the farm animals takes me for ever.”
“How did it happen, Aunty Hess?”
“Oh, I was training one of the horses, Diablo. I was teaching him to lie down dead as if he had been shot, you see, like in a cowboy movie. Well, he lay down dead all right, but he did it right on top of me! Not his fault, of course; he was only doing what I asked him to do. But it broke my leg in two places, and there you go!” Aunt Hester smiled. “I must say it is lovely to have my favourite niece and her mystery mare here to help me out.”
“Blaze! I should go and check on her.” Issie suddenly panicked. “She’s not used to being stabled and she doesn’t know any of your horses. I should—”
“Don’t worry about Blaze,” Aunt Hester reassured her. “Aidan will take excellent care of her. He used to work at a fancy stable in Ireland when he wasn’t much older than you are now – looking after racehorses for some high and mighty Arab Sultan. It was all rather grand. Frightfully expensive horses too! I’m sure looking after your pony is well within his capabilities. We’ll go down there in just a moment and you can check on her. But first…” Aunt Hester swept her hand dramatically towards the doorway that led to the main hall “…the grand tour!”
“Downstairs to start with, I think,” Hester said. “Yes, yes. Follow me.” She led Issie through a maze of vast wood-panelled rooms, each one more fantastic than the last, all of them with high ceilings, well-worn parquet floors and enormous, sparkling crystal chandeliers. The walls, which were papered in faded flock wallpaper, were adorned with antlers and wild boar heads. There were paintings everywhere of elegant racehorses and black and white photographs of grand old ladies looking out at you regally from the frame.
“Not my taste, you understand,” Hester giggled. “I’m a little more shabby chic, aren’t I, darling? Most of this lot was already here when I arrived. They sold the place to me lock, stock and barrel,” she said, sweeping through the billiard room, where a game of pool was set up under the watchful gaze of two large stuffed pheasants.
Hester set a cracking pace through the manor. Issie had thought the plaster cast would have slowed her aunt down, but she grasped herself a walking cane out of the wicker basket in the hallway, propped herself up on one leg and skipped along very quickly indeed. Her progress wasn’t aided by the three dogs, Strudel the retriever, Nanook the enormous black Newfoundland and Taxi, the skinny black and white cattle dog. The dogs all darted constantly around Hester’s ankles, getting underfoot and almost tripping her up as she hopped from one room to the next.
“…and this is the ballroom, and the servants quarters – not that we have any servants!”
“What about Aidan?” Issie said.
“Oh, he’s got his own place down the hill, next to the stables. Farm manager’s cottage – very sweet. Right next to the duck pond,” Hester said. “I’ll show you when we do our outdoor tour. Now follow me up the stairs.”
The grand, wooden staircase stood proudly at the centre of the manor. “There are seven bedrooms upstairs,” Aunt Hester explained as she reached the top of the landing. “This one is your room.”
Hester swung open the door and beckoned for Issie to step inside. The room was enormous, but it felt cosy. The walls were papered with the most beautiful wallpaper Issie had ever seen, illustrated with old-fashioned drawings of exquisite Thoroughbreds standing with their jockeys dressed up in racing silks. Above the grand fireplace was a large oil painting of a beautiful grey horse with a long, silky mane. The horse was captured in action, cantering with his neck arched, and his proud head held high.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” Hester smiled. “That’s Avignon. He was my very favourite horse – a Swedish Warmblood stallion. I just adored him! Oh, I could look at this painting for ever…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at the painting. Then she picked up Issie’s luggage, throwing the bags on the four-poster bed.
“Come on,” she smiled at Issie, “that’s the tour over and done with. Let’s get out of here and go and see that horse of yours, shall we?”
If Hester had bounded swiftly around the manor, the long walk down to the stables seemed to take the spring out of her step. The driveway wound along the side of the manor then down past the garden, bordered by a stand of enormous puriri trees. Beneath the trees were gardens filled with magnolias, camellias and ferns, bordering a green lawn covered in daisies. At the far end of the lawn was a tennis court which looked as if it had seen better days. There were weeds springing up everywhere and the dilapidated old tennis net sagged in the middle.
“As you can imagine, tennis is not my priority right now.” Hester said, tapping her cast. “Still, if you want play, I’m sure I’ve got racquets somewhere.”
They continued their walk to the stables. Hester had to pause for a rest several times on the way, propping herself up against the huge boulders that lined the driveway to catch her breath. The three dogs all lay down obediently at her side each time she stopped, waiting until she instructed them to move again.
“This is why I need your help, Isadora darling,” Hester said. “I simply can’t get about to manage the animals. And Aidan couldn’t possibly do everything on his own. Besides, Butch cannot abide Aidan, so that would never do.”
“Who’s Butch?” Issie asked. Just as she said this, round the corner from behind the stables lumbered a massive, black, hairy boar.
“Butch!” Hester cried. “Come and meet Isadora!”
The pig grunted happily and broke into a jog as he came towards them. His tiny little trotters looked like they might not be able to support the enormous bulk of the beast for much longer as he wobbled along.
“Butch is one of my superstars,” Hester cooed as she reached down to feed the pig a carrot and give him a vigorous scratch behind the ears with a stick. “Do you know he’s been in three TV commercials already this year? He’s the pig in that bank ad – you know, the one with the piggy banks? He’s rather famous, aren’t you, Butchy? Shall we show Isadora some of your tricks?”
Hester put down her scratching stick, stood up from the boulder and produced another carrot which she held high above her head. “Beg, Butch!” she commanded. The pig grunted and then shifted his enormous weight, slumping back to sit on his haunches. Slowly he adjusted his position and lifted one front trotter and then the other off the ground so that he was balanced back on his hind legs. He looked just like a begging dog.
“Good lad!” Hester praised him and tossed the carrot up in the air. Butch opened his mouth and snapped at the carrot as it fell, crunching it up eagerly in his vast jaws.
Hester produced a second carrot. This time she held it directly in front of her like a magician brandishing a wand. “Play dead!” she commanded the pig. Butch gave a grunt and then fell dramatically, landing on the ground with a leaden thud. He lay perfectly still, even when Hester gave him a gentle prod with her foot. “Nice and dead,” she cooed. “What a good pig! Now, Butch, up!” Butch grunted again and lifted his head, then braced himself with his front trotters and rather ungracefully pushed himself up again so that he was standing facing Aunt Hester.
“Well done, good Butch,” she said as she fed him one more carrot.
“How did you teach him the tricks?” Issie asked.
“Oh, pigs are very easy to train; they’re smarter than dogs,” Hester said. “I’ve had Butch since he was a little piglet and
