Beryl sat with her eyes closed and heard that happy sound through the passage of twenty years. Through the evening buzz of insects, the clink of Froggies bit and bridle, she heard the sounds of her childhood.
The church bell tolled-six chimes.
At once Beryl sat up straight. Oh, no, was it already that late? She glanced around and saw that the shadows had grown, that Froggie was standing by the wall regarding her with frank expectation. Oh Lord, she thought, Uncle Hugh will be royally cross with me.
She dashed out of the churchyard and climbed onto Froggies back. At once they were flying across the field, horse and rider blended into a single sleek organism. Time for the shortcut, thought Beryl, guiding Froggie toward the trees. It meant a leap over the stone wall, and then a clip along the road, but it would cut a mile off their route. Froggie seemed to understand that time was of the essence. She picked up speed and approached the stone wall with all the eagerness of a seasoned steeplechaser. She took the jump cleanly, with inches to spare. Beryl felt the wind rush past, felt her mount soar, then touch down on the far side of the wall. The biggest hurdle was behind them. Now, just beyond that bend in the road-
She saw a flash of red, heard the squeal of tires across pavement. Froggie swerved sideways and reared up. The sudden lurch caught Beryl by surprise. She tumbled out of the saddle and landed with a stunning thud on the ground.
Her first reaction, after her head had stopped spinning, was astonishment that she had fallen at all-and for such a stupid reason.
Her next reaction was fear that Froggie might be injured.
Beryl scrambled to her feet and ran to snatch the reins. Froggie was still spooked, nervously trip-trapping about on the pavement. The sound of a car door slamming shut, of someone running toward them, only made the horse edgier.
Dont come any closer! hissed Beryl over her shoulder.
Are you all right? came the anxious inquiry. It was a mans voice, pleasantly baritone. American?
Im fine, snapped Beryl.
What about your horse?
Murmuring softly to Froggie, Beryl knelt down and ran her hands along Froggies foreleg. The delicate bones all seemed to be intact.
Is he all right? said the man.
Its a she, answered Beryl. And yes, she seems to be just fine.
I really can tell the difference, came the dry response. When I have a view of the essential parts.
Suppressing a smile, Beryl straightened and turned to look at the man. Dark hair, dark eyes, she noted. And the definite glint of humor-nothing stiff-upper-lip about this one. Forty plus years of laughter had left attractive creases about his eyes. He was dressed in formal black tie, and his broad shoulders filled out the tuxedo jacket quite impressively.
Im sorry about the spill, he said. I guess it was my fault.
This is a country road, you know. Not exactly the place to be speeding. You never can tell what lies around the bend.
So Ive discovered.
Froggie gave her an impatient nudge. Beryl stroked the horses neck, all the time intensely aware of the mans gaze.
I do have something of an excuse, he said. I got turned around in the village back there, and Im running late. Im trying to find some place called Chetwynd. Do you know it?
She cocked her head in surprise. Youre going to Chetwynd? Then youre on the wrong road.
Am I?
You turned off a half mile too soon. Head back to the main road and keep going. You cant miss the turn. Its a private drive, flanked by elms-quite tall ones.
Ill watch for the elms, then.
She remounted Froggie and gazed down at the man. Even viewed from the saddle, he cut an impressive figure, lean and elegant in his tuxedo. And strikingly confident, not a man to be intimidated by anyone-even a woman sitting astride nine hundred muscular pounds of horseflesh.
Are you sure youre not hurt? he asked. It looked like a pretty bad fall to me.
Oh, Ive fallen before. She smiled. I have quite a hard head.
The man smiled, too, his teeth straight and white in the twilight. Then I shouldnt worry about you slipping into a stupor tonight?
Youre the one wholl be slipping into a stupor tonight.
He frowned. Excuse me?
A stupor brought on by dry and endless palaver. Its a distinct possibility, considering where youre headed. Laughing, she turned the horse around. Good evening, she called. Then, with a farewell wave, she urged Froggie into a trot through the woods.
As she left the road behind, it occurred to her that she would get to Chetwynd before he did. That made her laugh again. Perhaps Bastille Day would turn out more interesting than shed expected. She gave the horse a nudge of her boot. At once Froggie broke into a gallop.
Richard Wolf stood beside his rented MG and watched the woman ride away, her black hair tumbling like a horses mane about her shoulders. In seconds she was gone, vanished from sight into the woods. He never even caught her name, he thought. Hed have to ask Lord Lovat about her. Tell me, Hugh. Are you acquainted with a black-haired witch tearing about your neighborhood? She was dressed like one of the village girls, in a frayed shirt and grass-stained jodhpurs, but her accent bespoke the finest of schools. A charming contradiction.