Carly was torn between curiosity and duty. Maybe this was her chance to learn more about Wanda, and perhaps connect with her mother’s homeland?
Saumur was everything she had dreamed of, but she wished that her mother was sharing these moments with her. Although the event was in the woodland area outside the city, she had glimpsed the turreted chateau and the cathedral spire, towering over the elegant townhouses along the Loire. At least her father knew what Saumur meant to her, and was making time to come to the event at the weekend.
*
Armand wasn’t ready for them all to know, but he could resolve this. He let Gilles and Lina leave with the mare. Armand would face fewer questions without them. He waved to Carly.
“Brilliant, Vix. We thought that was so beautiful to watch. Wanda was floating.”
“The crowd and the atmosphere lifted her.”
“Carly, these are Wanda’s breeders: Natalie and Jean-Pierre Duchesne... friends, like family.”
He was relieved when the couple smiled, greeted Carly with kisses on her cheeks and said, “You ride her so softly and effortlessly. I'm sure you will do very well on Saturday.”
Carly blushed. “It’s all down to Wanda, I mean Sorcière. She is the one with the talent. Like her parents, perhaps?”
“Wanda is a lovely name, so please use it,” said Natalie. “Her sire Phénix has tremendous presence and stamina. He was a top-class jumper. And her dam Lune excelled at dressage especially. She had natural paces, which Wanda certainly inherited.”
Carly gestured towards the stables and suggested they come and see the mare. Now was the wrong moment, so he looked at his watch; the Duchesnes understood.
“Merci beaucoup, but we need to return to our horses at Compiegne,” said Jean-Pierre “We are coming here Saturday. We won’t miss her jumping le cross.”
“I'll walk with you to your car,” said Armand.
He had postponed this moment for too long, which was a mistake he could resolve by spending more time with Jean-Pierre and Natalie.
He turned to Carly. “Tell Gilles I’ll ring when I'm heading back. I’m sure he’ll have plenty for me to do.”
Having let Carly say goodbye, he headed to the members’ car park with the Duchesnes. Talk of the past was hard but inevitable, and the burden lifted—a fraction.
THIRTY-ONE
The mistakes worried Carly. Wanda kept going for the wrong stride, even though each fence came up just as her notes stressed. The oxer should be straightforward.
“The line’s right—go for it girl.”
But the mare tried to chip in an extra stride, clouting it hard. Wanda skewed, but the grip from the saddle and her long legs kept Carly on. The mare recovered without stumbling, picking up the pace again quickly—not unlucky thirteen.
Foot perfect through the first water complex, Carly was encouraged. Over halfway and the mare was finally locking onto her fences, but the time was ticking away too quickly. Or maybe the course felt longer? Were the twists and turns through the trees confusing her? Or was it the wind-flung sand?
She focused again for the upturned boat at the Ford, where the ground dropped away into the water. Wanda wanted to churn through. The crowds were jostling for a good view of the spectacle of a faller.
Carly tried to shut out the noise—a rising rumble. She sensed the crowds were jeering. Was it because she was British and she was riding a horse that should be theirs?
The clouds were dark and low. The rain lashed like branches at Carly, stinging her skin. The wind whipped up waves that battered the hedge in Wanda’s path. It loomed as they closed on it and Carly tried to find the right stride as the mare slid in the mud. Wanda leapt. Thorns tore into horse and rider as they crashed through the hedge.
As they fell, blood splattered the mare's coat and smeared Carly's face, blinding her. As they hit bottom, Wanda lost her footing. She crumpled, tossing her rider into the darkness. Voices screamed at her.
Carly floundered around, unable to reach the mare that had vanished into the mist. She was choking. Fingers were forcing her hands from her face, and the screams were hers.
She looked up into Gilles’s eyes. He kissed her and held her tight. She shivered, and he wiped sweat from her face.
“You’re okay, babe. It was a nightmare. You fell asleep doing your visualisation.”
“But it was so real.” She reached across to the shelf, knowing she had to test her levels. “I’m going to fall again, like at Burnham.”
“No, you’re not. Wanda can do this. Focus on it. We all believe in you—both of you.”
“The mare okay, but...”
“Prove Roman wrong again—and me. The mare is no witch, but as you always say, she’s magic.”
*
Armand regained his breath after his dash towards the first water. He had glimpsed Carly and Wanda in the distance making nothing of ‘La sablière’, as he paused on a crowded slope. He jogged on and, as he casually glanced around at the clumps of people, he saw them. The vets from Burnham Market were heading in the same direction. He decided not to tail them, hoping he could find them later.
His concern was for Carly. After fence twelve, Les jardinières, the commentary had stopped talking about her.
Are my compatriots focusing on the home contenders? Or is the Oxer the culprit?
The loudspeakers refused to mention her name.
They came into view, full of running. Carly hardly checked, and the mare made nothing of the upright hedge-wall or the narrow brushes in and out of the water, resolving the demands without missing a stride.
Then, at the log table, Wanda took off too early. She banked the top, skewing slightly. Carly stayed with her, and the crowd applauded her stick-ability.
As they galloped out of sight up into the woods, he realised their talent would keep them going to the end. Gilles would watch the pair through the second water, although they were all sure the nightmare was just apprehension.
Armand noticed the vets again and made a snap decision—he had time to follow them. Gilles would head back to the finish and help Lina, and they wouldn't expect him until he stumbled back exhausted.
As he shadowed the vets, his doubts emerged.
Tailing them is ridiculous. Isn’t this already a false lead? They behaved normally at Burnham, so why do they seem suspicious?
Because of Mick, among the crowd, watching.
The Vidarranj salesman conferred with the vets, handing them a metal briefcase, identical to the ones exchanged with Roman at Badminton, and to the one at Burnham.
The meeting dispersed in opposite directions, so Armand stuck with the vets. For the next hour, he saw horses over every fence on the course. The vets watched and made notes, probably on horses to test.
Are they were waiting for me to leave before they act?
*
“I keep telling you, Wanda will be sound in the morning, Vix. The vets weren’t worried when you finished. It’s just a knock. Let her sleep.”
Carly paced up and down beside Wanda's stable, shaking her head.
“But she needs time to recover. I'm sure she won’t pass.”
Her worries kept needling her. She should have slowed down. If she show-jumped Wanda with a slight injury, it would get worse. Was this worth it? Carly wasn’t ready to ruin someone else’s horse. She kept telling herself they’d be up all night applying ice and the arnica-witch hazel gel. Then, the mare would still be spun.
“I’ll withdraw her now, Gilles. Then you can all get to sleep. It’s only fair.”
“Don’t be stupid—you’re lying third. We’ve agreed to take turns to look in on her. Lina and Armand take over at midnight. Let the ground jury decide what’s best tomorrow.”
“But they don’t know Wanda and—
“They’re experienced. They’ll know.”
Before she could argue anymore, Gilles kissed her. His fingers unfastened her jeans, but there were too many people around, and Gilles was ignoring the muddy ground. S
he dragged him towards the shadows and supported herself against a tree. The risk aroused her, although they would avoid the prying eyes.
*
Gilles was being unreasonable. They had agreed on what to do about Wanda. Did he think she was getting at him for making love so openly? He had been as keen as her. He was so moody—she couldn't handle this drama.
“Damn you!” she said, hands clasped to his head. “Look, if I say we do her bandages again with more gel, we’ll do it!”
“You did them an hour ago. They’ll last till the others come—in fact, longer.” He stared at her. “Check your sugar levels—please. Now.”
“Don’t change the subject. Get the...”
“You're sweating and confused. No food, stress and sex. I'm sorry...”
Wanda nosed Carly towards Gilles so he caught her as she collapsed.
He fumbled in her jeans and she struggled, then realised what he was doing.
“Hypostop—in my pouch.”
*
It was always the same. As Armand and Lina sat and ate, they had chatted about life and discussed problems like Roman. Detecting reticence in Lina’s words, Armand pulled back from sharing his past.
Wearing jackets to keep out the brisk night air, they headed through the ranks of horseboxes, where some people sat outside around tables drinking, reliving and releasing the excitement of the day amid the smell of charcoal smoke and grilled meat. The aromas would have been tempting, but the lingering taste of chocolate mousse, coffee, and brandy was satisfying Armand.
As they approached the second row of stables, Lina said, “Sneaky,” pointing at the vets hovering around the end stalls. They were acting casual.
“They’re the ones I saw at Burnham and earlier today. What are they up to then?”
“Obvious. That’s one of the other leading horses. It must be a spot dope test. It looks like they’ve been taking mouth swabs.” She gestured at the metal briefcase.
Then she hesitated uneasily and pulled Armand into the shadows.
“Is that allowed?” he asked. “I thought it was done officially at three-days. Don't they check urine still? Or blood?”
She watched them, hands on her face, eyes wide.
“Usually, but perhaps they hope to catch someone using something illegal. It happens.”
This encounter was significant, especially as Roman and Mick were involved.
Should I ask Lina more? Should I tell her everything? She will know at once, as will Carly—merde.
He needed their scientific knowledge, but couldn’t risk involving them.
I can trust the Duchesnes, whatever wrong I did them. That seems forgiven, or at least forgotten.
“Do you think we should warn people, Lina?”
“For now, I believe we have to tell Gilles and Carly. Wanda is clean, but we have to protect her.”
“Something is wrong, chérie.”
“Why?” Lina looked worried.
“Because I saw those vets talking to Mick earlier. I think Roman is involved.”
She cursed but said nothing, just kept walking. What did she know? Maybe he could glean more information later on.
They found Gilles sitting inside the stable with Carly resting against his shoulder.
She smiled up at them.
“I forgot to put my pump back on—or check my levels. Worrying too much about Wanda, but I’ll be okay.”
“Vix needs her last injection, and some food, then rest. The horse is good. Just do the ice once more before morning—the treatment’s working, but you can walk her around if necessary too.”
“Loup and I spotted some FEI vets doing spot dope testing. No need to worry—you and the mare are clean.”
“Thanks, Wanda’s cleaner than me,” said Carly. “Insulin’s only legal when you're like me—unsound.”
THIRTY-TWO
A wall of colour and anticipation ringed the arena. Beneath the flags of the participating nations, faces were fixed on Carly and Wanda, following them over an upright and round into the treble.
“Ride the turn,” said Gilles out loud. “Remember everything your Mom taught you.”
She set Wanda up, and normally the mare would have been foot perfect over all three elements, even with the electric atmosphere and testing course, but her front hooves rapped the last one. Everyone groaned as the top pole rolled in its cups—but it stayed.
“Mierda—I pray she doesn’t feel that knock.”
“They can still do it, believe in them,” said Armand rapping his fingers on the railings.
I’m as excited as the others. They must be jumping every fence with Carly and Wanda.
“Don’t lose it now. Hold it together, please,” said Gilles with just two more left.
With the clock ticking down, she had to be clear inside the time.
Carly cut the corner and set Wanda up for the final line.
“They can’t do it,” said Gilles but the poles stayed up.
They cheered as she competed clear and the final turn had ensured no time faults. Armand realised she would finish third—unless one of the top two blew it.
Carly hugged Wanda as she came out, but then jumped off and checked the mare’s legs, while Lina held the horse.
“Cool move cutting the corner, Vix—another Ardingly,” said Gilles. “You did great to get her round.”
“She's the most exceptional horse—ever. A brill team effort.”
“It's down to your hard work and determination.”
“And hers. I must thank the Duchesnes for breeding her. Are they here, Loup?”
He pointed across to the Members area. “Yes. They’ll want to congratulate the rider.”
He had spent time with them so knew what they would say. The situation was easier after his absence abroad. They were concerned about the vets; they had their theory too and feared the consequences if they were correct. They would liaise with the other Zoos, and they promised to contact him with more information.
It’s right that the comrades I abandoned are involved. Family never walk away, but we need to know what we face.
A gasp from the crowd interrupted his thoughts.
The French rider, who was less than a fence above Carly, was taking it carefully. His sweeping turns between fences were drawing groans as the clock ticked.
Gilles chewed his lip, arm around Carly. Lina clung to the rails, halter rope over her shoulder. Only Wanda was calm and above all this.
The stallion didn’t have the mare’s sharp reactions and got under the first part of the treble. They scrambled over, but their striding was out. The rider tried to correct for the second and fortune favoured the home side—still clear. But his luck ran out at the last element as the stallion’s hind legs dropped a rail. The crowd groaned but mustered up some applause when he cleared the final line.
Carly and Wanda moved into second.
As yet, nobody seemed to have realised that Carly was part French and Wanda was one hundred percent French-bred—not even the commentators.
The overnight leader was one of Britain’s top riders on one of her second-string horses, so not yet a team prospect; but the gelding was ready to claim its first title.
This rider wasn’t going to let time catch her out and chose a steady pace, keeping momentum and balance as she negotiated the course. The horse was clearing the fences with ease, and victory looked inevitable.
“She can afford two fences down and still beat us,” said Gilles.
“Second spot is okay by me,” said Carly. “I’d never have expected as much.”
“Actually, she can have just one fence down,” said Armand, “plus only three time penalties.”
He was trying not to jinx the other rider. Earlier, he had feared Mick and his cohorts might be planning to stop Wanda. Now he hoped they weren’t going to interfere to ensure a Boissard win, except the mare now belonged to Vecheech and Gilles. Natalie and Jean-Pierre had reassured him that it was impossible to intervene at this stage, barrin
g a rider or horse collapsing with some mysterious ailment.
The crowd drew breath in unison as the plank on the double slipped off.
Now, the clock seemed to be running faster.
The rider was experienced and accustomed to pressure as a serial three-day-event winner. She had judged her round to perfection and was unfazed. She ignored Carly’s cheeky turn to the final line. Perfect stride and momentum. The first fence cleared with plenty of air between horse and pole; the second fence jumped cleanly; and then the third.
The gelding was rising to the challenge, sensing victory as the murmur of the crowd grew. As the rider went clear, she relaxed, punching the air in triumph.
But time had run out.
Silence. People were unsure who had won.
Not Armand. He leapt into the air and embraced Carly, Lina, Wanda and everyone around him, inspiring jubilation.
Then the scoreboard confirmed Armand's celebration. A Hazelmead win by one point.
The crowd had rooted for a French win all weekend, and when the commentator emphasised that Sorcière des Saules was a pure French Anglo-Arab, bred at Compiègne, they were euphoric.
Well-wishers surrounded Carly and the Duchesnes, feting them as the breeders. Through all this, Wanda held her head high, knowing when to rise to the occasion, from her beautiful dressage to her moment at the mounted prize-giving.
*
“Mademoiselle Tanner, in many ways you are crediting the mare with this win, so it’s a French victory then.”
The comment was loaded. The press had avoided discussing Carly’s nationality up to now, but the patriotism of Armand’s countrymen couldn’t be suppressed.
The reporter continued, “Sadly, top French breeding stock like Sorcière des Saules is lost to American money and foreign riders.”
“Correction: we sold her to a French-Canadian stud,” said Jean-Pierre, adding, “and we have the sire and the dam as well as other successful offspring.”
But the journalist was persistent.
“Still, we lose prime bloodstock abroad. If selected, who will this mare be ridden for, at say the next championships?”
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