into the rectangular salines.

  Christi concentrated on sitting well and getting used to feel of riding. She was thankful that conversation wasn’t required for the moment. She wasn’t sure she would be able to respond in a coherent manner.

  When they were past the salines, Jean-Claude hung back until she drew level with him and they walked on together again.

  “How does it feel?” he asked after a while.

  Christi smiled happily at him. “Great! I’m enjoying it.” And she was, too.

  “Bien. Next time I will do more teaching.”

  Christi’s heart sang. Jean-Claude had said, ‘next time’. She felt exhilarated; she would grow to love this, she was sure.

  The fresh breeze whipped stray wisps of Christi’s hair back from her face. She sighed in contentment, glancing around. What a lovely place, this was. The sun was shining; birds were singing; and the salty tang in the air intoxicated her senses.

  They rode for an hour. It passed swiftly and it was with a sense of disappointment that Christi realised they had ridden a circuitous route and were heading back home. Even the word ‘home’ was beginning to seep into her heart. She knew it would be wrench when the time came to leave when summer was over.