Flame and the

Rebel Riders

STACY GREGG

HarperCollins Children’s Books

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2010. HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd, HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Text copyright © Stacy Gregg 2010

Cover design copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020 Cover photography © Shutterstock.com CBBC logo © British Broadcasting Corporation 2016

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of the work.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Source ISBN: 9780007299294

Ebook Edition © 2010 ISBN: 9780007358267

Version: 2020-08-18

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Acknowledgments

The Pony Club Secrets series

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

The envelope in the schoolbag didn’t look like it could cause any trouble. It was a plain envelope, with no airs or graces about it, brown and slender with just two words written on the front in felt tip: Isadora Brown.

Issie had shoved the envelope into her schoolbag and promptly forgotten about it. It had nestled overnight beside her pencil case, getting squashed by her school jumper, and might have stayed hidden there if her mum hadn’t opened the bag to get her lunchbox out.

“What’s this?” Mrs Brown asked, picking the envelope up off the floor.

“My end-of-year report. You have to sign it so I can take it back to school,” Issie said, glancing at the envelope as she picked up the last piece of toast on her plate and stood up from the table. “Thanks for breakfast, Mum,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried out of the kitchen with the toast in hand, heading for the laundry. It was seven thirty and Issie was running late. Today was pony-club rally day and Tom Avery, Chevalier Point’s head instructor, had offered to pick up the girls and their horses in his truck from the River Paddock at eight. Stella and Kate would already be there by now, grooming and bandaging their horses. And Issie was still in her pyjamas!

“Have you seen my white jodhpurs?” she shouted out to her mum from the laundry. “You know, the good ones? They’re not in my room…”

Mrs Brown walked into the laundry, but didn’t answer. She had opened the envelope and was holding the report in her hand. She had a stunned expression on her face. “Isadora! Have you read this?”

Issie winced. Her mother only used her full name when she was in trouble. “No…” she said. “Mr Monagatti said we’re supposed to give them to our parents to open.” Issie looked at the piece of paper in her mum’s hand. “I didn’t think it would be…is it really that bad?”

“Bad?” Mrs Brown shook her head in disbelief. “Issie, it’s brilliant! This is one of the most glowing school reports I’ve ever read! You’re topping the class in maths and science. You’ve got A+ for your English and history marks. Your form teacher describes you as ‘above average in all subjects’.”

“I’m still useless at French,” Issie said, “Mr Canning says my vocab is OK, but I have trouble with my—”

“Issie,” Mrs Brown said, “French aside, this is a really terrific report card. Why didn’t you show it to me? You should be thrilled with it…Issie?”

Issie’s head had disappeared into the laundry basket as she desperately hunted for the missing jods. “I forgot about it!” she said as she began to dig frantically through the clothes. “I went over to Kate’s after school and…Ohmygod! There they are!” Issie emerged triumphant with the jodhpurs. She looked at her watch. Seven forty! “Mum, can you give me a lift down to the paddock? I’ll never make it in time on my bike.”

Mrs Brown wasn’t listening. She was still poring over the report card. “Look at this! Your average mark for the term was 87 per cent!”

“Mum!” Issie was frantic. “Can’t we talk about it later? I’m going to be late for pony club!”

“Oh, don’t let me hold you up with my brief moment of parental pride,” Mrs Brown said sarcastically, “I’m sure you don’t want to keep the horses waiting…”

Issie’s mum didn’t stop talking about the report card all the way to the River Paddock. Then when they arrived, she embarrassed Issie by going on about it again in front of the other girls and even telling Avery about her results!

“My school report was hopeless!” Stella grumbled as they loaded the horses on to Avery’s truck. “All my teachers went on and on about how I don’t pay enough attention in class. I told my mum that I’d pay more attention if they weren’t so boring!”

“I just about fell asleep in French class the other day,” Kate agreed.

“I know! I can’t stand French!” Stella groaned. “Mr Canning is bonkers. I can’t understand a word he’s saying!”

“It’s like he’s speaking a foreign language!” Kate added, and the three girls burst into giggles.

“Are you going to take it again for fifth form?” Issie asked.

Kate nodded. “I guess so.”

“I can’t believe you’re talking about this!” Stella said. “I don’t even want to think about what subjects I’m taking next year. Only one more week of school to go and then seven weeks off! I’m going to spend every single day riding and I vow not to speak a single word of French!”

“What about puissance?” Issie said. “That’s a French word.”

“Then I shall refuse to jump them!” Stella said theatrically and the three girls fell about laughing again.

Stella and Kate were Issie’s best friends. Issie’s mum always said the three of them were like sisters — which was funny since the girls didn’t look anything alike. Stella had curly red hair, Kate was tall, with her blonde hair cut in a blunt bob, and Issie had long dark hair and olive skin, just like her mum.

“But inside, where it counts, you girls are identical,” Mrs Brown would say. “You’re all utterly horse-mad!”

It was a short drive from the River Paddock to the pony-club grounds. Avery was up front driving and the three girls sat in the cabin of the horse truck together. Behind them, in the very rear of the truck, were the horses. Comet, Toby and Marmite were all tied up in their partitions with a hay net each and the girls only had to open the back cabin door to walk through and check on them. Not that they really needed to, as the drive to the pony club was a brief ten minutes up the road.

“I can’t believe there’s just one more week of school,” Stella was saying. “Remember this time last year when we were all going to Blackthorn Farm to help Hester with the riding school?”

The three of them had been keen to go back to Gisborne and help out again this year too, but Issie’s Aunt Hester had decided not to open the school this summer. Her business, training movie stunt horses, was booming right now, and she had so much work on she couldn’t do both at once. That meant the girls were on the lookout for new holiday jobs.

As they unloaded the horses from the truck, Issie grabbed Comet’s tack. She had decided to ride the skewbald at the rally today because she knew they’d be doing lots of showjumping. Her other horse, Blaze, was a good jumper too, but was really best at dressage. The chestnut Anglo-Arab mare had once belonged to the famed El Caballo Danza Magnifico riding school in Spain, and Blaze’s son, Issie’s beloved colt Nightstorm, was there right now, about to begin his dressage training, just as his mother had done before him.

Comet, on the other hand, was no dressage horse. He got bored schooling — and let Issie know it by doing a cheerful buck if she tried to spend too much time on flatwork. Comet was a true showjumper and he was happiest when he was in the competition ring, showing off his style to the crowd as he flew over fences that were bigger than he was!

Comet’s jumping prowess could be a problem sometimes. Issie would often turn up at the River Paddock to find him in a different field from the one he’d been put in the night before. No fence could hold Comet. Issie remembered the very first time she met the cheeky skewbald, he had jumped out of his paddock and almost collided with Aunt Hester’s horse truck!

Hester had been driven mad by Comet’s antics when he lived at Blackthorn Farm. When Issie entered him in the Horse of the Year Show, Comet finally put his jumping ability to good use. His spectacular performance in the puissance won them prize money, and attracted the attention of celebrity showjumping trainer Ginty McLintoch, who offered to buy the skewbald on the spot!

But Hester had refused Ginty’s offer and given Comet to Issie instead. Ever since then, whenever Issie bumped into Ginty at showjumping events the flame-haired trainer always repeated her offer to buy the skewbald.

Ginty ran private stables in Chevalier Point where she schooled horses for wealthy clients and also ran a string of competitive showjumpers. Natasha Tucker was one of Ginty’s clients. The sour-faced blonde always made a point of telling the other Chevalier Point riders how brilliant her private lessons were. The way Natasha told it, Ginty was a proper instructor and would never waste her time with a bunch of useless pony-club kids the way Tom Avery did.

Ginty certainly had a reputation for being too posh for pony club. The one place Issie never expected to see Ginty was at a Chevalier Point rally day. So when she spotted the trainer standing over by Natasha’s horse truck talking with Mrs Tucker, she was utterly amazed.

“What’s she doing here?” Issie whispered to Stella and Kate. The three girls were all staring when Ginty suddenly turned round and caught them ogling at her. Surprisingly, the haughty redhead gave them a wave.

“Ohmygod!” Stella said. “She’s coming over.”

Ginty was striding across the paddocks with a determined look on her face. Her gaze was set on Issie and Comet. She had obviously recognised the skewbald pony and was homing in for a closer look.

“Good morning, girls,” Ginty said briskly. “Lovely day for riding!” Having dispensed with the pleasantries, she focused her attention on Issie. “How is Comet doing? Have you changed your mind about selling him to me yet?”

“He’s doing just fine,” Issie replied, “but he’s still not for sale.”

“I see,” Ginty said. “Well, I’ve got a couple of gaps in my team that I’m trying to fill this week before the competition season gets underway. You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

She presented a business card to Issie with her name and number on it, then turned on her heel and headed back to the Tuckers’ horse truck. The conversation was clearly over.

Tom Avery started the rally the same way he always did, with a gear inspection. There were over fifty club members present that morning, and after Avery had worked down the row, checking stirrup leathers and tutting over dirty bits and loose girths, he divided the ride up into four. The junior members were assigned their instructors and sent off to various training areas. Only the most senior Chevalier Point members stayed with Avery in the jumping ring.

There were eight of them. Issie, Stella and Kate were joined by their friends Dan, Ben, Annabel and Morgan, and Natasha Tucker was there too on Romeo.

As a warm-up exercise, Avery had set up four jumps, positioned around the arena in a circle at three, six, nine and twelve o’clock.

“They’re not very big, are they?” Dan said with disappointment as he eyed up the jumps. The four fences were quite low, no more than half a metre off the ground.

“We’ll begin at this height as a warm-up,” Avery told him. “It doesn’t matter what size the fence is, I’m looking for good technique from all of you. You’re going to canter in a circle over the jumps, making sure you keep the rhythm steady between fences and aim for the centre of each jump.”

As the riders rode around the course, Avery focused on correcting their positions. He was particularly keen to observe how well they executed their crest release, making sure that they eased the reins up the neck at the moment the horse took off, giving their mounts enough freedom to stretch out in an arc over the jumps.

“Don’t just fling the reins at him, Stella!” Avery called out. “The release should be smooth.”

“Slow down his canter by sitting back between fences, Natasha,” Avery instructed.

Natasha didn’t look happy to be given advice. She glared at Avery, and then looked over to Ginty, who was leaning against the rails at the sideline watching the riders closely. Ginty’s eyes weren’t trained on Romeo, though. She was watching Comet. When Avery raised the rails of the fences to a substantial one metre high, Ginty couldn’t take her eyes off the skewbald as he jumped each fence cleanly and perfectly, taking off neatly at exactly the right time and maintaining a rhythmic canter stride all the way around the ring.

When the riders had finished their training for the morning, Issie could have sworn Ginty was still watching as she rode out of the arena, but by the time she had tied Comet up to the horse truck, the trainer wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Natasha was at her horse truck unsaddling Romeo, but Ginty had disappeared.

It had only been a rally day, but Issie was still thrilled with Comet’s performance. “You should have seen the way he took the oxer,” she told her mum as they drove home.

“What’s an oxer?” Mrs Brown said. Issie sighed. Her mum knew nothing about horses or riding. Issie was used to it by now, and she had long ago got over her envy for riders like Morgan Chatswood-Smith who had horsey parents. OK, maybe her mum wasn’t horsey, but Issie was grateful that she had always supported her. She must have spent a fortune over the years on farriers and feed bills, lessons and grazing.

Mrs Brown even understood when Issie had to go to Spain to try and get Nightstorm back when the colt was stolen. So it must have been with serious consideration that she began the conversation in the car that day.

“Issie,” she said, “I’ve been thinking about your school report.”

Issie groaned. “Oh Mum, I get it, OK? You’re proud of me. That’s great. Can we move on?”

Mrs Brown shook her head. “I think this report proves what you are capable of. You’re growing up so fast. Next year you’ll be in the fifth form and it’s time that you started thinking about the future. What do you plan to do with your life?”

“You know that already, Mum,” Issie said. “I want to ride horses. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Yes, I know,” Mrs Brown said in a measured voice, “but Issie, that’s not a proper job, is it? Riding horses is something you love doing, but you need to think about what you are going to do with your life…as a career.”

“But I’ve already decided,” Issie frowned. “I’m going to be a competitive horse rider.”

“Sweetie, I think you need to be realistic,” Mrs Brown said. “What are the chances of you making a living that way? That’s why school is so important. If you continue to get marks like your last report, you could be anything you want to be. I’ve already put aside a university fund for you, so that’s not a problem. You just need a bit of solid workplace experience so you can think about what career you should focus on…” she took a deep breath. “I made a phone call today while you were at the pony club, and spoke to David, one of the partners at my office.”

Mrs Brown worked as a legal secretary for a large law firm in town. She had been part-time when Issie was little, but after Issie’s dad had moved away when she was nine, Mrs Brown began working full-time to make ends meet. Issie sometimes went to the office after school to meet her mum instead of going straight home. The partners at the law firm were always nice to her, although she couldn’t really tell any of them apart. They were all tall men in dark grey suits with bald heads, polite smiles and very firm handshakes.

“Anyway, I told David about your latest school report,” Mrs Brown continued, “and he’s very kindly agreed that you can do work experience at the firm for the whole of the holidays. They’ll even pay you an hourly rate — it’s not much, but really it’s the experience that counts.”

“What?” Issie couldn’t believe it. “But I don’t want to work at your office!”

“Issie, this is a great opportunity,” Mrs Brown insisted.

“I can’t believe this is my punishment for getting a good school report!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Isadora,” her mother said firmly.

“Well, it feels like that!” Issie couldn’t help herself. “It’s not fair!”

“Issie! You said yourself that you needed a holiday job.”

“But I don’t want to be stuck in some stuffy office!”

Mrs Brown was taken aback. “It’s not stuffy. We have excellent air conditioning.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” her mum pointed out. “You only have a week until holidays start and you haven’t found anything else yet.”

“But I—”

Mrs Brown was exasperated. “Either you come up with a magical job offer where someone is actually willing to pay you to ride ponies all day, or you will be coming to work with me at the law firm next week when school finishes.”

There was silence in the car. You could have cut the air with a knife. Finally, Mrs Brown spoke again, her voice calm and softer this time. “You’re fifteen years old, Issie. Maybe it’s time to grow up. Horses are all well and good, but they are not a real job. I’m thinking about your future.”

“Me too,” Issie muttered.

What else was there to say? Issie could see the future that her mother had planned for her. And there wasn’t a single horse in it.

Chapter 2

Issie had been planning to give Comet the day off after the rally and spend Sunday morning hacking out on Blaze, but her mum had other ideas.

“You need some nice clothes to wear to the office next week,” Mrs Brown insisted. And so, instead of going riding, Issie spent Sunday morning being dragged around the shops while her mother bought her a smart black skirt, a striped cotton dress, two blouses and a pair of chic black ballet pumps.

“I don’t see why we’re doing this,” Issie grumbled as Mrs Brown handed her credit card over the counter at the shoe store.

“Because you can’t wear riding boots and jods to work at a law firm,” Mrs Brown told her. “Now, how about we get you a nice jacket as well?”

By the time the shopping torture was over half the day was already gone. Issie still had time to ride, but she decided it was too late to hack out, so she’d focus on dressage instead.

The dark cloud that had been hanging over her all morning disappeared when she saw Blaze waiting for her at the River Paddock gate. It was hard to stay in a bad mood when you were with a horse, especially one as beautiful as Blaze.

With her flaxen mane and tail, white socks and deep liver chestnut coat, Blaze was the prettiest horse you could imagine. Her delicate beauty was the result of centuries of breeding and she had once been the most prized mare of El Caballo Danza Magnifico. However, Issie hadn’t known anything about her pony’s incredible history when they first met.

Blaze had been in a terrible state, mistreated and abused, filthy and half-starved, when Tom Avery turned up with her three years ago in his horse truck. Chevalier Point’s head instructor worked for Horse Welfare and it was his job to re-home rescued horses. Initially, Issie was wary. She wanted to help but she was still recovering from the horrific loss of her own pony, her beloved dapple-grey Mystic, who had been killed in a terrible accident.

One look at Blaze, however, convinced Issie that she had no choice. This mare really needed her. Together the heartbroken girl and the pony began to heal each other.

Through it all though, Issie had never forgotten Mystic. She still loved the grey pony and she felt as if somehow he was still there with her.

It turned out she was right. There was a connection between Issie and her pony that was too strong to be broken. Mystic returned to Issie, not like a ghost, but as real as any horse, flesh and blood at her side ready to help her, whenever she really needed him.

Mystic had helped Issie so many times. They had ridden together in the middle of the night to catch saboteurs and horse thieves, and taken wild rides in broad daylight to save the Blackthorn Ponies in the Gisborne high country. But a couple of months ago when Issie had been riding at the Young Rider Challenge in Australia, Issie had begun to doubt her special bond with the grey pony. There were moments when she thought he had abandoned her. Things had got really desperate and it had become a constant fear that she would inevitably lose her bond with Mystic, as his appearances seemed less frequent as time passed. But Mystic had come through in the end in Australia, turning up when she truly needed him, just as he always did. And although she saw him less and less, she knew that Mystic wouldn’t leave her. He had never let her down, he was her protector.

But now a new threat loomed over Issie — one that Mystic couldn’t prevent. After so many adventures together, was this how it would end? Not in some wild, dangerous escapade, but with Issie stuck in the offices of some boring law firm? Not even Mystic could save her from Mrs Brown’s awful plan, which would keep her inside and away from horses for the whole holidays!

Issie tried to stop thinking about the stupid holiday job. She had almost finished grooming and tacking up Blaze, and as she did up the last straps on the cavesson and the throat lash, she was determined to make the most of her ride. After all, she wasn’t going to have much riding time left this summer if she was working from nine to five.

As they entered the arena, Issie rode Blaze on a loose rein to stretch her neck out long and low, and then gradually collected her up, doing lots of trot transitions before cantering in half circles to change the rein.

She had been working lately on the mare’s lateral work — which meant fancy dressage moves like half-passes and shoulder-ins. Blaze had been well-schooled in all these manoeuvres a long time ago when she was with El Caballo Danza Magnifico, so it was just a matter of pressing the right buttons and the mare would break out the most magnificent dressage paces.

Issie had been riding for nearly an hour and was just finishing up with some trot serpentines when she realised that there was a figure standing beside the arena, watching her. Startled, she pulled Blaze up to a halt.

“Don’t stop on my account!” the woman called out. “I was quite happy watching you. I’ve been here for ages. She’s a beautiful mare, isn’t she?”

The woman stepped over the side barrier of the arena and strode over towards Issie. She was wearing khaki jodhpurs and a white polo shirt. Issie hadn’t recognised her at first because she was wearing a cap on top of her flame-red hair and a pair of wraparound sunglasses hid her eyes.

“I called at your house and your mum said I would find you here,” Ginty McLintoch said. “I hope it’s OK, turning up like this? I didn’t mean to interrupt your training.”

“That’s OK,” Issie said. “Blaze and I were nearly finished anyway.”

Ginty nodded. “So this is your other pony?” She ran a cool, professional eye over Blaze, examining her conformation. “She’s certainly a looker. Does she jump?”

Issie felt herself stiffen at the question. “She’s not for sale either,” Issie said. “I got given her, and it’s a really long story…but I would never sell her.”

Issie couldn’t believe the nerve! Ginty had failed to buy Comet, so why would she ever think that Issie was willing to sell Blaze?

“I think I’ve given you the wrong end of the stick,” Ginty said hastily, sensing Issie’s hostility. “I’m not trying to buy your mare. Don’t get me wrong. She’s very nice, but I really didn’t come here to talk about your ponies.”

Issie was confused. “Then what are you here for?”

Ginty looked at her with a serious expression. “You,” she said. “I’m here for you, Issie. I want to offer you a job at my stables.”

Ginty McLintoch didn’t mess around when it came to business. Her discussion with Issie was swift and simple. She had a place in her stables over the school holidays for a junior groom. She was looking for a young rider who knew their way around a showjumper and could handle the responsibilities of exercising, feeding and grooming up to six horses a day.

“The pay isn’t great and the hours are long,” Ginty conceded, “but you will get to ride some fantastic horses. Not only every day for basic training, but also at competitions on the circuit. I guarantee you’ll learn more about riding in seven weeks with me than you’ve probably learnt in all the years you’ve been taught by Tom Avery.”

There was a sneer in Ginty’s voice as she said Avery’s name. Issie was well aware that the flame-haired trainer frowned upon Avery’s methods. Natasha Tucker was always talking about the rivalry between them. Ginty considered Chevalier Point Pony Club’s head instructor a low-powered amateur, compared to her and the high-stakes world of professional paid riders.

The dislike was mutual. Avery had made it quite clear that he was not a fan of Ginty’s methods either. Issie had heard him complaining about the slew of bad habits that Ginty had taught her star pupil, Natasha Tucker. The spoilt blonde was rather too fond of relying on her whip and was renowned for her ‘busy’ hands. But was that really Ginty’s doing?

Ginty obviously liked the way Issie handled her horses — otherwise surely she wouldn’t have offered her the job? And if Ginty thought that Issie was a good rider then perhaps her methods weren’t a world away from Avery’s after all.

Ginty was a famous trainer. She had brought on more than her fair share of champions. And being a junior groom in Ginty’s stables meant the chance to spend the school holidays riding amazing horses every day, instead of helping her mum with filing bits of paper and getting the lawyers cups of tea!

“Would I still have time to ride my own horses?” Issie asked.

“That’s up to you,” Ginty replied. “You’ll be working a six-day week — sometimes seven days when we’re competing at the shows. You’ll start at seven each morning and sometimes we’ll be away for days at a time on the show circuit, but usually if you’re not too exhausted by the time you finish work at four, then you’ll have time left at the end of the day to ride your own horses.”

“It sounds brilliant, thank you,” Issie said politely, “but I need to think about it.”

“Well, you don’t have much time to do that, I’m afraid,” Ginty said. “I need an answer soon. I’ve only got a week to find someone and I can’t afford to sit on my hands. Tell me now if you’re not keen, because I have a couple of other riders that I’m considering.”

“No!” Issie said hastily. “I mean, yes. Don’t offer anyone else the job. I want to do it. I just need to go home and check with my mum…”

Issie spent the bike ride home rehearsing the best way of breaking the news to her mother. She had a well-prepared little speech all ready, but instantly forgot it the minute she walked in the door.

“Ginty McLintoch has offered me a job. You said I’d never find a job with horses, but I have, and I want to go and work for her.”

Some people would call the conversation that followed an argument. Later on, when she had calmed down, Mrs Brown referred to it as a ‘heated discussion’. In the end, though, Issie didn’t care what her mum called it. She had won. Mrs Brown finally conceded defeat. After all, she had told her daughter that if she could find herself a paid job with ponies, then she could take it.

“On the plus side,” Mrs Brown reasoned, “starting work at seven each morning and mucking out poo from that many loose boxes every day might finally make you think about getting qualifications for a proper career. I know I’d rather be sitting down with a cup of tea in a nice air-conditioned office than doing back-breaking work at a stable any day.”

This was the difference between her and her mother. Issie would rather be sweating in the stables for a pittance. Horses were her dream job and she had just been given her big break.

Stella and Kate couldn’t believe it when Issie told them her news at school the next day.

“You are soooo lucky!” Stella breathed excitedly. “I am so jealous! Ginty was really watching you at the pony club that day, when you thought she just wanted to buy Comet! Do you think she needs any more riders?”

Stella’s holiday job was restocking the shelves each night at the local supermarket, and she wasn’t thrilled with it. “We have to wear smocks and hairnets,” she groaned. “It’s going to be awful.”

“Have you told Tom yet?” Kate asked.

“No.” Issie shook her head. “I’m going to Winterflood Farm tomorrow after school to help out with a new rescue pony that he’s just brought in. I thought I would tell him then.”

“I thought Tom didn’t like Ginty?” Stella said.

“He doesn’t,” Issie admitted, “but when I explain to him how I didn’t really have a choice, I’m sure he’ll be OK about it.”

She was dead wrong.

“You can’t work for Ginty,” Avery told her point blank when she broke the news.

“But Tom, if I don’t take the job Mum will make me spend the holidays at her office and I won’t get to ride at all—”

“Anything is better than working for that atrocious woman,” Avery said.

“Why?” Issie was confused. “I know Ginty has different methods from you—”

“You’ve got no idea!” Avery said, clearly refusing to back down. “Issie, you don’t understand the pressure you’ll be under riding for Dulmoth Park. Ginty’s got financial backers with big wallets and huge expectations. It’s all about making money for her, and she’s willing to do whatever it takes to win.”

“So she’s competitive. There’s nothing wrong with that,” Issie insisted. “I know it’s a big step for me, working at a professional stables, but I can handle myself. Besides, when we were in Australia a couple of months ago you were willing to let me move to Kentucky to go to Blainford. Now I’ve got a holiday job and you’re acting like it’s a big deal!”

“This is different,” Avery said coolly. “Tara Kelly is a brilliant trainer and Blainford Academy is the best riding institution in the world. I was only doing what was best for you—”

“I’m fifteen years old!” Issie objected. “I’m not a kid any more, and you need to stop deciding what’s best for me! You’re not my dad, you know. You’re just my pony-club instructor!”

The words came out before Issie could stop them. And then she saw the pain in Avery’s eyes, deep disappointment written all over his face.

“Tom,” Issie stammered, “I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“It’s OK,” Avery said quietly. “And you’re right, this is your decision. I can’t make your mind up for you. Maybe it’s time for you to try a new instructor. Maybe this is a good thing.”

And with that he turned his back on Issie and headed towards the stable block.

“Tom?” Issie called running after him. “Wait…I thought you wanted me to help with the new pony?”

Avery turned back to look at her. “No, Issie, I think it’s probably best if you go home. I can cope with the pony on my own.”

In all the time she had known Tom Avery, Issie had never heard such hurt in her instructor’s voice. As she watched him walk away, she wondered whether she was really doing the right thing. But it was too late to change her mind now. She had already told Ginty that she would take the job. She was starting work at Dulmoth Park on Monday.

Chapter 3

Issie stared up at the horse towering above her. It was rearing up on its hind legs, with a tousled mane and wild eyes. She put a hand out to stroke the horse and felt cool, smooth marble against her skin. There was the security keypad, embedded in the pedestal below the statue, just as Ginty had described it. The letters on the pad lit up bright blue at the touch of her fingertips as she carefully coded in the password Ginty had given her — w-i-n-n-e-r.

The sleek, state-of-the-art metal gates beside the statue slid open and Issie wheeled her bike through the grand entrance and into the manicured grounds of Dulmoth Park.

Issie had got up at 6 a.m. to make it to work on time. She had dressed, eaten breakfast and then cycled the half-hour journey along the main road past the pony club and the Chevalier Point airfield to reach the stables. She had hoped that maybe her mum would drive her to work, but Mrs Brown had laughed when Issie suggested this.

“You want me to drive you to work before seven?” Her mum was horrified. “You must be joking! I’m not getting up at dawn each day to be a taxi service.”

It had been hard to force herself out of bed, but once she was up and on her bike, Issie actually enjoyed the ride to the stables. The morning air was crisp, and as she cycled up the driveway of Dulmoth Park the grounds looked pristine and perfect with the dawn light tinting everything golden.

As she rode past the white post and rail fences, Issie noticed that Dulmoth Park’s paddocks were eerily empty. There were no horses grazing. Even in summer, when New Zealand nights were warm and most horses were left out to pasture, Ginty had a reputation for keeping her horses stabled. Right now the horses would still be tucked up snugly in their loose boxes, waiting for their day to start.

The stable complex at the end of the long driveway had the air of a posh racehorse training facility. The driveway forked in three directions and there was a series of smart, creosoted black buildings surrounded by well-pruned trees and neat lawns.

Issie had just dismounted from her bike and was wondering which path to take when suddenly two very yappy, angry-looking Jack Russells came charging out from the building right in front of her.

The dogs were barking their heads off as they bore down on her. They were just a few feet away and closing in fast when a sharp whistle made them stop in their tracks.

“Hoi! Jock! Angus!” Ginty McLintoch called out.

At the sound of Ginty’s voice Jock and Angus sat down obediently, waiting for their mistress to catch up.

“I’m sorry about that,” Ginty said. “They’re very suspicious of strangers.” She smiled at Issie. “They’ll be fine now that they can see you’re with me.”

Issie put out her hands to scratch the two Jack Russells under the chin. “Hi Jock, hi Angus!” She smiled at Ginty. “I love dogs. I’ve got a blue heeler at home.”

“A blue heeler?”

“An Australian cattle dog,” Issie explained.

“Good around horses?” Ginty asked.

“Wombat’s brilliant with horses.”

“Wombat?” Ginty was confused. “I thought you said he was a dog?”

“He is a dog,” Issie said. “His name is Wombat. I got him in Australia…it’s kind of a long story.”

“Well,” Ginty said briskly, clearly not interested in hearing it, “as long as he doesn’t bother the horses and he can put up with Jock and Angus, then you’re welcome to bring him to work with you.”

“Really?” Issie couldn’t believe it. “That would be amazing!”

“You can park your bike in the equipment room,” Ginty told her. “It’s just through that doorway beside the office.” She looked at her watch. “I’d better go down to the stables. I’ve got another new junior groom starting today as well. Come and join us there when you’re ready.”

The equipment room was stocked with jump stands and painted rails. Issie leant her bike against the wall and unzipped her backpack. She’d already put her helmet on for the bike ride and she grabbed her back protector out of the backpack and slipped it on too before heading for the stable block.

Up ahead of her at the stable entrance Ginty was engrossed in conversation with two girls who looked a couple of years older than Issie. They were both dressed exactly the same, in smart cream jodhpurs, work boots and dark purple sweatshirts with the letters DP embroidered on them in swirly gold. The DP obviously stood for Dulmoth Park.

“Issie,” Ginty called out, “come and meet my senior grooms.”

The two girls looked up at Issie and the one with freckles and honey-coloured hair in a ponytail gave her a warm smile.

“Hi!” The honey-blonde gave a wave. “I’m Penny.”

The girl next to Penny had brown hair cut in a short pixie crop. She didn’t smile or say hello, she just stared at Issie suspiciously.

“This is Verity — my head groom,” Ginty said, taking over on the introductions since Verity clearly wasn’t going to introduce herself. “Verity and Penny have both been with me for two seasons already, so they know the ropes,” Ginty continued. “I’ve asked Verity to assign you and Natasha your work rosters. You’ll find details on the blackboard just inside the front door of the stables.”

Issie froze. Did Ginty just say Natasha? No, it couldn’t be…

At that moment the gates to Dulmoth Park slid open and a silver Mercedes glided down the driveway. Issie recognised the car straight away, and the sour-faced blonde sitting inside it.

Natasha Tucker emerged from the passenger seat looking utterly miserable, grabbed her bag, muttered a dismissive goodbye to her mother and then slammed the Mercedes door shut. She glared after the car as Mrs Tucker drove off again.

“Good morning, Natasha.” Ginty smiled at her. “I believe I told you it was a 7 a.m. start, so let’s try to be on time in future.”

“Whatever!” Natasha groaned.

Issie would never have spoken to Ginty like that, but the trainer seemed to let Natasha get away with it. She ignored the comment and continued, “I was just doing introductions. You know Verity and Penny already, and I’m sure you know Isadora too?”

“We go to pony club together,” Natasha confirmed, looking far from pleased to see Issie.

“I’ve just been explaining the roster,” Ginty said. “Verity will organise it so that you and Isadora are each in charge of six horses. You’ll need to do all the feeds and have the first horse ready in the arena by eight each morning to begin schooling. Everything is written down for you on the blackboards in the tack room, but if you have any questions about the way we do things here, then check with Verity.”

This clearly didn’t sit well with the head groom, who didn’t seem keen on answering any questions. She was already edging towards the stables, trying to get away. “Can I go now?” she asked. “I’ve still got to sort out Tottie and Flame’s hard feeds. We’re already running late.”

Ginty nodded. “Take Issie with you to help.”

Verity grunted, and Issie figured that must mean she should follow as the head groom set off towards the far end of the stables.

The feed room was nothing like the tatty old tack shed where the feed was stored at Winterflood Farm. This room looked like a science lab—or a pharmacy. Large feed lockers with airtight lids lined one side of the room and above these were shelves filled with a mind-boggling array of powders, additives and supplements.

Verity seemed to know exactly what each of the bottles contained. She had grabbed a feed bin and was busily throwing in various measures from different bottles and tubs on the shelves.

“We’re trying to put more condition on Tottie at the moment,” Verity said. “I’ve been giving her two scoops of boiled barley in her feed morning and night, plus one of chaff and one of Maxi-equine hi-performance, and we add linseed, magnesium and electrolytes to each meal. Plus I’ve been putting in selenium lately as well.”

Now she grabbed a second feed bin and began to pour out measures and doses of potions off the shelf. “Flame’s on three scoops of the Maxi-equine, plus the chaff and supplements and extra potassium,” Verity continued.

“I don’t think I can remember all of this,” Issie murmured, feeling quite ill at the thought of giving the horses the wrong dose or muddling the feeds up entirely.

“You don’t have to learn it off by heart. Just look at the chart on the wall,” Verity said. “It gives you feed instructions for every horse in the stables.”

Issie noticed that there was one feed locker that Verity didn’t use at all. It wasn’t a round tub like the rest — it was low and square, standing in the corner of the room. Its lid was curved and inlaid with metal and it was bolted shut like a treasure chest with a combination lock on the outside of it.

“What’s in that one?” Issie asked.

Verity stiffened. “Medicines…stuff for emergencies,” she said, adding bluntly, “Leave it alone. You don’t need to worry about it.”

She finished stirring the feeds using a huge wooden spoon, and then passed one of the big buckets to Issie.

“You can give Flame his feed. He’s in the stall at the end on your left.”

As Issie approached Flame’s loose box, she could hear the horse stamping about inside, pacing and whinnying impatiently as he heard her coming closer. Both the top and bottom half of the Dutch door were shut tight and Issie wondered what the horse on the other side looked like. All she knew was that with a name like Flame he had to be a chestnut.

When she swung the door open, she was amazed. Flame’s coat was like nothing she had ever seen before. It shone like a newly minted copper coin. He had the most athletic conformation Issie had ever seen, with muscles and sinew rippling as he moved about restlessly in his stall.

Flame was clearly expecting his breakfast. He stomped and nickered, impatiently waiting for Issie to unbolt the door, and then made a beeline for her as she entered the stall. With the feed bin propped under one arm, she had to use the other hand to fend him off, moving quickly through the loose box to deftly slide the bin into the wallfeeder slot at the far end.

As Flame happily snuffled down his feed, Issie was free to stand back and assess the gelding more thoroughly. She guessed that he was around sixteen hands high, but his imposing presence made him seem much bigger than that. He wasn’t a fine-boned Thoroughbred but a heavier breed, perhaps some kind of warmblood or a Selle Francais like Natasha’s chestnut, Romeo. His shoulders and neck were powerful, and although his hindquarters were well developed his withers were still higher than his rump, which indicated that his power was in his front half, a classic sign of a horse that had been bred to jump. He had an elegant, refined head and thoughtful deep brown eyes. His bold chestnut colour made a striking contrast with the pretty white star on the gelding’s forehead and the white snip on his muzzle.

“You’re really gorgeous!” Issie breathed out loud.

“He should be!”

It was Verity, leaning over the partition of the Dutch door and looking at Flame. “He cost a fortune and it was a total drama getting him here. He had to be imported from Europe. His bloodlines are amazing — he’s by Brilliant Fire.”

Issie looked blankly at her.

“You mean you haven’t heard of Brilliant Fire?” Verity sighed dramatically at this. “He’s a Hanoverian stallion, a warmblood from Germany. Brilliant Fire has sired more Olympic showjumpers than any other stallion. All of his progeny — his sons and daughters — are worth a fortune because of their bloodlines.”

“So how much did Ginty pay for Flame?” Issie asked.

“Oh, Ginty didn’t buy him!” Verity said, looking at Issie as if she were the most naïve person on the planet. “Ginty could never afford him—or any of the other horses here for that matter.”

“You mean she doesn’t own any of the horses?” Issie was confused.

“She doesn’t even own Dulmoth Park!” Verity said. “Ginty’s in charge, but she’s not the one with the money. Cassandra Steele, you know, the millionairess? She owns the stables and most of the horses. Ginty also stables a few ‘weekend rides’ for clients with loads of money and no time. Ginty keeps their horses for them here at an exorbitant cost. It’s a total luxury—some of the clients only ride their horses once a month. Imagine having your own horse and only bothering to ride it twelve times a year!”

“Don’t the horses go bonkers if there’s no one riding them?” Issie asked.

“Oh, we ride them,” Verity said. “Ginty charges even more money for that. Penny and I exercise the horses on the owner’s behalf so that they’re kept in regular work.”

“You’re so lucky. It must be amazing, being paid to ride really fab horses every day.”

Verity looked at Issie as if she were an idiot. “The owners have high expectations. It’s up to us to make them happy,” she said flatly. “It costs a fortune to keep your horse at Dulmoth Park, but the rich ladies love it, because it’s so exclusive and Ginty treats them all like rock stars. We keep their horses fit and do everything for them. Ginty always says that her clients pay top dollar so that they can step out of their car and get straight on to their horse.”

Issie thought about all those times Natasha had turned up at rally days with Romeo immaculately groomed and plaited — quite boastful about having done none of the work herself. No doubt Penny and Verity were the ones who did it for her.

“Why is Natasha working here?” Issie asked. “She’s one of Ginty’s clients, isn’t she?”

Verity shrugged. “Her dad has some sort of money trouble. Ginty says it’s only temporary. He’s a big-deal property developer and a deal fell through. Natasha’s parents are making her work here for the holidays to cover the cost of her horse’s board, otherwise Ginty wouldn’t be able to keep stabling Romeo.”

Issie knew exactly what ‘trouble’ Mr Tucker had got himself into. In fact, Issie was the one who had uncovered his dodgy business dealings while she competed on Fortune to win the Golden Trophy! It was ironic, Issie thought, that she should end up stuck with Natasha for the school holidays—and in a strange way it was her own fault!

“Ginty still sucks up to the Tuckers because of their money,” Verity continued. “You saw the way she treated Natasha, letting her arrive late this morning. The rest of us would have been hung, drawn and quartered…” Verity stopped in mid-sentence. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking to you like this. You and Natasha both go to the same pony club, don’t you? You’re probably best friends.”

Issie gave a hollow laugh. “Hardly! Natasha can’t stand me!”

Verity looked surprised at this. “Really? I thought you were…You know, you have to be careful,” she said darkly, “you never know who your friends are around here…”

Verity looked like she was about to say something else, but Issie never found out what, because at that moment Ginty suddenly appeared beside her at the stall door.

“Come on!” the trainer said briskly. “Morning exercise is already behind schedule, we don’t have time to stand around chatting.”

“I better go get Tottie ready,” Verity said to Issie. “Check the blackboard roster to see which horse you’re working first. I’ll see you in the arena.”

Issie found the blackboard on the back of the door in the tack room. Riders’ names were listed along the top of the board with the horses they were assigned written down underneath. Issie noted with disappointment that Flame had been given to Natasha. She had been hoping that she would be the one to ride the big chestnut. Penny was down to ride Vertigo, and Verity was supposed to ride a horse called Tottenham Hotspur, which Issie figured must be Tottie’s show name. The first horse on Issie’s list was “Tokyo”. Issie searched through the saddle racks fixed to the wall and found Tokyo’s name plate with a saddle, bridle and numnah.

Tokyo’s saddle was made from warm honey-coloured leather, finished with orange stitching and a single word stamped elegantly into the flap at the front: Hermès.

Issie was almost scared to touch it. She had never seen a real Hermès saddle before — they were worth thousands and thousands of dollars. And now she was going to ride in one!

Picking Tokyo’s saddle up carefully, she carried it with the numnah over her arm and the bridle slung on her left shoulder, back out into the stable corridor. It wasn’t until she was standing there looking at the row of stalls that she realised there was a problem. The loose boxes didn’t have name plates. How was she supposed to find her horse?

Still carrying the gear, she strode down the corridor towards the end stall. Verity would be in there saddling up Tottie. She could tell Issie which stall held Tokyo.

The door to Tottie’s loose box was unlocked, so Issie pushed it open and walked straight in to see Verity standing alongside a nervous-looking dapple-grey mare. Verity was bent down over the horse’s hocks. Her right hand was gripping a hypodermic syringe.

As she held the syringe aloft, Verity’s face was tight with determination. She took aim, and then with all her strength she hammered her fist down hard, forcing the hypodermic needle deep into the upper muscle of the horse’s hind leg.

“Verity! What are you doing?” Issie cried out. But it was too late. Verity had already pushed down the plunger of the syringe and injected the contents of the hypodermic into Tottie.

With a quick yank, she pulled the needle back out again, capped the empty syringe and then she slipped it into her pocket. She let the mare go and walked over to Issie.

“Verity,” Issie said, “what was that?”

The head groom raised a finger to her lips. “Say nothing about this,” she warned. “Trust me. If you know what’s good for you, you don’t want to get involved.”

Verity’s face was stony as she pushed past Issie in the doorway. Then she turned round and added bitterly, “Welcome to Dulmoth Park, Issie. You really have no idea what you’re in for.”

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