Nightstorm and the Grand Slam (15 page)

Back at the ‘hold box', Avery did his best to keep things calm.

“It's OK,” he reassured Issie. “Let's not panic. He's not spun yet.”

Nightstorm might have failed his first round, but he wasn't out. The procedure for the trot-up was very exact and at this stage Nightstorm had been turned down by the judges – but that didn't mean he'd been spun.

The first stage of disqualification was being sent to the ‘hold box'. This was where Storm was now. He hadn't passed the trot-up but he hadn't actually failed it yet either. A second inspection would take place, this time with a vet called in to check the horse, and then
Nightstorm would be presented to the judges once again. Then and only then, if he didn't pass a second time, Nightstorm would be spun and eliminated.

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.