told me that I must—and at any price!”
“But he’s my horse! You can’t—” Issie began, but Francoise interrupted her.
“Please, Isadora, be calm and listen,” she implored.
“The people I work for are very wealthy. They are offering you a great deal of money. This colt, your Nightstorm, is the progeny of their best stallion Marius, and you know that your mare Blaze was once their most favoured of all. You can see how valuable a colt like this might be to the stable…”
“I don’t care!” Issie said. She could feel the panic rising in her. She looked pleadingly at her instructor. “Tom? She has no right to take him away from me, does she?”
Avery’s frown had deepened, but he said nothing. Issie felt as if her throat had closed over and she couldn’t breathe. She was choking as she tried to force the words out.
“Tom!” Her voice was trembling now as she spoke. “Tell her! Storm is mine. They can’t do this to me, not again!”
Issie had every reason to be nervous and she knew it. After all, she thought to herself, the last time Francoise D’arth came to Chevalier Point I almost lost Blaze. Now the Frenchwoman was back and Issie felt her world spiralling out of control once more. Would she lose Storm too?
Tom Avery wasn’t the sort of riding instructor who liked to raise his voice. He never shouted at his pupils; instead he spoke to them with measured, calm authority. It was this very same tone that he used now as he addressed Francoise D’arth.
“Isadora is right, Francoise,” Avery said. “The colt is not for sale. I’m sorry you wasted your time on this trip, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to go back to El Caballo and explain that Nightstorm can’t be bought—at any price.”
Francoise nodded solemnly. “If that is your decision I will accept it. But you do not understand everything yet—there is so much more I need to tell you both. We must talk further. May I come and see you again at the farm tomorrow?”
“There’s no point in trying to change our minds,” Avery said, “but you are our friend, Francoise, and you’re welcome any time at Winterflood Farm.”
Francoise smiled at this. “Thank you. I shall come over in the morning then, yes? At about nine?”
She glanced again at Nightstorm. The colt had begun to sense that something was going on. His nostrils were flared and he was pawing at the ground anxiously. As Issie reached for his halter to calm him, Nightstorm pulled back and let out a shrill whinny, his head held high and proud.
“Easy, Storm,” Issie soothed, stroking his muzzle as the colt trembled with excitement beneath her hands.
“He is restless,” Francoise said softly. “It is time for him to go home, yes?” She looked pointedly at Avery as she said this.
He nodded in agreement. “Yes, Francoise. You’re right. Maybe it is.”
That afternoon back at Winterflood Farm, Issie spent longer than usual grooming and feeding Storm. When she turned him out in his paddock she realised she didn’t want to let the colt go. She gave him a long, snuggly hug,scratching him on the rump the way he liked, and stroking his velvet muzzle for ages before she finally slipped the halter off his head and set him loose.
“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?” Avery said when Issie finally came back to the stables.
“Yes,” Issie said. “Aren’t you?”
“I know it must be hard,” Avery said gently, “after what happened the last time Francoise was here, and everything you went through with Blaze…But Issie, this isn’t the same thing at all. Francoise has no claim over this colt. It doesn’t matter what she says, Storm’s your horse and nothing will change that.” Avery reached over and ruffled her hair. “Now go home,” he smiled. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Mrs Brown took one look at Issie’s face when she came through the front door and knew instantly that something was very wrong.
“I get the feeling it didn’t go well at the pony club?” Mrs Brown asked.
Issie shook her head. “No, Mum, it went fine…but Francoise was there. She’s in town. She’s come to see Nightstorm.”
Mrs Brown was surprised at this. “Francoise’s in town? But I thought you hadn’t even heard from her? What does she want?”
“She wants Nightstorm,” Issie said. “She’s offered to buy him. She’s coming to the farm tomorrow morning to meet with me and Tom. We told her that Nightstorm wasn’t for sale, but she said she had things to tell us…”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” Issie said, “but whatever it is, it can’t be good.”
Mrs Brown dropped the pile of laundry she had been sorting. “What on earth is Francoise playing at? First of all she doesn’t even answer your letters and then she just turns up and demands that you sell her your horse? What time is she coming tomorrow? I can’t wait to tell her myself that Storm isn’t for sale and give her a piece of my mind!”
Issie shook her head. “It’s OK, Mum. I can handle it. It isn’t like that…” Issie couldn’t believe she was defending Francoise, but in spite of everything she was still convinced that the Frenchwoman was her friend. “Tom has already told her Storm isn’t for sale, we’re just going to talk about stuff.”
“Are you sure?” Mrs Brown arched a sceptical eyebrow.
“You don’t need me to come too? You can always call me on my mobile if you like and I can—”
“Mum, really. I’ll be OK,” Issie managed a smile. “Tom will be there to back me up.”
Mrs Brown didn’t look convinced, but she let the matter drop and didn’t bring it up again that evening.
Issie went to bed that night feeling utterly drained after everything that had happened. Once she was actually in bed, though, she couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking about Francoise’s strange comment. What did she mean when she said that she had so much more to tell them? Why was Nightstorm so important to El Caballo Danza Magnifico?
Despite her worries, she eventually dozed off, but she’d only been asleep a little while when her subconscious took over and the nightmare began. In her sleep, she tossed and turned, and vivid images flashed through her head as she relived that fateful day at the pony club. The day that Mystic died.
Mystic had been Issie’s very first horse. With his swayed back and a dapple-grey coat that had faded with age, he was hardly the best-looking horse in the paddock at Chevalier Point. That didn’t matter to Issie, though. She adored Mystic and thought he was the most beautiful horse
