Fortune and the Golden Trophy (10 page)

“Fortune!” Issie squealed in shock. She managed to regain her seat, but she couldn’t for the life of her understand why Fortune had suddenly done that in the middle of the test.

Then she looked up and saw that it wasn’t the piebald’s fault. Fortune hadn’t spooked at nothing—there was a man in the dressage arena! He had appeared out of nowhere and he was striding through the middle of the ring. He must have walked straight into Fortune’s eyeline as he cut ahead of the pony! No wonder the piebald had panicked and shied!

The man was dressed in a pair of bright red plus fours with a matching tam-o’-shanter and Issie recognised him immediately. It was Gordon Cheeseman.

The golf-club manager must have leapt over the rope fence of the dressage ring and he seemed totally oblivious to the fact that he was ruining Issie’s test as he strode aggressively, swinging a golf club in time with his steps.

Gordon Cheeseman didn’t notice or care that he had startled a horse and nearly caused an accident. Issie and Fortune were of no interest to him. He had spotted Marjory Allwell in the car, dressed in her formal navy suit and, assuming she was a person of great importance, he made a beeline for her.

“Are you the one who’s in charge around here?” he bellowed at poor Marjory. “I need to talk to someone instead of that Avery idiot! Who’s really running this club?”

Marjory Allwell was an experienced dressage judge, but she had never been to Chevalier Point Pony Club before today, and she had never dealt with anything like this before. Why was this ridiculous-looking man barging into the middle of the arena, yelling his head off and swinging a golf club like some kind of maniac?

The judge leapt out of her car and addressed Gordon
Cheeseman in a booming voice, much louder than you might think that a woman of her diminutive size would possess.

“Sir! Please leave the arena immediately! Can’t you see there’s a rider in the middle of competing and you’re in the way?”

“I’ll do no such thing!” Gordon Cheeseman snapped back. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

Judge Marjory was now beginning to fear for her safety. This lunatic waggling his golf club looked like he was on a short fuse and he was showing no signs of leaving. She was about to reach back into her car to honk the horn again to summon help when she saw Avery running across the paddock with Aidan close behind him.

“What’s all this nonsense about, Gordon?” Avery said. “You do realise you’re ruining a dressage competition by charging around like a madman?”

“Got your attention then, have I?” Gordon Cheeseman growled. “Excellent. Maybe somebody will finally do something about the outrage that I have just discovered.”

“And what outrage is that?” asked Avery.

“Dung!” Gordon Cheeseman replied. “Mounds of the stuff. Horse dung in huge piles has been deposited all
over the steps of my golf club and your pony club is responsible!”

“Gordon!” Avery said. “You’re telling me you’re here because of some horse dung?”

Gordon Cheeseman wasn’t listening, he was too busy shouting. “Vandalism and juvenile delinquents, that’s what it is!” he cried, his face turning as red as his plus fours. “Your rotten mob clearly think it’s funny to dump horse poo on my doorstep! I arrived at the clubhouse just now to find a large wheelbarrow’s worth of poo all over our grand marble stairs. I suppose you think it’s a joke? Well, I’m here to tell you that they won’t get away with it!”

“And what makes you think one of my riders did it?” Avery asked.

“Oh, for goodness’-sake!” snapped Gordon Cheeseman. “Look around you, man! Who else has access to horse dung? Your pony brats have attacked my property! I won’t stand for it!”

“Are you actually accusing my riders of deliberately dumping a load of horse dung on your club doorstep?”

“As if you didn’t know!” Gordon Cheeseman fumed. “You’re probably in on it with them. Well, it was a big mistake, Avery. A huge mistake. This is the final straw.
This is goodbye. When the council hears about this stunt there’s no way they’ll renew your lease. And unless you want me to call the police as well, I suggest you send a couple of your pony brats over straight away to clear up their mess and take that dung away.”

“Gordon,” Avery said, “my riders didn’t do this.”

“A likely story! You can deny it all you like, Avery, but the council won’t believe you. This time you’ve gone too far! I want you out of here! You and your whole gang of hoodlums on horseback.”

Gordon Cheeseman’s voice was raised to fever pitch as crowds gathered around the edge of the arena. He turned to the assembled people. “You can go home now—the lot of you,” he shouted. “As of right now, I’m closing this pony club down!”

Normally, the sight of the maniacal golf-club manager storming off with his bright red trousers flapping in the breeze would have struck Issie as comical, but today as they watched him depart no one was laughing.

“Can he really do it?” Stella asked Avery. “Can he shut us down?”

“He can certainly complain to the council,” Avery nodded, “but he can’t shut us down, not today anyway.”

“He’s nuts!” said Stella. “As if we’d put poo on his steps.”

“All the same,” Avery said, “I think some of you had better go to the golf club right now with a wheelbarrow and cleaning gear and get rid of it.”

“But it wasn’t us!” Stella squeaked.

“We didn’t do anything,” Kate added indignantly. “So I don’t see why we should have to clean that horrible man’s stupid clubhouse steps.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not suggesting for a moment that the attack on the golf club had anything to do with you girls,” Avery said. “I’m only asking you because Gordon Cheeseman is clearly out of control and we can’t afford to have him racing back here with the police, causing another scene and ruining the dressage day.”

Stella and Kate could see Avery’s point, and as much as it annoyed them to give Gordon Cheeseman the chance to gloat, they did as their instructor asked. They grabbed a wheelbarrow and a bucket and broom and set off down the gravel driveway to the golf-club grounds.

Meanwhile, Gordon’s Cheeseman’s rampage had left Issie’s dressage test in tatters. She was relieved when Judge Marjory told her that the rules stated that she could start the test again from the point she had reached when the interruption occurred. Issie tried to restart the test, but by now Fortune was so stressed out and confused that when Issie rode him back into the ring he wasn’t listening to her at all. On the first movement he managed to mess up his twenty-metre circles and even
cantered on the wrong leg. Then disaster struck. As he came around the arena back to the point where he had spooked last time Fortune suddenly lost his cool completely, flipped out and took a sideways leap over the rope—jumping clear out of the ring!

Issie managed somehow to stay onboard, but jumping out of the ring meant instant elimination. The judge had no choice. She reluctantly honked the horn, disqualifying them.

“It wasn’t Fortune’s fault!” Issie was almost in tears when she met Aidan back at the horse truck. “Honestly, it’s so frustrating. I had him going really well before that golf-club manager turned up acting like a crazy person in the middle of the arena…”

“Issie!”

Her complaints were cut short by Avery’s arrival back at the truck. He had some good news. “I’ve managed to get Fortune a reprieve,” he told them. “The judge agrees that there were circumstances beyond your control and the fright from the interruption was the reason Fortune spooked. She’s willing to give you another go. But it’s too late for another chance in the novice class. All the competitors have completed their test now and the class has been closed off.”

“That doesn’t sound like a reprieve.” Issie was confused.

“I haven’t finished,” Avery said. “The judge has agreed to add you to the advanced class. She’s going to let you go first at the front of the schedule. You can ride the advanced test.”

“But I haven’t learnt it!” Issie was horrified. “And Fortune isn’t ready to compete at that level.”

“I’m not saying you’ll win the class,” Avery conceded, “but it would be good for Fortune to have a positive experience in the arena. Horses remember things and we don’t want him having a bad memory of his first dressage day. It could scar him emotionally and he’ll be jumping out of the arena every time he competes.”

Issie knew this was true. As for learning the test, Aidan promised to be her caller—the person who stands beside the dressage ring and yells out to the rider, telling them what movement comes next.

There was just enough time before Issie’s turn for Aidan to do a practice run-through with her and then, before she knew what was happening, Issie was riding Fortune back into the ring for the third time that day, this time to do an advanced test!

From the sideline, Aidan’s voice rang clear as a bell, “Enter at A—proceed, halt and salute at X” as Issie and
Fortune entered and saluted the judge.

“Proceed to C at a trot, turn left and canter at H!” Aidan shouted. Issie and Fortune struck off perfectly on his cues, turning left where the letter C was painted on to a block, going neatly into a canter when they reached the painted letter H.

“Canter down the arena and trot at K…” Aidan called out.

Again, Issie and Fortune followed his instructions perfectly. The piebald was riding brilliantly. There was a moment when they had reached the “black spot” and Issie thought Fortune might try to jump out of the ring again. She kept her hands firm and her legs on and rode Fortune forward really positively and this time the piebald didn’t spook at all. After that it was plain sailing as Fortune did a brilliant test. Issie rode out of the ring as if she was floating on a cloud. She was thrilled.

Meanwhile, in the judge’s car, Marjory Allwell was still recovering from her run-in with the dreadful Gordon Cheeseman. Honestly, what was wrong with people these days? Didn’t they know that there were rules? Marjory Allwell, though, was in for another shock. It turned out that someone else didn’t know the rules, particularly the one that stated that no one was allowed
to talk to dressage judges while they were working.

Marjory was sitting in her car, with her assistant in the passenger seat next to her. The piebald pony had just finished and Marjory had honked her horn to let the next competitor know that they could enter the ring, when suddenly, the back door of the car swung open and a man jumped into the rear passenger seat so that he was sitting right behind her.

“Mind if I join you?” he said.

“Actually,” replied Judge Marjory, “the next competitor is just about to enter the arena and this is most inappropriate…”

“Oh right, of course,” Oliver Tucker said, totally ignoring her and thrusting his hand across the seats for Marjory to shake. “I’m Oliver Tucker, Chevalier Point Pony Club president.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mr Tucker,” Judge Marjory said in a reserved tone. She didn’t take his hand and made it quite clear that she wanted him to leave. “I’m afraid this is not a good time…”

Morgan Chatswood-Smith on Black Jack had now entered the arena and Marjory was doing her best to concentrate as Morgan gave her a salute.

“Hey, your judge-ness!” Oliver Tucker leant over her
shoulder. “What do you think? Awful legs on that one, eh?” He pointed at Black Jack. “Horrible bandy creature and a bit knock-kneed to boot, don’t you think?”

“Mr Tucker!” Judge Marjory said. Hadn’t she been quite firm enough? Why wouldn’t this man leave?

She considered honking her car horn and stopping the rider in the ring while she called for help, but there had already been enough delays and upsets for one day. She was beginning to wish she had never come to Chevalier Point as a guest judge. The man in the back seat clearly didn’t have a clue what he was talking about! Bandy? Knock-kneed? They weren’t even equestrian terms! What’s more, he was the club president! Surely he must realise that it was strictly against the rules to talk to the judge when she was working?

“Now there’s a stunning specimen!” Oliver Tucker continued, pointing out his own daughter who was warming up on Romeo. “That’s a Selle Francais that horse—beautiful animal, don’t you think? I’m sure you’ll want him to win the competition. There might even be a little something extra in your pay cheque if you gave him a good score…”

The judge looked at Oliver Tucker in horror. “Mr Tucker! I’m trying to work here—I don’t have time to
look at other horses, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to bribe me. If you are, I need to tell you that the pony-club association takes this sort of matter very seriously!”

Oliver Tucker smiled his shark-like grin. “Not at all, your judge-ness. I wasn’t trying to do anything like that. I’m just giving you a tip-off, helping you out.”

“Well,” Marjory Allwell said coolly, “I would prefer it if you stopped helping me, thank you, Mr Tucker. In fact, I would prefer it if you would stop speaking to me altogether. I’m going to have to insist that you get out of my car!”

“Of course, of course!” Mr Tucker gave her a wink. “You’re right. It’s best if we’re not seen together like this. We wouldn’t want people to know we’ve made a deal, would we?”

“That wasn’t what I meant at all!” said Judge Marjory. But Mr Tucker had already departed, leaving her gasping like a goldfish at his outrageous behaviour.

Ironically for Oliver Tucker, he needn’t have bothered to try and bribe the judge because Natasha and Romeo put in the best test of the day anyway. Poor Marjory Allwell was frightfully embarrassed when the prize-giving was held in the clubroom at the end of the day, and she
had to hand Natasha the red rosette with Oliver Tucker at the front of the crowd making a big display of winking at her.

“Your daughter won the competition fair and square, Mr Tucker,” Judge Marjory said loudly.

“Of course she did!” Oliver Tucker grinned. “Say no more, Marjory!”

Morgan had won the second place rosette, Dan Halliday was third on Madonna, and Issie was thrilled when the judge announced her as the fourth best score of the day and handed her an apricot-coloured rosette. Issie wasn’t worried about losing to Natasha, Morgan and Dan. They had all done excellent tests and really, considering the drama with Gordon Cheeseman and the fact that this was Fortune’s first-ever advanced test, the piebald’s performance had been incredible.

Gordon Cheeseman’s hissy fit had turned out to be something of a blessing in disguise. Issie would never have dreamt of riding Fortune in an advanced test, but now that she had done so, she realised that the piebald was capable of much more than she had imagined.

Issie cast a glance across the clubroom to the cabinet where the Natasha Tucker Memorial Trophy sat gleaming. Maybe she did stand a chance of winning it. Fortune was
going so brilliantly, after today’s dressage test she was confident the piebald could be ready to compete. The Open Gymkhana was still nearly a month away and today’s performance had renewed her faith. It was time to get training…

“Admiring my trophy?” Natasha’s snide remark rocked Issie back to reality. She turned around to see the snooty blonde standing right beside her.

“Enjoy looking at it while you can,” continued Natasha, “because unless you pull your socks up it’ll be going home with me.”

“You haven’t won it yet, Natasha,” Issie said.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Yeah,
whatever
, Isadora! Don’t you think it’s time for you to come to terms with the fact that things have changed around here? You’re still riding your scruffy ponies and I’m on a proper sport-horse. When are you going to realise you’re just not in my league?”

And with that, Natasha turned on her heel and headed out of the clubroom. Issie watched her leave, and at that moment a sense of determination swept over her. Suddenly, she wanted to win the trophy very badly. More than that, she wanted to make sure that Stuck-up Tucker had her comeuppance once and for
all. Fortune would be ready in time for the Open Gymkhana, Issie would make sure of that. They were going to give Natasha a run for her money.