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Nick could not help laughing and Zoe joined him, collapsing into giggles while the horse stood patiently, flicking its tail. Nick wondered if he should tell Zoe that executives do not giggle, but decided against it. Her giggle was a nice sound – who could object to that?
“Let me give you a hand down.”
“I’m fine.”
Zoe’s descent from the horse was, it had to be said, a lot less graceful than her ascent had been, but she made it unaided.
“It’s easier to get on than off isn’t it?” Zoe observed. “Other foot?”
“Yeah.”
Somehow, the complexities of mounting and hilarity of being presented with a horse’s ass, had distracted Zoe from her fear and she seemed pretty comfortable as she settled into the saddle, this time facing the right way. Nick mounted his own horse, beside her.
“I think I’m okay,” said Zoe, judiciously, “as long as we stay like this.”
“It’s not really riding if you don’t move.”
“I’m okay with that.”
“I’m not. We’re just going to go for a walk around the yard. Give it a little kick.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Zoe looked shocked. “It’s bigger than me! I make a point never to kick anything bigger than me. We’ve got an understanding, me and this horse: I don’t kick it, it doesn’t throw me off and leave me for dead.”
“It’s used to it,” Nick assured her. “You’re not really kicking, per se, you’re just squeezing.”
“Well then say ‘squeeze’,” suggested Zoe. “That’s how accidents happen. And don’t call me Percy.”
“Per se,” Nick explained. “It means…”
“I know what it means,” Zoe grinned and rolled her eyes. “Just yanking your chain. Per se. Let’s go, horse.”
Looking back on the event, Zoe would have been willing to admit that she had kicked rather than squeezed, and perhaps had kicked rather too hard at that. The horse took off like a bullet from a gun, with Zoe shrieking in terror. It reached the fence at the edge of the yard but did not even slow, leaping athletically over and setting out across the fields.
Nick set off in hot pursuit, pausing only briefly to wonder what would be the outcome if this happened in France. He caught up with Zoe two paddocks further on, caught hold of the reins and brought her to a safe stop. She was pale faced, wide-eyed and breathing heavily. She turned to speak, and Nick worried that her first words would be to quit the whole deal.
“My ass,” Zoe enunciated, “feels like I’ve spent an evening at a very specific type of ‘gentleman’s club’.”
“Can we avoid language like that?” suggested Nick.
“Fine. My ass feels like it’s seen more paddling than an Olympic kayaking course!”
“I’m not sure that’s a big improvement.”
“You’re damn right it’s not! It didn’t hurt at all before we started.”
“Not what I meant…” Nick began.
“I know!” Zoe began to dismount.
“It’s a long walk back,” Nick pointed out.
“Then perhaps the pain in my legs will distract me from the pain in my ass.”
“Again, could we avoid the word…”
Zoe shot a fierce look at him. “There are other parts of my anatomy that got pummeled as well, so unless you want me to start name-checking them, learn to live with my ass!”
She began to walk, rather gingerly, back across the paddock. Nick called after her. “Technically the lesson hasn’t actually started yet.”
“You’ve got the journey back to think of something you can teach me while sitting on a cushion!” snapped Zoe. “I’m not getting back on that damn thing today!”
Nick could not help smiling.
Previously, Zoe had been deferential and obedient, doing what she was told and accepting his rudeness and condescension as part and parcel of this curious deal they had made. This was the first time he had seen her like this, independent and answering back – the language needed adjustment but the attitude was actually great training for being Vanessa Reese.
He also found it oddly attractive.
It was probably best not to think about that.
“Are you picking these things just to spite me?”
It had been a few days since the horse-riding incident, and in those few days Nick had introduced Zoe to opera (‘So it’s fat people howling in German?’), to caviar (‘I know we eat chicken eggs and duck eggs, but somehow this is weird’) and to abstract art (‘That’s a tree?! I know kids that could do better!’). Now he felt that sufficient time had passed to try something a little more active again.
And something a little riskier.
“You must have been on a boat before,” said Nick, as they looked at the sailing boat that stood at the dock.
Zoe shook her head. “I’m not falling for that again. One minute you’re saying it’s just like riding a donkey, the next I can’t sit down for a week.”
“That was less than a week ago,” Nick pointed out.
“I am well aware of that,” said Zoe, darkly. “Didn’t you notice I brought a cushion to the opera? Wish I’d brought my iPod,” she added, shaking her head.
“Sailing is eas
y,” lied Nick, encouragingly.
“Doesn’t this guy have like a yacht?” Zoe pointed out. “With like a crew to do the sailing for him?”
“Yes,” acknowledged Nick. “But part of being cultured is being able to do the things that other people do for you. It’s the knowledge that you could do them yourself, but you’re far too busy working, appreciating art, drinking fine wine, and counting your money.”
“Sounds dumb to me.”
“Can we find a word other than ‘dumb’?”
Zoe gave him a sharp smile. “I can find several, if you would like to hear them.”
Nick considered this. “Perhaps we’ll stick with ‘dumb’ for now. Get on the boat.”
Zoe sighed. “Do I have to?”
“Yes. And stop complaining.”
Sometimes, Nick was discovering, it was necessary for him to put his foot down – he was after all the one in charge here and it did not pay to let Zoe forget that. For one thing, part of her training was an understanding of the hierarchy of business and indeed of life – some people (people like Vanessa and Nick) were at the top, and others (people like Zoe) were not.
It was not prejudicial or exclusive, it was how it was meant to be, a matter of birth—and yes, money. If uncultured people like Zoe were in charge then where would the world be?
Zoe reluctantly put a foot on the sail boat. “It’s moving!”
“Of course it’s moving!” Nick snapped – there were times when she just irritated him. “It’s on the water.”
“It’s moving away from the dock!” There was no denying it, the single foot Zoe had put on the boat was pushing it away from the dock, on which her other foot remained planted, forcing her increasingly into the splits.
“Put your other foot on the boat.”
“Are you crazy?! That thing’s not safe.”
“It’s a hell of a lot safer than this.”
“Help!” Zoe was now being stretched, further than she had been since High school gym class.
“Can you get the first foot back to the dock?”
