Charlotte and the Starlet 2 (12 page)

It was the hardest work Leila had ever done in her life.
She promised herself if she got out of this she would
never, ever take her life for granted, complain that the
risotto was too sticky, the fried chicken too greasy,
the pepper steak too spicy. She would never mutter
about how tired she felt after the cross-country or
how bored she was standing around in the dressage
arena with a fly irritating her nostrils. Now she
understood for the first time what so many horses had
to suffer every day of their lives.

First the men led her to the felling area. The
chirping and twittering of birds was obliterated
instantly by the sound of motors being revved, then
the burr of steel teeth slicing into tree-trunks. Leila
watched, mesmerised by the horror of these massive
trees being cut until they could no longer keep
themselves erect. There was a splintering crack as the
trunk gave up its last breath, then a mighty whoosh as
the tree fell. Once a tree was down the men fell upon it
in a swarm, reminding Leila of how, in the cracks of a
pool patio, you sometimes saw one of those big stick
insects on its back, dead or dying, as ants took it apart.

After the tree had been cut into sections, she
became the next link in the process. The men loaded
the cut tree section into the contraption she was
attached to. It was like a sleigh. Leila stood there
wondering what was supposed to happen next. A
stinging lash against her hindquarters told her in no
uncertain terms – she was supposed to move.

The bald man had struck her with a thin, bendy
piece of green branch that stung even more than the
Variety
review which had called
Thrills and Spills
'standard tween fare'. Standard! Fare! Fare was what
you called the food you got in motel dining rooms or
those Elizabethan-themed restaurants where people
dressed up as knights. One of Leila's mom's pals had
worked one of those places for years. It wasn't a desired
gig. They stuck all this armour on you and put some fat
diner on your back who then jousted with some other
loser on a different horse. The diners couldn't control
their lances and kept hitting the horses.

'Move it, nag.'

Whack. The branch bit into her flesh. Tears welled,
there was nothing she could do to stop them. She tried
to trot but there was no way, not with the heavy
weight behind her. The harness pulled into her
shoulders as she strained. The path was narrow and
winding, she guessed maybe that was why the treepoachers,
as she thought of them, weren't using
trucks. Recent rains had made the ground slippery
too. It was so hard struggling through the mud but
she daren't slacken off. As soon as she slowed, the
bully whacked her with the branch. How she wished
she could have sunk her teeth into him.

It took her about fifteen minutes to get a log to the
clearing where the truck was parked. She was puffed
and hoped that she would get a break while the log
was loaded, but no. As soon as she was free of the
load, she was turned back around.

'Move it.'

Another sting on her backside. They expected her
to trot back to the felling site. Leila couldn't help it,
the tears came in a rush.

They poured from Charlotte, streaking her face. She
blew her nose, tried to dab her eyes. Out of tissues again.
That was the second box she had gone through today. It
was nearly nine p.m. but time had ceased to have any
meaning. She was sitting on the bleachers that faced the
arena where she and Leila had spent so much time
together. Squinting into the dark she could almost see
Leila's silhouette. Charlotte hugged herself for comfort.
There was a decided chill in the air. The same air Leila
might be exposed to right now. Charlotte fretted. Was
Leila standing in some bare paddock in the open air?
What if she caught a chill? What was she eating?

Thoughts like this had forced their way into her
head and set up shop all day. She had attended her
classes but it was pointless, the words were a jumble
and the hours passed her by as if she had been
stranded in a dense fog. Hannah had got on to the
radio station but Charlotte wasn't convinced that
would do any good.

The sound of boots on gravel made Charlotte look
back towards the main building, the lights of which
fought valiantly against the surrounding black. The
unmistakeable outline of Strudworth appeared. Poor
Miss Strudworth. Charlotte had barely spared her a
thought. After she had fainted, Charlotte and Hannah
had revived her with a glass of water while Chadwick
stood by, uselessly keening like a young puppy whose
owners had left him for the first time. Strudworth had
assured them she was fine and sent them back to class.

'Thought I might find you here,' said Strudworth.
Her long legs were able to take the bleachers four rows
at a time.

'How are you feeling, Miss?'

Strudworth grunted.

'Sorry for myself and, as for Chadwick, well,
words a lady must not ever utter. Thank you for your
help earlier.'

Charlotte saw her glance at the empty tissue box.

'Went through one of those as well,' she added. She
reached into her pocket, pulled out a chocolate bar
and snapped it in half. She offered one of the halves to
Charlotte.

'Normally I don't encourage comfort food but there
are times ...'

'No thanks.' Charlotte waved it away.

'Richards, I insist.'

Charlotte allowed herself to be cajoled into accepting
the chocolate.

'You'll be pleased to know that Chadwick has gone.'

Charlotte was pleased to know that but ...

'Yes I know, it's a little late. For you and for me. For
Thornton Downs in fact.'

Something in Strudworth's tone scared Charlotte.

'What do you mean?'

Strudworth munched on the chocolate bar, hazelnut,
one of Charlotte's favourites. 'You've got enough
worries, you don't need mine too.'

'Is it something to do with Lucinda's fall?'

Strudworth looked into the dark distance and
nodded.

'Her father is going to sue me. That's what he does
for a living, sue people. And Lucinda lives in an
enormous house in the most expensive suburb, which
means he must be very good at it. We are supposed to
be insured but, thanks to that idiot Chadwick ...'
Strudworth couldn't finish the sentence. She grunted
instead.

'How much money does Lucinda's father want?'

'Enough that the only way I could pay would be to
sell Thornton Downs.'

Poor Miss Strudworth. This was her home.
Charlotte thought that losing your home would be
almost as bad as losing Leila. Strudworth produced a
new chocolate bar from her other pocket and snapped
it in half. Charlotte didn't resist this time. Strudworth
continued.

'The JOES would carry on. They don't need me for
that. They'd find somewhere else.'

Charlotte was still trying to make sense of it.

'But Lucinda only broke her collarbone.'

'Lawyers have a way of making everything extreme.
We'll hear about how it ruined her dreams of a
modelling career, that she'll have nightmares for the rest
of her life. Believe me, Charlotte, by the time the courts
have finished with me I'll be lucky to live in a stable.'

Without thinking, Charlotte reached over and
placed her hand on Miss Strudworth's.

Neither of them spoke a word, they just gazed into
the dark, wishing things could be how they had been
just a few days before.

'Yeah, we cleared a truckload today but we're still
behind.' The horrible bald man, whose name Leila
now knew was Pat, was talking on the phone.

'No, I promise. We'll step up the pace tomorrow.'

Leila shuddered at those words. Every muscle in
her body ached and there were deep indentations
in her shoulders from where the harness had cut in.
Her legs were jelly. She didn't believe she could take
this for two more days. Pat ended the call and yawned.
The other men had already turned in for the night. Pat
placed down the phone on the tree stump by the fire,
coughed, spluttered, spat in the dirt and stumbled
towards the tent.

Leila was soooo tired. She could barely keep her
eyes open. She began to drift off. There was something
she should be thinking about. Something. If only she
wasn't so sleeeeeepy.

Bing.

Her eyes flicked open. That was it. Her way out.
Her eyes drifted back to the tree stump. And settled on
the phone.

Leila was tethered tight to the tree branch. Straining
as far as she could, the stump was still a metre and a
half out of reach from her mouth. She stretched her
leg out ... soooo close but still centimetres short of
her hoof. Time to get creative. Above her nostril was a
small branch. She seized it in her mouth and tried to
snap it but the noise made the men in the nearest tent
stir. She abandoned that option and checked the
ground around her. Behind her lay just what she
needed, a metre-long branch, not too thick, not too
thin. She pushed her hind leg back, trying to hook the
branch back with her hoof. Just out of reach. She
began to do the splits, inching closer, closer ...

Agh! After today's exertions her muscles were
screaming at her for a rest. Good thing she'd done the
complete Hannah Montana workout course. She was
able to extend her right hind leg just enough to drag
the branch to her. When it was close enough, she
swung around and picked it up in her mouth. Then she
turned back to the stump. It took her a couple of goes
but she was able to knock the phone to the ground
and then slowly drag it back towards her. Now it lay
directly below her. This was her chance. She snapped
the stick she had been using and prayed nobody woke.

Silence, except for Pat's snoring.

With the smaller portion of the stick she would be
able to dial the numbers. But what was Thornton
Downs' phone number? She had seen it written down
on the stable wall above Bevans' work station, right
next to the phone number for the vet. She passed it
every day on the way to and from workouts. She
closed her eyes to recall. Think, girl. She was back in
the stable, the smell of hay tickled her nostrils. There
was Bevans' work station, just a bench really. Above it
were phone numbers. Blacksmith. Vet. And Thornton
Downs' own number.

7 and 3. Those were the first two numbers. She was
sure of that. And there was an 8 and a 6 at the end.
What were the two middle numbers? Think. 5. Yes, 5
and ... 4. She was certain it was a 4. But was it 4 and
5 or ... 734586! That was the number. Taking the
stick, she pressed the buttons on the phone.

Miss Strudworth was struggling with her captives as
they dragged her towards the guillotine.

'Off with her head!' A voice in the crowd shouted.
Strudworth knew that voice – Lucinda Hayes-
Warrington. Rough hands pushed her down towards
the block as the sharp blade of the guillotine retracted.
It was not fair. All she had been trying to do was help
out her sister. The crowd hushed. Oh no, in a second
the whoosh of the blade ... but something was
happening. People were turning towards the sound of
a loud bell ...

Caroline Strudworth snapped awake, beads of
sweat on her brow. It had been a nightmare. It still
was a nightmare! But the ringing bell was real. It was
the phone in her office next door. She checked the
time. Nearly one a.m. Oh dear, more trouble, possibly
her sister had learned about Chadwick and had a
heart attack.

Miss Strudworth eased herself from her four-poster
bed. She wore a long frilly pyjama pants-suit. Padding
from her room and down the hallway to her office, as
Zucchini's glass eyes gleamed in the dark, she picked
up the phone.

'Thornton Downs.'

A young woman's excited voice, American, came on.

'I need to speak to Charlotte Richards. Urgently.'

'Charlotte is sleeping.'

'Then wake her up.'

It occurred to Strudworth that this could be a
response to the radio call for Leila witnesses.

'Is this about Leila? The missing horse?'

'Got that in one, sister.'

'You can speak to me about it.'

'No. Only –'

The line suddenly went dead. Strudworth sought a
response she knew would not be forthcoming.

'Hello? Hello?'

No, dead. She placed the receiver down and headed
back to bed. Probably some crank call.

Leila stood stock-still, pretending to be asleep. Jimmy
had emerged from his tent with a gun and was
scanning the bushes right beside Leila. Pat's sleepy
voice came from behind.

'What's up?'

Jimmy swung around.

'I heard a voice.'

Pat showed instant alarm. 'Saying what?'

'Couldn't tell. It was a woman. American.'

Pat grunted.

'Sure, in your dreams.'

'I'm telling you, I heard her. She sounded hot too.'

Normally Leila would have enjoyed the compliment
but she was scared stiff Pat would notice his
phone missing.

'Maybe it was the horse,' said Pat sarcastically
before retreating to his tent.

Jimmy sighed, repeated to himself, 'She was hot.'
And then returned to his tent too.

Leila breathed a sigh of relief, mega-problem just
avoided.

This time Caroline Strudworth had been seized by an
angry crowd and carried to a cliff top where she was
about to be dispatched to the rocks below. Once more
she was saved by the bell. Her eye opened and spied
her clock. Nearly three a.m. She lay there, hoping the
phone would stop, but it continued. She rose from
her bed once more, padded to her office and seized
the receiver.

'Thornton Downs.'

'Me again. I need to speak to Charlotte about Leila.'

'Why are you speaking in a hoarse whisper?'

'Maybe because I'm a horse. Maybe because it's
dangerous. Quick. Charlotte.'

Something in the stranger's voice rang true for
Strudworth. The caller seemed genuinely alarmed.

'Very well. But this had better not be a prank. That
girl has been through a lot.'

Leila had considered speaking to Strudworth but
decided it might be too difficult to explain things. Now
she was worried she was going to be discovered before
she got a chance to talk to Charlotte. She had waited
a long time before trying the phone again. Only when
the chorus of the men's snoring had reached the noise
of a Harley motorbike on full-throttle had she been
prepared to try again. Now as she waited for Charlotte,
each second dragged by like the Oscar-winning speech
of some actor you really couldn't stand.

'Hello?'

It was Charlotte's voice. For a moment Leila
couldn't talk. Her throat swelled, she wanted to cry.

'Hello?' Charlotte repeated. She was not at all drowsy,
having once more been unable to sleep. Strudworth
had come to her room with the news of the phone call
and Charlotte had galloped to the office in breathless
anticipation about what could be a lead on Leila. But
now there was silence.

'Hello?' she repeated. Strudworth was right behind
her, listening in.

'Charlotte. It's me.'

'Leila!'

The word leapt from Charlotte's lips before she
could restrain it. She flashed a smile at Strudworth.
'I mean, is this about Leila?'

'I get it. The S is with you, right?'

'Correct.' Charlotte turned to Miss Strudworth.
'Could you get me a pencil and paper please?'

Strudworth moved to her desk, giving Charlotte
some momentary privacy.

'Where are you? Are you okay?' she whispered
desperately.

'No idea where I am and I'm in more trouble than a
film directed by an actor. And believe me, that's a lot
of trouble.'

'I miss you so much.'

'Snap. But we haven't got time to get teary. I'm
working some illegal logging operation in a forest
somewhere. I'm the forklift. The guys here are bad
news. I've got like two days before I'm Rover's lunch.'

Strudworth returned with the paper and a pen.

For Leila's benefit Charlotte said, 'Thank you, Miss
Strudworth.' That would tell Leila she had company
again. 'So this forest where you saw Leila. How far was
it from Salt Flat Fair?'

'You knew about that?' asked a surprised Leila.

'Got there too late.'

Once more Leila kicked herself for losing it with
the brats.

'Can't say how long we drove. Maybe two hours. It's
dense bush. They mentioned a ranger.'

Charlotte's brain was on express speed. It might be
some national park but which one? There were a
number of them, each with an area the size of a city.

'Are there any birds there?'

'What's that got to do with the price of hay? I want
to be rescued.'

Charlotte felt like hitting her over the head with
the phone receiver.

'Are there birds? Some birds have specific habitats.'

'Oh, their crib. Yeah, there are these parrots.'

Leila described them and Charlotte made notes.

'What about water? Is there a river or lake or anything?'

Leila hadn't seen it but she had heard rushing water
in the distance to the south. Leila was trying to think
of anything else that could identify the location when
the sharp bite of an ant on her rear fetlock made
her yelp.

'Darn ants.'

'What sort of ants?'

'Big. Black and green and mean.' Out of the corner
of her eye she caught the tent flap moving. 'Gotta go.'