J. Harcourt

Surveyor came for the cottage. Expected a man from the bank with a damp meter.

She's the best-looking woman I've seen in years. Freckles all over her nose, a rope of chestnut hair down to her waist, a hard hat she didn't need and a skirt she had no business climbing ladders in. I held the torch at the bottom of the loft ladder for forty minutes and tried not to look up. Didn't manage it.

She came down with dust in her hair and I didn't tell her.

I'd have liked to put her up against the chimney breast and find out what she sounded like. Asked about the boiler instead.

She did the old stable block last. Stood in the middle with her hands on her hips. Make a good tack room, she said, if you sorted the drainage.

Her name's on the report. Laura Tilney.

Helped Mrs D take four of her mares to a schooling show at Carrow Down. Third one down the lorry ramp was Laura.

Took me a second. Last time I saw her she had a clipboard.

Nothing on but the harness, and the harness only made it worse. Breast collar lifting her up high. Rings through her nipples with little bells that rang every step. Arms laced behind her so her chest was pushed out whether she liked it or not. Tail so near the colour of her hair I had to look twice to see where it went in.

She saw me as she came past the rail. Missed a step. Bells everywhere.

When the judge came down to inspect her she spread, and from the rail I could see she was soaking. She coloured all the way down her chest and lost marks on the next movement, and I stood there hard as a post in front of Mrs D's grooms.

End of the day Mrs D untacked her by the lorry and she stood rubbing the bit marks at the corners of her mouth. Then she looked at me.

"You bought it, then."

"I did."

"Did you sort the drainage?"

"Not yet."

Face like I'd let her down personally. Mrs D laughed and took her up the ramp.

Drove home with the radio off.

Email from her firm. Addendum to the survey: three drainage contractors, with notes. One crossed out in biro and scanned in, "cowboy" written next to it.

Under her signature:

"I'm at Ashby most Saturdays, if you want to tell me in person how the drainage is going."

Wrote four replies. Deleted four. Fifth asked if I could buy her a drink instead. Sent it before I could think better of it.

The Plough. She came straight from Ashby with the bridle marks still on her cheeks and kept touching them when she thought I wasn't looking.

Wanted to be shown since she was eighteen. Made herself wait until she'd qualified, then rang Mrs D the week the letter came.

I'd had two pints so she drove us back to mine.

She kissed me first, in the hall, coat still on. Then put her hands behind her back, wrists crossed, and waited, and I stood there like a fool working out what to do with that until she laughed at me.

Upstairs I tied her wrists to the bedframe with my belt. The buckle was cold and she yelped. I couldn't manage the buttons on her blouse and she told me to rip it, so I did, and she said that was her good one. I went down on her for a long time. She kept telling me slower, then forgetting, then telling me again. When I finally fucked her she hooked her heels behind my back and pulled me in.

She came quietly. Wasn't expecting that. Went rigid against the belt and made one small sound into the pillow.

Then she wanted toast. Ate it sitting up in my bed in nothing but her collar, hair everywhere, crumbs everywhere. I just lay there looking at her. I don't think I've ever seen anything so lovely.

She stayed the whole weekend. Her car was still on the drive when I left for work this morning, and her bag's still on my bedroom floor.

She asked me tonight in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Mrs D backs mares but doesn't handle them once they're made. By spring Laura needs a handler or she stops showing, and she'd rather stop than go to someone she doesn't want.

I said I've never handled a mare on my own.

She said she knew. She'd watched me with Mrs D's greys all summer and I'd never once yanked a rein.

I said yes before she'd finished.

Mrs D signed her over. Made me read the transfer twice. Then held my wrist on her kitchen table and said Laura's proud, she'll never tell me when I've got it wrong, and if I can't learn to see it for myself I'll ruin her.

Saturdays at Ashby, and Wednesday evenings. Box 7 is hers when she goes under before a show.

Sat in the car outside the cottage for twenty minutes before I went in.

First Saturday on my own with her.

Took me forty minutes to tack her up. Mrs D does it in ten.

It wasn't only that I was slow. She was wet before I'd got the breast collar on, and every buckle I fumbled she pushed into my hands. By the crotch strap I could smell her. By the armbinder she was breathing hard through her nose and her thighs were shaking.

I put the bit in last and stood back to look at her, and that was the end of the training.

I had her up against the wall of the box with her arms laced behind her and her tail over my arm. The bells went with every stroke and I didn't care who heard. She was making noises through the bit I'd never heard out of her. When she came she went up on her toes and bit down so hard the bit creaked, and that finished me.

We stood there a long time getting our breath back. Then I took the bit out and she was laughing, face all wet, saying at this rate we'd never get any training done.

Lunged her for ten minutes after for form's sake. She couldn't hold a rhythm for two strides.

Wyncombe on Saturday, so I put her under tonight. First time I've done it myself.

Box 7. She undressed and folded everything and handed it to me, and I put it in the bag. Before she went quiet she said into my neck that she was scared I wouldn't come in the morning. I said I'd be there at seven. She nodded, and that was the last word out of her until Sunday.

Checked her collar and her tail. Filled her water. She lay down in the straw and watched me do it.

Sat outside the box door till gone eleven. I could hear her moving about in the straw for a long time, and then not.

Friday. Got there at quarter to seven. She was already at the door. When I slid the bolt back she went down on her knees in the straw and looked up at me, lips parted, waiting.

I didn't make her wait long. Held her by the collar and used her mouth, slow at first and then not. She kept her eyes on mine the whole way. When I came she swallowed and stayed on her knees, smiling up at me sweetly, while I leaned on the doorframe getting my breath back.

Then I put her breakfast down and went to find the kettle.

Brackenhurst. Came nowhere, and that's on me. I rushed her in before she'd settled because I was nervous, and she fought me the whole test.

Silent drive home. She went straight up to the bath.

Went up after her, knelt by the bath and apologised. She let me finish. Then said I wasn't to apologise to her, I was to do better, and pulled me in with my clothes on.

Ruined my good shirt.

No show this weekend. She asked to go under anyway, so I took her over to Ashby last night.

Went back late tonight to settle her. Yard empty but for the groom and his radio in the tack room. She was lying in the straw, collar and tail and nothing else, and was up on her knees before I'd got the bolt across.

I'd meant to check her water and go.

She can't ask for anything when she's under. She just looked at me. Then she turned round on her knees and put her forehead down in the straw with her tail lifted.

I took her like that, straw everywhere, the bay mare shifting next door. She kept silent for as long as she could, and then she couldn't, and the radio wasn't loud enough. The groom shouted goodnight from the yard while I was still inside her. I said goodnight back. She started laughing into the straw and couldn't stop, and came like that, laughing and shaking, her fingers dug into the bedding.

Hartsfold. Third out of eleven. Write it up properly when I can think.

Stable block's finished. Tack room down one side, with racks, a long mirror and a bench to clean on. A sand school out the back, small, but she can do her whole test in it if she doesn't mind coming close to the fence at M. And one box, with a window onto the paddock, so she can go under here instead of driving to Ashby.

She hasn't seen it. I've told her the builders are still in.

Bought a collar today. Plain steel. It's in my sock drawer, and I've checked twice tonight that it's still there.

I'll show her the stable block after the last show and ask her in the box.

She might say no. Not because she doesn't love me. She made herself wait years for the thing she wanted, and she might want to wait for this too.

If she does, I'll ask again next season.

She's asleep upstairs. I can hear the bells on the bedside table every time she turns over and knocks it.