Catch a Falling Star (The Silver Bridle Book 3)

by Caroline Akrill

  I knew he cared. Of course I did. Wasn’t the most famous thing about him that he cared more for horses than for people? Of course he cared.

  “Anthony… I’m sorry.”

  He looked down at me and I saw the dark shadows under the brilliant, Valentino eyes, the stubble on his cheeks, the way the black hair fell over his forehead and I wished, oh how I wished, that some of the love he lavished on his horses could have been mine.

  “But we do have to talk about something else,” Anthony said. “I might not get the opportunity again and I want to tell you something.”

  Right on cue, the swing doors burst open and Camilla appeared, looking fraught. “So there you are!” She grabbed me by the sleeve of my jersey. “Somebody ought to tell you how a star should behave! Everybody’s waiting for you, Grace! Melvyn’s got champagne and he’s going spare! You can’t just slope off because you feel like it, not when you’re company property!”

  I allowed myself to be towed away towards the swing doors. What else could I do? I looked back at Anthony with resignation and regret. I had no idea what it was he wanted to tell me but company property or not, somehow, somewhere before the end of the film, there just had to be another opportunity.

  >>> “It’s a slipped stifle, all right. I wish I could say there was something I can do, but there isn’t. If he’s had it before there’s every chance it will right itself again, but not today, not now. He’s out of the competition I’m afraid.”

  All of us, including the veterinary surgeon, looked in resignation and despair at the white horse who stood on three legs looking back at us with his black, watchful eyes. All around us the Riding Club Show was in full spate; marquees were set amongst the trees, horseboxes were parked in lines against the hedges. A competition was in progress over the brightly painted jumps in the ring, surrounded by throngs of spectators. Snatches of the commentary drifted over to where we stood.

  “So it looks as if we may as well pack up and go home.”

  “I’m afraid it does.” Alan looked disconsolate. Then he looked across at me. “But perhaps it doesn’t. I’ve just thought of something. There might still be a chance.”

  I could not think of one. I leaned on the white horse and put my arms around his neck. It wasn’t his fault, but “Oh, Moonlight, why today, of all days?”

  “We’ve still got Trumpeter,” Alan said.

  Trumpeter was Felicity’s horse. Felicity of the slight concussion and the broken leg. Felicity who was at this very moment sitting on a chair at the ringside with her plaster cast propped up, waiting to cheer on a team who were destined never to arrive.

  “He’s here. Felicity arranged to have him sent along. We’ve still got a reserve horse even if we haven’t a reserve rider.”

  “Pity we can’t just find another rider amongst the crowd.”

  “We can’t do that, both reserve horse and rider have to be nominated in advance, that’s the whole idea.”

  “But we have got a reserve rider, we’ve got Eileen.”

  Everyone looked at me.

  “Now wait a minute,” I said hastily, “I may be a reserve rider but I’m no good without Moonlight, you know that. I’ve never ridden any other horse.”

  “Then maybe you should. Maybe you should give Trumpeter a try. We’ve got plenty of time, almost two hours before we jump. We’re way down the list.”

  I did not like the way things were going at all. I appealed to Alan. “I can’t do it, I won’t be able to! You can explain to them. I’m not like them, I’m a cripple!”

  “Correction, you are partially crippled and improving all the time, so maybe you should stop hiding behind that, Eileen, stop thinking of yourself as different, and give Trumpeter a try.”

  I looked at him in disbelief. Surely that wasn’t what he believed, that I was using my disability as a shield, as an excuse? But then I hadn’t wanted to come to the team practices at first, and that had turned out alright. Maybe he was right about this as well. Maybe I should give Trumpeter a try. Maybe I owed it to the rest of my team. Maybe I owed it to myself.

  “If you don’t feel happy with the horse, we won’t press it. All we’re asking is that you have a ride on him, see how you feel.”

  “Eileen, Trumpeter’s a nice horse, he’s a good ride, and gentle; come on, give him a try!”

  “All right,” I said doubtfully. ‘If you really think I should, I’ll give it a go.’ In a quiet part of the showground Alan lifted me on to the bay horse who could not have been more different from Moonlight. He schooled me gently round at the walk, circling and turning, and then at the trot, increasing and decreasing the pace, collecting and extending until gradually Trumpeter seemed less strange and I became used to seeing the long, thin neck with the short-pulled mane in front of me instead of the compact, powerful neck with the thick, waving mane, and became accustomed to having the taller, narrower thoroughbred frame under me, with its longer, more unbalanced stride, rather than Moonlight’s higher stepping, rounded, bounding paces, and solid, comfortable bulk.

  Riding the bay horse was harder work, but not impossible as I had thought, and by the time I reached the practice fences I was confident and prepared, able to sit still and deep in the saddle, calmly holding steady in the approach, extending into the fences and clearing them whilst the rest of the team stood by, hardly able to contain their delight because the day was not lost and we were back in the competition.

  Even then I did not understand what was happening and before we were called to the collecting ring, I went into the peace and quiet of the horsebox where the white horse stood dreaming his private dreams, and put my arms around his neck and said Moonlight, forgive me, but what else can I do?

  It was only later as I waited with the team at the prize giving, sitting on Trumpeter, the horse who through his owner’s misfortune had proved to me that I was as good as the others; that I could ride any horse; waiting to receive the red, white and blue rosette which was the proof of it, with Alan at my side, and Melissa and my father clapping themselves silly at the ropes, that I really understood.

  I knew at that moment that the beautiful, baroque white horse had achieved what he had to do. He had played his part. And his watching and waiting were over.<<<

  “Martin. Martin, I’m not getting quite the effect I want here…”

  Abruptly the stable was bathed in brilliant white light. The Director blinked. “Now hold on, fellas, was there any need to do that? Martin, you trying to tell me something? Sure, I know you’re not the regular Gaffer, but with a bug on the set we all got to pull together here, and if we got to shoot with a half a crew, we got to shoot with half a crew. Be merciful fellas, is it my fault?”

  We were in the last hour of filming and everyone was getting quirky and emotional. We had lived with the story and each other for months, tomorrow we would go our different ways; the white horse had been a separate tragedy and because of it the last shot pulled your heart out.

  In the stable the Director struggled on. “Yes Martin, I go along with that. It’s gloom I asked for and it’s gloom I got, but it’s too dark in here, we got to see what’s going on for Christ’s sake! So let’s have the gloom, but not too much gloom – savvy?”

  Camilla, ghastly of countenance with two ominous high spots of colour on her cheeks had seated herself on a bale, determined to see out the filming if it killed her.

  “Don’t ask me why I should be queuing up to watch a greenhorn in a take with no words, when I should be on my sickbed, I just want to be here, that’s all,” she said.

  “Now, thank you for that, Martin, I like it. That’s a better kind of gloom altogether. We got it. You want a recommendation for Gaffer any time in your career, you come to me.” The Director came out of the stable. “OK, Grace Darling. Give it the works. Stand by everybody.” He went off to the scanner.

  For the last time the earphones went on. Kevin stood ready with his clapperboard.

  “Turn over.”

  “Ten, nine, eight
, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.”

  “Action.”

  >>> I knew before I went into the darkened stable that he would not be there. There would be no point in reporting the loss, in organizing a search party, we would not find him.

  I picked up the silver bridle lying in the manger and cradled it and the tears came in floods. I stood on the straw where the beautiful white horse with the Renaissance mane had stood, watching and waiting with his dark, deep mysterious eyes, and I mourned him. He would live on in my memories and in my dreams but I would never see him again. He was gone. It had to be like that.<<<

  “Cut.”

  “Check the gate.”

  “Gate clear.”

  “OK fellas. It’s a wrap.”

  I was left in the stable holding the silver bridle trying to pull myself together and stop the tears which were endless and defied self-control. Outside, everyone had a job to do, film was unloaded, lights dismantled, the boom lowered. But suddenly nobody needed me. Yet perhaps one person did, because Anthony came.

  The King of the Horsemasters came into the stable and put an arm around my shoulders. One might have expected Camilla to appear and she did. She looked terrible, but with typical bloody mindedness seemed determined to be a nuisance until she dropped.

  “Get lost, Miss Cook,” Anthony said. “I want to talk to Grace and you’re in the way.”

  “Well so do I want to talk to Grace,” she said. “And as I might not be on my feet much longer, I’m claiming priority.”

  Anthony looked as if he might object, then, possibly in the light of her feverish appearance, capitulated. He stood aside. “OK. Go ahead.”

  “Well…” Now that she had her opportunity, Camilla seemed awkward. She turned to Anthony. “Do you have to be here?”

  “Yes, I do,” he said firmly.

  Camilla frowned. “It’s just that I know I haven’t given you much support Grace, and not much credit either. To be honest, I didn’t think you could do it…” She tailed off.

  We both looked at her expectantly.

  “Well, the thing is,” she continued in a rather cross way, “it seems that you have. Done it, I mean.”

  “Done what?” I was not going to make it easy for her.

  “Done the film, of course, what else?”

  “Well I know I’ve done the film,” I said. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

  “There’s no need to get smart,” Camilla snapped. “What I mean is that you’ve done it well. Better than I thought. Better than I could have done.”

  This was quite an admission. At quite a cost.

  “Thanks Camilla. I really do appreciate that.”

  Anthony gave her a few slow handclaps. “OK Miss Cook. You’ve said your piece. Now scram.”

  “No fear,” said Camilla. “You heard mine, now I’m going to hear yours.”

  He could have picked her up and thrown her out of the stable. Instead, he captured her and placed her firmly in front of him with her arms pinned to her sides. “Have it your own way, Miss Cook, but as what I have to say to Grace Darling is extremely important, shut up and keep still.” Over her blonde head he looked at me and the Valentino eyes were clear and sober.

  “I want to say something to you before you go off to be a star, Grace. Because you will be a star; I’ve seen enough rushes in my time to know this film is going to be a winner…”

  Camilla nodded in agreement.

  “I know this is the beginning of everything for you, the start of your career, the break you have always dreamed of. So I realize this is not the time, and it certainly isn’t the place…” He dropped his hands from Camilla’s sides and came over to me, cupping my face in his hands, raising it to his own. “But maybe there will be another film for us, another time, and another place, and if there is, I want you to know I’ll be waiting. I love you Grace Darling.”

  Camilla stood where he had left her and her eyes were round as saucers. “God’s teeth, Mister Sylvester,” she breathed. “Has anybody ever told you you should be in films?”

  Were you horsy as a child?

  My family were not horsy at all, but I clearly remember seeing a party of riders when I was about eight or nine years old and deciding there and then, that I wanted to ride horses. I gave my parents no rest until they had organized riding lessons for me. It was a pivotal moment!

  When did you start writing and why?

  Back in the days when I was showing ponies, there was not much doing in the winter and I started to write about shows and ponies for my own amusement. My first articles were published in The Field and Riding Magazine. Elwyn Hartley Edwards, then Editor of Riding, became a lifelong friend. But I only really got going when I started writing for Pony Magazine. Michael Williams, Editor of Pony, had a talent for finding and encouraging writers and used to complain bitterly about my punctuation (diabolical) and spelling (horrendous) and told me off roundly when I was rude about people: I was actually banned from attending Ponies of Britain shows for two years by Glenda Spooner, who finally relented and asked me to tea. I was also banned, rather unfairly, I thought, from the donkey show. Nevertheless, he (nearly) always liked what I wrote. He dispatched me on many adventures for Light Horse Magazine, the most terrifying (and cripplingly expensive) of which was my season as a hunting correspondent; my hunter was run over mid-season, which necessitated the purchase of another… I also wrote short stories for Pony magazine, and then a serial, which was very well received - the Hollings brothers, then running an enormously successful show pony yard, used to read it aloud to a bus load of children on the way to school! Michael suggested I try to get it published. I sent it to Hodder & Stoughton who sent a man in a black raincoat with gloves tucked into his epaulettes - I thought he had come to arrest me but he turned out to be their Children’s Book Editor. He was also marvellously encouraging and thought my work was fresh and different (actually I think he thought I was potty). This grew into the showing trilogy (I’d Rather Not Gallop, If I Could Ride and Caroline Canters Home) which is out-of-print now, but at the time it was different to other pony novels in that it was set in a real world with real people, rather than being an adventure story or wish-fulfillment.

  Do you have a favourite amongst your books? And any favourite characters?

  It has to be Eventer’s Dream and the Fane sisters. Although they were meant to be rather awful, they seemed to strike a chord with readers and people felt they knew them. One reader wrote ‘The Fane sisters are alive and well – they are working in my yard!’ They seem to remind everyone of someone, and they have a sort of raffish glamour in their own inimitable way. They are incredibly self-centered and exasperating but one does become fond of them – I think of them with affection – and gratitude!

  I also have a sneaking regard for Oliver in Flying Changes – I know, I know! The reviewer in The Telegraph called him ‘one of the most unpleasant characters I have encountered in a book in a long time’

  Are any of the incidents based on personal experience?

  Yes, lots of incidents in my books relate to actual happenings in my life, and most of the equine characters are based on horses and ponies I have known. Of course, Not Quite a Horsewoman which, to my utter astonishment, has been continually in print for over thirty years, is loosely autobiographical.

  You’ve written about showing, dressage, point to pointing and eventing – do you think you might cover any other disciplines in the future?

  There is quite a lot about hunting in the Eventing Trilogy; the late Dorian Williams (who was a Master of Foxhounds himself) was kind enough to say that my hunting descriptions stood comparison with those of Somerville and Ross. As they are amongst my very favorite writers, I was both amazed and delighted. (My disastrous season as a hunting correspondent probably helped). I have written short pieces about driving (you might remember the catastrophic attempt to attach The Comet to a cart in Ticket to Ride) and carriage driving, but I can’t see myself writing about polo or show-jumpin
g, I’ll leave that to Jilly Cooper!

  The Silver Bridle trilogy is set in a rather different world to your other books: what gave you the idea? Did you have to do any special research?

  The story of struggling actress Grace Darling and her journey towards success, via learning to ride, was written after Flying Changes, which is the dark tale of the obsessive, manipulative, and ultimately destructive Oliver. After this, the Silver Bridle trilogy of novels was a complete change of direction: I wouldn’t have chosen to write a trilogy about acting and horses, but I was commissioned by Grafton Publishing and they were very specific about the subject matter so I thought I would give it a go.

  My daughter, Emma, had been through Drama School, so I had her experiences to draw on, and I found a brilliant book on training horses for film work which helped a lot. I was also able to draw on a lot of other expertise; K M Peyton’s Flambards stories had been made into a television series, and she and Christine McKenna, who played the lead in the series, helped with some of the technical acting bits and location work. Lighting engineer Howard King took me on a tour of ‘television city’ and gave lots of advice on filming and lighting; a cousin, Anthony Stafford (then an actor) read bits for authenticity, and Sylvia Stanier, a dear friend, trained horses for film & circus work and advised on that. I based Ziggy, Grace Darling’s agent, who worked from a Soho coffee bar, on Adam Faith who, when I first moved to London, was acting as an agent from a corner table in Fortnum’s restaurant – he was so good for business that they actually installed a telephone line for him!

  Did being an editor when you were working at JA Allen (the famous equestrian publisher) help you with your own writing?

  Well, I was never actually an editor (thankfully for my authors!) I was actually the publisher, so what I did was read submissions or commission the books, work with the authors until they were in publishable form, then assemble a team around each title – editor, illustrator, designer, and hopefully, in due course, the finished product would land on my desk ready to go. At Allens we always had around 50 books at various stages of preparation on the go at any one time, so my telephone was always red hot and my own writing was very much on the back burner. But yes, helping authors to organise and improve their books probably helped me a lot, at least, I hope so, but only time will tell!