I will just have to impress her.â
Lucinda hesitated. âThereâs more to it. The thing is, Tara will be watching you. She knows who you are, you see. Because she knew your mother.â
âShe knew Mum?â Georgie perked up. âBut thatâs great! If she recognises my name it might help my chances of being selected.â
âI doubt it,â Lucinda said darkly. âGeorgie, when I say that Tara knew Ginny that might not necessarily be a positive thing â¦â
Georgie was confused. âWhat are you talking about?â
âThatâs what Iâm trying to tell you,â Lucinda said. âYour mother and Tara werenât friends. They were rivals.â
Chapter Three (#ulink_8878d4db-6a58-53bb-ad62-4e5d8a5960b8)
Tara Kelly raced her rental car down the narrow lanes, catching glimpses of the countryside flashing by as she drove at breakneck speed. She had almost forgotten how beautiful England could be in the springtime, the old stone cottages, and apple trees in bloom.
It had been a long time since her last visit. For the past three years another Blainford selector had been responsible for handling the UK while Tara had been re-assigned to the other end of the world, looking for fresh talent in Australia and Japan. This year however, the roster had changed again and Tara had returned to Europe.
Last week she had been in Germany with other selectors for the finals of the European auditions, and they had chosen several excellent new admissions for the academy. The two best new entrants were outstanding dressage riders, which, Tara thought with a wry smile, would no doubt please Bettina Schmidt. Bettina was the head of Blainfordâs dressage department and had always been critical of the recruitment process for the academy. Bettinaâs concern was that Tara, as both chief selector and the head of Blainfordâs eventing department, was biased towards eventing riders. In fact the truth was quite the opposite. As four-times winner of the Lexington Horse Trials, Tara set especially high standards for students applying to join her department.
The selection process was tough no matter what category you applied for. Only the best riders from showjumpers and polo players to Western and natural horsemanship disciples, even vaulters and carriage drivers, were chosen.
Blainford had earned its reputation by maintaining the highest standards and entry to the academy was exclusive. Tara and her team of selectors had to make certain that the right choices were made.
The shortlist of potential applicants crumpled at the bottom of Tara Kellyâs brown leather bag was becoming shorter by the day. After the Cirencester show it would become shorter still. 116 junior showjumpers were competing in this last semi-final. Only three of them would make it through to the final auditions next weekend at the Birmingham NEC.
It was impossible of course for Tara to remember the name of every aspiring rider on the shortlist, but there was one that had leapt off the page at her from the very first time she had seen it. That name was Georgina Parker.
âItâs not so much that Tara and your mum hated each other,â Lucinda explained as she drove the horse lorry into the Cirencester showgrounds. âThey were the best riders in the eventing class and there was this constant rivalry. They used their competitiveness with each other to spur themselves on, I suppose. Between them, they won every single prize in their senior year at school.â
âSo why didnât Mum talk about her?â Georgie asked.
âTheir lives didnât really connect much after that,â Lucinda said. âThey both turned professional and for a short while they rode against each other on the international circuit. But then your mum took some time off to have you and when she returned to eventing Tara had given up competing to take up her position at Blainford.â
Lucinda stopped talking to concentrate on parking the lorry then said, âRight. Iâll go get your registration number while you unload him and saddle up.â
Normally at a one-day event, Georgie knew quite a few of the other riders. It was fun to meet up at shows and there would be friendly smiles and chit-chat. But she didnât know a soul at Cirencester and the atmosphere was tense and bristling with competition.
As Georgie unloaded Tyro she felt the stares of the other riders. They were watching, assessing their new rival. Tyro, of course, played to the crowd by high-stepping down the ramp as if he were a race horse arriving at the Grand National. The pony carried himself as if he were a statuesque Thoroughbred stallion instead of a fourteen-two hand gelding. He stood at the bottom of the lorry ramp and utterly embarrassed Georgie by holding his head high in the air and letting out a loud, brazen whinny as if to say âIâve arrived! Everyone look at me!â
âStop being a show-off!â Georgie giggled at his antics. But no one else seemed amused. There were serious faces on all the other riders as they trotted past, eyeing Georgie and Tyro suspiciously.
It got worse once Georgie mounted up and rode Tyro along the avenue of swanky horse lorries and into the practice arena. Here, it was every man for himself as riders kept getting in each otherâs way as they warmed up. Georgie cantered a bit close to a gangly-legged girl on a pretty grey pony and received a vicious telling-off from the girlâs mum who had bleached blonde hair and a strangely orange complexion, which Georgie eventually realised was due to a spray tan and not a hideous skin condition.
âKeep off! Youâll make Caprice upset!â the mother complained loudly. âSheâs very sensitive!â
âIâm sorry, Caprice.â Georgie pulled Tyro up to apologise.
âMy name is Sybil.â The girl looked at Georgie like she was a total idiot. âCaprice is my pony.â
âOh, sorry,â Georgie said again. Caprice, meanwhile, had noticed Tyro. She reached her long elegant grey neck out to touch noses with the gelding and, in a gesture typical of stroppy mares, greeted him by giving a sudden, high-pitched squeal and lashing out with a vicious swipe of her foreleg.
âSee!â the orange-faced woman fumed. âNow youâve gone and upset her!â She snatched Caprice by the reins and dragged the pony and her daughter off to the other side of the field. âIf you come near us again Iâm reporting you to the officials,â she told Georgie loudly.
A girl on a fourteen-two hand palomino had been watching the whole commotion and rode up to Georgie with a smile on her face. âI saw mad Mrs Hawley giving you a hard time,â she said. âDonât worryâshe shouted at me too before you got here. Sheâs such a bossy old bat!â
âIt was like getting told off by a giant bottle of Tango!â Georgie giggled.
The girl smiled. âIâm Olivia,â she said leaning down to give the palomino a pat on her glossy neck. âAnd this is Molly. Weâre from Blackfriars Pony Club in Northampton.â
âMolly is gorgeous,â Georgie smiled. âIâm Georgie. This is Tyro.â
âIsnât this whole auditions thing so intense?â Olivia groaned. âItâs like nobody will even say hello. Iâve seen at least half a dozen kids here that I usually go to pony club with and they wonât even look at me!â
Georgie shrugged. âEveryoneâs just nervous, I guess. You know, thereâs so much at stake.â
âI know!â Olivia nodded vigorously. âI woke up this morning and felt so ill with nerves I didnât think Iâd be able to ride today â¦â
âOlivia!â A woman wearing a baseball cap and jeans called out across the warm-up arena.
âOh! Thatâs my mum.â Olivia grabbed the reins and turned her palomino on her hindquarters. âI better go,â she smiled at Georgie. âSee you later! Good luck!â
âYou too,â Georgie said as she watched Olivia ride off.
âThere you are!â Lucinda said when Georgie arrived back at the lorry. âTie Tyro up with a hay net and come with me. Itâs time to walk the course.â
The fences in the arena looked all right from a distance. It wasnât until you were actually standing next to the jumps that you realised how big they really were.
As Lucinda went from fence to fence, explaining about the best line to take for each jump, Georgie felt her knees gradually turning to jelly beneath her. Sheâd let Lucinda convince her that there wasnât much between being an eventing rider and a showjumper, forgetting the one key differenceâshowjumping fences were massive!
Olivia was walking the course with her mum, who turned out to be an old friend of Lucindaâs.
âEveryone says that the treble is the bogey fence,â Olivia groaned. âItâs a totally enormous spread on the last jump.â
But Lucinda wasnât so sure. âSometimes the big ones that look the hardest actually ride easy. Letâs wait and see how the others handle it,â she told Georgie. âThere are thirty-one riders ahead of you so youâll have a chance to see where the problems are.â
The first rider into the ring was Byron Montford. Byron rode a glamorous bay hack called Toledo and he had every piece of flashy tack imaginable. None of which stopped him from coming to grief at several of the jumps, including the treble, to rack up a final score of sixteen faults.
âThis course is going to be very tough indeed,â Lucinda muttered. She was proven right as one after another polished combination of horse and rider entered the ring looking for a clear round and were knocked out by fallen rails or refusals.
âThatâs the point of these sudden death rounds.â Lucinda shrugged. âTheyâre trying to narrow down the competition quickly. Mind you, at this rate hardly anyone will make the jump-offs!â
By the time rider number twenty-five was in the ring, Georgie was back at the lorry tightening Tyroâs girth and preparing to mount up. As she adjusted the black ponyâs noseband she leant in so that her face was right up close. âThis is it, Tyro,â she whispered. âWeâve been given another chance to make it to Blainford. Just donât tell anyone youâre not a real showjumper, OK? Weâre going to go in there and fox them and make it through. All you have to do is go clear.â
The Connemara cocked one ear to listen as she spoke and Georgie hoped that her pony understood what she was saying. He was a seasoned eventer and was probably expecting business as usualâa dressage test followed by cross-country then showjumping. But today they would be going straight to the showjumping ring. And theyâd be going over the biggest fences Tyro had ever jumped in his life.
In the ring competitor number thirty-one, Sybil Hawley, was just completing a round that left the audience with their hearts in their mouths. Sybil had a strange style, galloping wildly between fences and then yanking Caprice in the mouth, before throwing the reins away right before the fence. Poor Caprice! The grey mare was clearly being driven mad by her riderâs busy hands and spent most of the round trying to get above the bit, her head held high and the whites of her eyes showing. It was seat-of-the-pants stuff over every jump, but somehow they got through.
âA clear round for Sybil Hawley and Caprice. Can competitor thirty-two, Georgina Parker and Tyro, please enter the arena!â The announcerâs voice boomed over the tannoy.