Nightstorm and the Grand Slam Page 6

  Natasha’s lips pursed like a cat’s bottom. “You think you’re just so special and fantastic, don’t you, Isadora? Well, you’re not. You won Badminton because you had a good horse – and now you’re turning bitter and mean because I’ve taken him off you.”

  Issie was horrified. “Natasha! Be realistic! You’ve hardly ridden since pony club. Victory makes it look easy but he’s a complicated ride…”

  “For you maybe!” Natasha sneered. “But then I always was better than you. And now I’m going to prove it.”

  Natasha turned to her father. “OK, Dad. Let’s go!”

  Issie was exasperated. “Wait, Natasha. Listen, I can help you sort out his training schedule. You need to know about his feeding and his workouts and what tack we’ve been using…”

  Natasha gave her a look of utter disinterest. “I’ve got staff for that sort of thing. I don’t think we’ll be needing your input, thanks very much.”

  And with that, she pushed past Issie. “See you at Burghley,” she snapped.

  Oliver Tucker gave Issie a look of triumph and strode off behind his daughter who was now leading Victory away up the corridor. Tulia Disbrowe had been watching the whole exchange between the two girls, and looked completely shell-shocked.

  “I… I had no idea,” she stammered. “I thought the syndicate was giving the ride to a seasoned professional.”

  “You had the right to sell him to whoever you wanted,” Issie said. “Isn’t that what you told me, Tulia? I hope the money makes you happy.”

  Tulia Disbrowe looked desperately apologetic, but there was nothing more she could say. She walked out of the stables alone, leaving Issie standing in the empty loose box.

  In the next stall down, Nightstorm watched his stablemate leave and gave a distressed whinny, pacing up and down behind the bars of the loose box.

  “Hey, Storm, it’s OK.” Issie unbolted the door to his box and walked inside so that she could reassure the stallion. “I’ll miss him too, boy,” she said, stroking his neck and whispering softly. “It’s just you and me now.”

  At least the drama of Nightstorm’s colic was over. The bay stallion was all she had left in the lead-up to Burghley.

  Chapter 7

  After Nightstorm’s bout of colic, Issie was worried sick that her horse would succumb to the dangerous condition again. She had been nervous about transporting him back from Badminton, fearing that the two-hour drive to Wiltshire would stress him out and cause a relapse, but Avery had reassured her. They left the estate grounds on Monday afternoon, with Nightstorm travelling alone in the massive horse truck now that his stablemate, Victory, was gone.

  When they arrived at The Laurels Issie decided it would be best to box the stallion for the first night. She was a little concerned that Storm would be anxious about being left in his stall without another horse beside him for company, but figured he would settle down eventually. After all, he’d been on his own in the stable for a night after Victory had gone and he’d been fine.

  But Storm didn’t settle this time. And the loose boxes at The Laurels were quite a different set-up to the ones at Badminton. Instead of having iron grilles on the top half of the door, they were open Dutch doors, with just a bottom half that secured the horse inside. Each stable had the same view, looking directly out at the fields. Issie figured that Nightstorm would be happy enough being able to stick his head out over the door and see the other horses out grazing nearby. And there was no way he could jump out since the Dutch doors were a substantial one metre-fifty in height.

  She was wrong on both counts. Far from being content with his view, Nightstorm only became more agitated because he wanted to join them. And as for the height of a metre-fifty being enough to contain him, the big bay stallion disagreed.

  Issie had left Nightstorm to eat his dinner and was sorting out the tack room when she heard a loud bang.

  Nightstorm had been barging the stable door with his chest to push it down but the door was solid oak. When the barging tactic didn’t work on the second try, the bay stallion turned around and went to the recesses of his box to get a run-up. If he couldn’t force his way out, then he would jump it.

  Issie emerged from the tack room just in time to catch sight of her horse flying through mid-air. He had his head down between his knees as he jumped so that he could squeak his way through the tiny gap between the door and the ceiling of the stable.

  “Ohmygod, Storm! No!” Issie shouted at him but it was too late. Storm was already halfway over; his front legs had cleared the door and he had tucked up his back legs and managed to get them over as well. He landed on the other side of the box, took three strides and then dropped his head and began to graze contentedly. He didn’t seem at all concerned about the fact that his hind leg had scraped the door as he went over, and there was now a strip of exposed flesh and blood oozing down his cannon bone.

  “Ohmygod, Storm! What have you done?”

  Feeling sick at the sight of the wound, Issie grabbed a lead rope and clipped it onto his halter. The cut didn’t look deep, but she would need to make him trot to find out if he was lame.

  “Come on,” Issie clucked with her tongue, asking the stallion to move forward. At a walk, Nightstorm seemed fine, but when he trotted her heart sank. He was definitely favouring the left hind.

  Tying him up, Issie tried to move around the back and get a closer look at the wound, but Nightstorm wouldn’t let her touch the leg. He kept kicking out every time she put her hand on it.

  “Tom!” Issie tried shouting for help. “Stella?” There was no one else in the yard and it was almost dark. Issie knew that she had no choice. She would have to leave Nightstorm alone to get help.

  She ran from the paddock to the house, adrenalin spurring her on.

  Avery, Stella and Francoise were in the kitchen preparing dinner when she burst in.

  “Isadora!” Francoise saw the panic written on her face. “What’s happened?”

  While Stella got out the emergency kit and Avery raced back down to the paddock with Issie, Francoise got straight on the phone to their vet, David White. Luckily, David was already on a call-out attending a broodmare at the farm just down the road and he made it over to The Laurels in a matter of minutes.

  Issie, Avery, Francoise and Stella stood around watching in silence as the vet examined Nightstorm, who still wasn’t keen on letting anyone touch the injured leg.

  “Is it serious?” Issie asked.

  “It looks like he might have damaged a tendon,” David White said. “But I can’t examine it with him moving around. I’ll need to bring him into the clinic so that I can sedate him and clean and stitch the wound.”

  The trip to the vet was awful. Issie stayed in the back of the truck with Nightstorm, making sure that he didn’t aggravate his injury. As she stood there stroking the stallion’s muzzle and whispering to him softly, she kept going back over the events that had just happened. She should never have left the stallion in his box! If she could go back in time, she would. But the damage was done. It seemed incredible that on Sunday she had been looking to the future with two world-class eventers in her stables ready to ride at Burghley, and now, on Monday evening – she had none.

  In the waiting room at the vet’s clinic she paced the floor anxiously, unable to bring herself to sit down while David White and his team examined the horse.

  The next half-hour seemed like an eternity and Issie was just about to barge her way into the operating theatre when David emerged through the surgery doors with good news.

  “The tendon is lacerated but it’s going to heal,” he told her. “I’ve put four stitches in the leg near the hock and dressed the wound. You’ll need to keep him on antibiotics to avoid infection – and he’s on box rest for at least a month.”

  Issie was distraught. “But he’ll make a full recovery after that?”

  The vet nodded. “There’s no reason why not. The tendon is still intact. But you’ll have to bring him back into work slowly.�
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  “He’s due to compete at Burghley in August.”

  “Ah.” The vet frowned. “Well, that will be touch and go. He might be well enough by then, or he might not. I can’t make you any promises at this stage, we’ll have to see how he goes.”

  Back at The Laurels late that evening, Nightstorm was put back in the loose box. This time, however, he had another horse in the stall next door for company and he also had a makeshift grille of wooden bars blockading him in which Avery had hastily hammered into place.

  “It’s ironic,” Stella said to Issie as they prepared his feed, “Storm tried to jump out of his box because he didn’t want to be stuck in there – and now he’s stuck in there for a whole month!”

  “I don’t think horses understand irony, Stella,” Issie said.

  “Neither do I really,” Stella sighed. “But I’m pretty sure this qualifies.”

  That month was the very worst of times at The Laurels. Nightstorm hated being on box rest. The bay stallion was so fit and full of energy that he couldn’t stand to be kept still all day and night and he didn’t seem to accept that he was injured. He was in a sour, dejected mood and Issie would come away from her visits to his box feeling utterly miserable to see him in such a depressed state.

  Issie returned to the house one morning after giving Nightstorm his breakfast and found Stella, Avery and Francoise at the kitchen table crowded around the morning paper laid out in front of them.

  “Ohmygod!” Stella was saying. “I don’t believe it!”

  “What is it?” Issie asked innocently.

  The others all turned around, startled.

  “It’s nothing!” Stella said hastily, trying to sneakily turn the page. “The usual rubbish. Nothing to see…”

  “Stella?” Issie frowned. “Let me see the paper.”

  Stella shook her head. “Honestly, you don’t need to read it, Issie,” she insisted.

  “Stella! Stop acting weird and give me the paper.”

  Issie made a swift grab and managed to wrench it out of Stella’s hands.

  She flipped the pages back to be greeted by an enormous photo of Natasha Tucker sitting astride Victory wearing her trademark purple jodhpurs and a self-satisfied grin. Beneath the picture was the headline Victory for Natasha.

  “What does that mean?” Issie frowned. “She hasn’t actually won anything!”

  Stella sighed. “You might as well read the story…”

  Issie skimmed over the text beneath, eyes widening with every word.

  Glamorous Natasha Tucker, girlfriend of footballer Lance Emmanuel, is back on track in her bid to compete at the Olympics – but first she has her sights set on winning the ultimate eventing competition – The Burghley Four-Star.

  But the dedicated rider, who was a superstar back in New Zealand, is up against some nasty competition from the snobby equestrian world. Isadora Brown – a posh, top-class rider who has already won four-stars in Kentucky and at Badminton, has made no secret of her dislike for the lovely Natasha. The pair clashed publicly in the past and their rivalry has now reached fever pitch. Isadora is bitter and jealous that her former mount, Victory, has been snatched off her in favour of beautiful Natasha!

  “This isn’t professional – it’s personal,” a source close to both riders revealed to the Mail. “Their rivalry goes way back. Isadora is insanely jealous of Natasha.”

  Envious Isadora is also said to be furious at the success of Natasha’s new fabulous equestrian clothing collection which her wildest dreams jodhpurs…

  Issie couldn’t read any more. She threw the newspaper across the kitchen in disgust.

  “How can they publish that rubbish!” Issie was beside herself. “I’m not the posh one – she is! She used her father’s money to take my horse off me!”

  “Stay calm,” Avery told Issie. “The papers don’t know the real story. I’ll give them a call straight away and we’ll sort this out.”

  The next day, the Daily Mail arrived with another massive photo of Natasha and a new story on page five. This time the headline read: Beautiful Natasha’s Burghley dream – and the bitter pony-club instructor who wants to destroy it.

  If Natasha was the hero, then the newspapers needed a villain to pit her against and they had decided that Issie was perfect for the role. And with Lance Emmanuel in the middle of renegotiating a multi-million-pound contract with Chelsea, it seemed that no story about Lance and Natasha was too trivial to qualify as newsworthy.

  Issie was horrified one morning when she popped out to get some milk and discovered paparazzi photographers lurking in wait for her! Natasha, on the other hand, was clearly lapping up the attention. Every day there seemed to be a picture of her at some new event, and the papers were filled with images of the bratty blonde posing like a Hollywood superstar on the red carpet.

  The stories that really drove Issie bonkers were the ones that focused on Natasha’s preparations for Burghley. Apparently she was sparing no expense for the competition.

  Stella, who had her ear to the ground with the grooms at the other stables around the district, was the one that discovered just how star-studded Team Natasha had become.

  “She’s employed the world’s best showjumper, Hans Shockelmann, to give her lessons!” Stella told Issie incredulously, “Plus, I heard from Louise down at the Goldin stables that Natasha’s also got the gold medallist Arianna O’Hurley to give her dressage instruction twice a day! I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s booked Lucinda Green to train her for cross-country!”

  Avery wasn’t perturbed. “She could hire the entire British equestrian team for all the good it will do her,” he harrumphed. “You can’t become good enough in four months to ride at the Burghley Horse Trials!”

  “I don’t know.” Issie looked doubtful. “I mean, Hans and Arianna are totally amazing world-class riders…”

  “…and Natasha is not,” Avery said bluntly. “She’s a fake and everyone will soon realise that.”

  For once, however, Avery was completely wrong. No one seemed to realise that Natasha wasn’t the superstar she was making herself out to be. Two weeks after the story of Natasha taking over the ride on Victory had broken, another nasty piece ran in which they pitted the two girls as arch-rivals. The new story claimed that Issie was so afraid to clash head-on with Natasha she had thrown a colossal tantrum and refused to compete Storm at the upcoming Luhmuhlen horse trials.

  Issie was devastated. It was true that she wouldn’t be riding at Luhmuhlen – but that was because Storm’s injury wouldn’t be healed in time.

  “No one will believe their story,” Avery said.

  But the mud was clearly starting to stick. A day later The Laurels received a rather unexpected email from Dashing Equine, Issie’s major sponsor. Their financial support had been a godsend and literally saved the farm after Issie won at Kentucky. They had offered Issie a lucrative sum in exchange for being the face of their brand. But now, according to the email from the company, there had been a ‘change of direction’ and they ‘no longer wanted to continue the relationship’. Neither did Issie’s other biggest sponsor, GG Feeds, who also sent an email telling her that they were withdrawing their support.

  “Cowards and opportunists!” Avery fumed when Issie came into the kitchen and showed him the email that morning. “They were happy to have their brand names plastered all over you when things were going well, but the minute times get tough, they’re gone! They didn’t even have the decency to front up and tell us in person.”

  “They didn’t need to tell us,” Stella said. “I think we would have figured it out once we saw this!” She held up the morning’s paper. This time the massive photo of Natasha was taken in front of a Dashing Equine horse truck – and in her hands Natasha held a huge bag of GG horse feed.

  “This can’t really be happening!” Issie groaned, slumping down at the kitchen table. The vet bills for Nightstorm’s recovery from the stall injury were adding up fast. Victory was gone and now so were the spo
nsors. At this rate they would barely have enough cash in the coffers to pay the Burghley entry fee – even if Nightstorm had recovered in time.

  “We need to keep calm,” Avery was saying as he made himself a cup of tea. “Perhaps it’s worth trying to talk to the sponsors…”

  A knock at the door put an end to the conversation.

  “Are we expecting someone?” Francoise asked suspiciously.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t answer it,” Stella said. “It could be the paparazzi. I saw a photographer outside the front gates today.”

  Issie stood up from the table. “Well, if it is a photographer, I’ll just tell them to go away.”

  Things were getting crazy, but Issie wasn’t going to start living in fear of answering her own front door! She walked down the hallway, trying to make out the figure that she could see on the other side of the opaque glass.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob and opened the door.

  Standing on the doorstep was a boy in dark blue denim jeans and a white T-shirt. He looked almost as surprised to see Issie as she was to see him.

  “Oh good!” He looked relieved. “When I saw the paparazzi I thought I’d turned up at Lady Gaga’s country house by mistake!” He smiled. “Well, Issie, aren’t you going to ask me in?”

  Standing on Issie’s doorstep was Marcus Pearce.

  Chapter 8

  The last person in the world Issie had expected to see was Marcus.

  “You can’t be here!” Issie blurted out. “You’re supposed to be in America!”

  Marcus laughed, “You’re not pleased to see me?”

  “No,” Issie stammered, “I mean, yes, of course I am! But I thought you were working for the Valmont Stables out in California?”

  “I quit,” Marcus shrugged. “Things kind of fell apart after all the drama at Kentucky. I turned up for work one morning and the head of the stables told me that they were planning to sell Liberty. I figured there was no point in sticking around if they were going to sell my best horse out from under me, so I resigned.”