Up ahead of her at the stable entrance Ginty was engrossed in conversation with two girls who looked a couple of years older than Issie. They were both dressed exactly the same, in smart cream jodhpurs, work boots and dark purple sweatshirts with the letters DP embroidered on them in swirly gold. The DP obviously stood for Dulmoth Park.
“Issie,” Ginty called out, “come and meet my senior grooms.”
The two girls looked up at Issie and the one with freckles and honey-coloured hair in a ponytail gave her a warm smile.
“Hi!” The honey-blonde gave a wave. “I’m Penny.”
The girl next to Penny had brown hair cut in a short pixie crop. She didn’t smile or say hello, she just stared at Issie suspiciously.
“This is Verity — my head groom,” Ginty said, taking over on the introductions since Verity clearly wasn’t going to introduce herself. “Verity and Penny have both been with me for two seasons already, so they know the ropes,” Ginty continued. “I’ve asked Verity to assign you and Natasha your work rosters. You’ll find details on the blackboard just inside the front door of the stables.”
Issie froze. Did Ginty just say Natasha? No, it couldn’t be…
At that moment the gates to Dulmoth Park slid open and a silver Mercedes glided down the driveway. Issie recognised the car straight away, and the sour-faced blonde sitting inside it.
Natasha Tucker emerged from the passenger seat looking utterly miserable, grabbed her bag, muttered a dismissive goodbye to her mother and then slammed the Mercedes door shut. She glared after the car as Mrs Tucker drove off again.
“Good morning, Natasha.” Ginty smiled at her. “I believe I told you it was a 7 a.m. start, so let’s try to be on time in future.”
“Whatever!” Natasha groaned.
Issie would never have spoken to Ginty like that, but the trainer seemed to let Natasha get away with it. She ignored the comment and continued, “I was just doing introductions. You know Verity and Penny already, and I’m sure you know Isadora too?”
“We go to pony club together,” Natasha confirmed, looking far from pleased to see Issie.
“I’ve just been explaining the roster,” Ginty said. “Verity will organise it so that you and Isadora are each in charge of six horses. You’ll need to do all the feeds and have the first horse ready in the arena by eight each morning to begin schooling. Everything is written down for you on the blackboards in the tack room, but if you have any questions about the way we do things here, then check with Verity.”
This clearly didn’t sit well with the head groom, who didn’t seem keen on answering any questions. She was already edging towards the stables, trying to get away. “Can I go now?” she asked. “I’ve still got to sort out Tottie and Flame’s hard feeds. We’re already running late.”
Ginty nodded. “Take Issie with you to help.”
Verity grunted, and Issie figured that must mean she should follow as the head groom set off towards the far end of the stables.
The feed room was nothing like the tatty old tack shed where the feed was stored at Winterflood Farm. This room looked like a science lab—or a pharmacy. Large feed lockers with airtight lids lined one side of the room and above these were shelves filled with a mind-boggling array of powders, additives and supplements.
Verity seemed to know exactly what each of the bottles contained. She had grabbed a feed bin and was busily throwing in various measures from different bottles and tubs on the shelves.
“We’re trying to put more condition on Tottie at the moment,” Verity said. “I’ve been giving her two scoops of boiled barley in her feed morning and night, plus one of chaff and one of Maxi-equine hi-performance, and we add linseed, magnesium and electrolytes to each meal. Plus I’ve been putting in selenium lately as well.”
Now she grabbed a second feed bin and began to pour out measures and doses of potions off the shelf. “Flame’s on three scoops of the Maxi-equine, plus the chaff and supplements and extra potassium,” Verity continued.
“I don’t think I can remember all of this,” Issie murmured, feeling quite ill at the thought of giving the horses the wrong dose or muddling the feeds up entirely.
“You don’t have to learn it off by heart. Just look at the chart on the wall,” Verity said. “It gives you feed instructions for every horse in the stables.”
Issie noticed that there was one feed locker that Verity didn’t use at all. It wasn’t a round tub like the rest — it was low and square, standing in the corner of the room. Its lid was curved and inlaid with metal and it was bolted shut like a treasure chest with a combination lock on the outside of it.
“What’s in that one?” Issie asked.
Verity stiffened. “Medicines…stuff for emergencies,” she said, adding bluntly, “Leave it alone. You don’t need to worry about it.”
She finished stirring the feeds using a huge wooden spoon, and then passed one of the big buckets to Issie.
“You can give Flame his feed. He’s in the stall at the end on your left.”
As Issie approached Flame’s loose box, she could hear the horse stamping about inside, pacing and whinnying impatiently as he heard her coming closer. Both the top and bottom half of the Dutch door were shut tight and Issie wondered what the horse on the other side looked like. All she knew was that with a name like Flame he had to be a chestnut.
When she swung the door open, she was amazed. Flame’s coat was like nothing she had ever seen before. It shone like a newly minted copper coin. He had the most athletic conformation Issie had ever seen, with muscles and sinew rippling as he moved about restlessly in his stall.
Flame was clearly expecting his breakfast. He stomped and nickered, impatiently waiting for Issie to unbolt the door, and then made a beeline for her as she entered the stall. With the feed bin propped under one arm, she had to use the other hand to fend him off, moving quickly through the loose box to deftly slide the bin into the wallfeeder slot at the far end.
As Flame happily snuffled down his feed, Issie was free to stand back and assess the gelding more thoroughly. She guessed that he was around sixteen hands high, but his imposing presence made him seem much bigger than that. He wasn’t a fine-boned Thoroughbred but a heavier breed, perhaps some kind of warmblood or a Selle Francais like Natasha’s chestnut, Romeo. His shoulders and neck were powerful, and although his hindquarters were well developed his withers were still higher than his rump, which indicated that his power was in his front half, a classic sign of a horse that had been bred to jump. He had an elegant, refined head and thoughtful deep brown eyes. His bold chestnut colour made a striking contrast with the pretty white star on the gelding’s forehead and the white snip on his muzzle.
“You’re really gorgeous!” Issie breathed out loud.
“He should be!”
It was Verity, leaning over the partition of the Dutch door and looking at Flame. “He cost a fortune and it was a total drama getting him here. He had to be imported from Europe. His bloodlines are amazing — he’s by Brilliant Fire.”
Issie looked blankly at her.
“You mean you haven’t heard of Brilliant Fire?” Verity sighed dramatically at this. “He’s a Hanoverian stallion, a warmblood from Germany. Brilliant Fire has sired more Olympic showjumpers than any other stallion. All of his progeny — his sons and daughters — are worth a fortune because of their bloodlines.”
“So how much did Ginty