Nightstorm and the Grand Slam. Stacy Gregg
risk the time faults than your horse’s life!”
The words hung there in the silence between them. Issie now understood why they were out here standing on the cross-country course, with her instructor in a complete meltdown. This wasn’t about her. It wasn’t even about Victory and Nightstorm. This was about Avery and something that had happened long ago. She’d been a fool to forget what this jump in particular meant to him. Back in the days when Avery was competing, the Vicarage Ditch was known as the Vicarage Vee. It was this fence that had ended her trainer’s professional eventing career. He had fallen here on his horse, The Soothsayer. Avery had come away with minor cuts and bruises, but The Soothsayer had not been so lucky. The horse’s life had ended when he broke his leg attempting this fence.
Avery had never spoken to Issie about the accident – in fact he never spoke to anyone about what happened that day. It must have been so painful for Avery to be here now, reliving the agony of that moment all those years ago when he lost his beloved horse.
“I’m so sorry,” Issie stammered. “I wasn’t thinking…”
Avery’s voice was choked with emotion. “I just don’t want you to make the same mistake I made,” he said.
“I get that, I really do,” Issie said gently. “But you’re trying to change history. Even if I take the safe route on Victory and Storm, it isn’t going to bring him back.”
She looked her trainer in the eyes. “The alternative route is too slow and I will lose if I take it. You have to let me take the risk and jump the Vicarage Ditch.”
Avery sighed, admitting defeat, “When exactly did you become the smart one in our relationship?”
Issie smiled. “Oh, please! If I’m the smart one then we really are in trouble!”
Avery put his arm around her shoulder. “Come on,” he said, “let’s go back to the truck. I think you know exactly what you’re doing. Straight through the big jumps all the way to home.”
They kept the conversation purely on practical matters as they walked back to the truck. This wasn’t difficult since there was still so much to prepare for tomorrow. Francoise was running a last-minute check on their tack and equipment. And Stella was down at the stables with both the horses, bedding them in for the evening.
Victory and Storm had both been allocated stalls in the main Badminton House stable block, a stately stone building constructed around a quadrangle courtyard. The main stables took 45 horses, almost half the contingent who were competing over the period of the three-day event, and the loose boxes were beautiful with high ceilings and elegant flagstone floors. They were also high maintenance and Stella had spent most of the day down there, mucking out and replacing Victory and Storm’s bedding, organising their feeds and water troughs.
She arrived back at the horse truck at the same time as Issie and Tom, her curly red hair scraped back beneath a cheesecutter cap, which looked like it had been stolen out of Avery’s closet. Her jodhpurs were covered in straw and muck, which she made a half-hearted attempt to brush off before she stepped inside the kitchen of the horse truck and collapsed on one of the bench seats.
“Ohmygod!” Stella groaned. “I am exhausted and starving. When is dinner?”
“Dinner,” Avery told her, “will be on the table shortly.” Stella looked pleased until he added, “…just as soon as you cook it.”
In the end, all four of them pitched in to make spaghetti with tomato and tuna sauce and a green salad on the side.
“Carbo loading for tomorrow,” Stella told Issie as she dished up a second helping of pasta onto her plate.
“I don’t need to fuel up,” Issie insisted. “Victory and Storm are the ones who’ll be doing the hard work!”
“They’ve already had their dinner,” Stella said. “I gave them their feeds before I left the stables. Victory bolted his down as usual, but Storm wasn’t really that hungry.”
There was something about this comment that rang alarm bells for Issie. Storm was a greedy sort, known for snuffling his feed down in five minutes flat and nickering for seconds.
“Was he OK?” Issie asked Stella.
“He was a bit tense,” Stella admitted. “You know, after the dressage test, and being somewhere new. He was walking around his stall when I left him, taking little bites of his feed and then wandering away again.”
Issie looked up from her plate. “Maybe I should go check on him?”
Avery shook his head. “Issie, you’re worrying unnecessarily. Storm is fine, finish your dinner.”
It had been the strangest day. Never in her wildest dreams had Issie expected to be in such a strong position after the dressage phase. Her test on Victory had also put her right up there in contention, sitting in eighth place on a score of 39.5.
The real test of courage and ability would come tomorrow. She had put on a brave face in front of Tom and argued that she had to take the Vicarage Ditch head-on. But underneath her bravado, she was worried about her horses too.
She had never lost a horse on the cross-country course, but that didn’t mean she didn’t understand Avery’s pain. She had suffered the same heartbreak – many years ago now – when she had the accident with Mystic.
It had been the day of the Chevalier Point Pony Club Gymkhana, Issie’s first-ever competition. Mystic, her beloved pony, had been a total star all day long. The little swaybacked dapple-grey was getting on in years, but he was still a keen jumper and they had just taken out a ribbon in the showjumping class when it happened.
Chevalier Point’s resident brat, Natasha Tucker, furious that she’d failed to take first place, had thrown a tantrum and used her whip to take a swipe at her poor pony, Goldrush.
Issie had looked on in horror as the terrified Goldrush backed away from Natasha to escape and barged into Stella’s horse Coco and Kate’s gelding Toby, who were tied to a nearby horse truck. The next thing Issie knew, the ponies had pulled loose in fright and bolted, along with Goldrush, heading for the pony-club gates.
As people began to run after the horses, trying to divert them before they reached the main road, Issie realised they’d never catch them in time on foot. But maybe she could stop them on Mystic.
By the time she caught up the ponies were on the main road. Issie had taken one look at the cars whizzing past and then made the fateful decision to follow them. Every moment that the ponies were on that road their lives were in danger, but if she could ride around and herd them back, she might be able to drive them on to the gravel road back to the pony-club grounds.
Her plan worked. She had managed to get the ponies to safety and she was just about to get off the road too when she heard the deep low boom of the truck horn.
As Mystic turned to confront the truck, rising up on his hindquarters, he threw Issie off his back. The last thing she remembered was the sickening screech of the truck tyres and the horrific sound of her pony’s terrified whinny. Then her helmet hit the tarmac and everything went black.
In the hospital she woke up with her mother beside her bed, and it was only then that she discovered what had happened. The grey gelding had thrown her clear but it had cost him his life. Mystic was dead.
In the weeks that followed Issie became consumed by grief. Her loss overwhelmed her and she never thought she would be capable of loving another pony ever again.
And then Avery had brought her Blaze. He was working for Horse Welfare and the chestnut mare was a rescue pony that had been placed in his care. When Issie caught sight of the emaciated, terrified mare