Tarrytown had already launched himself before the unexpected tug at his mouth. He cleared the water, but not with his usual rise, having faltered midair with the cut of the bit. The huge bay slipped on landing, slithering for several yards. It was touch and go for several breathless seconds before he recovered his legs. But his formidable strength pulled him through, and he managed to struggle upright, leaving both horse's and rider's hearts pumping furiously. A rider had to give his horse its head going over a jump; a rule Charles knew instinctively. Bending over, he apologized softly to Tarrytown, stroking him gently beneath his ear. “Sorry,” he murmured, “my fault…” and added a few pithy comments concerning his ex-wife.

Dismounting, Charles walked Tarrytown back to the stables, talking aloud to his old companion… about Sylvie and her stupidity, about Sylvie and her arrogance, about Sylvie and her weak-willed brother. During the mucky walk back the rush of adrenaline slowly subsided and, like a cleansing tonic, it washed away much of his tension. Or maybe it was the wild ride that eased the tension. Since boyhood, a horse and speed had been comfort, therapy, intoxication-all things to Count Charles Fersten.

“Didn't go the whole,” Leon laconically remarked when they returned.

“You were right, Leon,” Charles replied with his familiar smile, the fire gone from his eyes. “Damn near got killed out there.” He even felt restored enough after the exhilarating ride to ask, “Any phone calls?”

“Nope.”

She hadn't called yet. Maybe this time she wouldn't, Charles thought, his normal cheerfulness renewed.

Bitch must not be able to get a call through, Leon uncharitably thought. And a cable wouldn't do her much good. If you're going to threaten and plead, it loses impact somehow on paper.

“See you tomorrow,” Charles said, turning to go, the light from the open door silhouetting his powerful frame and the spiky outline of wet windswept hair.