Instructors, actually. Iâve arranged everything with Ms. Green. Your horse will be moved to the new barn and until we get you a car, a staff member from the school will drive you to and fro. A female staff member. A Mrs. Dirt, I believe.â
âYou mean Mrs. Mudd. How didâ?â
âWe were incredibly lucky to get Fergus and Ivan. It took considerable coaxing from my contacts to get them to take you on.â
âWhoâ?â
âThey were trainers in Europe ,â she said, her voice going all breathy. âI got their names from Princess Fontania. Sheâs European royalty . Minor royalty, but still. Sheâs fabulously wealthy and marvelously eccentric. She lives here in the hotel with the man who used to be her footman. It would be absolutely scandalous if the two of them werenât at least eighty-five years old. She used to ride dressage and she swears Fergus and Ivan are the best. Can you believe that they retired to Vancouver Island recently, not far at all from your school? Okay, darling, must fly. One of the caterers just made eye contact with our lead actress and she wonât come out of her trailer.â
The phone went dead and I handed the receiver to Ms. Green, who raised one eyebrow as she hung it up.
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My new coaches didnât seem very thrilled to meet me, or Phillipa, whom I brought along for moral support.
When we got out of the Stoneleigh truck, the tall, elegant one, who had a thick head of white hair, crossed his arms over his chest, and said, âOne, we only agreed to take one. This is two.â He spoke to the shorter, bald man beside him as though Phil and Iwerenât standing right in front of them.
Mrs. Mudd, the school driver, smirked.
âI just drive âem,â she said.
The short bald one, who had clear blue eyes that crinkled at the corners, held out his hand to Phillipa. âHello, love,â he said.
Phillipa blushed madly. âOh, no. Sheâs Cleo,â she giggled. âIâm just her friend.â
âThere is nothing more important than a friend, my dear. Itâs a pleasure to make your acquaintance.â
Philâs face was so red it looked like her head was going to explode. She stared, awestruck, at her hand as though it had turned to gold.
Then the short man turned to me. âAnd hello to you, my dear. Weâve heard so much about you.â
That made it my turn to blush. He was very courtly. I could totally picture him knowing a princess.
âIâm Fergus and this is Ivan,â the short man continued, nodding toward the tall one, who stood behind him. âWe understand youâre interested in joining us for dressage lessons.â
The tall one sniffed rudely. He wore a white blouse with poufy sleeves and tall, shiny brown boots over breeches. He looked like an old, bitchy pirate. Minus the earring.
âYou want me to unload the horse now?â asked Mrs. Mudd.
Fergus, who was working the English country-gentleman look of brown cords and soft green quilted vest over a cabled Irish knit sweater, blinked quickly. âYou mean youâve brought the horse here? We havenât even discussed Cleoâs needs.â
âIâm not pulling that horse trailer around for my health,â said Mrs. Mudd. âAnyway, I donât care about the details. I just drive these little girls and their ponies where Iâm told. And I was told that this particular girl was moving her horse here. And good riddance, too, because that mare is a pain in the ass to load, if you catch my drift.â
The tall, white-haired, blouse-wearing man leveled an offended glare at Mrs. Mudd, who didnât seem disturbed by it.
âWell,â said Fergus, looking from Phil to me. âIsnât this fun?â
Mrs. Mudd didnât waste any more time with idle chitchat. She stalked around to the back of the six-horse trailer and unloaded Tandava, who came out at her usual backward