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3
Gus wished the guy with the hay who’d introduced himself as Arnold hadn’t been busy because it would have been a whole lot easier talking to him rather than this woman who had already seen him naked. It was what his daughter, Abigail, might describe as ‘hashtag awkward’.
When Gus was embarrassed, he usually got a compulsion to flee, something he’d really wanted to do last night in that church hall where he’d sat on a hard wooden chair in front of half a dozen people, pencils and sketch pads at the ready. He’d done his best to tell himself that these were people interested in art in a serious way, they weren’t there to ogle him or ridicule him. He’d done his best to look confident and hoped the session would go quickly, so he could put his clothes back on and go to meet his daughter, who was in one of the back rooms of the church hall, waiting for him. The sooner the art class was over with, he’d told himself, the better. And as far as he was concerned, no matter how much he owed anyone a favour, he’d never volunteer for anything like this ever again.
‘You were at the art class,’ he said to Hazel as they reached what he assumed was the office. She stopped and scraped her boots on an ornate boot scraper that looked far too fancy for clumps of dirt and hay. He still couldn’t believe his bad luck. He’d modelled once as a huge favour, he’d gone to a class well away from where he used to live and far enough from here in Heritage Cove, the village where he was setting up home, assuming he’d never see any of the amateur artists ever again.
‘Yes, I was.’ Hazel, now inside the office, held out a hand to indicate the free chair at the side of the desk as she sat in the larger leather one. He went to close the door, but she shook her head. ‘It’s a lovely day, leave it open.’
Gus’s compulsion to flee a situation was almost as great now as it had been at the art class as he sat at an angle to Hazel, who looked equally uncomfortable. He only hoped she didn’t judge him on last night and wouldn’t see him as anything other than a respectable man, a father, and a horse owner. Because if they couldn’t keep their horse here, he wasn’t sure what he’d do, and Abigail would be devastated.
Hazel leaned and pulled a folder from the filing cabinet. She didn’t seem keen to talk about the art class either, which was more than fine by him.
‘You were after a working livery, is that correct?’ She opened up the folder and took out a pamphlet, plus what looked like a form, pushing her chair back a little to create a bit more distance between them.
‘That is correct.’ Weird being formal with someone who had seen your birthday suit already. ‘Although could you clarify exactly what “working livery” is? I’ve had an informal arrangement up until now, but my understanding is that working livery is cheaper than full livery in exchange for you using the horse during lessons.’
‘Your understanding is correct.’ Her voice wobbled; she seemed nervous but gathered herself quite quickly as she explained. ‘We will use your horse for lessons, which keeps their fitness and their schooling abilities up to date. The full list of inclusions we provide here for your horse is in the paperwork but, to give a brief overview, we keep your horse in a stable overnight, we deal with turnout and bringing him in for the night, we feed the horse and we’ll take care of grooming needs as and when required. When he first arrives, we’ll need to assess him to be totally sure he’s suitable for working livery but judging by what you said in your voicemail, I don’t see a problem.’
‘What if he isn’t suitable?’
‘Then it’s a discussion and we take it from there.’
Denby was a good horse, he’d been ridden by plenty of different people and Gus couldn’t see a problem either. And while it would be expensive to pay for full livery if he couldn’t be used for lessons, Gus would just have to suck it up and pay the extra cost. He just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
‘Let me tell you a bit about us,’ she went on. Business-like, she gave him the run-down of the place. ‘The Heritage View Stables are a family business, owned and run by me and my brother Arnold, who you just met, and prior to that, our parents. They retired,’ she added before he could jump to any conclusions. Probably wise, he already had a fear of somehow making a total idiot of himself again in front of this woman. ‘Arnold and I have worked with horses ever since we were kids, we have a lot of experience, both riding and caring for horses and teaching.’ Before he had a chance to ask about the teaching, she added, ‘What’s your horse’s name?’
‘Denby.’
A small smile spread across her face, and she looked a lot prettier when she lost the frown. ‘That’s a nice name. And you’ve recently moved to the village?’
‘We have.’
‘And where do you currently keep Denby?’
‘He’s stabled with a good friend and neighbour – the woman who sold him to us, actually – back in the Peak District.’
‘That’s certainly a beautiful area of the country, but don’t worry, there are plenty of special places to ride and walk here on the east coast.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’
‘Most people get in touch long before a house move,’ she said, the frown back for a moment. ‘Was it sudden? The move, I mean.’
He was a little taken aback by the suspicious undertone, but she had a right to know as much as possible if he was going to be a client. ‘It’s a job move I’ve been meaning to make for some time, then the opportunity came up and by lucky chance a place at the local school for my daughter opened up too. Everything apart from Denby’s home aligned, including a house to rent.’ He shrugged. ‘At the end of the day, Denby could stay where he is as long as he needs to, it’s just not ideal.’
‘So you’re looking to get Denby here to Heritage Cove as soon as possible?’
‘Yes, otherwise I’ll have to answer to my ten-year-old daughter.’
Hazel smiled again, and it hinted that perhaps she understood the pressure he was under to find Denby the perfect home. He really hoped this was it right here, as there weren’t exactly many other options and from what he’d seen of the place, he liked it.
‘Well, we are ready to take Denby as soon as you need us to.’ She sat, pen at the ready to make more notes. ‘Tell me a bit about him. I take it you’re the registered owner.’
‘I am, yes.’ Gus felt like he was at a job interview, or Denby’s interview, and said on his behalf, ‘He’s a well-trained gelding – Joan, the previous owner, saw to that – and he’s used to being ridden by different people. He’s obedient, most of the time. Let me see, he’s just over fourteen hands, chestnut with a flaxen mane and tail. Joan was my neighbour, who had him for twelve years before we bought him, and we kept him stabled with her.’
She scribbled away and he waited until at last she looked up and met his gaze briefly before she handed him the pamphlet and the form, which was in fact the contract. ‘All the information you need is in there,’ she said, indicating the pamphlet. ‘And the contract is a draft. It contains specific details of our services, facilities, financials, the care Denby will get and the working arrangements for your horse. Take a look at it and then, if you could forward all of yours and Denby’s specific details, I can draw up the final contract for you to sign.’
He glanced over it now. The contract was certainly thorough. There was a section detailing the provision of stabling and grazing, basic feed and hay and bedding, what the responsibilities of each party were.
