Mrs Brown shook her head. “What were you thinking?”
If Mrs Brown had actually seen how Issie had ridden the El Caballo stallion, Angel, that day then she would have had a heart attack! The Silver Bridle was a wild, winner-takes-all contest, run through the town square of the local village. Issie had galloped against hardened, Spanish vaqueros – cowboys twice her size who rode with ruthless determination.
“I had no choice,” Issie had shrugged in her defence. “It was the only way to get Storm back from Miguel Vega.”
Issie had won the race and the colt had been returned to her safe and sound. She had been intent on bringing Storm back home immediately, but Roberto Nunez persuaded her not to. He convinced Issie to leave Storm with him in Spain at El Caballo Danza Magnifico so that the colt could receive an education in the art of haute école – the ‘high school’ dressage movements.
“I still don’t understand why you want to come, Mum,” Issie had said when her mother told her of her plans. “We’re not going to some seaside resort on the Costa Del Sol! This is a horse farm in the middle of nowhere. You don’t even like horses!”
“I’m coming because I need to keep an eye on you!” Mrs Brown said. “Besides, I’ve always wanted to go on holiday to Southern Spain. And the weather is perfect in Andalusia right now.”
Issie couldn’t argue with that. July was mid-summer in Spain, a pleasant change from Chevalier Point, where the nastiest month of winter was about to set in. They would be leaving behind rain, mud and chilly mornings in favour of thirty degree temperatures, sunshine and blue skies for five whole weeks! It seemed like a long time just to collect a horse, but Avery had insisted that they needed to stay for at least a month to “do the training work and fulfil the terms of the contract with Francoise” – whatever that meant.
Avery had been vague about the details, but then he seemed rather preoccupied lately. Issie guessed that he had a lot on his mind; organising this trip back to El Caballo, emailing and phoning Francoise regularly to discuss their plans.
It had taken a whole six months to negotiate the arrangements for bringing Storm home. Francoise, in her capacity as head trainer at El Caballo Danza Magnifico, had resisted the idea at first. She felt the stallion needed more time to continue his training and she had been reluctant to let Storm go. Eventually, however, she and Avery had reached an agreement and a date was set for Issie, her mum and her trainer to travel to Spain.
It wasn’t a simple journey to undertake. The flight to Spain from New Zealand took twenty-four hours and after that there was a high-speed train from Madrid to Seville. By the time the three travellers arrived at the railway station in Seville they were jetlagged and exhausted. The heat of the sun struck Issie as she wheeled her suitcase out of the front doors. It was so intense that she felt like she was melting into the pavement. She cast a glance at the road ahead and suddenly caught sight of the familiar beaten-up old Land Rover parked directly in front of the train station. There was a lanky teenager leaning back against the bonnet of the car. He had tousled black hair, tanned skin and the square-jawed good looks of a Spanish film star. The boy waved to Issie and his face broke into a broad grin.
“Alfie!” Issie squealed as she dropped her luggage and made a dash across the busy street, throwing herself into his arms.
Mrs Brown watched wide-eyed as her daughter hugged him. “The local Spanish lads are very friendly with tourists, aren’t they?” she commented dryly to Avery as they followed across the road with the luggage.
“Mum!” Issie was beaming. “This is Alfonso Nunez. He’s the son of Roberto and the head rider in El Caballo Danza Magnifico.”
“Lovely to meet you, Mrs Brown,” Alfie said, letting go of Issie and racing forward to help with the luggage. “We’re very excited that you could join your daughter on this trip,” he smiled. “Isadora has told me how much you love horses and what a great rider you are. My father has already chosen one of his most spirited stallions and asked one of the men to prepare him for you to ride. We can saddle up as soon as we get to the hacienda!”
Mrs Brown’s face dropped. “Ride?” She turned to Issie in panic. “He is joking, isn’t he, Isadora? You did tell him that I’m utterly terrified of horses, didn’t you?”
Alfie and Issie couldn’t keep straight faces any longer and burst out laughing.
“Very funny!” Mrs Brown fumed as she clambered into the back seat of the Land Rover. Alfie and Avery loaded the last of the bags, then Alfie leapt into the driver’s seat and turned the Land Rover out on to the cobbled streets of downtown Seville.
Within an hour they had left the city and begun to climb through the forest-clad hills of Andalusia. As Alfie turned off the main road, yellow dust flew up from beneath the tyres and he began to steer more vigorously to avoid the potholes in the rugged road that wound around the hills. Soon they were surrounded by olive trees and then as the Land Rover began to descend into a green valley Issie felt her heart soar. There it was, El Caballo Danza Magnifico! Down below she could see the herds of mares with their foals grazing the sunburnt fields around the perimeter of the estate, its beautiful stone buildings arranged around a cobbled courtyard and enclosed by a vast, white stone wall.
“The mares are only allowed out to graze during the daytime now,” Alfie told Issie as they drove down the hill. “There was an incident last week, late at night. We think maybe it was bandits trying to raid the herd.”
Issie was horrified. “The mares and foals were all fine,” Alfie reassured her, “but since then Dad has insisted that we bring the horses in every night, just to be safe.”
“Do you think it might have been Miguel Vega’s men?” Issie asked.
Miguel Vega’s hacienda was El Caballo’s closest neighbour. The two great horse farms had been fierce rivals for many years and Vega was not above resorting to dirty tricks.
“Miguel Vega?” Mrs Brown joined in the conversation. “Why do I know that name?”
“He’s the one that stole Storm,” Issie reminded her mother.
Alfonso nodded. “Since your last visit, Señor Vega has been suspiciously quiet. I wondered how long it would be before he gave us trouble again.” Alfie shrugged. “Whoever it was, we have taken precautions now. The mares are locked up at night. It will not be easy for them to try again.”
The herd was grazing near the dusty road as they drove past and even Mrs Brown was captured by the beauty of these mares with their charcoal-black foals. “Why are the mothers white when their foals are black?” she asked.
“Lipizzaners and Andalusians are grey, but their foals are always born black,” Avery explained. “Their coats change colour as they age. Eventually the dark colour fades away completely and the horses become grey.”
“They don’t look grey,” Mrs Brown said stubbornly. “They’re white really, aren’t they?”
Issie sighed. Her mum was the most unhorsey person she knew. “Mum, technically there’s no such thing as a white horse,” Issie explained. “They’re always called grey.”
“We have over fifty horses,” Alfie told Mrs Brown, taking up the role as El Caballo tour guide. “All of them are bred here. We have the Lipizzaners and Andalusians, and we also have Anglo-Arabs – the same bloodlines as Isadora’s own mare, Blaze.”
Alfie
