by Stacy Gregg
In the hold box, Issie tried to stay calm while Stella felt Storm’s legs for any residual signs of heat and put ice packs on while they waited for the vet to arrive.
“Are you sure he’s OK?” Issie asked her. “I don’t want to ride him if he’s in any pain. If you think he’s unsound I’ll pull out now…”
Stella shook her head. “There’s nothing wrong with him as far as I can tell. He’s just a little stiff. If you ask me, the judge who put him in the hold box is just playing it safe – they can’t believe you could get round the course with him on one stirrup and he’d still be sound the next day!”
When the vet arrived moments later he said the same thing as Stella. “Present him again,” the vet insisted.
Issie’s heart was pounding as she led Storm back to the judges for the second time that morning. A hush fell over the crowd as Nightstorm began his trot and all you could hear was the choc-choc of his metal horseshoes clacking against the hard tarmac as he trotted one way and then turned and trotted back again.
As the judges conferred a second time, Issie held her breath. Then the head judge stepped forward and gave her the nod. The result this time was unanimous. Nightstorm was passed as fit, sound and ready to compete!
It was midday when the showjumping finally got underway. Mike Partridge was in the announcer’s box with Jilly Jones and she was explaining the running order of a three-day event showjumping class to the crowd in the packed stadium. “We’re working our way through the riders in reverse order through the rankings,” Jilly said. “Our last partnership in the arena today will be the combination currently at the very top of the leaderboard, Isadora Brown on Nightstorm. They sit on their dressage score of 37.”
Seventy-four riders had begun the competition at Burghley on Friday. Now, after eliminations of one kind or another, only thirty-three were left to compete in this final phase. That meant that thirty-two riders had to take their turn in the arena before Issie got her chance to ride.
As the first rider cantered into the arena, Issie was still back at the horse truck eating lunch. She wouldn’t be competing for another two hours and there was no point in making herself nervous by standing around in the stadium and watching the other competitors.
After lunch she took her time getting dressed. Her showjumping kit was laid out and waiting for her, a short black jacket, pure white jodhpurs and long shiny black boots. She was just adjusting her hairnet in the mirror when there was a knock at the horse-truck door. Issie opened it and got the shock of her life. There was a woman on her doorstep, her hair a tumbling mess of blonde curls. She was dressed in a white cotton dress, her throat and wrists weighed down with loads of gold jewellery.
“Ohmygod! Aunty Hess!”
“Oh what a relief!” Hester threw her arms around her niece. “You’re still here! We just saw Tom at the stables and he said you were probably back at the truck. We were hoping to catch you and wish you luck before you went into the ring.”
“We?” Issie looked puzzled. Who else was here with her aunt?
Then Issie caught sight of the dark-haired woman standing behind Hester on the stairs and let out a shriek of joy.
“Mum!”
Mrs Brown bounded up and gave her daughter a massive hug. “We’ve been looking all over for you. The security guards were very uptight about letting us into the stables. They didn’t seem to care when I said that I was your mother.”
Hester waved the lanyard that she was wearing around her neck. “Well, it’s all sorted now,” she said. “Tom gave us these VIP swing tags so that we can go anywhere we want. Apparently they’ll get us into the good seats to watch you when you’re jumping.”
“I’d have organised that for you, but I wasn’t sure if you were coming,” Issie said.
Issie’s mum had long ago given up on coming to watch her daughter ride. Mrs Brown found it so terrifying standing there helplessly on the sidelines as her only child tackled the enormous fences, she simply wasn’t brave enough to do it. Instead, she usually watched the action on the TV in the hotel room so she could muffle her squeals with a pillow when things got too scary for her. But last night when Issie phoned to tell her mum about the traumatic events on the cross-country course, Mrs Brown knew that she needed to steel her nerves and be there this time. Her daughter needed her support.
“How many rails do you have in hand going into the showjumping?” Mrs Brown asked.
“Amanda!” Hester teased her. “You almost sound like you know what you’re talking about. Since when did you become so horsey?”
Issie smiled at her mum’s new-found mastery of showjumping talk. “I can only afford to drop one rail,” she told them. “Jenny Rathbone is right behind me on Mr Marmaduke. There’s only five points between us.”
“Well, I don’t want to jinx anything by wishing you luck,” Hester said, “so I’ll just say break a leg instead…”
As soon as the words came out Hester realised what she had done.
Everyone had gone out of their way not to mention the tragedy of Victory’s horrible accident in front of Issie today. She needed to concentrate on staying positive and focused. But now that Hester had said it there was no way of taking the words back. Issie’s face turned as pale as a sheet.
“How is Victory doing?” Mrs Brown asked gently, no longer avoiding the subject. “Has there been any news?”
Issie shook her head. “He should have been out of theatre by now. Kate said she would phone us as soon as they knew anything but she still hasn’t called.”
Issie was really worried.
“If they find that the leg can’t be successfully mended then that will be the end,” Kate had told Issie when they last spoke. “They won’t wake him up again. They’ll put him down while he’s asleep on the operating table – it’s the kindest thing to do.”
That last phone call from Kate had been hours ago. Surely the surgery was over by now? Or had it gone so badly that Kate was afraid to call? Issie had been trying so hard to push it out of her mind, and focus on the showjumping, but now Hester’s innocent mistake had unravelled all of that and Issie felt worry tying her tummy in knots.
She walked with Hester and her mum to meet Stella and Avery at the warm-up arena. Stella handed her Nightstorm’s reins and Issie handed Stella her mobile.
“Kate promised to call me as soon as she had news,” she told Stella. “Can you answer it for me? I want to know as soon as they come out of theatre.”
Stella saw the anxiety in Issie’s eyes. She took the mobile, clasping it tightly in her hand. “As soon as I hear from her I’ll tell you straight away. Now stop worrying! You’ve got a showjumping course to think about!”
Issie had walked the showjumping course that morning with Avery, who had declared it one of the most testing that he had ever seen at a three-day event. There were thirteen fences in total – including a double and treble combination.
The course had caused trouble for many riders that day and by the time Issie was mounted up to watch the last few competitors attempt their rounds, the scoreboard registered the complexity of the track.
“Another eight faults for Nina Bennington on Lucite Dynamite,” Mike Partridge told the crowd in the stands. “This is proving to be a very intricate course this year.”
“Indeed it is, Mike,” Jilly Jones agreed. “There are some tight twists and turns and the time penalties have caused trouble too.”
In the main arena now Marcus Pearce was doing better than most. He was performing a brilliant round on Velluto Rosso. As they charged at the Liverpool, Velluto Rosso took a leap from too far back, causing the crowd to gasp, but they made it over and Marcus rode the liver chestnut mare perfectly over the double and the final fence leaving all the rails intact.
“Which currently puts them in sixth place,” Jilly Jones said, “although they could rise up the rankings if anyone ahead of them makes a mistake.”
The next rider entered the arena, but Issie didn’t stay to watch. There were
only another four riders to come and then it would be her turn. She needed to go and warm up.
As she trotted Nightstorm around the warm-up arena she could feel the tiredness in her horse, the stiffness in his legs as he took each stride. She would have to be careful around this complicated course. They had one rail in hand.
Luckily that one rail didn’t include the warm-up fence or their chances would have been ruined before they even began!
Nightstorm had an attack of clumsiness the first time that Issie tried to take him over the practice jump. He took three strides to the fence then chipped in a fourth stride and leapt awkwardly at the last moment, taking out the top two rails!
“It’s OK, boy, it doesn’t matter.” Issie settled the stallion down as she looked at the fallen rails they had left in their wake. But inside she was tensing up. What if Storm was too tired to handle the showjumps today? His timing had never been off like that before. Issie kept the stallion in a canter and came around in a loop to try once more. This time Storm backed off at the last minute and tried to jump from too far back, demolishing the fence completely with his chest as he ploughed through it!
Avery saw the distress on Issie’s face and came over to talk to her.
“You’re both rattled,” he said. “Just leave the warm-up jump. Forget about it. Walk him around a bit and calm down before you get called in.”
Issie only had another minute or two to calm her nerves before the stewards were calling her over to the ring. In the main arena Jenny Rathbone and Mr Marmaduke were finishing their round. They were just coming up to the double which they took with ease. The crowd let out a gasp as Mr Marmaduke scraped a rail on the very last jump and the pole rocked in its cups – but it didn’t fall!
“And that really puts the pressure on!” Jilly Jones trilled. “Jenny Rathbone finishes clear on a final score of forty-two which means that our last competitor of the day, Isadora Brown, can only afford one rail down if she wants to win at Burghley.”
As Issie and Nightstorm entered the arena the thousands of onlookers in the stands seemed to hold their breath in unison. Everyone here understood how important this round was and they didn’t dare to talk, cough or utter a word that might disrupt the thoughts of the young rider who was now circling her magnificent bay stallion around the perimeter of the arena. Even Mike Partridge lowered his voice to a reverential whisper as he addressed the crowds.
“Just seventeen years old,” Mike Partridge took up the commentary, “and what a whirlwind rise to superstardom! First among equals at the four-star horse trials in Kentucky on a chance ride from the Valmont Stables, a mare named Liberty. Then she covered herself in glory at the Badminton Horse Trials on the Australian Thoroughbred, Victory.”
At the mention of Victory’s name, Issie felt herself tense up. She still hadn’t heard from Kate! Was the brown gelding going to pull through? Don’t think about it, Issie, keep your head in the game.
“And here she is,” Mike Partridge continued, “with just one rail in hand, riding on her own homebred stallion, a horse with a Spanish sire and an Anglo-Arabian dam, who grew up in Chevalier Point in New Zealand…” Mike Partridge paused as the bell rang, signalling that Issie had just one minute before she had to begin her round.
“This young talent faces enormous pressure,” Mike Partridge told the crowd. “If she wins this competition, Issie Brown takes home not just Burghley, but also the coveted $350,000 prize that is the Grand Slam. She has everything to ride for – and everything to lose!”
Knowing that the clock was ticking and she needed to pass through the flags within the next minute, Issie took one last loop, cantering right around the jumps. As she circled, she took a look at the spectators in the stands. There were thousands of them watching her, and hundreds of thousands around the world in front of their televisions, all waiting to see if she could achieve the fabled Grand Slam. She should have been nervous, but as she cantered around to ride through the flags, she felt Storm collect his stride beneath her, his canter becoming energised and bouncy, and a surge of confidence ran through her. A moment ago this horse had felt tired and battle-weary, but in front of the crowds in the arena he suddenly came alive. It was as if the great stallion knew that the thousands of spectators were here just to see him – and he was rising to the occasion.
“C’mon,” Issie said to her horse, “let’s show them what you’ve got.”
Fence number one was the Burghley Towers, a grey castle with lightweight wooden bricks at the top that had got the better of many of the day’s competitors. But not Nightstorm. He flew the fence with a clean pair of heels on a perfect forward stride and Issie sat back straight away already looking to the next fence, an upright, balancing him back before she saw the stride and sent him on.
“Beautifully ridden over fences one and two,” Jilly Jones took up the commentary. “This girl sets up the horse so neatly and just lets the jump come to her. They’ve got such a natural relationship, these two – look at Nightstorm’s ears pivoting as he comes into a fence. He’s listening to everything this girl on his back is saying to him…”
Jilly Jones was right. Storm was listening – and Issie was talking to him non-stop, reassuring him the whole way.
“This one is easy, another stride, come on! Good boy!” She coaxed him over fence three, another upright, and then a parallel followed by a tight turn to a very tight upright again and then the sloping rails of the Swedish oxer.
As the course twisted and turned, Issie and Storm seemed to dance their way from jump to jump, every movement fluid and graceful, always on the perfect stride.
But if they made it look easy, the truth was that these fences were taking every last scrap of power and strength that the pair had left. At the parallel, Issie felt the bay stallion really exert himself to get enough air between him and the fence and she heard his grunt as he landed. He was tiring and she was exhausted; they were hanging on, but could they make it to the end of this difficult course?
At the treble everything went wrong at the first element when they took off from too far back and Issie had to push Storm to make the stallion put in a mammoth stride to take the second fence and then collect up again to get over the third. As they landed, she heard his hind hoof ping against one of the coloured poles. Issie listened for the crash but it never came. They were over the treble and they were still clear, and now over the bridge and the big parallel – clear and clear again!
“Only three fences to go, one rail still in hand!” Mike Partridge reminded the crowd as Issie and Nightstorm set themselves up for the Liverpool.
They were over that. Issie’s heart was in her mouth as she approached the double. Hup-one and hup-two! They were through! There was only one fence still to come and as they galloped down on it far too fast she was talking to the bay stallion all the way. “One more, boy,” she urged him on. “You can do it!”
Storm took off and they were in the air, soaring over the last jump and then down on the other side and through the flags. They had done it! Not a single pole had fallen! They finished on a clear round with no time penalties to remain on an incredible score of 37!
As they raced through the flags, Issie ripped off her riding helmet and waved it wildly in the air to the crowds who were going wild with excitement.
“A standing ovation, and well deserved!” Mike Partridge cried, “because this young rider from Chevalier Point has just made history here at Burghley… Isadora Brown has won the Grand Slam!”
Chapter 16
The prize-giving was preceded by a display by the Belvoir Hounds, who were escorted around the arena by the hunt master in a red coat on a strapping grey Irish Hunter.
In the official ceremony that followed, the top five riders entered the ring on horseback with Nightstorm leading the way. Storm wore his navy wool winner’s rug adorned with the Burghley logo draped over his saddle and a wreath of white roses around his neck. He seemed particularly pleased about the wreath and gave Issie a sideways look as
if to say, “Don’t try to take this off me – I’ll be eating these back at the stables later.”
The riders dismounted to receive their awards and Issie watched as Marcus Pearce stepped forward to receive his prize on Velluto Rosso. Marcus had put in a remarkable cross-country and showjumping round to hold his score and when two of the riders ahead of him had dropped a pole in the final phase he shot up the leaderboard to finish in fourth place.
Marcus looked solemn and formal as he bowed regally to the Marquess. Then he looked over at Issie and gave her a wink which almost made her burst into a fit of giggles and she had to work very hard to compose herself before her turn came to step forward and accept the silver Burghley platter.
Holding the trophy in one hand, she turned around waving to the crowds, smiling up at the thousands of spectators who were on their feet, giving the winner of the Grand Slam a standing ovation.
As Issie left the arena, she saw Stella in the wings waving frantically to her with a huge grin on her face. She thought that Stella was excited about the ceremony. It wasn’t until the redhead began running towards her that Issie realised it was more than that. “I’ve just had a call from Kate,” Stella told her. “The operation took longer than they expected and it was complicated…” she looked at Issie, her eyes shining. “But it turned out brilliantly. Victory made it! He’s going to be just fine!”
It was late that evening when Avery guided the horse truck down the tree-lined driveway that led to the stables at The Laurels.
It felt like a lifetime ago that they had left the farm, but it had only been five days. As Avery pulled the truck to a stop in front of the yard Issie leapt out of the cab and lowered the back, jumping in to lead Nightstorm out. When he got to the bottom of the ramp the stallion paused and raised his magnificent head and let out a loud whinny.
“The winner of the Grand Slam is announcing his arrival!” Francoise emerged from the stable block to give Issie a double-cheeked kiss.