of his halter. “Stroke his nose, Jude. Give him a moment to get used to you.”
She did as she was told. Chieftain sniffed around her hand in an exploratory manner, then nuzzled his large nose towards her ear. This was not a gesture of affection; he was still assessing her. After a moment, he moved his head away, either satisfied that she was harmless, or simply bored with her.
“See if he minds you touching his leg.”
Jude did as Lucinda suggested. Very gently, as she had done before, she put first one hand on his upper thigh, then the other. Chieftain showed no signs of objecting, so she moved her hands slowly down until she could feel the warmth from his knee glowing under them.
“Right, if we can just keep very quiet and still, I’ll see if I can ‘work my magic’ on him.” Perhaps in an unconscious homage to Donal, she said the phrase with a trace of an Irish accent.
“Lucinda! We’ve come to ride! Could you get the horses ready!”
14
The would-be patrician voice came from a short, stocky, red-faced man, dressed in Barbour, jodhpurs and knee-length riding boots, all of which appeared to have come straight from the shop without any detours to collect mud or wrinkles. The costume of the tall, magenta-haired woman beside him matched his exactly and was equally untouched by real life. She was a good twenty-five years younger than he, and looked expensive.
With a look that contrived to say a lot about her opinion of the new arrivals, Lucinda whispered to Jude, “Sorry, need to sort these out. Victor and Yolanta Brewis they’re called. Just moved into the area. He’s a property developer and she’s…well, I’m not sure that I can think of a nice word. I’ll tether Chieftain to the rail.”
“Can I keep working on his knee?”
“If he doesn’t mind. But if he gets at all restive, please stop. I don’t think I’m insured for you getting kicked in the head.”
Jude tried to channel her energy into the injured knee, but it was hopeless. Not that Chieftain behaved badly-he was as docile as a rocking horse-but she couldn’t focus on the job in hand. All she could hear was the loud conversation from the other side of the yard.
“Come on, Lucinda, chop, chop,” urged the man. “I left a message earlier with one of the girls, asked for the horses to be ready when we arrived. I haven’t got time to hang about, you know.”
“Nor have I,” said Yolanta, in heavily accented Eastern European English. “I have an appointment with my personal stylist in Brighton at two o’clock.”
“I’m sorry,” said Lucinda, busying herself with collecting saddles and bridles from the tack room.
“Didn’t you get my message?”
“No, I didn’t, actually.”
“That’s bloody bad. I spoke to a girl who said she’d pass it on. She deserves a good dressing-down. Where are your girls?”
“They only come in for a couple of hours in the morning. They’ve gone.”
“Well, make sure you find out who it was who took the message and give her a good dressing-down when you next see her.”
Lucinda Fleet didn’t answer that, but led the couple across towards two adjacent stalls. Over them, carved wooden plaques advertised the names “Tiger” and “Snow Leopard.” Lucinda opened one stall and led out Tiger. He was docile enough until he saw Victor Brewis. Baring his large teeth, he let out a whinny of disapproval.
“Hello, boy. I hope you’re not thinking of trying it on again with me today. I’m afraid I may have to show you who’s master.”
“Mr. Brewis,” Lucinda said tentatively, “I’m honestly not sure that that’s the right approach with Tiger. I think coaxing him probably works better. His mouth’s still sore from the last time you-”
“Look, I’m paying you to look after my bloody horses, not give your opinions on how I should treat them. Tiger’s my horse, and I know how to handle him.”
“Well, I’m not sure-”
“Come on. We’re already behind because you didn’t get my message. Tackle him up quickly.”
“Mr. Brewis, ‘tackle him up’ is not an expression that people in equestrian circles-”
“As I said, I don’t want opinions from a bloody woman. Just get on with it.”
“Oh now, Victor,” said Yolanta coyly, “you are being very rude. I also am a ‘bloody woman.’ Is it also my opinions you are not wanting?”
“No, my little angel.” The nickname could hardly have been less appropriate, as Victor Brewis looked the long way up to his wife’s eyes. “There are women and women, you know. I always value my little Yolanta’s opinion.”
“I am glad to hear it. Otherwise I might stamp my little foot”-at least size nine from where Jude was standing-“and be horrid to my little Vixy. Might even make my little Vixy sleep in the spare room.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t, Yolanta.”
“Not now my little Vixy has said he values his Yolanta’s opinion. Not this time. But you be careful, you naughty boy.”
Jude was glad that Lucinda, saddling up Tiger, was not facing her while this trail of yuckiness trickled out. If they’d made eye contact, she’d never have managed to control her laughter.
“I think we should put the gentler bit on him today,” said Lucinda firmly to Victor Brewis.
“What?”
“We used the slotted Kimberwick last time. That was too hard on his mouth.”
“But the slotted Kimberwick gives me more control, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, maybe, but-”
“Listen, I own the bloody animal. I’ll do with it what I think is fit.”
“I’m just thinking of the horse. I don’t want-”
“Mrs. Fleet, will you please put on the slotted Kimberwick! That’s the bit that gives me most control, and I like to be in control.”
Yolanta gigglingly complained about how masterful Vixy always was, while Lucinda pursed her lips and continued preparing Tiger for his master. Then she did the same for Snow Leopard. All the time the Brewises kept up their inane flirtation, stopping only occasionally to berate Lucinda for her slowness.
Their mounting was a sight to be seen. Snow Leopard was a much smaller horse-little more than a pony- and Yolanta had no difficulty getting one foot in the stirrup and swinging her other long leg over. From the way she moved, it looked like she had a personal trainer as well as a personal stylist.
But for Victor Brewis the task wasn’t so easy. Tiger not only towered over him, but the horse also was in no mood to cooperate for someone he had reason to dislike. As Lucinda held the bridle and tried to keep him calm, his owner kept getting one foot in the stirrup, while Tiger himself backed away. The three of them circled round the yard in some kind of grotesque square dance. Jude, who had long since given up any attempt to heal Chieftain’s knee watched, trying not to laugh too openly.
Eventually Victor was up, and with relief Lucinda opened the yard gate and let them out into the paddocks. Yolanta had clearly learnt about horses-perhaps in her Eastern European homeland-and she had quite a good seat. But her husband’s sum of skill was less than zero. From the back, his rotund frame, bouncing on top of the huge horse, had all the elegance of a sack of potatoes.
“They are funny,” said Jude, as Lucinda crossed back towards her.
“Maybe.” The reply was accompanied by a rueful smile. “But it’s less funny when people are actually cruel to the horses.”
“And are they?”
Lucinda screwed up her face. “Only by incompetence. I don’t think Victor Brewis actually does anything that could be reported to the R.S.P.C.A. And I’m afraid I wouldn’t be in a position to report him, anyway.”
“How do you mean?”
“The way things are at the stables right now, I can’t afford to lose two horses. The Brewises are right pains, but they do pay up on time, without fail-unlike some of my other owners.”
