- -
- 100%
- +
Stella seemed genuinely hurt by this and Natasha, pleased with the success of her put-down, decided that was the end of the conversation. “I’m glad this is the last rally of the year,” she added icily as she turned to lead Romeo away to the washing bays. “That means I won’t have to put up with you two again for the next few months.”
“God, she is such a cow!” Stella said, pulling a face behind Natasha’s back as she watched her walk away. Then she vaulted out of the saddle to stand beside her horse. “Never mind what Stuck-up Tucker says, Coco, I still love you!” Stella threw her arms around Coco’s neck, giving the mare a snuggle. Coco, who didn’t particularly like snuggles, put her ears back a bit.
“You are getting a bit big for her though, aren’t you?” Issie said gently.
It was true. The girls were fourteen now and Stella had really grown this year. Coco was only thirteen-two hands high and Stella looked enormous on her. Her legs were so long they almost wrapped right around the mare’s tubby brown belly.
“I know…” Stella said. She cast a sneaky sideways glance at Coco, as if she was checking to see if the pony was listening, and then whispered dramatically to Issie with her hand over her face. “I don’t really want to talk about this in front of Coco, but I’ve been looking in the ‘ponies for sale’ pages in PONY magazine. Mum and Dad said that I can sell Coco and get a new pony in time for summer and they’re taking me to look at this fourteen-two roan next week…”
“Stella,” Issie whispered back, “you do know that you don’t have to whisper, don’t you? Coco can’t understand English.”
“Coco understands every word I say, don’t you, Coco?” Stella giggled, stroking her mare’s forelock.
While the girls were talking, Storm had been standing obediently tied up beside them, his head held high, watching everything that was going on around him with bright, wide eyes. Mostly though, he was looking intently at Coco. He gave a high-pitched whinny and stretched to the end of his lead rope, craning his neck to get closer to her.
“Hey, Storm!” Stella said. “Do you want to say hello to Coco?”
Issie nodded. “That’s why we’re here. Tom says it will be good for Storm to socialise with other horses.”
At first, Storm stepped back nervously when Stella led Coco over. After a few moments, though, his curiosity got the better of him and he came closer, stretching his neck out so that he and Coco were touching noses. Coco responded with a stroppy squeal and put her ears flat back, trying to nip at the colt. Nightstorm skittered back to get out of her way.
“Coco! Be nice! He’s just a baby,” Stella scolded. She stood Coco still and waited for Nightstorm to try again. This time the mare reluctantly seemed to accept the colt’s presence. They nickered to each other softly, as if they were making horsey conversation, and within a few minutes they were standing quite happily together.
“Where’s Kate?” Issie wondered.
“She’s waiting for the farrier,” Stella said. “Toby threw a shoe.”
“We have to get her to introduce Toby to Nightstorm too,” Issie said. “Maybe the three of them will be best friends—just like us.”
Issie, Stella and Kate had been inseparable from the moment they met. Issie’s mum always said that the girls were so alike they must be sisters. This was kind of a joke, because the three of them didn’t actually look anything like each other. Issie had olive skin and long, dark straight hair just like her mum. Stella was a redhead with curls and freckles and Kate was tall and lanky with short-bobbed blonde hair and pale blue eyes. “Never mind looks. On the inside, where it matters, you three girls are cut from the same cloth,” Mrs Brown would say, smiling and shaking her head. “Utterly horse-mad!”
Issie looked at her watch. Quarter to nine. The rally was about to start and she was absolutely dying of thirst. She had just enough coins in her pocket to use the drinks machine in the clubroom.
“Stella,” she said, “can you do me a favour? Can you watch Storm for a couple of minutes? I want to get a drink.”
“I want one too. I’ll come with you,” Stella said.
Issie shook her head. “Tom said I shouldn’t leave Storm alone by himself.”
Stella looked at Storm, who was happily nibbling at his hay net. “He’s not alone. He’s with Coco,” she said. “He’ll be fine. We’ll only be a minute.”
“I know, but…” Issie wasn’t sure about this, but she didn’t want to be a drama queen. After all, they were only going to the clubroom.
“OK, OK!” she caved. “But we have to be quick, all right?”
The two girls raced across the paddock to the clubroom and bounded up the steps. Issie dug into her pockets and hastily fed the change into the drinks machine. She listened for the clunk-clunk, and then stuck her hand into the hole to retrieve her can of Coke.
“Ohhh, I might get some crisps too!” Stella said. “I love crisps for breakfast.” She grinned at Issie as she put her money in the vending machine.
“Come on. We better get back,” Issie said nervously. She was beginning to regret leaving Storm. Avery had been quite firm when he told her not to leave the colt tied up by himself. If anything happened she wouldn’t forgive herself.
Issie stepped out of the clubroom and looked back towards the horse float where Storm was tethered. “Ohmygod!” she said.
“What’s wrong?” Stella said. But Issie didn’t answer her. She had already leapt off the clubroom steps and was sprinting back across the paddock.
Issie could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she ran towards the horse float. Storm was standing where she had left him—but there was a dark figure next to the colt, with one hand grasping Storm’s halter.
“Hey!” Issie yelled as she ran across the paddock. “Hey!”
At the sound of Issie’s voice, the dark figure turned round. It was a woman. She was dressed in crisp white jodhpurs, long black boots and a black shirt. Her face was hidden behind dark glasses and the dramatic sweep of her long dark hair, but that didn’t matter. Issie had recognised her even before she caught a glimpse of her features.
“You came!” Issie’s face broke into a broad grin as she ran towards the woman. “I hadn’t heard anything for so long, I had almost given up!”
The woman, who had been gently stroking the colt’s muzzle, whispered something to the young horse and let go of the halter. She stepped forward to greet Issie, giving her two brisk kisses, one on each cheek, just as the French always do, before wrapping her in her arms in the most enormous hug.
“Isadora!” the woman cried. “Bonjour! It is so good to see you once again!”
Issie couldn’t believe it. It was Francoise D’arth. The famed French horsewoman, head rider of El Caballo Danza Magnifico, here at Chevalier Point!
The last time Francoise had arrived in Chevalier Point with her troupe of dancing Lipizzaners and Anglo-Arabians she had turned Issie’s world upside down.
Francoise had recognised Blaze—only she said her name wasn’t Blaze at all, it was Salome and she belonged to El Caballo Danza Magnifico. The mare had been stolen and now they wanted her back. Issie hadn’t wanted to believe her, but Francoise had proof. The Frenchwoman was amazed that she had found the mare again. Issie had no choice but to agree to return her. She was totally devastated when Francoise took Blaze away. Then, just when Issie thought she’d lost her beloved mare forever, Blaze was unexpectedly returned to her once more. Francoise claimed that “a mysterious benefactor” had paid handsomely for the mare, with instructions that Blaze be given back to Issie.
Issie had never discovered who this “benefactor” was, or why they had bought her horse back. Whoever it was, she owed them a great debt and she knew it. Blaze was hers for always now. And despite all that had happened, Issie still considered Francoise to be her friend. After all, Francoise didn’t own El Caballo Danza Magnifico—she just worked for them. Francoise loved horses as much as Issie did—she was the one who had trained Blaze and she truly understood just how special the bond was between Issie and her pony.
When Issie had found out that Blaze was pregnant and Marius was the father she had written immediately to Francoise D’arth to tell her the exciting news. Francoise hadn’t replied, but Issie figured that was because she was away on tour with El Caballo Danza Magnifico. After Storm was born, Issie had written to Francoise again, sending photos this time—and still no reply. And now, suddenly out of the blue, here she was!
Francoise turned her gaze to the bay colt. “He is beautiful, Isadora. Everything you said about him in your letters was true.” She ran her hand down Storm’s legs, feeling the strength of his bone and muscle. She could not hide the fact that she was impressed by this colt. “He is even more beautiful than in your photos. This horse is destined for greatness.”
“I’m glad you like him,” said a rather stern voice. Issie turned round to see Tom Avery standing behind her. “Well, this is a surprise!” Avery said with a tone that indicated it was not an entirely pleasant one. “What are you doing here, Francoise?”
“Tom!” Francoise smiled warmly. “It is good to see you again. It has been too long.” She stepped forward and greeted him with a kiss on both cheeks. Avery’s face betrayed little emotion as he waited for Francoise to continue.
“When I got Isadora’s letter telling me that Blaze was in foal to Marius I was so happy,” Francoise said. “Then I received the next letter, saying that a foal had been born, and well, of course I was very intrigued. I had to come and meet this colt.”
“Really?” Avery cocked an eyebrow at her. Issie noticed that he still wasn’t smiling. “Is that all, Francoise? It’s a long way to come just to say hello. I have a feeling that there is something you aren’t telling us.”
Francoise’s cheery smile faded and was replaced by a rather more serious expression.
“Oui. Yes. You are right, Tom. There is more to tell you—and much that we need to talk about.”
“I thought there might be,” Avery said. “El Caballo Danza Magnifico wouldn’t send you all the way here just to check on this colt.”
Francoise nodded. “You are right.” She looked at the colt standing in front of her. “I was told to come here and see for myself whether this young horse was indeed the son of Marius.” Francoise paused. “I was told that if Nightstorm had the same great conformation and temperament as his sire then I was to pay as much as you asked and bring him home to Spain.”
“Francoise, I don’t understand.” Issie looked shocked. “You mean you want to buy Nightstorm?”
“Oui, Isadora,” Francoise nodded. “El Caballo Danza Magnifico have told me that I must—and at any price!”
“But he’s my horse! You can’t—” Issie began, but Francoise interrupted her.
“Please, Isadora, be calm and listen,” she implored.
“The people I work for are very wealthy. They are offering you a great deal of money. This colt, your Nightstorm, is the progeny of their best stallion Marius, and you know that your mare Blaze was once their most favoured of all. You can see how valuable a colt like this might be to the stable…”
“I don’t care!” Issie said. She could feel the panic rising in her. She looked pleadingly at her instructor. “Tom? She has no right to take him away from me, does she?”
Avery’s frown had deepened, but he said nothing. Issie felt as if her throat had closed over and she couldn’t breathe. She was choking as she tried to force the words out.
“Tom!” Her voice was trembling now as she spoke. “Tell her! Storm is mine. They can’t do this to me, not again!”
Issie had every reason to be nervous and she knew it. After all, she thought to herself, the last time Francoise D’arth came to Chevalier Point I almost lost Blaze. Now the Frenchwoman was back and Issie felt her world spiralling out of control once more. Would she lose Storm too?
Chapter 3
Tom Avery wasn’t the sort of riding instructor who liked to raise his voice. He never shouted at his pupils; instead he spoke to them with measured, calm authority. It was this very same tone that he used now as he addressed Francoise D’arth.
“Isadora is right, Francoise,” Avery said. “The colt is not for sale. I’m sorry you wasted your time on this trip, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to go back to El Caballo and explain that Nightstorm can’t be bought—at any price.”
Francoise nodded solemnly. “If that is your decision I will accept it. But you do not understand everything yet—there is so much more I need to tell you both. We must talk further. May I come and see you again at the farm tomorrow?”
“There’s no point in trying to change our minds,” Avery said, “but you are our friend, Francoise, and you’re welcome any time at Winterflood Farm.”
Francoise smiled at this. “Thank you. I shall come over in the morning then, yes? At about nine?”
She glanced again at Nightstorm. The colt had begun to sense that something was going on. His nostrils were flared and he was pawing at the ground anxiously. As Issie reached for his halter to calm him, Nightstorm pulled back and let out a shrill whinny, his head held high and proud.
“Easy, Storm,” Issie soothed, stroking his muzzle as the colt trembled with excitement beneath her hands.
“He is restless,” Francoise said softly. “It is time for him to go home, yes?” She looked pointedly at Avery as she said this.
He nodded in agreement. “Yes, Francoise. You’re right. Maybe it is.”
That afternoon back at Winterflood Farm, Issie spent longer than usual grooming and feeding Storm. When she turned him out in his paddock she realised she didn’t want to let the colt go. She gave him a long, snuggly hug,scratching him on the rump the way he liked, and stroking his velvet muzzle for ages before she finally slipped the halter off his head and set him loose.
“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?” Avery said when Issie finally came back to the stables.
“Yes,” Issie said. “Aren’t you?”
“I know it must be hard,” Avery said gently, “after what happened the last time Francoise was here, and everything you went through with Blaze…But Issie, this isn’t the same thing at all. Francoise has no claim over this colt. It doesn’t matter what she says, Storm’s your horse and nothing will change that.” Avery reached over and ruffled her hair. “Now go home,” he smiled. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Mrs Brown took one look at Issie’s face when she came through the front door and knew instantly that something was very wrong.
“I get the feeling it didn’t go well at the pony club?” Mrs Brown asked.
Issie shook her head. “No, Mum, it went fine…but Francoise was there. She’s in town. She’s come to see Nightstorm.”
Mrs Brown was surprised at this. “Francoise’s in town? But I thought you hadn’t even heard from her? What does she want?”
“She wants Nightstorm,” Issie said. “She’s offered to buy him. She’s coming to the farm tomorrow morning to meet with me and Tom. We told her that Nightstorm wasn’t for sale, but she said she had things to tell us…”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” Issie said, “but whatever it is, it can’t be good.”
Mrs Brown dropped the pile of laundry she had been sorting. “What on earth is Francoise playing at? First of all she doesn’t even answer your letters and then she just turns up and demands that you sell her your horse? What time is she coming tomorrow? I can’t wait to tell her myself that Storm isn’t for sale and give her a piece of my mind!”
Issie shook her head. “It’s OK, Mum. I can handle it. It isn’t like that…” Issie couldn’t believe she was defending Francoise, but in spite of everything she was still convinced that the Frenchwoman was her friend. “Tom has already told her Storm isn’t for sale, we’re just going to talk about stuff.”
“Are you sure?” Mrs Brown arched a sceptical eyebrow.
“You don’t need me to come too? You can always call me on my mobile if you like and I can—”
“Mum, really. I’ll be OK,” Issie managed a smile. “Tom will be there to back me up.”
Mrs Brown didn’t look convinced, but she let the matter drop and didn’t bring it up again that evening.
Issie went to bed that night feeling utterly drained after everything that had happened. Once she was actually in bed, though, she couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking about Francoise’s strange comment. What did she mean when she said that she had so much more to tell them? Why was Nightstorm so important to El Caballo Danza Magnifico?
Despite her worries, she eventually dozed off, but she’d only been asleep a little while when her subconscious took over and the nightmare began. In her sleep, she tossed and turned, and vivid images flashed through her head as she relived that fateful day at the pony club. The day that Mystic died.
Mystic had been Issie’s very first horse. With his swayed back and a dapple-grey coat that had faded with age, he was hardly the best-looking horse in the paddock at Chevalier Point. That didn’t matter to Issie, though. She adored Mystic and thought he was the most beautiful horse ever. To her, Mystic would always be the horse that she had loved first, the one who had changed everything.
In her nightmare, Issie was back at the pony club, and it was the day of the accident. It was all happening again, in heart-wrenching slow motion. She saw Goldrush, Toby and Coco break loose, then panic and bolt for the pony-club gates. And then, before she could think it through, she was following on Mystic, galloping after them, trying to head them off before they reached the deadly main highway.
As they struck the road she heard the clean chime of Mystic’s horseshoes on the tarmac. The ponies were ahead of them—at any moment they might be hit by a speeding car! She rode Mystic forward, circling the three horses and driving them back up the gravel driveway to the club grounds, getting them clear of the traffic and out of harm’s way. Then suddenly Toby, Goldrush and Coco were gone and it was just Issie and Mystic all alone on the road. Issie could hear the low rumble of the truck, smell the diesel and hear the squeal of tyres as the massive vehicle tried to brake. Mystic turned to face the truck, like a stallion squaring up to his opponent, ready to fight. As he did so, he threw Issie back and out of the saddle. Issie felt herself falling. She knew what would happen next because she had been there before. She would be thrown clear of the truck, but Mystic, poor, brave Mystic, would face it head on. And he would die!
“Mystic, no! NO!” Issie screamed. She was still falling, but the ground seemed a long way away. Falling, falling and then—she woke up. Issie sat bolt upright in bed, her heart racing and her sheets soaked with sweat. She found herself gasping, trying to catch her breath, trying to fight back the tears, then giving up and crying again just like she had done that day when she’d woken up in the hospital bed and her mother told her that her pony was dead.
Issie’s mum and everyone had tried to help her get over it, but how do you ever recover from losing your best friend? And so she’d sworn she would never ride again. The idea of loving another horse had just seemed impossible.
Then Tom Avery had turned up with Blaze. He told Issie about how the International League for the Protection of Horses had found the mare half-starved and maltreated. Issie knew then that she had no choice but to take the mare on. She poured her heart into helping Blaze and, as the mare got better, Issie’s spirit recovered too.
Still, Issie never let go of her love for Mystic. And it turned out that the grey pony never let go of her either.
Issie had always known that her pony was special—but Mystic was much more special than anyone could have realised. He was like a guardian angel for Issie—and for Blaze. After the accident at the pony club, the grey gelding came back to Issie. He returned whenever she really needed him. Not as a ghost, but a real horse.
Mystic had a sixth sense for danger. He had saved Issie’s life so many times now she had lost count.
She had dreamt about Mystic before. Her dreams were often a portent of what was to come. As she sat there in bed, Issie became aware of just what the dream meant. There was big danger afoot—she could feel it. A dream like that? It meant Mystic must be here.
Issie jumped out of her bed and raced to press her face up against the window. She peered out into the inky night, trying to see down to the garden below her room. It was raining outside, and large rivulets of water snaked down the pane of glass, blurring her view. There! Something was moving down on the lawn. It was hard to make the shape out clearly in the dark, but it was something big—Issie could see the shadow moving back and forth. Was it Mystic?
Pulling on a sweatshirt over her pyjamas, Issie raced down the stairs and out of the back door into the garden.
The rain was getting heavier now and the grass was squelchy and sodden under her feet.
“Mystic!” she hissed under her breath as she peered into the darkness. “Mystic!” It was so frustrating having to be quiet, but she didn’t want to wake her mum.
Issie stood still for a moment, listening carefully. At first, all she could hear was her own heart beating. She began to doubt herself. Perhaps she had simply been having a nightmare. Maybe it didn’t mean anything after all? She held her breath now and listened again.
There! She heard it. A soft nicker, the sound of a horse, coming from the far end of the garden. “Mystic!” Issie called again, her voice strained with emotion. This time she heard the whinny quite clearly, and then came the muffled sound of hoofbeats trotting towards her across the well-mown lawn. Out of the darkness, a dapple-grey horse stepped forward to meet her.
“Mystic!”
The bad dream had left Issie so shaken-up that the sight of her pony actually standing right there in front of her made her instantly burst into tears once more. She wiped her cheeks roughly with her sweatshirt sleeve. She had to pull herself together.
“Hey boy,” she murmured. She put out her hand to touch her beloved pony and for a brief moment she wondered if Mystic would disappear again, nothing more than a misty shadow in the rain. Then she felt her fingers close around the coarse, ropey strands of Mystic’s long, silver mane, and her hands touched the soft warmth of his dappled coat.
“Hey, Mystic, did you miss me?” Issie smiled. She was so desperately pleased to see her pony, yet his presence sent a chill through her heart. Issie realised immediately that if Mystic was here, then something was wrong. Very wrong.
The grey gelding seemed tense and anxious. He turned away from the house and began to trot back down the lawn towards the far end of the garden. Issie had seen him do this before and she knew exactly what he wanted her to do. Pulling on her boots, she followed him in the darkness, heading for the gate at the end that led to the street. Issie swung the gate open, taking hold of the pony by his mane so that he stood parallel to it. Then she climbed the wooden gate to the third rung and, without a second thought about what she was doing, leapt on to the grey pony’s back.
Issie took a moment to get her balance, then tapped the pony lightly with her heels. He responded instantly, moving off at a brisk trot. As soon as they reached the grass verge of the road, Issie urged Mystic on from a trot into a loping canter. She had no saddle and the canter was less bouncy and easier to ride bareback. Issie had no reins either, but it didn’t matter. She could have guided Mystic with her legs, but she knew better than to try and steer the pony. After all, Mystic had come to her with a warning and that meant he knew exactly where he was going. All Issie needed to do was wrap her hands into his long mane and hang on.