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The Auditions
Stacy Gregg


Competition is fierce at the All-Stars Academy – can the new girl outshine her rivals?The Blainford ‘All-Stars’ Academy is the most elite horse riding school ever and it’s auditions time for next year’s new students!The hopefuls must battle for a place against the most talented riders from around the world. Friendships are quickly made, but with rivalries hotting up inside AND outside the arena, who will stay focused and outshine the competition?With all the glitz and glamour of international eventing and the daily dramas of high school life, ‘Pony Club Rivals’ is a sure-fire hit!









PONYCLUB

RIVALS

The Auditions

STACY GREGG

















Copyright (#ulink_85f25ed5-d399-5485-8021-3e24998812f4)


HarperCollins Children’s Books A division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk/)

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2010

Text copyright © Stacy Gregg 2010

Stacy Gregg asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of the work.

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library.

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Source ISBN: 9780007333431

Ebook edition © OCTOBER 2010 ISBN: 9780007351985

Version: 2018-11-08




Contents


Title Page (#u9eaa20f5-5870-5706-aef0-b387bc435413)

Copyright (#ue6651505-e7d0-5fa1-8b41-b043862b976b)

Chapter One (#u83e18d87-4563-5e0b-b9c4-0762e73881af)

Chapter Two (#uf963572d-d3e4-5c7c-9f80-fcd00d93a81b)

Chapter Three (#ud00bf6a3-3bbc-5565-9f6e-e469ab0ba694)

Chapter Four (#u1147e707-4e18-56c4-9717-d5a2c82b6276)

Chapter Five (#u31e3286f-7863-56df-bd55-7e1a92c3a15b)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Stacy Gregg (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One (#ulink_8010b25f-ab35-5daf-989d-1f3cedda9f12)


The black gelding snorted and fretted, moving anxiously from side to side in the start box. Holding him back, the girl tightened her grip on the reins as she waited for the steward to check his clipboard.

“Number forty-two… forty-two … let me see …” the steward ran his eyes down the list, “forty-two … here you are! Georgina Parker, yes?” He cast a glance at the pony dancing and crab-stepping. “And this must be Tyro.”

As the steward said his name, the black pony went straight up on his hind legs in a half-rear and then lunged forward, trying to bolt. The sudden movement threw his rider back in the saddle, but she regained her seat with lightning speed. Before the pony could getaway, she had pulled hard to the left, turning him in a tight circle so that he was back in the same position as moments before, in the start box facing out over the hill that led down to the first jump of the cross-country course.

“Nearly lost you!” the steward joked. “You don’t want to fall off before you even get started, do you?”

“Falling off is most definitely not part of the plan,” Georgie agreed. She was trying to stay calm, but as the steward fussed over his clipboard she could feel the adrenalin surging through her. She was ready to go and so was Tyro. Hurry up, she thought, I can’t keep holding him! My arms already feel as feeble as worn-out knicker elastic from hanging on so long!

The steward seemed to understand her silent plea. “Right then, bring him up to the start line,” he told her. “Are you ready? On your marks … and … three … two… one… GO!”

Tyro broke from the start box and this time Georgie didn’t try to hold him back. She stood up in her stirrups like a jockey and put her reins in her left hand, freeing up her right hand to press the button on her stopwatch.

She was battling the clock today. She had to make it round the course with a clear round and no time faults if she wanted to retain her first place ranking.

This morning in the dressage arena, Georgie and Tyro had done their best-ever test and totally aced the first phase of the one-day event. Right now, they were just ahead of Georgie’s closest rival, Daisy King, at the top of the leader board. But the scores were tight. There were only two points between Georgie and Daisy, and there were several other riders hot on her heels just a few points behind. Georgie would need to bring her A-game and get a perfect round in both the cross-country and showjumping phases to maintain her lead.

From the moment that morning when horse lorries and trailers had begun arriving at the Great Brampton grounds, Georgie had sensed the tension in the air. So much was riding on this competition, not just for her, but for hundreds of young eventing riders from across the UK gathered here today. All of them had just one aim: to make it into the top three and survive this gruelling semi-final audition and progress to the grand finals in Birmingham. There, they would battle it out against riders from every discipline to become the chosen ones. In the end, only five finalists would be selected. Their prize: admission to the famed Blainford Academy in Lexington, USA.

Blainford Academy had been Georgie’s dream ever since she could remember. The exclusive equestrian boarding school was the place to go if you were serious about becoming a professional horse rider. No other college could rival Blainford’s record. It was known as the ‘All-Stars Academy’ since its graduates were the world champions in every kind of equestrian sport.

Blainford’s recruitment process was international. The academy’s talent scouts travelled the world, holding auditions for the very best riders from around the globe. Thousands of riders applied, but only a few could be chosen–and Georgie was determined that she was going to be one of them.

A win at Great Brampton would send Georgie straight through to the Birmingham grand finals in two weeks’ time. As they flew out of the start box she could feel success within her grasp. The cross-country course was the biggest Georgie had ever tackled but she had faith in Tyro’s abilities. The pony was fit and keen and as they approached the first jump he was galloping on strongly, his ears pricked forward with excitement, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

Fence one was a low hedge, no more than half a metre high. Tyro had jumped twice this height in the paddock at home, but Georgie wasn’t taking any chances. She rode at it with such fierce determination you’d have sworn she was attacking the huntsman’s close at the Badminton Horse Trials.

Tyro flew the hedge and Georgie gave the gelding a slappy pat on his jet-black neck, “Good boy!” She picked up the pace again and galloped him on towards a fallen log positioned at the top of a steep bank.

Georgie had to steady Tyro as he was galloping a little too fast. Then, as he took the jump, she leaned back to keep her balance, keeping her weight over his rump as he flew the log with a big stride that took him halfway down the bank. In two quick downhill strides he was at the bottom and Georgie straightened back up again. She stood up in her stirrups in two-point position and rode him hard towards the next fence already looming ahead of them; a narrow rustic gate. Tyro popped it as if it weren’t even there, and Georgie leant down low and murmured words of encouragement as she pressed him to go faster. Tyro seemed to understand and extended his stride, galloping beautifully as they neared the water complex.

Of all the fences on the course it was the water complex that had Georgie worried. Tyro hadn’t always been the bravest pony when it came to water jumps and so, with her heart hammering in her chest, she rode him on boldly at the brush fence that led into the water.

“Come on!” she shouted to encourage him as they approached the jump. But there was no need. Tyro leapt confidently, without hesitation into the pond. The murky brown water churned into a wake behind them as he cantered towards the low bank at the other end of the pond.

As they reached the low bank, Georgie felt the pony prepare to take off. She could feel him picking up underneath her, and then in one awful moment it all went wrong. Instead of jumping out and on to the bank, Tyro plummeted down into the water. It was as if the pony’s legs had collapsed beneath him. He fell down hard, twisting and somersaulting on to his back, taking a horrified Georgie with him as he went under the water.

Georgie didn’t even have time to scream as they fell. She felt the ice-cold shock of the water and then Tyro was right on top of her, pushing her under, crushing her with the enormous weight of his body.

Georgie tried to take a last gasp of air but inhaled dirty water instead. The pond was no more than a metre deep, but that was deep enough. She was submerged underneath Tyro, and the pony was flailing about on top of her trying to get back on his feet again.

Then, in a sudden rush, the massive weight of the pony was gone. Tyro had managed to stand up, and now Georgie was fighting her way up too, struggling to breathe as she broke the surface, coughing up lungfuls of scummy pond water.

The jump steward was the first person to reach her. His face was white with shock and Georgie realised that the fall must have been quite spectacular.

“Are you OK?” the steward asked as he waded into the water and grasped Tyro’s reins, holding him while Georgie stood up. She was shaky on her feet, but she was standing and she was breathing, and since a few moments ago neither of these was possible, she was quite relieved.

“That was a really bad fall,” the steward said. “Are you hurt? Do you need me to get the ambulance?”

“I’m fine,” Georgie was still coughing, trying to get her breath back, “although I think I might have swallowed a tadpole …”

“Georgie!” There was a shout from the sidelines and Georgie turned round to see a woman with brown hair leap over the rope fence and run towards her.

“What happened?” the woman asked when she reached Georgie’s side.

“I don’t know!” Georgie shook her head. “He was about to jump. I felt him lift up and then something went wrong and he went down so fast …”

“Are you her mother?” the steward asked.

“No,” the woman replied. “I’m Lucinda Milwood, I’m her trainer.”

Lucinda took the reins from the steward and led Tyro up on to the bank beside the pond while Georgie hunted in the muddy, churned-up pond muck for her riding crop. She found it floating near the edge by some reeds and ran up the bank to rejoin Lucinda who was bent down over Tyro’s front legs.

“I think I’ve figured out what happened,” Lucinda said. “Look at this!”

She pulled the bell boot off Tyro’s left front hoof and handed it to Georgie. There was a huge rip in the rubber.

“I think that’s what did it,” Lucinda said. “He must have stood on his own boot with one of his hind legs, and then when he tried to jump he tripped himself up instead! No wonder he fell so suddenly.”

“Ohmygod!” Georgie shook her head in stunned disbelief.

“It was just bad luck,” Lucinda said gently, “there was nothing you could have done …”

There was a commotion on the sidelines as a man emerged at the front of the crowd, jumped over the rope barrier and ran towards Georgie and Lucinda.

“Sorry, sir.” The steward stepped forward to stop him. “Spectators aren’t allowed on the track right now. There’s been an accident with this young rider and we need to clear the course for the next competitor …”

“I’m a doctor,” the man responded firmly. He looked at Georgie standing in sodden jodhpurs beside the bedraggled Tyro. “And I’m also her father.”

“I know it looks bad, Alastair, but they’re both all right.” Lucinda tried to reassure him, but Dr Parker ignored her and began to examine Georgie, peering into her eyes, checking to see if her pupils were dilated.

“Dad! Stop it! I’m totally fine!” Georgie couldn’t believe her luck! Why did her dad have to be watching at this fence? Having him fuss over her like this in front of everyone when all she wanted to do was get back on Tyro was so frustrating.

Dr Parker however was oblivious to Georgie’s impatience. “Were you knocked out at any point?” he asked as he continued to look into her eyes. “Do you remember everything that happened?”

“She’s not hurt, Alastair,” Lucinda tried to tell him but Dr Parker snapped at her.

“.and you’re not a doctor, Lucinda, so please let me take care of my daughter!”

“I’m terribly sorry.” the steward interrupted, “but we really do need to clear the course now. Is she going to mount up and continue?”

“What?” Dr Parker looked shocked at the idea. “She most certainly is not!”

“Dad! I can do it!” Georgie pleaded. “Lucinda, tell him! I need to finish!”

But her trainer shook her head. “Your father is right. Let’s take Tyro back to the truck.”

“But we’ll be eliminated!” Georgie couldn’t believe Lucinda was agreeing with her dad.

“Georgie,” Lucinda said gently, “you’ve had a fall. Elimination doesn’t matter now. You could get back on and finish the course but that won’t change anything… it’s over.”

Deep down Georgie knew that there was no point in getting back on. A fall on the cross-country course automatically cost a rider sixty faults. And this fall had cost her much more than that. With sixty faults there was no way she could win. All those hours of training had been reduced to nothing in one brief moment of misfortune at the water jump. Her dream had been lost forever. She had failed the auditions for Blainford Academy.

At Little Brampton Stables that evening, Georgie checked Tyro over one more time, running her hands down his legs looking for any signs of heat that might indicate an injury. The black pony seemed sound enough, so she threw on his lightweight summer rug, and turned him out in the field with his hard feed.

Georgie watched as Tyro snuffled about eagerly consuming the contents of his feed bucket. He was a greedy pony and a quick eater, and always managed to hoover up every last crumb.

With the now empty feed bucket under her arm, Georgie headed back to the tack room to deal with Tyro’s saddle and bridle. They were caked in mud from the fall so she sat down on a pile of old horse rugs with a cake of saddle soap and a cloth and got to work on the stirrup leathers.

Georgie loved the tack room at Lucinda’s stables. It smelt of horse sweat and leather, and sometimes a little bit of dead mouse, but she didn’t mind that too much. She often sat in here and looked at the walls, covered with her trainer’s rosettes, ribbons and photographs.

As she began to wipe down Tyro’s bridle, Georgie’s eyes scanned the walls. There were photos of Lucinda, taken at school when she was a student at Blainford. Lucinda hadn’t changed much since those days and looked just the same, with her smiling eyes and her brown hair in a messy ponytail. The girl who featured in most of the photos with Lucinda also had long brown hair and a broad smile. She was Ginny Parker, Georgie’s mum and Lucinda Milwood’s best friend at Blainford. After they left school Ginny had gone on to become a famous international eventing rider and it was no secret that Georgie wanted to follow in her footsteps.

Georgie’s favourite picture on the wall was an action shot of her mother riding a bay mare named Boudicca. They were in full flight over a massive stone wall, the mare had her ears pricked forward and Ginny’s hazel eyes were focused intently on the next jump ahead.

Georgie missed her mum so much. She knew it probably wouldn’t have changed the outcome if she had been there today. But she wished more than anything that her mum were here to give her a hug, to tell her that what happened on the cross-country course wasn’t her fault and that everything would be OK.

Hot tears made their way down Georgie’s cheeks. She reached up and brushed them away angrily with the back of her hand. There was no point in being like this, Georgie told herself. No use sniffling and feeling sorry for herself and hoping for things that weren’t going to happen. She had lost at Great Brampton and nothing would change that. And it was no good wishing her mum was here. Because Ginny Parker was gone, and she wasn’t coming back.




Chapter Two (#ulink_e1499f7b-f5a3-5b04-967d-9146802930c2)


Georgie’s fall at Great Brampton undoubtedly delighted Daisy King, who rose up from second place in the rankings and rode brilliantly to take first place. Strangely enough however, it wasn’t just Georgie’s rivals who were happy that she’d lost. Her friends were chuffed as well.

“I can’t help it. I think it’s brilliant news!” Lily said when Georgie told her about the water jump disaster at school the following day. “Honestly, Georgie. You’re my best friend and I can’t stand the idea of you leaving to go to some posh, horsey school in America.”

Georgie sighed. She should have known better than to expect sympathy from Lily.

“I mean,” Lily continued, “I don’t even understand why you want to go to boarding school anyway. It’s like wanting to go to prison!”

“Blainford’s not just a boarding school,” Georgie countered with exasperation. “It’s an elite training school with horses.” She didn’t know why she bothered. It was the same old argument they’d had a million times. Georgie couldn’t blame her best friend for being anti-Blainford. After all, if Georgie actually managed to get a place at the academy then it would mean moving away from Little Brampton and away from Lily. They had been best friends ever since they met at Little Brampton primary school at the age of four. Now they were thirteen and in their second year at Little Brampton High School.

“They feed you gruel at boarding school, you know,” Lily continued.

“What’s gruel?” Georgie asked.

“It’s like porridge only worse; tasteless and runny,” Lily told her. “I read a book about a boarding school where the children all got gruel and were whipped with a birch stick when they were naughty.”

Georgie groaned, “Maybe if you went to boarding school two hundred years ago it was like that, Lily. I don’t think anyone gets beaten with a birch stick at Blainford.”

“I bet they still have the gruel though,” Lily was insistent.

“The worst bit about yesterday,” Georgie said, changing the subject, “was after I fell off. I was walking back to the horse truck with Tyro, all soaked and grubby and everyone on the sidelines was watching us, and then my dad says really loudly so that everyone can hear, ‘Never mind, Georgina, how about I buy you an ice cream on the way home to cheer you up!’“ Georgie rolled her eyes. “As if I was a four-year-old who’d lost a lollipop–not an eventing rider who’d just taken a fall on the cross-country course!”

Lily giggled. “Your dad just doesn’t get it, does he?”

Georgie shook her head. “He doesn’t understand me, full stop. He never has really.”

“He’s no worse than my dad,” Lily said. “He doesn’t have a clue about me either. At least your dad was willing to let you apply to Blainford, even though the school fees must cost a bomb.”

“It’s not like it was Dad’s idea. He hates the thought of me going there. Mum was the one who had my name down on the enrolment list from the day I was born.”

It had been a massive battle for Georgie to convince Dr Parker to let her apply for Blainford. Her dad didn’t understand why she wanted to go. “You already have a pony,” he told her. “Why can’t you stay here and save riding for after school and the weekends? The local high school is perfectly adequate.”

“No, it’s not,” Georgie had told him. “Not if I want to become a world-class rider. All the best riders in the world have been to Blainford. You get to take your horse with you and you can ride every day, plus there are specialist riding classes and they teach all sorts of horse subjects as well as the regular stuff like English and maths.”

“I think you’re being swayed by the fact that your mother went to school there,” Dr Parker said. “I’m sure if we look around we could find an equestrian school here in Gloucestershire that is just as good. I believe there are several excellent ones in the county. Why does it have to be this Blainford–on the other side of the world in America?”

“Blainford is the best,” Georgie countered. “It’s not just because of Mum, honestly. It has amazing instructors.” Her dad didn’t seem to understand that half the appeal was the fact that it was a million miles away. Georgie loved their village but at the same time she was desperate to get away. Ever since her mother’s accident, she’d been so lonely here. Her dad tried hard, but he didn’t know anything about horses, or how it felt to be a thirteen-year-old girl with dreams of horsey super-stardom, stuck in boring old Little Brampton.

Georgie had nothing in common with her dad. Everyone said she was just like her mum, tall and willowy with a fair complexion and smattering of freckles. Her mum had brown hair, though, and Georgie’s was blonde. “If I were a pony,” Georgie liked to ask her mother, “what colour would I be?”

“Oh, a palomino, I should think,” Mrs Parker would reply, “with your beautiful flaxen mane. Not a boring brown mare like your mum.”

Georgie was ten years old when Ginny Parker took the fatal fall that ended her life. The accident happened on the cross-country course at the Blenheim three-star. Ginny Parker had been riding two horses that day. The famed chestnut gelding, The Interloper, generally considered her best horse, and the other her favourite mare, a stunning bay with a white heart-shaped marking on her forehead, whose name was Boudicca.

Mrs Parker always took her daughter to the big competitions. But on this particular weekend Little Brampton was having a gymkhana and so, instead of travelling with her mum, Georgie decided to stay and take Tyro on his first outing. It was a decision she would always regret. If she had known what was going to happen that day she would have been by her mother’s side. Instead, when Ginny Parker fell, Georgie was scooping up prizes on Tyro at the gymkhana, completely oblivious to the fact that her life was about to change forever.

No one really knew exactly what happened on the course at Blenheim Palace. Everyone said that Boudicca was going brilliantly, until she reached a fence known as the Blenheim coffin. Ginny Parker had urged the mare over the log at the top of the steep bank, and Boudicca flew the jump with ease, but as she landed, the mare somehow lost her footing. Ginny tried to correct her, but it was too late. Instead of jumping the ditch at the bottom of the bank Boudicca somersaulted into it–with Georgie’s mum pinned underneath her.

Ginny Parker’s death rocked the whole village. Everybody in Little Brampton knew the Parkers. Not only because Ginny Parker was an internationally renowned rider, but also because Georgie’s dad was the local GP.

After the accident, Dr Parker insisted that Boudicca, who had survived the fall, should be sold along with Ginny’s other eventing horses. Even worse, he was adamant that Tyro had to go as well. Georgie, having already lost her mother, was about to lose her best friend in the world.

That was when Lucinda Milwood stepped in. Lucinda ran the local riding school just five minutes down the road from the Parkers’ cottage. When Georgie turned up there in tears over losing Tyro, Lucinda managed to convince a reluctant Dr Parker to allow her to keep the black gelding at the riding school instead of selling him.

Lucinda’s riding school soon became like a second home for Georgie. In exchange for Tyro’s board, she went there every morning before school to muck out the stables and groom the ponies to get them ready for the day’s lessons. Straight after school, she would change out of her uniform and into her jods to exercise the horses. Afternoons were often busy with riding-school lessons, but if there was time Lucinda would instruct Georgie on Tyro.

Georgie had ridden lots of other horses, but there was something special about Tyro. He was a handsome pony, with a solid, muscular conformation and stocky limbs that made him a jumping machine. His jet-black colouring was unusual for a Connemara, and he had an indefinable presence, a look-at-me quality, that made him stand out in the show ring. The partnership between them really clicked. In three short years Georgie had schooled him up through the grades so that he was one of the best eventing ponies in the district.

In preparation for the Blainford auditions Georgie and Tyro had trained every day. Sometimes, when her schedule had been tight, Georgie had even got up at 5am to ride before school so that she could get the black pony into top shape. But it turned out her efforts were all for nothing. When Tyro went down at the water jump he had taken Georgie’s hopes and dreams down with him. She had failed to ace the audition, in fact she had come at the very bottom of the field. Georgie truly believed her chance of a place at Blainford had gone. So she was shocked on Monday afternoon when, not long after she arrived home from school, Lucinda called her on the phone, breathlessly excited.

“I’m down at the stables,” Lucinda told her, “come straight away and meet me! And wear your jods!”

Lucinda had hung up before Georgie had the chance to ask what was going on. By the time Georgie arrived at the yard she found Lucinda working Tyro around the arena on the lunge rein. When she caught sight of Georgie she gave her a grin. “He’s totally sound!” Lucinda called out. “The accident didn’t hurt him at all–he’ll be ready to jump in time for the weekend.”

“Which is great, Lucinda, except we’re not entered in anything this weekend.” Georgie screwed up her face. “The auditions are over.”

“No,” Lucinda shook her head. “They’re not. There’s still one more semi-final audition left. Next weekend in Cirencester.”

“Another one-day event?” Georgie was stunned.

“No,” Lucinda said. “It’s showjumping.”

“But I’m not a showjumper!”

Lucinda wouldn’t be deterred. “For goodness sake, Georgie, don’t be wet! You know how to jump, don’t you? Tyro always goes clear in the showjumping phase at one-day events. OK, so he’s never jumped as high as a showjumper and he lacks some technique, but we have a week to train him. Isn’t it better than just giving up? At least this way you still stand a chance!”

“But I don’t want to be a showjumper! I’m an eventer.”

Lucinda rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t matter! All you have to do is make it through the showjumping audition to get yourself a place at the grand finals. And once the academy accepts you, you can revert back to being an eventing rider.”

Georgie’s heart was racing. “Is there enough time for me to enter?”

“Already done!” Lucinda said. “Your name is on the audition list. We’ll have to leave very early on Saturday to make the drive to Cirencester.” she paused, “.and there is one other tiny detail that might be a problem.”

Georgie groaned. “What is it?”

“I’ve just found out that the head of the Blainford selection panel will be there.” Lucinda hesitated. “Have you heard of Tara Kelly?”

“Tara Kelly!” Georgie couldn’t believe it. “I remember seeing her on TV when she won the Lexington Horse Trials. She’s an amazing rider.”

Lucinda nodded. “She’s also the head of admissions for Blainford and she’s got a reputation for being extremely hard-nosed. One year, she was supposed to take five riders from the UK but she decided only two were up to scratch so she cut the list and left the other three behind.”

“OK,” Georgie said, “so she’s tough. Then Tyro and

I will just have to impress her.”

Lucinda hesitated. “There’s more to it. The thing is, Tara will be watching you. She knows who you are, you see. Because she knew your mother.”

“She knew Mum?” Georgie perked up. “But that’s great! If she recognises my name it might help my chances of being selected.”

“I doubt it,” Lucinda said darkly. “Georgie, when I say that Tara knew Ginny that might not necessarily be a positive thing …”

Georgie was confused. “What are you talking about?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Lucinda said. “Your mother and Tara weren’t friends. They were rivals.”




Chapter Three (#ulink_a3b474cb-6510-5fa5-8667-f0e603b18c6c)


Tara Kelly raced her rental car down the narrow lanes, catching glimpses of the countryside flashing by as she drove at breakneck speed. She had almost forgotten how beautiful England could be in the springtime, the old stone cottages, and apple trees in bloom.

It had been a long time since her last visit. For the past three years another Blainford selector had been responsible for handling the UK while Tara had been re-assigned to the other end of the world, looking for fresh talent in Australia and Japan. This year however, the roster had changed again and Tara had returned to Europe.

Last week she had been in Germany with other selectors for the finals of the European auditions, and they had chosen several excellent new admissions for the academy. The two best new entrants were outstanding dressage riders, which, Tara thought with a wry smile, would no doubt please Bettina Schmidt. Bettina was the head of Blainford’s dressage department and had always been critical of the recruitment process for the academy. Bettina’s concern was that Tara, as both chief selector and the head of Blainford’s eventing department, was biased towards eventing riders. In fact the truth was quite the opposite. As four-times winner of the Lexington Horse Trials, Tara set especially high standards for students applying to join her department.

The selection process was tough no matter what category you applied for. Only the best riders from showjumpers and polo players to Western and natural horsemanship disciples, even vaulters and carriage drivers, were chosen.

Blainford had earned its reputation by maintaining the highest standards and entry to the academy was exclusive. Tara and her team of selectors had to make certain that the right choices were made.

The shortlist of potential applicants crumpled at the bottom of Tara Kelly’s brown leather bag was becoming shorter by the day. After the Cirencester show it would become shorter still. 116 junior showjumpers were competing in this last semi-final. Only three of them would make it through to the final auditions next weekend at the Birmingham NEC.

It was impossible of course for Tara to remember the name of every aspiring rider on the shortlist, but there was one that had leapt off the page at her from the very first time she had seen it. That name was Georgina Parker.

“It’s not so much that Tara and your mum hated each other,” Lucinda explained as she drove the horse lorry into the Cirencester showgrounds. “They were the best riders in the eventing class and there was this constant rivalry. They used their competitiveness with each other to spur themselves on, I suppose. Between them, they won every single prize in their senior year at school.”

“So why didn’t Mum talk about her?” Georgie asked.

“Their lives didn’t really connect much after that,” Lucinda said. “They both turned professional and for a short while they rode against each other on the international circuit. But then your mum took some time off to have you and when she returned to eventing Tara had given up competing to take up her position at Blainford.”

Lucinda stopped talking to concentrate on parking the lorry then said, “Right. I’ll go get your registration number while you unload him and saddle up.”

Normally at a one-day event, Georgie knew quite a few of the other riders. It was fun to meet up at shows and there would be friendly smiles and chit-chat. But she didn’t know a soul at Cirencester and the atmosphere was tense and bristling with competition.

As Georgie unloaded Tyro she felt the stares of the other riders. They were watching, assessing their new rival. Tyro, of course, played to the crowd by high-stepping down the ramp as if he were a race horse arriving at the Grand National. The pony carried himself as if he were a statuesque Thoroughbred stallion instead of a fourteen-two hand gelding. He stood at the bottom of the lorry ramp and utterly embarrassed Georgie by holding his head high in the air and letting out a loud, brazen whinny as if to say “I’ve arrived! Everyone look at me!”

“Stop being a show-off!” Georgie giggled at his antics. But no one else seemed amused. There were serious faces on all the other riders as they trotted past, eyeing Georgie and Tyro suspiciously.

It got worse once Georgie mounted up and rode Tyro along the avenue of swanky horse lorries and into the practice arena. Here, it was every man for himself as riders kept getting in each other’s way as they warmed up. Georgie cantered a bit close to a gangly-legged girl on a pretty grey pony and received a vicious telling-off from the girl’s mum who had bleached blonde hair and a strangely orange complexion, which Georgie eventually realised was due to a spray tan and not a hideous skin condition.

“Keep off! You’ll make Caprice upset!” the mother complained loudly. “She’s very sensitive!”

“I’m sorry, Caprice.” Georgie pulled Tyro up to apologise.

“My name is Sybil.” The girl looked at Georgie like she was a total idiot. “Caprice is my pony.”

“Oh, sorry,” Georgie said again. Caprice, meanwhile, had noticed Tyro. She reached her long elegant grey neck out to touch noses with the gelding and, in a gesture typical of stroppy mares, greeted him by giving a sudden, high-pitched squeal and lashing out with a vicious swipe of her foreleg.

“See!” the orange-faced woman fumed. “Now you’ve gone and upset her!” She snatched Caprice by the reins and dragged the pony and her daughter off to the other side of the field. “If you come near us again I’m reporting you to the officials,” she told Georgie loudly.

A girl on a fourteen-two hand palomino had been watching the whole commotion and rode up to Georgie with a smile on her face. “I saw mad Mrs Hawley giving you a hard time,” she said. “Don’t worry–she shouted at me too before you got here. She’s such a bossy old bat!”

“It was like getting told off by a giant bottle of Tango!” Georgie giggled.

The girl smiled. “I’m Olivia,” she said leaning down to give the palomino a pat on her glossy neck. “And this is Molly. We’re from Blackfriars Pony Club in Northampton.”

“Molly is gorgeous,” Georgie smiled. “I’m Georgie. This is Tyro.”

“Isn’t this whole auditions thing so intense?” Olivia groaned. “It’s like nobody will even say hello. I’ve seen at least half a dozen kids here that I usually go to pony club with and they won’t even look at me!”

Georgie shrugged. “Everyone’s just nervous, I guess. You know, there’s so much at stake.”

“I know!” Olivia nodded vigorously. “I woke up this morning and felt so ill with nerves I didn’t think I’d be able to ride today …”

“Olivia!” A woman wearing a baseball cap and jeans called out across the warm-up arena.

“Oh! That’s my mum.” Olivia grabbed the reins and turned her palomino on her hindquarters. “I better go,” she smiled at Georgie. “See you later! Good luck!”

“You too,” Georgie said as she watched Olivia ride off.

“There you are!” Lucinda said when Georgie arrived back at the lorry. “Tie Tyro up with a hay net and come with me. It’s time to walk the course.”

The fences in the arena looked all right from a distance. It wasn’t until you were actually standing next to the jumps that you realised how big they really were.

As Lucinda went from fence to fence, explaining about the best line to take for each jump, Georgie felt her knees gradually turning to jelly beneath her. She’d let Lucinda convince her that there wasn’t much between being an eventing rider and a showjumper, forgetting the one key difference–showjumping fences were massive!

Olivia was walking the course with her mum, who turned out to be an old friend of Lucinda’s.

“Everyone says that the treble is the bogey fence,” Olivia groaned. “It’s a totally enormous spread on the last jump.”

But Lucinda wasn’t so sure. “Sometimes the big ones that look the hardest actually ride easy. Let’s wait and see how the others handle it,” she told Georgie. “There are thirty-one riders ahead of you so you’ll have a chance to see where the problems are.”

The first rider into the ring was Byron Montford. Byron rode a glamorous bay hack called Toledo and he had every piece of flashy tack imaginable. None of which stopped him from coming to grief at several of the jumps, including the treble, to rack up a final score of sixteen faults.

“This course is going to be very tough indeed,” Lucinda muttered. She was proven right as one after another polished combination of horse and rider entered the ring looking for a clear round and were knocked out by fallen rails or refusals.

“That’s the point of these sudden death rounds.” Lucinda shrugged. “They’re trying to narrow down the competition quickly. Mind you, at this rate hardly anyone will make the jump-offs!”

By the time rider number twenty-five was in the ring, Georgie was back at the lorry tightening Tyro’s girth and preparing to mount up. As she adjusted the black pony’s noseband she leant in so that her face was right up close. “This is it, Tyro,” she whispered. “We’ve been given another chance to make it to Blainford. Just don’t tell anyone you’re not a real showjumper, OK? We’re going to go in there and fox them and make it through. All you have to do is go clear.”

The Connemara cocked one ear to listen as she spoke and Georgie hoped that her pony understood what she was saying. He was a seasoned eventer and was probably expecting business as usual–a dressage test followed by cross-country then showjumping. But today they would be going straight to the showjumping ring. And they’d be going over the biggest fences Tyro had ever jumped in his life.

In the ring competitor number thirty-one, Sybil Hawley, was just completing a round that left the audience with their hearts in their mouths. Sybil had a strange style, galloping wildly between fences and then yanking Caprice in the mouth, before throwing the reins away right before the fence. Poor Caprice! The grey mare was clearly being driven mad by her rider’s busy hands and spent most of the round trying to get above the bit, her head held high and the whites of her eyes showing. It was seat-of-the-pants stuff over every jump, but somehow they got through.

“A clear round for Sybil Hawley and Caprice. Can competitor thirty-two, Georgina Parker and Tyro, please enter the arena!” The announcer’s voice boomed over the tannoy.

As the two girls rode past each other in opposite directions through the narrow entrance to the arena, Georgie gave Sybil a smile but it wasn’t returned. When she recalled this later, Georgie thought she saw Sybil out of the corner of her eye, surreptitiously raising her whip. She didn’t see what happened next, but suddenly Tyro had shot forward underneath her, bolting into the arena. Did Sybil hit Tyro with her whip? All Georgie knew was that Tyro was calm one moment and then he’d gone like a rocket.

“Hoi! Tyro!” Georgie was so totally focused on hanging on to her pony she had completely stopped paying attention to the loudspeaker. When she finally had Tyro settled into a steady canter, she noticed that the warbling banter which normally poured out through the tannoy between rounds had stopped. There was only deafening silence as the crowd waited for her round to begin. Georgie began to panic. Had they rung the bell to start and she hadn’t noticed? Had she missed her cue? She wasn’t very experienced at showjumping but she knew that if they had rung the bell, then she only had a minute to cross the start line or she would be eliminated! She looked around at the audience, trying to find Lucinda. There was no sign of her trainer and still no sound from the loudspeaker. They must have rung the bell already!

In a mad panic, Georgie turned Tyro and headed back up the arena towards the start line. She did a quick loop at a brisk canter and then rode the black pony forward. She was half a stride over the line when she heard the bell ring out. She hadn’t missed it after all! Well, that was fine now–she was off!

At the first jump, Tyro’s stride was too long and he leapt from too far back. Georgie was certain that he would drop his hind legs over the back rails and drop a pole, but he only contacted the rail gently with his fetlocks and the pole stayed in its cup.

At fence two she was back in control and rode the pony perfectly into the jump, taking it neatly. Tyro gave a little buck, flinging his legs up in high spirits as if to say, “piece of cake!”

By the time they reached the bogey fence, the treble, Georgie had hit her stride. The final spread was really huge and she felt her tummy tie up in nervous knots, but she did what any good rider does when they are scared–she kicked on. “Come on!” she shouted at Tyro. He lifted up into the air and took the jump. They were still clear!

Then before she could even think about it, she was over the green plank upright and the last jump, a wide oxer made of pale blue rails, and then Georgie was through the flags and the crowd was clapping. It was the third clear round of the day!

“Oh well done! Well done!” Lucinda raced up to her as she emerged from the arena.

“He was genius, wasn’t he?” Georgie enthused. “Did you see the way he took the treble?”

“You were both brilliant!” Lucinda told her with a huge grin on her face. “You’re through to the next round.”

“I don’t think so!” a voice boomed out. Georgie looked up and saw the orange face of Mrs Hawley bearing down on them. If Mrs Hawley had looked thunderous earlier in the practice ring, now she looked positively volcanic.

“You’re a cheat!”

These words were said with such venom that Georgie and Lucinda were dumbstruck. Unfortunately, Mrs Hawley wasn’t and she continued with her vicious rant. “I’ve reported you to the selector!” Mrs Hawley raved. “I’m going to see to it that you are eliminated!”

“What are you talking about?” Lucinda Milwood was baffled.

“Your daughter broke across the start line before the bell,” Mrs Hawley snarled. “Everyone saw it.”

“She’s not my daughter,” Lucinda corrected her, “and this round wasn’t being judged on time. Who cares if she crossed the line early?”

“It’s against the rules!” Mrs Hawley’s face was puce with rage beneath the orange tan. “The girl should be eliminated from the competition. You’ll see! I’ve already taken this to the highest level. The selector is on her way over here now!”

Through the crowds came a slender woman wearing dove grey jodhpurs and a navy blouse, her walnut-brown hair held back by a pair of stylish black sunglasses.

Mrs Hawley looked smug as the selector approached. The smugness rapidly vanished when the woman in grey jodhpurs took one look at Lucinda Milwood, shrieked with delight and gave her an enormous hug.

“Lucy!” she exclaimed. “My God! Lucy Milwood! It’s been such a long time, but you haven’t changed one bit!”

Georgie’s trainer laughed. “You neither! It’s so good to see you!”

Mrs Hawley was gasping like a goldfish. This was not the result she had been hoping for.

The selector ignored Mrs Hawley and turned her attention to Georgie. “So this must be Ginny’s daughter?” She had a strange expression on her face as she stared hard at Georgie. “You are the spitting image of your mother. Let’s hope you can ride like her as well.”

“Georgie,” Lucinda smiled, “I’d like you to meet the only rider who ever beat your mother around the cross-country course at Blainford Academy.

“Say hello to Tara Kelly.”




Chapter Four (#ulink_efe128c2-2a9d-57bc-8b9f-71e48bbbb6fb)


The fact that Tara and Lucinda were clearly old friends only made matters worse as far as Mrs Hawley was concerned.

“Blatant favouritism!” she fumed.

Tara Kelly had been chief selector at Blainford for long enough to know how to handle pushy parents. “Mrs Hawley,” she said firmly, “as Blainford’s chief of admissions and head selector, I can assure you that I am completely impartial at all times.”

Mrs Hawley had a malicious glint in her eye. “So does that mean you’ll disqualify her?”

“The rules clearly state that if a rider in any way gains an advantage by crossing the line before the bell then they will be disqualified,” Tara said.

Georgie felt her heart pounding in her ears. This couldn’t be happening. It was bad enough to lose her chance of going to Blainford with that freak accident at the water jump. Now, to be eliminated again because of some crazy rule! Georgie looked at Sybil who was smiling wickedly from behind Tara’s back and waggling her whip at her.

“But I didn’t hear the bell,” Georgie protested, “it wasn’t my fault.”

Tara ignored her. “As I was saying,” she continued, “riders are disqualified if they have gained an advantage by crossing the line early. But since this round wasn’t a jump-off against the clock the time didn’t matter. Georgie gained nothing by crossing the line early.”

“So.?” Mrs Hawley bristled.

“There will be no elimination. She’s going through to the next round.”

Mrs Hawley stomped off angrily as Tara looked at her watch. “I’d better get back to the selectors’ tent,” she said. “There are still sixty riders to get through the first phase before lunch break.”

“Why don’t you come and meet us at my lorry for lunch?” Lucinda offered.

Tara shook her head. “I don’t think that would be wise. We don’t want to give the Mrs Hawleys of this world a chance to cry favouritism again, do we?” The chief selector turned to Georgie. “I’m surprised to see you here today, Georgina. I didn’t think Ginny’s daughter would be a showjumper.”

“I’m an eventer, really,” Georgie said, “at least, I want to be one.”

“Good!” Tara said brightly. “So if you make it through the auditions I can look forward to having you in my cross-country classes.”

Georgie felt quite pleased until Tara added, “It’s the toughest course at Blainford. If a rider isn’t good enough they’re gone. Only half the students who start the year with me will make it through to the end. It’s dangerous too–the cross-country department holds the record for more broken bones than the rest of the school put together. Perhaps you might like to reconsider and take up showjumping–it’s a much safer option.”

And with that, Tara waved a brisk goodbye and headed back to the selectors’ tent. Georgie was wide-eyed as she watched her go. “Broken bones? Is she running a cross-country class or Accident and Emergency?”

Lucinda sighed. “Don’t be put off. Tara loves to come across as icy and strict when in fact she’s.” Lucinda paused. “Well, actually, that’s pretty much what she’s like. She’s a perfectionist–and at her peak she was ranked one of the best riders in the world. She’s a brilliant teacher. If you’re lucky enough to get into her class at Blainford you should jump at the chance.”

Although Tara turned down Lucinda’s offer of lunch, they had company as Olivia and her mum came over to join them. For dessert Mrs Prescott brought jam tarts and Lucinda produced her irresistible ginger crunch.

Olivia had two slices and then pronounced that the butterflies in her tummy now felt even worse than before.

“I’ve eaten too much! I won’t make it through in the jump-offs,” she groaned as she lay back on the ramp of the lorry holding her tummy.

“Yes,” Georgie agreed, “it was my cunning plan to invite you over to scoff all the ginger crunch.”

Olivia and Molly had put in a very professional round that morning, jumping the course so smoothly and cleanly they made it look easy, which it wasn’t. From the total pool of 116 riders, only a meagre fourteen had made it through to the next round. The rest were packing their horses into their lorries and trailers for the drive home.

“I can’t believe Sybil Hawley got through,” Georgie groaned. “Did you hear her mum shrieking on the sidelines?”

Olivia giggled, “Poor Sybil. I’d hate to have a mum like that.”

“What, noisy?” Georgie said.

“No, orange!” Olivia burst out laughing. Georgie collapsed with the giggles too. It had been really good fun hanging out with Olivia today. Georgie hoped that they would both make it through to the finals in Birmingham.

The next round that afternoon was a speed contest and the jumps had been raised to a metre twenty. Georgie was feeling confident about riding against the clock. Tyro was the fastest pony she had ever ridden and he was brilliant at tight turns. Georgie had walked the course and was planning on taking some very tricky, extreme shortcuts. The last two jumps were key for Georgie’s alternative route, cutting a corner to come in at the planks on a sharp angle. If they could pull it off this might slash their time by two whole seconds. It was a risky strategy, but worth it if they went clear.

At 2pm there was a briefing in the main arena for the remaining fourteen riders. They were told to arrive with their horses fully tacked up. “What is this about?” Georgie asked.

Lucinda frowned. “I’m not sure, but the selectors often like to throw a curve ball at this phase to test the riders. One year they made everyone take off their saddles and compete bareback.”

Georgie looked at the enormous jumps in the arena. It would be a nightmare trying to ride a course like that bareback! Surely the selectors weren’t planning the same thing?

As the riders organised themselves, Tara Kelly walked into the arena and stood in front of them. “Can all the riders please dismount and run up your stirrups,” she announced. “We’re going to make some last minute changes.”

Georgie dismounted nervously. She felt her palms sweating as she gripped the reins. As Tara Kelly strode back and forth with arms folded across her chest, Georgie felt sick with anticipation, certain that at any moment they would be instructed to remove their saddles. But this year Blainford’s chief selector had another trial in mind.

“I know how hard you have trained to be here,” Tara said. “You’ve schooled your ponies and become a team.” She paused. “I want to see what happens when that team is torn apart.”

Tara stepped forward and began walking down the line-up, handing each rider a folded-over piece of paper. “A great rider should be able to mount up on any horse and achieve a clear round,” Tara continued as she walked along handing out the papers. “This afternoon we’ll be testing your abilities on a horse that you’ve never ridden before.”

Tara handed out the last two to Olivia and Georgie.”On your piece of paper you’ll find the name of one of the horses in this arena.” Tara paused. “That’s the horse you’ll ride for the next round. As of right now, you are swapping mounts. The names have been chosen at random. There can be no complaints and no trading. You must ride the horse you have been given. The rules of the competition remain the same–a clear round in the fastest time will win. Two refusals in this round and you are out.” Tara looked at the line-up of stunned faces. “Please open your piece of paper.”

Georgie unfolded hers and felt her stomach lurch in shock.

Tara continued, “You may go and claim the horse.” No one moved. “Hurry up and find your horses!” Tara told them. “The first rider is due to jump in twenty minutes.”

The fourteen riders suddenly began running in all directions, dragging their horses behind them in a mad rush as they frantically searched for the horse they had been drawn to ride. Georgie hadn’t moved. She was staring at the paper in disbelief. She had drawn Caprice.

“Any tips for riding her?” Georgie asked as she walked over to take Sybil’s horse.

“You must be joking!” Sybil virtually flung the reins at her. “I’m not giving you any help!”

At least Sybil hadn’t been allocated Tyro, Georgie thought as she stood holding two horses. She was dreading handing over her beloved pony to some complete stranger and kept an anxious watch on anyone who approached her. Georgie was beyond relieved when Olivia came up positively beaming, waving Tyro’s name on her slip.

“I can’t believe I got him!” Olivia said. “Isn’t this the craziest thing you’ve ever seen?”

Her hands were shaking as she took Tyro’s reins. “I’ve had Molly for two years,” she explained. “I haven’t been on another horse for ages.”

“Tyro won’t give you any trouble,” Georgie reassured her. “He never refuses a jump, but he does rush fences sometimes so sit back between them.”

“OK.” Olivia was trying to take deep breaths. “I can do that.”

“He’s fast too,” Georgie said, stroking the Connemara’s pretty face, “and he’s good at correcting his own stride. Give him his head once you hit the treble and he’ll be fine.”

“Thanks!” Olivia said and smiled at Georgie. “I know he’s special. Don’t worry. I’ll look after him, I promise.”

Lucinda was thrilled with the horse-swap challenge. “I watched this mare jump in the last round. She’s very schooled and she’s got talent,” she said, adjusting the stirrups to fit Georgie’s legs which were much shorter than Sybil’s. “If Caprice can pull off a clear round with Sybil on her back then I’m sure you can get a clear round out of her too.”

Any reservations Georgie had about swapping horses disappeared once she was up on Caprice. She was a very positive pony with big paces and when

Georgie popped her over the practice jump the mare had her ears pricked and cantered on eagerly, taking the fence off a lovely forward stride.

As the riders warmed up, their names and numbers were called over the loudspeaker. Georgie was last to go. She didn’t know if this was good or bad. She had more time to warm up, but also more time to get nervous.

“Could rider number one, Ellie Trainor, please enter the ring,” the announcer called. Georgie watched as a girl on a strawberry roan came into the collection area looking tense. That morning the same girl had done a beautiful clear round on a bay mare, but as she rode at the first jump she seemed to lose her nerve and the strawberry roan slammed on the brakes and skidded into the fence. The girl gave a half-hearted whack with her crop and swung the horse around to try again. But the roan had lost confidence in her rider and had no intention of trying to jump. She gave an outright refusal, propping and baulking, and the bell rang. The first rider had been eliminated.

On the sidelines Lucinda frowned. “You must ride at the fences as if you really mean it, Georgie. If you’re half-hearted Caprice will sense your hesitation and you’ll fail.”

As each of the riders squared up to the first jump you could tell by the look on their face whether they would make it or not. There were some awful crashes as riders lost their bottle and ponies ploughed into jumps with last minute refusals. One of these riders was Sybil Hawley. The chestnut pony she was riding made a sudden stop in front of the jump–and Sybil didn’t. She flew over the pony’s neck and landed without a horse beneath her, on her bottom on the other side of the fence. Mrs Hawley would protest of course, but Sybil’s audition was well and truly over.

By the time Olivia and Tyro were up there had been no clear rounds at all. The best scores so far belonged to two riders with eight faults each. It was beginning to look like no one could make it clear on an unknown horse.

“Come on, Olivia!” Georgie called out from the sidelines. It was the strangest sensation, watching her own pony competing without her. Georgie felt a brief moment of anguish as she watched Tyro take the first jump with ease and desperately wished she were the one on his back. But Olivia rode him beautifully and when they took the last fence for the first clear round, Georgie was clapping louder than anyone.

“You should be proud of that round,” Lucinda told Georgie.

“But I wasn’t the one riding!” Georgie said.

“No, but you trained him. You’ve schooled Tyro well and it shows. He’s a credit to you.”

Olivia was totally smitten. “He is the most amazing pony,” she gushed to Georgie. “I know I’m being really cheeky saying this but if you ever decide to sell Tyro, will you please call me? I’d love to buy him!”

After Olivia went clear, the floodgates opened and by Georgie’s turn to ride there had been five clear rounds. To make the top three Georgie not only had to go clear, she also had to get a quick-smart time to beat the others on the clock.

It was a fine line to tread. If she went hell for leather then she risked making a mistake. All it would take was a single refusal or a rail down to totally blow her chances. But if she went too cautiously she might lose on time faults.

As she entered the arena Georgie urged Caprice into a steady canter and stood up in her stirrups in two-point position. She rode a lap around the fences, mentally mapping her route between the jumps. So far, no one had taken the shortcut that she’d been planning to take on Tyro. Should she risk it on an unknown horse or aim for a safe, clear round and hope her time would be good enough?

This time she heard the bell ring loud and clear. With a tip of her hat to the selectors, she rode one last lap around the perimeter and then came through the flags like a rocket. The clock was ticking. She had to go clear and make every second count.

Georgie rode at the first fence with almost too much energy and Caprice took off from too far back with a huge stride. Her hind legs scraped the rail and Georgie heard the crowd go “ohhh!” as the pole rocked in its cups. But it didn’t fall. She steadied the mare and took her time over the next few fences. Through the treble one… two … three! Georgie had got the striding perfection the jumps but she sensed that their time was far too slow. There were only two fences left. If Georgie wanted to beat the other clear rounds, she had to go for the shortcut.

Over number eight she had to virtually twist Caprice in mid-air, so that the mare landed at an angle. There was a gasp from the crowd as they realised what Georgie was doing and another as Caprice nearly hit a fence as she swerved to the right. Then, suddenly, the last jump loomed right in front of Georgie. She would almost have to jump it sideways to make it over.

Georgie took a deep breath and kicked on. Caprice put in one last stride and then lifted up into the air. There was a choked silence from the crowd. Would she get over? The turn had been so tight it seemed like an impossible leap.

Georgie had judged it like a pro! Caprice flew the fence with room to spare. As she landed on the other side the wild applause told Georgie all she needed to know. She had done it. Georgie was on her way to the finals.




Chapter Five (#ulink_b397736d-8fbe-522a-923b-a63b29c16d93)


The crowd in the grandstand of Birmingham’s NEC Arena was buzzing with a sense of anticipation. They had already marvelled at the thrills and spills of the scurry races, and gasped at the fantastic Lipizzaner stunt horses performing Swan Lake.

“We do hope you’ve enjoyed the entertainment so far,” announcer Mike Partridge warbled to the audience. “Now it’s time for the main event. You’re about to see the very best young talent in Britain take the ride of their lives. It’s the grand final of the Blainford Academy auditions!”

The crowd gave a cheer and Mike Partridge continued his introduction. “The riders performing for us today are no older than thirteen years of age. All have passedrigorous tests to prove they’re the best in their chosen field. We’ve got eventers and showjumpers, polo players and dressage riders and we’ve even got a Western rider and natural horsemanship star making an appearance!

“Twenty young hopefuls competing for just five places. It’s the competition of a lifetime for these kids.” Mike Partridge paused. “We’ll meet the first of our twenty finalists in just a moment, but before we do that, let me introduce you to our selectors!”

Three giant spotlights flashed on to the arena, tracing circles of light across the golden sand before concentrating on the three judges sitting at the selectors’ table at the far end of the arena.

“Our first selector is a household name–winner of countless Horse of the Year titles, a showjumping superstar and the glamour girl of the British Olympic equestrian squad–it’s the one and only Helen Nicholson!”

The crowd cheered louder than ever as a very beautiful woman with dark brown hair, big brown eyes and a warm smile got up to give them a wave.

“Our next selector,” Mike Partridge began, “is an animal behaviourist whose books on horse training have sold millions. He’s also an Australian–but don’t hold that against him! Ladies and gentlemen–it’s Dr David McGee!” A handsome grey-haired man stood up and waved to the crowd who clapped politely.

“And finally,” Mike Partridge continued, “a woman who needs no introduction. Blainford’s senior selector is an international eventing superstar and a four-times winner of the Lexington Horse Trials. She’s a serious horsewoman–I should know, I’ve been trying all morning to get her to smile! Let’s give her a round of applause and see if she’ll give us a grin. Please welcome Tara Kelly!”

Tara Kelly gritted her teeth at the announcer’s sense of humour. Although it was her job to judge the finals, she had never really got used to the crowds, the lights and the theatrics that came with the event. Over the years, Blainford’s auditions had become more and more spectacular and grand finals night was now so renowned, it had become one of the most exciting events on the British equestrian calendar. All a bit over the top in Tara Kelly’s opinion, but despite her reservations she went along with it because as Blainford’s headmistress, Mrs Dickins-Thomson, pointed out to her, it was brilliant publicity for the school.

“C’mon, Tara, give us a wave, luv!” Mike Partridge coaxed and Tara rose from her seat and grinned and waved at the crowds in the stands. They were here to see a show after all.

Besides, in some ways the three-ring circus that had grown up around the event was a good thing, Tara reasoned. It added to the pressure and gave the twenty candidates waiting backstage a very real taste of what life was like under the spotlight. If you really wanted to be an international horse-riding superstar then these final auditions were a good test of character. Could the twenty riders all stay cucumber-cool when thousands were watching them and Mike Partridge was singing their praises over the loudspeaker?

Until now, the auditions had been divided into separate categories for eventers, showjumpers, dressage riders and so on. But the finals brought all the different disciplines together. With so many different kinds of riders auditioning, it wouldn’t be fair to rely on a single test to compare their skills. Instead, each of the twenty riders was required to create a freestyle performance. They would all have fifteen minutes in the arena and the selectors would cast votes with score cards.

Tara trusted her fellow judges. Helen and David were both experienced and had done the job alongside her before. She would listen carefully to their opinions but at the end of the day they knew that the final choice would always be hers.

“You’ve met our three selectors,” Mike Partridge called out. “Now, let’s meet our first finalist. She’s a dressage rider from Dundee and at only eleven years old she’s one of the youngest competitors today. She’s going to be performing a freestyle dressage kur for us on her lovely pony The Cheshire Cat. Here she is, Miss Sally Stevens!”

The music began, the lights came up and a very pretty skewbald pony entered the ring. He flew down the centre of the arena in a floating, extended trot and then halted in front of the judges. His rider, a slightly built girl in a blue showing jacket and banana jods, gave a stiff salute and then set off again at a collected canter.

Backstage, hidden by large black screens from the view of the audience, nineteen young riders watched Sally anxiously and waited for their turn in the spotlight.

“Are you nervous?” Olivia hissed. She was standing beside Georgie, gripping on to Molly’s reins and looking terrified.

“Uh-huh,” Georgie said. She was trying to stay focused, but it wasn’t easy because her dad had dropped a bombshell about her future.

Over dinner the weekend before the grand finals Georgie was telling her dad about her plans for the performance. “We’ve come up with something superspecial to grab the selectors’ attention,” she said.

“Mmmm,” her father nodded absentmindedly.

Georgie rolled her eyes. “Tyro is going to wear a ballerina tutu and we’ll be doing a tango. It’s Strictly Come Dancing except with ponies.”

“That’s great, honey.”

“Dad! I was totally joking! Are you even listening to me? Do you care that I’m in the finals?”

This was so typical! It was the most exciting thing to happen to her ever, and her father hardly seemed to be paying attention.

“I’m sorry, Georgie,” Dr Parker sighed, “I… The thing is … we need to talk.”

“Uh-oh,” Georgie said. “Is this going to be a serious conversation?”

Dr Parker wasn’t smiling. “It’s about the auditions. And yes, it’s serious I’m afraid.” Georgie’s face fell. “I know you’ve got your heart set on going to Blainford,” her dad began, “but the fees are steep, Georgie, it’s a very expensive private school.”

“I know that,” Georgie’s voice had an edge of panic, “but Mum already put the money aside years ago. You told me she did!”




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