Page 13 of A Noble Affair
With the package his trainerhad forgotten in the hotel tucked under his arm, he made his way with sure steps towards the racetrack. The whole town was filled with spectators, trainers,and managers who were here for the race. He walked past a drum of roasting chestnuts and was instantly transported to his childhood.
“WillI be able to ride in this race one day, Papa?” he had asked, looking up at the person he loved and trusted most in the world. The man who was Viscount de Brase to everyone else, but Papa to him.
His father leaned against the railing at the racetrack, watching his groom handle the favored horse, cigarette smoke curling around his dark sideburns. He was distracted by the mounting excitement but always had attention to give to his son.
“I’m afraid to tell you this, Charles, but you’re likely to be too tall and heavy to race.” He watched his son’s shoulders droop, and he poked him, smiling. “It’s good to be tall, isn’t it?”
Charles moped. “You can kiss the tall girls?” His father nudged him and winked, but Charles’s continued sulk showed what he thought of that notion.
“It’s Dancer,” Charles called out, all pouting forgotten by his glee at getting such a close glimpse of the famed horse.
He could still see the way the horse rounded the track, always a head further than everyother horse. His father had tried to buy him, but the owner refused to sell. So they were doomed to watch his success from a distance, along with everyone else, and regret not owning such a fine specimen.
Charles came backto his surroundings when his cell phone pinged. It was a text from his manager. He stopped and pulled off to the side of the street, against the wrought iron fence, and told him he was on his way. No sooner had he started walking again than his phone chimed once more. He glanced at it, and the corners of his mouth turned up.
He answered. “Jef.”
“Charlie. You weren’t there last night at the reunion. I didn’t call ahead of time because I was sure I’d see you there. Too good for your old friends, are you?” Charles could hear the grin in his oldest friend’s voice.
“You forgot—I’m at the race.”
“Ah right. I did forget,” Jean-François said. “Good for you. You need more fun in your life. You work too hard.”
Charles gave a dry laugh. “Okay. If you can call this fun. Truthfully, it’s just another thing I have to do.”
“If that’s true, it’s too bad,” his friend answered. “You used to love racing when you were growing up. You can’t let all your hobbies go… ” His voice trailed away, knowing that any hint of Miriam left him treading on dangerous ground.
Charles ignored the reference. “Sorry I didn’t call. I meant to—I did want to see everyone. But I had back-to-back committee meetings before coming here.”
“How many committees are you on?” Jef asked.
“Outside of the hospital? Three. And that doesn’t include the racetrack.”
“And you’re working part-time?” His friend’s voice let him know what he thought of that idea.
Truthfully, he was starting to feel the strain. “I consult more than anything. But basically—yes, I work part-time. Don’t worry. I’m fine,” Charles replied. “Look, I’ll call you when I get back, and we’ll have a drink together, okay?”
“That’ll be good.” Jef sounded distracted. “Before you go, um…just wanted to make sure you’re following the news and all? You know, current events, society pages?”
Charles felt a stab in his chest—annoyance? Pain? He put his friend out of his misery. “Yeah, I saw about Manon, if that’s what you’re asking. She hasn’t called yet, but I’m sure she will eventually.”
“Okay, good. Good.” Jef seemed relieved he didn’t have to be the one to break the news to his best friend concerning the rumors about her and Bruce Richards. “Okay, so then, ah…talk to you soon.”
“See you.” Charles ended the call. He leaned against the iron bars of the gated property, ignoring the bustle around him. He was anonymous here so most people left him alone, although there were always the women who flirted based on his looks, not his title.
The phone rang again. At this rate, he wasn’t going to be on time. He was about to put the phone on mute when he saw who it was. He checked his watch, then clicked the answer button as he started to walk briskly.
“Allô?”
“Charles, chéri.” Manon’s voice was hopeful. “I hope this is not a bad time.”
“I’ve only a minute. I’m on my way to meet Grégoire to give him some supplies for my horse.”
“Okay, I won’t keep you.” Manon sounded breathless. “The thing is, I don’t know if you saw the pictures in the paper?”
Charles didn’t know how to reply, so he gave a clipped, “oui.”
Manon rushed on. “I don’t want you to get any ideas. This was a scene from the movie that the journalists misinterpreted. There’s nothing going on between us.” When he didn’t respond right away, she persisted. “I hope you believe me.”
