Charlotte and the Starlet 2 (10 page)

Had Charlotte not had the dubious pleasure of
knowing these girls so well already, she might have
thought Rebecca was joking. Who would ring a stylist
to ask what to wear to a barbecue?

'Where does it hurt?' Charlotte tried to support
Lucinda's shoulder.

'Ow, watch it.'

'Think it's your clavicle,' commented Hannah.

Rebecca shrugged again after another unsuccessful
attempt with the phone.

'Nope. Nothing.'

'What number are you dialling?' asked Charlotte.

'911 – duh.'

Charlotte said, 'You've been watching too much TV.
911 is America. Here you dial triple zero.'

Rebecca did not thank her. She mumbled
something, dialled and was connected straightaway.

There wasn't much more Charlotte could do for
Lucinda.

'I'm afraid you'll just have to hold it till they come,'
she said.

'Look on the bright side', said Rebecca, snapping
her phone closed. 'Your mum is going to spoil you
rotten.'

Driving down the highway, Caroline Strudworth was
distressed. There was no other word for it. Thornton
Downs was her life. She devoted every waking
moment to thoughts of how it could be improved and,
pebble by pebble, leaf by leaf, she had made Thornton
Downs the wonderful riding academy it was today.
And here, in the twinkling of an eye, that idiot
nephew had begun to dismantle it. Selling a horse as
some cost-cutting measure was stupid. There were
always injuries and illnesses to horses, and backups
were needed. Didn't he understand that? It was
totally insensitive too. A rider formed a bond with a
horse, they became like a trusted friend. Indeed, it
had always been Miss Strudworth's philosophy in
equestrian eventing that one wasn't just turning out
a rider but a horsewoman. A horsewoman without a
horse was like a cucumber sandwich without bread.
What a shame it was poor Charlotte Richards who
had suffered. The poor child had already had a
difficult time of it at Thornton Downs. Leila and she
were more like girlfriends than rider and horse.
Strudworth found Leila a particularly interesting
horse. It was almost as if she understood what you
said. Personality, that's what that horse had. Not
necessarily a personality that Strudworth would have
listed as desirable but, nonetheless, one that sparked
up the day.

Then there was the matter of Bevans. You just
couldn't get quality staff like Bevans. Oh well, soon
enough it would be back to normal. She felt slightly
guilty about leaving her sister alone after the
operation but she was not in any danger. Not like
Thornton Downs. She supposed she would have to
find a way to keep Chadwick on, but time away in the
future for herself would not be possible.

The long drive from the city was drawing to a close.
The parched day had given way to evening coolness.
At this time of day one had to be careful of kangaroos.
Not the smartest of animals, they would often dash
into the path of a vehicle at the very last second. Miss
Strudworth turned off to Thornton Downs and felt an
irrepressible joy as she passed the stone gates. As
much as Chadwick had been a trial, he could not
destroy the fact that Thornton Downs was her home.
But her euphoria evaporated quickly. An ambulance
was wending its way down the driveway as she was
heading up. There was one brief instant where the
bud of hope bloomed in her heart. Could it be that
some misfortune had befallen Chadwick? No, it
wasn't going to be that. Surprises of a beneficial nature
never befell her. It was going to be more trouble.

'Really, Aunty, I don't see what all the fuss is about.'

Charlotte sat in the corner of Miss Strudworth's
office as she had been commanded, pleased to see
Chadwick put on the spot.

'A broken collarbone! That's what all the fuss is
about. Imagine if a horse had been injured.' As she
spoke, Miss Strudworth's hand reached out automatically
to pat Zucchini. The glass of the cabinet
prevented her.

Chadwick's fingers strayed towards the jam
shortbread that Miss Strudworth had placed on a plate
for Charlotte near the edge of her desk.

'Accidents do happen,' he said.

'With you around, they happen more often.'

In a flash a riding crop appeared in Miss Strudworth's
hand and cracked down on Chadwick's fingers.

'Ow. Careful, Aunt, you got me.'

'That was the idea. You were told there was a
problem immediately prior to the fall.'

Chadwick's small brown eyes flashed angrily at
Charlotte.

'You little snitch.'

Before Charlotte could defend herself, Strudworth
interjected.

'It wasn't Richards who told me.'

Charlotte guessed Hannah was the source. She had
seen her talking to Strudworth not long after she
pulled up in the driveway.

'And if it were Richards, I would commend her.'

Chadwick was still looking for somebody else
to blame.

'It's the role of the staff to make sure the ground
is level.'

'The staff you sacked!'

'Bevans was impertinent.'

'The only one impertinent is you, nephew. Bevans
was trying to protect my interests. You sold her horse,'
the crop shot out to indicate Charlotte, 'and I want
you to apologise right now.'

'You want me to apologise to her?' A look of
disbelief played over Chadwick's features. 'No way.'

All Charlotte saw was a blur but she heard a hum
as the riding crop swept through the air, followed
by a sharp crack as it struck Chadwick's leg.

'Agh! All right, all right.'

He turned towards Charlotte, his bottom lip
pushing out like a spoilt child denied an ice-cream.
'Sorry about the nag.'

Charlotte said, 'Her name is Leila.' She surprised
herself at how firmly she spoke.

Chadwick looked like he was about to make some
smart comment but he must have caught sight of the
riding crop being cocked again to deliver pain.

He suddenly seemed mollified.

'Yes. Leila.'

Strudworth pointed the crop at the door and, with
a controlled vehemence, addressed her nephew.

'Out. Deal with this fall business. Find the
insurance papers and contact the company for claim
forms.'

Chadwick went to exit but apparently decided that
it would be foolish to offer an unprotected backside to
that lethal riding crop so he turned and backed out,
bowing as he went.

'Yes, Aunty. I'll get right onto it.'

Strudworth turned her attention to Charlotte.

'I'm very, very sorry for this, Charlotte. Now, let's go
and get Leila back.'

Charlotte's heart almost burst with happiness on
the spot.

'Now?'

'Well you don't want her to spend another night
with this O'Regan, do you?'

She most certainly did not.

It took around thirty minutes to drive to O'Regan's.
Charlotte could not stop thinking of Leila for one
second. The soundtrack Miss Strudworth provided,
a tape of a pipe and drums band, did not affect her focus.
Even when Miss Strudworth was regaling her with
stories of the various crises she had experienced with
Zucchini, Charlotte was thinking of Leila. She
couldn't wait to spoil her. Strudworth wasn't sure
exactly where O'Regan lived but knew it was a
property off one of the highway's arterial roads. They
found the road and turned off. Charlotte was used to
the way her father drove, which was pretty fast. Miss
Strudworth crept along like a winter flu and, more
than once, Charlotte had to stop herself from yelling,
'Hurry up!'

'It's somewhere around here, I think,' said Strudworth,
trying to peer out the window. Out here, like
most of the Australian countryside, there were no
street lights. One relied on moonlight and the car's
small headlights to give a sense of location, but when
the roads were lined with tall trees they could make
the black impenetrable. Fortunately Strudworth had a
large torch to help. Shaped like a box and weighing
a tonne, it obediently shone a strong, thick beam
where directed.

'Used it more than once to find a runaway horse,'
confided Strudworth as she slowed so that Charlotte
could rake the roadside with it. The beam hit a
lopsided letterbox in desperate need of repair. A name
had been painted on it crudely. Most of the letters
were illegible but an
R ga
was visible.

'This must be it.'

Strudworth swung off the road into the dirt driveway.
It was about seventy threadbare metres of open
ground to where an outline of a house was made
visible by a light burning inside. Charlotte's pulse was
galloping. Soon she would be reunited with Leila.

'Now you let me do the talking, Charlotte.'

Charlotte had no intention of doing otherwise. As
they got closer the headlights illuminated an empty
horse float and an old utility with Pony Parties written
down the side. This was it all right. Strudworth pulled
up and they got out. It was a cool night, the wind
whipping around them. Plastic bags, old cardboard
boxes and newspaper inserts fluttered around their
ankles like children begging to be taken away from
here. Charlotte saw no barn or stable in the adjoining
paddock, just a lean-to of a shed. Poor Leila. If this
was where she was spending her time it must be
horrible. She could see no sign of Leila, or any horse
for that matter.

'Leila?' she called towards the paddock, but her
words blew back into her face like they too were
scared to stay here long. Part of her hoped that
O'Regan might have some other more hospitable
paddocks where he put his horses. The sound of
Miss Strudworth's knuckles rapping the front door
with all the authority of a policeman drew Charlotte's
attention back to the house. The porch was littered
with junk and bundles of old newspapers but there
was a space near the door where she could stand.

The door creaked open on a man with food stains
over his T-shirt.

'Yeah?'

There was extreme suspicion in the way he
muttered that one word.

'Mr O'Regan?'

'Who's asking?'

'Miss Caroline Strudworth of Thornton Downs.
Don't slouch, man.'

O'Regan seemed to automatically straighten
himself. Strudworth ploughed right on.

'You recently purchased a horse of mine.'

'That's correct.'

His eyes moved shiftily from Strudworth to
Charlotte.

'The man who sold it to you had no right. I want
the horse back. I am prepared to refund your money
but I must warn you that I am under no obligation to
do so. Buyer Beware.'

O'Regan began to slouch again.

'I'd love to give you the horse back, your worship.'
O'Regan had several times found himself in a
magistrate's court and, out of habit, lapsed into the
jargon of the court. 'But I can't.'

Charlotte knew she was supposed to keep quiet but
it was all too much.

'Leila needs me. Where is she?'

O'Regan shrugged. 'I have absolutely no idea.'

Leila had absolutely no idea where she was. After she
had lost her cool with the Triplets from Hell, things
had kind of moved at a gallop, if one could pardon
the equine pun. The triplets' father, a guy whose face
resembled the armpit of a heavy metal drummer, had
picked O'Regan up in one hand and threatened to
drop him on top of the prongs of the combine
harvester. Instead of standing up for his talent like
Joel Gold or Tommy Tempest had often done,
O'Regan, the spineless nitwit that he was, apologised
profusely. Leila might have given him a good hoof to
the butt herself but she was being restrained by some
carnival guys.

Then the father threatened to go to his truck and
get his rifle to finish off both Leila and O'Regan, at
which point Leila decided it was time to leave. She
reared, knocking two of her restrainers off their feet.
Unfortunately for her, the third carnival guy was
standing by with an electronic cattle prod. He applied
it to her rump and volts shot through her as if she
were popcorn in a microwave. The last and only time
Leila had a similar experience had been while sitting
in the spa at a party at Jack's place up on Mulholland
Drive, overlooking Hollywood. Some Brazilian
supermodel who had been dancing around, doing the
samba with Madonna's ex (sorry, but who could
remember his name?). Anyway, she'd tripped over a
skateboard and cannoned into the Mexican caterer
just as he was beginning to slice a side of beef with his
electric knife. The caterer had fallen into the spa with
his knife and the electricity had travelled through the
water like a crazed eel and zapped Leila. Her skin
puckered all over and for two days her mane had been
standing on end. She was the first filly to sport a
Mohawk. Things could have been much worse had
the safety-switch not cut in. For a start, the heavy
metal guitarist Woody Redwod had been sharing the
spa with Leila at the time and the electric knife could
so easily have severed his fingers, thereby depriving
the world of the hottest licks since the Lion King's
tongue. As it was, he lost only one little toe.

The ending of Leila's current story was much
bleaker. O'Regan talked the angry father out of going
for his gun by offering him the day's takings. As soon
as the dust from the guy's wheels had settled, O'Regan
took to threatening Leila with what he was going to
do to her. Not surprisingly, it involved skinning and
boiling. It was at that moment that another guy
interrupted the tirade. This bald guy looked even
shiftier than O'Regan. He said he might be able to help
O'Regan out of his plight. He needed a horse and he
was prepared to pay cash, up front, on the knocker.
Leila could tell O'Regan was torn between his dreams
of an entertainment empire built on high-priced
polaroids of kids with Leila the movie star, and a
handful of immediate, dirty money.

The money, of course, won.

Leila was sold like some slave. She was still woozy
from the effects of the cattle prod and barely taking in
what was happening to her as she was led on jellied
legs to a large truck. This wasn't a horse float, just a
big truck with no markings. She tried to back out but
it was no use. Some men pushed her inside and then
the door closed.

How long she stayed in that black hole she couldn't
be sure. Maybe two hours. Finally the truck stopped
and the door was unbolted. She shuffled down the
ramp in the dark. The small, solidly built man who
had bought her, his check shirt smelling of body
odour, led her through thick woods into a small
clearing where a number of SUVs were parked around
a campfire in league with some trail bikes. Two tents
had been erected in the clearing and snoring was
coming from within. Leila was scared but she didn't
dare misbehave. She was already regretting losing
it with the triplets. How would Charlotte ever find
her now?

Leila looked with alarm at a half-dozen big
chainsaws lying around. Oh no. Was this her fate? To
be cut up and maybe sold as pet food? The entrée for
some spoiled poodle? One of the tents opened and
a young man with a thick beard crawled out.

'You get us a new horse?'

'Yeah, all worked out perfect. This nag was playing
up. The owner couldn't wait to sell her.'

'Let's hope she lasts longer than the last one.'

Leila gulped. That didn't sound good. She tried to
not think about what fate might have befallen her
predecessor.

'Four days. That's all she has to last.'

FOUR DAYS!!!! Leila was terrified. From the
sound of it she had four days to live.