Mandy jumped first in phase two, the show-jumping. It was not a difficult course; we confidently expected Fox Me to go clear and we were not disappointed. They cantered round in a blithe manner, making nothing of the course, clearing the spreads, the combinations, and the uprights, and trotted out to a scattering of applause.
Alice was next and as the bell rang she pushed The Talisman into a canter and they went through the start towards the first jump. There was no doubt that Alice had benefitted enormously from her month with the chief. Her seat was much stronger and she was far more positive and co-ordinated in her riding. I watched with a thumping heart as she jumped a clear round knocking, but not dislodging, the gate and the wall. Now it was Annemarie, and this really would be the test.
Balthazar bounded through the start and Annemarie, in her anxiety not to over-collect him, let him go too fast in the first fence and his hind legs trailed through the brush. Luckily, this was unpenalized but it was not a promising start. They jumped the next two fences clear and approached the double. I held my breath as Balthazar sailed over the first part, took two flying strides, and leapt out without any trouble at all. Now there was a wall for which Annemarie sat down and shortened him, too much I thought, far too much, but no, they were over, and already lengthening towards the water, clearing it, and on into the triple combination, over the first part, two perfectly timed strides, over the second part, three strides, and over the last. It was an incredible performance for Annemarie and Balthazar and Annemarie obviously thought so as well because she seemed to lose her concentration with the relief of it. Balthazar picked up too much speed, and galloped, hopelessly fast, into an upright plank jump, Annemarie caught him back in the nick of time, Balthazar climbed over it, and by a miracle managed not to dislodge the top plank, but by then their luck had run out and they took the last fence in a shower of poles, scattering a row of conifers, breaking two pot plants, and even knocking over one of the wings. Nevertheless, we were all delighted, because for Balthazar and Annemarie, a round with only four faults was a great achievement.
Having stayed at the ringside to watch Annemarie’s round, I now ran for Legend, took him twice over the practice fence, and rode into the ring and through the start, feeling nervous, but optimistic. Legend jumped a perfect round, flowing over the fences, never putting a polished hoof out of place, and we cantered back to our swelling band of supporters, triumphant.
The Hissey Training Scholarship Team had now gathered quite a following; Viv had arrived; so had Alice’s mother, who was an older, gruffer, taller version of Alice; Mandy’s parents were there, filled with awe and excitement but rather clueless about what was going on; even some relations of Annemarie had come from Halesowen in lieu of her parents who were still in Germany. There was Selina with her camera; there was even Felix Hissey himself, rotund, beaming with delight at our unexpectedly good showing so far, and of course, there was the chief, who, when he received the news that after the show-jumping the team had moved up to second place, and I was lying third individual overall, gave a curtly satisfied nod, as if it was no more than he would have expected anyway.
But it was now the end of the first day, and nobody had arrived for me; not the Fanes, not my father, not even Nick. I couldn’t imagine why this should be and I felt hurt and offended. I knew the Fanes had problems of their own to contend with, but they had all promised, even Lady Jennifer had promised in her letter, that they would attend.
“Never mind,” I told Legend as we walked together across the sunlit turf towards the temporary stabling, “they’ll come tomorrow. I know they’ll come tomorrow.” They had better come tomorrow, I thought angrily, after all I am planning to do for them.
The next morning I stood outside Legend’s temporary stable wearing Nigella’s lucky red and blue jumper, the side seams of which I had cobbled together to give it some semblance of shape. I’m wearing the Fanes’ colours, I thought, and they will never know. I had no idea what had happened to them, to my father, and to Nick, but I had given up all hope of seeing them now, and I had no room in my mind for speculation. Every scrap of concentration was directed towards riding clear across country, for the team, for the selection committee, for the Horse Trials Support Group Grant, for the chief, for Felix Hissey, and for Legend. I slipped on my number cloth, put on my hat, fastened my safety harness and called good luck to Alice and The Talisman as they set out towards the start with the chief walking beside them.
Mandy had already ridden her cross-country, and Fox Me had gone brilliantly, cantering through the finish with one refusal at the blind drop, and no time penalties. He stood now, spent, as Mandy sluiced him with buckets of warmed water, his nose almost touching the ground, water cascading off his belly and chin.
Anemarie, second of the Hissey Team to ride, limped in leading Balthazar. She had sustained a bruised thigh and a thorough soaking when the big chestnut had fallen on top of her at the running stream, and she had a gathering bruise on her cheekbone where she had fallen again at the angled triple. Despite this, she was trimphant, and Balthazar, though showing vermilion on the insides of his distended nostrils and pouring with sweat, looked magnificent, and hadn’t a scratch. “He’s a fantastic, wonderful horse,” Annemarie declared, “another month and I shall have his measure.” This was a new, humbled Annemarie to the one we had first known, and Viv, collecting buckets and scrapers for the washdown, caught my eye and winked.
The next horse returned to the stable block horribly lame and bleeding from a deep gash above his hock. I turned away and closed my heart to it. After Annemarie’s accident, I had confessed my doubts about the moral aspect of testing a horse to its limits to the chief. He had answered my questions by replying that there was no clear cut answer, but that all event riders asked themselves the same question sooner or later and could only answer for themselves and with their own conscience. I had made a bargain with myself which was that if I ever felt that Legend had stopped enjoying it, if I ever had cause to suspect his soundness, fitness, or mental attitude, I would stop.
Putting these thoughts and my worries about the absence of the Fanes, my father and Nick firmly out of my mind, I led Legend out of his stable, tightened his girth and surcingle, checked his bandages, boots and bridle, smeared his legs with Vaseline from the communal tub, secured the headpiece of his bridle to his forelock plait with tape to minimise the risk of losing the bridle in the event of a fall, and mounted up. I left the yard to a chorus of heartfelt good wishes. Both Alice and I had to go clear if the Hissey team were to hold their position in second place.
I rode towards the chief who was waiting for me in the exercising area where the riders who were to go before me were warming up. “The Talisman is over fence one and two,” said the commentator. I trotted up to the chief feeling my throat tighten. Legend flexed his neck and threw out his toes as if he was in a show class, his black plaits sharp and firm against his bay neck.
“The Talisman is clear at number four…”
The chief made a wry face and held up crossed fingers.
I worked Legend steadily, gave him his pipe-opener, and resumed some slow, sober work at the trot and canter. I could feel his eager excitement and his impatience but he didn’t lose his manners.
“The Talisman is clear at number eight and nine…”
I cantered Legend in some slow figures of eight, doing some deep breathing to calm my nerves.
“The Talisman is clear at fourteen and fifteen…”
“Good old Alice,” I thought, “whatever else she may be, she’s a trooper.”
“The Talisman is clear at sixteen and seventeen…” and then a ghastly silence until, blessedly, “The Talisman is clear at the final fence. No time penalties.”
Now it was up to me.
The chief walked me down to the start. Beyond the finish I could see the saddle being dragged off The Talisman as Alice went to weigh-in. Selina was taking photographs.
As the starter began the countdown, Legend stood l
ike a rock. I could almost hear his heart beating.
“Eighteen, seventeen, sixteen…”
“Elaine!”
“…fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…”
“ELAINE!”
I tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t. I turned.
“I thought we’d be too late,” Henrietta panted.
“…twelve, eleven, ten…”
“Go away,” I implored her, thinking that whatever frightful news she was bringing, I couldn’t possibly hear it now. “I’m busy – this is important.”
“…nine, eight, seven…”
“But so is this important,” Henrietta said in a desperate voice.
“Not that important, Miss Fane,”said the chief firmly. He took Henrietta by the collar of her anorak and tried to pull her away backwards, out of range.
“Don’t,” Henrietta shouted, struggling red-faced, “I only want…”
“…six, five, four…” The starter struggled to hang on to his concentration.
“…to tell Elaine that we’re RICH!” Henrietta squealed.
“…three, two, one – GO!”
Legend shot like a bullet past the starter, covering the turf in mighty leaps. I knew I shouldn’t be thinking of anything except the course, the team, and the selection committee, but I just had to know. I looked back.
“What do you mean?” I shouted, and I saw that Henrietta had managed to wriggle out of her anorak and was now flying after Legend in her purple tights and legwarmers, and that after her came the starter, and after him the chief, still gripping the anorak.
“The picture in your room – the Elizabethan lady,” Henrietta shrieked, “it’s worth a FORTUNE!” At this point, unable to sustain such a headlong flight in her stiletto-heeled shoes, she fell face-down on the grass and was captured by the starter, and I, feeling Legend already beginning to lengthen into the first fence, burst out laughing as he soared up and cleared it.
“It can’t be true,” I said to him, “it can’t be.”
Legend, instead of answering, rose in a beautifully effortless arc over the gaping trakehner and landed without a falter in his stride.
“Oh Elaine,” Lady Jennifer’s voice said admiringly, “that was terribly good.”
I glanced towards the direction of the voice and caught a glimpse of Lady Jennifer and my father, standing arm-in-arm. Has the whole world gone mad, I asked myself, or am I hallucinating?
Down we went towards the coffin, over the first pole, took one downhill stride, then the ditch was below us, and with one mighty uphill bound, we were over the other pole and climbing the rise towards the blind drop.
“Another Legend clear at fences two and three…”
The blind drop had caused a lot of trouble and it had been where Fox Me stopped, so I was ready for Legend when he faltered, not at all keen to jump into the darkness of a copse when he couldn’t see anything beyond. I collected him firmly and pushed him on. He cocked his ears at it, lengthened, rose up and plummeted, throwing out his forelegs and pecking slightly on the landing. I lost a stirrup but we were over and cantering on towards the log pile. Next came the birch rails with the watery landing, and the table which, although it had looked almost unjumpable from the ground, looked perfectly feasible from the back of a horse. Legend made nothing of it.
“Another Legend clear at fences six and seven…”
Now we were faced with the Telegraph ‘W’, and as we approached it, it seemed to be a mass of jumbled angles. I knew Legend wouldn’t make any sense of it until it was too late, and I had already decided to take him over the two points. I collected him, he jumped, took one short stride, and bounced over the second point. Scattered applause came from people standing at one side and the judge raised her flag.
“Another Legend clear at fence eight…”
Obstacle after obstacle vanished under Legend’s soaring hooves and the nearer to the finish we got, the more our joint confidence increased and the easier each fence became. My heart grew lighter with every jump as I realized that we were probably going to win, that the team would retain their second place, that I wouldn’t have to part with Legend, that the Fanes were going to be all right and their horses would be saved.
Finally, standing by the last fence, I saw Nick, holding in his arms the biggest bottle of champagne I had ever seen in my life.
“Another Legend clear at the last fence. No time penalties,” announced the commentator.
I almost fell out of the saddle. Somebody undid the girth and put it into my hands. Someone else threw a rug over Legend. I weighed-in in a daze. The Fanes seemed to be everywhere.
“Sothebys say it might fetch half a million,” Henrietta said in a satisfied voice as if our conversation at the countdown had not been interrupted. “So we don’t have to sell after all and we can keep the horses.”
“And we thought we’d do hunting breaks in the winter, and riding courses in the summer,” Nigella said, “residential, of course.”
“So you need your BHSI,” Henrietta said, “but it shouldn’t be too difficult. After all, you’ve got your Horsemaster’s, and that’s a start.”
“We’ll do up the house,” Nigella said. “Every room will have hot and cold running water.”
“And we won’t want to sell Legend, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Henrietta said. “In fact, now that we’re rich, we’ll give you our share. At least,” she added, her natural caution getting the better of her, “we’ll think about it.”
“And as our home is going to be your home anyway,” Nigella said, “you’ll want to come back, won’t you? Now that Mummy and your father are going to be married.”
“Married!”
“Oh Elaine,” Lady Jennifer trilled, her face radiant. “Don’t you think it’s a frightfully splendid idea?”
“The gardens are very run down,” said my father confidingly, “but I feel the terrace would make a splendid patio.”
“Excuse me butting in on what I feel sure is a private celebration,” Selina said in her most charming voice, “but could I possibly trouble you for a photograph? Would you take off your hat, Elaine? And could you, Nick, just pretend to pour some champagne into it?”
The bang, as Nick opened the jereboam, almost made Legend jump out of his skin.
“What a terribly amusing idea,” Lady Jennifer shrilled as champagne foamed and flowed into my best cross-country hat for the benefit of the Sunday Times.
Felix Hissey appeared at my elbow, his jolly face alight with the glory of having his team finish second and one of their number first overall and now a certainty for the Junior Olympics. There was to be a party, he announced, for everyone, but first I was to be taken to be personally congratulated by the head of the Olympic Selection Committee.
“Now?” I said, alarmed by the thought of it. “But I can’t, I have to look after Legend.” Legend, who had cantered through the finish looking fit for another twenty miles, was wearing his sweat rug and a headcollar and showing enormous interest in a packet of polo mints being opened by Nigella.
Henrietta took his rein. “We’ll look after him,” she said, “I’ll wash and Nigella can scrape.”
“And I’ll cut off his bandages and plaster him with kaolin,”said Nick. He passed the jereboam to my father and took the saddle out of my arms. “Go on,” he said, “and prepare yourself for a surprise.”
I followed Felix Hissey to the judges’ caravan overlooking the deserted dressage arena. He opened the door, indicated that I should precede him in a courtly manner, and shut the door smartly as soon as I mounted the steps. The head of the Selection Committee sat at the table in front of the wide window and he looked at me for a long time without speaking.
I didn’t speak either. I couldn’t. I had trained in his yard, I had taken his every word as gospel, I had admired him above all others; I had watched him endlessly, adoringly, as he schooled, trained, gave his attention to more talented, more attractive people than I; and yes, I had been in love with hi
m, as young girls often are with their mentors, and I had resented the fact that to him, I was just another working pupil, just another acolyte in his firmament, and because of that I had refused his help and I had sworn that I would make it on my own. And glory, I thought suddenly, by the skin of my teeth, and by the width of my fingernails, I have got this far without him, and now is the time to feel triumph, and yet, surprisingly, there is none.
“Well, Elaine,” Hans Gelderhol said gently, “I did warn you it would be a bumpy ride.”
“Yes,” I admitted, “it has been.”
“And I did say that there would be bruises, and damaged dreams, and frustrations along the way.”
“Yes,” I said, “and you were right, there were.”
“But you have done more than I ever hoped for you,” he said, “you went out alone and you found your job, and your sponsor, and your event horse, and now you have a place on the Junior Olympic Team.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “I’ve done all that.” I could hardly believe it – yet it was true.
“And now you will go on and learn more, and in two years, or three, or perhaps four, it might be Elaine Elliot, instead of Hans Gelderhol, who is European Champion. I am now forty years of age,” he told me, “I can’t go on for very much longer.”
Forty! It couln’t be true, but looking more closely I saw the fine lines around the famous hazel eyes, and the grey hairs amongst the blond, and I realized that he was no longer the golden boy of eventing.
“It would be ironic, would it not,” he said with a wry smile, “for you to be the one?”
Ticket to Ride (Eventing Trilogy Book 3) Page 14