Part 34 (1/2)

”Americans,” he said with disdain, standing at the edge of the ring with his hands on his hips. ”He is hardly warm. The work is only just beginning. Pick up the canter.”

My natural inclination was to defy him, but staying aboard the horse seemed preferable to a level playing field where he had six inches and sixty pounds on me. At least until I could get a better read on him and what he may or may not know, it seemed best to humor him.

”On the twenty-meter circle,” Van Zandt instructed.

I put the horse on a circle twenty meters in diameter, tried to breathe and focus, though my hands were so tight on the reins, I thought I could feel my pulse in them. I closed my eyes for two strides, exhaling and sinking into the saddle.

”Relax your hands. Why are you so tense, Elle?” he asked in a silky voice that made a chill go down my back. ”The horse can sense this. It makes him also tense. More seat, less hand.” I made an attempt to react accordingly. ”What brings you out so early?” ”Aren't you happy to see me?” he asked. ”I would have been happy to see you at dinner last night. You stood me up. That doesn't win you any points with me.” ”I was unavoidably detained.” ”Taken to a desert island? A place with no phones? Even the police let you make a phone call.” ”Is that where you think I was? With the police?” ”I'm sure I don't know or care.” ”I left word with the maitre d'. I couldn't call you. You have not given me your number,” he said, then changed tones in the next breath. ”Collect, collect, collect!” he demanded. ”More energy, less speed.

Come! Sit into him!”

I gathered the horse beneath me until I held him nearly on the spot, his feet pounding the sand in three-beat time. ”Are you trying to make up to me with a free riding lesson?”

”Nothing is free, Elle,” he said. ”Carry him into the walk. Like setting down a feather.”

I did as instructed-or tried to, rather-and failed because of my tension.

”Don't let him fall out of the gait that way!” Van Zandt shouted. ”Is your horse to be on its forehand?”

”No.”

”Then why did you let this happen?”

The implied answer was that I was stupid.

”Again! Canter! And more energy in the transition, not less!”

We went through the exercise again and again. Each time, something was not quite worthy, and that

something was glaringly my fault. Sweat became lather on D'Artagnon's ma.s.sive neck. My T-s.h.i.+rt was

soaked through. My back muscles began to cramp. My arms were so tired, they trembled.

I began to question my wisdom. I couldn't stay on the horse all day, and by the time I got off, I was going to flop on the ground, limp, boneless, like a jellyfish washed ash.o.r.e. For his part, Van Zandt was punis.h.i.+ng me, and I knew he was enjoying it.

”. . . and make him float into the walk like a snowflake landing.”

Again I brought the horse to the walk, holding my breath in antic.i.p.ation of another outburst.

”Better,” he said grudgingly.

”Enough,” I said, letting the reins out to the buckle. ”Are you trying to kill me?”

”Why would I do such a thing to you, Elle? We are friends, are we not?”

”I thought so.”

”I thought so too.”

Past tense. Intentional, I thought, not a misuse of the language that was probably third or fourth on his

list. ”I called the restaurant later in the evening,” he said. ”The maitre d' told me you never came.” ”I was there. You weren't. I left,” I lied. ”I didn't see the maitre d'. He must have been in the men's room.”

Van Zandt considered the story.

”You are very good,” he said.

”At what?” I watched him as I walked D'Artagnon on the circle, waiting for the gelding's breathing to

slow.

”At the dressage, of course.”

”You just spent half an hour screaming at me to get one decent transition.”

”You need a strong coach. You are too willful.”

”I don't need to be abused.”

”You think I am abusive? An a.s.shole?” he asked with a lack of emotion that was more disturbing than his

usual att.i.tude. ”I believe in discipline.” ”Putting me in my place?” He didn't answer. ”What brings you out so early?” I asked again. ”It couldn't be to apologize for last night.” ”I have nothing to apologize for.” ”You wouldn't recognize the occasion if it slapped you in the face. Did you come to see Sean about Tino? Is your client down from Virginia yet?” ”She arrived last night. Imagine her shock when she arrived at the house to interrupt an intruder.” ”Someone broke into your house? That's terrible. Was anything stolen?” ”Oddly, no.” ”Lucky. She wasn't hurt, was she? I saw a story on the news just the other night about an elderly couple being robbed in their home by two Haitians with machetes.”