Comet and the Champion's Cup

  Comet and the

  Champion’s cup

  Stacy Gregg

  Contents

  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

  The Pony Club Secrets series:

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  For Kirsty, who was there and knows

  what really happened…

  Chapter 1

  The bay colt knew the girl was watching. He arched his neck proudly, delighting in her attention as he trotted by. When he passed the paddock railing where the girl was sitting, the colt came so close that he almost brushed against her knees. She giggled and reached out a hand to grab him, but the colt swerved away, putting on a sudden burst of speed, galloping away from her to the other side of the paddock.

  When he reached the hedge at the end of the field his flanks were heaving and his muzzle was twitching with excitement. He wheeled about, his ears pricked forward, turning to face the girl who stared intently back at him.

  The girl whistled. Her lips pursed together as she blew once, then a second time–a sharp, clear note that carried across the paddock. The colt heard her call, but at first he refused to obey, stamping at the ground and tossing his head defiantly. He held his ground briefly, his muscles quivering, before he leapt forward as if he were a racehorse, breaking from the gate. Thrilling in his own speed as his eager strides swallowed up the ground between them, the colt galloped back to her, wanting to start the whole game again.

  “Good boy, Storm!” Issie giggled as the colt swept past again, once more managing to avoid her hand as she reached out to touch him.

  They had played this game of tig many times, but Issie never got tired of it. She loved to watch Nightstorm move. His body still hadn’t grown into those long, lanky legs–it was as if he were teetering about on stilts–and yet there was something so graceful about him.

  Nightstorm was hardly recognisable as the tiny bay foal with the white blaze that had been born that stormy night in the stables here at Winterflood Farm. It was Issie who had named the colt Nightstorm as they sheltered together in the stables while the lightning flashed above their heads. Lately, though, she had taken to calling him by his nickname–Storm.

  Storm was just three months old, but already Issie could see that he was the best possible combination of both of his magnificent bloodlines. His elegant head carriage and beautiful, dished Arabian face were derived from his Anglo-Arab dam, Blaze. Physically, though, the colt was much more solid than his mother. He bore a powerful resemblance to his sire, the great grey stallion Marius. You could see it in his well-rounded haunches, classical topline and strong, solid hocks, all true signs of the Lipizzaner breed.

  As the colt cantered back once more, Issie leapt down off the rails, a signal that the game was over. Storm understood this. He trotted towards her and didn’t try to swerve away this time. Instead, he came to a halt right next to her so that Issie could reach out and stroke his velvety muzzle. She ran her hand down the colt’s neck. Storm was already moulting, losing the soft, downy layer of fur that all foals are born with, to reveal the shiny, smooth grown-up coat underneath. Issie could see bits of deep russet bay, the colour of warm mahogany, emerging from underneath the baby-fluff.

  Storm was growing fast. Sometimes Issie felt it was too quick–she wanted him to be a foal forever. At other times, she felt it still wasn’t fast enough. Horses take a long time to mature–and horses with Lipizzaner blood take longer than most. It would be three years before Storm was ready to be ridden. Such a long time! Issie had bitten her lip and tried not to say anything childish when Avery told her how long she must wait to ride the colt, but inside she felt bitterly disappointed. She didn’t want to wait. She wanted to ride Storm now!

  It had never occurred to Issie that when her beloved mare Blaze had a foal it would mean she would be left without a horse to ride for the whole of the summer holidays. She couldn’t ride Storm–and Blaze couldn’t be ridden yet either, not until the colt was weaned at six months. And that was ages away!

  Never mind, Issie thought. She might not be able to ride, but she loved just being with her new baby. She was amazed at how quickly Storm seemed to put his trust in her. Perhaps it was because he had watched Issie and Blaze together and he was simply following his mother’s cues. His mother was the centre of his universe and if his mum loved this girl with the long dark hair, well, then Storm loved her too. Issie could have happily spent her summer goofing around with the colt, playing silly games like the one they were playing today–if it weren’t for Avery getting all serious on her.

  “He’s just a cute baby now,” Avery pointed out. “But that foal of yours will be a sixteen-two hands high stallion one day. He’s getting stronger every day, bigger too. That’s why it’s important to start his schooling now, while he’s still small enough for you to be able to handle him. It’s important to teach Nightstorm good manners and respect right from the start.”

  And so, under Avery’s expert tuition, Issie began learning how to “imprint” her foal. She followed her instructor’s advice to the letter, being firm but gentle with Storm as she taught him to accept a head collar and then a foal halter, how to walk politely beside her on a lead rein and how to stand perfectly still while she picked up his feet.

  Issie would arrive at Winterflood Farm at dawn most mornings so she could spend time with the colt before school. She would bring Storm and Blaze into the stable block and spend the next hour grooming the colt while the mare ate her hard feed. The grooming sessions were a gradual process, part of the colt’s training, teaching him to accept her touch as she ran the brushes over his body. The whole time she worked, Issie would talk softly to Storm, and he would occasionally nicker back to her, turning around to snuffle her softly with his velvety muzzle when she was brushing him, or closing his eyes in pleasure as she scratched him on that sweet spot on his rump.

  The weekends were the best. Then she would cycle down to Winterflood Farm at dawn and wouldn’t return home until dinner time. Issie couldn’t really say exactly what she did at the farm all day. Sometimes she just lay in the long grass under the magnolia tree and watched Storm. She especially loved the way he would snort and quiver each time something new crossed his path. She could hardly wait until next week when the school holidays would finally be starting and she could spend all her time with the young horse.

  Today, Issie had another new surprise for the colt. As she reached into her pocket and produced a carrot, she watched Storm boggle at it with wide eyes. He hadn’t learnt to eat carrots yet–and he was uncertain what to do next.

  “Here you go, Storm,” Issie said softly, extending her hand, the carrot in her palm. Storm had watched his mother eat carrots before, but he’d never been offered one to try himself. He gave it a sniff and his ears pricked forward. It smelt good! He gave Issie’s palm a snuffle, taking a tiny little bite, then he held the chunk of carrot in his mouth, unsure of what to do next. Issie giggled again at the expression on his face, those wide dark brown eyes filled with wonder.

  “Here, Blaze, you show him how it’s done!” Issie grinned, giving one to the colt’s mother as well. The mare took the carrot eagerly, crunching it down. Issie was about to dig another carrot out of her jacket pocket and try to feed Storm again when she heard her name being called.

 
; “Issie!” She turned around to see Tom Avery standing on the back porch of the cottage. “Your mum is on the phone. She wants to talk to you.”

  Issie sighed. “She probably wants me to come home and tidy my room. She’s been on at me about getting it done before the holidays begin.”

  Avery smiled at her. “It is possible that your mother just wants to lay eyes on you for five minutes to make sure you actually exist. You’ve been spending all your time here with Storm.”

  Issie paused on the back porch to yank off her boots before padding along the hallway to pick up the phone. “Hi, Mum,” she said brightly. “Listen, if it’s about my room, I know I said I’d tidy it, but I couldn’t find the vacuum cleaner nozzle and…”

  Her mother interrupted her. “I’ve just had a phone call from Aidan.” Mrs Brown’s voice was taut and serious. “Issie, I’m afraid it’s bad news. It’s about your aunty Hess…”

  Hester had woken at 3 a.m. and, finding herself wide awake, resigned herself to her fate. She switched on her bedside lamp and tried to occupy herself with a crossword puzzle, but found it impossible to concentrate on the page in front of her. Her eyes kept darting nervously away from the newspaper in her hand to her laptop, which sat silently in the dark on her desk. She was waiting for an important email and, until it arrived, sleep was out of the question.

  At 6 a.m., as the light came streaming in through the wide bay windows of Blackthorn Manor, she finally heard the sound that she had been longing for and dreading at the same time: the soft “ping” that signalled that an email had arrived in her inbox. She walked across the room and looked at the screen. You’ve got mail! it flashed at her urgently.

  Hester held her breath as she clicked the mouse to open the email. She was so sick with nerves, she could barely bring herself to look at it. Please let it be good news, she thought to herself. We need this film so badly!

  From the very first line, though, her heart sank.

  Dear Hester, it is with great regret that we inform you that all work has been delayed indefinitely on our latest film project…

  Hester didn’t bother to read any further. She knew what the rest of the email said. And she knew exactly what it meant–total disaster. She shut the laptop immediately, as if closing it would keep the bad news locked inside where it couldn’t upset her any more. She felt a sudden chill and wrapped her dressing gown tightly around herself as she left her bedroom and walked downstairs.

  Padding down to the kitchen in silence with the dogs following at her feet, Hester put the kettle on and began to make coffee. She looked out of the window towards the stables. The horses would be waking up in their stalls and expecting their breakfast. They had no idea about the email–or the bad news it contained.

  “Well, my Daredevil Ponies,” Hester said darkly, “I’d like to see what stunt you can pull to get us out of this mess.”

  “Hester?”

  Hester turned around to find her young stable manager Aidan standing in the doorway. Aidan looked like he hadn’t slept either. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing back his long dark fringe to reveal striking blue eyes that were restless with the worry and stress they had both shared over the past few weeks.

  “Has there been any news? Have you heard back from the production company yet?”

  Hester nodded solemnly. “It’s all bad I’m afraid. They’ve postponed the movie–indefinitely. We’re out of work again. I just don’t believe it. Three film jobs falling through in a row. We’ve got the luck of the devil hounding us, Aidan. I just wish we had his money too. I was relying on this movie. There’s no way I can keep things going now…”

  “Of course you can!” Aidan said. “Hester…I’ve been thinking about it and you don’t have to pay me. I mean, I don’t need much to live on and I’ve got my room and board here. You can forget about my salary until you’ve got some money again. I was thinking maybe we could do a deal with the feed and grain merchants too. I’m sure they’d help you out. If you just told them the situation, and we promised to pay again when things get better…”

  Hester smiled back at Aidan. “That’s very kind, dear, but feed merchants aren’t very keen on charity. And in case you haven’t noticed, it’s already been over a month since I last paid you. I don’t expect you to keep working for me for free.” Hester looked at Aidan’s forlorn expression. “I appreciate your offer, I really do. But even if I wasn’t paying your salary, there’s still the mortgage. And the maintenance. This place is so big and so old, it needs an enormous amount of money just to keep it running. And all the horses need shoeing and there are vet’s bills mounting up…” Hester sank down into a kitchen chair and put her head in her hands.

  “Aidan, I’ve run out of money. Worse than that, for the first time in my life I’ve run out of ideas.”

  There were tears in Hester’s eyes as she turned to face her stable manager. “It’s over. I have no choice…I have to sell Blackthorn Farm.”

  Chapter 2

  Sell Blackthorn Farm? Issie couldn’t believe it. The farm was her favourite place in the whole world, and she knew how much her aunt loved it too.

  She still remembered when Hester first bought the farm, complete with a decaying mansion, high in the hills outside Gisborne. Issie’s mum had pronounced her sister “officially totally bonkers”.

  Mrs Brown worked for a law firm and was very practical about boring things like having a proper job. So when Hester broke the news that she was giving up her acting career, buying a rundown farm manor and becoming an animal trainer, Mrs Brown was far from impressed.

  The whole farm, especially the manor, needed loads of work to restore it to its former glory. Loads of cash too. Mrs Brown called Blackthorn Farm “Hester’s Money Pit”. Issie’s aunt spent all of her savings restoring the buildings inside and out, including the stable block for her stunt horses.

  Eventually, though, even Mrs Brown had to admit that Hester’s hard work and determination had paid off. Hester’s mad menagerie of movie-star animals–pigs, chickens, ducks, goats and especially horses–were considered to be the best in the business. Her Daredevil Ponies had worked on loads of films doing all sorts of stunts.

  “It was all going so well!” Issie said. “I can’t understand it. What happened?”

  Mrs Brown sighed. “The movie business is unpredictable. Aidan told me they’ve been out of work ever since The Palomino Princess. There was a new project due to start filming this week and it fell through. Now Hester’s been left with mountains of debt and no way to make any money!”

  “But she can’t sell the farm!” Issie said. “What about the horses?” Hester had over a dozen stunt horses in the stables at Blackthorn Farm.

  There was silence on the phone. And then Mrs Brown finally spoke. “Aidan didn’t say, but I guess they’ll have to be sold as well.”

  “Mum! This is awful…” Issie felt close to tears.

  “I know,” Mrs Brown said gently. “Aidan is calling back soon. He says he has an idea that he wants to talk to you about, something that might help.”

  “I’m coming home now!” Issie hung up the phone. She turned around and saw Avery standing in the hallway behind her.

  “I’m guessing she doesn’t just want you to tidy your room then?” he said.

  When Issie told Avery the bad news he immediately offered to give her a lift home. Issie gratefully accepted, putting her bike in the back of the Range Rover and clambering into the passenger seat. She spent the ride home in total silence, feeling sick with worry. Aunty Hess couldn’t sell Blackthorn Farm. Things sounded pretty bad, but maybe there was still hope. What was this idea that Aidan wanted to talk to her about?

  Issie didn’t have long to wait before she found out. The phone was ringing as she ran in through the front door.

  “I’ve got it!” she called, making a mad dash down the hallway to grab the receiver. She was still puffing and trying to catch her breath when she heard Aidan’s voice at the other end of the line.

&nbs
p; “Issie? Is that you?” She knew that they were in the middle of a crisis here, but still Issie couldn’t help smiling when she heard Aidan’s voice. She hadn’t seen him in ages and she had missed him. She pictured his face, the thick mop of black hair and the long fringe that hung down, almost hiding those startling blue eyes.

  “Issie? Are you there?”

  “Sorry, I’m still puffed from running to the phone,” Issie panted.

  “That’s OK,” Aidan said. “You don’t need to talk anyway. Just listen. I have a plan to save the farm and I want you to hear it because I’m going to need your help.” He paused. “Issie, I want to start a riding school.”

  “What?”

  “My mum used to run one years ago when I was little,” Aidan continued, “and I always thought Blackthorn Farm would be the perfect place to have one.”

  “But it’s miles from anywhere!” Issie protested.

  “I know,” Aidan said, “but school holidays are about to start, right? We could run a school holiday camp with ponies. Kids could come and stay during the week and go home on the weekends and we could give them lessons.”

  “We?”

  “That’s where you come in,” Aidan said. “I need instructors. Hester and I have too much farmwork to do it all ourselves.”

  “But I’m not an instructor!” Issie squeaked.

  “You’ve got your B certificate, haven’t you? And don’t Stella and Kate have theirs too? That means you can be junior instructors. Hester can run the school and you’ll be her assistants.”

  “Does Hester think it’s a good idea then?” Issie said.

  “She will do once I tell her about it,” Aidan said. Issie laughed, but he sounded serious. “You’ve got to help me do this, Issie. It’s our last chance. I don’t want Hester to lose the farm.”

  Issie took a deep breath. “When can you come and pick us up?” she said.