The Prize (7 page)

By the time Georgie had soaped the saddles and had stripped the stirrup leathers off and begun to oil them with the lanolin cream her arms were aching and her hands were cramping.

Conrad, meanwhile, was comfily sat on top of a pile of saddle blankets stacked on an old tea chest in the corner of the room. Sitting cross-legged, his long black boots folded underneath him, he flicked his way through a book, making notes as he went on a lined pad on his knee.

“What are you reading?” Georgie asked.

Conrad looked up at her and scowled. Even when he wasn't angry, Conrad had what could only be described as fierce features – a hawk-like nose and strong brow, offset by a square jaw-line that managed to rescue his other features by putting them into proportion at least. His russet hair was an odd colour, neither brown nor red – if he was a horse then Georgie would have said he was a liver chestnut. To say he was good looking would be pushing it, but he was… strangely attractive, Georgie supposed, in a weird Conrad-ish way.

“What are you reading?” Georgie tried again and Conrad held up the cover of the book so that she could see it. It was the famous German dressage rider Reiner Klimke's best-selling book:
Cavaletti – schooling horses over ground poles
.

“I've got that book,” Georgie said. “It's good.”

Conrad's scowl deepened. “You haven't studied this yet. This is a senior text,” he said.

“I have a copy of my own that my mum gave me,” Georgie said. “I like the chapter about different ways of using cavaletti stacked on a circle.”

Conrad's scowl eased. “Have you tried riding the jumping exercises?”

“Not yet,” Georgie admitted.

“We've been doing them in class with Bettina Schmidt,” Conrad said, looking genuinely excited. “Bettina's really into Reiner Klimke. She's got the video that goes with the book – it's brilliant.”

“I've seen him ride,” Georgie said. “Well not in real life obviously, but there's some great old footage of him competing at the Olympics when he was young – he was pretty cool.”

“His daughter is an eventer,” Conrad said, “She rode at Badminton last year…”

For the next hour as she cleaned tack, Georgie found herself doing something she never thought possible – enjoying a conversation with Conrad. There was something so touching in the way he talked about his riding, and especially his new horse, a big grey called Sauron.

“Sauron is really sensitive,” Conrad said. “He bucked me off twice this week – but it wasn't his fault…”

Conrad spoke about Sauron the same way that Georgie did about Belle and suddenly she realised that he had a genuine love for his horse.

They had been talking about horses for almost an hour when Conrad shifted the subject to Riley.

“Are you still going out with that guy?” he asked Georgie. “You know, the one with the attitude problem?”

“His name is Riley,” Georgie said. And then, letting her guard down, she added, “and, no, I don't think I am. I think we just split up.”

“You think?” Conrad pulled a face. “Don't you know?”

Georgie sighed. “He kind of split up with me. Just before, in fact, when I was on my way here.”

“Well… he's an idiot,” Conrad said. And then he added. “A girl like you is way out of his league. If he had half a brain he'd realise that.”

As they'd talked, Conrad had been watching Georgie struggling to reattach a pair of stirrup leathers to the stiff bars of the saddle.

““Let me give you a hand with those,” he said.

“No, it's OK. I've got it…” Georgie tried to force the leathers back but her hands were so cramped and sore she could barely move her fingers. The leathers were stiff, despite the saddle soaping and she couldn't get them through.

“Here, let me help,” Conrad put his book down and came over to help her.

“No, honestly, I can do it,” Georgie insisted, gripping the saddle and trying to force the leather. Conrad reached down to take the saddle out of her hands and Georgie pulled it back towards her again.

“Why do you have to be so stubborn all the time?” Conrad said, still hanging on.

“And why are you always trying to push me around?” Georgie wasn't letting go.

She was standing there, face-to-face with Conrad, defiant, looking him in the eye. He leaned closer and took a firm grip on the saddle, his hands clasping over her own. “Come on, Georgie, stop being silly.”

It was the way he said her name. Not Parker.
Georgie
. She released the saddle and as she let go, she expected Conrad to back away but he didn't. Instead he moved closer and closer. And then, before she knew what was happening, Conrad kissed her.

Maybe it was the shock of feeling his lips against hers, but for the briefest moment, Georgie kissed him back. And then, in a rush of awareness, she gasped and reeled backwards.

“What did you do that for?” She looked at Conrad, wide-eyed.

“I just thought…” Conrad looked puzzled. “You know there's always been something between us, Georgie.”

“The only thing between us was that saddle,” Georgie's heart was racing, “and it should have stayed between us! Ohmygod! That should never have happened!”

Conrad smiled. “You're cute when you're angry,” he said.

“Well, you should know,” Georgie shot back, “you're the one who makes me angry.”

“Exactly!” Conrad was still smiling. “We have a love-hate relationship.”

“No, Conrad,” Georgie said, “We have a hate-hate relationship.”

“Same thing.”

Georgie was beside herself. “Conrad, I have a boyfriend!”

“You
had
a boyfriend,” Conrad corrected her.

“Whatever!” Georgie snapped. “You have a girlfriend!”

Conrad shrugged. “Kennedy'll get over it. She's only dating me because I'm a prefect.”

Georgie looked at him with astonishment. He couldn't be serious! Conrad? And her? There was no way.

“I've gotta go.” Flustered and feeling slightly hysterical, Georgie snatched up her school cardigan and pulled it on as she headed for the door.

“Wait, Georgie,” Conrad was smirking. He was acting like it was all a massive joke. “You can't go. You've got Fatigues, remember?”

But Georgie kept going. She was out the door and gone, her heart pounding as she ran through the stable block and outside into the fresh air.

For the past three terms, ever since she got to Blainford, Conrad had gone out of his way to try to make her life hell – and now, in his own way he had finally succeeded.

Chapter Seven

A
lice was horrified.

“Georgie! What were you thinking?”

“I didn't have a chance to think!” Georgie said. “One minute Conrad's helping me with the stirrup leathers and the next minute he's suctioned on to my face!”

They were saddling up the horses for their early morning riding session, and in between putting on her martingale and adjusting her tendon boots Georgie had told Alice everything.

“What am I going to do?” Georgie groaned.

“Do you want to date Conrad?” Alice asked, but immediately knew the answer from the look on Georgie's face. “OK, OK, just checking.”

“How am I going to tell Riley?” Georgie groaned. “He's already hardly speaking to me!”

“Tell him you were cleaning a saddle and you tripped and fell and Conrad's lips got in the way?”

“Very funny.”

“Well tell him nothing then! He'd just broken up with you. It's none of his business.”

“I can't do that,” Georgie shook her head. “The next time Conrad sees Riley he'll be bound to blab.”

“They might not run into each other again,” Alice said. “And besides, Conrad might not say anything.”

“You really think so?”

“No, who am I kidding?” Alice shook her head. “Conrad will hold this over you – or he'll tell Riley just to pick a fight.” Alice shook her head. “I don't see how you've got a choice. You'll have to tell Riley yourself.”

“Can't we go with the ‘don't tell him' option?” Georgie frowned. “I liked that one better.”

“Georgie, I know you – you won't be able to lie to Riley. Tell him that it was a mistake. You were upset because he said you were on a break and Conrad got the wrong message.”

Georgie bit her lip. “You're right. I'll tell Riley. I'll explain that it was nothing. He'll understand.”

“Tell Riley what?” Emily said as she led Barclay out of his box and into the corridor.

Georgie looked mortified.

“What are you guys talking about?” Emily persisted.

“Is something going on?” It was Daisy, joining the group.

“Last night in the tack room,” Alice said in a hushed voice, “Georgie kissed Conrad.”

“Eww!” Emily shrieked.

“I didn't!” Georgie protested. “He kissed me!”

“Oh yeah,” Daisy said sarcastically, “when you put it that way it sounds much better.”

“Listen,” Georgie said. “I know it's gross. It was one of those weird things that – look I'm not going to go into details – it was a mistake, OK? I just want to get back with Riley and put it behind me so please, please don't tell anyone.”

Emily looked genuinely relieved. “So you're not dating Conrad?”

“No!” Georgie groaned.

As Georgie rode Belle into the arena she felt so good being up on her horse once more. There was no better place to clear your head and forget all your problems.

After working their horses around the arena at a trot to loosen them up, they began schooling the horses back and forth across the low jumps they had constructed.

Belle was still only a six-year-old, but already her jumping genes were plain to see.

This was gymnastic training, which meant keeping the fences low, but even so Georgie was impressed by the athleticism of the mare beneath her. If she asked Belle for an extra stride the mare would oblige and stretch out. If she sat back and held her steady, Belle would shorten up again instantly.

The communication between the girl and the mare was so subtle that if you had watched them together popping over the coloured rails you wouldn't have noticed the quiet conversations between them. Their dialogue was no longer the tense argument it had once been. It was soft and private, and all Georgie needed was a touch of her hands to check the mare, or a tap of the heels to send her forward. At the end of their hour-long jumping session Belle hadn't refused a single fence or done more than scrape a rail. And Georgie had forgotten all about Riley and Conrad and the kiss.

Georgie felt acutely aware of Kennedy's eyes on her as she climbed onboard the minibus that afternoon. She walked down the aisle of the minibus but when she reached Kennedy's seat the showjumperette put an arm across to stop her.

“Hey Parker!”

Ohmygod she knows!

“Did you enjoy your fatigues?”

Kennedy looked smug as she said this and Georgie realised that she had no idea what had happened in the tack room yesterday.

“Let me through, Kennedy.”

Kennedy shook her head. “You have to say please. Otherwise I'll get my boyfriend to put you on Fatigues again.”

Georgie felt the guilt welling in her stomach. “Trust me, that's the last thing anyone wants.”

Kennedy narrowed her gaze. “What do you mean by that?”

In the aisle behind Georgie the last rider finally boarded the minibus and Kenny put his foot down. The bus gave a sudden lurch forward and Georgie gratefully sidestepped Kennedy and her questioning and took a seat.

Horse dung is a metaphor for my life
, Georgie thought ruefully as she rolled up her shirtsleeves at Blackwell's yard and set to work forking lumps of poo into the wheelbarrow.

Yesterday Georgie had been furious that Dominic Blackwell had unfairly given the job of head girl to Kennedy. Today, she felt so bad about kissing Kennedy's boyfriend that mucking out the stalls felt like what she deserved.

Like most horsey girls Georgie found the warm grassy aroma of horse dung faintly appealing. But at Dominic Blackwell's place the stench overpowered her. She seemed to spend her afternoons knee-deep in it, digging her way out while Princess Kennedy did no yard work at all.

The final straw that afternoon came just after Georgie had finished the marathon task of mucking out and refreshing the nine boxes and sweeping out the central corridor. She finally had everything done when Kennedy swept in on her horse alongside Blackwell chatting and laughing and when Blackwell dismounted and flung his reins mindlessly at Georgie, Kennedy imitated him and did the same thing!

“Hey!” Georgie was stunned. “I'm not your groom, Kennedy.”

“Not yet,” Kennedy said. “But if you play your cards right, maybe I'll give you a job when you leave school.”

And at that moment, Georgie stopped feeling guilty. She was wasting time worrying about hurting Kennedy Kirkwood's feelings – Kennedy didn't have any. Hadn't Conrad admitted that Kennedy was only dating him because he was a prefect?

It was time to pull herself together. Kennedy may have taken the first round of the apprentice – but this battle was far from over. Georgie was ready to make a comeback.

For the past week at Allegra Hickman's yard, Alice Dupree had noticed a change in her riding. Alice came from a long line of showjumpers and eventers – and she felt most comfortable in a jumping saddle with her knees tucked up high into the roll pads, her seat tilted forward in two-point position.

Alice owned a dressage saddle but she'd never really liked riding in it. She hated the way the saddle's long, lean flaps and deep-bucket seat seemed to lock her into place on the horse.

“You have a forward seat,” Allegra Hickman had told her on that first day when she rode Virtuoso. “Showjumping has ruined your position – but I can fix it again.”

Allegra walked over and grabbed Alice's leg by the ankle.

“Your foot,” she said, “should be
here
, not here.” She shoved the ankle back and twisted it. “And the knee needs to open off the saddle and relax. That's it! Better!”

Allegra put her hands on Alice's hips. “Now imagine your hips are a bucket and there is water inside them. Which way is your water tipping?”

Alice thought about this. “Forward.”

“Well, straighten up!” Allegra said. “Keep the water in your imaginary bucket. Sit perfectly upright. Now take hold of this.”

Allegra passed Alice a slim wooden stick. “Tuck it behind your back. That's right!”

Alice threaded the slim bit of wood so that it passed behind her back beneath her shoulder blades and was held secure in the crooks of her elbow when her hands held the reins.

“You'll ride with this bit of wood until your back is no longer bent like a banana,” Allegra told her. “It's going to hurt at first, but you'll get used to it.”

This was a phrase that Alice heard a lot of that week. Allegra said the same thing when she made Alice ride without stirrups. Or when she made her ride with one hand tucked behind her back, or her knees held out off the sides of the saddle or, worst of all, wearing weighted Dyna-bands that made her muscles stretch and strain.

As far as Alice could tell, the pain never got any less. But by Friday she realised that her posture was erect, that her back was ramrod straight, her seat was deep and her legs were long.

“Now,” Allegra said, “you're beginning to look like a dressage rider and the real work can begin.”

The routine at the Hickman yards had become second nature to Alice. She would arrive and set to work straight away, doing a quick muck-out of the loose boxes before tacking whichever horse Allegra had chosen for her to ride.

Allegra spent an hour each day giving Alice a dressage lesson. It was a luxury for any apprentice to have so much time devoted to them and Alice knew it.

“I learned to ride dressage under the great Magda van der Camp,” Allegra told Alice. “Everything I know, I learned from her. It's our role as riders to pass on our knowledge to the next generation.”

After her lesson with Allegra was over, Alice would have a lengthy list of stable chores to get through. She would tack up all of the horses that were listed on the stable whiteboard for Allegra to ride that day. There were usually two or three of these in the afternoon schooling session and Allegra would work each horse for about an hour. Once Allegra was finished, Alice untacked each horse and scrubbed the concrete stable block floors, polished the tack and did the grooming and rugging up for the night. Then Allegra would have a brief chat about the day with Alice before Kenny arrived to pick her up in the minibus.