CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sam tried to push the worry of the competition posed by Matt to the back of her mind and concentrate on improving Emma and Malaika. One morning, as Sam and Emma were preparing to go down to the schooling paddock, there was a shout from behind and they turned to see Sam's next door neighbour Jo Hamilton-Clarke recklessly trotting her pony, Rosie towards them.
"Hiya!" she yelled.
"Hello, mate, how're you?" Sam grinned.
"Fine, thanks. But so bored! I was wondering if you wanted some company today? There's no one to ride with back home now that Barry and Phil have gone on that boys' camping thingy."
"Yes, of course we'd like you to join us. In fact, you could help us if you don't mind," Sam said. "Fancy a bit of a jumping competition?"
"Sure, as long as the jumps are below four foot," Jo replied happily. "We're not that brave."
While Jo and Emma warmed up their mounts, chatting amiably to one another, Jem helped Sam with building a course.
"Okay you two, come over here and listen," Sam eventually called out to the girls. "All right? These jumps here may not seem very big to you…"
Jo looked at her doubtfully. "…but they are strategically positioned to make you think every step of the way. I want you both to do a round, each in your own time and then we'll take a pit stop, okay?"
Once they had been briefed on the route Emma set out first. She was tackling the course neatly until she came to a vertical shortly after a tight corner. Unable to check Malaika's stride in time the mare knocked the top pole off with her knees.
"Wow, that was tricky," Emma said with genuine surprise when she had trotted back. "I thought it wouldn't be that bad since none of them are particularly big but it was!"
Jo and Rosie set off confidently and somehow managed to get round the course with only eight faults. Jo's riding was erratic and she threw herself over each jump leaving too much daylight to be seen between her and saddle. She also couldn't see Rosie's stride until they were almost upon the jump and those that they jumped smoothly hadn't anything to do with skill. But Sam grinned at her when she came trotting back to the fence.
"Well done. Now, before I ask you to up the pace, let me just say a few things about jumping at speed. Don't, for one second, think that all it's about is galloping as fast as you can around the course. You have to think about cutting corners and looking for where you can make up time. You must be quick as well, of course but not out of control. If you're just tearing around you're more likely to take a wider course and you'll be guaranteed to knock down jumps. You have to think quickly too. If you make a mistake or your horse stumbles or something, you'll have lost it if you haven't got all your wits about you. Think ahead. If your class has a jump-off, then figure out your jump-off course when you're walking the course right at the start. Look for nooks and crannies which you can snip off and save half a second here and half a second there. It could mean all the difference between winning and losing a class. So now! Let's do the same course again. This time upping the tempo a bit. Let's make that oil drum over there the starting line and the second pole along the fence the finish line. Okay? Off you go, Emma!"
As Emma raced past the starting barrel Sam glanced at the second hand on her watch. She knew Malaika was a naturally zippy horse who could accelerate faster than a lot of heavier horses and her shorter stride also allowed her to cut round corners sharper. The pair flew over the course and Emma steadied Malaika as they turned the corner to the vertical they had knocked down before. The corner was tight though and Sam felt that they had still travelled wider than they should have. Nevertheless, they finished the course without knocking down any jumps. Again, Sam took note of the time.
A fair round, she thought to herself.
"How do you think you went?" she asked once Emma had pulled up.
"Not bad, I don't think," she replied vaguely.
"Any things which you think you might have improved on?" Sam prompted.
"Nn-no," Emma said slowly. "I thought we did pretty well."
"Yes, you did do that well. But you went farming coming into that upright and after jumping those barrels in the middle you could have turned earlier in the air. Instead, Malaika had already gone two strides before you did anything. But apart from that you did well. Ready, Jo?"
Despite all Sam had said about remaining in control, Jo and Rosie still tore around like a bat out of hell. They knocked down only the one jump this time but when Rosie pecked on landing Jo wasn't ready and they lost what would have been valuable seconds trying to regain the rhythm and momentum. It didn't bother Sam that Jo hadn't heeded a word of what she had said because she wasn't here to teach Jo. In fact, it was a good way of teaching Emma what not to do.
"Sam, do you fancy going into town and doing a bit of Christmas shopping?" Alison said popping her head around her sister-in-law's bedroom door early the next week. Sam, who was reading a book in bed, looked up in surprise.
"Christmas shopping? My God, where has this year gone?"
"Well, early Christmas shopping is what I probably should have said. Best to beat the crowds though."
"Good idea. Me trying to get through throngs of oblivious Christmas shoppers could spark a severe case of shopping aisle rage."
The threat which the heavy rolling grey clouds above had been posing all morning was finally carried out as Sam, Alison and Richard made their way down the High Street. A persistent drizzle was suddenly upon them and as if by magic, umbrellas shot up all around them sheltering other passers by. Alison gave a wail of despair and hurried them into the nearest shop. It was a bookstore luckily, so Sam didn't mind whiling away her time looking at books until the rain stopped. Alison, on the other hand was faced with another dilemma. Taking Richard into a bookstore was like letting a bull loose in a china shop. He was likely to drop books on the floor spine-up, bend back covers and tear out pages with colourful pictures on them if he was left to his own devices.
"I'm going to take him to the video game section where he won't cause as much havoc," Alison said to Sam.
"Okay, I think I'll just wander about here."
She watched mother and son disappear around a corner and chuckled to herself. Richard was such a tearaway but equally as adorable. As she passed the magazine stand her attention was caught by a photograph on the cover of one, like metal to a magnet. Recognition passed through Sam's body like a shockwave and her chest tightened painfully as she came to an abrupt halt. Sights and sounds around her faded to nothingness, blurred and muffled as she gazed at the photograph in a narrow channel of recollection. Slowly, she wheeled herself closer to the stand, never taking her eyes off the picture, feeling it almost reeling her in. Long moments passed without Sam being able to do anything but gaze at the magazine. The shrill jangle of the store's door shocked her back into the present and the outside world came flooding back to life. She quickly composed her emotions and snatched the magazine down off the shelf, nearly falling out of her chair in her haste.
Whatever was inside that referred to the picture on the front, she wanted to know, but not here. She wasn't sure how she would react. She decided it was best to buy the magazine and read it at home in the safety of her own room.
Sam sat in her bedroom with the door securely locked so Richard wouldn't disturb her. Gingerly she took out the magazine and laid it on her lap, again staring at the photograph, grazing her fingers lightly over its glossy finish. It was of a horse. A horse Sam had known so well. A horse named Hellfire. There he was, posing for the camera as if he was God's gift to the world. It was a close-up shot of his head with a girl in a hard hat beside him. His pricked ears almost touched at the tips. His vibrant eyes shone with life and his nostrils were blown out like he had always done when he was excited. His face was so familiar to Sam that she could almost feel his soft velvet muzzle and hear his deep husky breaths. The only thing unfamiliar to her was the bridle which he wore and the skinny freckle-faced girl posing beside him. Sam saw they had him in a D-ring snaffle instead of the egg-butt snaffle which Sam had always used, and a running martingale. The girl must be either Ruth Redman, who had originally bought Hellfire and whom Sam had never met, or else if he had been sold on, his new owner.
That was my horse in another life, Sam thought sadly.
She turned to the first page and referred to the Contents then opened the feature on her ex-partner. There he was again, this time a full body shot with Ruth Redman, his owner confirmed by the caption, on his back, her long legs hugging his sides and her body slim and straight.
God, he was a handsome horse, Sam thought somewhat bitterly. But then she caught herself. Why was she referring to him in the past tense when he was still alive and able-bodied? Well, she admitted to herself, that was simple. Her riding career was over so automatically she would think that all those who had shared it with her would also have finished.
Sam slowly read through the article. Her name jumped out at her early in the paragraph.
"…Hellfire, previously Sam Peterson's eventing prospect until a paralysing accident halted her career in its tracks…"
Sam grimaced at the play on words. It then went on to describe Hellfire's exceptional performance at Greystone, becoming the youngest horse ever to win the highly-acclaimed Open.
Sam thought back to last year's Greystone when she had come second on Jetsetter. The course was quick and more suited to Hellfire with his powerful acceleration than Jets. It was no wonder he had won. Tears filled her eyes as pride and happiness for Hellfire and self pity overwhelmed her.
Oh, how she wanted to have been the one up on his back instead of Ruth Redman. She wanted to be the one riding to glory and celebrating their success.
The magazine slipped off her knees and landed on the floor as her body went limp with dejection. It fell open on another page and the picture heading an article dragged her attention back from the well of despair. It was of a big black horse being jumped over a huge triple by someone now so familiar to her. An inset photo showed the rider's face more clearly with his smooth olive skin and mahogany brown eyes. Matt Benning was laughing into the camera, showing off Hollywood-worthy teeth and two dimples etched into his cheeks. Below, in bold black text was the caption "The Sky's The Limit".
Wiping her eyes dry, Sam picked up the fallen magazine and began to read.
"Matt Benning may not be the most familiar name on the show jumping circuit but all that has changed since sweeping the board at this year's Muirfield Show. Riding Leon Brooke's Speed Limit, nineteen-year-old Benning carried off the Muirfield Speed Stakes, the Jefferson Grand Prix and the High Jump in a weekend of fierce international competition. His other ride, Razor Sharp, also owned by Leon Brooke, did not live up to his namesake and appeared nervy and distracted throughout the three days' jumping…"
I'll bet that was no thanks to the beating he more than likely received beforehand, Sam thought savagely.
"…Nephew of Brooke, Benning must be seriously considered for next year's Huntingdon Horse Show where he will, no doubt, make life very difficult for defending champion Ralph de Jaeger and Britain's top riders such as Tom McGrath and Mark Carter. With his nephew riding so well for him, Brooke is bound to pick up some hefty prizes and prices for the horses he will undoubtedly be selling at the end of the season…"
Sam closed the magazine and smiled grimly to herself. Matt Benning was becoming harder and harder to ignore.