Fortune and the Golden Trophy. Stacy Gregg
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Oliver Tucker…but I don’t think he’s arrived yet…”
At that exact moment, as if on cue, the front door of the clubroom swung open.
“Ahhh, Mr Tucker,” Mrs Tarrant said. “I had just about given up on you.”
“That’s our new club president.” Dan leant across to Issie. “Natasha Tucker’s dad.”
“Really?” Issie said, staring at the tall, blond man in the suit who now had everyone in the room turning around to look at him. “I’ve never, ever seen him here before.”
It wasn’t surprising that Issie had never seen Oliver Tucker before because, despite the fact that he had spent a fortune on Natasha’s ponies, until tonight he had never set foot on the grounds of the Chevalier Point Pony Club. He was a big-shot businessman, far too busy with corporate takeovers and property deals to make time for his daughter’s little hobbies.
Oliver Tucker wore a designer suit that stretched taut over his pot belly, well-padded from extravagant company lunches. My friends call me Ollie, he would often say by way of introduction. But this was untrue. No one called him “Ollie” because Oliver Tucker had no friends. He didn’t care—money was much more important and he had loads of that. This was just as well because he’d spent a fair chunk of it on horses to keep his daughter happy.
“I can’t believe he’s the new pony-club president,” whispered Issie.
“Mum says he won the ballot because no one else dared to stand against him,” Dan shrugged.
“Ohhh, scary!” Stella said. “So if that’s Natasha’s dad, then where is Natasha?”
Stella’s question was answered by a grunting noise on the stairs right behind Mr Tucker. “Hey, Dad! Urghh!…Can I get a little help here?”
Natasha Tucker appeared in the doorway behind her dad. She wore her trademark scowl and seemed to be struggling to carry something enormous in her arms.
“Hurry up, Dad!” Natasha squealed. “Take an end. I’m going to drop it!”
There was a definite flicker of impatience on Mr Tucker’s face as he came to his daughter’s aid and took one end of the object, helping to ease it in through the door.
The mystery object, shrouded in a velvet curtain, was about a metre wide and almost as tall as Natasha. Whatever it was, clearly it was very heavy as it took both Natasha and Mr Tucker to carry it through the clubroom towards the podium.
“Careful, Natasha, careful!” Mr Tucker instructed as they manoeuvred their way between the rows of chairs to the front of the room. “Hang on to it! OK, now take a step to the left…no! My left, Natasha! Not yours! For Pete’s sake, can’t you do anything right?”
Natasha’s face was puce beneath her blonde plaits as she dropped her end of the object with a thud on to the floor. Mr Tucker tutted at her and lowered his end gently so that the mystery object stood in front of the audience, next to the podium.
“Good evening!” Mr Tucker said, greeting them all. “As Mrs Tarrant said, I’m your new club president. I’d just like to say that this is a great moment for the Chevalier Point Pony Club. It isn’t every day that a man like myself, with formidable business expertise, makes himself available for such a role…”
Mr Tucker had been expecting applause at this point and was clearly disappointed when he was met with stunned silence. Unabashed, he continued. “As your new president I have many great plans for this pony club, which you will hear in good time. Tonight, however, I thought this would be the perfect occasion to announce some very big news for the senior riders in the room.
“Many of you have enjoyed the pleasure of Natasha’s company here at the pony club over the years.” Mr Tucker gestured to his daughter, who had found a seat across the aisle from Issie and was watching her dad speak with a smug expression on her face.
“It seemed only fitting that the Tucker family should donate a special trophy in Natasha’s honour to commemorate her great achievements at the Chevalier Point Pony Club.”
Stella, who couldn’t believe what she was hearing, suddenly doubled over and began to have a coughing fit.
Mr Tucker frowned at the interruption and continued. “The Tucker family believe in rewarding success. Most of you will never achieve as much as my daughter has with the calibre of horses I’ve bought her, but it never hurts to dream, eh?”
There were astonished mumbles from the audience at the rudeness of this remark, but Mr Tucker never noticed when he was being rude and ploughed on. “Underneath this curtain is my contribution to the Chevalier Point Pony Club—a grand prize that will be awarded each year to the senior rider who accumulates the most points in the Open Gymkhana, which will be held at the end of next month, here at the club.”
He stretched out a hand, gripped the corner of the velvet cloth and gave it a firm yank. The velvet fell away dramatically as the trophy was revealed.
“Ohmygod!” Stella gasped. The trophy looked like it had come from a popstar millionaire’s mansion. It was a rearing horse over a metre high, coated from hoof to head in brilliant gold. The horse’s eyes were made of turquoise, its mane sparkled with diamanté crystals and its hooves were studded with fake rubies. The giant gold statue was set on an ornate walnut veneer base, upon which, in grandiose, curlicued gilt letters, were the words: Natasha Tucker Memorial Trophy.
“Memorial? I thought you had to be dead to have a memorial named after you?” Kate hissed.
“That’s a trophy? It looks like an explosion in a jewellery shop,” Stella giggled. Issie, however, wasn’t laughing quite so hard. She was in a state of shock. Where did Stuck-up Tucker get the nerve?
“I can’t believe she named a trophy after herself!” Issie whispered. “Don’t you have to, like, win Badminton or the Olympics or something before you can do that?”
As Mr Tucker stood there expectantly Mrs Tarrant tried to lead a round of rather reluctant applause. This soon petered out and nobody seemed to know what to do next. Finally, Natasha stood up and whispered something to her father.
Mr Tucker nodded and then cleared his throat. “My daughter just wants to make it clear that, of course, as a senior rider herself at Chevalier Point this year, she is also eligible to compete alongside the other riders for the Tucker Trophy.”
“You are kidding me!” Stella squeaked. “She’s competing to win her own trophy?”
Issie was stunned. Only Natasha Tucker could possibly have come up with something so outrageous!
Standing next to her father at the podium, Natasha looked over at Issie, Stella and Kate, who were sitting with their jaws hanging open, and gave them a self-satisfied smirk.
As she walked back out of the clubroom behind her father she paused for a moment and looked Issie straight in the eyes. “You should go up and get a close look at the trophy while you can. Daddy’s leaving it here in the clubroom on display for the next two months, until the gymkhana, so you’ll get the chance to see it.” Then she added with a sneer, “After that, it’ll be going home with me—Daddy’s already built a display case for it in the living room.”
“Don’t you think you should actually wait until you win it first before you build a case for it, Natasha?” Issie replied. “There are a lot of good senior riders at Chevalier Point you know…”
“And you think you’re the best, don’t you?” sneered Natasha. “You always have done. You act like you’re better than me. Well, OK then, here’s your chance to prove it!”
“I wasn’t saying…” Issie began, but Natasha cut her off.
“You’re not the best rider at this pony club, Isadora. In fact, you’re not even in my league any more. I’ve got a better horse and a better instructor than you and I plan to show everyone when I take home that trophy at the end