Love and Horses at Bracken Read online

  The rain had stopped by the time they came out of the church and the wet grass and the heavy, changing leaves on the trees sparkled. They stopped for the photographs and even Bobby’s Aunt managed to smile. Then they were in the car on their way to the reception and Guy was holding and kissing her and she even failed to worry about the foal.

  The reception rapidly got under way. There was background music from the schools speakers, plenty of food, many people to see and talk to. Bobby talked and laughed and managed not to get too close to her Aunt and at last it was time to cut their cake, which inevitably, had two horses and riders on the top among the sugar roses. Then James made a kind and cheerful best man speech, Guy thanked everyone for coming and it was time to take a quick look at the now sleeping foal and his mother and change ready to go on the brief two day honeymoon which was all the time they could spare away from the busy riding school. Guy’s ageing car was ready, decked with ribbons and trailing horse shoes and the guests gathered to see them leave. Bobby’s Uncle kissed her in a friendly fatherly way and Helen managed another of her frosty smiles. Ellen gave a Bobby a quick hug.

  ‘I may be a bit of a bitch sometimes’ she told Bobby. ‘But good luck, you both deserve it.’

  That was typical Ellen, Bobby knew, suddenly showing her nice side. She turned her back to the onlookers and tossed her small bouquet of roses over her shoulder, and looked round in time to see that Heath had caught it and also to see an unfathomable look on her friend’s face. Envy, almost jealousy, but then it was gone and Heath smiling and waving with the rest. Guy was opening the car door for her and getting in himself and to a chorus of cheers and a blast on the horn they were on their way.

  Chapter two

  The two days away were blissful. It was the longest time that Bobby and Guy had ever spent together without the constant coming and going of other people and the demands of the business. They stayed at a small country hotel, talked and laughed and loved, lay in long grass in the sun, explored each other and found as much happiness with each other as they had hoped for. They could have stayed forever, cocooned in that warm timelessness but real life was waiting with its challenges and horses and other people and they had to return to Bracken.

  While they were away Heath had put Shelta and her baby into the small recovery paddock close to the stables. When Bobby called Shelta replied with a deep, welcoming whicker and came over, the colt at her side. He was big, Bobby saw, stocky against Shelta’s fineness, with already a look of power. He had a white face and there were irregular brown patches on his sides and already he had a bold, confident air. When Shelta came close to the fence for the carrot which Bobby had for her he pushed in the way, insisting that there was not room for him to suckle. Heath laughed.

  ‘Cocky little fellow, isn’t he?’ she said. ’Already wants his own way. What are you going to call him?’

  ‘Have to be surprise or present.’ Yolanda, the chief groom, was also watching. News of the foal had spread fast and the staff and livery clients had all been trying to guess the name, and had come up with all sorts of things ranging from Lovers Knot to Autumn Glory.

  ‘Colour Fast’ she said now. ’Or Patchwork.’

  ‘Travellers Folly’ suggested Guy, who was listening, Bobby turned to him. ‘That’s it’ she said ‘Folly. It’s just right. Shelta’s Folly.’

  She reached over the fence to scratch the colt’s woolly neck and Shelta nuzzled her as if she was agreeing. Bobby stayed for a moment watching them, and the colt kicked up his heels and scampered round his mother. Bobby had a feeling that he might be unexpected but he was not going to be boring. They were soon back into the routine of stable work, lessons, hacks, and dealing with the liveries. There were several of these now although Ellen’s magnificent dun, Minos, was still stabled with Jay Ashford with whom Ellen had become very close friends, while Ellen was at college. The two eventing liveries had also moved on as the young barrister who owned them no longer had time to compete. They now had Isabel’s Phoenix, whose success had brought them much needed publicity during the difficult summer after the accident, Mrs. Costello’s sweet rescue horse, Francine, and what Guy termed affectionately the coffee ladies horses, three nice little horses that belonged to three ladies who were friends, who shared lessons and went hacking, spoiled their horses with expensive new rugs and spent a lot of time making and drinking companionable cups of coffee in the tack room. But during all this Bobby found something missing. With Shelta occupied with motherhood she had no special horse to ride, to be getting fit for the winter show circuit, and on whom to enjoy hacking just for the fun of it. There were always horses to ride, liveries to exercise, riding school horses needing a break from routine, but it was not the same.

  Again Bobby found herself resenting Folly, who had stolen this from her. There was not enough money to spare to buy that special prospective competition horse, and Bobby tried to resign herself to waiting for Shelta but as the autumn drew on with crisp mornings, shifting mists and days of wild winds and flying rain she missed her dancing, glowing little mare more and more. It was Guy’s brother James who came up with a possible solution. He had rung to inquire how the colt was progressing, and when Guy told him that Bobby was missing having a special horse he had a suggestion to make.

  ‘He said you might like something a bit different’, Guy told Bobby. ‘Such as an ex racehorse. He’s got one he thinks might turn into a jumper with schooling.’

  ‘An ex racehorse?’ Bobby was intrigued. ‘I’ve heard about them. Don’t they have special classes for them at some shows?’

  ‘Yes, but they can often go on to compete in any discipline’ Guy told her. ‘And the beauty of it is they don’t cost the earth. They need re-schooling and people expect them to be half wild and difficult but James says that they’re no different to any hot blooded horse. How do you fancy a trip to wild Wales for a look? I’m sure we can steal a day or so off, if Heath and Yolanda can cope’.

  Bobby was all for it. Much as she loved Bracken it would be fun to visit somewhere else, and a trip alone with Guy was still a major attraction. It was decided that Monday would be a good day to go as there were no lessons or rides on Monday and Heath could deal with those there were on Tuesday if they were not back in time.

  Meanwhile the foal was proving to be a handful. He and his mother came in at night as the autumn weather could be damp and chilly, and most foals would have followed close to their mother on the short trip from paddock to stable, but Folly wanted to explore. As soon as the gate opened he would be off, trotting across the yard to see what everyone else was doing. Some of the horses were friendly, but others would object to the small white nose poking over or under their stable doors and Folly would be sent packing by a snap or an angry squeal. He didn’t care, he would go on trotting round with his big ears pricked, eager for any experience he could get. He got his head caught in a spare bucket, knocked a bale of hay down from a stack waiting for evening feeds and finally came scuttling up just in time to join his mother before her door closed. Shelta would be concentrating on her evening feed but Folly would want his food as well, and butted at her imperiously until she was in a comfortable position for him to reach his milk.

  ‘Little monster, isn’t he?’ laughed Heath as she watched, but Bobby was not so amused. She felt sorry for her lovely mare, but Shelta seemed happy to let her baby have his way.

  ‘When we get back from Wales we’ll get him used to a foal slip’ said Guy. ‘He’s going to need plenty of discipline or we could have a problem’

  They set off early on Monday morning, Guy driving to start with, in the elderly Astra which would be a more comfortable ride than the old Land Rover. It was a bright morning, a brisk breeze sending small clouds fast across the autumn sky, and sending the browning leaves flying. With the holiday season well over the M4 when they reached it was fairly quiet except for the heavy lorries heading west and it was not too long before the great wings of the Severn bridge came into sight. Bobby had not been
to Wales before, and she was thrilled by the view from the bridge of the huge, brown river and the wide mud flats amid the swirling water. They stopped for coffee and a break at the Severn services, and walked down to the waterside walk to have a closer look at the river. Then it was on again, down the much quieter motorway and then the A40 with the great, green hills of west Wales rising up against a much stormier sky. Bobby was driving now, with Guy map reading as they left the main road and took quieter roads and finally a winding lane. ‘We should be about there’ said Guy, and then they saw the gates and the notice Windrush Heights Training stables.

  The short drive took them into a car park with a cottage on one side and an archway over a gate into what was clearly the stable yard. Bobby switched off the ignition, and got out, glad to feel the cold, brisk wind after the stuffy car, while Guy got out more slowly, stiff from the long drive.

  ‘So you made it, well done.’ James was coming out of the yard, a shorter, wiry version of Guy. He slapped with brother’s back and turned to give Bobby a brotherly kiss. ‘Come on into the house and meet Anwen and the brat’.

  Anwen, his pretty, tiny Welsh wife, was already at the door, their baby in her arms, and they all followed her inside. The cottage was small and dark beamed, with white walls and a lovely dark oak dresser against the wall facing them. They were soon settled on comfortable armchairs, and Anwen said, ‘so you’ve come after a horse have you?’ There’ a nice little one James has in mind for you. Here J, take Morgan and I’ll make the coffee.’

  ‘Perhaps Bobby would like to hold him’ suggested James, and Bobby found her arms full of a warm, heavy, wrapped bundle. The baby, she knew, was three months old, the reason that Anwen had not come to the wedding with James. Feeling him stir, and seeing the little hands move, she felt a strange, warm stir herself, and the sudden, up to now unrealised thought that one day she too might join Anwen and Shelta in this business of motherhood. Looking up she found that Guy was watching her, and the tenderness in his eyes sent a shudder through her. Then Anwen was handing round coffee and the moment was lost in small talk until James stood up and said, ‘now, shall we go and look at these horses?’

  The stable yard, beyond the archway, was square, modern, and spotless. A gate on the far side led to a surfaced paddock, there was the classic mown grassy square in the centre. The boxes all had v-shaped anti-weaving grids on the top doors and several aristocratic heads looked out at the sound of their steps. A large ginger cat stared at them from a window sill, and several white doves flew up from the grass.

  ‘Always quiet at this time’ said James, as they followed him down the yard. ‘Exercising is an early morning job, like at most racing yards. The ones on the right are the flat horses, jumpers on the left. The flat lot are mostly being let down, the main season is over. The jumpers are just starting.’

  There were two boxes at the end of the yard, slightly apart beyond a tack room in which Bobby saw racks of gleaming saddles and bridles. Then James was opening one of the boxes, and a grey head appeared, gazing out in surprise at the interruption of its afternoon sleep.

  ‘Go on back, boy.’ James had a head collar in his hand. ‘This is Jack’s Frost’ he told them. ‘Not Jack Frost, owner‘s called Jack. He’s a nice little horse, nice temperament.’

  He slipped the smart leather head collar onto the horse and backed him up to let Bobby and Guy come into the box. The horse was about sixteen hands, a bright, clear grey with some darker dapples on the top of his legs. He had a clean cut, intelligent head, large eyes, and sharply pricking ears. He looked hard and fit, and he was friendly, reaching a nose out to sniff Bobby’s hand.

  ‘Why is he giving up racing?’ asked Guy, and James said ‘He’s too careful over his jumps, spends too long in the air. That’s why the boss’ and I think he might show jump. He’s run a few times over hurdles, but his best was seventh out of ten. The owner wants something more competitive. Talked about sending this one to the sales, but he’s too nice a horse to let him slide downhill or end up as sausages. Then when your mare, Bobby, sprang that surprise I thought he might fill the gap.’

  ‘Has he done any flat work?’ Bobby asked. ‘Or been ridden in a general purpose sort of saddle?

  ‘Oh yes,’ James patted the horse, who was nuzzling him. ‘He’s used to a normal saddle and he’s trotted a few circles in the paddock. Would you like to see him out?’

  Bobby and Guy both said that they would, and James went to fetch tack. Jack’s Frost was good to tack up and James led him out.

  ‘One thing he hasn’t learned yet is to be mounted with the stirrup’ he told them. ‘Probably be the first thing you’d need to teach him.’

  He turned the horses head to the wall and vaulted on. Jack’s Frost moved off at once, out through the gate to the paddock and Guy said ‘first impression?’

  ‘Good.’ Bobby liked the look of Jack’s Frost and watching him trot round the paddock she liked him more. He moved well, and although he was far from schooled he seemed to have the right idea. Soon James brought him over to them and asked Bobby if she wanted to ride him, and when she agreed he slid off and gave Bobby a leg up.

  The horse was fun, quite different to the horses Bobby was used to, he was unschooled and stiff on turns and circles, and he carried his head high, without properly accepting the bit, but he felt keen and his long, elastic stride was exciting. There were a couple of schooling hurdles built on a sand track round the outside of the paddock and James opened the gate for her. Frosts ears went forward when he saw the jumps, and he leaped forward into a powerful, floating canter. Bobby sat tight as the horse took off well before the hurdle, really lifting himself, and landing well out on the other side. He felt almost suspended for a moment, high above the well battered brush, and Bobby had to sit down hard and try to steady him for the second jump. Again that flying moment of suspension, and then they were back on the ground and Bobby was laughing as she pulled up, with some difficulty, at the gate. James and Guy were also laughing and James said, ‘I think you both enjoyed that’.

  ‘He’s great,’ agreed Bobby, and James said ‘Good, right, now how about a gallop on the beach, if you’re up for it.’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Bobby thought it a wonderful idea and she looked at Guy.’ Do you think so?’ She suddenly felt guilty, leaving him standing watching while she enjoyed herself, but James said ‘we can all go. There’s another one for sale that can do with a run, and I’ll dig out a nice, safe hack for the old man here.’

  Guy laughed but Bobby saw the sudden hurt in his eyes, and knew how much his restrictions still hurt him. James took Guy away with him to tack up more horses, and Bobby kept Frost walking round until they reappeared, Guy on a sensible looking older thoroughbred with grey hairs on its head and a puffy leg from some past injury and James riding an impressive black horse of about seventeen hands with a look of immense power about him.

  ‘This is The Dark Miller’ he told Bobby. ‘Could be a brilliant steeplechaser, but he won’t start.

  Bit too big for you, though.’

  He led the way out of the gate and down a track which led to a lane. In front of them the view opened out to sloping cliffs topped by short grass and blazing golden gorse and beyond that the sea, grey for a moment and then deepest blue as the sun came out, white topped waves driving in on the brisk wind.

  ‘I bet you don’t see anything like this in soft Surrey’ said James and Bobby, her breath almost taken away by the wild, vast view, agreed that they did not.

  The lane dropped steeply down, the sea briefly hidden by the cliffs until James turned his horse down a well trodden, sandy path and suddenly they were on the beach, wide golden sand running down to the crashing sea. The Bracken horses would have gone wild at the sight, Bobby knew, but these three just pricked their ears and began to jog.

  ‘We use the beach for galloping in the quiet season’ said James. ‘No use in the holiday seasons though, too many people. Fine today, too windy for all but the locals.’

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bsp; There were two or three people walking dogs but otherwise they had the long, wide stretch of firm sand to themselves.

  ‘We’ll trot to the end, make sure there aren’t any holes or bits of rubbish, then we can let them go’ James told them.

  The horses seemed to understand this. Bobby could feel Frosts immense eagerness under her but he agreed to trot until they reached the far end, where the cliffs came closer to the edge of the sea and the surf was breaking over rocks hung with seaweed.

  ‘Right, ready?’ James was turning his horse, the big black suddenly bunched together, and Jack spun round to join him. Even Guy’s sensible old horse was gathered together.

  ‘Sit tight,’ warned James, leaning forward to stand in his short stirrups, and they were off. Bobby had galloped many horses, Shelta could be thrilling, but she had known nothing quite like this. It really was like flying, the immense reach and stretch of the horse’s stride, the wind tearing through the white mane and dragging her hair from under her hat, the sand flying, turning to spray as James guided his horse into the breaking surf. There was salt spray on her face, the roar of the sea and the thunder of hooves on the hard sand, the eager mouth at the end of the reins, until James was yelling ’steady’ and Bobby sat back, tightening the reins and feeling the brief resistance before her horse gave in and came back to a canter and then a trot. Guy came up alongside, his old horse steady and sensible, and in front James was arguing with the black horse who would willingly have gone on into the jumble of rock and stone which marked the end of the beach.