Showjumpers

“Why didn’t you tell me he was your dad?” she groaned to James.

“I was having too much fun watching you,” James grinned. “Dad was totally stunned to have someone disagree with him. It doesn’t happen very often.”

Neither Mr or Mrs Kirkwood seemed to show much interest in Georgie – or in any of the teenagers, including their own children.

“This house is so big,” James told Georgie, “I came home once for mid-term break and it took them the whole week to realise I was even here!”

He’d meant the story to be funny, but Georgie thought how awful it would be to come back to an empty mansion and for no one even to notice you were home.

James had given her a quick tour of the ground floor before dinner and Georgie had been overwhelmed by the luxury and size of the mansion.

“Don’t leave me behind,” she told James as she trailed after him. “I may never find my way out of here on my own.”

“Guests have been known to disappear,” James agreed with a wink.

The maze of corridors was so confusing that when it was time to go to bed, Georgie had to rely on Frances as a guide. Georgie followed the clack-clack of the maid’s court shoes on the parquet floor as she led the way. At the end of the main hall they climbed the grand staircase that led to the west wing of the house. Georgie’s guest room was the fifth on the left and had its own bathroom and dressing room.

“You’ll find some of Kennedy’s old hunting clothes in the wardrobe,” Frances said as she turned down the bed. “She told me you would need something to wear for tomorrow.”

Like the other rooms in the house, Georgie’s guest room was completely over the top. It was as if several interior designers had been hired at once and had fought it out with no clear winner. The chairs were cloaked in animal prints – leopard, zebra and tiger stripes, the cushions were floral, the furniture was French antique and there was baroque wallpaper hung with Chinese tapestry. If this was how Patricia Kirkwood decorated her house, Georgie shuddered to think what she might put on a catwalk!

In the dressing room she searched through jods and jackets hanging on the rails, choosing herself a suitable outfit for tomorrow. Georgie had never hunted before, but she knew that young riders were meant to wear tweeds and thankfully there were several suitable things to wear here. She selected a buff tweed hunting coat and cream jodhpurs, both of which looked like they would fit, then she rummaged around in the cupboard and found a hunting stock that was the same shade of cream as the jodhpurs. Georgie decided she would wear her long black boots to complete the outfit. Then she laid them all carefully on a zebra-print chair, ready and waiting for her.

A heavy mist hung over the estate the next morning. Georgie looked out her bedroom window and was greeted by the magical sight of horses and riders in scarlet coats milling about on the front lawn. By the time she had showered, pulled on her hunting clothes and raced downstairs there were already nearly a hundred riders gathered on the pebble forecourt, their horses breathing steam from their nostrils as they waited for the hunt to throw off.

The horses were classic hunters, stocky types with thick strong legs and chests that were deep through the girth. Georgie loved the way they had been clipped so that it looked as if their top and bottom halves actually belonged to two entirely different horses, joined together in the middle.

The riders all looked far more dressed up than Georgie had expected and despite the early morning hour they were drinking port, sipping away at the stirrup cups that were handed to them by servants carrying silver trays. Patricia Kirkwood, dressed in a black velvet hunting coat and lace cravat, was holding court amid a group of shrill and overbearing riders who were behaving more like they were at a cocktail party than a hunt.

“Avert your eyes!” There was a whisper in Georgie’s ear and she turned around to see Damien Danforth standing behind her. “If you stare at one of those gorgons directly you could turn to stone,” he deadpanned.

“Watch it – they might hear you!” Georgie was taken aback.

“Who cares?” Damien sniffed. “If you had to spend ten minutes in a room with Patricia’s awful friends you’d see I’m simply telling the truth.”

He gave Georgie a dark look. “I blame you, you know. You British were the ones who invented all this hunting nonsense and made it seem classy. Now every nouveau riche moron in Maryland wants to join the Kirkwood hunt. Honestly, I don’t think half of them know one end of a horse from the other.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Georgie smiled.

“I’m not!” Damien insisted. He pointed to a rider seated on an enormous dark brown hunter. “That’s Heatley Fletcher,” he said. “Local lawyer and multi-millionaire. Do you notice anything odd about his horse?”

Heatley’s big brown hunter stood out with its hot-pink leg bandages.

“A bit flamboyant,” Georgie admitted.

“You know why?” Damien whispered. “Heatley is famous for turning up at a hunt and not even recognising his own horse. He’s had to be asked twice this season to dismount because he got on the wrong one. Finally his groom came up with the solution of putting coloured bandages on Heatley’s hunter so he won’t embarrass himself any more.”

“Of course,” Damien added, “the bandages don’t stop Heatley from falling off. He usually plummets at the first hedge because he can’t actually ride.”

“He can’t ride?” Georgie was horrified. “Then what’s he doing hunting?”

Damien sighed. “Being invited on the Kirkwood hunt is like being invited to the Vanity Fair party at the Oscars. So they all come. And they all drop like flies at the first spar.”

“You seem to know this place and the Kirkwoods pretty well,” Georgie said.

Damien gave her a long-suffering look. “James and I met at boarding school when we were nine years old. He’s one of my best friends,” he paused, “although I often wonder how James turned out the way he did…”

“Talking about me?”

It was James. Georgie had no idea how long he’d been standing there behind them.

“I was just telling her the Kirkwood secrets,” Damien said.

“Don’t,” James warned him. “You’ll put her off!” Smiling at Georgie, he clasped his arms possessively around her waist. Georgie was shocked by this sudden public display of affection.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go to the stables and I’ll introduce you to your horse.”

The stables turned out to be utterly beautiful. Patricia Kirkwood had clearly never thought of bringing her fashion sense outside so the interior was mercifully untouched. The stable block had bare flagstone floors and high-vaulted ceilings with wooden beams.

James led Georgie to one of the loose boxes on the far right-hand side. “You’ve been given Belvedere,” he told her, unbolting the top of the stall door.

Belvedere was a heavily built brown horse, part-draught with a broad white blaze and a face that was so immense and solid that the throat lash of his bridle could barely fit around his broad cheeks. Still, his eyes were bright and kind, and he met Georgie’s gaze keenly. His ears pricked forward as she approached him and took his reins.

“He’s lovely,” she said. “He has such an honest face.”

“Belvedere’s a reliable jumper,” James assured her as he legged her up. “I would have preferred to put you on something with a bit more class like Tinkerbell, but Dad said she’s not for first-timers.”

Georgie suspected that what Mr Kirkwood really meant was that he didn’t consider her good enough for his best horses, so he’d stuck her with a draught horse. Still, she wasn’t complaining. She really liked Belvedere, although sitting astride him felt weird after riding Belle. His heavy physique bulged out beneath her, the barrel of his belly forcing her legs to stick out like she was doing the splits.

As she lumbered back across the lawn trying to get used to Belvedere’s cumbersome trot, Georgie caught sight of the showjumperettes. Kennedy and her friends were mounted up on elegant, well-bred hunters and all of them wore sleek black riding coats with frilled stocks at their throats and top hats instead of helmets. Next to them on her draught horse in her borrowed country tweeds Georgie looked like an unsophisticated hick. She could see from Kennedy’s smirk that this had been her intention all along.

“Interesting choice of outfit,” she said to Georgie. “Beige is really your colour, isn’t it?”

“Thanks, Kennedy,” Georgie replied sarcastically. “Oh, and by the way, Abraham Lincoln called – he wants his top hat back.”

Kennedy’s expression turned fierce. “You obviously know nothing about hunting. If you get in Dad’s way today, he’ll feed you to the hounds.”

“Calm down, Kennedy,” James said, “I was just about to tell her the rules.”

He smiled at Georgie. “There’s really only one rule. My dad is the master of the hunt and you must never overtake him on the field. Those other guys with him in red coats are Dad’s henchmen – the whippers-in, and the field masters. They’ll try and boss you around, but don’t worry, just do as I say and no matter what, always stick with me.

OK?”

Georgie didn’t have time to reply. Randolph Kirkwood raised the horn to his lips, giving a long, low blast. Then he set off at a brisk trot, the hounds following obediently at the heels of his great, grey hunter. The pack scampered across the pebbled driveway, heading to the right of the house towards a low stone bridge that crossed a small stream, leading out into the pasture beyond. They kept alongside their master in tight formation until they reached the field, and then they began to fan out, casting for the scent.

Two hounds to the far left of the field began baying, and soon the others had joined in their howling chorus. Randolph Kirkwood gave another toot on his horn to alert the riders behind him and then the hunt was off and galloping.

The hounds covered the ground far more swiftly than Georgie had anticipated. They kept pace with Randolph Kirkwood’s hunter, who flew the first obstacle, a clipped hedge at the far end of the field, without hesitation. Dedicated to the pursuit of the scent, the hounds squirmed and thrashed their way through the hedge. Several men in red coats followed, along with Mrs Kirkwood, who jumped the fence with expert finesse.

With the competent riders over the hedge, the rest of the field surged in a mad rush. Just as Damien had predicted, Heatley Fletcher was one of the first to fall. Georgie saw his big brown hunter skid to a halt in front of the hedge so that Heatley flew over his mount’s neck, landing face-first in the mud.

Heatley’s horse caused a collision with three other riders, two of whom also promptly fell off. Georgie watched the pile-up in astonishment.

“Total carnage!” Damien said with a grin as he rode up alongside her.

“I told Dad we should ride at the front,” Kennedy whined. “Now we’re stuck behind the losers.”

“Out of the way, please!” James was yelling at the riders dithering about and blocking the path in front of the hedge. He rode his liver chestnut, a pretty mare named Bambi, at an astonishingly gutsy gallop. If things went wrong and he came to grief it would make for a very nasty fall, but James’ confident style made it clear that he had no intention of either stopping or falling. Damien, Andrew, Kennedy, Tori and Arden all followed his lead, pushing in to take their turns over the hedge until only Georgie was left. She looked at the hedge. It was a fair-sized jump, probably a metre high. “Hurry up, Georgie!” James called to her. “We’re going to lose the hounds at this rate!”

Georgie took a deep breath and shortened up the reins. “Come on, Belvedere,” she pressed the big brown hunter on and rode him hard at the hedge.

At the last minute Belvedere tried to swerve away, but Georgie held him steady with her legs, growling to urge him on again. The hesitation meant they were now on a bad stride and Georgie considered pulling the horse off. Then she remembered what her old riding instructor Lucinda Milwood always said at moments like this: “When in doubt, kick on!” And so she did, giving a firm dig with both heels. Belvedere pulled himself together, knowing that his rider meant business. He chipped in a last-minute stride and managed to get them over the hedge with Georgie securely on his back.

That first jump gave Georgie a jolt of adrenalin and she felt her confidence come upon her in a rush. She stood up in her stirrups in two-point position, keen and ready for the next obstacle.

At the next jump, a low dry-stone wall, Georgie didn’t need any encouragement and popped Belvedere over it on a lovely forward stride. She was enjoying herself now, feeling the wind in her face, the thunder of hooves beneath her.

James was right beside her, but the rest of the hunters were quite spread out. Mr and Mrs Kirkwood, the scarlet-coated huntsmen and hounds were far ahead in the distance. There were about a dozen hunters in hot pursuit of the front runners, and then behind them came the stragglers, many of them sporting muddy patches on their breeches and hunting jackets.

As they approached the next fence, a large hedge, Georgie was squaring up to take her turn when James called her name and peeled off in front of her, making a sharp turn and riding away from the other hunters.

Remembering his instructions, Georgie pulled hard on the left rein to turn Belvedere away from the hedge and set off in pursuit.

They were galloping towards a small glade of trees – Georgie guessed that James must have an alternative route in mind. Straight ahead of them was a four-barred post and rail fence. James didn’t even slow down. He rode Bambi over it without hesitation and Georgie felt her blood racing as she did the same. Belvedere’s massive frame made it feel like she was riding an elephant, but there was no doubt that this horse could jump!

Over two more fences they went – a low fallen log and another quite large hedge. She heard the noisy crackle of branches as Belvedere dragged his hooves through the top of the hedge like an experienced hunter. Then she heard the low call of the huntsman’s horn and looked back over her shoulder. They had left the hunt far behind. The hounds had veered in totally the opposite direction and were getting even further away. Still, she figured James must know what he was doing. He knew the hunt fields like the back of his hand, so surely he must have a plan.

Ahead of her, James had ridden into a clearing in the middle of the glade. He pulled Bambi abruptly to a stop and flung himself out of the saddle. Georgie saw him dismount and immediately assumed the worst. If he was getting off his horse then Bambi must have thrown a shoe.

“James!” She cantered Belvedere up alongside and quickly vaulted off. “Are you all right? Is Bambi OK?” “She’s fine,” James said.

‘Then why did you dismount? What’s wrong?” Georgie took the reins over Belvedere’s head and led him over to where James and Bambi stood.

Both of the horses were sweaty and heaving. She could feel her own heart racing from the exertion of the gallop. “Why are we here…?” she began to ask. And then suddenly he was standing so close to her that she could no longer tell if it was her own heart racing or his, pressed up against her.

“I think I can smell aniseed,” was all she managed to squeak out, as he moved his face even closer and met her lips with a kiss.

Chapter Three

It had quickly become obvious that James had no intention of rejoining the hunt. Instead, he took Georgie on a tour of the estate. They followed a bridle path, riding through woodlands and open fields, and by lunchtime they were starving and miles away from the Kirkwood mansion.

Georgie thought she was going to faint from hunger when James finally led the way through a gate out on to the main road and they rode along the grass verge to the junction where a petrol station, general store and diner stood on the corner.

They tied the horses up there and bought burgers and fries and sat down to eat beside their horses on the grass. Georgie was horrified by James’ habit of dipping his fries in his chocolate thickshake.

“It’s a trick I learned at Blainford,” he admitted. “The food in the dining hall is so bad, you learn to improvise.”

On the way home they cantered over the fields, jumping low hedges and spars rather than bothering to stop and open the gates. It was almost dark when they finally made it back to the stables. Georgie took Belvedere to his stall and had started to untack when James stopped her. “You know we’ve got staff who do that,” he told her. “Leave him with the grooms and come up to the house.”

Georgie shook her head. “But I want to do it.” She couldn’t stand the thought of handing over her horse for someone else to do the dirty work. Exhausted as she was, she didn’t want to abandon Belvedere, leaving someone else to mix his hard feed and rug him up. “I’ll groom him myself,” she told James.

“Suit yourself.” James looked mildly amused, as if the idea had never occurred to him. Georgie realised at that moment that the Kirkwoods treated their horses as if they were just pieces of equipment – like a motorbike or a tennis racquet to be put away at the end of a game, rather than a living creature. The horses in this stable virtually had their price tags hanging off them. Which made it even more insulting that Mr Kirkwood had refused to give her Tinkerbell to ride. He didn’t trust her to ride his horse in the same way that he wouldn’t trust a one-armed juggler with a Ming vase.

“I’ll see you back up at the house,” James said. “I’d steer clear of the conservatory if I were you – that’s where Patricia and Dad will be having their post-hunt drinks. A lot of bores with mud on their breeches telling their lame war stories.” He smiled at her. “I’ll be in the games room hiding from them.”

Grooming Belvedere took Georgie longer than she’d expected and somehow all the mud and sweat that had been on the big, brown gelding managed to transfer itself on to her in the process. Her jods were covered in muck and she had the worst case of helmet-hair she’d ever had in her life. It was in this bedraggled state that Georgie entered the mansion. She had planned to go upstairs and get changed, but when she heard Mr Kirkwood’s voice on the landing she detoured immediately and headed to the games room in search of James.

In the games room Kennedy Kirkwood was playing pool. She had taken off her top hat and coat and was leant over the table dressed in her breeches and white blouse, her frilled hunting stock still tied at her throat. Beside her, also holding cues, were Tori, Andrew and Damien.

“And what happened to you on the hunt field today?” Damien raised an eyebrow and gave her a cheeky look. “You seemed to vanish.”

“We should be so lucky!” Kennedy commented as she took her shot and managed to sink the black ball mid-game by mistake.

Andrew swept his arm across the table to clear the remaining balls. He didn’t even acknowledge Georgie’s presence and seemed determined to pretend she wasn’t there as he racked up for another game.

“Where is my brother anyway?” Kennedy glared at Georgie. “You didn’t actually manage to lose him on the hunt field?”

“He told me he was going to be in here,” Georgie said. “I haven’t seen him since he left the stables…”

The large French doors in the games room opened straight out to the gardens and the sound of giggling and splashing could now be heard right outside.

“Well we know where he is now,” Damien said, peering out the window. “He’s out by the fountain with Arden.”

Georgie felt herself turn strangely cold. It was almost nightfall outside. Why was her boyfriend hanging out in the garden?

Her suspicions got even darker when James and Arden tumbled in through the French doors, giggling and panting, as if they’d been playing chase. James was still in his riding clothes, but Arden had got changed into a stunning emerald green chiffon dress. Her hair was blow-dried perfectly and tied back loosely and she’d taken off her strappy high heels and was carrying them delicately dangling in one hand, as if she’d just stepped out of Vogue.

“Georgie!” James seemed surprised to see her. “Finished mucking out the stables then?”

Georgie tried to take his teasing in her stride. “Yeah, well, Belvedere is a big horse – it takes a while to groom all of him,” she said. Then she added, “What were you and Arden doing outside?”

“None of your business!” Arden said airily, dropping her shoes on the floor and collapsing dramatically into a chair.

James gave Georgie a grin. “We weren’t doing anything,” he said. “Just hanging out.”

Frances entered the games room at that moment to announce it was time for dinner. Somehow Arden managed to manoeuvre herself closer to James as they walked to the dining room and snaffled the seat beside him at the table. She then spent the entire meal whispering in his ear, winding Georgie up even more. Unfortunately the Kirkwoods served dinner in six courses and it took forever. All the time, James hardly even bothered to look at Georgie and by the time dessert was being served she felt close to tears. Unable to stomach any more of Arden’s flirting, Georgie said she wasn’t hungry and left the table. She was heading for her room when she heard footsteps behind her in the hallway.

“Georgie! Wait!”

It was James. He ran to catch up with her. “Going to bed early?” he asked.

“I’m just tired, I guess,” Georgie said unconvincingly.

“Don’t go,” James said. “We can go back to the games room.”

“Why don’t you go and hang out with Arden?”

The words were out of her mouth before Georgie could stop herself. She looked at James’ face, and saw a brief smile cross his lips.

“Don’t be like that, Georgie,” he said sweetly. “We had fun today, didn’t we?”

Georgie wanted to say that it had been more than fun – it had been one of the best days she’d ever had. “I’m so sorry,” she blurted out. “It was an amazing day. It’s just… I’ve never felt like this about anybody before and I—”

And then she had to stop talking because, for the second time that day, James Kirkwood was kissing her.

As the light poured in through the curtains the next morning, Georgie’s first thought was of James Kirkwood and that kiss. As she got up and began to dress she heard the sound of the jet engines. It sounded as if a plane was taking off from the airfield behind the mansion. She didn’t give it too much thought at the time, and headed down to the dining room where Frances was serving breakfast. She’d dished herself up some scrambled eggs and was about to sit down to eat alone when Damien Danforth burst in through the dining-room door. He was dressed in jodhpurs and long boots and his cheeks were ruddy from the fresh air.

“Hello!” he said, looking rather surprised to see Georgie. “Are you still here?”

“Of course I’m still here!” Georgie replied. “Where have you been?”

“Oh, we’ve been for a morning ride,” Damien said, heading straight over to the buffet. “Frances!” he yelled out. “Got any of those field mushrooms?”

A moment later the rest of the party came rushing in. Andrew as usual didn’t bother to speak to Georgie, Tori and Arden came in giggling, and then Kennedy followed them. When she saw Georgie, her face dropped.