by Stacy Gregg
“No! I need you there!” Issie insisted.
The French trainer shook her head. “Isadora, I have taught you everything that I know. When dressage day comes at Burghley it is you and you alone who will take the horses into that arena. I cannot go in there with you. In the end, it will be up to you.”
And so it was that the team who departed that morning was the same team that Issie remembered from her days back home at Chevalier Point. With Avery at the wheel of the truck and her two best and oldest friends beside her, Issie set off on the journey towards Lincolnshire, on her way to the three-day event that would define her riding career forever.
In the sport of three-day eventing there were only six events in the whole world that classified for the highest challenge level – the four-star event.
Competitors would often debate which of the four-stars was the greatest of them all. The top two were without a doubt the Badminton Horse Trials and the Burghley Horse Trials, held in the grand grounds of the Burghley Estate, with its glorious gardens and elegant Elizabethan palace.
“Back in my day,” Avery said as he drove the truck through the gates of Burghley, “there was no debate. Without question, Badminton was considered the tougher test. The fences were more complex, the competition was stiffer…”
Avery parked the truck under an enormous spreading oak tree and turned to Issie. “But these days I would rate Burghley as its equal – the pinnacle of competition. The very best riders come here to compete and the cross-country course is arguably tougher than even Badminton – with more undulating terrain and a tight fifteen-minute time limit.”
Avery looked out the window of the truck. “And certainly there is no more beautiful place in all of Britain to ride,” he said. “Although, when you’re bent down at a flat gallop against the clock and coming in to attack an enormous rough-sawn elephant trap I very much doubt you’ll be taking time to look at the scenic wonders!”
Avery was right. All the same, as Issie took her first glimpse of the estate on her cross-country course walk that Wednesday evening, she marvelled at the beauty of the place, the pretty groves of trees and the wonderful swards of green pasture that she would be galloping along in just a few days’ time. Right now the fields were still being grazed by sheep, but on Saturday morning there would be thousands of spectators here, standing behind the rope barriers and watching the great and the good as they tackled the cross-country course.
Even with Kentucky and Badminton under her belt, Issie was still in total awe of the list of competitors that she would be up against. The names were all so familiar to her – many of them had been her heroes ever since she was a pony-club kid. There was the incredible Oliver Townend, who had risen from humble Huddersfield beginnings to conquer the eventing world. There was Andrew Nicholson, a New Zealander whose ability to stay onboard a horse no matter what had earnt him the nickname ‘Mr Stickability’. There was the immeasurably posh William Fox-Pitt, who rode his horses with a feline grace, the rock-solid Mary King who always kept her horse in perfect control and the feisty, super-talented Polly Stockton who charged fences fearlessly and had the nine lives of a cat.
Naturally, when she saw the photographers crowding around a rider at the media tent on the Thursday morning before the trotting-up, Issie assumed it was for one of the many mega-stars competing. Then she caught a glimpse of the pouting blonde in purple jodhpurs striking a pose for the cameras with a moon-faced thug sulking alongside her.
Yes, Natasha Tucker was here at Burghley! Despite the fact that she wasn’t even riding, and that her last two competitions had ended in elimination, the paparazzi still followed her every move!
“I don’t understand it!” Kate shook her head in disbelief. “There’s all these famous riders here, why do they want a photograph of Stuck-up Tucker? She’s not even riding! And who is that posing with her? I don’t recognise him.”
“He’s not a rider, he’s a footballer,” Stella groaned. “That’s Lance Emmanuel.”
In a way, Issie was relieved that the media storm was focused on the ‘famous’ Natasha Tucker. Issie was already under so much pressure that the last thing she needed was more attention and…
“Issie!” Natasha Tucker waved at her across the room and raced over to join her with the photographers following in her wake and Lance Emmanuel looking sullen and out of place as he walked behind her.
Natasha flung herself at Issie and gave her an over-the-top air-kiss on both cheeks as the photographers started snapping wildly.
“I was just telling these lovely media gentlemen that there’s no longer a rivalry between us,” Natasha smiled.
“There isn’t?” Issie was bewildered. “Was there ever one?”
“Oh, Issie!” Natasha shrieked with fake laughter. “You’re so funny. Anyway, I was telling the boys that you and I are actually such good friends that you’ve offered to model a pair of my new Natty T jodhpurs today when you lead your horses in the trotting-up.”
Issie had already chosen her trotting-up outfit– a pair of plain cream jods and a chic black shirt. Now, with the barrels of a dozen cameras trained on her, she felt herself turning queasy at the sight of Natasha’s latest addition to her clothing line – a pair of bright purple jods with a floral pattern on the sticky bum and the giant initials N and T smack in the middle of the rider’s backside.
Natasha leaned in close as she offered Issie the jodhpurs. “Go on, Issie, be a sport,” she muttered. “I need to sell these hideous things somehow. Do this for me? Please don’t cause a scene…”
Issie stood back for a moment and took in the full spectacle that was Natasha. Yes, there was the fake tan, the hair extensions and the lurid purple clothes, but beneath that she saw a glimpse of something more. This was the same Natasha Tucker she’d gone to pony club with – the miserable girl with no mates and a pushy mum who had forced her daughter to ride and paid for posh ponies that Natasha didn’t even want. The same girl whose father only paid her attention when he thought he could turn a quick buck out of his own child, by selling the pony club out from underneath her.
Beneath the sassy, trashy society girl image, there was a heart. Issie knew that Natasha had been devastated when her parents divorced. All she’d ever really wanted was love and approval, and look what she’d ended up with. A lout of a boyfriend and paparazzi idiots snapping her every move…
Issie sighed and took the jods from Natasha’s hands. “Where’s the changing room?”
And so, as the procession of world-famous riders and their equally starry horses lined up to take their trot in front of the judges on the forecourt of palatial Burghley House, Issie Brown took her place alongside them wearing bright purple breeches with Natasha Tucker’s initials on her butt.
There was a loud wolf whistle and Issie turned around to see a grinning Marcus Pearce coming towards her leading Velluto Rosso.
“What’s with the purple pants?” Marcus frowned.
“Don’t ask,” Issie groaned. “I’m doing a favour for a friend. Well, a favour for an enemy, really… it’s complicated.”
“OK,” Marcus said, “but if you turn up for the dressage tomorrow in a pink bunny costume then I’m going to have to step in and stop you, OK?”
“It’s a deal,” Issie said.
“Marcus Pearce? You’re next.” The trotting-up steward beckoned for Marcus to come up to the tarmac strip.
“I better go,” Marcus said. “Stop distracting me when I’m trying to compete!”
“Very funny,” Issie smiled back. “Good luck.”
Issie watched him leave and realised just how much she had been looking forward to running into him here at Burghley. Marcus somehow made her heart flutter in the same way that approaching the Vicarage Ditch at Badminton did.
She wished she had been wearing something a little more flattering for her reunion with him. How did she manage to let Natasha talk her into doing this? The Natty T purple and floral jods reached a whole new height of hideousness – and
there was a definite titter from the crowd as Issie came out to run her two horses for the judges.
Both of them passed the trot-up with flying colours. “I think those jods might be the best ruse yet,” Avery told her afterwards. “The judges were so blinded by their purpleness your horse could have been running on three legs and they still wouldn’t have noticed.”
Issie was just relieved that the trotting-up was done. The horses were ready and so was she. Tomorrow morning the Burghley Horse Trials began – and she was in the dressage arena at 10 a.m.
Chapter 11
Issie’s hands were trembling at her throat as she tried to tie her cravat the next morning. She stood in the tiny, cramped bathroom of the horse truck, peering into the mirror as she fumbled with the fabric and her silver tie pin. When the pin slipped, she stabbed her own finger and let out a yelp, then paused and took a deep breath and exhaled, and then another and another, trying to calm down. She had to regain her composure! Horses could sense even the slightest bit of tension in their rider – and Nightstorm was super-sensitive. Issie had to force herself to relax and keep her head.
Taking more calming deep breaths she waited until her hands were steady and then finished tying up the cravat. She was sitting on the banquette zipping up her long black boots when the horse-truck door opened. It was Avery.
“I just wanted to let you know you’ve got exactly fifteen minutes before you are due to perform,” he told her. “That doesn’t give you much time.”
“I don’t need much time,” Issie said.
Avery nodded in agreement. “We’ll do it just like you planned. I’ll tell Stella to bring Storm around to the arena. We’ll meet you there.”
Normally, Issie would have been down at the arena an hour ago, riding to prepare Nightstorm before the competition. But today Issie was about to try something that she had never done before. She was about to ride Storm straight into the main arena completely cold. She was doing the dressage test with absolutely no warm-up.
“No warm-up?” Stella had looked aghast when Issie first told her the idea. “But that’s crazy! I’ve never heard of anyone riding a test without working their horse in first. You’ll go into the arena and fall apart!”
Issie shook her head. “Stella, don’t you see? Storm is always fine during his warm-up phase. And then after fifteen minutes he begins to act up. But what if there was no warm-up phase? If we went straight into the arena to begin our test then he wouldn’t have the chance to get bored!”
Stella thought about this logic for a moment. “OK, but you’re not going to get the chance to test the theory in competition until you’re actually in the arena at Burghley.”
“I know,” Issie said. “That’s the risk I’m going to have to take.”
As Avery shut the truck door behind him, Issie turned back to the mirror once more. She tucked a hairnet over the top of her sleek chignon, then she took her tailcoat out of the dry-cleaning bag hanging on the door of the truck. She slipped it on carefully, her hands steady now as she did up the gold buttons. She reached for the top hat that was sitting on the table and pushed it down firmly onto her head, and then pulled on the white leather dressage gloves that completed her outfit. She was ready. She only hoped Nightstorm was too.
Stella and Avery were waiting for her at the arena gates, with Nightstorm completely tacked up, when she arrived.
“How is he?” Issie asked Stella.
“He’s in a good mood,” Stella said. “He was nickering to me at the stable door when I arrived this morning to groom him. He’s totally chilled out.”
“Good,” Issie said.
Avery looked at his watch. “The competitor in the ring is just about to finish their test,” he said. “You’ll be on in two minutes.”
“Right,” Issie said. “You better leg me up then.”
Avery gave Issie a boost into the saddle while Stella held the reins to keep Nightstorm still.
Once Issie was onboard, Stella tightened the girth a final hole and then the head groom and trainer both stood back and left her to ride alone in through the wings of the stadium and into the main arena.
As Issie entered the grandstand, she could hear the applause from the crowd for the previous competitor now leaving the dressage arena. Issie looked around at the packed stadium as Mike Partridge’s voice broke the silence over the loudspeaker.
“Our next rider, Isadora Brown, has just taken out the honours at both the Kentucky and the Badminton Horse Trials,” Mike Partridge announced.
“Here at Burghley, she’s riding two horses and the first of these is this stunning bay stallion. Isadora told me at the riders’ briefing that she’s had trouble in the past controlling Nightstorm in the dressage arena. However, she’s confident that his problems are solved now just in time for Burghley…”
Issie shortened up her reins and urged Storm into a trot. “This better work,” she muttered under her breath to the bay stallion, “or I’m going to look pretty stupid when you buck me off in the middle of the arena.”
It was the moment of truth. This was a gamble and Issie knew it. Without a warm-up session her only preparation was a few laps of the outside of the dressage barrier to get Storm on the bit and listening to her before she entered the arena to start her test.
The shrill tone of the bell sounded and she gathered Storm up beneath her and rode one last lap outside, pushing the stallion into an extended trot, then turning him at a canter to enter at A and carry on down the centre line. As she rode the line, her adrenalin was surging. They were now in the arena and all eyes were on them!
The first halt was square. Storm stood like a statue waiting for his next cue. They needed to execute a working trot straight away and as Issie put her legs on she felt the horse rise up underneath her, his hindquarters engaging and powering him forward. She knew at that moment that she was in for a perfect ride. For the next three and half minutes, as they rode half-passes and counter-canters, loops and serpentines, Storm was at his most brilliant. The stallion seemed to float above the ground, his hooves barely touching the sand of the arena as he performed faultlessly. Issie only had to think of a movement and it would happen. It was as if Storm could read her mind, as he effortlessly changed pace or shifted tempo, extending his trot, then pullling back and reacting precisely at the next marker. As they came down the centre line to do their flying changes, Issie could have sworn that the stallion’s canter strides were keeping pace with her own heartbeat as they danced their way through a performance that would have put the El Caballo stallions to shame.
On the loudspeaker, Mike Partridge was beside himself with delight at the performance.
“This is haute école quality stuff from this young combination,” Mike Partridge raved. “There is no question that this difficult stallion is doing the best test of his career in the arena today. And now they finish by coming back up the centre line to salute the judges…”
The spectators had been hushed and reverent all this time as Issie rode her test, but once she had saluted and it was finally over an enormous cheer rose from the crowds in the grandstands. Issie had ridden it exquisitely. As she came out of the main arena, she vaulted down off Storm’s back and threw her arms around her horse. The no-warm-up technique had worked! Storm had just delivered the perfect dressage test.
Even before they heard the score, Avery and Stella were whooping with delight and congratulating Issie. When the scores were finally posted and Issie got an incredible 37, Stella’s shrieks could be heard all the way across the other side of the arena.
There was more excitement to come when Issie entered the arena again for the second time that day on Victory.
Unlike the temperamental Storm, Victory required a decent warm-up and Issie spent over half an hour working the brown gelding in before she took him into the arena. It was a faultless performance. Victory was a total schoolmaster and he never missed a beat. With his Thoroughbred blood, Victory lacked the presence and charisma of Storm who had stunn
ed the crowd with his striking, elevated paces. All the same, he scored an excellent 39 that put him into fifth place on the leaderboard.
Storm’s score of 37 proved to be unbeatable and by the end of the day, Issie was gobsmacked when she realised that they were in first place after the dressage!
That evening back at the horse truck, the team ate dinner and talked their way through any issues that might arise on the cross-country course the next day.
“The ground is wetter than I expected with all the rain they had last week,” Avery said. “I think we should use the big studs in their hind shoes.”
Stella nodded. “I’ve already laid them out ready to fit in the morning. And I’ll be sure to put loads of grease on their front and back legs to help them slide over any fences in case they catch themselves on a jump.”
“We’ll put tendon boots on front and back legs as well, obviously,” Kate added. “They’ll be well protected from any scrapes or cuts.”
Avery pulled out the call sheet for the morning. “I’ve double-checked your start times,” he said. “You’re on Victory first at eleven-fifteen. You ride Nightstorm second – and you’re up on him at two-thirty in the starters’ box.”
Issie sat at the table, pushing her dinner around on the plate without actually eating it. She was too sick with excitement to touch the food. Tomorrow was the most dangerous and thrilling phase of the three-day event and she had butterflies doing loop-the-loops in her belly right now.
She sat and listened to Avery running through his usual checklist, as if this was just another competition. But everyone sitting at the table knew that it was much more than that. This was the biggest test of her career. With each phase Issie came one step closer to the Burghley trophy, one step nearer to achieving her incredible goal of the Grand Slam.
