Page 40 of Short Stack 3

He’s dressed in white jodhpurs tucked into brown boots but hasn’t donned the rest of his riding gear. His shirt is open to mid-chest, and he’s smoking a cigarette contemplatively. He looks up when he hears our footsteps, and his face lights up. He stubs out the cigarette, putting the end in his pocket and then rushing over to us.

“Ivo,” he says, hugging him. He pulls back, cupping Ivo’s face. “How are you? You look good.”

Ivo grins at him. It’s the grin his friends see, unguarded and wide. “I am fine.”

Ralph smiles and then looks beyond him towards me. “Is this Henry?”

Ivo’s smile widens. “This is my Henry. Come and meet him.”

Ralph lets Ivo go and grabs my hand, shaking it. His hand is callused and his grip firm. “It’s great to finally meet you. I think you were at a conference last time I was in London.”

His eyes are twinkly, and he has a raffish charm. I like him immediately. “Good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Surely not as much as I’ve heard about you. Ivo invokes your name more than Max uses the word ‘fuck’.”

“Goodness. That much?”

He lets go and pats my shoulder. “Thanks for coming. It’ll probably be very boring.”

We walk through the gate and into a busy warren of motorhomes and caravans. Windows are open, letting out the sound of music playing. Men and women walk around half dressed in riding gear. Horseboxes are everywhere, and grooms are walking horses around in a field nearby. They’re huge up close with shiny coats and wild eyes — the horses, not the grooms.

“Do you ride, Henry?” Ralph asks.

“Icanride. I just don’t do it often now.”

“Henry has a very good seat,” Ivo adds rather lecherously.

Ralph sighs. “I’ll take your word for it, thank you very much.”

He leads the way towards a huge navy blue motorhome with Ralph’s name and logo printed on it. The door is open, letting out the smell of bacon cooking. He pokes his head inside and shouts, “Guy?”

A few minutes later, a man appears. He’s thin with a head full of chestnut waves. He’s wearing Ray-Ban sunglasses and has a rather green expression.

“Alright?” the man says faintly and then gags. “Who the fuck put that bacon on?”

“Me.” A girl appears dressed in riding clothes. She’s beautiful with long waves of blonde hair that she’s pulling back into a bun with sure movements.

“Why?” the man groans. “Fuck. I don’t need that smell this morning.”

“Then don’t drink so much the night before.” She pats his cheek. “You look dreadful,” she adds in a rather motherly voice. “Like lost hopes and bad choices.”

He grins at her, his face lighting up. “It’s good that my outside echoes my inside. Will that make me Zen?”

“You’d only be Zen if you were dead.”

Ralph chuckles. “Come and meet Henry and Ivo.” He turns to us. “This is Isabel, who’s a fantastic rider and keeps us on our good behaviour.”

“I’m not sticking the latter on my CV. I’d be laughed out of the building,” she says morosely.

Ralph laughs. “And you probably recognise Guy.” I do. He’s a very famous rider and the face of one of the Durand colognes. “He’s one of my oldest friends.”

Isabel waves at us. “Sorry, I can’t stop and chat,” she says as she jumps down the steps of the motorhome. “I’ve got to go and relieve my groom, Sammy. He’s walking my horse, Pongo.”

Ralph groans. “Please do. He bit me this morning.”

She pauses. “Sammy or Pongo?”

“Take your pick. They’re both more temperamental than Jennifer Lopez.”

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