Fortune and the Golden Trophy (7 page)

“Hey, Fortune,” Issie said to the piebald. “Turns out the grass really is greener on the other side of the fence.”

She looked at Mystic. “Can you keep an eye on him while I get his halter?” she asked the grey gelding.

Mystic seemed happy enough to babysit and when Issie came back Fortune was exactly where he had been before, with his head down, tucking into the long grass. She
slipped the halter easily over his head and led the piebald back through the gap in the fence and into his paddock again.

Once Fortune was safely inside, she tied him up then went back to the pony-club sheds and grabbed a couple of painted poles that were used for jumping. She propped these up lengthwise, across the front of the hole, to serve as a makeshift barrier.

“That should stop you escaping until we can fix it properly tomorrow,” she told Fortune.

Fortune didn’t look at all pleased about having his midnight feast curtailed. When Issie slipped his halter off he went over to the rails and gave them a sniff, as if he was disappointed that his escape had been thwarted.

“Thank goodness you’re such a greedy pony,” Issie said. Whoever had cut the hole in the fence tonight must have expected Fortune to race off. She might never have found him if Fortune hadn’t listened to his tummy and paused to eat. Issie looked hard at the hole in the fence. The wires had been deliberately cut and the palings had been pulled away. There was no way this was an accident. Someone had wanted Fortune to get out tonight. But why?

When Avery arrived the next morning with some number eight wire to fix the hole in the fence he was shocked by the size of it.

“When you told me the fence needed mending I was expecting a broken strand or two,” he told Issie. “Look at the way the wire’s been cut and bent back. It’s definitely been done on purpose.”

Avery put down his tool kit and walked through the hole to examine the state of the golf green. “It doesn’t look too bad,” he said. “If you hadn’t caught Fortune as quickly as you did, he could have badly damaged the golf course.”

“I thought you’d be worried about the horse, not the grass,” Issie said.

Avery sighed. “Under normal circumstances yes, but not when you’re dealing with Gordon Cheeseman.”

“Who’s Gordon Cheeseman?”

“The golf-club manager. He absolutely loathes the pony club. He’s had it in for us for years, looking for any excuse to start yet another war with the pony-club committee. All we’d need is hoof prints on one of his precious putting greens and he’d go ballistic.”

“Lucky for us then that Fortune is such a greedy pig and just headed for the long grass,” Issie said.

Avery frowned at this comment then opened up his tool kit, selecting a wire tightener and getting to work on the fence.

“So,” Issie continued, “who do you think has done this?”

Avery pondered this question as he worked. “Vandals perhaps, trying to let horses loose on the golf course as some kind of stupid joke. Or maybe it was someone who was planning to steal a horse? It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”

Issie shook her head. “I can see why they’d want to steal Blaze or Comet, but I can’t imagine anyone in their right mind wanting to steal Fortune.”

Avery stopped work and turned to look at Issie. “You know, that’s the second time in this conversation that
you’ve insulted Fortune. In fact, come to think of it, I haven’t heard you say a single positive thing about that piebald since he got here. I imagine you think it’s funny, making jokes about him, but I think there’s something more serious going on here, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?” Issie was taken aback. Avery seemed really serious.

“I heard you talking about Fortune at the rally day too,” he continued, “making jokes about him. You run him down all the time, Issie. It’s clear you don’t like him.”

“It’s not that!” Issie defended herself. “I don’t mean to be like that. It’s just, well…look at him! He’s not a star like Comet or Blaze, is he? He’s totally nutty. All he seems to want to do is eat and sleep. Besides, Aunty Hess just dumped him on me and he’s—”

Avery cut her off. “I know you didn’t ask to be given the responsibility of training Fortune. But you agreed to take him on when Aidan brought him here, and now you have to do that, for Fortune’s sake.” Avery paused. “You know, I seem to recall that when I brought Blaze to you and asked you to look after her, she wasn’t exactly in top condition either. So why aren’t you treating Fortune the way you treated her?”

“I don’t know,” groaned Issie. “It’s just such bad timing. I’ve already got two horses—I don’t need another. If I want to win the Tucker Trophy, I should really be focusing on Comet or Blaze. I don’t stand a chance on Fortune.”

“Is that really what’s worrying you?” Avery said. “Winning that trophy?”

Issie nodded. “I know I shouldn’t care about it, but Natasha has been winding me up no end. It’s all right for her. She has her really expensive sport-horse and I’ve been lumbered with this crazy piebald. He’s going to ruin my chances of winning.”

Avery shook his head in disbelief. “Issie, don’t you realise you have a special opportunity with this horse?”

“What do you mean?”

“Sure, it’s easy to look good when you have a horse like Romeo—there’s no challenge. But if you can take a horse like Fortune and put the work in and turn him into a performance sport-horse, that’s the mark of a real rider,” Avery said.

“I’ve seen brilliant riders take a $200 horse that was on its way to the knacker’s yard and turn it into a grand prix showjumper. A great rider can turn the worst problem horse into a champion.” Then he added, “I’ve also seen
riders like Natasha, who take a perfectly good horse and turn it sour by treating it badly. She might succeed on that horse for a while, but eventually her attitude will cause problems.”

At that moment Issie saw clearly what Avery was driving at. How many horses had Natasha been through since she’d joined the Chevalier Point Pony Club? There had been Goldrush, then Fabergé and now Romeo. They were all brilliant when they arrived at Chevalier Point. They were the sort of horses that Issie dreamt of owning. But Natasha was never happy with any of them. Right from the start, she blamed them for her own faults as a rider and so the horses became worse until she gave up and sold them on.

Issie looked at Fortune, grazing happily at the other side of the paddock. How could she have been so heartless? She had been acting like Natasha towards the piebald from the moment he arrived, and Avery was right: it really wasn’t funny. OK, so Fortune was a bit peculiar, but had Issie given him a chance to prove how special he was too? She had the chance to make or break this horse. Issie needed to change her attitude if she was going to help Fortune.

She nodded. “I guess we got off on the wrong foot.”

Avery nodded. “Lucky for you he has four of them, so I think there’s a chance you can start again.” Avery gave the last wire a twist as he finished his fix-up job and then began to pack up his tool kit.

“Why don’t we start straight away?” he suggested. “I’ve arranged with Stella and Kate to meet me here at midday for a dressage lesson. Why don’t you saddle Fortune up and join in too?”

Issie smiled gratefully at her instructor. “That sounds like just what we need, Tom.”

There was a grunt from the far side of the field as Fortune stopped grazing and dropped down to the ground for his mid-morning nap.

Issie shook her head and grinned. OK, so the piebald had some quirks, but who cared? There was a star buried somewhere in that pony and now she was determined to make it shine.

When Stella and Kate arrived at the club they were very excited by the news of Fortune’s bid for freedom.

“It wasn’t much of a getaway,” Issie admitted as she saddled up. “He only went a couple of metres and then he gave up and decided to eat instead.”

“It’s weird though,” Kate said. “Who would cut a hole in the pony-club fence?”

“Ohmygod!” Stella suddenly froze. “Morgan is back at the club this season. Now she’s in the running for the trophy, maybe she’s gone off the deep end again?”

Issie shook her head. “I don’t think so. Morgan is totally over that whole thing and besides, if anything went wrong, she knows that she’d be the first person we’d suspect. Also it doesn’t make sense. If you wanted to win the Tucker Trophy, you’d sabotage Natasha’s horse, not Fortune. He’s the least likely to win it.”

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Issie realised she was running her horse down again without even thinking about it.

“I’m sorry, Fortune,” she said, speaking sincerely to the piebald. “I didn’t mean that you won’t win. I just meant you’re an outside chance.” She stroked the pony gently on his Roman nose. “But we’ll show them, won’t we?”

Fortune gave a grunt of pleasure as Issie stroked him and then took the opportunity to get closer and loll his head over Issie’s shoulder, using her as a leaning post.

“Look at him!” Issie giggled. “He’ll probably fall asleep like that and start snoring in a minute.”

“Aw,” Stella said. “Look at you two! New best friends!”

Issie shrugged. “You could say that. Fortune and I are making a fresh start.”

The piebald and Issie had made friends, but that didn’t mean Fortune had miraculously transformed into the perfect horse. When the three girls began their lesson he was still nappy at first, refusing to move forward. But as Avery instructed Issie, asking her to work her legs more on the piebald, and create impulsion, he began moving forward much more freely.

“More leg, Issie!” Avery insisted. “This horse needs firm aids. Give him a constant push,” Avery called out as they worked around the arena. “Blaze and Comet are both naturally very ‘forward’ horses; they’ve got so much pep you don’t need to use as much leg on them. But Fortune requires more effort from you. Adapt your riding style to suit your horse.”

At that moment, it clicked. Issie realised that she hadn’t been changing her style at all. Blaze and Comet were both highly-strung tearaways, whereas Fortune was a slow and solid mover. He needed the encouragement of clear, firm aids and plenty of leg to get him moving briskly.

Issie began to rethink her riding, trying to tailor her technique to suit her horse. Instead of giving girly little kicks with each stride, she clamped her leg on really firmly, asking the piebald to step through underneath her. It was like a light bulb had been switched on and Fortune responded instantly. His trot became loose and light and his neck arched so that he looked less like a donkey and more like a show horse. His powerful hindquarters finally engaged and his canter became uphill and elegant as he moved.

“Much better, Isadora!” Avery called out to her. “Now you’re really working him. Good stuff!”

“Good boy, Fortune!” Issie patted the black and white pony on his broad neck. They were making progress together at last.

The lesson was so good that Issie wished she could have rewarded Fortune with a big bucket of pony nuts. But Avery was firm and insisted that Fortune received his diet handful of sugar beet and chaff.

“Poor Fortune,” Issie said as she watched the piebald hungrily craning his neck over the fence towards Toby and Comet, who were still chomping their way through enormous suppers.

“It’s for his own good,” Avery insisted. “You need to
start his trotting work too. A daily vigorous half-hour trot, remember, and no matter what, no walking. You have to get this horse moving to get rid of that belly.”

“He was already going much better today though, wasn’t he? He looked really great in the ring,” Issie said.

Avery agreed. “You had him going nicely in there, Issie.”

Issie looked embarrassed. “You were right, Tom…about it being my fault before. I guess I lost perspective and…”

But Avery wasn’t listening to her. He was staring over Issie’s shoulder with a quizzical expression. “Hello,” he said. “What’s he doing over here?”

A man was standing in the exact spot where Avery had fixed the wire this morning. He was short, bald and rather pink-faced, dressed in a traditional golfer’s outfit—a pair of checked plus fours worn with pink socks up to the knee, a pink polo shirt and a matching tam-o’-shanter hat with a pink fluffy bobble on the top. He looked utterly ridiculous and his behaviour was even more curious than his outfit. He kept staring at the fenceline and then bending down with his face right up against the grass as if he were sniffing the ground like a tracker dog.

“Oh, great,” Avery groaned. “Here we go again!”

Issie was confused. “Do you know him?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Avery sighed. “That’s Gordon Cheeseman, manager of the Chevalier Point Golf Club.”

As Avery said this the man looked up and saw him. He gave Avery a brisk wave that was more of a shake of his fist than a friendly greeting. Then he clambered over the wire fence in his voluminous plus fours and began to stride across the pony-club grounds towards them.

“Good afternoon, Gordon,” Avery called to him.

“I can’t see what’s good about it, Avery,” the man in the pink-bobbled hat snapped back.

“Is there a problem?”

“You know jolly well there is!” Gordon Cheeseman bit back. “Don’t think you can fool me. I know your horses are responsible.”

“Responsible for what?” asked Avery.

“Churning up the grass on my golf course,” Mr Cheeseman bellowed. “One of your horses has left hoof prints on the green at the eighteenth hole.”

Avery turned to Issie. “I thought you said Fortune hadn’t wandered far?”

Issie shrugged. “He hadn’t. He was next to the fenceline when I found him. I guess he might have
trodden on the very edge of the green.”