The Prize

“Can we not talk about this?” Emily said, getting upset. “I don’t want to lose any of my friends.”

“Geez, Emily, it’s only getting kicked out of cross-country class,” Daisy told her. “It’s not like life and death!”

“Isn’t it?” Alice questioned.

All the girls knew that at Blainford, where the cliques ruled the school, being Tara Kelly’s eventers was like a badge that you wore with pride. While the polo boys were rich and arrogant, the showjumperettes were glamorous and stuck-up, the westerns were laidback and the dressage geeks intense and uptight, the eventers stood out as fearless and loyal.

Apart from Kennedy and Arden, who had transferred from showjumping and had always made it quite clear that they wanted nothing to do with their classmates, Tara Kelly’s first-years were a tight-knit bunch.

The danger that they faced on the cross-country course gave them a sense of camaraderie. But there was also a fierce rivalry amongst them for class rankings. Tara Kelly went through her ruthless elimination cull of her pupils in the first year to make sure that only the very best were allowed to continue up the grades. The way Tara saw it, elimination wasn’t about ruining young lives, it was about saving them.

Eventing was a demanding subject – and a deadly one for any rider who wasn’t skilled enough to meet the challenge. Travelling at a fast gallop over solid fences meant huge risks for both horse and rider. Even the rodeo class had a grudging respect for the broken bone count in the eventing department. Incredibly, so far the first-year eventing class had avoided any major injuries.

Or at least they had done until now. As they left the stables and walked up the school driveway the girls spied Nicholas Laurent ahead of them. The French rider was one of their cross-country gang and he was on crutches and sporting a bright blue plaster cast on his leg that went all the way to the knee.

By the time the girls reached the dining hall, Nicholas was already in the queue, trying to hold his dinner tray whilst balancing on a single crutch. The other eventing boys – Cameron Fraser, Alex Chang and Matt Garrett – were all with him but none of them were offering to help. Instead, they were greedily dishing burgers and fries on to their own plates.

“Don’t you guys ever think about anyone else?” Alice said casting a dark look at Cameron and the others as she stepped forward to relieve the grateful Nicholas of his tray. “Nicholas, you go and sit down. I’ll get your food and bring it over for you.”

“Merci, Alice,” Nicholas said. “Get me extra frites, OK?” He hobbled off to take a seat at the eventers’ usual table while Alice piled his plate and her own. As soon as Laurent’s back was turned the girls began whispered speculations on the cause of the broken leg.

“Do you think he did it practising cross-country?” Emily asked.

Georgie shook her head. “I bet he did it on the hunt field in Bordeaux.”

“I hope the horse was OK,” Alice said looking back over her shoulder at him as she dished up the fries. “It looks like it must have been a bad fall.”

When the girls finally joined Nicholas and the other boys at the table, however, he refused to tell them anything about the accident.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Nicholas was adamant.

“Why not?” Matt Garrett frowned.

“Because…” Nicholas paused. “Because… it is no big deal. There is nothing to say.”

“Nicholas,” Alice was insistent, “you’re in a cast. You have crutches. It looks like a big deal to us.”

Nicholas shrugged.

“Come on,” Cameron persisted. “Tell us how you did it.”

Nicholas cast a sideways glance, checking the room to see if anyone else was near the eventers’ table.

“OK,” he said, leaning in over the table, his voice hushed in a conspiratorial tone. “I will tell you what happened.”

The riders all leaned in and waited in silence for him to speak. Nicholas looked serious. And then, in a quiet voice he said, “I was playing tennis.”

There was a choking sound as Matt Garrett almost snorted his orange juice out through his nose. “Tennis? Seriously? You did it playing tennis?”

Nicholas looked around the room nervously. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he said. “I’ve already had three girls ask to sign my cast. They think I did it falling off on a three-star course in Saumur. If they knew that I tripped making a backhand shot it wouldn’t be good for my reputation.”

The whole eventing table were laughing.

“It’s not funny,” Nicholas said indignantly. “It’s a hairline fracture at the ankle. I’ll be in this cast for seven weeks.”

“You’ve got to see the irony, Nicholas,” Alice said. “You’ve survived three terms in Tara’s class and then you go home for two weeks and manage to break a leg playing tennis!”

“Shhh!” Nicholas hushed her. “Someone will hear you.”

“Bad luck, mate,” Matt Garrett drawled in his heavy Australian accent. “I suppose this means you’re eliminated since you can’t ride?”

Nicholas glared at him. “No, actually. Tara’s offered me a place in the second year already based on my class ranking.”

“Is that so?” Matt looked less than impressed with this news. “Smart move, man – instant upgrade without any final exam pressure. Maybe I should have broken my leg too.”

“There’s plenty of time for that,” Nicholas shot back.

“I don’t think so, Nico,” Matt replied, turning back to his burger. “I don’t fall off.”

“If you were handing out a prize for arrogance how could you choose between Nicholas and Matt?” Alice said as they walked to class the next morning.

“I feel sorry for Nicholas,” Emily said. “It must be awful not being able to ride.”

“Totally,” Georgie agreed. “Tough as Tara’s classes are, it’s even worse when you’re not in them.”

Today, at last, Georgie was returning to cross-country class. But first she had regular morning school lessons to get through.

Blainford Academy split the school day into two halves. The morning classes were held in the main grounds of the college in the red brick Georgian buildings that surrounded the green square of grass in the middle of the school known as the quad.

Mornings were taken up with science and maths, French and German, geography and English – during which the Blainford girls dressed like students at any other exclusive private school, in blue pleated pinafore dresses and navy blazers with the school crest in pale blue and silver on the breast pocket.

But after lunch the pupils headed back to their boarding houses and changed into their ‘number twos’ – their riding uniform of navy jods and a pale blue shirt – in preparation for their afternoon lessons with their horses.

For Tara Kelly’s class the pupils were also required to wear back protectors, and as Georgie did up the Velcro straps on hers that afternoon she felt like her old self once more: back in the eventers’ ranks, where she belonged.

In the loose box beside her, Belle was tacked up and ready to go in her cross-country saddle and martingale. Georgie was bent down adjusting the tendon boots on the mare’s forelegs when she caught sight of someone leaning over the Dutch door. Georgie looked up expecting to see one of her classmates. Her smile evaporated when she caught sight of the glossy red hair and waspish features of Kennedy Kirkwood.

“So it’s true that you’re making a comeback?” Kennedy’s tone was sarky. “What a pity. I’d hoped it was just a vicious rumour.”

Georgie stood up and wiped her hands on her jods. “Yeah,” she said, “tough luck, Kennedy. And after you went to all that trouble of sabotaging me.”

“Wow!” Kennedy put her manicured hands to her face in mock horror. “That really hurts, Georgie. You know, it’s such a shame the way things have turned out with us.”

“Yeah,” Georgie agreed. “You’re right Kennedy. Where did things go wrong? Do you think it was when you tried to split up me and James by writing fake letters or when you nearly killed me by barging into my horse on the cross-country course?”

“Oh, poor Georgie!” Kennedy sighed. “It’s always someone else’s fault, isn’t it? You’re always looking for someone to blame for your failures. Playing for sympathy because you’ve got no breeding, no money, no talent and no mommy.”

Georgie was speechless. Even by Kirkwood standards it was vicious.

Kennedy looked Georgie right in the eye, her voice as cold as steel. “You’ve been a thorn in my side ever since you got to this school. I’ve watched my lame brother fall for your British act like he’s Prince William and you’re Kate Middleton. And I’ve watched Tara treat you like you’re something special. But the truth is you don’t deserve to be at Blainford. You think the past three terms have been tough, Parker? You’ve got no idea how miserable I can make your wormy little life.”

“Is that a threat?” Georgie asked in disbelief.

“Duh!” Kennedy pulled a face. “I’m a Kirkwood. We don’t make threats. We have staff to do that stuff for us.”

Smirking, Kennedy turned to leave and then swung back around. “By the way, my boyfriend asked me to remind you you’re on Fatigues this week. He hasn’t forgotten, and he’s got something special planned, just for you.”

Chapter Three

Typical Kennedy, Georgie fumed as she led Belle out of her box, she waits until now to confront me so that she’ll throw me off my game right before Tara’s class.

She knew Kennedy well enough to recognise her transparent tactics, but that didn’t make it any easier to calm down. She was still bristling with latent fury as she rode towards her classmates who were already assembling on the cross-country course.

“What’s up with you?” Alice asked when saw the look on Georgie’s face.

“Kennedy is what’s up,” Georgie hissed. She could see the showjumperettes watching and she didn’t want to give Kennedy the satisfaction of knowing they were talking about her. “She’s a total witch!”

“And this is news how?” Alice muttered back. “Georgie, you know she only has it in for you because she thinks you’re a threat…”

The students suddenly fell silent as a young woman wearing dove grey jodhpurs and a crisp white blouse walked to the front leading a bay gelding. Her demeanour made it clear that she was in charge.

“Welcome back,” Tara Kelly said. “I know your horses are fresh from having two weeks’ holiday, and Alice has a new horse who has never done cross-country before, so we are going to spend the day doing confidence-building exercises.”

The eventing mistress mounted up on the handsome bright bay, which Georgie now recognised as Lagerfeld, Nicholas Laurent’s well-bred Selle Francais. Tara was keeping the horse in work while Nicholas was in plaster.

“Our basics today consist of three classic ‘bogey’ fences,” Tara said, “and the twist is, we’re going to be jumping them at a walk.”

Daisy looked at the ditch that Tara had nominated as their first fence. “She can’t be serious!”

Alex Chang raised a tentative hand.

“Yes, Alex?”

“I don’t get it,” Alex said. “We’re never going to walk over jumps in a real-life cross-country, are we?”

“No,” Tara agreed. “But there are many things that we do when we are schooling that we wouldn’t do in actual competition. Can anyone tell me what the benefits are of schooling over jumps at a walk?”

“It’s slower?” Emily said.

The others sniggered but Tara confirmed that she was right, “Exactly! The slower the pace that you come at a fence, the more time you have to think and react. Any other reasons?”

No one else raised a hand. “Keeping our horses in a walk allows them to stay cool and calm,” Tara said. “It gives them a chance to negotiate the fence. Remember, it’s the horse’s job to get over it, not yours! They must learn to be clever jumpers.”

Tara walked Lagerfeld over towards the first jump, a narrow ditch.

“It’s not a big ditch,” Tara said. She adjusted her reins to prepare the gelding. “I’m going to let Lagerfeld take a good look as he approaches it.”

Lagerfeld walked forward until he was just a couple of metres in front of the fence. Then the big bay suddenly realised that there was a channel in the ground ahead of him and with a stricken snort he tried to back off. Tara kept calm her legs firmly on at his sides. Lagerfeld lowered his head so that he could get a really good look, with his nose almost down in the ditch and then with a grunt he took one more step and then vaulted it with an ungainly deer leap. Tara stayed with him in the saddle and pulled him up neatly on the other side of the ditch.

“Good boy!” Tara said giving the big bay a slappy pat on his glossy neck.

“As you can see, the key is to let them look but keep them moving forward. Right! Mr Fraser, I think we’ll have you over it next. No jogging, no trotting and absolutely no cantering. And on no account do we ever turn them away or let them refuse!”

One by one, the riders took their turns walking over the ditch. When the time came for Caspian’s turn he seemed quite spooked by the jump, giving guttural snorts that sounded like a steam train being channelled through his nostrils.

“Don’t turn him away, Alice!” Tara was firm. “Back him up three strides and then push him forward again!”

Alice did as she was told, and with much dramatic snorting and fretting Caspian took three steps and popped over the ditch.

“Excellent! Make a fuss of him!” Tara called out.

The water jump was next. The horses had to step off a ledge less than half a metre high and into the pond below. Again, the novice Caspian snorted and fussed on the water’s edge. “Keep him moving forward, that’s it!” Tara encouraged as Alice urged the horse with a brisk bounce of her heels against his sides.

Surprisingly, some of the other riders with more experienced horses also had trouble at the water. When Cameron and Paddy stopped dead on the edge of the pond and the big piebald dithered on the bank Tara wasn’t very impressed

“Come on, Mr Fraser!” she commanded. “If you can’t get your horse to walk through this little puddle then how on earth do you expect it to leap into the lake at the Burghley Horse Trials?”

The last fence the horses had to tackle was a downhill staircase, a series of three low steps cut into a bank, each with a stride between them. Tara encouraged the riders to walk their horses down the tiers on a loose rein. When Matt Garrett’s horse, a handsome dun called Tigerland, managed to lose his footing and trip down a step, Tara praised Matt for staying still in the saddle and letting the horse find his feet again.

“That’s right!” Tara said, “Give him a pat. Making mistakes like that is natural – that’s how they learn.”

Georgie had thought that walking Belle over obstacles would be a bit dull, but this was a trust-building exercise and the mare seemed to blossom as she tackled the jumps with Georgie’s gentle support. Belle took it all in her stride, negotiating the ditch with a graceful leap. The mare splashed about happily in the water jump, pawing at the water so keenly that Georgie worried for a moment that she might actually try to drop down to her knees and roll for the sheer fun of it. At the staircase, the riders had only had one chance to tackle the jump when Tara called it a day.

“We’ll have to leave it at that I’m afraid,” Tara told the class. “There’s an assembly for first-year pupils this afternoon. Can you all take your horses back to the stables and then meet me at the indoor arena in fifteen minutes, please?”

“What’s this about?” Daisy demanded as the girls headed for the indoor arena. “We’re missing a whole hour of class.”

“I don’t get why we’re going to the indoor arena,” Emily said. “If it’s school notices or something Tara could have just told us out on the cross-country course.”

As they entered the arena the girls noticed other first years also arriving. Georgie spotted dressage riders Mitty Janssen and Isabel Weiss already seated with their classmates in the tiered seats facing the sawdust arena.

“The Westerns are here too,” Alice noted as she spied Tyler McGuane and Bunny Redpath making their way up the stairs to sit with Jenner Philips and Blair Danner.

The eventers were nearly the last ones in so they sat in the front two rows. Georgie, Alice, Daisy and Emily crammed into the end seats of the second row right behind Alex and Cam.

Cam was looking worried. “What if they’re going to spring a test on us?” he fretted. “I haven’t studied!”

Alice sighed. “It’s our first day back, Cam. None of us have studied.”

The last students to arrive were Kennedy and Arden. They made a pointed display of sitting as far away as possible from Georgie and the Badminton girls.

Suddenly the overhead lights in the rig above the arena popped and crackled into life, casting a white glare over the sand. Voices could be heard in the wings of the main entrance and a moment later Tara Kelly strode in accompanied by three other members of the Blainford teaching staff – dressage teacher Bettina Schmidt, showjumping master Trent Chase, and Hank ‘Shep’ Shepard, the head of the Western faculty.

Walking alongside them wearing stiff brown tweed was Mrs Dickins-Thomson, Blainford’s headmistress.

If she were a horse, Mrs Dickins-Thomson would have been a rangy Thoroughbred. Her long face was dominated by a Roman nose and a mane of chestnut hair. Formidable and stern, the headmistress possessed a commanding presence – and the first-year students fell respectfully silent as she cleared her throat to speak.

“For many years now Blainford Academy has built a reputation as the premier equestrian institute in the world. Our pupils go on to become world champions in every field. But to maintain that status we must move with the times and adapt. We have to ensure that the skills that you are learning at the school are directly applicable to the workforce.”

Mrs Dickins-Thomson paused. “And that is why, for the first time, we are introducing the new first-year apprentice programme.”

The bewildered faces of the young riders stared back at her.

“Hey, does she mean like that TV show with Alan Sugar?” Cameron whispered.

Alice kicked his seat to make him shut up.

“The Blainford apprenticeship programme utilises the resource of former pupils, alumni of the Academy, who have kindly agreed to take a current pupil under their wing,” Mrs Dickens-Thomson explained. “You will spend one term as their apprentice and your performance will be assessed as your final exam for the year.”

Alice boldly raised her hand. “Do you mean that they’re going to be, like, our private instructors?”

Mrs Dickins-Thomson shook her head. “No, Alice, not your instructors. They are your employers. This is not a classroom situation we’re putting you into – this is real life. You’ll be working as professional grooms. They will treat you exactly as they would their own employees. They have the power to hire or fire you and, since this is the real world, there will be no makeup test and no reprieves…”

Georgie felt as if Mrs Dickins-Thomson was referring specifically to her.

The headmistress clapped her hands briskly together. “Starting from next week you are apprenticed to your new masters. We haven’t been able to place all of you within your unique disciplines. However, your apprenticeships will provide you with valuable experience and skills. So no complaints please because there will be no transfers. It goes without saying that I expect all of you to represent your school in the appropriate manner and show our former pupils that Blainford remains the best equestrian academy in the United States.”

“For most of you the routine of normal morning classes here at the school will not alter,” the headmistress told them. “All afternoon classes will be cancelled so that you can attend your apprenticeships from next week onward. Also, when required, you may be given additional weekend leave to perform your duties as many of these riders will require you on weekends for competitions.”

The first-years began chattering excitedly and Mrs Dickins-Thomson raised her hand to demand silence before she spoke again.

“It gives me great pleasure now to introduce you to your new employers.” The headmistress turned to face the entrance to the arena. “Former pupils of the Academy, would you please come out into the arena and join us?”

Through the doorway a group of men and women appeared, some of them dressed in jodhpurs, others in jeans, T-shirts and baseball caps, walking in unison towards the headmistress across the sand.

“That woman at the front looks really familiar,” Alice frowned as she stared at the woman in the beige jods and yellow jersey.

“Ohmygod!” Emily clapped a hand over her mouth in shock. “It’s Tina Dixon! I just saw a photo of her in Horsing Around Magazine.”

Blonde and tanned, Tina Dixon was engrossed in conversation with a hard-faced woman with short cropped brown hair.

“That’s Allegra Hickman talking to her,” Alex Chang said. “She’s the only American to ever be ranked in the top ten dressage riders in the world.”

Beside Allegra, a tall man with honey-coloured hair and a matching tan cast a supercilious glance across the arena.

“Dominic Blackwell,” Alice hissed in Georgie’s ear. “Cherry has a poster of him on her wall at home. He’s a showjumper – he’s in the national team.”

It was strange, to see these famous riders right here in front of them, talking and laughing with each other. It was becoming clear that every one of the men and women in the arena was an equestrian superstar.

“Right!” Mrs Dickins-Thomson continued. “We’re going to do this class by class, beginning with Tara Kelly’s eventing pupils.”

Tara stepped forward and opened the manila folder in her hands.

“I’m going to call you out one by one to come down to the arena to be introduced to your new employer.”

Tara read the first name on her list.

“Emily Tait?”

Emily looked extremely nervous as she stood up and walked down between the seats to the arena. Painfully shy at the best of times, she was almost shaking as she stood in front of the elite riders that were assembled behind Tara Kelly.

“Emily is from New Zealand and she’s consistently at the top of my class rankings,” Tara did the introductions. “Emily, I am pairing you with Tina Dixon. Tina, as you are all no doubt aware, recently came third at the Lexington Four-star event and has made the US eventing development squad.”

Tina Dixon stepped forward, waved to the class and thrust out a tanned and sinewy arm to shake hands with Emily. “I’ve already got a New Zealander grooming for me so you’ll fit right in with my team,” she informed her. “Welcome aboard.”

“Alice Dupree?” Tara called the next name on the list.

Alice looked more excited than daunted as she took her turn to join the superstars in the arena.

“Alice is from Maryland where her family breeds eventers and showjumpers,” Tara told the assembled riders. “Jumping is her strength, but her dressage needs work so that’s why I’m assigning her to you, Allegra.”

The excited smile on Alice’s face slipped. She was being assigned to Allegra Hickman – a dressage rider!

If Tara noticed the look of disappointment on Alice’s face she didn’t acknowledge it.

“Allegra’s achievements include a gold medal at the games in Saumur for her musical dressage performance in the kur,” she read the notes in her folder to the class. “She currently has two Grand Prix mounts and four horses in her stables at Prix St Georges level and is a great supporter of the modern dressage method.”