Читать книгу Flame and the Rebel Riders - Stacy Gregg - Страница 7

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.

“Come on!” the trainer said briskly. “Morning exercise is already behind schedule, we don’t have time to stand around chatting.”

“I better go get Tottie ready,” Verity said to Issie. “Check the blackboard roster to see which horse you’re working first. I’ll see you in the arena.”

Issie found the blackboard on the back of the door in the tack room. Riders’ names were listed along the top of the board with the horses they were assigned written down underneath. Issie noted with disappointment that Flame had been given to Natasha. She had been hoping that she would be the one to ride the big chestnut. Penny was down to ride Vertigo, and Verity was supposed to ride a horse called Tottenham Hotspur, which Issie figured must be Tottie’s show name. The first horse on Issie’s list was “Tokyo”. Issie searched through the saddle racks fixed to the wall and found Tokyo’s name plate with a saddle, bridle and numnah.

Tokyo’s saddle was made from warm honey-coloured leather, finished with orange stitching and a single word stamped elegantly into the flap at the front: Hermès.

Issie was almost scared to touch it. She had never seen a real Hermès saddle before — they were worth thousands and thousands of dollars. And now she was going to ride in one!

Picking Tokyo’s saddle up carefully, she carried it with the numnah over her arm and the bridle slung on her left shoulder, back out into the stable corridor. It wasn’t until she was standing there looking at the row of stalls that she realised there was a problem. The loose boxes didn’t have name plates. How was she supposed to find her horse?

Still carrying the gear, she strode down the corridor towards the end stall. Verity would be in there saddling up Tottie. She could tell Issie which stall held Tokyo.

The door to Tottie’s loose box was unlocked, so Issie pushed it open and walked straight in to see Verity standing alongside a nervous-looking dapple-grey mare. Verity was bent down over the horse’s hocks. Her right hand was gripping a hypodermic syringe.

As she held the syringe aloft, Verity’s face was tight with determination. She took aim, and then with all her strength she hammered her fist down hard, forcing the hypodermic needle deep into the upper muscle of the horse’s hind leg.

“Verity! What are you doing?” Issie cried out. But it was too late. Verity had already pushed down the plunger of the syringe and injected the contents of the hypodermic into Tottie.

With a quick yank, she pulled the needle back out again, capped the empty syringe and then she slipped it into her pocket. She let the mare go and walked over to Issie.

“Verity,” Issie said, “what was that?”

The head groom raised a finger to her lips. “Say nothing about this,” she warned. “Trust me. If you know what’s good for you, you don’t want to get involved.”

Verity’s face was stony as she pushed past Issie in the doorway. Then she turned round and added bitterly, “Welcome to Dulmoth Park, Issie. You really have no idea what you’re in for.”