“Come on, lads!” Frederickson’s voice boomed out of the speakers dotted around the main arena. “Twelve minutes precisely to the start of the next class. Look sharp!”
Inside the commentary post, Frederickson put down the PA microphone and wiped his dripping forehead. Outside the dusty glass, the cadets did their best to rally, adding a final row of hollow wooden blocks to bring the red showjumping wall up to height. First thing this morning they’d been racing across the grass like young pups. Now they could barely manage a jog.
Ice creams all round after this, cold drinks and a rest in the shade. Got to have the carrot as well as the stick.
Not that it was any cooler inside the commentary post. A grand title for little more than a thin plywood sweatbox on wheels. Even with the door propped back and the front windows wide open, it was suffocating inside.
The elderly retired colonel who’d been landed with the commentary for the entire event had been only too happy to relinquish his position to a lesser rank while they rearranged the course. Frederickson had last seen him heading for the beer tent with the dogged determination of a man on a forced march through the desert.
He studied the course plan with a frown of annoyance. Left to him, the layout would have been much simpler, much easier to change between the horse and pony classes and the dog agility display. As it was, they’d wasted valuable time reconstructing part of the course halfway through the day. It felt…untidy. Typical civilian operation.
“Still hard at it, I see, Major Frederickson.”
He glanced across, found Max Carri halfway up the short flight of steps leading to the box. The man had one hand in his pocket so it pulled his jacket back with studied jauntiness, classic Wayfarer sunglasses covering his eyes under the brim of his hat.
“Yes,” Frederickson said with an icy smile. He felt the floor rock a little as Carri moved to stand alongside him, and was absurdly pleased to note the other man was the shorter by an inch or two, even with the hat. He’d intended to be politely but firmly dismissive and when it became clear this tactic had failed, he stifled a sigh and looked up again.
Carri removed his sunglasses, hooked them into his handkerchief pocket. He had dark eyes with very long lashes, which he kept fixed on the frantic work of the cadets out in the arena, fanning himself with the Panama.
“Angela Inglis is a remarkable woman,” he said at last, without inflection.
“Yes,” Frederickson said, in kind, “she is.”
“I find her company…stimulating. But I wanted to reassure you that I have no designs on her.”
Frederickson stiffened. “Mrs Inglis is happily married,” he said, aware of his own pomposity.
“So? I was also very happily married—right up until my divorce.” Carri looked at him directly, amused now. “There’s something in her voice when she talks about you. You might want to mention that to her, just in case her husband is more perceptive than you give him credit.”
“You’ll excuse me for speaking plainly, I trust?” Frederickson said, frosty, “but I hardly think it’s any of your business.”
“Oh, of course not.”
Carri inclined his head and slipped the Panama back on. His eyes shifted beyond the glass and Frederickson turned to see Angela approaching.
“I thought I might find the two of you conspiring together.” She arched one brow.
“I was just admiring the major’s technique,” Carri said smoothly as he came down the steps. He nodded to the cadets, now converging wearily on the commentary post. “Looks like his crew are all finished. They’ve done a marvellous job.”
“Oh, I couldn’t agree more,” Angela said with a little sideways glance. “In which case, Giles, you’ve no excuse not to join us in the refreshment tent, after all, have you?”
As Frederickson climbed down himself, he flicked his eyes over Carri again, but the man had retreated behind his sunglasses. Their dark green lenses gave nothing away.
It was stupid to be jealous, Frederickson knew, but he couldn’t help it. Perhaps that was why he found himself saying, “Naturally,” as Angela stepped forwards to take the arm Carri courteously offered.
He’d surprised them. Frederickson hid a dark satisfaction as he turned away, issuing brief instructions for the cadets to get themselves something to eat and drink. They scattered with renewed enthusiasm.
Then, with a wave of his arm, he indicated the arena, dominated by the red showjumping wall in the centre. The refreshment tent was directly opposite the commentary post on the other side.
“Shall we take a shortcut?”