The Appearance of Impropriety Read online

  “Thanks.” She smiled at him. “I need all the confidence I can get.”

  Chapter Three

  Tori turned back to the trailer, reached inside, and brought out a black Passier dressage saddle, double bridle, and black quilted saddle pad with her initials monogrammed in burgundy thread. She threw the saddle and pad on a waiting saddle rack and hung the bridle from a convenient hook on the trailer door. She turned to Rocky and ran a practiced eye over him from head to tail, and smiled at Zack. “Good work. Do you want a job?”

  “Nope. Too much work. Just tell me what you want here. We wouldn’t want you to get all messed up.” He grinned over his shoulder. Tori directed the saddling operations, making sure everything was just right. After a final inspection, she shifted the saddle back from Rocky’s withers, rocked it into perfect position, and stood back as Zack buckled the short girth and tightened it.

  Tori reached back into the trailer again for a battered, leather carryall bag. She rummaged around inside and finally brought out a pair of engraved silver spurs that matched the silver cap on her dressage whip. She cocked her long, shapely leg on the trailer bumper and strapped a spur on over her gleaming black boot. Zack was holding Rocky’s reins, and while his attention was riveted to the shape of Tori’s legs, Rocky took the opportunity to drop his head and snag a mouthful of grass.

  “Great polo bag. It looks like a La Martina,” he said as his gaze drifted to her long legs and butt.

  “It is…it belonged to my ex, and it’s the only thing I refused to return after the divorce. Alberto was furious,” she replied with a gleeful grin. He could see how much she enjoyed that small victory. “I just ignored his repeated requests. It takes years to break them in, for the leather to darken to that wonderful chestnut color, and to get all those bumps and scratches! It was a petty but sweet revenge. He wouldn’t admit it, but to have to carry his gear in a new bag was very humiliating. A well-seasoned bag is the mark of a player who has been around awhile. It’s a polo thing.”

  “I know. I’ve got one,” Zack replied in an off-hand manner. “What’s your husband’s name?”

  “Ex,” she corrected. “Alberto Alvarez-Ruiz… “

  “I think I know him. He’s a four-goaler from Argentina, isn’t he? Plays for the Los Diablos Rojas Team, a good player but a little arrogant, I’d say.”

  “Yes. And he’s very arrogant. We married in my second year of law school. Bad timing. We were divorced three years later.”

  “It was a pleasure to beat him to a few shots. He was playing No. 3, center, in the game I’m remembering…I was playing No. 2, forward, for St. Andrews,” Zack replied.

  Tori turned away to strap on her second spur. This guy plays high-goal, not pick-up, catch-a-game, local polo. He would have to be a professional or have big bucks to play polo on that level. Hmmm. Interesting. This merits a little consideration. Turning back to Zack she asked, “Could you give me a leg up?”

  Zack stood behind Tori, bent down to cup her left knee in his interlaced fingers, and on the count of three boosted her up into the saddle. As her butt shot past his nose and she swung her leg over the cantle, she watched him roll his eyes, and she grinned.

  As Tori settled herself in the saddle and adjusted her hands on the reins and her feet in the stirrups, she glanced down at her boots. She began to blush. “My boots are dusty. Could you please? These white gloves…”

  Zack grinned up at her. “Want me to spit shine them, too?”

  “No. Just get that towel hanging on the trailer door and wipe them off please, wise guy,” she replied, amazed at how comfortable she felt with this man. “You’re going to need it to wipe Rocky’s mouth and bridle anyway. You let him eat grass,” she remarked reproachfully as she noted the grin of green spit around Rocky’s mouth. “There’s nothing a judge likes to see better than green saliva. Not!” She knew there would be a corresponding gleam in Rocky’s eye as well. This was a game they played frequently. It was called “Let’s see if I can get my head down for a mouthful of grass while you’re not looking.” It was a toss-up as to who was ahead! Oh well. Rocky-1, Zack-0.

  After a quick cosmetic wipe-up of horse snoot and boots, they left the barn and walked along the pathway to the dressage warm-up area. Zack commented on the beautifully engraved sterling silver spurs and the matching finial on the dressage whip Tori carried, and she explained that they had been an anniversary present from her ex. “The spurs are required equipment at this level, but I can’t carry the whip during my Grand Prix test. I can only use it in my warm-up.” She looked down at him with a wicked grin. “But, I really only carry it to provide motivation for lazy grooms.”

  Zack smiled up at her. She could see that he appreciated her wisecrack. “So, tell me about Rocky and Rosebud.”

  Tori felt her stomach take a tumble as she looked down into his smiling face. Get a grip, girl! Yum. “Well, Rachmaninoff, alias ‘Rocky,’ is 17 hands, a registered Dutch Warmblood out of Roamer. He’s sixteen years old. He’s also in the American Sport Horse Registry. He’s a wonderful mover. He has big, beautiful gaits and moves like a dream. You’ll see. He is very forward, and his suspension and impulsion are breathtaking. Rosebud is a curious, pain-in-the-butt black-and-white pygmy goat and Rocky’s steadfast companion and partner in crime. There isn’t much the two of them don’t get into, or out of, given the time and opportunity.”

  “Isn’t sixteen a little old for this?”

  “Oh no. It takes years and years of training to get to this level. You won’t see many youngsters—riders or horses—in these international level classes,” Tori replied.

  “He certainly is gorgeous. He must weigh 1600 or 1800 pounds.”

  “He was my college graduation present. Well…sort of. My grandmother paid to have the warmblood mare I’d ridden all through high school and college bred to Roamer, one of the really top dressage stallions in the world, and of course for the prenatal expenses. We had her bred during my junior year, and Rocky was born a few months before my graduation,” she explained. “I skipped classes and slept on a cot outside Mariposa’s stall for a week waiting for her to drop the foal. I was there to imprint him and help him stand and nurse for the first time. He was almost black when he was born, and now he’s almost white. We’ve been together ever since. Mari had a severe colic incident, and we had to put her down about a year later. I was so heartbroken to lose her, but at least I had her foal.”

  * * * *

  Zack watched with interest as Tori entered the warm-up area and began a series of suppling movements, some figure eights first at the walk and then at the trot to warm up Rocky’s muscles. He had been standing in the trailer for several hours and needed a good stretch like any athlete. Then she cantered a series of twenty and then ten meter circles on both leads, and did a line of three-tempi lead changes in each direction, followed by two-tempis. Finally she did a line of one-tempi changes coming right at him. The horse appeared to be skipping, and the precision of the movement was breathtaking.

  Zack was impressed. Tori sat straight in the saddle, her body perfectly vertical, her shoulder, hip, and heel aligned as though a plumb-line had been drawn through them. She has soft hands and a great seat—whichever way you look at it. Her body moved in perfect unison with the horse. She and Rocky were one unit—perfection in motion.

  After several minutes, Tori paused at the fence where Zack was watching intently. She handed him her whip and took a CD from her pocket and said, “We only have ten minutes before my ride. Could you take my CD over to the steward at the main arena please?”

  Zack smiled at Tori as he walked off in the direction she had indicated. “Good luck,” he called back over his shoulder.

  She turned away to finish her warm-up. “Well, it’s time, Rock. Let’s stroll over to the arena and be ready.”

  Chapter Four

  Zack was pleased to see that Tori arrived at the arena with two minutes to spare as the previous rider was exiting to enthusiastic applause. The dressage
arena, a twenty-by-sixty-meter area surrounded by a low fence, was marked at intervals with twelve non-consecutive letters acting as a reference to mark specific points at which the horse and rider would perform certain required movements.

  The crowd of spectators had filled almost all the available space on the rows of stadium seating surrounding the new arena. Apparently musical freestyle was a very popular class for spectators. Tori entered the pathway surrounding the arena at a relaxed walk and circled, until the bell rang and her music began. Zack sat in the first row near the entrance to the arena. He smiled at Tori and gave her a high sign of encouragement as she passed him.

  The classical music began with a dramatic fanfare that captured the attention of the spectators. The music was stirring but unfamiliar to Zack. A thrill passed down his spine as he watched Tori urge Rocky into passage, a slow trot with very exaggerated suspension that looked as if the horse’s legs were moving in slow-motion.

  Tori proceeded down the sideline and around the corner and entered the arena at “A.” She continued in passage and proceeded up the center line to “X,” the center of the arena, where she halted and saluted the three judges sitting in their yellow-and-white-striped tents with a dignified bow of her head and graceful sweep of her white-gloved hand.

  The tempo of the piece increased to two-four trot music as Tori rode up the center line at a working trot until she reached “C” at the far end of the arena. She tracked to the left and began a short diagonal line of half-passes, a lateral movement in which Rocky moved forward and to the side at the same time, crossing his legs as he went. She then moved gracefully into a twenty-meter circle from which she exited at half-pass to the right.

  As she rounded the bottom of the arena and crossed the diagonal to the opposite corner at an extended trot, Rocky’s hooves seemed to be suspended in the air. He gave the appearance of floating above the ground. The music slowed and carried them forward into another passage to the left. The melody swelled as Tori urged Rocky to collect his strides, and they performed a piaffe, as Rocky trotted in place, all forward movement stopped. They returned to passage in perfect time to the music which then changed tempo to four-four time as they slowed to a collected walk. At “A,” the music changed again to three-quarter time, and they picked up a right-lead collected canter and executed a four-loop serpentine down the center of the arena, moving gracefully into a twenty-meter circle with lead changes on every stride.

  They crossed the diagonal at a collected canter with one-tempi lead changes on each stride. At “X,” they stopped and executed a pirouette to the right as Rocky cantered in a circle so small he turned in place, and then they resumed the collected canter and one-tempi lead changes across the remainder of the diagonal.

  The spectators were spellbound as Rocky moved into a half-pass at the canter across the short diagonal to the right, moving into another pirouette to the left at “X,” and then cantered across the remaining short diagonal to the left.

  They continued around the end of the arena, and Rocky alternated between extended canter and collected canter several times, his strides lengthening and shortening although Zack could not detect Tori’s cues. They executed a flying lead change and turned down the center line. As they proceeded to “X,” they executed several transitions between passage and piaffe. The music built to a crescendo as Rocky finished his final piaffe and halted square at “X.” Tori saluted the judge, turned, and exited the arena to the thunderous applause of the crowd.

  Their performance had taken just over six minutes and had been so stirring there were tears in more than one eye. The harmony and grace of their performance left Zack and the rest of the spectators in awe.

  Zack joined Tori on the sidelines. “That was beautiful,” he said admiringly. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” Together they watched the last ride of the class. They chatted while Tori remained mounted on Rocky to await the results of the class after the last ride was completed. Although there were only six entrants in the class, it took at least a half hour to tabulate the scores and determine the placing of the ribbons.

  “What do the letters mean?”

  “No one knows,” Tori responded with a smile. “Their meaning, if they ever had one, is lost—a mystery. Dressage has existed in its present form for hundreds of years and, in fact, goes all the way back to the Greeks. It’s an international sport, and the tests and arena are the same anywhere in the world.”

  Finally, the announcement came over the loud speaker. “The results of Class 21, FEI Free Style, Open, in Ring 1 are: First Place to Ricardo Stevens riding Avenger, Second Place to Victoria Aldrich riding Rachmaninoff, Third Place to Jennifer Torlone riding Rampante, Fourth Place to Patricia Moir riding Mirage, Fifth Place to Toby Perkins riding William the Conqueror, and Sixth Place to Patricia Walker riding Blue Rose Cornwallant. Will the riders please return to the ring for the presentation of ribbons.”

  Tori was beaming. “I’m so excited! A ‘second’ behind Ricardo Stevens on Avenger is not too shabby.” Zack pulled Tori down and gave her an impulsive kiss of congratulations. As their lips met, a sizzle raced to Zack’s nerve endings. Tori sat back up in the saddle with a stunned look on her face, and their eyes met and held a moment. He was shocked at his electric reaction to a mere friendly kiss of congratulations.

  Tori, who had a slightly bemused look on her face, and the other contestants returned to the arena to pick up their ribbons, and all joined in a triumphant canter around the ring, exiting to the moving strains of the Stevens-Avenger music.

  As they walked back toward the barns, Tori beamed. “Stevens and Avenger will probably be at the World Cup. Finishing behind them is great. How about some brunch after we put Rocky and Rosebud up? I’ve been at this since four thirty this morning.”

  Back at the barn, Tori stepped into the trailer to take off her formal jacket and top hat. She emerged pulling on a black sweatshirt with white lettering which boldly stated “It’s a Dressage Thing—You Wouldn’t Understand” over her white shirt and riding breeches. Zack smiled to himself and thought there was a lot here he didn’t understand. Tori and Zack quickly unsaddled Rocky, and Zack sponged him down. After making sure he was completely cooled out, they led Rocky and Rosebud to their reserved stall where the two occupants sniffed the fresh wood shavings, rolled luxuriously, and generally made themselves at home.

  * * * *

  “Let’s eat. I’m starved,” Tori exclaimed as she smiled up at Zack. “You must be hungry, too, what with all the hard physical labor you’ve been doing this morning.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a second breakfast. With a slave driver like you for a boss, I’m worn plumb out, ma’am,” he said with a deadpan look.

  “Why don’t we go over to the main show grounds? I have a reserved table in the International Club. I’m really not used to this new arrangement yet. The new facility for dressage on Pierson is a lot quieter. Apparently the show has gotten so big they don’t have room for everything in one venue anymore. I’d like to get over there to watch some of the show jumping. It’s Nations Cup weekend, and the jump purses are huge.”

  With Rocky and Rosebud safely tucked away in their stall, Tori and Zack got back in his truck and took the short ride to the main show grounds of the International Equestrian Center. They parked the truck, and Zack helped Tori down. They entered the show grounds, strolled past the beautiful four-horse fountain, across the bridge, and along the winding paths toward the large yellow-and-white tent situated on a rise next to the International Arena, the main jump field. The festival crowd would swell to several thousand before the grand prix jumping events to be held in the jump field on Saturday and Sunday, but at the moment, there were few people about. The large tent was, in fact, a very fine restaurant with tables reserved by the week or for the entire show season at great expense by show patrons and well-heeled spectators. Many of the people seated at the tables during the show could be seen on the society pages of Town and Country and Spur magazine, and were the
movers and shakers of the horse world. These were, of course, the best seats in the house for watching the stadium jumping events which were staged in the large field just below the tent. The restaurant was relatively empty on this Friday morning.

  The maître d’hôtel greeted them at the entrance. “Ms. Aldrich, it’s a pleasure to see you this morning. How was your ride?”

  “It was great, Andre. I got a second behind Ricardo Stevens and Avenger. I’m very pleased.”

  “Congratulations. Well done.”

  Tori thanked him, and they proceeded to a prime table on the patio overlooking the colorful jump field dotted with impossibly high jumps, some of them decked out with all manner of props including flowers and palm trees. The contestants for the upcoming jump class and their trainers were walking the jump course. After the exertions of the morning, it was a pleasure to sit down at the table elegantly set with fine linen, china, and crystal. After coffee was poured, they sat back and relaxed.

  “That was a great job you did this morning. I was duly impressed,” Zack said. “There’s more to dressage than I thought.”

  “I’ve been in training for this since I was a kid. Of course I did the usual tour on the hunter circuit when I was younger, and later I did open jumpers with Rocky for a while, but both of our temperaments are better suited to dressage. It’s a sport that enhances all equine disciplines, and it develops the horse’s maximum potential. In dressage, what counts is the performance you and your horse give in a particular test on a particular day, and you get a score based on how you execute each movement of the test, and that’s that.”

  “Well, you had a beautiful ride.”

  “Thank you. It’s really more about competing with yourself to attain your personal best. There’s not as much politics involved as in some other equestrian sports. It’s hard for the average person, even some of the best riders, to compete in the show jumping classes against riders with famous last names who can afford the best horses in the world. By the way, I really appreciate your stopping to help me out this morning. I would probably still be stranded on the Turnpike if it wasn’t for you. Speaking of you, why don’t you tell me something about yourself. I could go on and on about dressage.”