The Auditions

by Stacy Gregg

  Arden Mortimer was the first non-Western to give it a go. When the chute opened her Holsteiner took onelook at the calf and reared back. Arden shrieked and dropped her lasso on the spot.

  “I broke a nail on that stupid rope!” she scowled, as she held up her lilac fingertips. After that, she refused to try again.

  None of the other non-Westerns fared much better. Cam, who fancied himself as a bit of a cowboy, rode hard after the calf and even managed to get the rope around its neck, but instead of tying the end to his pommel horn he had mistakenly tied it to his own belt. As the steer took up the slack he was yanked out of his saddle and got dragged along the ground for the length of the round pen before Shep could cut him loose.

  Georgie felt sick with nerves when she was in the chute waiting for her turn. When the gates opened she managed to keep Belladonna alongside the steer long enough to throw the rope but missed the horns entirely.

  At least she was trying. Kennedy seemed entirely preoccupied with Westernising her Blainford uniform by knotting the shirt at the waist to show off her tanned midriff and Nicholas Laurent made a half-hearted attempt, tossing the rope in the air as if he didn’t care.

  “We have cattle on my farm at home,” he told Shep sniffily, “but in France we do not chase our cows with silly ropes.”

  Matt Garrett, the Australian rider, seemed to cope the best. His lasso was wonky but he managed to get it over the steer’s head and wrestle him to the ground. “We’ve got a cattle farm too, in Coober Peedy,” he told Nicholas.

  “How big is your farm?” Nicholas asked. “We have over two thousand acres in the Dordogne.”

  “Mate! We have two hundred thousand acres,” Matt replied. Nicholas looked impressed until he added, “Mind you, most of it is desert. There’s more snakes than cows on our place.”

  Friday afternoon’s showjumping class seemed to be the only thing the showjumperettes had talked about all week. Georgie realised something strange was up when Arden refused to put her helmet on before class. When one of the other riders mentioned that being on her horse bare-headed was against the rules she snapped at them. “I don’t want to squash my blow-dry before Trent gets here!”

  Alice rolled her eyes. “Arden, put a helmet on before your brain falls out.” She turned to Georgie. “The showjumperettes are all in love with Trent.”

  It was easy to see why. In his taupe polo breeches, white shirt and tobacco-coloured Dubarry boots, Trent Chase looked like a movie star–all tanned skin, wavy brown hair and perfect white teeth. He was the youngest teacher at Blainford and he’d already competed in the USA World Equestrian Games.

  “He’s also a ten-goal polo player,” Alice told Georgie. “Honestly, if those showjumperettes could use a lasso properly I swear one of them would throw a rope around Trent Chase!”

  Despite his too-handsome-for-his-own-good charm, Georgie liked Trent Chase immediately. The instructor had a direct, no-nonsense approach to showjumping that reminded her of Lucinda. They spent the day doing gridwork. Trent had set up a long alley of small fences down the middle of the arena. The grid began with trotting poles and progressed to cavaletti, finishing off with three higher jumps constructed with coloured rails. The horses all followed each otherthrough the grid in single file with Trent calling out to the riders to work on their rhythm and maintain a steady unchanging position.

  After their mad galloping display at the water complex, Georgie had been nervous that she would have problems jumping Belladonna. But working with other horses in front of her meant that Belladonna couldn’t just gallop off. Forced to slow down she actually relaxed and took the showjumping grid in her stride, performing brilliantly.

  “Fantastic riding, Georgie!” said Trent, singling her out. “You can tell that you’re Ginny Parker’s daughter–you ride just like your mother. She was always a hero of mine.”

  Kennedy was far from impressed by the attention that Georgie was getting. “Just because Trent has some sort of Ashton Kutcher complex about your mother, doesn’t mean you can out-jump me,” she said in front of the others as they were hacking back towards the stables. “I won my place at this school as a showjumper and when the mid-term exam comes I expect to be in the number one spot.”

  It wasn’t like Georgie even particularly cared about showjumping. The only class that mattered to her was cross-country, and right now she was at number twelve. If she didn’t improve her performance then she would be kicked out.

  On Saturday morning, Georgie sat at the edge of her bed having a total crisis. “It’s no use,” she told Alice. “I give up!”

  “Georgie, you’re making a fuss over nothing.”

  “I’m not!” Georgie insisted. She had been so preoccupied with her riding classes that she hadn’t noticed that the rest of the girls at the school were all concerned with something much more important–the upcoming polo match. Or, more specifically, what they were going to wear to the polo. Now at the last minute, Georgie was having a wardrobe meltdown.

  “I have nothing to wear. I thought we’d be in our uniforms. I didn’t know we’d be expected to wear our own clothes to the polo match. I don’t have anything that looks right!”

  Alice held up a floral sundress still on its hanger, smoothing it against her body as she looked at herself in the full-length mirror. “It’s no big deal,” she said distractedly, “you can just borrow something of mine.”

  “Really?” Georgie couldn’t believe it. Alice had the best wardrobe. She had that sort of effortless bohemian style that off-duty celebrities have in magazines.

  “Here,” Alice picked a dress off the bed, “this should fit you.”

  It was a pale yellow cotton sundress with shoestring straps. Georgie pulled it on and looked in the mirror. The yellow dress suited her fair freckled skin and her blonde hair and its frills looked cute on her lanky, boyish figure.

  “Really? Are you sure it’s OK for me to wear it?” Georgie said gratefully.

  It felt strange to be walking up the school driveway in pretty dresses. Daisy, who was wearing a plain blue dress and plimsolls, spent most of the walk complaining bitterly that she didn’t see why they couldn’t wear jodhpurs. Isabel, Emily and Mitty were all excited about seeing a polo match for the first time.

  It was a hot, sunny day and marquees had been erected along the sidelines of the polo field to provide shade for the spectators. Already the first marquee was filling up with students, teachers and parents as well as old boys from Burghley and Luhmuhlen who had come to watch this traditional grudge match between the two boarding houses.

  “Is Cam coming?” Georgie asked as they grabbed a table in the second tent. “Should we save him a seat?”

  “Cameron is riding!” Alice told her. “He’s in the Luhmuhlen team.”

  “I didn’t know Cam played polo!”

  “He doesn’t really,” Alice said, “he only joined the team this week.” She tried to explain. “Polo teams need to contain a mix of four riders with different handicaps, and since Luhmuhlen has two superstar players with ten-goal handicaps, they needed Cameron to even out the team handicap. He’s a minus-two goal player, so it all balances out. If you know what I mean.”

  Georgie didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, but it sounded complicated.

  “You’ll understand once they start to play,” Alicesaid as they sat down.

  As the four Luhmuhlen players took to the field, Cameron rode out amongst them on a chestnut pony with a hogged mane, bandages on its legs and a strapped-up tail. It was funny how different he looked in his polo uniform. The tight white polo breeches, knee pads and long leather boots made all the boys look smart as they cantered along. Cameron managed to look slightly less smart when, showing off his skills to the girls in the stand, he took a warm-up swing with his mallet and gave the ball a massive whack. It flew straight at the main grandstand and into the crowd, narrowly missing Mrs Dickins-Thomson and Mrs Dubois who were engrossed in conversation as the ball whistled between their heads.<
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  “Sorry!” Cameron winced. “Just getting the hang of it. My first game.”

  Looking far more suave and clearly knowing exactly how to swing a mallet was their eventing classmate, Alex Chang. “Alex has a three-goal handicap,” Alice told the others. “That’s pretty good for his age. He played for Oxfordshire in their last big game.”

  When the Burghley team came out, Georgie instantly recognised Nicholas Laurent. He was by far the youngest player on their team. Conrad Miller was team captain and he came out first, waving his polo mallet menacingly as he galloped his grey pony down to the far end of the field. Beside him was Andrew Hurley, also a prefect with sandy hair and dark eyes. He yanked his horse about brutally as if he was steering a motorbike rather than a live animal. As he galloped by, Georgie remembered that he had been one of the boys who had stood back and sniggered when Conrad had given Georgie fatigues for walking on the quad.

  When the fourth member of the Burghley squad rode on to the field Georgie felt a rush of excitement as she recognised James, the blond boy with the high cheekbones and lopsided grin. If she had thought he was handsome before, now dressed in polo kit, his eyes the same colour as Burghley’s ice-blue shirt, he looked devastating.

  “Do you know who that rider is on the Burghley team?” Georgie asked.

  “Which one?” Alice peered at the pitch. The riders were all cantering their horses back and forth, getting ready for play to begin.

  “The one next to Conrad—” Georgie began and then suddenly the whistle pierced the air. The game was underway! Like bolts of lightning the riders began tearing down the pitch at breakneck speed.

  “Go Cam!” Alice shouted. “Go Luhmuhlen!”

  “Are we supporting Luhmuhlen House then?” Daisy asked. She was intensely grumpy at the notion of watching other people ride. “I don’t see why it’s just the boys’ houses. Why aren’t girls playing?”

  “Because it’s a traditional grudge match!” Alice answered. “And of course we’re cheering for Luhmuhlen. There’s no way I’m cheering for Conrad.”

  Georgie had never watched a polo match before. She had always imagined it might be a bit like hockey on horseback, but it wasn’t. It was more like rugby combined with horse racing and was the most thrilling and exhilarating sport she had ever seen. The riders barged each other with their horses, fighting to get to the ball and then, once they had broken free of the pack, they rode at full gallop swinging their mallets to take a shot at goal.

  Cameron seemed to have found his ideal sport. His fearlessness and tendency to ride his pony hell for leather made him a natural on the polo field. He made up for taking a pot shot at the headmistress when he scored the first goal of the game. He gave Georgie and the other girls a wave as he celebrated by cantering across the pitch with his mallet held aloft.

  There was another goal soon after that from Burghley and then another one from each team before the whistle went. The game had only been going for seven minutes and already the players were leaving the field!

  “Is that it?” Georgie asked. “It seems kind of short.”

  “That was a chukka. They play six chukkas in a polo match,” Alice explained. “After each chukka the riders leave the field and swap on to fresh horses.”

  “How do you know so much about polo?” Georgie asked Alice.

  “My dad loves to play. He owns a couple of strings of polo ponies,” Alice said as if this were no big deal, even though a ‘string’ meant six ponies!

  “Your dad owns twelve polo ponies?” Georgie tried not to look too astonished. She knew that her room mate was wealthy but she had no idea how rich. It wouldn’t be until she got back to the dorm and took off the yellow sundress that she would see the double C logo on the label and realise it was from Chanel.

  A few minutes later the players were back on the field again. The day was getting really hot. Georgie understood now why each player needed six ponies. A seven-minute chukka, with its mad gallops and sharp turns, must have been the equivalent of running the Grand National.

  Another goal was scored by both teams and as the third chukka got underway the scores were tied at three-all. On the sidelines the team coaches were anxiously watching.

  “That’s Heath Brompton,” Alice pointed out the house master from Burghley who also happened to be Blainford’s polo instructor. On the other side of the field Trent Chase, the Luhmuhlen coach, stalked the sideline, watching as his team let another goal through to makethe score four-three to Burghley.

  The third chukka was in the final minute of play when Conrad made an attempt on goal and Cameron nearly got his head lopped off by Conrad’s mallet as he tried to stop him.

  “Foul!” Alice was shouting out. “The ref should have picked that up! Conrad is such a cheater!”

  A few seconds later, Conrad had another shot at goal and this time his aim was true. At the end of the third chukka, half-time, Burghley House were in the lead, five goals to three.

  Georgie watched the riders canter off the field. Her eyes were fixed on James as he took off his polo helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow. Her heart sank when he vaulted down off his horse and was greeted by Kennedy Kirkwood!

  Kennedy smiled at him and took the reins of his pony. She was wearing a knock-out red dress that was so tight it clung to every inch of her.

  “Check out Kennedy Kirkwood’s outfit!” Emily said. “Did she think she was coming to a polo match or performing in a Lady Gaga video?”

  Georgie sighed, “The polo boys don’t seem to mind it.”

  “What boys? You mean James?” Alice looked at Georgie as if she was a bit dim. “Is he the one you meant to point out before?”

  Georgie nodded. “Yeah … so he’s Kennedy’s boyfriend?”

  Alice shook her head. “That’s James Kirkwood,” she grinned. “He’s Kennedy’s brother.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Georgie felt irrationally thrilled that James and Kennedy weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend. “James Kirkwood is cute,” Alice agreed. “Trust me, you’re not the first one to notice it. The showjumperettes in his year are totally obsessed with him.”

  While the polo players prepared for the next chukka, the girls headed out on to the field to stomp divots. “You push the sods of grass that have been dug up by the ponies’ hooves back down again to smooth out the pitch,” Alice explained. “To help the ball roll smoothly across the grass in the second half.”

  “So we don’t get to actually ride, but we have to fix the playing field?” Daisy was incredulous. “This is a total waste of time. I could be training right nowinstead of wearing this dumb dress and walking around pushing dirt with my feet!”

  The other girls began leaping about in fits of giggles, racing each other to see who could push the divots back into place the fastest.

  “OK,” Daisy said. “If we’re going to do this then let’s have a proper race to see who can stomp the most. First one to a hundred wins. Ready? Get set, go!”

  “six, seven, eight, nine.” Georgie was so focused on the grass beneath her feet she wasn’t paying attention and the next thing she knew she had barged straight into someone.

  “Ohmygod! I’m really sorry.” Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up into James Kirkwood’s blue eyes.

  “Parker!” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Having trouble with the grass again?”

  “What.?” Georgie was bewildered.

  “Conrad gave you fatigues for walking on it. Now you mow me down trying to stomp on it.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Georgie began.

  “Don’t worry,” James added. “I don’t mind if you run me over. Although if you jumped on top of Conradlike that I can assure you it would be a different story….”

  James tucked his polo helmet under one arm and raked his damp blond hair back casually with his hand.

  “So how many goals are you, Parker?” he asked her.

  “Huh?”

  “You know, as a polo player,” James said.

&nb
sp; “Oh!” Georgie blushed. “I’m no goals. I’ve never played polo.”

  James looked surprised. “I thought since you came from England and all that you would play.”

  “Not in Little Brampton!” Georgie laughed. “We don’t have a polo team. Not even water polo.”

  “You know they have a girls’ team at Blainford if you want to join,” James told her. “I could teach you the basics some time if you like. I’ve been playing since I was little. My dad was Burghley’s team captain when he rode here.”

  “So do you major in polo?” Georgie asked.

  James shook his head dismissively. “Nah, I play a little but I’m really a showjumper. What do you?”

  “James!” They were interrupted by a shout acrossthe polo field, and Georgie turned to see Kennedy, Tori and Arden walking together towards them.

  “Hey, Kennedy,” James smiled, “you know Parker here, don’t you? I was just telling her that I’d give her a polo lesson some time if she wanted.”

  Kennedy rolled her eyes. “Oh, James, don’t be lame. That is so cheesy, offering to teach her how to play polo!”

  Kennedy flicked her hair back and smirked at Georgie. “She’s not your sort of girl anyway. Did you know she rides a school horse?”

  “Wow, Kennedy,” James shook his head, “all those years of charm school that Mom and Dad paid for have really been wasted on you, haven’t they?”

  Kennedy shrugged nonchalantly. “Whatever, James. You can date whoever you want, but I’m just warning you. She can’t ride–she’s flunking Tara Kelly’s class. And she doesn’t even have her own horse. She totally doesn’t deserve to be at Blainford.”

  “Did you actually want something, Kennedy, or did you just come over here to tell me who I can’t be friends with?” James asked her archly.

  “I came to tell you that Mom and Dad have arrived,” Kennedy said. “They’re over at the champagne marquee with the Mortimers. They want to see you–don’t ask me why.”