Charlotte and the Starlet 2 (9 page)

It was well beyond Caroline Strudworth's imagination
how other women could live like this. Her sister had
a very comfortable house, in a very respectable suburb
in the city. By city standards the property was large
but, compared to Thornton Downs, it felt like a prison
cell. Not that Caroline Strudworth had ever been in a
prison cell. She had spent many a night in a horse stall
and she supposed a prison cell was even bigger than
that. But the thing with a horse stall was there was
usually a horse in it. And with a horse next to you the
world never felt small.

She had risen at five, as was her wont, and had
taken a brisk stroll around the quiet streets, passing
exactly two people walking their dogs, and a foulsmelling
garbage truck. Walking was a very poor
second to riding. She wished her stallion Romeo was
here. A little light canter would break the morning
open like a perfectly cooked boiled egg. Back home by
six, she was bored stiff. She thought of calling the
hospital but realised Laura would likely be in
the operating theatre. The house itself was what the
women's magazines that littered this house would call
'tastefully furnished' but Caroline Strudworth had
never had much time for 'tasteful' furnishings. She
preferred big solid blocks of wood, be they dining
tables, chairs or wardrobes. She tried to read the
magazines but was soon bored. Who cared which
Hollywood actor had left which Hollywood actress for
another? She found a pack of cards and occupied
herself with solitaire. The girls at Thornton Downs
would be up and about by now. She missed their
laughter and annoying giggles. She was tempted to
ring and get a rundown from Chadwick on what was
happening there but that would entail having to talk
to Chadwick, who would tell her nothing useful
anyway. When the telephone rang, it was therefore
with alacrity that Strudworth seized it. She assumed
it was the hospital but even if it wasn't, it was
something to do.

'Good morning. Weir residence,' she answered.

'Miss Strudworth, Bevans here.'

She was surprised and alarmed to hear Bevans'
voice. He avoided implements like the telephone as a
badly trained horse avoided the water hazard. For him
to ring, there had to be a problem and she suspected
that problem began with C and ended in K.

Leila had tried. She really had. Reason told her that she
needed to put up with this oaf, O'Regan, and all the
indignities that having to cart children for pony rides
could inflict. It wasn't just her ego. It went without
saying this demotion to the lowest form of quadruped
entertainment was an insult. Did anybody expect
Oprah Winfrey to lick the stamps on her own bookclub
parcels? Or an Oscar-winning actor to have to
learn her lines? No, it just wasn't done. It was
demeaning. Leila now knew how Hollywood studio
heads felt when they had to wait for a table in the latest
hip restaurant with public eyes burning the shame
into them.

Had it just been the humiliation, however, she
could have coped. Lots of the kids were good kids,
respectful and, even more important, light. However,
far too large a proportion were savages. They prodded,
they scratched, they tugged her mane, her tail, her
ears. They shoved toffee apples in her eye. One, his
name was Max, even got so scared on the great big
horse he wet his pants and HER! The brats did not feed
her so much as a sliver of the pizza they crammed into
their own fat mouths, they did not let her lick out their
ice-cream sundaes. At best she was offered carrot,
apple and, on one occasion by a three-year-old, a
vegemite sandwich. She was so hungry she took a bite.
It wasn't half as disgusting as it looked but it was not a
patch on the tortellini carbonara you got at
Il
Respositore
on Sunset, that was for sure. Antonio the
chef there did something amazing with fennel. She
knew that the longer she could put up with all this, the
better the chance of Charlotte finding her. Her brain
was telling her that the sensible thing was to wait it
out, that all bad things, just like all good things, would
come to an end.

But let's face it, sometimes, no matter how hard you
try, no matter what your resolve, you snap. It had been
the obese triplets that had finally done it. When they
clambered on, her back was already sore. Approximately
eight years old and female (as far as she could
tell), their species was indeterminate, possibly
human. One of them pulled out her bobby pin and
thought it would be fun to jab it into Leila's neck. This
was around the same time that another one spilled her
slushie over Leila's mane. The third just screamed in
Leila's ear. Leila decided it was time for payback. She
waited until Mark O'Regan's hand, the one that was
holding the lead rope, went to prod the remainder of
a fried sausage into his mouth. At the instant he
loosened his grip, she accelerated, full speed ahead.
O'Regan tried to latch onto the lead rope and, in fact,
his greasy hand did grasp the rope but he was off
balance and Leila had picked up pace. O'Regan was
yanked off his feet.

The triplets laughed, the crowd screamed. Leila's
mouth was hurting but she would not relent. As
O'Regan's fat body bobbed over the rough ground
of the Salt Flat oval, leaving pieces of his skin as
reminders of the route taken, Leila drove onwards
trying to think of a destination for her cargo. A clump
of stinging nettles to the south had an obvious
attraction. But O'Regan would not let go and the drag
of his weight was beginning to tell. He yelled and
cursed, telling Leila what he would do when she
stopped. It involved skinning her alive and boiling her
in oil, threats which were hardly likely to make her
halt. She veered sharp right. The clown who had been
entertaining a small audience by balancing spinning
plates and pans on two long sticks panicked and was
rained on by china and aluminium. Only one of the
triplets found this funny. The other two had begun
screaming.

Good, thought Leila as she crossed the bitumen
road. It was one thing for O'Regan to hold on over
rough earth, quite another to endure the pain of
bitumen. As the tar bit, he let go. Unfettered now,
Leila charged towards the gate and freedom. At the
same time a large truck carrying a combine harvester
approached at right angles.

Leila spied the vehicle too late. All she could tell
was that it was carrying something that looked like
a giant Freddy Kruger glove, vicious metal spikes
pointing skyward. She'd loved Freddy Kruger, the
most memorable horror-film nemesis of all time.
Nightmare on Elm Street
had been the name of the
Freddy Kruger movies and Leila had seen every one
several times. In fact Leila had gone to one of Paris H's
Halloween costume parties wearing pyjamas as the
'Night-Mare'.

That had been fun. This wasn't.

The truck driver spied the bolting horse and
swerved to avoid it. The harvester, which had not
been properly secured, toppled sideways.

Leila had visions of herself impaled on this terrible
machine. She hit the skids and shied, only then
remembering the triplets who were jolted free, sailing
through the air and landing Splat, Splat, Plop in the
nearby Salt Flat Fair piggery. Leila had no time to
enjoy the moment as the harvester cartwheeled past
her, missing her by a fraction before it came to rest
upside down. That was one close call. She should
have got going immediately but her legs were jelly.

'You stupid nag!'

O'Regan's hands seized the lead rope. He was
wheezing and spluttering. From the tone of his voice,
Leila expected the skinning and boiling to start any
second.

'So what did Strudworth say when you told her?'

Hannah was trotting beside Charlotte, eager to get
the rest of the story. It was afternoon training. The
girls had done the slalom and were getting ready for
the sprint. Charlotte was riding a brown gelding with
the unimpressive name of Mikey. He was easy to
handle but without the rhythm or grace of Leila.

'Bevans did most of the talking. Strudworth was
shocked to hear about him being sacked and Leila
being sold. She said she would come back right away
and sort things out.'

'So you haven't been to see Leila?'

Charlotte's heart gave a little kick. By the time they
had told Miss Strudworth all about the goings on at
Thornton Downs they realised there was no time to
make it to Salt Flat for the carnival. She desperately
wished she could have been able to tell Leila that help
was on its way.

'Strudworth will be back tonight. She's promised to
head off first thing in the morning to get Leila back.'

It was going to be one of the longest waits of
Charlotte's young life but there was nothing she could
do about it.

'And what about Todd?'

They turned their horses around at the top of the
straight, preparing for a gallop.

'He caught the bus back with me. He was very
understanding.'

'Well, I think what you need to take your mind off
Leila for a moment is a hard gallop. Ready?'

Charlotte looked down the straight to the white
pole in the distance that marked the finish line.

'Ready.'

'On three. One, two ... three.'

The girls drove their mounts off. Mikey was a strong
horse, a good galloper, better suited to racing than
dressage. Lightning was no slouch. There was nothing
between the girls as they passed the halfway mark. But
just as they reached maximum speed Charlotte caught
sight of a dip in the ground directly ahead.

'Watch it!' She yelled, reefing Mikey to the left.
Hannah caught the warning, saw the problem a
fraction later and also sought evasive action. It was
a good thing she did, because although Lightning
stumbled as his left fore-hoof hit the edge of the hole,
he did not fall as he would have if he'd landed full in
it. They pulled their mounts up. Charlotte jumped off
Mikey immediately to join Hannah and make sure
Lightning was all right.

'Thanks for the warning. He could have broken
a leg.'

Though Hannah had been riding horses most of
her life, she had never attended to them when they
were sick and deferred to Charlotte as the more
experienced 'vet' of the two. She watched anxiously as
Charlotte felt around Lightning's leg for any sign of
damage.

'Is he okay?'

'I think so, but we had better take it easy.'

'There shouldn't be a hole like that in the middle of
the galloping straight.'

'Bevans would never have allowed it,' said Charlotte.

The annoying noise of Chadwick's golf-buggy
turned their heads as it advanced towards them like
an angry beetle. Charlotte suspected that silly buggy
was probably responsible for the problem in the first
place. Chadwick pulled up and got out. As always, he
was grouchy.

'You girls are supposed to be riding, not talking.'

'There's a dangerous ditch here in the middle of the
straight.'

Chadwick glanced over in the most cursory of
fashions.

'Doesn't look too dangerous to me.' His beady eyes
fell on Charlotte. 'You're the troublemaker, right?
Richards. Calling my aunt, upsetting her. You had no
right to do that.'

Charlotte held her tongue. Inside though, part of
her glowed a little warmer. Obviously Miss Strudworth
had given him a good talking to. Chadwick
regarded her with simmering animosity.

'Not talking now, eh? On your horses. And no more
nonsense.'

While Charlotte was not prepared to engage in a
slanging match with Chadwick to defend herself,
there was no way she could remain silent when the
health of the other horses and JOES were at stake. She
spoke out, pointing at the hole.

'What about this –'

Chadwick held up a hand.

'Enough. You might think you have turned my
aunt against me but, let me warn you, Miss, blood
is thicker than water. Now get going before I
recommend you are cut from the squad.'

'But there is a dangerous –'

She felt Hannah's hand against her sleeve, warning
her to be quiet. Charlotte swallowed hard. Had it not
been for the fact that Strudworth was due home that
evening, Charlotte would definitely have responded,
but little would be gained from taking on Chadwick
right now. He wasn't going to repair the straight no
matter what she said. She and Hannah remounted and,
under Chadwick's intense gaze, trotted towards the
ring where other JOES had been practising dressage.

'He is such a pain,' said Hannah when they were
out of earshot.

'If he stays around, I don't think the JOES will be
much fun.'

'Won't Strudworth fire him?'

Charlotte wasn't sure. Bevans had warned her that
it was always tricky getting between relatives. That
was why he had decided not to return to work until
Miss Strudworth was back, even though she had told
him she wanted him back immediately.

As they moved towards the ring, The Evil Three (or
more correctly, The Evil Two, Emma and Lucinda)
were just leaving, trotting up in preparation to racing
down the straight. Rebecca was trotting in their wake.
She was still suspected of being responsible for the
make-up class debacle and only an incredible amount
of sucking up on her part and unlimited use of her
iTunes downloads were keeping her in the picture. As
much as Charlotte wouldn't mind seeing them take
a tumble, she didn't want their horses injured.

'Oh, look,' said Emma as they drew near, 'the circus
must be in town. Two clowns on horseback.'

Charlotte forced herself to ignore the taunt. Think
of the horses, she told herself.

'You need to be careful coming down the straight.
There's a ditch.'

Lucinda put on a fake smile.

'Something for you to sleep in, so you feel really at
home.'

Before Charlotte could add anything else they had
galloped off, showering Hannah and Charlotte with
clods of earth. About twenty seconds later, as the girls
were turning into the arena, they heard galloping
hooves from behind and then a whinny and a sharp
cry. They swivelled on their saddles to see two
riderless horses careering down the straight. Two
riders were on the ground. Emma, still intact, had
continued to the finish. Typical, thought Charlotte.
She saw Rebecca struggle to her feet and straighten
herself out. Lucinda was sitting up but still on the
ground where she had fallen. Rebecca tried to help her
to her feet but Lucinda yelped in pain.

'You tried to warn them,' said Hannah.

That was true, Charlotte told herself, but Lucinda
could be badly hurt.

'We better see how she is.'

She galloped over to find Lucinda supporting her
shoulder and moaning in pain. Charlotte dismounted.
Even as she strode towards the girl she was guessing
that this was a break, probably the collarbone.
She'd seen more than a few of those when the rodeo
visited Snake Hills. Rebecca was already dialling on a
mobile phone. She listened, puzzled, and shook her
head.

'The Emergency Services aren't answering,' she said.

'Use mine,' moaned Lucinda. 'Yours probably can't
get reception out here.'

'No, it's very powerful. I was on the phone to the
city just a little while ago asking my stylist what she
thought I should wear to dinner tonight.'