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Georgie’s favourite picture on the wall was an action shot of her mother riding a bay mare named Boudicca. They were in full flight over a massive stone wall, the mare had her ears pricked forward and Ginny’s hazel eyes were focused intently on the next jump ahead.
Georgie missed her mum so much. She knew it probably wouldn’t have changed the outcome if she had been there today. But she wished more than anything that her mum were here to give her a hug, to tell her that what happened on the cross-country course wasn’t her fault and that everything would be OK.
Hot tears made their way down Georgie’s cheeks. She reached up and brushed them away angrily with the back of her hand. There was no point in being like this, Georgie told herself. No use sniffling and feeling sorry for herself and hoping for things that weren’t going to happen. She had lost at Great Brampton and nothing would change that. And it was no good wishing her mum was here. Because Ginny Parker was gone, and she wasn’t coming back.
Chapter Two (#ulink_e1499f7b-f5a3-5b04-967d-9146802930c2)
Georgie’s fall at Great Brampton undoubtedly delighted Daisy King, who rose up from second place in the rankings and rode brilliantly to take first place. Strangely enough however, it wasn’t just Georgie’s rivals who were happy that she’d lost. Her friends were chuffed as well.
“I can’t help it. I think it’s brilliant news!” Lily said when Georgie told her about the water jump disaster at school the following day. “Honestly, Georgie. You’re my best friend and I can’t stand the idea of you leaving to go to some posh, horsey school in America.”
Georgie sighed. She should have known better than to expect sympathy from Lily.
“I mean,” Lily continued, “I don’t even understand why you want to go to boarding school anyway. It’s like wanting to go to prison!”
“Blainford’s not just a boarding school,” Georgie countered with exasperation. “It’s an elite training school with horses.” She didn’t know why she bothered. It was the same old argument they’d had a million times. Georgie couldn’t blame her best friend for being anti-Blainford. After all, if Georgie actually managed to get a place at the academy then it would mean moving away from Little Brampton and away from Lily. They had been best friends ever since they met at Little Brampton primary school at the age of four. Now they were thirteen and in their second year at Little Brampton High School.
“They feed you gruel at boarding school, you know,” Lily continued.
“What’s gruel?” Georgie asked.
“It’s like porridge only worse; tasteless and runny,” Lily told her. “I read a book about a boarding school where the children all got gruel and were whipped with a birch stick when they were naughty.”
Georgie groaned, “Maybe if you went to boarding school two hundred years ago it was like that, Lily. I don’t think anyone gets beaten with a birch stick at Blainford.”
“I bet they still have the gruel though,” Lily was insistent.
“The worst bit about yesterday,” Georgie said, changing the subject, “was after I fell off. I was walking back to the horse truck with Tyro, all soaked and grubby and everyone on the sidelines was watching us, and then my dad says really loudly so that everyone can hear, ‘Never mind, Georgina, how about I buy you an ice cream on the way home to cheer you up!’“ Georgie rolled her eyes. “As if I was a four-year-old who’d lost a lollipop–not an eventing rider who’d just taken a fall on the cross-country course!”
Lily giggled. “Your dad just doesn’t get it, does he?”
Georgie shook her head. “He doesn’t understand me, full stop. He never has really.”
“He’s no worse than my dad,” Lily said. “He doesn’t have a clue about me either. At least your dad was willing to let you apply to Blainford, even though the school fees must cost a bomb.”
“It’s not like it was Dad’s idea. He hates the thought of me going there. Mum was the one who had my name down on the enrolment list from the day I was born.”
It had been a massive battle for Georgie to convince Dr Parker to let her apply for Blainford. Her dad didn’t understand why she wanted to go. “You already have a pony,” he told her. “Why can’t you stay here and save riding for after school and the weekends? The local high school is perfectly adequate.”
“No, it’s not,” Georgie had told him. “Not if I want to become a world-class rider. All the best riders in the world have been to Blainford. You get to take your horse with you and you can ride every day, plus there are specialist riding classes and they teach all sorts of horse subjects as well as the regular stuff like English and maths.”
“I think you’re being swayed by the fact that your mother went to school there,” Dr Parker said. “I’m sure if we look around we could find an equestrian school here in Gloucestershire that is just as good. I believe there are several excellent ones in the county. Why does it have to be this Blainford–on the other side of the world in America?”
“Blainford is the best,” Georgie countered. “It’s not just because of Mum, honestly. It has amazing instructors.” Her dad didn’t seem to understand that half the appeal was the fact that it was a million miles away. Georgie loved their village but at the same time she was desperate to get away. Ever since her mother’s accident, she’d been so lonely here. Her dad tried hard, but he didn’t know anything about horses, or how it felt to be a thirteen-year-old girl with dreams of horsey super-stardom, stuck in boring old Little Brampton.
Georgie had nothing in common with her dad. Everyone said she was just like her mum, tall and willowy with a fair complexion and smattering of freckles. Her mum had brown hair, though, and Georgie’s was blonde. “If I were a pony,” Georgie liked to ask her mother, “what colour would I be?”
“Oh, a palomino, I should think,” Mrs Parker would reply, “with your beautiful flaxen mane. Not a boring brown mare like your mum.”
Georgie was ten years old when Ginny Parker took the fatal fall that ended her life. The accident happened on the cross-country course at the Blenheim three-star. Ginny Parker had been riding two horses that day. The famed chestnut gelding, The Interloper, generally considered her best horse, and the other her favourite mare, a stunning bay with a white heart-shaped marking on her forehead, whose name was Boudicca.
Mrs Parker always took her daughter to the big competitions. But on this particular weekend Little Brampton was having a gymkhana and so, instead of travelling with her mum, Georgie decided to stay and take Tyro on his first outing. It was a decision she would always regret. If she had known what was going to happen that day she would have been by her mother’s side. Instead, when Ginny Parker fell, Georgie was scooping up prizes on Tyro at the gymkhana, completely oblivious to the fact that her life was about to change forever.
No one really knew exactly what happened on the course at Blenheim Palace. Everyone said that Boudicca was going brilliantly, until she reached a fence known as the Blenheim coffin. Ginny Parker had urged the mare over the log at the top of the steep bank, and Boudicca flew the jump with ease, but as she landed, the mare somehow lost her footing. Ginny tried to correct her, but it was too late. Instead of jumping the ditch at the bottom of the bank Boudicca somersaulted into it–with Georgie’s mum pinned underneath her.
Ginny Parker’s death rocked the whole village. Everybody in Little Brampton knew the Parkers. Not only because Ginny Parker was an internationally renowned rider, but also because Georgie’s dad was the local GP.
After the accident, Dr Parker insisted that Boudicca, who had survived the fall, should be sold along with Ginny’s other eventing horses. Even worse, he was adamant that Tyro had to go as well. Georgie, having already lost her mother, was about to lose her best friend in the world.
That was when Lucinda Milwood stepped in. Lucinda ran the local riding school just five minutes down the road from the Parkers’ cottage. When Georgie turned up there in tears over losing Tyro, Lucinda managed to convince a reluctant Dr Parker to allow her to keep the black gelding at the riding school instead of selling him.
Lucinda’s riding school soon became like a second home for Georgie. In exchange for Tyro’s board, she went there every morning before school to muck out the stables and groom the ponies to get them ready for the day’s lessons. Straight after school, she would change out of her uniform and into her jods to exercise the horses. Afternoons were often busy with riding-school lessons, but if there was time Lucinda would instruct Georgie on Tyro.
Georgie had ridden lots of other horses, but there was something special about Tyro. He was a handsome pony, with a solid, muscular conformation and stocky limbs that made him a jumping machine. His jet-black colouring was unusual for a Connemara, and he had an indefinable presence, a look-at-me quality, that made him stand out in the show ring. The partnership between them really clicked. In three short years Georgie had schooled him up through the grades so that he was one of the best eventing ponies in the district.
In preparation for the Blainford auditions Georgie and Tyro had trained every day. Sometimes, when her schedule had been tight, Georgie had even got up at 5am to ride before school so that she could get the black pony into top shape. But it turned out her efforts were all for nothing. When Tyro went down at the water jump he had taken Georgie’s hopes and dreams down with him. She had failed to ace the audition, in fact she had come at the very bottom of the field. Georgie truly believed her chance of a place at Blainford had gone. So she was shocked on Monday afternoon when, not long after she arrived home from school, Lucinda called her on the phone, breathlessly excited.
“I’m down at the stables,” Lucinda told her, “come straight away and meet me! And wear your jods!”
Lucinda had hung up before Georgie had the chance to ask what was going on. By the time Georgie arrived at the yard she found Lucinda working Tyro around the arena on the lunge rein. When she caught sight of Georgie she gave her a grin. “He’s totally sound!” Lucinda called out. “The accident didn’t hurt him at all–he’ll be ready to jump in time for the weekend.”
“Which is great, Lucinda, except we’re not entered in anything this weekend.” Georgie screwed up her face. “The auditions are over.”
“No,” Lucinda shook her head. “They’re not. There’s still one more semi-final audition left. Next weekend in Cirencester.”
“Another one-day event?” Georgie was stunned.
“No,” Lucinda said. “It’s showjumping.”
“But I’m not a showjumper!”
Lucinda wouldn’t be deterred. “For goodness sake, Georgie, don’t be wet! You know how to jump, don’t you? Tyro always goes clear in the showjumping phase at one-day events. OK, so he’s never jumped as high as a showjumper and he lacks some technique, but we have a week to train him. Isn’t it better than just giving up? At least this way you still stand a chance!”
“But I don’t want to be a showjumper! I’m an eventer.”
Lucinda rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t matter! All you have to do is make it through the showjumping audition to get yourself a place at the grand finals. And once the academy accepts you, you can revert back to being an eventing rider.”
Georgie’s heart was racing. “Is there enough time for me to enter?”
“Already done!” Lucinda said. “Your name is on the audition list. We’ll have to leave very early on Saturday to make the drive to Cirencester.” she paused, “.and there is one other tiny detail that might be a problem.”
Georgie groaned. “What is it?”
“I’ve just found out that the head of the Blainford selection panel will be there.” Lucinda hesitated. “Have you heard of Tara Kelly?”
“Tara Kelly!” Georgie couldn’t believe it. “I remember seeing her on TV when she won the Lexington Horse Trials. She’s an amazing rider.”
Lucinda nodded. “She’s also the head of admissions for Blainford and she’s got a reputation for being extremely hard-nosed. One year, she was supposed to take five riders from the UK but she decided only two were up to scratch so she cut the list and left the other three behind.”
“OK,” Georgie said, “so she’s tough. Then Tyro and
I will just have to impress her.”
Lucinda hesitated. “There’s more to it. The thing is, Tara will be watching you. She knows who you are, you see. Because she knew your mother.”
“She knew Mum?” Georgie perked up. “But that’s great! If she recognises my name it might help my chances of being selected.”
“I doubt it,” Lucinda said darkly. “Georgie, when I say that Tara knew Ginny that might not necessarily be a positive thing …”
Georgie was confused. “What are you talking about?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Lucinda said. “Your mother and Tara weren’t friends. They were rivals.”
Chapter Three (#ulink_a3b474cb-6510-5fa5-8667-f0e603b18c6c)
Tara Kelly raced her rental car down the narrow lanes, catching glimpses of the countryside flashing by as she drove at breakneck speed. She had almost forgotten how beautiful England could be in the springtime, the old stone cottages, and apple trees in bloom.
It had been a long time since her last visit. For the past three years another Blainford selector had been responsible for handling the UK while Tara had been re-assigned to the other end of the world, looking for fresh talent in Australia and Japan. This year however, the roster had changed again and Tara had returned to Europe.
Last week she had been in Germany with other selectors for the finals of the European auditions, and they had chosen several excellent new admissions for the academy. The two best new entrants were outstanding dressage riders, which, Tara thought with a wry smile, would no doubt please Bettina Schmidt. Bettina was the head of Blainford’s dressage department and had always been critical of the recruitment process for the academy. Bettina’s concern was that Tara, as both chief selector and the head of Blainford’s eventing department, was biased towards eventing riders. In fact the truth was quite the opposite. As four-times winner of the Lexington Horse Trials, Tara set especially high standards for students applying to join her department.
The selection process was tough no matter what category you applied for. Only the best riders from showjumpers and polo players to Western and natural horsemanship disciples, even vaulters and carriage drivers, were chosen.
Blainford had earned its reputation by maintaining the highest standards and entry to the academy was exclusive. Tara and her team of selectors had to make certain that the right choices were made.
The shortlist of potential applicants crumpled at the bottom of Tara Kelly’s brown leather bag was becoming shorter by the day. After the Cirencester show it would become shorter still. 116 junior showjumpers were competing in this last semi-final. Only three of them would make it through to the final auditions next weekend at the Birmingham NEC.
It was impossible of course for Tara to remember the name of every aspiring rider on the shortlist, but there was one that had leapt off the page at her from the very first time she had seen it. That name was Georgina Parker.
“It’s not so much that Tara and your mum hated each other,” Lucinda explained as she drove the horse lorry into the Cirencester showgrounds. “They were the best riders in the eventing class and there was this constant rivalry. They used their competitiveness with each other to spur themselves on, I suppose. Between them, they won every single prize in their senior year at school.”
“So why didn’t Mum talk about her?” Georgie asked.
“Their lives didn’t really connect much after that,” Lucinda said. “They both turned professional and for a short while they rode against each other on the international circuit. But then your mum took some time off to have you and when she returned to eventing Tara had given up competing to take up her position at Blainford.”
Lucinda stopped talking to concentrate on parking the lorry then said, “Right. I’ll go get your registration number while you unload him and saddle up.”
Normally at a one-day event, Georgie knew quite a few of the other riders. It was fun to meet up at shows and there would be friendly smiles and chit-chat. But she didn’t know a soul at Cirencester and the atmosphere was tense and bristling with competition.
As Georgie unloaded Tyro she felt the stares of the other riders. They were watching, assessing their new rival. Tyro, of course, played to the crowd by high-stepping down the ramp as if he were a race horse arriving at the Grand National. The pony carried himself as if he were a statuesque Thoroughbred stallion instead of a fourteen-two hand gelding. He stood at the bottom of the lorry ramp and utterly embarrassed Georgie by holding his head high in the air and letting out a loud, brazen whinny as if to say “I’ve arrived! Everyone look at me!”
“Stop being a show-off!” Georgie giggled at his antics. But no one else seemed amused. There were serious faces on all the other riders as they trotted past, eyeing Georgie and Tyro suspiciously.
It got worse once Georgie mounted up and rode Tyro along the avenue of swanky horse lorries and into the practice arena. Here, it was every man for himself as riders kept getting in each other’s way as they warmed up. Georgie cantered a bit close to a gangly-legged girl on a pretty grey pony and received a vicious telling-off from the girl’s mum who had bleached blonde hair and a strangely orange complexion, which Georgie eventually realised was due to a spray tan and not a hideous skin condition.
“Keep off! You’ll make Caprice upset!” the mother complained loudly. “She’s very sensitive!”
“I’m sorry, Caprice.” Georgie pulled Tyro up to apologise.
“My name is Sybil.” The girl looked at Georgie like she was a total idiot. “Caprice is my pony.”
“Oh, sorry,” Georgie said again. Caprice, meanwhile, had noticed Tyro. She reached her long elegant grey neck out to touch noses with the gelding and, in a gesture typical of stroppy mares, greeted him by giving a sudden, high-pitched squeal and lashing out with a vicious swipe of her foreleg.
“See!” the orange-faced woman fumed. “Now you’ve gone and upset her!” She snatched Caprice by the reins and dragged the pony and her daughter off to the other side of the field. “If you come near us again I’m reporting you to the officials,” she told Georgie loudly.
A girl on a fourteen-two hand palomino had been watching the whole commotion and rode up to Georgie with a smile on her face. “I saw mad Mrs Hawley giving you a hard time,” she said. “Don’t worry–she shouted at me too before you got here. She’s such a bossy old bat!”
“It was like getting told off by a giant bottle of Tango!” Georgie giggled.
The girl smiled. “I’m Olivia,” she said leaning down to give the palomino a pat on her glossy neck. “And this is Molly. We’re from Blackfriars Pony Club in Northampton.”
“Molly is gorgeous,” Georgie smiled. “I’m Georgie. This is Tyro.”
“Isn’t this whole auditions thing so intense?” Olivia groaned. “It’s like nobody will even say hello. I’ve seen at least half a dozen kids here that I usually go to pony club with and they won’t even look at me!”
Georgie shrugged. “Everyone’s just nervous, I guess. You know, there’s so much at stake.”
“I know!” Olivia nodded vigorously. “I woke up this morning and felt so ill with nerves I didn’t think I’d be able to ride today …”
“Olivia!” A woman wearing a baseball cap and jeans called out across the warm-up arena.
“Oh! That’s my mum.” Olivia grabbed the reins and turned her palomino on her hindquarters. “I better go,” she smiled at Georgie. “See you later! Good luck!”
“You too,” Georgie said as she watched Olivia ride off.
“There you are!” Lucinda said when Georgie arrived back at the lorry. “Tie Tyro up with a hay net and come with me. It’s time to walk the course.”
The fences in the arena looked all right from a distance. It wasn’t until you were actually standing next to the jumps that you realised how big they really were.
As Lucinda went from fence to fence, explaining about the best line to take for each jump, Georgie felt her knees gradually turning to jelly beneath her. She’d let Lucinda convince her that there wasn’t much between being an eventing rider and a showjumper, forgetting the one key difference–showjumping fences were massive!
Olivia was walking the course with her mum, who turned out to be an old friend of Lucinda’s.
“Everyone says that the treble is the bogey fence,” Olivia groaned. “It’s a totally enormous spread on the last jump.”
But Lucinda wasn’t so sure. “Sometimes the big ones that look the hardest actually ride easy. Let’s wait and see how the others handle it,” she told Georgie. “There are thirty-one riders ahead of you so you’ll have a chance to see where the problems are.”
The first rider into the ring was Byron Montford. Byron rode a glamorous bay hack called Toledo and he had every piece of flashy tack imaginable. None of which stopped him from coming to grief at several of the jumps, including the treble, to rack up a final score of sixteen faults.
“This course is going to be very tough indeed,” Lucinda muttered. She was proven right as one after another polished combination of horse and rider entered the ring looking for a clear round and were knocked out by fallen rails or refusals.
“That’s the point of these sudden death rounds.” Lucinda shrugged. “They’re trying to narrow down the competition quickly. Mind you, at this rate hardly anyone will make the jump-offs!”
By the time rider number twenty-five was in the ring, Georgie was back at the lorry tightening Tyro’s girth and preparing to mount up. As she adjusted the black pony’s noseband she leant in so that her face was right up close. “This is it, Tyro,” she whispered. “We’ve been given another chance to make it to Blainford. Just don’t tell anyone you’re not a real showjumper, OK? We’re going to go in there and fox them and make it through. All you have to do is go clear.”
The Connemara cocked one ear to listen as she spoke and Georgie hoped that her pony understood what she was saying. He was a seasoned eventer and was probably expecting business as usual–a dressage test followed by cross-country then showjumping. But today they would be going straight to the showjumping ring. And they’d be going over the biggest fences Tyro had ever jumped in his life.
In the ring competitor number thirty-one, Sybil Hawley, was just completing a round that left the audience with their hearts in their mouths. Sybil had a strange style, galloping wildly between fences and then yanking Caprice in the mouth, before throwing the reins away right before the fence. Poor Caprice! The grey mare was clearly being driven mad by her rider’s busy hands and spent most of the round trying to get above the bit, her head held high and the whites of her eyes showing. It was seat-of-the-pants stuff over every jump, but somehow they got through.
