“Well, if you’re sure…”
“I’m sure.”
Melissa went. Douglas turned and gave me a wave as they disappeared into the stable yard.
I wheeled myself aimlessly along the rails of a paddock in which painted poles had been arranged on oil drums for intending purchasers to try the horses and ponies over. Further on there was a field in which about a dozen animals were grazing. As I approached, a friendly brown pony came up to the gate and poked his head through sideways, allowing me to stroke the velvety skin above his lips and tickle his whiskery chin. He lifted the end of his nose and waggled it, showing neat little teeth and a lot of sloping pink gum.
I looked idly at the other horses who were grazing in a group. There was only one other, a white horse who stood alone with lowered head in the far corner of the field. He was so thin, even from the gate I could have counted every rib. He had a long, tangled mane and a tail that almost reached the ground. He stood as if he might be sleeping, neither twitching an ear nor swishing his tail at the flies, and I stared and stared at him and I blinked my eyes and stared again, and still I couldn’t believe what I saw.
The friendly brown pony jumped backwards as I shot my chair into reverse away from the gate, then turned and propelled it as fast as my strength would allow back to the stable yard. Douglas and the dealer were standing by and Melissa was just raising her foot to mount a chestnut pony with a white blaze as I whizzed up to them causing the pony to sidestep and show the white of its eye.
“Eileen-” Melissa began in a reproachful tone, but it was the dealer I wanted to speak to.
“The white horse, the one in the field… the one with the long mane and tail...”
He frowned as if there might be no such animal, then he shook his head. “Oh, that one, Miss. No, he’ll not be at all suitable. He’s too big for your sister and anyhow, he’s not sound.”
“I don’t care about that, I want you to show him to me. I want to look at him. Please, I must!”
The dealer rubbed his chin. He looked from me to Douglas for guidance as if he suspected that, as well as being crippled, I might also be weak in the head.
Douglas looked mystified but, “I don’t suppose looking would hurt, would it?”
The dealer shrugged. “I don’t suppose it would. Tell you what: we’ll put the youngster in the paddock to trot round on the pony and I’ll take the lassie to look at the white horse.”
The white horse didn’t move as we approached him. He stood just as before with his head drooping, resting a hind leg and only the faintest cocking of an ear registered our arrival.
“Does he have a name?”
“If he has I don’t know it.”
“Moonlight would be a good name for a horse like that.”
“I suppose it would.”
Was it my imagination, or had the achingly beautiful head turned slightly in my direction?
“You said he wasn’t sound; what’s wrong with him?”
“He’s got something called a slipping stifle. As soon as anyone tries to ride him the bone slips out of its socket and he goes along on three legs. It might right itself in a young horse, but he’s not young, so that’s the end of it.”
“When you say that’s the end of it, what exactly do you mean?”
The dealer looked embarrassed. He rubbed the back of his neck, not knowing what to say. Under the tangled mane, the white horse’s eyes were black pools of watchfulness.
“What you mean is that he’ll go to the slaughterhouse, but of course, you wouldn’t have liked to tell me that.”
“Well… I…”
“So how much will you get for him, if he goes for meat?”
The dealer looked even more uncomfortable. “Well now, that’s a difficult… that’s a little hard to…”
“There isn’t much meat on him at the moment,” I said.
“I suppose to be honest, he shouldn’t be out here. He’s poor and not got much of a coat on him, but the yard’s full, there isn’t an empty stable on the place.”
“So how much?”
“Two hundred. Maybe two hundred and thirty.”
“I’ll give you two hundred and fifty,” I offered.
The dealer looked doubtful.
“I mean it! I’ve got the money. I was awarded quite a lot of compensation after the accident and I haven’t touched any of it, somehow I haven’t wanted to. It was almost as if by spending it I would be admitting that money could compensate in any way for what happened, and of course it couldn’t, not any amount. But anyway, it’s there. I’ve got it.”
The dealer still looked doubtful. “But if you buy him, what will you do with him?”
“What does it matter? Since I couldn’t ride him anyway, even if he was sound, it won’t matter to me whether he’s got a slipping stifle or not.”
“But what about your sister’s pony? What will your father say?” He glanced over to the paddock where Melissa was jumping the pony over the coloured poles.”
“It won’t make any difference to them. They’ll agree just to humour me, you’ll see. And we’ve plenty of room. There are two stables in the field we’re renting for Melissa’s pony and eight acres. It’s too much grazing for one pony really.”
The dealer was almost convinced. “He’d be a companion for the pony at any rate. Ponies get lonely on their own, it’s always better if they’ve got company.”
“Does that mean you’ve accepted my offer?”
“Not quite,” he said.
“You mean you want more?” I was indignant.
“No, the price is alright, it’s just that there’s a bit of a muddle over title.”
“Over what?”
“Over whether I own him or not, legally, I mean.”
“You mean he isn’t yours to sell?”
It was all very awkward. “Now look, lassie,” he said, “I wouldn’t have bothered for the slaughterhouse, he’d have been gone without a trace in a few hours, and if it had been anybody else wanting him I might not have said anything either, but as you’re…” he glanced at my legs and hesitated.
“What you’re trying to say is that because I’m crippled I get preferential treatment?”
“Well...”
“Thank you very much. I’m glad. So where did he come from?”
“I’ve no idea to be honest. But I didn’t buy him, I wouldn’t have wasted my money; he’s not exactly saleable merchandise is he? No, the truth is he was dumped. I just came to hay the stock one morning and there he was.”
“So you’ve no idea how he got here?”
“Not a clue.”
I looked at the white horse and the white horse watched and waited. I had to smile.
“The only problem would be if somebody turned up and claimed him.”
“Nobody will claim him. But if they do, I expect you would give the money back. I am a cripple, after all.”
He grinned, not embarrassed any more. “I suppose I’d have to. If I refused, the publicity would put me out of business.”
“So it’s a deal?”
“It is.”
I held out my hand. We shook on it. The white horse was mine.
Now came the testing moment.
“Moonlight. Come.”
Amazingly, the white horse came.<<<
“Four scampi and chips, one toasted cheese and ham, two filter coffees, one decaffeinated!”
The Director looked up from measuring handfuls of chips into the frying basket. “God’s teeth, who you got in there, a coach party?”
Camilla banged down the orders on the servery. “Don’t start getting shirty with me, Melvyn, because if you do I’ll be off. I came here to make a film, not to work as a bloody barmaid!”
One by one most of the bar staff, the cook and finally Joanna had succumbed to ‘the bug’. Already we were a skeleton crew with seven of our number afflicted, but as there was no other accommodation for miles around we had to stay on at the Sow and Pigs, and the only way to do that was to keep it
open for business ourselves. Some worked with better grace than others.
“If you give me any more lip I’ll go tell your mother you got all her jewellery on and a neckline down to your navel.” The Director stared unhappily into the bubbling oil. “Hey Grace Darling, you sure you put the chips in the fryer whilst they’re still frozen? You sure it don’t constitute a health hazard, cooking things before they’re defrosted?”
“It’s OK for chips and small things, I think it’s just poultry you have to watch.”
The outside door opened and Anthony came in. Camilla perked up immediately and fluttered her sooty lashes. “I could really use some help in the bar if you’re free,” she said
“Free? Don’t you know he’s the most expensive horsemaster in the business? Did nobody tell you that?” The Director dropped the chip basket into the oil. Immediately there was an explosive whoosh and the kitchen was filled with clouds of steam. “Jesus Christ Superstar!” He ran over and pulled the cord to start the extractor fan. “Holy Joe!”
“By the look of that sweater you could use some help in lots of ways, but personally I prefer horses.” Anthony grinned at the sight of the Director in a Snoopy apron.
“Pervert.” Camilla flounced off.
“Well, what did you think of your new co-star?”
We had filmed the first scene with the horse called The Blizzard that morning. “I thought he was marvellous, quite brilliant, and so beautiful.”
“More brilliant and beautiful than The Raven?”
I stopped grating cheese for a moment in order to consider it. “I don’t know if he’s more brilliant, and he’s beautiful in a different way. He’s got the sort of looks that catch at your heart somehow.” I turned to look at him. “Anthony, you don’t really believe he’s a rogue?”
“Two chicken and chips, one goujon!” Camilla shrilled. “Is anything ready yet? You are slow in there.”
“You think you can do any better, you got yourself a new career!” The Director looked round anxiously. “You sure these scampi go in with the chips, Grace Darling? What about the chicken joint, how come we cook fish and poultry in the same pan? I got full insurance but not for giving the customers a taste of the salmonella virus.”
“It’s OK, they go in together. The high temperature of the oil seals the juices.” I hoped I was right.
“I believe you, Grace Darling, but thousands wouldn’t.” More steam billowed.
“I don’t believe he’s a rogue, I know he is.” Anthony sat on the table and got out a cigarette.
“Hey, don’t you know better than to smoke in the kitchen?” the Director objected. “Did nobody teach you about hygiene?”
“Did nobody tell you never to cook poultry and fish in the same pan?” Anthony lit up nevertheless. The Director frowned into the fryer.
I switched on the sandwich toasting machine. “It’s not that I’m saying you could be wrong, it’s just that if he was a rogue, surely it would show somehow; and he’s so clever, so beautiful.”
“You know what it is with Grace Darling?” the Director said. “She’s naïve, that’s what she is, she’s idealistic. She’s the sort of person thinks because a girl’s a bitch she can’t be a good actress, and because a horse is good looking it can’t be a rogue. I ask you, what sort of reasoning is that? It’s dumb reasoning, that’s what it is.”
“It isn’t all that dumb,” I objected. “The horse was working loose today, he could have done anything but he was perfectly behaved. And look how long it took to stripe his ribs and hollow out his flanks with make-up; he didn’t try to attack anybody, he didn’t kick, he didn’t bite, he stood like a lamb.”
“He didn’t have any choice,” Anthony said. “His jaws were wired.”
“What?” The door of the sandwich machine dropped shut. “His jaws were what?”
Anthony came over to me and he stood very close. My heart jumped but I tried to ignore it. “I have to tell you because you’ll notice something sooner or later. When I knew The Raven was out of the film I talked to Hender about the white horse. We knew he could do it but we also knew the risks. We decided to wire him for the loose scenes and we wired him today.”
“OK folks, this is it. Bring on the baskets!” The Director lifted the basket out of the fryer, shook it and turned it out to deposit the contents on the drainer. “Boy, if this is life in the catering industry, I’ll take emptying dustbins any day.”
I stared at Anthony. I could not believe what I had heard. Automatically I lined up six baskets, pressed a paper napkin into each one, and covered the napkins with lettuce leaves. I did not know what to say and so I stayed silent.
“Grace, it isn’t the first time a horse has gone in front of the cameras with his jaws wired and it won’t be the last. You know how I feel about abusing horses in the name of entertainment, but this is a special case. There was no other horse to do the job and the film was at stake. I hate it, Hender hates it, the horse hates it, but the fact is he’s a danger on the set when he’s working loose and that’s all there is to it.”
I collected up six quarters of lemon, six wrapped forks, six sachets of tartar sauce, and I said to the Director as he shovelled chips over the lettuce leaves, “Did you know about this?”
“Sure I knew.” He stopped shovelling chips and looked at me in pained exasperation. “Hell, Grace Darling, what d’you expect me to do, refuse the deal? I got a film to make here.”
Camilla’s head appeared through the servery. “You’d better have something ready by now, otherwise there’s going to be a lynching out here.”
Everyone ignored her. The Director counted scampi on to the chips, Anthony stared out of the window and dragged on his cigarette and I watched the edges of the sandwich colour in the machine, seeing the white horse standing with his head lowered, remembering the dark, watchful eyes under the tangled mane, the way he had come to me when I had called him, imagining them holding him on a twitch, threading the wire through his teeth, twisting it with pliers, nipping off the ends so it wouldn’t show. I was appalled, stunned, to know I had been party to such an act of cruelty.
“I won’t work with a horse which has its jaws wired,” I said.
“Then maybe we’ll have to find somebody who will.” Anthony’s voice was as cold as ice.
The Director winced. He gave me a pleading look. In silence we passed the baskets through the servery. In silence Camilla received them. Her eyes shifted uneasily from one of us to the other. “The sandwich is burning,” she said.
I rescued the sandwich, cut off the blackened edges. I arranged it on a plate, added a salad garnish and a folded paper napkin.
Anthony turned from the window. “You don’t have to take my word for it,” he said in a steely voice. “Ask Hender to show you his bruises; the teeth marks. For heaven’s sake, Grace, you were sitting in a wheelchair! If he had turned on you, how much of a chance do you think you would have had?”
I took three cups and saucers from the warm cupboard. I opened a packet of individual filters, took out two and placed them on top of the cups. Into the third cup I put a spoonful of decaffeinated coffee. I filled a small jug with cream, added a bowl of raw cane sugar to the tray, switched on the kettle. I turned round to Anthony. “I thought you were the one who really cared about horses,” I said.
The Valentino eyes were like a glacier. He stubbed out his cigarette, slid off the table and walked out of the kitchen. The door slammed behind him.
“Holy Moses!” The Director leaned against the fryer and closed his eyes. “What you trying to do, Grace Darling, blow the whole project? Don’t you think I got enough aggravation without this? You do know that’s Tom Silver’s brother just slammed out the door? You do know he’s the horsemaster on this film?”
“I know who he is,” I said.
The Director crossed the kitchen and took me by the elbow. “Then you’d better listen to me, sweetheart, and you’d better listen good. If he walks off the film, we’re finished. And if you get
troublesome, there’s somebody not a million miles from here waiting to step into your shoes. You know it and I know it.”
As if on cue, Camilla appeared at the servery looking agitated. “Is anything else ready yet? Two people have walked out already.’
The Director waved her away. Reluctantly, she went. I sighed and poured boiling water into the filters. I set the plastic lids on top.
“For another thing,” the Director said, “It’s OK to make criticisms if they’re fair, if they’re reasoned. But that was an emotional outburst, a dumb criticism. If Anthony Sylvester didn’t care about the horse, would he have taken the trouble to find it a stable in the village, even though he had to clear out a mountain of garbage to get the creature installed? Would he be sleeping rough in the lorry, all this to save the hassle of the journey every day on the horse’s nerves? Be fair, Grace Darling, is that the action of a man who doesn’t care about his horses?”
I poured water into the decaffeinated and placed the tray on the servery. Camilla snatched it up, looking ferocious. In a way I had been right and in another I had been wrong. It didn’t make the way I felt any easier. “I didn’t know he’d done that.”
“Seems to me there’s quite a lot you don’t know, Grace Darling.” The Director mopped his brow, patted my shoulder, turned his attention back to the waiting orders. “Two scampi, three chicken, one goujon. Holy Joe, what’s a goujon when it’s at home?”
“I think it’s a long strip of fish in crumbs.” I pulled open the door of the upright freezer to investigate. A giant package fell from the top shelf and exploded on the floor. I stood ankle-deep in frozen peas and from the bar the theme song swelled, pouring its melody over the film crew who had come to make a television serial and were now engaged in running a pub. Tomorrow we were due back at Television City to reshoot the dream sequence and Kevin, currently pulling pints in the public bar, was in charge of the four o’clock calls. It was all totally crazy, an insane way to earn a living, and possibly more than flesh and blood could stand.
The Director lowered a basket of chips into the fryer and was immediately enveloped in a dense cloud of steam.
Catch a Falling Star (The Silver Bridle Book 3) Page 5
