The Prize (5 page)

“You can't give Fatigues. You're not a prefect, Kennedy,” Georgie glared at her.

“Her boyfriend is!” Arden, ever the lapdog, leapt to Kennedy's defence.

Kennedy stepped past Georgie to take up position at the front of the queue. “Just because Tara has stuck us together doesn't mean I have to be nice to you,” she sniped.

“Trust me,” Georgie said, “that never occurred to me.”

Kennedy and Arden took their seats at the back and Georgie stopped by the driver's seat to talk to Kenny.

“I hear my nephew's got that little chestnut lined up for the Firecracker,” Kenny said. Or at least that was what Georgie thought he said. Kenny had a mouthful of chewing tobacco and it was hard to understand him at the best of times.

“Uh-huh. I went along to Keeneland Park to watch Riley breeze him yesterday,” Georgie said, “He's pretty confident that Marco can win it.”

“Here's hopin',” Kenny said. “Clemency Farm sure could do with some good fortune right now.”

Georgie was going to ask Kenny what he meant by that, but there was a queue of riders behind her waiting to get onboard so she moved on.

Kenny set off down the driveway, steering the minibus along the broad tree-lined driveway of the Academy out the front gates and back towards the main road heading for Versailles. The distinctive dark-stained post and rail fences of the Academy gave way to the white post and rail fences of the surrounding bluegrass horse farms. This district was the best breeding pasture in the world for young Thoroughbreds. Over five hundred horse farms jigsawed in side-by-side into this tiny district.

Although the stables were state-of-the-art, from the outside these bluegrass farms had an honest, old-fashioned look about them with clusters of white wooden barns and red rooftops dominating the fields.

With so many top flight farms so close together it didn't take long for Kenny to do the rounds, dropping off the students at their appointed employers. He had dropped off half of his passengers by the time he reached the farm gates of the Blackwell Estate.

Two white Doric pillars topped with the giant golden initials D and B marked out the front gates, and instead of a limestone driveway like most farms in the district, the path to the stables and the house was tarmac. As the minibus eased up the drive Georgie saw black and silver stable blocks, a tennis court and a swimming pool, and a house that looked like a giant iced wedding cake, with more massive white columns running along the front.

“Georgie and Kennedy?” Kenny drawled, “This one's your stop.”

Georgie grabbed her bag and followed Kennedy off the bus.

The doors eased shut the minute that they got off and Kenny was gone, leaving the two girls alone in front of the wedding cake's front door.

“Nice house,” Georgie said.

Kennedy gave a hollow laugh. “You're kidding me! A tarmac driveway? That's so tacky! Totally nouveau riche. I mean, who decorated this place? Simon Cowell?”

Georgie had never thought about the social implications of tarmac before, and she was still boggling over this when Dominic Blackwell appeared from the stables.

“My new grooms have arrived!” he said, extending a hand to shake. “Julie and Kelly, yes?”

“Georgie and Kennedy,” Georgie smiled.

“Close enough,” Dominic Blackwell said, clearly not too pleased about being corrected. “Follow me, girls. You're about to enter the best stables in the Northern Hemisphere!”

From the outside, the stables looked like a modern art gallery – or maybe a top secret aircraft hangar – all jet-black aerodynamics and cool steel. Dominic Blackwell pressed a button and the sleek sliding doors eased back.

“I've got nine horses in work,” he told the girls. “The feeding schedule must be kept precisely. All loose boxes and equipment must be maintained to a meticulous standard. Blackwell runs a tight ship!”

Georgie looked around the stalls. The horses were gorgeous and the place was immaculate.

“How many other grooms work here?”

“Normally I have three or four grooms,” Dominic Blackwell hesitated, “but at the moment, Blackwell is having a few… staffing issues.”

“Oh,” Georgie said. “So how many other grooms are there right now?”

“As of this moment?” Dominic Blackwell raised both hands and pointed at Georgie and Kennedy. “Two.”

“Just us?” Georgie squeaked. “Looking after all of this?”

“Right! Follow me…” Dominic Blackwell ignored her comment and began to stride through the stables, giving a whirlwind tour. “The haylage is kept in the outdoor barn. The horses are boxed 24/7 and require four feeds a day. All feed formulations are written up on the whiteboard in the tack room. All tack must be polished before being put away. Hooves must be oiled and Stockholm tarred each night. Manes must be pulled and kept no longer than ten centimetres or a handspan wide and tails bobbed at the hocks. I like my horses plaited for events and I always require quartermarkers with my initials on their rumps…”

The list of duties and the exacting way in which Dominic Blackwell wanted the tasks around the yard executed seemed to be endless and incredibly complicated. Georgie grabbed the notebook and pen out of her backpack and scribbled as fast as she could, taking copious notes on Dominic Blackwell's likes and dislikes, and the various requirements of his nine horses.

Kennedy, meanwhile, wandered along like she was being given a tour of a particularly dull museum, barely looking at the exhibits as she strolled through. She was ignoring everything that Dominic was telling them; a fact that hadn't escaped him. When she gave a theatrical yawn as he was explaining the routine for mucking out the boxes, he finally called her on it.

“I'm sorry, Kelly,” Dominic glared at her, “but if my little tour is boring you, perhaps you'd like to return to the Academy and we can finish this apprenticeship right now before it's even started?”

Kennedy gazed back at her new boss with supreme confidence.

“My name isn't Kelly,” she said. “It's Kennedy – Kennedy Kirkwood. I believe you know my stepmother, Patricia Kirkwood?”

Suddenly, Dominic Blackwell's whole demeanour changed. His frown disappeared and was replaced by a charming smile.

“Patricia Kirkwood's stepdaughter!” he said gaily. “Well, imagine that! And how is darling Patricia these days?”

“Very well, thank you,” Kennedy replied. “She's been sponsoring Hans Schockelmann the showjumper for a long time now, as you probably know. She just bought a new horse for him to ride. His name is Tantalus. He's worth…”

“$15 million,” Dominic Blackwell finished her sentence. “Hans Schockelmann is one of my great rivals on the circuit of course. Blackwell would love to be given the ride on Tantalus. Do let your stepmother know that Blackwell has the best stables in the Northern Hemisphere and Blackwell is available should she ever want to change her sponsorship at any stage in the future.”

“Thank you, Dominic,” Kennedy said. “That's so sweet of you! As you might have guessed I do hold a lot of influence with my stepmother. She's really excited about this apprenticeship and is very keen that I do well on my placement.”

“Well, I'm sure your stepmother won't be disappointed,” Dominic Blackwell said, “…in fact, she'll be thrilled when you tell her that I have appointed you to the role of head girl.”

Head girl.

Georgie couldn't believe what she was hearing. In a professional stables the head girl was a very important and senior position above all the other grooms. The head girl was an experienced horsewoman who knew everything about workout routines, stabling, feeding regimes, and the general business of running a yard. Making Kennedy the head girl on the first day like this was a joke!

“Julie,” Blackwell said turning momentarily to Georgie. “Grab a pitchfork and start clearing the dung out of the boxes.”

He turned back to Kennedy. “Let me introduce you to the horses, Kennedy, and then you can help me with the afternoon workouts while Julie does the feeds.”

“My name is Georgie,” Georgie muttered. But Blackwell didn't hear her. He was too busy introducing his horses to the new head girl.

Chapter Five

A
lice Dupree sat in the minibus with a sense of impending doom. Ever since she had been assigned to apprentice to dressage rider Allegra Hickman she'd decided there was just one reasonable conclusion to be reached.

Tara Kelly must hate her.

What other explanation could there possibly be for lumbering Alice with the very worst assignment in the whole class?

If dressage was a vegetable, it would be Brussels sprouts. It was like torture – Alice had Caspian sitting idly in the stables when they should be doing cross-country lessons and here she was stuck with dressage grooming for a whole term!

With a thundercloud hovering over her head, Alice got off the minibus at Allegra Hickman's front gates. She was in such a foul mood that it took her a while to notice how nice the place was. There was a little white cottage with a wraparound veranda at the front, and a driveway edged by a hedge smothered in tiny white flowers led to the barn and stables out the back. The stables were big enough for eight horses and there was a concrete wash-down bay and a space to park the horse truck. It was all very basic, except for the dressage arena which was Olympic-sized.

In the arena, astride the most enormous black horse Alice had ever seen, was Allegra Hickman. She was wearing white jodhpurs, an old faded yellow shirt and a baseball cap on her head instead of a helmet. She sat in her dressage saddle with her legs long and straight, her hands held up delicately in front of her, as if she were proffering a silver cocktail tray filled with drinks. She had the most amazing posture, her spine erect and her eyes dead ahead as she came down the long side of the arena in a lovely extended trot and then headed towards a long bank of enormous mirrors that lined the far end of the arena. Once the black horse was positioned in front of the mirrors, Allegra Hickman slowed him down and began to trot on the spot, looking at herself in the mirror to check her position and the movement of the horse. The black horse lifted his white-bandaged legs in a perfect piaffe, then Allegra urged him seamlessly into a canter and began to weave sideways across the arena in a balletic half-pass.

As they reached the long side of the arena, Allegra spotted Alice standing and watching them. She pulled the black horse to a halt and then relaxed the reins so the horse could stretch his neck as she walked over to join her new apprentice.

“Hi!” she said. “I'm almost done. There's a seat over there.”

Alice looked over beyond the flowering hedge and saw a cute white wooden shed that looked a bit like a bus stop – a dinky shelter with a wooden bench seat at the side of the arena. She made her way over and sat down on the bench to watch Allegra finish the workout.

Allegra picked up her reins and the black horse elevated into the air like a hovercraft and floated across the school. The dressage trainer drove forward with her legs and held the black horse with her hands so that the energy collected beneath her. The great black stallion was like a coiled spring as they moved their way across the centre of the arena in a series of perfect one-tempi changes.

“I'm trying to get him to use his hindquarters more,” Allegra called out to Alice as she rode the flying changes. “Sometimes he has a tendency to be a little downhill and I really have to work him to keep him in front of my legs.”

Alice nodded but she had no idea what Allegra meant. As far as she could tell the horse looked perfect.

Allegra cantered around the arena and came down again to try the tempi changes once more. The black horse flung out his front legs like a schoolgirl doing double-dutch over a skipping rope.

“That was much better!” Allegra seemed pleased. “Did you notice how nicely he lifted his knees?”

As she continued to school the horse Allegra kept her focus but managed to also keep talking simultaneously the whole time to Alice. Even though it all looked perfect from the sidelines, Allegra was hyper-critical of her performance and was constantly pointing out when the horse performed nicely and when his movements needed improvement. “That pirouette was a bit rushed – my fault!” she would say. Or “watch how his trot improves when I ask for more energy…”

Alice found it surprisingly interesting to watch with Allegra's running commentary.

“This horse, Virtuoso, has just started competing at Grand Prix level so he knows the movements but he needs to establish them and make them second nature,” Allegra told Alice as she pushed the black stallion sideways in a canter half-pass all the way to the centre line and then back again in the opposite direction.

“Now that was a perfect half-pass, good lad!” She pulled the horse up to a walk and gave him a slappy pat on the neck to reward him. “Very good, Virtuoso!”

Allegra came over to the bench seat and dismounted.

“Right!” she said. “Your turn!”

“Me?” Alice squeaked. “I'm only grooming for you.”

“Not at this yard,” Allerga countered. “One of the perks of being on my team is that you get a regular private lesson. So why don't you mount up and we'll get started.”

“Ummm,” Alice wasn't sure how to phrase it without being rude, “I'm not really that into dressage.”

Allegra arched a sceptical eyebrow. “No, of course. You're an eventer, aren't you? Don't worry – I know the score. I was a Blainford pupil myself years ago and I don't imagine things have changed. The eventing kids all think they're far too cool to do anything except jumping – leave the dressage to the geeks, huh?”

“Umm, yeah, kind of.” Alice admitted.

Allegra shook her head in disbelief. “Well then, little miss eventer, why don't you get onboard and show me what you've got?”

She held out the reins and Alice ducked through the white post and rails fence and stepped on to the soft sand surface of the dressage arena.

“I'll leg you up,” Allegra offered.

Alice was about to say that she didn't need it but then she noticed the size of the black horse. Standing next to Virtuoso was like standing beside a mountain.

“I know, he's big,” Allegra said, clocking Alice's expression. “Seventeen hands. A typical warmblood in both build and temperament too. He's quite… opinionated.”

In the saddle, Alice's legs didn't even reach the stirrup irons. Allegra had to shorten the leathers by four holes.

“You'll learn to stretch and ride with your legs in the longer position while you're here,” Allegra told her, “But for now you can keep your stirrups short.”

Settling into the saddle, Alice picked up the reins and asked Virtuoso to move forwards. As soon as she put her legs on he stepped violently sideways underneath her.

“Too much with the right leg,” Allegra corrected her. “He thinks you want him to do a pirouette. You must be careful, Alice, he's so finely tuned that if you move your legs or your hands in any direction, or so much as lighten your seat bones to one side then Virtuoso will take that as a cue. Now, put your legs on lightly together and ask him to move forward at a walk and then go into trot.”

Alice tried again. She wrapped her lower legs around the enormous girth of the black horse and with the gentlest squeeze she asked him to walk and then asked again to trot.

The power of the horse beneath her felt like a rocket igniting its thrusters. Virtuoso's strides almost took her breath away as he sprang forward into a trot that was so elevated and graceful the horse seemed to almost float in the air between strides. Alice had to gather her wits about her to stay with him as he flew along the long side of the arena.

“That's good,” Allegra said. “Don't try to slow him down. I know his movement feels huge but you must keep your legs strong. Ride him from the hocks! Balance him back with your seat! Now bring him across the arena and ask him to extend that trot.”

Alice turned across from the corner of the arena and clucked with her tongue. “Come on, boy!”

Baffled by her aids, Virtuoso suddenly tried to launch into a canter, and then, when Alice panicked and pulled back on the reins, he threw his head up in the air.

Alice kept a firm grip and tried to regain control with the reins, but now Virtuoso really took offence. As his rider flailed wildly to control him, Virtuoso mistook her confused cues as a request for a pirouette and in a swift, single manoeuvre the massive black horse began to pivot on his hindquarters and fling his front legs around so that he was spinning in a circle. Alice lost both her stirrups and suddenly fell forward on to his neck.

Virtuoso gave a startled snort and then launched himself straight up into the air with a massive buck. Alice had nothing to hold her in the saddle and went flying through the air. Her last thought before she hit the sand was that it was a very long way to fall off this big black horse.

One thing eventers know how to do though is fall off. Alice landed with a tumble roll and was on her feet again before Allegra Hickman had reached her side.

“I'm OK,” Alice said, dusting herself off, feeling slightly shaken. “I just wasn't really expecting that.”

“Neither was he!” Allegra Hickman replied. “If you bounce around on his back like that then you're going to be eating sand every day for the rest of term.”

Alice looked hurt. “He's a difficult horse.”

“He's not,” Allegra Hickman disagreed. “But if you make a mistake he'll call you on it straight away just like he did today. Don't be afraid of that – you can use it to your advantage. If you ride him well, he'll reward you for it.”

“He looked so easy when you were on him,” Alice realised how lame this sounded as soon as the words left her mouth.

“That's the whole point of dressage,” Allegra Hickman replied. “You do it well and make it look easy, when in fact it's the hardest thing in the world.”

Allegra put a firm hand on Alice's shoulder. “Ready to get back up there?”

Alice looked nervous. Allegra smiled. “I'm gonna uncover your inner dressage geek, Alice Dupree – just you wait and see.”

Dominic Blackwell currently had four Grand Prix mounts: Maximillion, Polaris, Cameo and Cardinal, and five other extremely valuable up-and-coming Warmbloods in his stable.

“Nothing but the best, that's Blackwell's motto!” Blackwell told Georgie. “Blackwell has an eye for quality horse flesh.”

More like an eye for other people's chequebooks,
Georgie thought.

She knew that in the real world most professional riders didn't own their mounts. But it was the way that Dominic Blackwell talked about his horses as if they were money in the bank – just possessions instead of personalities. He spent his whole day on the phone making ingratiating cooing noises to appease his rich sponsors and hardly paid a blind bit of notice to the actual horses themselves.

Blackwell was in this sport for the money and prestige and it was clear that the lure of Patricia Kirkwood was driving him crazy. He literally fell over himself treating Kennedy like a princess, immediately giving her the riding duties on his second-string horses.

Georgie tried not to dwell on the unfairness of this as she mucked out the stables like Cinderella with a pitchfork in her hands. It wasn't that she minded the hard work, but when the final scores were tallied at the end of term there was no doubt which one of them would be getting the better mark from Dominic Blackwell.

Tacking up the gorgeous horses in the stables so that Kennedy could ride them almost broke Georgie's heart. She would have loved the chance to get onboard any of the exquisite showjumpers in Blackwell's string.

Kennedy, of course, was entirely unimpressed by the opportunity she'd been given. One horse was the same as the next as far as she was concerned.

It's not that Kennedy's a bad rider
, Georgie thought. It was more that she lacked a natural empathy for the horses that she rode. She'd been given lessons by some of the best instructors in the world but Kennedy still tended to ride robotically and treat every single horse as if it were exactly the same as the last. Compared to a rider like Riley, Kennedy had no instinct or feel.