Flame and the Rebel Riders
“Don’t stop on my account!” the woman called out. “I was quite happy watching you. I’ve been here for ages. She’s a beautiful mare, isn’t she?”
The woman stepped over the side barrier of the arena and strode over towards Issie. She was wearing khaki jodhpurs and a white polo shirt. Issie hadn’t recognised her at first because she was wearing a cap on top of her flame-red hair and a pair of wraparound sunglasses hid her eyes.
“I called at your house and your mum said I would find you here,” Ginty McLintoch said. “I hope it’s OK, turning up like this? I didn’t mean to interrupt your training.”
“That’s OK,” Issie said. “Blaze and I were nearly finished anyway.”
Ginty nodded. “So this is your other pony?” She ran a cool, professional eye over Blaze, examining her conformation. “She’s certainly a looker. Does she jump?”
Issie felt herself stiffen at the question. “She’s not for sale either,” Issie said. “I got given her, and it’s a really long story…but I would never sell her.”
Issie couldn’t believe the nerve! Ginty had failed to buy Comet, so why would she ever think that Issie was willing to sell Blaze?
“I think I’ve given you the wrong end of the stick,” Ginty said hastily, sensing Issie’s hostility. “I’m not trying to buy your mare. Don’t get me wrong. She’s very nice, but I really didn’t come here to talk about your ponies.”
Issie was confused. “Then what are you here for?”
Ginty looked at her with a serious expression. “You,” she said. “I’m here for you, Issie. I want to offer you a job at my stables.”
Ginty McLintoch didn’t mess around when it came to business. Her discussion with Issie was swift and simple. She had a place in her stables over the school holidays for a junior groom. She was looking for a young rider who knew their way around a showjumper and could handle the responsibilities of exercising, feeding and grooming up to six horses a day.
“The pay isn’t great and the hours are long,” Ginty conceded, “but you will get to ride some fantastic horses. Not only every day for basic training, but also at competitions on the circuit. I guarantee you’ll learn more about riding in seven weeks with me than you’ve probably learnt in all the years you’ve been taught by Tom Avery.”
There was a sneer in Ginty’s voice as she said Avery’s name. Issie was well aware that the flame-haired trainer frowned upon Avery’s methods. Natasha Tucker was always talking about the rivalry between them. Ginty considered Chevalier Point Pony Club’s head instructor a low-powered amateur, compared to her and the high-stakes world of professional paid riders.
The dislike was mutual. Avery had made it quite clear that he was not a fan of Ginty’s methods either. Issie had heard him complaining about the slew of bad habits that Ginty had taught her star pupil, Natasha Tucker. The spoilt blonde was rather too fond of relying on her whip and was renowned for her ‘busy’ hands. But was that really Ginty’s doing?
Ginty obviously liked the way Issie handled her horses — otherwise surely she wouldn’t have offered her the job? And if Ginty thought that Issie was a good rider then perhaps her methods weren’t a world away from Avery’s after all.
Ginty was a famous trainer. She had brought on more than her fair share of champions. And being a junior groom in Ginty’s stables meant the chance to spend the school holidays riding amazing horses every day, instead of helping her mum with filing bits of paper and getting the lawyers cups of tea!
“Would I still have time to ride my own horses?” Issie asked.
“That’s up to you,” Ginty replied. “You’ll be working a six-day week — sometimes seven days when we’re competing at the shows. You’ll start at seven each morning and sometimes we’ll be away for days at a time on the show circuit, but usually if you’re not too exhausted by the time you finish work at four, then you’ll have time left at the end of the day to ride your own horses.”
“It sounds brilliant, thank you,” Issie said politely, “but I need to think about it.”
“Well, you don’t have much time to do that, I’m afraid,” Ginty said. “I need an answer soon. I’ve only got a week to find someone and I can’t afford to sit on my hands. Tell me now if you’re not keen, because I have a couple of other riders that I’m considering.”
“No!” Issie said hastily. “I mean, yes. Don’t offer anyone else the job. I want to do it. I just need to go home and check with my mum…”
Issie spent the bike ride home rehearsing the best way of breaking the news to her mother. She had a well-prepared little speech all ready, but instantly forgot it the minute she walked in the door.
“Ginty McLintoch has offered me a job. You said I’d never find a job with horses, but I have, and I want to go and work for her.”
Some people would call the conversation that followed an argument. Later on, when she had calmed down, Mrs Brown referred to it as a ‘heated discussion’. In the end, though, Issie didn’t care what her mum called it. She had won. Mrs Brown finally conceded defeat. After all, she had told her daughter that if she could find herself a paid job with ponies, then she could take it.
“On the plus side,” Mrs Brown reasoned, “starting work at seven each morning and mucking out poo from that many loose boxes every day might finally make you think about getting qualifications for a proper career. I know I’d rather be sitting down with a cup of tea in a nice air-conditioned office than doing back-breaking work at a stable any day.”
This was the difference between her and her mother. Issie would rather be sweating in the stables for a pittance. Horses were her dream job and she had just been given her big break.
Stella and Kate couldn’t believe it when Issie told them her news at school the next day.
“You are soooo lucky!” Stella breathed excitedly. “I am so jealous! Ginty was really watching you at the pony club that day, when you thought she just wanted to buy Comet! Do you think she needs any more riders?”
Stella’s holiday job was restocking the shelves each night at the local supermarket, and she wasn’t thrilled with it. “We have to wear smocks and hairnets,” she groaned. “It’s going to be awful.”
“Have you told Tom yet?” Kate asked.
“No.” Issie shook her head. “I’m going to Winterflood Farm tomorrow after school to help out with a new rescue pony that he’s just brought in. I thought I would tell him then.”
“I thought Tom didn’t like Ginty?” Stella said.
“He doesn’t,” Issie admitted, “but when I explain to him how I didn’t really have a choice, I’m sure he’ll be OK about it.”
She was dead wrong.
“You can’t work for Ginty,” Avery told her point blank when she broke the news.
“But Tom, if I don’t take the job Mum will make me spend the holidays at her office and I won’t get to ride at all—”
“Anything is better than working for that atrocious woman,” Avery said.
“Why?” Issie was confused. “I know Ginty has different methods from you—”
“You’ve got no idea!” Avery said, clearly refusing to back down. “Issie, you don’t understand the pressure you’ll be under riding for Dulmoth Park. Ginty’s got financial backers with big wallets and huge expectations. It’s all about making money for her, and she’s willing to do whatever it takes to win.”
“So she’s competitive. There’s nothing wrong with that,” Issie insisted. “I know it’s a big step for me, working at a professional stables, but I can handle myself. Besides, when we were in Australia a couple of months ago you were willing to let me move to Kentucky to go to Blainford. Now I’ve got a holiday job and you’re acting like it’s a big deal!”
“This is different,” Avery said coolly. “Tara Kelly is a brilliant trainer and Blainford Academy is the best riding institution in the world. I was only doing what was best for you—”
“I’m fifteen years old!” Issie objected. “I’m not a kid any more, and you need to stop deciding what’s best for me! You’re not my dad, you know. You’re just my pony-club instructor!”
The words came out before Issie could stop them. And then she saw the pain in Avery’s eyes, deep disappointment written all over his face.
“Tom,” Issie stammered, “I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“It’s OK,” Avery said quietly. “And you’re right, this is your decision. I can’t make your mind up for you. Maybe it’s time for you to try a new instructor. Maybe this is a good thing.”
And with that he turned his back on Issie and headed towards the stable block.
“Tom?” Issie called running after him. “Wait…I thought you wanted me to help with the new pony?”
Avery turned back to look at her. “No, Issie, I think it’s probably best if you go home. I can cope with the pony on my own.”
In all the time she had known Tom Avery, Issie had never heard such hurt in her instructor’s voice. As she watched him walk away, she wondered whether she was really doing the right thing. But it was too late to change her mind now. She had already told Ginty that she would take the job. She was starting work at Dulmoth Park on Monday.
Chapter 3
Issie stared up at the horse towering above her. It was rearing up on its hind legs, with a tousled mane and wild eyes. She put a hand out to stroke the horse and felt cool, smooth marble against her skin. There was the security keypad, embedded in the pedestal below the statue, just as Ginty had described it. The letters on the pad lit up bright blue at the touch of her fingertips as she carefully coded in the password Ginty had given her — w-i-n-n-e-r.
The sleek, state-of-the-art metal gates beside the statue slid open and Issie wheeled her bike through the grand entrance and into the manicured grounds of Dulmoth Park.
Issie had got up at 6 a.m. to make it to work on time. She had dressed, eaten breakfast and then cycled the half-hour journey along the main road past the pony club and the Chevalier Point airfield to reach the stables. She had hoped that maybe her mum would drive her to work, but Mrs Brown had laughed when Issie suggested this.
“You want me to drive you to work before seven?” Her mum was horrified. “You must be joking! I’m not getting up at dawn each day to be a taxi service.”
It had been hard to force herself out of bed, but once she was up and on her bike, Issie actually enjoyed the ride to the stables. The morning air was crisp, and as she cycled up the driveway of Dulmoth Park the grounds looked pristine and perfect with the dawn light tinting everything golden.
As she rode past the white post and rail fences, Issie noticed that Dulmoth Park’s paddocks were eerily empty. There were no horses grazing. Even in summer, when New Zealand nights were warm and most horses were left out to pasture, Ginty had a reputation for keeping her horses stabled. Right now the horses would still be tucked up snugly in their loose boxes, waiting for their day to start.
The stable complex at the end of the long driveway had the air of a posh racehorse training facility. The driveway forked in three directions and there was a series of smart, creosoted black buildings surrounded by well-pruned trees and neat lawns.
Issie had just dismounted from her bike and was wondering which path to take when suddenly two very yappy, angry-looking Jack Russells came charging out from the building right in front of her.
The dogs were barking their heads off as they bore down on her. They were just a few feet away and closing in fast when a sharp whistle made them stop in their tracks.
“Hoi! Jock! Angus!” Ginty McLintoch called out.
At the sound of Ginty’s voice Jock and Angus sat down obediently, waiting for their mistress to catch up.
“I’m sorry about that,” Ginty said. “They’re very suspicious of strangers.” She smiled at Issie. “They’ll be fine now that they can see you’re with me.”
Issie put out her hands to scratch the two Jack Russells under the chin. “Hi Jock, hi Angus!” She smiled at Ginty. “I love dogs. I’ve got a blue heeler at home.”
“A blue heeler?”
“An Australian cattle dog,” Issie explained.
“Good around horses?” Ginty asked.
“Wombat’s brilliant with horses.”
“Wombat?” Ginty was confused. “I thought you said he was a dog?”
“He is a dog,” Issie said. “His name is Wombat. I got him in Australia…it’s kind of a long story.”
“Well,” Ginty said briskly, clearly not interested in hearing it, “as long as he doesn’t bother the horses and he can put up with Jock and Angus, then you’re welcome to bring him to work with you.”
“Really?” Issie couldn’t believe it. “That would be amazing!”
“You can park your bike in the equipment room,” Ginty told her. “It’s just through that doorway beside the office.” She looked at her watch. “I’d better go down to the stables. I’ve got another new junior groom starting today as well. Come and join us there when you’re ready.”
The equipment room was stocked with jump stands and painted rails. Issie leant her bike against the wall and unzipped her backpack. She’d already put her helmet on for the bike ride and she grabbed her back protector out of the backpack and slipped it on too before heading for the stable block.
Up ahead of her at the stable entrance Ginty was engrossed in conversation with two girls who looked a couple of years older than Issie. They were both dressed exactly the same, in smart cream jodhpurs, work boots and dark purple sweatshirts with the letters DP embroidered on them in swirly gold. The DP obviously stood for Dulmoth Park.
“Issie,” Ginty called out, “come and meet my senior grooms.”
The two girls looked up at Issie and the one with freckles and honey-coloured hair in a ponytail gave her a warm smile.
“Hi!” The honey-blonde gave a wave. “I’m Penny.”
The girl next to Penny had brown hair cut in a short pixie crop. She didn’t smile or say hello, she just stared at Issie suspiciously.
“This is Verity — my head groom,” Ginty said, taking over on the introductions since Verity clearly wasn’t going to introduce herself. “Verity and Penny have both been with me for two seasons already, so they know the ropes,” Ginty continued. “I’ve asked Verity to assign you and Natasha your work rosters. You’ll find details on the blackboard just inside the front door of the stables.”
Issie froze. Did Ginty just say Natasha? No, it couldn’t be…
At that moment the gates to Dulmoth Park slid open and a silver Mercedes glided down the driveway. Issie recognised the car straight away, and the sour-faced blonde sitting inside it.
Natasha Tucker emerged from the passenger seat looking utterly miserable, grabbed her bag, muttered a dismissive goodbye to her mother and then slammed the Mercedes door shut. She glared after the car as Mrs Tucker drove off again.
“Good morning, Natasha.” Ginty smiled at her. “I believe I told you it was a 7 a.m. start, so let’s try to be on time in future.”
“Whatever!” Natasha groaned.
Issie would never have spoken to Ginty like that, but the trainer seemed to let Natasha get away with it. She ignored the comment and continued, “I was just doing introductions. You know Verity and Penny already, and I’m sure you know Isadora too?”
“We go to pony club together,” Natasha confirmed, looking far from pleased to see Issie.
“I’ve just been explaining the roster,” Ginty said. “Verity will organise it so that you and Isadora are each in charge of six horses. You’ll need to do all the feeds and have the first horse ready in the arena by eight each morning to begin schooling. Everything is written down for you on the blackboards in the tack room, but if you have any questions about the way we do things here, then check with Verity.”
This clearly didn’t sit well with the head groom, who didn’t seem keen on answering any questions. She was already edging towards the stables, trying to get away. “Can I go now?” she asked. “I’ve still got to sort out Tottie and Flame’s hard feeds. We’re already running late.”
Ginty nodded. “Take Issie with you to help.”
Verity grunted, and Issie figured that must mean she should follow as the head groom set off towards the far end of the stables.
The feed room was nothing like the tatty old tack shed where the feed was stored at Winterflood Farm. This room looked like a science lab—or a pharmacy. Large feed lockers with airtight lids lined one side of the room and above these were shelves filled with a mind-boggling array of powders, additives and supplements.
Verity seemed to know exactly what each of the bottles contained. She had grabbed a feed bin and was busily throwing in various measures from different bottles and tubs on the shelves.
“We’re trying to put more condition on Tottie at the moment,” Verity said. “I’ve been giving her two scoops of boiled barley in her feed morning and night, plus one of chaff and one of Maxi-equine hi-performance, and we add linseed, magnesium and electrolytes to each meal. Plus I’ve been putting in selenium lately as well.”
Now she grabbed a second feed bin and began to pour out measures and doses of potions off the shelf. “Flame’s on three scoops of the Maxi-equine, plus the chaff and supplements and extra potassium,” Verity continued.
“I don’t think I can remember all of this,” Issie murmured, feeling quite ill at the thought of giving the horses the wrong dose or muddling the feeds up entirely.
“You don’t have to learn it off by heart. Just look at the chart on the wall,” Verity said. “It gives you feed instructions for every horse in the stables.”
Issie noticed that there was one feed locker that Verity didn’t use at all. It wasn’t a round tub like the rest — it was low and square, standing in the corner of the room. Its lid was curved and inlaid with metal and it was bolted shut like a treasure chest with a combination lock on the outside of it.
“What’s in that one?” Issie asked.
Verity stiffened. “Medicines…stuff for emergencies,” she said, adding bluntly, “Leave it alone. You don’t need to worry about it.”
She finished stirring the feeds using a huge wooden spoon, and then passed one of the big buckets to Issie.
“You can give Flame his feed. He’s in the stall at the end on your left.”
As Issie approached Flame’s loose box, she could hear the horse stamping about inside, pacing and whinnying impatiently as he heard her coming closer. Both the top and bottom half of the Dutch door were shut tight and Issie wondered what the horse on the other side looked like. All she knew was that with a name like Flame he had to be a chestnut.
When she swung the door open, she was amazed. Flame’s coat was like nothing she had ever seen before. It shone like a newly minted copper coin. He had the most athletic conformation Issie had ever seen, with muscles and sinew rippling as he moved about restlessly in his stall.
Flame was clearly expecting his breakfast. He stomped and nickered, impatiently waiting for Issie to unbolt the door, and then made a beeline for her as she entered the stall. With the feed bin propped under one arm, she had to use the other hand to fend him off, moving quickly through the loose box to deftly slide the bin into the wallfeeder slot at the far end.
As Flame happily snuffled down his feed, Issie was free to stand back and assess the gelding more thoroughly. She guessed that he was around sixteen hands high, but his imposing presence made him seem much bigger than that. He wasn’t a fine-boned Thoroughbred but a heavier breed, perhaps some kind of warmblood or a Selle Francais like Natasha’s chestnut, Romeo. His shoulders and neck were powerful, and although his hindquarters were well developed his withers were still higher than his rump, which indicated that his power was in his front half, a classic sign of a horse that had been bred to jump. He had an elegant, refined head and thoughtful deep brown eyes. His bold chestnut colour made a striking contrast with the pretty white star on the gelding’s forehead and the white snip on his muzzle.
“You’re really gorgeous!” Issie breathed out loud.
“He should be!”
It was Verity, leaning over the partition of the Dutch door and looking at Flame. “He cost a fortune and it was a total drama getting him here. He had to be imported from Europe. His bloodlines are amazing — he’s by Brilliant Fire.”
Issie looked blankly at her.
“You mean you haven’t heard of Brilliant Fire?” Verity sighed dramatically at this. “He’s a Hanoverian stallion, a warmblood from Germany. Brilliant Fire has sired more Olympic showjumpers than any other stallion. All of his progeny — his sons and daughters — are worth a fortune because of their bloodlines.”
“So how much did Ginty pay for Flame?” Issie asked.
“Oh, Ginty didn’t buy him!” Verity said, looking at Issie as if she were the most naïve person on the planet. “Ginty could never afford him—or any of the other horses here for that matter.”
“You mean she doesn’t own any of the horses?” Issie was confused.
“She doesn’t even own Dulmoth Park!” Verity said. “Ginty’s in charge, but she’s not the one with the money. Cassandra Steele, you know, the millionairess? She owns the stables and most of the horses. Ginty also stables a few ‘weekend rides’ for clients with loads of money and no time. Ginty keeps their horses for them here at an exorbitant cost. It’s a total luxury—some of the clients only ride their horses once a month. Imagine having your own horse and only bothering to ride it twelve times a year!”
“Don’t the horses go bonkers if there’s no one riding them?” Issie asked.
“Oh, we ride them,” Verity said. “Ginty charges even more money for that. Penny and I exercise the horses on the owner’s behalf so that they’re kept in regular work.”
“You’re so lucky. It must be amazing, being paid to ride really fab horses every day.”
Verity looked at Issie as if she were an idiot. “The owners have high expectations. It’s up to us to make them happy,” she said flatly. “It costs a fortune to keep your horse at Dulmoth Park, but the rich ladies love it, because it’s so exclusive and Ginty treats them all like rock stars. We keep their horses fit and do everything for them. Ginty always says that her clients pay top dollar so that they can step out of their car and get straight on to their horse.”
Issie thought about all those times Natasha had turned up at rally days with Romeo immaculately groomed and plaited — quite boastful about having done none of the work herself. No doubt Penny and Verity were the ones who did it for her.
“Why is Natasha working here?” Issie asked. “She’s one of Ginty’s clients, isn’t she?”
Verity shrugged. “Her dad has some sort of money trouble. Ginty says it’s only temporary. He’s a big-deal property developer and a deal fell through. Natasha’s parents are making her work here for the holidays to cover the cost of her horse’s board, otherwise Ginty wouldn’t be able to keep stabling Romeo.”
Issie knew exactly what ‘trouble’ Mr Tucker had got himself into. In fact, Issie was the one who had uncovered his dodgy business dealings while she competed on Fortune to win the Golden Trophy! It was ironic, Issie thought, that she should end up stuck with Natasha for the school holidays—and in a strange way it was her own fault!
“Ginty still sucks up to the Tuckers because of their money,” Verity continued. “You saw the way she treated Natasha, letting her arrive late this morning. The rest of us would have been hung, drawn and quartered…” Verity stopped in mid-sentence. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking to you like this. You and Natasha both go to the same pony club, don’t you? You’re probably best friends.”
Issie gave a hollow laugh. “Hardly! Natasha can’t stand me!”
Verity looked surprised at this. “Really? I thought you were…You know, you have to be careful,” she said darkly, “you never know who your friends are around here…”
Verity looked like she was about to say something else, but Issie never found out what, because at that moment Ginty suddenly appeared beside her at the stall door.