Rachel Alexander 03 - A Hell of a Dog

were no longer there.
    “This test is meant to show the level of soundness of a dog’s temperament,” Martyn said as I walked toward Cathy and Sky, “and I believe that once that information is yours, you can predict how well a given dog will work. The test does not, of course, assess genetically based skills in the way that a herding test or water test might—”
    “Is he going to test Sky?” I asked, sitting cross-legged next to Cathy, Dashiell stretching out next to the border collie, sniffing his nose, and then rolling over onto his side and falling asleep.
    She nodded. “I was hoping he’d do some less well-trained dogs. These dogs have proven their temperament through work. So the results are a given, aren’t they?”
    I nodded. “Makes a smoother show this way,” I whispered. Woody and Rhonda passed us on the way up to the front. “And smooth this man is.” I let that sit in the air between us.
    I was looking at Martyn, but out of the corner of my eye I could see that Cathy had turned to look at me.
    “Guess who made a pass?” I said, rolling my eyes in case she was still looking. “One minute he’s talking about the presents he bought for his kids,” I said, stopping as if I’d gotten very interested in Rhonda’s reaction to the neutral stranger, listening instead for a change in Cathy’s breathing pattern, “and the next thing I know, he’s telling me how unhappy he is at home, that it’s the main reason he travels so much. Men!”
    Rhonda was walking across a plastic sheet.
    “It’s that seminar mentality.”
    No way was I going to get the answers I needed from Martyn. Deception was the man’s middle name. Cathy was my only chance, and even though baiting her felt cruel, I continued. “They all have it. At least that’s what Sam says.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You know, when they’re staying in a hotel, without their wives, they feel they can do whatever they want”
    I turned to face her. She was looking at the boxer investigating the open umbrella, no emotion showing on her face. Unless you counted the muscles jumping in her cheeks or that little back-and-forth movement at the corner of her right eyelid.
    “How about you?” she asked suddenly, an edge in her voice. “Do you ever feel that way when you’re away lecturing?” Her mouth smiled at me, but the rest of her face didn’t concur.
    “He’s cute,” I said. “You have to give him that. And he’s smart He’s one hell of an attractive man.”
    I waited.
    “But he’s not that cute.”
    There was an exercise pen laid out flat on the grass to simulate a grating. Woody was walking on the side of it, and Rhonda was walking across it, as if she walked on a surface like that every day of her life, no problem.
    “Even if he were single,” I said, “why would I want to get involved with a guy who lived in England? Think of the phone bills.” She flicked back her long hair and looked toward where Martyn stood, explaining the test results.
    “What would be the point? It’s not like he’s going to leave his wife.”
    “He might,” she said. “Some men do. The divorce rate—“
    „Oh, please. Not this one. There’s another kid on the way.“
    „She’s pregnant, his wife?”
    ‘That’s what he said.”
    “But—”
    I waited to see if Cathy would say anything else, but she didn’t. When Martyn called her to come forward with Sky, she got up without saying another word and walked up front, to where he stood waiting for her, a big smile on his face.
    Yeah, yeah, the zoo, I thought. Wherever and whenever Martyn had bought those puppets, I was now sure it hadn’t been Monday afternoon. Sam was right. Day and night, the joint was jumping.
    I moved over to where Sam was sitting on the grass, sitting where Woody had been before he got back to claim his spot.
    “Boris must be having one of his temper tantrums,” she said as soon as I was seated beside her.
    I looked around. I didn’t remember seeing him in the audience. He hadn’t been at breakfast either. “What’s up?”
    “Martyn told him he didn’t want to test Sasha, and Boris stormed out of the breakfast room. He probably went back to his room to try to sleep off his hangover.”
    “Maybe,” I said, but I didn’t believe it. If someone had made Boris angry, he wouldn’t go to sleep. He’d make damn sure they suffered in return. He’d be here, heckling, sitting as close to the front as he could, right under Martyn’s nose. He’d