Nightstorm and the Grand Slam (6 page)

“Issie!” Stella was gripping her arm so hard that Issie was worried she might cut off the circulation. “Issie! You've won it! You have to go back in there and do your victory lap!”

Issie looked dumbfounded. “Tom?”

Avery was wide-eyed. He tried to speak and was at a loss for words for a moment. Then he pulled himself together. “Come on,” he said, “I'll give you a leg up. You need to get in there!”

As they did their lap of the grandstand, Issie was certain that Victory knew the applause was for him. Showing off for the crowds, the brown gelding put on a burst of speed, galloping down the side of the arena, and Issie felt the hairs on the back of her neck standing up on end. It was the most incredible sensation – to be taking the winner's lap at the Badminton Horse Trials!

The prize-giving that followed was a grand ceremony as the Duke of Beaufort handed her the silver trophy featuring the three iconic horses, representing the three phases of eventing. The trophy was so heavy that when the photographer asked Issie to hold it aloft for a picture she struggled to lift it.

As was customary, Victory's owner, Tulia Disbrowe, was in the winner's circle with them for the presentation. Issie had expected Tulia to accompany them back to the stables afterwards, but after congratulating Issie on her win Tulia had oddly excused herself the minute they left the arena.

Victory was fed and watered and the team all gathered back at the horse truck – except for Tulia who was nowhere to be found and wasn't answering her phone. “Where the blazes has she got to?” Avery said, trying her mobile yet again. “She should be here! That champagne needs to be opened…”

As he said this, there was a knock at the door and a moment later Tulia Disbrowe entered.

“Tulia!” Avery opened his arms to welcome her in. “Excellent! We can start the party at last!”

There was the pop of a cork and glasses were filled.

“Congratulations, Issie!” Francoise said, raising her glass up in celebration. “Two in a row! Now you only have Burghley to go!”

Stella was grinning from ear to ear. “I think I'm still in shock! That was the most brilliant clear round!”

“Tulia?” Avery said. “Would you like to say a few words?”

“Actually,” Tulia stepped forward. “I do have something to say.”

She turned to Issie. “I want you to know that you did a fantastic job out there today – in fact, over the past three days. I couldn't have wished for a better jockey for Victory – which is what makes this so difficult…”

“What are you talking about?” Issie said.

“I've just spent the past hour in negotiations with a very influential horse syndicate,” Tulia said. “They approached me today and offered me an absolutely exorbitant amount of money. In the end I couldn't say no.”

“Money? For what?”

“For Victory,” Tulia Disbrowe said. “I've sold the horse.”

Ever since last night, Issie had been fighting this feeling
of dread, like a sixth sense that something was wrong. Now she realised her intuition had been right all along.

“So, what does that mean for me?” Issie asked. “Do I still have the ride?”

Tulia put down her champagne glass. “The syndicate want to put their own jockey on him. They're taking over his training – effective immediately.”

Issie had won the Badminton Horse Trials, but in a cruel twist of fate she was now being separated from the horse that had made it all possible. She had lost Victory.

There was a stunned silence in the horse truck and then Avery exploded in anger. “Are you telling me that this syndicate want to get rid of the rider who just won the Badminton Horse Trials? Are they mad?”

Tulia looked taken aback. “Tom, I can understand how upset you are. I was surprised by this decision too. But the syndicate has bought the horse and they have the right to choose their own rider.”

“So that's it, is it?” Avery fumed. “They offered you the money and you took it, regardless of the consequences? Without a second thought for Issie…”

Tulia's demeanour suddenly turned icy. “Tom, you know as well as I do that in business it's always about
money. Look at Edward Gal. He had broken every world record riding Totilas, but they still sold the horse out from under him. These things happen at the top of the game. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is!”

Avery glared at Tulia. “And you didn't even think to discuss it with us before you took the cheque?”

“I didn't have to,” Tulia replied bluntly. “The horse belongs to me and I have every right to make the decision to sell. Tom, no one is taking anything away from Isadora's achievements, but at the end of the day I had to think about the future and what is best for Victory.”

“You must be joking!” Avery's fury reached new heights. “How dare you act as if…”

“Tom!” Issie shook her head. “Can't you see it's no use? It won't change anything.”

Issie stepped up to Tulia Disbrowe. “How long before they come for him?”

“It's all been organised. The head of the syndicate is collecting him within the hour,” Tulia said.

Issie didn't say anything more – she walked straight past Tulia and headed for the door.

“Issie?” Tulia said. “Where are you going?”

Issie looked back at her, her eyes filled with tears,
“Where do you think, Tulia? I'm going to see Victory. I'm saying goodbye!”

As she walked to the stables, Issie was overwhelmed by anger and disbelief. It was so brutally unfair! She had spent the past year working on her relationship with Victory so that the horse trusted her completely and would do anything for her. She had raised him to the very top and this was the thanks she got! The syndicate hadn't even had the decency to give her one day of happiness to enjoy her win before they stole the horse away from her.

The stables were busy with riders packing down and mucking out the loose boxes ready to leave for home. Issie tried to keep it together and return their friendly greetings and cries of congratulation, but although she managed to force a smile she was fighting to hold back the tears. It wasn't just the fact that Victory was one of her best horses. Or that she had been planning to prepare him for the Burghley Horse Trials in four months' time for the final phase of the Grand Slam. Issie's grief was
more heartfelt. She adored the horse and couldn't bear the fact that her performance in the arena today would be the last time she'd ever ride him.

Victory was standing at the door of his stall when she arrived. The brown gelding let out a friendly nicker at the sight of her and Issie felt her heart breaking all over again. He had tried so hard for her in every way over the past three days. How was he to know that his incredible performance would actually mean he'd be taken away from her?

She reached out a hand to stroke his velvety muzzle.

“Hey, boy,” she whispered softly. “You did real good out there today. I'm so proud of you. And I want you to know that this isn't my decision. But I can't stop…”

Victory suddenly jerked his head up. He could hear voices in the corridor. There were footsteps on the flagstones, coming their way. Issie looked up and saw Tulia Disbrowe walking with two men. She recognised one of them. He was a groom here at the stables and he carried a halter in his hand that was clearly intended for Victory. The other man was deep in conversation with Tulia. He was dressed in a sharp pinstripe suit, and Issie figured he must be the head of the syndicate.

There was something familiar about the other man. As he got closer he looked up the corridor and caught sight of Issie. He acknowledged her with a shark-like grin and in one crashing moment it dawned on Issie that she knew exactly who he was.

“Isadora,” Tulia Disbrowe said. “I want you to meet the head of the syndicate…”

“We've met.” Issie said flatly, cutting her short.

“Indeed we have,” Oliver Tucker said, still maintaining his bone-chilling smile as he locked eyes with the girl in front of him. “Isadora and my daughter Natasha were at pony club together.”

Tulia Disbrowe looked taken aback. “Well,” she said, “isn't it a small world?”

“Way too small,” Issie said darkly.

Clearly Tulia Disbrowe had no idea about the background of Victory's new owner. She didn't know that Oliver Tucker was a businessman who specialised in shady property deals – or that he had come unstuck when he had resorted to underhand tactics in his attempt to buy up the Chevalier Point Pony Club for redevelopment.

In the wake of the scandal and the lengthy investigations
that had followed, Oliver Tucker had packed his bags and his family and left New Zealand for England. Despite his bankruptcy, Oliver Tucker had somehow managed to secrete away enough cash to buy a very nice mansion in Surrey. By all accounts the unscrupulous businessman still had many irons in the fire – including interests in the horse business.

The oily entrepreneur still seemed to be able to charm money out of people and he had the backing of a syndicate who, naturally, wanted nothing but the best.
Victory
. It must have given Oliver Tucker no end of pleasure to know that in buying this horse he had also managed to hurt Issie. Oliver Tucker had harboured a vicious grudge against her ever since Issie had blown the whistle on his Chevalier Point property scam. If Oliver Tucker was looking for revenge, there was no better way to exact it than by taking away her horse.

“Well, Tulia,” Issie said, “I hope you realise that you've sold your horse to a bankrupt. The last time I heard, Oliver was being investigated for fraud.”

Oliver Tucker's smooth demeanour wasn't even ruffled.

“My personal wealth has nothing to do with this,
Isadora,” he said with a strained attempt at affability. “This is syndicate money that we're talking about. The investors who are backing me are the ones paying for the horse. I don't think Tulia will have any problem cashing her cheque.”

All the same, Tulia pulled the cheque out of her pocket as he said this and looked at it rather anxiously. Issie ignored her.

“OK, Oliver,” she said. “So you've bought the horse. Now what are you going to do with him?”

Oliver smirked at her. “I should have thought that was pretty clear. We're going to be competing him.”

Issie gritted her teeth. “I meant who is going to be riding him?”

Oliver Tucker's mouth twisted up in a malevolent grin. “Haven't you figured it out yet?”

There were more footsteps behind Oliver Tucker, and a moment later a girl with glossy blonde hair, a deep orange tan and extremely purple jodhpurs appeared in the corridor.

“Dad!” she whined. “What's taking so long? Let's get the horse on the truck and go! Lance is waiting for me and I want to go to that party…”

The blonde girl stopped talking when she caught sight of Issie standing next to her father.

“Isadora,” Oliver Tucker said, “I believe you know Victory's new rider? My daughter, Natasha Tucker.”

While it was true that Oliver Tucker had kept a low profile since the Chevalier Point scandal, his daughter, Natasha, had done just the opposite. In fact, you would have needed to be living in a cave to avoid the stories about the bratty blonde.

In England, Natasha had quickly become a fixture on the posh party circuit with all the other young, spoilt and bored children of the rich and famous. It was at a party at the house of a pop star (or at least that's what the newspapers reported in the gossip pages) that Natasha met her new boyfriend, the famous footballer Lance Emmanuel.

A pasty-faced, thuggish lad, Lance was a gifted striker on a multi-million-pound contract with Chelsea.

As soon as she started dating Lance, paparazzi began
following Natasha in the streets and hiding in the bushes outside the Tuckers' Surrey mansion.

Seizing the opportunity for fame, in a transformation that put Posh Spice and Cheryl Cole to shame, Natasha quickly added extensions to her already-long blonde hair, bought herself a lifetime ticket to ‘Mahogany's Tanning Parlour' and promptly found herself a celebrity agent.

She began to develop a trademark fashion sense and whenever she left the house she was dressed in some bizarre concoction of Ugg boots and skimpy, fluffy purple clothing. She was constantly being photographed for the gossip pages that raved about her ‘exotic style'.

Issie had laughed when she had read an interview with Natasha in the Daily Mail in which she had claimed that she had been a riding star back in her home country of New Zealand.

“Lance isn't the only one with sporting talent, you know,” Natasha had told the reporter. “I've got my sights set on riding at the Olympics. All I need to do is find me the right horse.”

At the time, Issie had thought that the comment was yet more typical pointless boasting. Even back at pony
club Natasha had always made ridiculous claims that totally overstated her riding ability.

Now, of course, Issie realised that Natasha really did have plans to relaunch her riding career. She'd just been looking for the right horse. And now she had found him.

As the Badminton House groom entered the loose box to put the halter on Victory and lead him away, Natasha pushed her way past him.

“Oi!” she told the groom off. “I don't want that ugly halter!” She gestured in disgust at the elegant Kieffer leather halter that the groom had been about to slip over Victory's head.

Natasha reached into the glittery tote bag slung over her shoulder and pulled out her own halter instead. It was bright purple nylon with Swarovski crystals all over it and lilac hearts embroidered across the noseband.

“Ohmygod!” Issie stared at the awful halter in disbelief. Victory gave a horrified snort as Natasha lunged towards him with it, but he was too well-mannered to object as she shoved it on him.

“It's from my new collection,” Natasha said proudly
as she did up the buckle on the purple monstrosity. “I have my own clothing and horsewear brand – we do saddle blankets and rugs and jods. It's all purple and it has my initials on it.”

Issie frowned. “Why would anyone want a saddle blanket with your initials?”

Natasha gave Issie a withering look. “Get a clue, Isadora! I've got it all – footballer boyfriend, my own equestrian fashion line, party invitations from pop stars. And in four months' time I'll be riding at the Burghley Horse Trials.”

“You are kidding, right?” Issie couldn't take this any longer. “Natasha, it's not enough just to buy a good horse. You have to be able to ride it.”

“I can ride,” Natasha sniffed.

“Natasha, you don't get it,” Issie was losing her cool. “This isn't a game. The cross-country course at Burghley is dangerous even for professionals. I've spent years working my way up to this, riding the international circuit in preparation.”

Natasha's lips pursed like a cat's bottom. “You think you're just so special and fantastic, don't you, Isadora? Well, you're not. You won Badminton because you had
a good horse – and now you're turning bitter and mean because I've taken him off you.”

Issie was horrified. “Natasha! Be realistic! You've hardly ridden since pony club. Victory makes it look easy but he's a complicated ride…”

“For you maybe!” Natasha sneered. “But then I always was better than you. And now I'm going to prove it.”

Natasha turned to her father. “OK, Dad. Let's go!”