"If there's so much as a hint of something rotten in those test results, Jade, you'll face charges," the red-faced man said loudly, either not caring or else craving the attention of everyone in the vicinity. "This won't just be about whether or not General Fidelity pays out. You've gotten away with this crap for too long as it is. It's time someone put a stop to it."
Jade said absolutely nothing, nothing in anger, nothing in his own defense. He didn't even pause in his filmmaking. He was a compact man with the rope-muscled forearms of a professional rider. His profile looked like something that should have been embossed on a Roman coin. He might have been thirty-five or he might have been fifty, and people would probably still be saying that about him when he was seventy.
He watched his assistant go over a combination of fences with Park Lane, and frowned as the horse rapped his front ankles and took a rail down. As Paris cantered past, he looked up at her and called out a couple of corrections for her to make to get the horse to bring its hindquarters more fully under itself in preparation for takeoff.
The other man seemed incredulous that his threats had not elicited a response. "You're a real piece of work, Don. Aren't you even going to bother to deny it?"
Jade still didn't look at him. "Why should I bother, Michael? I don't want to be blamed for your heart attack on top of everything else."
"You smug bastard. You still think you can get people to kiss your ass and convince them it smells like a rose."
"Maybe it does, Michael," Jade said calmly, still watching his horse. "You'll never know the truth because you don't want to. You don't want me to be innocent. You enjoy hating me too much."
"I'm hardly the only one."
"I know. I'm a national pastime again. That doesn't change the fact that I'm innocent."
He rubbed the back of his sunburned neck, checked his watch, and sighed. "That's enough for her, Paris," he called, clicking the camera off.
"I'll be on the phone with Dr. Ames today," the other man said. "If I find out you've got connections at that lab-"
"If Ames tells you anything about Stellar, I'll have his license," Jade said calmly. "Not that there's anything to tell."
"Oh, I'm sure there's a story. There always is with you. Who were you in bed with this time?"
"If I have an answer to that, it's none of your business, Michael."
"I'm making it my business."
"You're obsessed," Jade said, turning toward the stables as Paris approached on Park Lane. "If you put as much energy into your work as you do into hating me, maybe you could actually make something of yourself. Now, if you'll excuse me, Michael, I have a business to run."
Michael's face was a twisted, freckled mask of bitter emotion. "Not for long if I can help it."
Jade walked off toward the barn, seemingly unaffected by the exchange. His adversary stood for a moment, breathing hard, looking disappointed. Then he turned and stalked off.
"Well, that was ugly," I said. Tomas Van Zandt stood less than ten feet from me. He'd watched the exchange between Jade and the other man surreptitiously, same as I had, pretending to watch the horses in the ring. He glanced at me in a dismissive way and started to walk off.
"I thought men from Belgium were supposed to be charming."
He pulled up short and looked at me again, recognition dawning slowly. "Elle! Look at you!"
"I clean up good, as they say down at the trailer park."
"You've never been to a trailer park," he scoffed, taking in the hat, the outfit.
"Of course I have. I once drove a maid home," I said, then nodded after the man Jade had argued with. "Who was that?"
"Michael Berne. A big crybaby."
"Is he an owner or something?"
"A rival."
"Ah… These jumper people are so dramatic," I said. "Nothing this exciting goes on in my neck of the equestrian woods."
"Maybe I should then sell you a jumper," Van Zandt suggested, eyeing my shopping bags, pondering my credit card limit.
"I don't know if I'm ready for that. Looks like a tough crowd. Besides, I don't know any of the trainers."
He took my arm. The courtly gentleman. "Come. I'll introduce you to Jade."
"Swell," I said, looking up at him out the corner of my eye. "I can buy a horse and collect the insurance. One-stop shopping."
Like flipping a switch, Van Zandt's face went from courtly to stormy; the gray eyes as cold as the North Sea, and frighteningly hard. "Don't say such stupid things," he snapped.
I stepped away from him. "It was a joke."
"Everything with you is a joke," he said in disgust.
"And if you can't take one, Van Zandt," I said, "fuck you."
I watched him struggle to put Mr. Hyde back in his box. The mood swing had come so quickly, I couldn't believe it hadn't given him whiplash.
He rubbed a hand across his mouth and made an impatient gesture.
"Fine. It's a joke. Ha ha," he said, still clearly angry. He started toward the tent. "Forget it. Come."
I didn't move. "No. Apologize."
"What?" He looked at me with disbelief. "Don't be silly."
"Keep digging that hole, Van Zandt. I'm stupid and silly, and what else?"
The muscles in his face quivered. He wanted to call me a bitch or worse. I could see it in his eyes.
"Apologize."
"You shouldn't have made the joke," he said. "Come."
"And you should apologize," I countered, fascinated. He seemed incapable of performing the act, and amazed that I was insisting.
"You are being stubborn."
I laughed out loud. "I'm being stubborn?"
"Yes. Come."
"Don't order me like I'm a horse to be moved from one place to another," I said. "You can apologize or you can kiss my ass."
I waited, expecting an explosion, not sure what would happen after it came. Van Zandt looked at me, then looked away, and when he turned back toward me he was smiling as if nothing had happened.
"You're a tigress, Elle! I like that. You have character." He nodded to himself, suddenly enormously pleased. "That's good."
"I'm so glad you approve."
He chuckled to himself and took my arm again. "Come along. I'll introduce you to Jade. He'll like you."
"Will I like him?"
He didn't answer. He didn't care what I liked or didn't like. He was fascinated that I had challenged him. I was sure he didn't get much of that. Most of his American clients would have been wealthy women whose husbands and boyfriends had no interest in horses. Women who gave him undue credit simply because he was European and paid attention to them. Insecure women who could be easily charmed and manipulated, impressed by a little knowledge, a little Continental elegance, and a big ego with an accent.
I had witnessed the phenomenon firsthand many times over the years. Women starved for attention and approval will do a lot of foolish things, including parting with large sums of money. That was the clientele that made unscrupulous dealers a hell of a lot of money. That was the clientele that made dealers like Van Zandt snicker and sneer "stupid Americans" behind the client's back.
Park Lane came out of the tent with Jill the groom in tow just as we were about to step into the aisle. Van Zandt snapped at the girl to watch where she was going, muttering "stupid cow" only half under his breath as the horse dragged her away.
"D.J., why can you not find any girls with brains in their heads?" he asked loudly.