The Auditions (12 page)

As always, the other boys from Burghley House were with Conrad. They sat down at one of the empty prefect tables with their lunch trays but Conrad kept walking, heading straight for Georgie.

“Parker,” he said coolly.

Georgie looked up. Conrad was standing over her.

“Don’t forget, you’ve got fatigues today,” he said. “Report to the stables at four o’clock after school.”

Alice was convinced that Conrad had a crush on Georgie.

“Yay for me!” Georgie said sarcastically. “What are fatigues anyway?”

“Chores around the school,” Alice said. “Whatever the prefects can find for you to do–like moving showjumps or cleaning out troughs.”

“Again,” Georgie groaned, “I’d just like to say, ‘yay for me’.”

The girls were walking back up the driveway towards the stables, having got changed into their jodhpurs and short boots. They were on their way to their very first ridden class of the new term. Eventing with Tara Kelly.

Georgie was feeling sick at the prospect of riding Belladonna. Alice wasn’t helping calm her nerves either. As they caught up with Cameron on the driveway, Alice began telling horror stories about Tara Kelly’s cross-country class. “Cherry and Kendal got eliminated from cross-country after the first term,”

Alice told them. “They both think I’m mad to take Voldemort’s class after what they went through.”

“Voldemort?” Georgie asked.

“That’s what Kendal and Cherry called her when they were in her class because she’s such a—” Alice slid open the sliding doors to the stables and saw none other than Tara Kelly herself standing right there!

But if Tara had been listening she didn’t give anything away. She checked her wrist watch and looked up at them. “Time is tight, Mr Fraser and Miss Dupree!” she said briskly. “You’d better hurry up and saddle your horses.” And then she turned to Georgie.

“And you, Miss Parker, need to come with me. I want to talk to you about your new horse.”

After her first meeting with Belladonna yesterday Georgie had tried to convince herself that jetlag had been clouding her judgement and blurring her vision. But in the clear light of a new day, when the stall door swung open once more, nothing had changed. The mare bore the most striking similarity to Boudicca. Could they be one and the same?

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Tara said, clipping thelead shank on Belladonna’s halter and leading her out of the stall. “I suppose you recognise her?”

“I. I don’t know.” Georgie was uncertain what to say. “I think I do.”

Tara nodded. “I must admit I had my reservations about giving her to you. But I have this feeling that you two will click. She’s a talented mare. Only six years old so she’s inexperienced and green, but with the best bloodlines I’ve ever seen. She’s the spitting image of her mother. So that makes two of you.”

And at that moment the penny dropped. “She’s Boudicca’s foal?”

“That’s right.” Tara led the big bay around and tied her up to the hitching post. “Boudicca was bred at stud and had one foal before she was sold to your mother. This is that foal. I had the chance to buy her at auction six months ago, and I snapped her up, knowing that if she had half the talent her mother possessed she’d be perfect as an eventing mount for the school. She’s been broken in and lightly ridden, but just like you, this is her first year at Blainford.”

It all made sense to Georgie now. No wonder thismare looked exactly like Boudicca! And her name Belladonna made sense too, as Warmbloods always kept their parents’ initials.

“She’s a complicated ride,” Tara continued, “and normally I would give a horse like this to a more senior student. But I thought, considering your shared history, that you might like to try her. Of course, if you don’t want to I can exchange her with one of the senior mounts …”

“No!” Georgie could feel a lump in her throat as she reached out and stroked the mare’s thick glossy black mane. “No,” she said again, more softly this time, “don’t give her to anyone else. I’ll ride her.”

“Excellent!” Tara Kelly said briskly, handing Belladonna’s lead rope to Georgie. “You’ll find her tack in the shed. Be quick because you’re due in class now.”

In the tack room, Georgie found not one but two saddles on the racks in Belladonna’s locker. There was a black SLK high-head Albion with a deep seat and long flaps for dressage. The second saddle was a honey-coloured Pessoa, smaller and more lightweight, a flat-seat saddle to be used for showjumping andcross-country. Georgie picked up this one and carried it back.

As Georgie threw the numnah and saddle across Belladonna’s back, the mare shuffled about anxiously. Georgie was just as nervous as her horse. Belladonna had yet to prove she had no vices. Georgie kept a close eye on the mare as she tightened the girth and then did up the nosebands and throatlash on the bridle, checked her stirrup length and followed Cameron and Alice who were already getting on their horses over at the mounting block.

“Are you coming? Class is starting soon!” Alice called as Georgie hesitated at the mounting block.

Georgie looked at the mare standing in front of her, then finally she put her foot in the stirrup and swung herself up into the saddle. Belladonna was a whole two hands taller than Tyro and it was a long way to the ground. Being on this mare made her feel like a child playing dress-up in her mum’s high heels. After all, her mother had never let her on Boudicca. Now here she was, on a horse just as big and powerful and possibly even more unpredictable.

“Come on!” Georgie was shaken out of her thoughts by Alice imploring her to hurry up. “Tara’s already got the other riders lined up. We’re late!”

The three of them walked together across the field towards the arena. They arrived at the entrance gate just in time to see Tara bawling out Isabel Weiss. Isabel had turned up for class without her back protector or bell boots on her horse.

“Go to the stables and get them!” Tara commanded. Then she turned her back on Isabel and addressed the rest of the riders. “This goes for all of you! Do not expect to be allowed to ride if you’re not in proper gear. Do I make myself clear? This isn’t a ballroom dancing class. This is cross-country, the most dangerous sport in the equestrian world, and you must be prepared!”

As she said this, she caught sight of the whip in Mitty Janssen’s hand. “Is that a dressage whip?” Tara was wide-eyed in disbelief. “Go back to the stables and swap to a proper cross-country crop! And be quick!” Tara yelled after them as they rode off. “We’ll be waiting for you so we can start!”

She looked at Alice, Cameron and Georgie at theedge of the arena, too scared to come in. “Ah, Miss Parker, Miss Dupree and Mr Fraser!” Tara slapped her riding crop against the palm of her hand. “Nice of you to join us at last! What are you three waiting for? An invitation from the Queen? Get in here and line up!”

Cross-country class was about to begin and Tara was already living up to her old nickname.

T
he eventing students stood nervously as their instructor paced in front of them with her riding crop clasped in her hands. “Welcome to cross-country class, novice level one,” Tara Kelly said. “You have all gone through the most rigorous auditions to be accepted into this school. You have proven yourselves the best young talents from around the world.” She paused and took a long hard look at the young riders lined up in front of her. “All of which counts for nothing in my class. You’ve been told you’re the best? Think again. This is where the hard work really begins. You’re about to find out if you’re a true eventing rider. We will stretch your talents beyond the limits of anything you have experienced before and take your riding to a whole newlevel. Some of you will find the pressure too much. This class has the highest drop-out rate in the school. Fifty per cent of my students will not make it to the end of the year.”

The young riders looked terrified.

“As you already know,” Tara continued, “class rankings happen at mid-term and then once again before the end of term. There are twelve of you in this cross-country class. All scores are accumulated towards your final end-of-year mark.” Tara frowned. “If your rank falls to the bottom of the class then you will need to consider your future–or I will do it for you. I do not encourage students to stay in my class if I do not think they can perform. Cross-country is a dangerous business and I cannot afford to have riders out there attacking fences when they are off their game.” Tara’s eyes scanned the row of riders.

“If any of you here are half-hearted about this class then I suggest you leave now,” she said.

Nobody moved. Tara had known that they wouldn’t. She gave this lecture every year to her first year students. From this row of twelve young hopefulsshe would try to create future stars of the international eventing world and the students in this new intake were some of the most talented that she had ever seen.

At the far right, on her hand-me-down horse, William the Conqueror, was thirteen-year-old Alice Dupree. Tara had taught both her older sisters, but they had failed to cut it as eventing riders. However, the youngest Dupree seemed to be made of sterner stuff than her siblings and there was something steely about her that Tara liked.

Next to Alice were two riders that Tara had chosen at the British auditions. Daisy King had a neat professional style but there was something about her dark determination that Tara found unnerving. Beside Daisy sat Cameron Fraser, a wildcard that Tara had convinced the other selectors to back. He lacked training and finesse but she liked his daredevil attitude and his natural bond with the big coloured cob he rode.

Tara had chosen dressage rider Isabel Weiss at the auditions in Germany. She was puzzled to see her taking part in the cross-country class, but impressed by Isabel’s determination to push herself beyond herlimits. She was uncertain about Isabel’s choice of horse too, a heavy-boned brown Oldenburg. Although solid enough jumpers, Oldenburgs could be slow across-country.

Tara suspected that Mitty Janssen had only joined the class because she was Isabel’s best friend. Mitty rode a dark brown Dutch Warmblood that Tara definitely liked much better as a cross-country prospect.

Emily Tait was next in line. The New Zealander rode one of the school horses, a jet-black Thoroughbred called Barclay. The boy next to her, Alex Chang, was Chinese, but spoke with an English accent. His mother was a diplomat and Alex had learnt to ride in Oxfordshire. His mount, Tatou, was an Anglo-Arab grey, which was unusual since the breed were commonly chestnut or bay.

To the right of Alex on a very glossy Selle Francais gelding was Nicholas Laurent. Nicholas had been in the French junior equestrian team before Tara had chosen him at the European auditions. There was already an arrogance to Nicholas, Tara thought, but rightly so. Hewas undoubtedly one of the best riders of the group. Beside him was another self-assured young rider, Australian, Matt Garrett, who rode a school horse, a handsome sixteen-two hand dun called Tigerland.

Isabel and Mitty weren’t the only additions to the group that had surprised Tara. Kennedy Kirkwood had been a stand-out rider in the US auditions. She had star quality, no doubt about that. But she was a Kirkwood–a family with a showjumping heritage. Tara had not expected to see her in this class. Neither had she expected to see Kennedy’s best friend and fellow socialite Arden Mortimer. It was a relief to see that Tori Forsythe had decided to stick with Miss Clairmont’s turn-out classes instead of joining them.

Kennedy rode a powerful chestnut Selle Francais gelding called Versace while Arden rode a dark-brown Holsteiner mare called Prada. Tara couldn’t help smiling at how perfectly the two horses suited these girls. Typical showjumperettes, she thought, choosing horses to match their hair colour.

The other English rider in the cross-country class was Georgie Parker. Tara had some misgivings aboutassigning Belladonna to the girl. The mare, like her rider, was green, but talented. If it worked then they would be unstoppable, but there was the risk that Belladonna could be too much horse for Georgie to handle.

“Right!” Tara said briskly. “Check your girths and take your stirrups up to jumping length. We’ll warm up and take a look at your positions in the arena and then I’m going to take you out on the novice course. It features the smallest fences we have here at Blainford and should be within your capabilities. Your lesson in week four will be the first rankings test. You will be expected to get a clear round.”

Tara saw the worried expressions on their faces. “I’m not making you ride the whole course today. We’re going to tackle the difficult jumps on this course one by one.” She paused. “Today we’re going to be jumping the water complex.”

The novice course was the smallest of the three cross-country courses, and its water jump was not much more than a large pond. It was less than half a metre deep all the way across–not enough, Georgienoted with relief, to get trapped underneath her horse this time.

The pond could be entered and exited in any number of combinations from all directions. If you trotted in from the north side you could ride straight into the water without jumping. Then in five strides, at a trot, you were through the pond and jumping up a metre-high wooden retaining wall on to the raised bank on the other side. Or you could take the same route in reverse, leaping off the bank into the water and then cantering out the other side. The easiest routes were to come at the water from the west or east side, jumping in off the low raised banks on either edge of the pond.

“I’m not going to give you any advice on how to approach this jump, or which route or angle you should take,” Tara told the twelve riders. “I want to see the decisions that you make and gauge the kind of riders you are.”

It turned out that the twelve riders were all very different indeed. Some, like Cameron Fraser, only knew one speed on a cross-country course–a mad gallop. Cam rode Paddy through the water and flew the largebank to get out again at top speed.

“You were lucky,” Tara told him. “There was no control. If your horse had got into trouble you were powerless to adjust his stride. Try it at a trot next time!”