have a secret meeting.”
“What about?”
“Dinner,” he said. “I want to sort out a roster before the kids get here. We need to stop Hester spending too much time in the kitchen–for obvious reasons!”
Aidan was right. Issie’s aunt might be able to run a riding school. But it was an entirely different matter to feed a riding school. Hester was, quite possibly, the world’s worst cook. Her dinners usually ended up as blackened, inedible mounds in the oven. Her baking was so bad that even Butch, the resident farm pig, turned his nose up at it. Unfortunately Hester had already been in the kitchen that very morning. When the girls came downstairs after unpacking they found her waiting for them with a plate of scones for afternoon tea. They were like bricks with raisins in them.
Stella picked one up and took a bite. She instantly regretted it. “Ow, I fink oif broken a twooth!”
“There is no way she’s cooking dinner,” Issie muttered to Aidan as she choked down a mouthful of her scone.
“We’ll sort out that roster,” Aidan agreed.
Cooking and cleaning rosters, riding timetables, lesson plans. There was lots to be prepared before the new pupils arrived. “Can’t we do it all later?” Stella grumbled as they sat down at the kitchen table with pens and sheets of paper. “I mean, it’s only Tuesday. We have nearly a week to get all this done and it’s a lovely sunny afternoon and we’ve been cooped up in the truck all day. I want to go riding.”
“We didn’t come here for a holiday!” Kate said. “We’ve got work to do. Don’t you want to be organised when the riders arrive on Monday?”
Hester surprised everyone by agreeing with Stella. “We could work on the rosters and timetables tonight,” she suggested, “and I’ve got a stable full of riding-school ponies who could all do with some exercise.” She looked at her watch. “If we get down there now, there’s enough time for a quick bit of schooling in the arena before dinner.”
Nobody needed convincing. The girls dashed up to their rooms to get their jodhpurs on while Aidan and Hester went ahead to the stables to get the ponies ready.
“I saw the cutest little grey pony grazing next to the arena when we arrived. I wonder if I can try that one?” Stella said.
“I like the chestnut one with the star on his forehead and the three white socks,” Kate said. “What’s his name again?”
“His name is Timmy And your ankles will drag on the ground if you ride him!” Issie giggled. “Hester will probably put you on one of the palominos.”
Issie knew which horse she would be getting. Hester was bound to put her on Stardust, after they had bonded so well on the set of The Palomino Princess.
As they neared the stables it looked like Issie was right. When Aidan emerged from the stalls he had Stardust all saddled up and her reins in his right hand. It seemed like a lifetime since Issie had ridden the pretty palomino. She felt a shiver of anticipation as she strode towards the mare. “Hey, girl.” Issie reached out a hand to stroke her glossy, treacle-coloured neck. She was about to take the reins from Aidan when she heard her Aunt Hester’s voice behind her.
“Issie! There you are! Come with me. I’ve got your horse ready too.”
Issie was confused. “But I thought I’d be riding Stardust, Aunty Hess?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear. I thought I told you,” Hester said. “Aidan is on Stardust today. I was hoping you would take on a new mount that really needs the work.”
“What?”
“The skewbald troublemaker,” Hester said, gesturing to the last stall in the loose-box row. “I want you to ride Comet.”
As if on cue at the mention of his name, Comet thrust his chestnut and white face over the Dutch door and let out a cheeky whinny. Issie looked suspiciously at the skewbald pony.
“He needs riding. He gets so frightfully bored standing in the loose box,” Hester said. “It’s his own fault of course. If he wasn’t such a troublemaker, I’d let him back out to graze with the others…I mean, you can’t leave him in the paddock because he jumps out and you can’t leave him in the loose box because he tries to destroy it.”
As if to confirm this, Comet began banging and scraping the bottom half of the Dutch door with his hoof. Get me out of here! he seemed to be saying.
“Naughty Comet! Stop that!” Issie said firmly. She grabbed the skewbald by the reins, unbolted the stall door and led him out into the yard.
Hester had already tacked him up for her and Issie noticed that Comet looked quite different in a saddle and bridle. He was one of those skewbalds with vigorous splashes of white all over his withers and rump. They trickled down his legs finishing up with four white socks–a bit like someone had spilt a can of white paint over him. Even his chestnut tail looked like it had been streaked with a paintbrush.
Once you put a saddle on, though, Comet’s colouring was less obvious. The saddle blanket completely covered up the white marks on his withers and back. He almost looked like an ordinary chestnut with four white socks, except when you looked from the other side you could see a big splodge of white on his hindquarters that looked a bit like a map of India.
As Issie led Comet out into the yard and over to the mounting block the pony danced along beside her, lifting his legs up in a high-stepping trot. When he was sure that everyone was watching him he raised his head and gave a high-spirited nicker, calling out to the other ponies.
“Comet! Stop being such a show-off!” The skewbald skipped about on the spot as Issie tried to steady him long enough to put her foot in the stirrup.
Issie knew she needed to be firm with this pony. Comet was green and he had shocking bad manners. Ponies were supposed to walk quietly beside you, not skip about. But she didn’t have the heart to be too tough on him. There was something about his grand attitude and silly antics that just made her want to giggle. Comet strutted about as if he was a superstar instead of just a little skewbald gelding in the paddock at Hester’s house. Besides, Issie was beginning to realise that Comet didn’t respond well to authority. He was a stroppy pony and if she wanted to bond with him, she was going to have to do things his way.
“Steady, Comet!” Issie gave up on using the mounting block as the pony kept dancing around her. As Comet circled she moved swiftly with him, slipping her foot into the stirrup and, before the pony even knew what was happening, she was bouncing up into the saddle and had landed lightly on his back. “Good boy!”
There is that moment when you sit on a horse for the very first time and you ask yourself, How does it feel up here? Are we right for each other? Do we click? You can never really know for sure straightaway. It takes a long time to get to know a horse. But in those first minutes in the saddle, as you ask them to walk, trot and canter for the first time, you get an inkling, almost like a sixth sense that tells you whether you really belong together.
Right now, Issie didn’t realise it but she was unconsciously, instinctively, feeling this new horse out. She adjusted her position and felt the sturdiness of Comet’s stocky frame, compact and solid underneath her. He was only fourteen-two, which meant that officially he qualified as a pony, not a hack, and yet Issie could sense that he had the attitude of a much larger horse.
As
