Nightstorm and the Grand Slam (9 page)

One evening, Issie called a meeting with Stella, Avery and Francoise in the hope that the four of them could figure out a solution to the dressage problem.

“We could try drugging him,” Stella suggested.

“And end up getting disqualified for using illegal substances,” Avery said.

“No,” Stella said. “There are loads of drugs that are totally legal to use. We could give him Steady Neddy, it's herbal and it calms them right down.”

Issie shook her head, “I don't think making him dozy is the answer.”

Francoise looked thoughtful. “Storm is a very smart horse, maybe we need to make things harder for him?”

“What do you mean?” Issie asked.

“An eventing dressage test is very simple in many ways,” Francoise explained. “There is no piaffe, no passage. Storm has El Caballo bloodlines, which means he is capable of learning far more complex high school manoeuvres like courbettes and caprioles. If all we ask him to do is an extended trot and a half-pass there's no challenge in it for him. He acts up because he is bored.”

The others all agreed that the theory could be true.

“So what's the answer?” Issie said.

Francoise paused and then she said. “We train him in the dressage arena as if he were an El Caballo performing stallion.”

Issie was confused. “But he's not going to be required to perform any of the high school movements at Burghley – it's a waste of time!”

“No,” Francoise said. “It's not. The point is to keep him thinking. If his brain is busy he will no longer buck out of boredom.”

Issie could see that the idea would work for the schooling sessions. “But it's only a temporary solution. At some stage we have to stop doing fancy leaps and start learning the actual dressage test – and then he'll get bored and throw a bucking fit – possibly in the arena at Burghley.”

Francoise frowned. “I have not got the answer for you yet when it comes to the competition itself,” she said. “Hopefully, we will solve that problem too before Burghley.”

The weeks of July were already flying by and Nightstorm was getting fitter by the day. The kilos that the stallion had gained from his weeks of being immobilised were quickly lost as Issie stepped up his training and began
to take him out every other day for gallop sessions up the big hill track at the back of The Laurels.

On alternate days, she would school the stallion over showjumps or in the dressage arena and so far she had to admit that Francoise's outlandish training suggestion was definitely working.

Now that Nightstorm was being challenged by the
haute école
moves, he no longer threw hissy fits or got stroppy. He was a remarkably quick study, and within a couple of sessions he had mastered the capriole, one of the most complex ‘airs above ground', rising up on his hindquarters and leaping off the ground so that he seemed to float in mid-air, before kicking out his hind legs.

Issie was amazed at how quickly the skills that she had learnt under Roberto Nunez's tutelage when she rode at El Caballo Danza Magnifico all came rushing back to her. With Francoise on hand to assist her, Issie was able to train Nightstorm as if he too were one of El Caballo's flying stallions – which, in a way, he was, since he was descended directly from the great Marius himself.

One afternoon Issie and Francoise were in the arena
schooling Nightstorm to perform the courbette, a move in which the horse reared up and stayed balanced on its hind legs before bouncing forward like a bunny hopping.

It was a precarious and dangerous task learning this movement. If the stallion reared up too far and lost his balance he could go over backwards. For the rider, the move required utmost precision. Issie was so focused on what she was doing that she didn't notice that they had an audience. While she had been training, a silver Lexus had eased up their driveway and parked right beside the arena.

“Were you expecting company?” Francoise asked.

Issie looked over at the Lexus. It had tinted windows, making it impossible to see who was inside. The car sat there for a moment idling, and then the engine was switched off, and the driver got out. The chauffeur was dressed in the traditional uniform of a black suit and cap and he scurried around the car and ran to open the back door for his VIP passenger. As the door swung open Issie couldn't believe her eyes.

“Oh, you're kidding me! What does he want now?”

Full of bravado, Oliver Tucker emerged from his
Lexus and strutted towards the arena. Issie couldn't believe it when Tucker gave her a cheery wave as if they were old friends. But things were about to become even stranger still. Oliver Tucker was about to make her an offer that she couldn't refuse.

Oliver Tucker surveyed his surroundings, running a property developer's eye over the stable blocks and fields.

“Nice set-up you've got here, Isadora,” he said. “Very pleasant indeed.”

“What do you want, Oliver?” Issie said nervously. The last time she'd seen this man he'd taken her horse away. She didn't trust him as far as she could throw him – and she certainly didn't like the way he was looking around The Laurels as if he owned the place.

“There's no need to be rude,” Oliver Tucker smiled his shark grin at her. “I've come here with a business proposition for you, young lady, so it would be in your
best interests to use your manners and invite me in for a cup of tea.”

Issie stood her ground. “I'm busy, Oliver. If you want to talk to me then do it here. I have horses to ride.”

“I'm sure you do,” Oliver Tucker said. “So how would you like one more?”

“What are you talking about?” Issie said.

Oliver Tucker cleared his throat. “I have come to make you an offer on behalf of the syndicate. We'd like you to ride one of our horses in the Burghley Horse Trials.”

Issie was as stunned as a mullet. “You're kidding me!”

Oliver Tucker's face was expressionless. “I can assure you that I'm not,” he replied. “The offer is quite genuine. The syndicate is willing to pay you handsomely to take over the ride and prepare the horse over the next four weeks in time for the competition…”

Issie shook her head. “Tell your syndicate no, thank you. I'm not interested in a chance ride on some unproven horse…”

“You misunderstand me,” Oliver Tucker interrupted her. “You've already ridden this horse before.”

Issie's eyes widened as she realised what Oliver Tucker
was driving at. “That's right,” he said. “I'm offering you the ride on Victory.”

“I can't believe it!” Avery was incredulous, “After everything he's done, Oliver Tucker has the bare-faced cheek to turn up and ask you to ride for him?”

“He didn't have much of a choice,” Issie said. “Oliver acts like he's in charge but really it's the syndicate who actually own Victory. They had a complete wig-out when Natasha failed so badly at Luhmuhlen and demanded that he swap back to letting me ride him.”

“It's true,” Stella came into the kitchen to join them. “I just got a call from a friend of mine who works at Ravenshead Park where Natasha has been keeping Victory. She said Natasha was given a second chance by the syndicate after Luhmuhlen. They gave her a month to pull herself together and get Victory back on track. She went into total overdrive with her trainers trying to fix the problems but last weekend at a two-star competition at Blair Castle Natasha got the worst dressage mark again – and was eliminated on the
cross-country – again. At that point, the syndicate decided that they couldn't possibly let her ride the horse at Burghley.”

Avery shook his head in amazement. “So Oliver Tucker took the horse back off his own daughter and offered the ride to you? Good gravy! That man would sell his grandmother if there was cash in it.”

Issie looked at her instructor. “So what do you think? Are we taking him up on it?”

“I don't know,” Avery said. “Getting involved with Oliver Tucker is a risky business…”

“But it's worth the risk, isn't it? If it means that Issie can ride Victory at Burghley,” Stella said.

“I don't trust Tucker either,” Issie agreed. “But I don't see how he can wiggle out of it once the deal is done. The names of the riders for Burghley have to be confirmed tomorrow.”

Avery considered this.

“I still think Tucker is as dodgy as a three-pound note… but it's too good an opportunity to pass up.”

“You're right,” Issie agreed.

“Well, that settles it.” Stella stood up from the table. “I guess I'll go and get a stable ready for Victory!”

“Are you sure you want to do this, Issie?” Avery looked worried.

Issie nodded. “Make the phone call, Tom. Tell Tucker that we're in.”

As soon as she was alone Issie realised the enormity of what she had just agreed to. Victory was coming home. And now she would be riding two horses at Burghley after all.

Oliver Tucker didn't return to The Laurels again. He sent a couple of his minions to drop the horse off the next morning in the Ravenshead Park truck. As the men unloaded the brown gelding, Issie's heart leapt. It was so good to have him back!

Avery, however, wasn't smiling at the sight of the horse. Instead, he was casting a critical eye over Victory. He looked to be in fair health – but to be ready for Burghley in four weeks his condition had to be assessed and perfected as if he were an Olympic athlete.

“He's carrying too much weight,” Avery said. “Look
at the barrel on him! He looks more like a show pony than a three-day eventer!”

Stella agreed. “I'll put him on a new feed regime straight away. He needs to drop twenty kilos or he'll never make it around the track at Burghley under the time.”

Avery watched his wife as she ran her hands over the horse, checking for injuries. “Any problems, Francoise?”

Francoise spent a little longer examining Victory's legs. “He seems sound enough, no scrapes or splints, but look here on his rump how he has lost muscle tone! He's obviously been spending all his time in the dressage arena. We need to start doing more hill training and gallops to build his stamina,” Francoise frowned. “It worries me, Tom, he has lost so much fitness I am not certain that I can get him ready for Burghley…”

Issie looked on as her team discussed Victory's conditioning schedule. It was at moments like this that she realised just how incredibly lucky she was to have these three people on her side. Francoise had the most amazing intuition when it came to choosing the training format for each individual horse. It was almost like she was a horse herself, the way she understood their needs
and their bodies so perfectly. And when it came to stabling and feeding, there was no one in the game better than Stella. Issie's best friend might act goofy and silly but she was deadly serious about her professional work and had an encyclopaedic knowledge of horse feeds and supplements.

And then there was Tom. Even after all these years, Issie still found herself in awe at the depth of his knowledge and experience. In the final weeks before Burghley, Avery's own experiences as a professional rider would be invaluable. He knew exactly what the challenges would be and how to prepare Issie and her horses to tackle them.

“The chief factor that separates Burghley from Badminton is the cross-country course,” Avery told Issie as they walked Victory towards the stables. “Burghley is a tougher course in many ways. The terrain is undulating, with lots of hills and valleys, so it's very demanding on the horses. Nightstorm is recovering well from his leg injury and I'm confident we can get him back to peak fitness, but it will be touch-and-go whether Victory will be ready to tackle it.”

He turned to Issie. “You'll need to be at peak fitness
too, if you're going to be riding two horses around the course. I think a little bit of extra training might be required.”

Issie had assumed that he meant galloping – or maybe cross-country training. But Avery explained that the sort of work he had in mind didn't involve horses at all.

“Be at the stables at six a.m. tomorrow,” he told her. “And wear your trainers and a track suit. We're going jogging.”

Issie had always considered herself to be pretty athletic. After all, she was in the saddle for at least three or four hours every day. She'd never had any trouble bringing a horse home on the cross-country course before. But with the very last phase of the Grand Slam looming Avery wasn't taking any chances with her fitness levels.

“This will be your new routine in the lead-up to Burghley. You're going to be running ten kilometres every morning from now until the competition begins,” Avery told her when they met up at the stables that morning.

“Ten kilometres!” Issie was shocked. “That'll take forever!”

Avery looked at the watch on his wrist. “No, it won't,” he said firmly. “Because I'll be riding alongside and timing you. I expect you to complete ten kilometres in under an hour.”

“This isn't fair! Why do you get to ride?” Issie groaned as they set off down the driveway of The Laurels with Avery on Bonaparte.

Avery ignored her complaints and began to talk tactics as Issie puffed away alongside him. For the hour that she ran, he walked and trotted the horse steadily to keep pace with her, all the while telling her about the things she would need to know to master the cross-country course at Burghley.

“Delaney Swift is the course designer this year,” Avery reminded her, “and she's bound to include lots of corners – she always does. We'll have to practise those at home. Delaney is also famous for her dramatic water jumps so I expect the water complex to be tough this year. You'll be fine in the water on Victory but you'll have to keep a tight hold on Nightstorm. He's too brave for his own good and tends to rush his jumps. If he charges into
the lake you'll end up splashing, which can be blinding for both of you…”

This one-sided conversation became a regular part of their morning schedule over the next few weeks. At first, Issie found the morning jogs utterly unbearable and felt like her lungs would burst or her legs would give out. But within a fortnight she discovered what joggers refer to as a ‘runner's high'. After the first two or three kilometres she would feel a surge of adrenalin and from there she would begin to power into the run, really pumping her arms and legs so that Avery would be forced to raise the pace of Bonaparte's trot to keep up. Very soon Issie found that she could modulate her breathing so that she could actually speak comfortably to Avery as she ran, and with this newfound skill she began asking crucial questions about the best way to ride both of her horses.

The theory she learnt on the morning runs was tested each day on the cross-country course. Avery had constructed a series of fences around the perimeter of The Laurels. Here they would practise various combinations of ditches, coffins, staircases and banks, preparing Issie for any eventuality and showing her the
pitfalls and possible mistakes she might make. During these sessions Issie began to understand just how much she still had to learn – and how much Avery could still teach her.

“Do you think I'll still be having lessons with you when I'm, like, fifty?” Issie asked with a grin.

“I hope so,” Avery replied. “The best riders keep on improving. Only the foolish ones think that they have nothing left to learn.”

Each afternoon, after exhausting herself over fences under Avery's tuition, Issie would mount up on her alternate ride and head into the dressage arena for schooling with Francoise.

Issie honestly couldn't figure out how Natasha had managed to do so badly in her dressage tests since Victory was a dream ride who never put a hoof wrong. Nightstorm, on the other hand, continued to be erratic. The stallion's schooling sessions usually went brilliantly during the warm-up phase and then after the first fifteen or twenty minutes he would begin a petulant bucking fit right in the middle of a flying change or a passage.