HALF an hour later Andras stood up and said that it was time he did something about finding transport home.
“The Campbells will, I am sure, send a car for me,” he told Tamara. “If I might use your telephone?”
“You needn’t bother them,” Tamara told him, with a sudden gleam in her eyes that was something between mischief and malice. “I’ll drive you back, if you don’t mind travelling in a bit less comfort than Mrs. Campbell’s limousine.”
“It is very kind of you,” said Andras. “But it will be putting you to too much trouble.”
“I shall enjoy it,” Tamara assured him, with such relish that Ginny knew at once what was in her mind. “Coming, Ginny? Or have you been wet enough for one day?”
“I’ll come,” Ginny told her, leaping up, and forgetting her aching leg, which had, in any case, eased a great deal since her hot bath.
“Don’t forget your mack,” ordered Tamara. “And lend Captain Jokai one.”
“Please, my name is Andras,” he objected.
“O.K., Andras,” agreed Tamara casually. “Come on.”
Andras scrambled into an enormous old waterproof cycling cape which Ginny found in a cupboard, picked up his wet coat, and followed them out into the night. Bates was still in the tack-room, and Ginny grinned at Andras’s surprise when Tamara lifted down the two sets of pair harness.
“Horse-power,” he exclaimed. “That will be most interesting.”
“Glad you think so,” Tamara told him.
Andras had a final look at his own horse, and then came to watch the harnessing of the two bays with great interest. They were both excited by the prospect of a night outing in the rain and the rising wind, and for a moment Ginny did wonder whether it was a sane idea. But then the thrill of the moment took hold of her and she ceased to worry as she scrambled up into the single groom’s seat, in which she had to sit with her back to the others, facing the way that they had come. Andras swung easily up into the passenger seat, the huge cape billowing round him, and Tamara took the reins and got up beside him. Bates was having tremendous difficulty in holding the two horses, and as Tamara reached her seat Countess reared, plunging forward, and dragging Bates and Count with her.
“Let them go!” shouted Tamara, picking up the whip. “Hold tight.”
The long whip flashed forward to explode with a whirling crack above the horses’ ears, Bates leaped backwards, and both horses flung themselves into their harness. The trap leaped after them. Ginny grabbed the back of the driving-seat with one hand, and Andras put out a hand to catch the side of his seat as they whirled out of the yard. Tamara was driving in her usual style, body braced to hold the pair, head up and slightly back, and her hands firm and steady on the taut reins, the long whip-lash flying out behind her. The rain lashed their faces and the wind tore through their hair and plucked at their wet sleeves. The light from the twin carriage lamps flung a golden glow on passing leaves and branches, and the bays swept down the drive at a raking canter, white foam flecks flying back, flashing silver in the lamp-light, their dark ears pricked forward eagerly into the wild night. A mad exhilaration gripped them all as they raced towards the road, the wet gravel flying up from the driving hooves and the spinning wheels, and the whip cracking again around the horses’ ears. Well ahead shone the glimmer of lights along the road, and the moving glow of headlamps reflecting off the rain, but here they were in a world apart, a vanished, romantic world that had been filled with the sound of cantering hooves and carriage wheels racing through a wild spring night, a world where horse-power was a living, breathing thing, not machinery buried beneath a metal bonnet, and Ginny had a sudden wild feeling that they were racing back into time, that the dark drive was a link between present and past. And then Tamara was slowing her horses, bringing them back to a trot, then to a walk, and turning them carefully out on to the wet, artificially lighted tarmac of the modern main road.
They went to Solfern, where the Campbells lived, along the lanes and back ways, a breath of the past in the wild, wet night, the trotting horses with ears pricked into the wind, the high, lightly-riding cart behind them, and the yellow reflection of the flickering lamps on the three silent passengers, on the shattered, intent face of the driver, and the dark, deep-lined face of the man beside her, and across the white, sharp-boned face of the child in the high groom’s seat behind.
Even to Ginny and Andras the journey seemed unreal, and it was almost a shock when Tamara swung the bays into the drive of the Campbells’ large white house on the first slopes of the Downs. There were a lot of cars parked in the drive and broad sweep in front of the house, and lights and music flooded from the ground floor to meet them. Tamara swung the pair briskly round the gravel sweep, bringing the guests crowding to the long, uncurtained windows, and drew up with a flourish outside the front door. Ginny was already standing on the step, and as the horses stopped she jumped down and ran forward to hold their heads, receiving an unexpected smile of approval from Tamara. Then the front door opened and Mrs. Campbell, tall and statuesque in dark blue silk, appeared in the porch.
“Good evening,” called Tamara. “Andras has left his horse with me for the night. Thought I’d save you the trouble of turning out to fetch him. Sorry Shirley did so badly at my tests. If she’d ridden better you might have sold that horse at a profit and got your money back for her instruction.”
“Good evening, Miss Blake.” Mrs. Campbell’s voice was icy. “It was very kind of you to drive Captain Jokai back.”
Andras, smiling to himself at this exchange, dropped down from the trap and went round to Tamara’s side. He stopped below her and held out his hand. Taken by surprise, Tamara took it, and was silently astonished when he raised it to his lips, then gave her a stiff military bow, bringing his heels together and inclining his head sharply, so that the light shone suddenly on his wet black hair.
“Goodnight, Miss Blake,” he said. “And thank you. I will fetch my horse tomorrow.”
“We’ll be expecting you,” Tamara told him. “Goodnight.”
Andras smiled at her, and turned towards the house, and Tamara said, “Right, Ginny.”
Ginny released the heads of the impatient horses, who sprang immediately into their harness, and leaped for the step as the trap whirled past her. A minute later the house was hidden from sight by a bend in the drive, and Tamara was slowing the horses to turn out into the road.
Tamara drove home rather more slowly, and Ginny, now sitting beside her, realized that she was deep in thought.
“What do you think of Andras, Ginny?” she asked suddenly, when they were almost home. Her voice was carefully casual, and as soon as she had asked, Tamara wondered why she was bothering to ask this child’s opinion.
“I like him,” replied Ginny. “And he’s a good rider. You should have seen the way he rode Ambassador over that nasty place into the lane.”
“He doesn’t seem to be anything to shout about as an instructor,” remarked Tamara. “Judging from the effect he had on Shirley Campbell, anyway.”
“But Shirley didn’t want to learn, did she?” said Ginny. “I should think he might be good. He seems able to explain things clearly.”
“Which is more than I can do,” said Tamara drily.
She was silent again for a few minutes, staring forward between her horses’ pricking ears. They rounded a long bend, Tamara pulling over to the left to let a car with a startled, somewhat disapproving driver squeeze past them, and then she said, “I wonder if he’d be any use at Hampton.”
Ginny’s heart leaped, and she hardly dared to breathe. If Andras came to Hampton as instructor she might really start to make some progress at last. Desperately she willed Tamara to continue. And Tamara did. “He could share the caravan with Bates,” she said. “He’d be glad of the company. I’d have to offer Andras some kind of share in any profit he helps make; I can’t afford to pay him an ordinary salary. But I’ve had enough of filming after this last time. There’s nothing that ruins a horse faster. If I didn’t have to do it for my bread and butter I’d never take jobs for any but this pair. I can drive them myself, and they don’t get messed about like riding-horses.”
“I should think he’d be a terrific help with the lessons,” said Ginny. “You could take lots more pupils if you had an assistant.”
“Yes. My not being able to teach wouldn’t matter then, would it?” asked Tamara, with her humourless smile. “I suppose I’d better suggest it to him in the morning.”
She was silent again for a moment, while Ginny sat gazing into the darkness and realizing how perfectly things seemed to be turning out for her.
Then Tamara said furiously, “Oh, curse it! Why can’t I teach, instead of having to get someone in to earn my living for me? Before I know where I am it’ll be his business, not mine.”
“I’m sure he won’t be like that,” Ginny tried to assure her anxiously; but Tamara obviously did not believe her, and from delight at the idea of Andras coming to Hampton, Ginny began to wish that he was not, if it was going to upset Tamara like this. For the first time she realized how strong her affection for her brusque, lonely employer had become in the short time that she had worked for her, and she knew that she would hate to see Tamara hurt again.
Bates was surprised when Tamara asked him if he would mind sharing the caravan with Andras, but he was willing, and seemed pleased by the idea, and so when Andras came over the following morning to collect his horse in the Campbells’ trailer, Tamara lost no time in putting her proposition to him. Andras agreed at once, almost without asking anything about her conditions or the shares that she was offering, and Ginny, watching from inside Flash’s box, where she was grooming, saw the relief in his face, and knew that he had dreaded finding himself homeless and out of work, and probably forced to sell Ambassador. Tamara realized the same thing, and felt a little more friendly towards him. Perhaps he would be too thankful to have the job to try edging her out.
As he would be moving in at the week-end, Andras did not take Ambassador back with him, and he drove himself back to Solfern with the trailer still empty behind him.
During that week Tamara received a telephone call from a television film company asking her if she could supply two horses for the following week, just for two days’ work, and whether she would do some stunt riding herself. Reluctantly, Tamara agreed.
“I daren’t refuse until I’m sure having Andras here is going to work,” she explained to Ginny. “You’ll have to come along as groom. I can’t ride them and do them myself. Perhaps you can pick up a bit of crowd work and earn something towards buying that horse of yours.”
Ginny was delighted. She had been getting worried about her chances of saving anything towards buying Flash out of the small amount of pocket money that Tamara paid her apart from her keep and her horse’s keep.
“Which horses will you take?” she asked Tamara.
“Gambler, I suppose, though it’s hard on the old man, and Mosaic can do some work for his living,” replied Tamara. “I’m not taking Prize again, after last time. I think I shall have to sell that horse. He’s a good match for Gambler, but he’s too nervous for film or stage work, and he’ll never make a dressage horse. No concentration.”
Ginny was surprised but honoured by these slight confidences. Usually Tamara kept her plans to herself, only announcing them at the last moment when she wanted something done for her. It was nice to feel that she was being accepted a little more by the other girl and allowed to become a real part of Hampton Stables.
Andras moved in on the Sunday, driven over by the Campbells’ chauffeur with his few belongings and the rest of Ambassador’s tack. Tamara had only one short day to supervise his settling in before she and Ginny had to load the two horses and drive to the film studios in Berkshire, and Ginny knew that she hated leaving him with such a free hand so soon. But there was Bates to keep an eye on him, and it was only for two days. All the same, Tamara would have given a great deal not to have had to go.
Ginny found the film studios fascinating. The horses were stabled alongside several others in temporary part wood, part canvas loose-boxes in a large field behind the buildings. In one corner of the field was the huge, plaster-and-plywood front of a medieval castle, built on a scaffolding framework. This was where much of the outdoor work was done, and where, very soon after their arrival, the cast began to assemble. The film they were making was one of a tight budgeted series about the Civil War, and the other horses on the lot were on a long contract from a London stable. Two men wearing the velvet, silk, and plumes of Cavaliers took charge of Gambler and Mosaic, and Tamara discovered that her scene was not to be filmed until the next day.
“We want you to do a fall and a drag,” explained the overweight, blond producer calmly. “Our regular man dislocated his shoulder in a fall last week, and he’s not up to it yet.”
“All right,” agreed Tamara, with equal calm. “Usual rate?”
“Yes,” agreed the producer. “Oh, there’s one other thing. You can’t use the palomino, you’ll have to use the hero’s usual horse. It’s a grey—the one over there.”
He pointed towards a big, very white grey ridden by a gorgeously dressed Cavalier in green and crimson, and for the first time Tamara looked doubtful.
“Is it used to a drag?” she asked.
“Oh yes. It’s used to everything,” the producer assured her. “Been at this job for years. You needn’t worry about that.”
Tamara nodded, and the subject was changed. Once the first thrill of watching filming had worn off, Ginny found it rather slow. They were filming short scenes involving a troupe of Cavaliers on the move and a troupe of Roundheads lying in wait. It all seemed to be done rather hurriedly, and there were a lot of arguments between the producer, the hero, and the script-writer. The Harrises had not owned a television set, and Ginny had never seen the hero before; she thought him quite good-looking in a conventional way, but he was a little too plump, and very full of his own importance. The heroine was a slight and pretty blonde girl, again nothing out of the ordinary in looks, but she had a very clear voice with a trace of an Irish accent, and she was more friendly than the hero.
Filming stopped at dusk, and the horses were stabled and settled for the night by the one man in charge of them. Tamara and Ginny did one of theirs each, Tamara thinking that if this was all she had to do she need not have brought Ginny along. They were sleeping in the horse-box, on a thick bed of clean straw, and wrapped in blankets. It was fairly comfortable, but Tamara hoped that it would not rain the next day and force the company to hold over the filming of her scene until later. She did not want to leave Andras with the run of Hampton and of her business for a moment longer than necessary, for she was still terribly afraid that he would take from her the security and independence of the position she had worked so hard to build for herself. He could help, but he must not control; she would rather go on with film work than find herself becoming a kind of sleeping partner and utterly reliant on Andras for her living.
The following day was fine. Tamara and Ginny were out early, and by eight o’clock the lot was busy. Crowd artists—as the extras preferred to be called—were everywhere, for today was the filming of the big battle scene, and even the stars arrived early. Tamara went off to the wardrobe to be fitted out with the double of the hero’s costume and wig, and to be made up, and Ginny saddled and bridled Gambler and Mosaic for the two men who were again going to ride them.
When Tamara returned she was almost unrecognizable. She wore the high suede boots and dark-red breeches always worn by the hero of the series, with a dark green velvet jacket with foaming white lace at collar and cuffs. Over this, from shoulder to hip, were crossed a crimson silk sash and brown sword-belt with a large, bright buckle, from which dangled a sheathed sword. Round her shattered face, with its high cheek-bones and brilliant, odd, eyes, hung the long black corkscrew curls of the Cavalier; the grease-paint hid some of her scars, and her face was shielded by the wide-brimmed dark green hat with its low crown and huge, plumed feathers.
She grinned briefly at Ginny’s surprised expression and said, “You should see some of the costumes I’ve had to wear.”
“It’s gorgeous.” Ginny felt a slight twinge of envy. There was no sign of any crowd work for her, the film appeared to be fully cast. But still, the day should be interesting, and she would not much like Tamara’s job. Ginny settled down to enjoy the spectacle.
They filmed the first clash of the battle first, Tamara joining in the charging and galloping in place of the hero, who was only on hand for close-ups, as he was too precious to be risked in such a melee. She rode the grey, who seemed handy enough, though a little sluggish, and Ginny noticed Gambler being asked to do a great deal of spectacular rearing and falling, at both of which he was an expert. Mosaic, in the thick of things, was his usual placid self, though some horses got slightly over-excited and out of hand, and there were several unintentional falls, which were left in as they looked effective. Then they came to Tamara’s scene. She was supposed to be struck by one of the enemy, fall, and be dragged away from the battle down a track through some rough bracken and birch trees, and her horse was stopped by another regular member of the cast, a small boy on a pony. The scene was engineered so that Tamara’s horse could only go one way. The battle would be behind them, a hedge, with a camera above it, on the right, and a rope and more cameras on the left.
Tamara mounted the grey, fixed the rope loop around her ankle beside the stirrup, and listened to the producer’s last instructions.
“Good luck,” called Ginny, as she rode away.
Tamara grinned over her shoulder at her, and pushed her lazy mount into a canter. They did one quick run-through, without Tamara’s actual fall, and then decided to shoot the scene. Tamara and the villain, the Roundhead Captain, fought for a few moments on the edge of the main battle, with a camera following their every move, then a second Roundhead rode fast into the picture. Tamara swung her horse round towards him, and her first opponent struck at her with his sword. Tamara flung up her sword arm, and dropped off her horse sideways, and the villain slapped the grey on the quarters with the flat of his sword. The horse jumped forward into a canter, and Tamara, her head held just off the ground, and the rest of her body relaxed, was dragged away down the grassy track beside the lolloping horse. Ahead of her the boy rode his pony out of the bushes to the rescue, and suddenly the grey realized that he had a strange object trailing along beside him. His head shot up, his ears went flat, and his tail clamped down as he dived forward into a gallop, then abruptly slowed, and began to kick. Somewhere, someone screamed. Ginny had a sudden horrible sensation of being involved in a nightmare in slow motion, and the waiting pony swung round and away from the oncoming horse. Again and again the shod hooves flashed past Tamara’s head, as the boy dragged his pony back into the track and kicked it on alongside the grey. For a second it looked as though he would be too late to grab the reins, then they were in his hand, and he was flinging his weight back on both horses’ mouths, hauling them to a stop, and making the grey swing sideways, so that Tamara was under his trampling feet. Then they were surrounded by people, someone had the grey’s head, someone else was unhooking Tamara’s foot, and the first-aid squad were running across the field. Ginny ran with them, terrified of what she might find. But when she got there Tamara was sitting up, looking slightly dazed, her hat gone and wig askew, but apparently unhurt, assuring everyone impatiently that she was all right.
“Better let us have a look, Miss,” a first-aid man told her. “He must have been pretty close with his feet.”
“I tell you I’m all right,” snapped Tamara, getting slowly to her feet, “For goodness’ sake leave me alone. Geoff, do you want that done again?”
The producer, who looked pale, shook his head.
“We filmed it,” he told her. “Right to the end. Should be the best thing we’ve ever done. But my people’s nerves won’t stand that twice, even if yours will.”
“I thought you said the horse was used to a drag?” asked Tamara, with a sudden flash of anger.
“We were told it was used to everything,” replied the producer. “I’ll have something to say to the owner.”
“Oh, don’t bother,” Tamara told him, her anger vanishing. “He’s not the first horse I’ve seen panic at that stunt. If you don’t want me again I’ll go and change.”
The producer assured her that he had finished with her, and Ginny stabled the grey for his groom, as he was taking charge of four others whose riders had finished with them for the moment.
Tamara was gone some time. Gambler was returned to the stables, but Mosaic was still in use, this time carrying a messenger for the King through the rough woodland. When Tamara did return, all the grease-paint creamed away, and dressed once more in her own clothes, she looked unusually white. But Ginny’s questions about how she felt were merely greeted by sharp retorts, and she gave up. If Tamara was hurt she obviously intended to go on until she dropped or recovered, and there was no point in keeping on at her.
The filming did not end until dusk. Tamara spent most of the remaining afternoon sitting on a bale of peat and muttering about the way that Mosaic was being pulled about by his rider, but when they did finish at last she let Ginny take him and unsaddle him, and she also left the loading of both horses to the younger girl.
“Are you sure you want to drive home tonight?” Ginny asked her, rather hesitantly.
“And why should I not want to?” demanded Tamara, slamming up the sprung ramp and dropping home the bolts.
Ginny had no answer to this, and she followed Tamara round to the cab. The girl pulled herself up rather slowly and laboriously, and Ginny thought that she had gone even paler as she reached for the starter. But a few minutes later they were driving through the studio roads, between the long, hangar-like sound studios, to the main gates, and on the road home.
Tamara did not talk much on the way back to Hampton, and as they drew near her driving seemed to become rather erratic. Glancing at her, Ginny saw that her lips were set tight and her face, in the faint glow from the dashboard, was very white, with an unnatural flush over the cheek-bones. She was very glad when they turned at last into the stable drive, the powerful beams of the headlights throwing the familiar trees into sharp silhouette. Bates emerged from the tack-room as they drove into the yard, and Ginny noticed that the lights were on in the indoor school and that Andras was not in sight. Tamara stopped the box with a jerk in the centre of the yard and said, “Andras hasn’t wasted any time. I wonder whether he’s giving a lesson or re-schooling one of my horses.”
“Perhaps he’s riding Ambassador,” suggested Ginny gently.
“Hardly. Use your eyes,” snapped Tamara, and Ginny realized that Andras’s horse was leaning over his box door watching them.
Squashed, she dropped down into the yard, and Tamara followed slowly. Bates was already unfastening the ramp, and Tamara stood watching as the horses were unloaded. Bates looked surprised, but made no comment, and the two horses were put into their boxes and fed. Tamara was sitting in the tack-room when Ginny and Bates finished. She was now very flushed, and her eyes looked too bright. Ginny had told Bates about the dragging accident, and he was looking at her closely.
“What’s Andras doing in that school?” she demanded.
“We had an evening booking. Miss Campbell had told a friend that Captain Jokai was working here, and she ’phoned yesterday,” explained Bates. “Had to be in the evening, as the young lady works in the day.”
“Which horses is he using?” asked Tamara.
“Variety and Prize,” replied Bates.
Tamara did not comment. She was sitting now with her hand pressed to her side, and as they watched her she closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall. At the same moment Ginny heard the doors of the school roll back and the sound of hooves in the yard.
“So he’s finished at last, has he?” said Tamara, without opening her eyes. “About time too.”
A few minutes later Andras said “Goodnight” to someone in the yard and came into the room carrying two sets of tack. He raised his eyebrows at the sight of Tamara, and asked, “Is anything wrong?”
“Yes,” agreed Tamara unexpectedly. “That clumsy grey must have put one of his feet in my ribs.”
She opened her eyes sharply and glared at them, and Andras said, “I will drive you in to Hampton Hospital.”
“I suppose you’d better.” Tamara sounded angry.
Andras went to get the car out, and Bates went to move the box out of the way.
“Now I suppose dear Andras really will think the place belongs to him,” said Tamara angrily. “It won’t be my stable any longer by the time I can work again.”
“I’ll see that doesn’t happen,” Ginny promised her.
Tamara stared at her for a moment, and then her lips twisted into a bitter smile.
“He’ll soon charm you over to his side with his brilliant instructing,” she said. “I must have been crazy to take him on.”
“He won’t charm me,” Ginny promised her. “Hampton will never belong to anyone but you, unless you actually sell it.”
“We’ll see,” said Tamara, who was unconvinced, and who could see her precious independence slipping away from her. Now that this had happened and she would be unable to supervise the business during Andras’s first week or so, she was certain that she would have done better to go on struggling alone.
Then the car was in the yard and Andras came to help Tamara out to it. She was obviously in considerable pain, and Ginny went along with them. It was a silent journey, and there was a long wait in the over-heated, deserted waiting-room at the hospital while Tamara went up for an X-ray, and then waited for the result. But at last the young doctor who had taken charge of her returned to say two ribs were broken and several more were cracked and badly bruised.
“How long must she remain here?” asked Andras.
“Oh, a few days, not more,” the doctor told him. “There’s no need to worry.”
Andras and Ginny thanked him and were allowed into the ward in which Tamara was to be to say “Goodbye” to her. Then they were driving back down the lighted road towards the stables.
There were two more pupils booked for the next day, one a fairly regular customer, the other someone especially for Andras. In the morning Andras took Ambassador into the school for an hour, and when he emerged Ginny was grooming Flash. He put his horse away and came to look over the door at them.
“He is a very nice horse,” he told her. “You may discover that, with a little work, he will surprise you.”
“How?” asked Ginny, interested in spite of her overnight decision to be very wary of any attempts on his part to charm her.
“He would make a dressage horse, even perhaps a combined training horse,” replied Andras. “Naturally it would take time. But I think it is by no means impossible. Will you join my second lesson this afternoon on him? The young lady I have then is fairly advanced.”
“Well …” Ginny hesitated.
She would love to accept his offer, but loyalty to Tamara held her back. How would the girl feel if she knew that the moment she was away Ginny started taking lessons and advice from Andras? When she was back, then perhaps it would be different, for she would see that Ginny was just as eager to take lessons from either of them, even if Tamara’s were less easy to absorb. But she could not let Tamara think she had been betrayed now.
“I think I’d better take him for a hack,” she told Andras. “Thank you for the offer, though.”
Andras looked surprised. “But he has been well exercised,” he exclaimed. “Mr. Bates took him out for an hour and a half yesterday.”
“All the same, I don’t think I’ll join in today,” insisted Ginny. “I’m sorry, but I feel like a hack.”
Andras looked annoyed. “I do not understand,” he told her. “I thought that you were so keen to learn?”
“I am,” Ginny told him. “But not today—please, Andras.”
Andras looked at her closely for a moment, and then he nodded. “All right,” he said. “I think that I do understand. But, Ginny, remember, it is possible to be too loyal, if it means giving up a valuable part of your life for the whim of another.”
Then he turned away, and Ginny stood watching him go, a body-brush in one hand and a currycomb in the other, wishing with all her heart that Tamara was less unreasonable.
It was hard to keep to her resolve that afternoon, when Andras was helping his second rider to mount outside the school. Ginny led Flash out of his box and pulled down the stirrups, and Andras glanced at her and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Ginny shook her head, and mounted. She heard the double doors of the school roll together as Flash walked down the drive, and for a moment she almost turned back, as Angela’s words that first night flashed into her mind.
“Don’t stay here and let her break your heart,” the girl had said. But that was nonsense, Ginny told herself firmly. She was only avoiding trouble and the possibility of hurting Tamara by waiting a few days before she started to take lessons from Andras, that was all. And in any case they did not even yet know for sure whether he really was such a good instructor or not. And she did owe Tamara a great deal for giving her this job, for rescuing her from Branton and Vic Tyler, and for giving her the opportunity to prove to herself that her weak leg need make no difference at all to her chances in her chosen profession.
It soon became apparent that Andras was not lacking in ideas for the improvement of Hampton Stables. While they were cleaning tack the following day he outlined a few of them.
“Miss Blake should, I think, re-name her business,” he said. “Hampton Stables mean nothing. It could be a racing stable, a dealer’s establishment, or even a private house. Hampton School of Equitation, perhaps, or Hampton Dressage Centre; they are names that would catch the eye, draw interest and attention to us.”
“It’s been Hampton Stables ever since Tamara came here,” Ginny pointed out. “A lot of people know of her under that name.”
“But more would come to know of her under another,” insisted Andras. “It seems that she contemplates running a different kind of business in future, with more attention on instruction, so what could be more natural than a new name? And perhaps she should also advertise what we have to offer—a big advertisement, which again would attract attention, in Horse and Hound. Perhaps a half page, with even a photograph of Miss Blake on Lion.”
Even Bates looked slightly startled at that, and Ginny said, “But, Andras, that would cost a fortune.”
“It might well be worth it,” Andras told her. “Think how few people knew of her dressage meeting. And with more publicity we could begin to run evening lectures and demonstrations, and perhaps we could start an inquiry bureau to deal with problems relating to dressage and the schooling of young horses.”
Ginny was silent for a moment, her mind filled with thrilling possibilities of a new Hampton Stables. Then common sense returned and she knew that Tamara would never agree. It was too big a step; she would be too frightened of losing the slight, lonely security that she had built up for herself, and she would be afraid to lower the barrier that she had raised between herself and the world.
“Tamara wouldn’t agree,” she told Andras; and Bates nodded. “They’re fine ideas, Captain,” he said. “But Ginny’s right. She’d never do it. You’ll do better to content yourself with things as they are: maybe custom will improve with you giving lessons, but you’ll never work a miracle in this place.”
Andras looked from one to the other and then shrugged. “Oh, well,” he said resignedly, “it is pleasant to dream sometimes. Perhaps there is just a chance that these may come true.”
But Ginny, returning to her tack-cleaning, knew that it was extremely unlikely that they would.