and tied back in a thick ponytail. She carried a big overnight bag thrown over one shoulder and was dragging a suitcase with her right hand.
“Let me help you.” Aidan smiled, taking the bags off her. “I’ll put these in the truck.” He went out the front door with Issie’s bags and she sat down at the table as her mum dished up her bacon and eggs.
“Aidan’s already eaten. You finish up and then you can get going,” Mrs Brown said as she poured herself a coffee from the plunger and sat down next to Issie. “Aidan will help you load Blaze at the pony club and then you can set off straight from there. Aunt Hess is expecting you in time for tea. I’ve packed you a banana cake to take with you; Hess is terrible at baking. In fact, all her cooking is terrible! You’ll probably come back as skinny as a rake!” Mrs Brown said. She gave Issie a big hug.
“I’ve packed you a big bag of carrots for Blaze too in case she gets hungry during the trip.”
Issie smiled. “Thanks, Mum!” she said.
“Take care, honey. Call me every night, OK?” Mrs Brown was still hugging Issie.
“Mum, you have to let go of me now, I need to leave.” Issie laughed.
“Are we ready to go?” Aidan stuck his head around the kitchen door. “The truck is all packed. Let’s go get this horse of yours.”
It was only a five minute drive to the pony club, and Issie said nothing all the way. She was quiet even as she velcroed on Blaze’s floating boots and loaded the dainty chestnut mare into the truck stall, tying her up with a hay net for the journey.
Issie hopped back into the cab, Aidan raised the ramp and they drove out through the pony-club gates. Issie took one last look over her shoulder at the horses who were left behind grazing happily. “Bye, Toby. Bye, Coco,” she murmured. She felt a strange sensation in her tummy, like the butterfly nerves she usually got before a showjumping competition. She looked back through the window of the cab. Blaze was chewing contentedly on her hay net. Issie pressed her nose up against the glass and gazed at her pony, taking in the delicate dish of her nose and the deep, dark eyes fringed by her flaxen forelock.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Aidan said.
“What?”
“Your mare.” Aidan smiled at Issie. “An Anglo-Arab, right? Half Arab and half Thoroughbred?”
“Uh-huh,” Issie said.
“She looks like a very special horse. Where did you get her?” Aidan asked.
“It’s a long story,” Issie said.
“It’s a long drive too,” Aidan smiled, “so why don’t you start now and maybe you’ll be finished by the time we get there.”
Issie laughed. “OK,” she said. And so she told Aidan the story of Blaze. She started right at the very beginning, from the awful tragedy of Mystic’s death. When she had lost her lovely grey gelding she thought she could never love another horse again. And then Avery had turned up with Blaze. She had been rescued by the International League for the Protection of Horses and was in a desperate state, terrified and half-starved. It had taken every last ounce of love that Issie had in her to win Blaze’s trust and bring her back again. She nearly lost Blaze once more when Francoise D’Arth arrived in Chevalier Point and told her that Blaze was actually one of the famed El Caballo Danza Magnifico Arabians.
“She must be worth a fortune!” Aidan said.
Issie nodded. “I guess so. I don’t really know. When Francoise brought Blaze back to me she told me that someone had paid for Blaze and wanted to give her to me. Now she’s mine to keep for ever. I never found out who it was or how much they paid for her – and since I’ll never, ever sell her I guess it doesn’t really matter how much she is worth.”
Aidan looked at Issie. “You’ve been through a lot with this mare, haven’t you? I can see why you didn’t want to leave her behind.”
“She’s my best friend.” Issie smiled.
Aidan was right: it was a long drive to the farm. They made their way out of the city into the open countryside, and it was late in the afternoon when they drove up to the crest of a very high hill and Aidan finally turned the truck down the driveway that led to the farm. The limestone driveway seemed to almost burrow a tunnel through the dense native woods that surrounded them. The trees blocked out the light above them and Issie could hear scraping and rustling as the enormous branches that hung overhead began to brush against the roof of the horse truck. She pushed her nose up against the passenger window and stared out at the lush ferns, bright vermillion fuchsias, brilliant yellow kowhai flowers and boughs of crab apples laden with blood-red fruit. When the truck finally emerged into the golden afternoon light she found herself in front of an enormous two-storey white mansion, with latticed Victorian verandas and broad balconies on the second floor. There were cherry trees in full bloom covering the vast circular lawn in front of the house.
Standing in the middle of the lawn under the cherry trees was Aunty Hess. She wore a long, white, cotton dress and her hair, which was very blonde and tightly curled, tumbled over her shoulders. There was a loud baying as three dogs came bounding out of the house to join her. One was a smiling golden retriever, the other was an enormous black shaggy Newfoundland and the third was a whippet-thin black and white hound.
As they drove up towards the manor the dogs all leapt up dangerously, bouncing up to put their paws on the side of the horse truck as it pulled to a stop in front of the cherry trees. Then they dashed off again at a mad run and sat obediently on either side of the woman in the white cotton dress.
“Lie down, stay,” Hess instructed the dogs. All three of them put their heads on their paws and lay perfectly still as she walked towards the horse truck and opened Issie’s passenger door.
“Aunty Hess!” Issie beamed down at her aunt.
“Isadora! My favourite niece!” Hess held her arms up to help her down from the truck cab. “Welcome to Blackthorn Farm.”
Aunt Hester led Issie through the cherry trees and up the wide path that led to the grand entrance of Blackthorn Manor.
“You must be starving after driving all day!” she said. “Don’t worry about your pony; Aidan will take the truck down and settle her in at the stables. You come with me. I’ve made you dinner.”
Dinner, it turned out, was three burnt fish fingers with runny mashed potato and peas. “Your mother probably told you that my cooking isn’t up to much,” Hester smiled, “and I can tell you that she’s quite right and it really hasn’t improved!”
While Issie ate, Hester sat down next to her with her leg propped up on a chair. Issie hadn’t noticed at first, but under that white cotton dress Hester was sporting a brilliant pink plaster cast that ran from her toes to her knee.
“Wow!’ Issie said.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Hester smiled, knocking on the plaster with her knuckles. “They let me choose the colour, you know. Schiaparelli pink is so chic, don’t you think?
