Blaze and the Dark Rider. Stacy Gregg
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bending poles. Stella was bent low over Coco’s neck as the chocolate mare zipped through her poles at a swift canter. She turned the last pole well ahead of the rest of the riders and breezed home easily in the lead across the finish line.
Kate was not so lucky with Toby who reached the last pole and, instead of turning, kept right on cantering. “Toby!” Kate hauled on his left rein to try and get him to circle. By the time she had got the big bay’s attention and manoeuvred him around, even Catherine on little Nemo had beaten her and was trotting gaily through the last pole and over the finish line.
“Next riders up!” Avery called. Issie, Morgan, Annabel and Natasha lined up at their poles.
“On your marks…” Avery began his countdown. But Issie was still trying to calm Blaze down. The mare was so excited, she couldn’t stay still. She snorted and fretted and Issie was forced to keep turning her in tight circles to stop her bolting over the line and being disqualified.
“Get set…” Avery continued.
“Wait!” Issie squawked. She wasn’t “set” at all—her reins were in a tangle and her arms hurt from holding Blaze back.
She needed to turn the chestnut mare back in time to face the starting line but Avery hadn’t noticed that she was struggling. “Go!” he shouted.
Blaze leapt forward—in completely the wrong direction!
By the time Issie had turned Blaze around, the other riders were halfway down the row of bending poles. Issie tried to steer her through the poles but Blaze kept yanking the reins out of Issie’s fingers; she was far too excited to pay attention. Blaze had missed two poles before Issie had the chance to haul her up and go back again. By the time Issie finally got her under control the others had already crossed the finish line. She was dead last.
The only thing that cheered Issie up was the fact that Natasha hadn’t won either—Annabel had taken out the heat on Eddie.
Of course that didn’t stop Natasha being a know-it-all. “Hey Isadora, I think you’re going in the wrong direction. The bending poles are that way!” she needled Issie as she rode Goldrush past.
Issie watched as Natasha pulled up next to Morgan. Natasha leant over and whispered something to Morgan and then began to giggle.
“Oh no. I think the new girl is friends with Natasha!” Issie groaned to Stella.
“It’s not her fault. She’s new. Wait until she gets to know her!” Stella rolled her eyes and giggled.
The flag races went a little better than the bending. Stella won her heat again, this time narrowly beating Morgan, who rode like a daredevil but still couldn’t catch up with Coco, who was brilliant at stopping dead at each pole and then breaking into a gallop to deliver the flags back to the box.
Issie and Blaze managed their heat well too—no starting hiccups this time. And when Natasha dropped a flag, Issie raced into the lead and this time she beat her across the line.
“Lunch break!” Avery boomed at them all. “Go and tie your horses up—you’ve got an hour off and then you’re doing rider on the flat and jumping this afternoon!”
Issie’s Mum and Dan’s mother, Mrs Halliday, were arranging the lunch on tartan picnic rugs as the riders pulled up their mounts.
“I am totally starving!” Stella said, casting her eyes over the spread. She could see asparagus rolls, little miniature meat pies, club sandwiches, jam roll, chocolate cake and strawberry tarts, all lined up in Tupperware containers on the rug, with a big thermos of tea for the parents and apple juice for the riders.
“You boys! Put that down and wait until the girls have tied their horses up too,” Mrs Halliday said firmly to Dan and Ben, who had already thrown themselves down on the picnic rug and had their hands on the meat pies.
Dan gave his Mum a big grin and bit into the pie. “Too late!” he said with his mouth full. “Better tell them to hurry up!” The food was gone in no time flat.
“Can we get ice creams, Mum? It’s so hot today,” Issie begged.
“Yes! Ice creams!” the others agreed, leaping up off the rug and heading for the clubroom.
“I wonder if they’ll have this morning’s results posted up yet?” Dan said. He and Ben were both feeling confident that their skill in the showjumping ring would earn them both a place in the Chevalier Point team.
“Kismit is jumping brilliantly at the moment.” Dan grinned.
Ben nodded in agreement. “We’ve both been having extra lessons lately with Iggy Dalrymple. He’s really helped my technique.”
They stepped up to the door of the clubrooms now, and heard a woman’s voice inside. She sounded upset. “What went wrong?” she was saying. “These results are dreadful!”
“I don’t know, Mum. I had a bad start in the bending and then Jack was nappy in the flag race, I guess…” a girl’s voice responded.
“Well, now you’ll have to make up lost ground this afternoon,” the woman said briskly. “Come on, saddle up. We’ll pop Black Jack over some practice fences and I’ll look at your position before they get back underway.”
The woman and the girl headed for the door of the clubroom and Issie, Stella, Kate, Ben and Dan all scattered to the sides of the steps to let them through.
Morgan came out first. She looked much slighter than she did on her horse. She was sparrow-like, with skinny arms and legs and that long, dark hair and pale skin. She gave Issie a wan smile as she walked past.
Behind her, a woman stepped from the dark of the clubhouse to the bright light outside. She too had jet black hair and pale skin. She was tall and very glamorous in violet Hunter wellingtons, sky blue jodhpurs and a dark navy shirt, with a violet Hermes scarf tied around her hair and big, black sunglasses.
Like Avery, she carried a riding crop in her hand which she tapped lightly against her boot as she looked down now at the five riders on the clubroom steps below her.
Issie held her breath. She knew this woman. She recognised her at once because she had a picture of her on her bedroom wall. It was Araminta Chatswood-Smith.
Most thirteen-year-old girls have pictures of pop bands and Jake Gyllenhaal on their walls. But Isadora Brown was a horsy girl. In her bedroom, horses—bays, chestnuts, greys, Appaloosas, paints and palominos—covered every square inch of wallpaper.
Issie had cut pictures out of magazines of her favourite horses and riders. There was Pippa Funnell at Burghley on her big bay Supreme Rock. Next to that was a big poster of Zara Philips taking a water jump on Toytown. And on the back of her bedroom door there was Araminta Chatswood-Smith, jumping an enormous brick wall on her horse Wilful Lad in the showjumping at the World Equestrian Games.
Issie had spent a long time staring at that picture of Araminta and “Willy” on her door. Now, she was staring at the real rider herself.
Araminta cast a brief look down at Issie and her friends, gave them a stiff smile, and slid her dark glasses down from her scarf where they were perched so that they shielded her eyes.
“Minty!” Avery’s voice boomed across the paddock as he came striding towards them. Araminta’s smile grew wide as she saw him approaching.
“Tom! How glorious!” she said, trotting down the stairs with her arms outstretched. She gave him a firm embrace and pushed her sunglasses back up again, looking at Tom with warm, hazel brown eyes.
“It’s been years!” Araminta said. “Are you still competing?”
“No.”