Class Act

39

The horses awaited them in the stable yard, held by a girl groom. Another groom gave them each a leg up, Stone onto his favorite gelding and Tara onto a pretty mare. Someone handed her a helmet, and she tried it on. “Good.”

“Don’t forget to buckle the strap,” Stone said, buckling his own.

“What are the horses’ names?” Tara asked.

“I don’t think we’ve ever been properly introduced,” Stone replied.

The girl groom spoke up. “The gelding is Casey, the mare Connie. And my name is Peg. Your lunch is tied onto Casey’s saddle.”

“Thank you, Peg,” Stone said, and headed for the long front lawn, leading down to the airstrip and its hangar. Tara pulled up even with him, and they walked their mounts to warm them up.

“Keep an eye out for the ninja,” Stone said.

“That’s what he looked like, a ninja.”

“Do you often wake in the middle of the night and see things you aren’t sure are there?”

“Not as a regular thing,” Tara replied, “but it has been known to happen.”

“Did any of these sightings turn out to be real?”

“Not exactly. They just seemed real to me.”

“Then I won’t shoot first and ask questions later. We wouldn’t want to wing a girl groom.”

“Why do you call them ‘girl grooms’?” she asked. “It seems demeaning.”

“Because they’re young girls and they are grooms. It’s a traditional title around stables. If you like, you can take them aside and question them about their feelings on that subject. If it seems indicated, we’ll rename them.”

“Rename them what?”

“That can be between you and the grooms.”

“Fair enough.”

“Let’s gallop a bit. Are you comfortable with jumping?”

“Why?”

“Because there’s a stone wall a couple of hundred yards ahead that requires either jumping or getting down and opening a gate, then closing it behind us, so the cattle won’t get out.”

“I’ll jump,” she said.

“Then lead the way.”

She tapped the mare’s flanks with her heels and pulled ahead, while Stone followed, ready to stop if she didn’t make the jump.

Tara took the wall successfully and Stone followed. As the gelding cleared the wall, Stone glimpsed something out of the corner of his eye. A man, he thought, and dressed in black. By the time he could rein up and call out to Tara, the shape had vanished into the brush.

“What?” she asked.

“I think I saw your figure in black,” Stone said, turning his horse toward the bushes. He got down from his mount, unbuttoned his jacket for access to his firearm, then he tied Casey to a branch. “Wait here,” he called to Tara.

“All right.”

He parted the bushes and made his way toward the main road, unable to see more than a few yards ahead. He unholstered the pistol, racked the slide, and flipped on the safety. Up ahead he could see a small roof rising above the brush. It was called the Hermit’s Cottage, where an actual hermit had once lived. He made his way there and peeked through a window. The two rooms were bare.

He circumnavigated the cottage, then walked back to where the horses were. “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing I could see, anyway. We need to clear these woods of the undergrowth.” He got a foot into a stirrup and swung aboard the gelding, then they walked on toward the airstrip.

“Why is there an airfield here?” Tara asked.

“During the war, the big one, World War II, there was a training camp on the property for intelligence agents who would be parachuted into France. The airstrip was built so they would have one that wasn’t on the charts, and they camouflaged it. They even had a couple of buildings that could be rolled on and off the runway, to make it look like a farm from the air. After the war, when the property was restored to its owners, they kept up the strip, and the last owner before me repaved it as part of an estate-wide renovation of the property. It’s seven thousand feet long and accommodates my Gulfstream very nicely. After we land, a fuel truck is sent over from Southampton Airport to top us off. They sometimes, but not always, send a customs team over to gaze at our passports. It’s very convenient.”

“Judging from what I’ve seen of your life, you’re very good at making things convenient,” Tara said.

“It’s part of my native sloth,” Stone explained, “to have things set up that way.”

They walked over to the hangar, and Stone dismounted, handed Tara his reins, and walked over to the door. He examined the padlock and found some scratches on it and scarring on the hangar door around the hasp. “Looks like someone has tried to gain entry,” he said.

He took a clump of keys from his pocket, unlocked it, and pressed a remote control on his key ring. The door slid upward and back, revealing the Gulfstream. Stone did a slow walk-around, looking for anything amiss, but found nothing.

“Are you getting paranoid?” Tara asked when he returned.

“Maybe just a little,” he said. He led the horses beyond the hangar to a tree, where he tied them and helped Tara down, then he got their lunch from his saddle.

They were munching away at smoked salmon sandwiches and drinking a nice hock when Tara’s phone rang. She looked at the caller ID, then got to her feet. “Excuse me, business call.” She walked a few yards away and had a few minutes’ conversation, then hung up and came back.

“That was Tony,” she said. “We’ve burnt up the motor on one of our machines, and he’s had to shut down production until we can replace it.”

“Any news of his cousin, Salvatore?”

“I asked, and he reminded me that his cousin is out of the country.”

“I was hoping he had come home,” Stone said.

“Oh, well, we’re not in London, are we?”

“I think I’ll look into his exact whereabouts at first opportunity,” Stone said.

“How will you do that?”

“I have a friend who has people who are good at that sort of thing.”

“That sounds like the fabled Dame Felicity.”

“Could be.”

“I can’t wait to meet her.”

The horses awaited them in the stable yard, held by a girl groom. Another groom gave them each a leg up, Stone onto his favorite gelding and Tara onto a pretty mare. Someone handed her a helmet, and she tried it on. “Good.”

“Don’t forget to buckle the strap,” Stone said, buckling his own.

“What are the horses’ names?” Tara asked.

“I don’t think we’ve ever been properly introduced,” Stone replied.

The girl groom spoke up. “The gelding is Casey, the mare Connie. And my name is Peg. Your lunch is tied onto Casey’s saddle.”

“Thank you, Peg,” Stone said, and headed for the long front lawn, leading down to the airstrip and its hangar. Tara pulled up even with him, and they walked their mounts to warm them up.

“Keep an eye out for the ninja,” Stone said.

“That’s what he looked like, a ninja.”

“Do you often wake in the middle of the night and see things you aren’t sure are there?”

“Not as a regular thing,” Tara replied, “but it has been known to happen.”

“Did any of these sightings turn out to be real?”

“Not exactly. They just seemed real to me.”

“Then I won’t shoot first and ask questions later. We wouldn’t want to wing a girl groom.”

“Why do you call them ‘girl grooms’?” she asked. “It seems demeaning.”

“Because they’re young girls and they are grooms. It’s a traditional title around stables. If you like, you can take them aside and question them about their feelings on that subject. If it seems indicated, we’ll rename them.”

“Rename them what?”

“That can be between you and the grooms.”

“Fair enough.”

“Let’s gallop a bit. Are you comfortable with jumping?”

“Why?”

“Because there’s a stone wall a couple of hundred yards ahead that requires either jumping or getting down and opening a gate, then closing it behind us, so the cattle won’t get out.”

“I’ll jump,” she said.

“Then lead the way.”

She tapped the mare’s flanks with her heels and pulled ahead, while Stone followed, ready to stop if she didn’t make the jump.

Tara took the wall successfully and Stone followed. As the gelding cleared the wall, Stone glimpsed something out of the corner of his eye. A man, he thought, and dressed in black. By the time he could rein up and call out to Tara, the shape had vanished into the brush.

“What?” she asked.

“I think I saw your figure in black,” Stone said, turning his horse toward the bushes. He got down from his mount, unbuttoned his jacket for access to his firearm, then he tied Casey to a branch. “Wait here,” he called to Tara.

“All right.”

He parted the bushes and made his way toward the main road, unable to see more than a few yards ahead. He unholstered the pistol, racked the slide, and flipped on the safety. Up ahead he could see a small roof rising above the brush. It was called the Hermit’s Cottage, where an actual hermit had once lived. He made his way there and peeked through a window. The two rooms were bare.

He circumnavigated the cottage, then walked back to where the horses were. “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing I could see, anyway. We need to clear these woods of the undergrowth.” He got a foot into a stirrup and swung aboard the gelding, then they walked on toward the airstrip.

“Why is there an airfield here?” Tara asked.

“During the war, the big one, World War II, there was a training camp on the property for intelligence agents who would be parachuted into France. The airstrip was built so they would have one that wasn’t on the charts, and they camouflaged it. They even had a couple of buildings that could be rolled on and off the runway, to make it look like a farm from the air. After the war, when the property was restored to its owners, they kept up the strip, and the last owner before me repaved it as part of an estate-wide renovation of the property. It’s seven thousand feet long and accommodates my Gulfstream very nicely. After we land, a fuel truck is sent over from Southampton Airport to top us off. They sometimes, but not always, send a customs team over to gaze at our passports. It’s very convenient.”

“Judging from what I’ve seen of your life, you’re very good at making things convenient,” Tara said.

“It’s part of my native sloth,” Stone explained, “to have things set up that way.”

They walked over to the hangar, and Stone dismounted, handed Tara his reins, and walked over to the door. He examined the padlock and found some scratches on it and scarring on the hangar door around the hasp. “Looks like someone has tried to gain entry,” he said.

He took a clump of keys from his pocket, unlocked it, and pressed a remote control on his key ring. The door slid upward and back, revealing the Gulfstream. Stone did a slow walk-around, looking for anything amiss, but found nothing.

“Are you getting paranoid?” Tara asked when he returned.

“Maybe just a little,” he said. He led the horses beyond the hangar to a tree, where he tied them and helped Tara down, then he got their lunch from his saddle.

They were munching away at smoked salmon sandwiches and drinking a nice hock when Tara’s phone rang. She looked at the caller ID, then got to her feet. “Excuse me, business call.” She walked a few yards away and had a few minutes’ conversation, then hung up and came back.

“That was Tony,” she said. “We’ve burnt up the motor on one of our machines, and he’s had to shut down production until we can replace it.”

“Any news of his cousin, Salvatore?”

“I asked, and he reminded me that his cousin is out of the country.”

“I was hoping he had come home,” Stone said.

“Oh, well, we’re not in London, are we?”

“I think I’ll look into his exact whereabouts at first opportunity,” Stone said.

“How will you do that?”

“I have a friend who has people who are good at that sort of thing.”

“That sounds like the fabled Dame Felicity.”

“Could be.”

“I can’t wait to meet her.”