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“It’s a long drive too,” Aidan smiled, “so why don’t you start now and maybe you’ll be finished by the time we get there.”
Issie laughed. “OK,” she said. And so she told Aidan the story of Blaze. She started right at the very beginning, from the awful tragedy of Mystic’s death. When she had lost her lovely grey gelding she thought she could never love another horse again. And then Avery had turned up with Blaze. She had been rescued by the International League for the Protection of Horses and was in a desperate state, terrified and half-starved. It had taken every last ounce of love that Issie had in her to win Blaze’s trust and bring her back again. She nearly lost Blaze once more when Francoise D’Arth arrived in Chevalier Point and told her that Blaze was actually one of the famed El Caballo Danza Magnifico Arabians.
“She must be worth a fortune!” Aidan said.
Issie nodded. “I guess so. I don’t really know. When Francoise brought Blaze back to me she told me that someone had paid for Blaze and wanted to give her to me. Now she’s mine to keep for ever. I never found out who it was or how much they paid for her—and since I’ll never, ever sell her I guess it doesn’t really matter how much she is worth.”
Aidan looked at Issie. “You’ve been through a lot with this mare, haven’t you? I can see why you didn’t want to leave her behind.”
“She’s my best friend.” Issie smiled.
Aidan was right: it was a long drive to the farm. They made their way out of the city into the open countryside, and it was late in the afternoon when they drove up to the crest of a very high hill and Aidan finally turned the truck down the driveway that led to the farm. The limestone driveway seemed to almost burrow a tunnel through the dense native woods that surrounded them. The trees blocked out the light above them and Issie could hear scraping and rustling as the enormous branches that hung overhead began to brush against the roof of the horse truck. She pushed her nose up against the passenger window and stared out at the lush ferns, bright vermillion fuchsias, brilliant yellow kowhai flowers and boughs of crab apples laden with blood-red fruit. When the truck finally emerged into the golden afternoon light she found herself in front of an enormous two-storey white mansion, with latticed Victorian verandas and broad balconies on the second floor. There were cherry trees in full bloom covering the vast circular lawn in front of the house.
Standing in the middle of the lawn under the cherry trees was Aunty Hess. She wore a long, white, cotton dress and her hair, which was very blonde and tightly curled, tumbled over her shoulders. There was a loud baying as three dogs came bounding out of the house to join her. One was a smiling golden retriever, the other was an enormous black shaggy Newfoundland and the third was a whippet-thin black and white hound.
As they drove up towards the manor the dogs all leapt up dangerously, bouncing up to put their paws on the side of the horse truck as it pulled to a stop in front of the cherry trees. Then they dashed off again at a mad run and sat obediently on either side of the woman in the white cotton dress.
“Lie down, stay,” Hess instructed the dogs. All three of them put their heads on their paws and lay perfectly still as she walked towards the horse truck and opened Issie’s passenger door.
“Aunty Hess!” Issie beamed down at her aunt.
“Isadora! My favourite niece!” Hess held her arms up to help her down from the truck cab. “Welcome to Blackthorn Farm.”
Chapter 3 (#u613c78b6-11a4-5074-a1c2-180d1d097840)
Aunt Hester led Issie through the cherry trees and up the wide path that led to the grand entrance of Blackthorn Manor.
“You must be starving after driving all day!” she said. “Don’t worry about your pony; Aidan will take the truck down and settle her in at the stables. You come with me. I’ve made you dinner.”
Dinner, it turned out, was three burnt fish fingers with runny mashed potato and peas. “Your mother probably told you that my cooking isn’t up to much,” Hester smiled, “and I can tell you that she’s quite right and it really hasn’t improved!”
While Issie ate, Hester sat down next to her with her leg propped up on a chair. Issie hadn’t noticed at first, but under that white cotton dress Hester was sporting a brilliant pink plaster cast that ran from her toes to her knee.
“Wow!’ Issie said.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Hester smiled, knocking on the plaster with her knuckles. “They let me choose the colour, you know. Schiaparelli pink is so chic, don’t you think? I’m still supposed to use crutches but I can’t be bothered so I use a walking stick or I sometimes just hop,” Hester continued. “It’s a very long driveway down to the stables when you’re hopping on one foot, I can tell you. And feeding out the farm animals takes me for ever.”
“How did it happen, Aunty Hess?”
“Oh, I was training one of the horses, Diablo. I was teaching him to lie down dead as if he had been shot, you see, like in a cowboy movie. Well, he lay down dead all right, but he did it right on top of me! Not his fault, of course; he was only doing what I asked him to do. But it broke my leg in two places, and there you go!” Aunt Hester smiled. “I must say it is lovely to have my favourite niece and her mystery mare here to help me out.”
“Blaze! I should go and check on her.” Issie suddenly panicked. “She’s not used to being stabled and she doesn’t know any of your horses. I should—”
“Don’t worry about Blaze,” Aunt Hester reassured her. “Aidan will take excellent care of her. He used to work at a fancy stable in Ireland when he wasn’t much older than you are now—looking after racehorses for some high and mighty Arab Sultan. It was all rather grand. Frightfully expensive horses too! I’m sure looking after your pony is well within his capabilities. We’ll go down there in just a moment and you can check on her. But first…” Aunt Hester swept her hand dramatically towards the doorway that led to the main hall “…the grand tour!”
“Downstairs to start with, I think,” Hester said. “Yes, yes. Follow me.” She led Issie through a maze of vast wood-panelled rooms, each one more fantastic than the last, all of them with high ceilings, well-worn parquet floors and enormous, sparkling crystal chandeliers. The walls, which were papered in faded flock wallpaper, were adorned with antlers and wild boar heads. There were paintings everywhere of elegant racehorses and black and white photographs of grand old ladies looking out at you regally from the frame.
“Not my taste, you understand,” Hester giggled. “I’m a little more shabby chic, aren’t I, darling? Most of this lot was already here when I arrived. They sold the place to me lock, stock and barrel,” she said, sweeping through the billiard room, where a game of pool was set up under the watchful gaze of two large stuffed pheasants.
Hester set a cracking pace through the manor. Issie had thought the plaster cast would have slowed her aunt down, but she grasped herself a walking cane out of the wicker basket in the hallway, propped herself up on one leg and skipped along very quickly indeed. Her progress wasn’t aided by the three dogs, Strudel the retriever, Nanook the enormous black Newfoundland and Taxi, the skinny black and white cattle dog. The dogs all darted constantly around Hester’s ankles, getting underfoot and almost tripping her up as she hopped from one room to the next.
“…and this is the ballroom, and the servants quarters—not that we have any servants!”
“What about Aidan?” Issie said.
“Oh, he’s got his own place down the hill, next to the stables. Farm manager’s cottage—very sweet. Right next to the duck pond,” Hester said. “I’ll show you when we do our outdoor tour. Now follow me up the stairs.”
The grand, wooden staircase stood proudly at the centre of the manor. “There are seven bedrooms upstairs,” Aunt Hester explained as she reached the top of the landing. “This one is your room.”
Hester swung open the door and beckoned for Issie to step inside. The room was enormous, but it felt cosy. The walls were papered with the most beautiful wallpaper Issie had ever seen, illustrated with old-fashioned drawings of exquisite Thoroughbreds standing with their jockeys dressed up in racing silks. Above the grand fireplace was a large oil painting of a beautiful grey horse with a long, silky mane. The horse was captured in action, cantering with his neck arched, and his proud head held high.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” Hester smiled. “That’s Avignon. He was my very favourite horse—a Swedish Warmblood stallion. I just adored him! Oh, I could look at this painting for ever…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at the painting. Then she picked up Issie’s luggage, throwing the bags on the four-poster bed.
“Come on,” she smiled at Issie, “that’s the tour over and done with. Let’s get out of here and go and see that horse of yours, shall we?”
If Hester had bounded swiftly around the manor, the long walk down to the stables seemed to take the spring out of her step. The driveway wound along the side of the manor then down past the garden, bordered by a stand of enormous puriri trees. Beneath the trees were gardens filled with magnolias, camellias and ferns, bordering a green lawn covered in daisies. At the far end of the lawn was a tennis court which looked as if it had seen better days. There were weeds springing up everywhere and the dilapidated old tennis net sagged in the middle.
“As you can imagine, tennis is not my priority right now.” Hester said, tapping her cast. “Still, if you want play, I’m sure I’ve got racquets somewhere.”
They continued their walk to the stables. Hester had to pause for a rest several times on the way, propping herself up against the huge boulders that lined the driveway to catch her breath. The three dogs all lay down obediently at her side each time she stopped, waiting until she instructed them to move again.
“This is why I need your help, Isadora darling,” Hester said. “I simply can’t get about to manage the animals. And Aidan couldn’t possibly do everything on his own. Besides, Butch cannot abide Aidan, so that would never do.
“Who’s Butch?” Issie asked. Just as she said this, round the corner from behind the stables lumbered a massive, black, hairy boar.
“Butch!” Hester cried. “Come and meet Isadora!”
The pig grunted happily and broke into a jog as he came towards them. His tiny little trotters looked like they might not be able to support the enormous bulk of the beast for much longer as he wobbled along.
“Butch is one of my superstars,” Hester cooed as she reached down to feed the pig a carrot and give him a vigorous scratch behind the ears with a stick. “Do you know he’s been in three TV commercials already this year? He’s the pig in that bank ad—you know, the one with the piggy banks? He’s rather famous, aren’t you, Butchy? Shall we show Isadora some of your tricks?”
Hester put down her scratching stick, stood up from the boulder and produced another carrot which she held high above her head. “Beg, Butch!” she commanded. The pig grunted and then shifted his enormous weight, slumping back to sit on his haunches. Slowly he adjusted his position and lifted one front trotter and then the other off the ground so that he was balanced back on his hind legs. He looked just like a begging dog.
“Good lad!” Hester praised him and tossed the carrot up in the air. Butch opened his mouth and snapped at the carrot as it fell, crunching it up eagerly in his vast jaws.
Hester produced a second carrot. This time she held it directly in front of her like a magician brandishing a wand. “Play dead!” she commanded the pig. Butch gave a grunt and then fell dramatically, landing on the ground with a leaden thud. He lay perfectly still, even when Hester gave him a gentle prod with her foot. “Nice and dead,” she cooed. “What a good pig! Now, Butch, up!” Butch grunted again and lifted his head, then braced himself with his front trotters and rather ungracefully pushed himself up again so that he was standing facing Aunt Hester.
“Well done, good Butch,” she said as she fed him one more carrot.
“How did you teach him the tricks?” Issie asked.
“Oh, pigs are very easy to train; they’re smarter than dogs,” Hester said. “I’ve had Butch since he was a little piglet and I always knew he was clever. When he was a piglet Aidan caught him in the veggie garden and pelted him with an acorn. Butch has never forgiven him. That’s why you’ll have to look after him and keep his training up while you’re here.”
“But I don’t know anything about pig training!” Issie spluttered.
“Don’t worry, I’ll explain everything. It’s all quite simple,” Hester said. “I’ve figured out a roster. Aidan will take care of the chickens and ducks. They’ve got a big role in this movie and they all need to learn their cues. One of the ducks needs to open a door—you can imagine the fuss he’s made learning that…You’re in charge of the rabbits,” Hester continued. “There are seven of them and they’re quite a funny bunch, I can tell you. You’ll look after Butch too, of course, and then there’s Meadow and Blossom.”
“More pigs?” Issie asked.
“No, dear, a calf and a goat. Both of them are frightfully naughty and I’m afraid I’ve fallen quite behind in their training. You’ll have to be rather firm with them.”
“What exactly am I going to teach them?” Issie asked, feeling nervous.
“Oh, the usual. When to stop and go, nodding and shaking their heads…all the standard stuff,” Hester said. “It’s such bad timing to break my leg just when all my little stars are needed for such a big movie. Tenderfoot Farm, that’s what it’s called. It’s an American crew. They’re coming here next month to start filming. They need barnyard animals that can act on cue—and that’s where I come in. My darlings are the best in the business.” Hester gave Butch one last scratch behind the ears with the stick and then began to walk again towards the stables. The pig now joined them, trotting alongside with the dogs.
“The horses are my first love, of course,” Hester said as they approached the stables. “Other animals are lovely, but there is something truly magical about horses, don’t you think?” She gave Issie a strange look as she said this and Issie didn’t know what to say. Even Aunty Hess would be shocked if she knew about Mystic.
Issie’s grey gelding had been such a special horse. She had loved him so deeply; it felt like her world had been torn apart the day he died. But since then, well, maybe magical was exactly the word for it. Issie had missed her horse so much that at first she couldn’t believe it when Mystic had come back to her. He would appear just when she needed him most—and not like some ghost or anything, but a real horse. He had saved Issie and Blaze on more than one occasion. If anyone believed in the magic that horses held within them, it was Issie. But Issie knew somehow instinctively that Mystic was her secret now—and anyway, how could she possibly explain it all to Aunt Hester?
The stable was a large building, just a single storey with wide weatherboard planks painted a clean, crisp apple-white. Next to the stable block was a covered arena, not like a dressage arena, but a round pen with high walls and tiered seating. “That’s where I do all of my stunt training.” Hester gestured to it as she breezed past the pen towards the enormous sliding barn doors that led into the stable complex.
“It’s so beautiful in here!” Issie was amazed. The stable doors were pale, honey-coloured wood. Each stall had a horse’s head carved ornately on the door and a horse’s nameplate hanging from a hook.
“We have seven horses of our own here so there is plenty of room for Blaze,” Hester said as they walked. “We’ve put her right here, in the nearest stall to your right. Why don’t we check on her first and then you can meet the others?”
Issie walked up to the stall. She ran her hand over the carved head on the door. There was no nameplate on the hook, but she could hear her horse nickering softly on the other side of the door.
“Blaze? Hey, girl, it’s me.” Issie said.
The mare went quiet for a moment, listening to Issie’s voice. Then she nickered back, louder this time. Issie could hear her shifting about anxiously in the stall. She opened the top half of the Dutch door and bolted it back. There was Blaze, standing in the far corner of the stall next to her hay net. She nickered happily and came over immediately to Issie, nuzzling her soft muzzle against Issie’s hands, taking a carrot from her palm. Issie raised her hand up and stroked just behind Blaze’s ears, her fingers tangling in the mare’s long flaxen mane.
“Well, isn’t she something!” Aunt Hester said. “Your mother told me the whole story,” she added, “so I knew your Blaze would be a beauty. But she’s more than that, isn’t she? She’s a very special horse indeed.”
Issie nodded silently.
“I know a thing or two about special horses myself,” Hester said. “Come on. I want you to meet them.” Hester walked over to the next stall and unbolted the door. “Come and say hello to Titan,” she said.
Issie walked over and looked into the stall. It was completely empty. “Umm, Aunty Hess? There’s no horse in here.” Issie was confused. She stared at the unoccupied stall and back at her aunt, who had an amused smile on her face. And then she heard a noise, just a faint sound, the sound of a pony’s hooves on the straw. Issie stuck her head right over the top of the Dutch door and there, hidden from view on the other side, was the smallest pony she had ever seen!
“Titan is a Falabella—a miniature horse,” her Aunt said. “Nine hands tall. But such a big little horse, so much character! And quite the bossy-boots too! She keeps the big horses in line, I can tell you. Don’t you, Titan?”
The tiny pony looked up at Issie and Hester. Her eyes were barely visible beneath her shaggy brown mane as she gratefully accepted Hester’s offer of a carrot.
Hester left the top half of the Dutch door open and moved on to the next stall. “This is Dolomite,” she said. Issie looked down, expecting to meet another miniature, but in fact Dolomite was just the reverse; he was an enormous bay Clydesdale with a broad white stripe running down his nose.
“Dolly is eighteen hands,” Hester said. “You’d need a step ladder to get up on him, wouldn’t you?”
Issie reached her hand up to pat Dolomite’s nose. The gelding was so huge she had to stretch to reach him.
“He’s a big softie. And very good for vaulting tricks,” Hester said as she bustled along to the next stall.
“This is Diablo, the silly boy that broke my ankle,” she said merrily. Diablo, a very handsome black and white piebald Quarter Horse, stuck his two-toned face over the stall. “Diablo loves doing cowboy tricks. He’s a bit of show-off but I do love him,” Hester said. “Diablo! Count to ten!” Hester barked at the horse.
The handsome piebald began to tap against the floor of the stall with his hoof, “one…two…three…four…five…six…seven…eight…nine…ten!”
Issie was amazed, but Aunt Hester just shrugged. “It’s not so clever. A simple trick. I’ll show you how it’s done.”
She moved across now to the other side of the stable and worked her way along the row, opening the doors to another two stalls. To Issie’s surprise, each stall contained a palomino. The horses were so alike they were almost identical. “Meet the girls,” Hester said. “That’s Paris Hilton and this one is Nicole Ritchie.” Hester stood there in front of the golden mares. “They’re as pretty as their namesakes but much smarter.” She grinned.
Hester opened the doors to the last two stalls now. “This is Scott,” she said, patting the nose of a large skewbald gelding with a white face. “He’s not the star, you understand, hasn’t got that look-at-me quality in front of the cameras. But he’s a good solid bet as a horse to play supporting roles.”
Issie fed Scott a carrot while Hester walked on to the last stall and gave a soft cluck. In the final stall was a handsome bay gelding. “Tornado is the bad boy of the stable,” Hester sighed. “But he will do absolutely anything you ask if you bribe him with peppermints. He used to be my eventing mount years ago. I still hunt on him occasionally. At least I did until this season.” She tapped her plaster cast and shrugged. “I have tried to teach Tornado tricks like the others but frankly he doesn’t want to know! He’s very bright; I guess he thinks it’s beneath him.” She pulled a mint from her pocket and slipped it to the bay horse, who snuffled it down happily and poked his head over the stall looking for more.
“Well!” Hester put her arm around her niece’s shoulder and gave Issie a squeeze as she looked about contentedly. “Now you’ve met just about everyone. What do you think?”
Issie gave her aunt a hug back. “I think this place is totally mad!” She grinned. “And I think this could be my best holiday ever!”
Chapter 4 (#u613c78b6-11a4-5074-a1c2-180d1d097840)
Issie could feel the waves lapping at her feet. Her toes wriggled in the delicious warm sea. Suddenly a sharp nip on her big toe woke her up and she sat bolt upright in bed. Her feet, which were sticking out from under the duvet, were being vigorously licked by Strudel the golden retriever.
“Ewww! Gross! Strudel, get out!” Issie shrieked, throwing a pillow at the dog, who loped happily off through the door.
Issie jumped out of bed and picked the pillow up off the floor. The alarm clock said it was only six a.m. Bleary-eyed, she changed into her jeans and a navy v-neck jersey before heading downstairs. She wasn’t getting caught by Aidan in her pink pussycat pyjamas in the kitchen a second time.
“Ah-ha! I sent Strudel up to wake you. I see she did her job nicely.” Aunt Hester smiled as Issie walked into the kitchen. “Did you sleep well?”
“Uh-huh,” Issie replied.
“Sit down. I’ve made us some breakfast,” Hester said. She began to dish up some rather strange-looking lumpy objects out of a frying pan.
“Pancakes!” Hester said brightly. Then she frowned and looked at them again, “Or are they griddle scones? I can’t quite remember what I put in the recipe and I got confused halfway through…anyway, here’s some maple syrup, If you pour enough of this on them I’m sure they’ll taste fine!”
Issie ate a mouthful of pancake and discovered that they tasted just as odd as they looked.
“Now,” Hester said as she watched her niece slowly eating, “the weather promises to be just beautiful today. Why don’t you take Blaze and go explore the farm? It goes for miles, you know. I was just about to find you a map and then I got sidetracked with the pancakes…” Aunt Hester put down the pan and began rummaging through the kitchen draws. She pulled out a piece of dog-eared paper. “Here we are—a map of Blackthorn Farm.” Hester spread the pale parchment out on the kitchen table.
“Our land stretches from Blackthorn Forest here at the rear of the property,” her finger traced along the dotted red line, “all the way to the east along the edge of the forest to Lake Deepwater, and then up along the ridge of the hills to the Coast Road until you reach the sea.”
Issie looked at the map and hesitated for a moment. “But Aunty Hess, shouldn’t I be helping Aidan with the animals?”
“Oh, there’s plenty of time for that!” Hester smiled. “Aidan will manage for now, I’m sure. You need to get your bearings first before you start work. It’s such a lovely day; it doesn’t do horses or girls any good to be cooped up inside.”
The dogs bounded along beside Issie as she walked down the limestone driveway and through the heavy wooden stable doors.
“It’s me, girl!” Issie called to her horse as she hurriedly unbolted the top half of the Dutch door. Blaze immediately thrust her head over the door, nuzzling Issie and nickering happily.
“Hey, Blaze,” Issie said, “did you miss me? Were you lonely here all by yourself in the stable?” She fed the mare a carrot and felt the tickle of her velvet muzzle on her fingers. “C’mon, we’re going for a ride.”
As Issie led Blaze through the stable block towards the back door the other horses nickered out friendly greetings to her. Diablo put his pretty black and white patchy head over the top of his stable door and gave her a vigorous whinny.
“Good morning to you too, Diablo!” Issie grinned. Blaze skipped along lightly at Issie’s side, her hooves chiming out a delicate trip-trap against the concrete floor of the stables.
Issie led Blaze through the cattle pens at the rear of the stables and used the fence rails to mount up. Then she pulled the map out of the pocket of her shirt. To her right was the duck pond and a small cottage surrounded by magnolia trees, which Issie figured must be Aidan’s house. To the left was a five-bar wooden gate and on the other side of the gate was a dirt track, bordered on the far side by dense forest. Issie looked at the map. There was a gate and then a red dotted boundary line marked: CATTLE TRACK.
“This must be it, Blaze,” Issie said to her horse. “According to the map, this track takes us all the way along the edge of the forest and then down through the farm to Lake Deep water.”
Issie clucked Blaze through the gate, doing the latch back up after herself. Ahead of her the red clay path ran all the way along the ridge next to the trees.
