by Amanda Wills
‘Not friends exactly,’ said Scarlett, unperturbed. ‘We used to go to the same school. When Georgia and her mum and dad still lived in a three bedroomed semi in Tavistock and the family car was a clapped out hatchback.’
Poppy's eyes were drawn to the pristine white Range Rover parked in the furthest corner of the yard next to a silver Bentley. It was impossible to imagine the family who owned all this ever having to make do with a clapped out hatchback.
‘She's schooling Barley in the indoor arena,’ Angela said.
‘I'm sure she won't mind us watching,’ said Scarlett, dragging Poppy towards the huge wooden-slatted building behind the row of loose boxes before Angela could stop her.
‘Trust Georgia to have an indoor arena,’ she muttered.
Poppy recognised the palomino gelding Georgia was cantering in perfect twenty metre circles at the far end of the arena.
‘He's the one Georgia beat Sam on, isn't he?’ she said.
Scarlett nodded. ‘He's her top jumping pony. Her mum paid over ten thousand pounds for him. He's a demon against the clock.’
‘Not as fast as Star though,’ said Poppy, remembering how Sam had only lost to Georgia because Barley had rattled a pole which had fallen during Sam's round.
Georgia changed reins and the palomino executed a flawless flying change. As she cantered towards them she noticed them watching and eased Barley into a trot. She stared at them with china blue eyes.
‘I recognise you. You were at the Redhall affiliated show last summer. You're Sam's fan club. What are you doing here?’ she said.
Scarlett scowled and was about to say something but Poppy cut across her. ‘Angela told us to come and say hello. We've just dropped off Ariel's passport.’
Georgia patted her pony's neck and slid off. She was wearing a crimson polo shirt, cream jodhpurs and expensive-looking leather boots the same shade of bitumen black as her plaited hair. Her high cheekbones and English rose complexion made Poppy think of Snow White. Without the seven dwarfs of course. Although Angela would make a convincing Evil Queen.
‘Nice place you've got here, Georgia. It puts Redhall to shame,’ Poppy said.
Scarlett's eyes widened but Poppy winked at her and she took the hint.
‘It's amazing,’ she agreed. ‘We'd love a guided tour. If you've got time.’
Georgia looked at them warily. Poppy held her breath. They needed evidence that Angela Snell was trying to sabotage Redhall and if being nice to stuck-up Georgia Canning was the only way they were going to get it, it was a price worth paying. She smiled at Georgia hopefully.
‘OK,’ Georgia shrugged. ‘I'll just put Barley away first.’ She led the palomino gelding to a row of looseboxes opposite Ariel's.
‘How many liveries do you have?’ asked Poppy.
‘Ten with Ariel. Plus my ponies, Barley and Fizz.’
‘You used to have way more than two didn't you?’ said Scarlett.
Georgia gave a brief nod and began untacking Barley. Poppy studied the girl's expression for clues but her face gave nothing away. Yet something about her was different. Poppy thought back to the day of the Redhall show. When Georgia had ridden past Poppy had been struck by her hooked Roman nose, the only imperfection in an otherwise flawless face. But as she watched Georgia undo Barley's girth and run up the stirrup leathers she realised the Roman nose had gone, smoothed away by a surgeon's knife.
Georgia led them to the largest tack room Poppy had seen in her life. It looked like a high-end tack shop, with rows of gleaming saddles and bridles and piles of neatly-folded day rugs, night rugs and New Zealand rugs. The room smelt of saddle soap and hoof oil.
‘Each livery has their own storage trunk where they keep their grooming kits. Every horse has a daily groom as part of the service,’ said Georgia. ‘And this is the feed room.’
Poppy and Scarlett followed her into an adjoining room which contained huge bins of food.
‘You must get through tons of feed with twelve horses. Where do you get it from,’ asked Scarlett conversationally.
‘Baxters',’ said Georgia. ‘They do a monthly delivery.’
Poppy gasped as Scarlett elbowed her sharply in the ribs. Fortunately Georgia had already turned away.
‘This is the solarium,’ she said, opening the double doors of a high-ceilinged barn. ‘We have two heat lamps so two horses can use it at once.’
Poppy cricked her neck to examine the space-age bulbs set in curved units above two empty stalls. ‘What do they do that the sun can't?’ she asked, genuinely curious.
‘The lamps have infra-red rays that help increase blood circulation and muscle elasticity, which can help reduce healing time for injuries. We also use them for drying horses after a bath, especially in the winter.’ Georgia sounded as if she was reading from a brochure. She flicked a switch on the wall and the lamps in the solarium nearest to them glowed orange. ‘And they're nice and warm to sit under when you're cleaning your tack.’
‘You clean your own tack?’ asked Scarlett in disbelief.
Georgia shot her a scornful look. ‘Who else do you think does it?’
She switched off the solarium and stalked over to a huge metal contraption which reminded Poppy of an industrial-sized rotary washing line.
‘This is the horse walker. All the horses have weekly solariums and are exercised daily, either by Angela or me or on the horse walker.’
‘Wouldn't they prefer to go out for a hack?’ said Scarlett. Poppy gave her a warning look. They were supposed to be keeping Georgia on side after all.
Georgia shrugged. ‘Probably. But owners expect us to have one for the price they're paying.’
‘Do you have any vacancies at the moment?’ asked Poppy.
‘Why? Think you can afford it here?’
Poppy shook her head and kept her face neutral, although inside she was seething. ‘I prefer to keep my pony at home, thanks. I just wondered.’
‘Whatever,’ said Georgia. ‘We have two at the moment. The two looseboxes next to Ariel. Though Angela is confident they'll be filled very shortly.’
They walked back to the yard. Behind the palatial Georgian mansion the sun was setting.
‘Thanks for showing us around. It was very interesting, although I don't think my pony Blaze would like it here,’ said Scarlett.
Georgia stared at her. ‘I used to know a pony called Blaze. She was the first pony I ever rode. She was owned by the daughter of a friend of my mother's. They lived on a ramshackle farm in Waterby.’
‘We still do,’ Scarlett said quietly.
‘I thought I recognised you at the Redhall show but you said we'd never met before.’ Georgia's cut-glass accent sounded unnecessarily loud.
‘We used to go to the same school a long time ago. Before you had all this,’ Scarlett said, with a sweep of her arm.
There was an awkward silence. Poppy could feel Scarlett bristling beside her and gave her a nudge.
‘Come on Scar, we'd better make a move. There aren't any lights on the bikes and we promised Sarah we'd be home before it gets dark.’
Scarlett nodded, turned on her heels and headed for the bikes without a word. Poppy gave Georgia an apologetic look and went to follow her but stopped when the older girl started speaking.
‘Your friend Scarlett won't believe me but I was insanely jealous of her and her brother, growing up on a farm like Ashworthy. I know it was tatty and tumbledown, but I used to love spending time there. It seemed like the perfect life to me.’
‘And this isn't?’ said Poppy, perplexed, thinking of the solariums, the horse walker and the huge indoor arena.
Georgia looked at her feet. ‘Some things are more important than money.’
Chapter Eight
‘That's easy enough to say when you've got millions in the bank,’ said Scarlett scathingly as they pedalled back to Redhall.
‘Sam says they've spent all their money, remember. That's why they had to sell most of Georgia's ponies and take on all the live
ries.’ Poppy swerved to avoid a pothole, almost colliding with Scarlett. ‘Sorry Red Rum.’
But Scarlett wasn't in the mood for make believe any more and they rode the rest of the way in silence. It was only that night as they lay in bed that Poppy decided to tackle the subject again.
‘So do you think Angela and Georgia are behind all this?’
Scarlett looked at Poppy as though she was mad. ‘You bet I do! Look at the evidence. They use Baxters'. They have vacancies. And, most importantly, they have a motive.’
‘Do they,’ asked Poppy faintly. It all seemed a bit circumstantial to her.
‘Money!’ Scarlett declared triumphantly. ‘Isn't that what everything comes down to in the end?’
A man in a white van pulled into the yard as Poppy was grooming Cloud the next morning. He showed her an identity card on a lanyard around his neck.
‘I'm from the water board. I've come to see what the problem is with your supply,’ he said.
Poppy jogged across to the house and called Sarah, who showed him the stopcock. He scratched his head.
‘There's no problem this end. It must be further down the line.’
‘There's a water leak in one of the fields. I can show you if you like. I was just about to turn Cloud out anyway,’ said Poppy.
He grabbed a tool kit from the back of his van and followed her to the paddock they'd ridden through the day before. The puddle was even bigger.
‘Hmm, this looks serious,’ he said, pulling out a mobile phone and calling for reinforcements.
Poppy, Scarlett and Sam had finished morning stables and were about to start the weary trudge to the river for water when the engineer reappeared, a satisfied smile on his face. He walked over to the outside tap and turned it on. The three children cheered when a jet of water gushed out.
‘Well, I've solved the mystery,’ he said, showing them two short lengths of blue plastic pipe. ‘But I can't explain why it happened.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Poppy.
‘Pipes like this are buried about a foot underground and should last for decades,’ he told them. ‘But someone had dug down and cut this one clean through.’
Poppy, Scarlett and Sam watched in silence as the van disappeared down the Redhall drive.
‘I don't understand. Why would anyone want to cut our pipe?’ said Sam.
Poppy looked at Scarlett, who nodded and mouthed, ‘Tell him.’
‘We think someone's got it in for Redhall, Sam,’ Poppy said. ‘That all the stuff that's been happening - the mixed-up order from Baxters', the nuisance calls, the flowers, the water leak - is being done deliberately to sabotage Bella's business.’
‘That's ludicrous,’ said Sam. ‘Why would anyone want to do that?’
‘Why do you think?’ cried Scarlett. ‘Use your brain for goodness' sake. They want to steal her liveries.’
‘But who would want to do that?’ he said with a frown.
‘Angela Snell and Georgia La-Di-Da Canning, that's who,’ hissed Scarlett.
‘Well, we're not one hundred per cent sure,’ said Poppy. ‘But it's certainly looking like it might be.’
Sam looked at each of them in turn. Scarlett glared back and Poppy held her hands up helplessly. ‘We can't think who else it might be,’ she said.
‘I suppose I ought to tell Scott,’ he said. ‘Any idea where he is?’
‘He's popped into Tavistock. He said he'd be back before lunch,’ said Scarlett.
‘That's another morning stables he's conveniently missed. I don't know why Gran bothered to ask him to come. He's been about as much use as a chocolate teapot.’
Poppy silently agreed but Scarlett leapt to his defence. ‘He did help get the water yesterday. And I'm sure he'll help with evening stables.’
‘There's a first time for everything,’ Sam grumbled.
Hoping to head off an argument, Poppy clapped her hands.
‘Hey you two, I've had a brilliant idea! Now we don't have to spend an hour fetching water let's take the ponies out for a ride.’
That night Poppy lay in bed mulling everything over. Should they phone Bella and tell her what was happening? Poppy didn't think so. Not yet. She had enough on her plate looking after her Auntie Margaret. Should they call the police? Poppy pictured portly Inspector Bill Pearson and his penchant for digestive biscuits. When Poppy and her friend Hope Taylor had turned up at Tavistock Police Station with what must have seemed a dubious account of deceit and duplicity he had listened to everything they had to say - and had believed them. But all Poppy would be able to report this time was a series of events that could be linked but could also be totally unrelated.
Poppy tried to see it through Inspector Pearson's eyes. John the farrier could have misunderstood a call from Bella confirming his visit to shoe Ariel. All it needed was a crackly line and, after all, the phone reception out here was patchy at best. Sarah's theory about someone in the village hearing about Margaret's fall and jumping to the wrong conclusions might be right after all. Perhaps Baxters' had made a genuine mistake and accidentally mixed their order up with someone else's. No matter how hard she tried Poppy couldn't explain away the nuisance calls and the damaged water pipe, but she could see they didn't exactly amount to a vendetta.
And if it was some kind of hate campaign, who was behind it all, anyway? Scarlett was convinced that it was Georgia Canning and her hard-nosed livery yard manager. Poppy wasn't about to rule the pair out either. But they hadn't exactly found any incriminating evidence during their visit to Claydon Manor. And there had been something about Georgia Canning that evening that didn't fit with the win-at-all-costs spoilt little rich girl Poppy had always assumed she was. Although there had been flashes of her trademark snootiness she'd also seemed subdued. If Poppy had been pushed to describe her she'd have said she was lonely.
Poppy checked the time on her phone. Half past twelve. She was physically exhausted yet sleep seemed tantalisingly out of reach. The room was uncomfortably hot. She threw off her covers, padded across the room to the window and pulled open the curtains. The moon was large and low, almost but not quite a full moon. Poppy opened the catches of the Victorian sash window and was just about to heave it open when a movement on the driveway caught her eye.
A hooded figure was creeping along the side of the hedge towards the road. For a moment Poppy was rooted to the spot, paralysed by indecision. The figure stopped and glanced back towards the house. It must have seen her pale face at the window because it turned, crouched down and ran towards a vehicle parked haphazardly on the verge on the other side of the road. The sight of the fleeing intruder galvanised Poppy into action. She tugged at the sash window, but years of neglect had left it stuck fast. Instead she banged on the glass with her fist as hard as she dared. But it was too late. The car was disappearing down the road. Poppy watched with resignation until the tail lights were tiny red pinpricks in the dark and then disappeared altogether.
Her nerves were so taut that when she heard a sound behind her she almost jumped out of her skin.
‘Wha's goin' on?’ her best friend mumbled. Scarlett sat up and rubbed her eyes. She saw Poppy at the window. ‘What on earth are you doing?’
Poppy started pulling on jeans and a jumper. ‘I've just seen an intruder. We need to go and check everything's OK. You get dressed and I'll go and wake Sam and Scott. I'll meet you in the kitchen.’
Before Scarlett had a chance to answer Poppy legged it out of their room and turned down the hallway towards the bedroom Sam and Scott were sharing. She tapped on the door and let herself in. Sam was asleep in the nearest bed, the frown he'd worn since Scott's arrival softened by sleep. Poppy shook his shoulder. His eyes snapped open.
‘What's wrong?’
Poppy told him about the intruder. ‘We need to check on the horses. I'll wake Scott.’
But Scott's bed was empty.
‘He's still not back?’ Poppy said in exasperation.
Sam shook his head. ‘I'll text him.’<
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They met in the kitchen. Poppy handed them each a torch and unlocked the back door. They looked at each other, their faces grave.
‘I'll check the stables and barn if you two look over the paddocks,’ said Sam. ‘Stick together, just in case. And shout if you need me.’
Poppy and Scarlett nodded and let themselves out. But when Poppy headed for the yard instead of the fields Scarlett grabbed her arm.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I have to check on Cloud first, Scar.’
She ran across to her pony's stable and slid open the bolt. Training the torch on the straw bed so she didn't blind him with its powerful beam she whispered his name. Cloud opened an eye and whickered. Poppy balanced the torch on the narrow window ledge and threw her arms around his neck in relief.
Scarlett's tousled head appeared over the stable door.
‘All OK?’
Poppy nodded.
‘Blaze too. Come on, let's go and check on the riding school ponies.’
Poppy kissed Cloud's nose and joined her friend. On the other side of the yard they could see the beam of Sam's torch as he looked in each stable.
‘How many are out?’ Poppy asked. Her brain felt scrambled and she couldn't remember who was stabled and who wasn't.
‘Rosie and Buster are in the first paddock,’ said Scarlett, counting on her fingers. ‘Salt and Pepper are in the next and Treacle's in the top paddock on his own.’
Poppy exhaled with relief when her torch picked out Rosie. The strawberry roan mare was standing in a field shelter with Buster, the chestnut Dartmoor pony Poppy's friend Hope had learnt to ride on.
‘We should check them over,’ said Poppy. The two girls climbed the gate and crossed the field to the shelter. The ponies watched them sleepily as they ran their hands along them and lifted their feet.
‘They're fine,’ said Scarlett. ‘Let's check on Salt and Pepper.’
The two fleabitten grey New Forest geldings were brothers, bred by Bella out of Rosie's dam, an elderly mare called Conker who was stabled overnight. Salt and Pepper had inherited their dam's easy-going nature and none of Rosie's occasional stroppiness and were the most popular ponies with the more experienced riders at Redhall.
