Phantom Horse 6: Phantom Horse Wait for Me

by Christine Pullein-Thompson

  Mrs Winter had chosen a saddle; it was brand new and black. “Now for a bridle,” she said.

  Angus helped them to choose. He was not looking at me any more. I am sure he knew how I felt. We tried the tack on Marli. It fitted.

  “Right, there we are. We needn’t go in. I will write the cheque on the bonnet of my car,” insisted Mrs Winter. I could not help recalling my parents arguing over every pound and here was Mrs Winter spending far more than three thousand pounds without a flutter of her eyelids.

  “You see how rich they are,” Angus muttered to me. “Stop staring. A thousand pounds to them is like a hundred pounds to us.”

  “But they shouldn’t be spending so much. They don’t need to and everything is unsuitable,” I said. “It’s a tragedy …”

  Maureen was looking pleased now. She smiled at me and Angus, and I knew the smile was her way of saying, “Thank you for bringing me such excellent business.” Then I heard her saying, “Jean will ride the mare over to your place, won’t you, Jean?” I heard myself saying, “Yes,” though my whole being cried: No. No, never. She is unsuitable … It’s all a terrible mistake.

  “She’ll have to live by herself. You realise that,” I told Maureen when the others had gone.

  “She’ll get used to it.”

  “The field is fenced with rails; there’s no shade,” I continued. “What are we going to do?”

  “Stop worrying. Greg, tack up the mare, will you?” Maureen told the boy.

  I looked at Greg properly for the first time. He was doing the job I might have done. He had dark curly hair, blue eyes and a mouth which looked too serious for his age, which couldn’t have been more than seventeen.

  “You know the way, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course. Is she traffic-proof?” I asked.

  “Not bad …” I wondered what that meant!

  Greg held my stirrup while I mounted. I sat down gingerly on the new saddle before tightening the new, white nylon girth.

  “All right?” he asked. I nodded. Marli danced out of the drive, went sideways down the road, her head high, her neck arched. She was beautifully schooled and went like a dream.

  I turned into the woods and suddenly the blistering heat was gone; the ground was a lace-work of shadows cast by the branches of trees overhead. Long-fallen leaves gave it a softness.

  A rabbit fled at our approach. So tall and ancient were the trees that, for a moment, I felt as though I was riding through a cathedral. There was no sound now besides that of Marli’s hoofs gently landing on soft earth and the creak of saddle and the jingle of bit. Yet in spite of a feeling of intense happiness, I was also possessed by a feeling of impending doom. Why did we get involved? I wondered. Once involved, why did we let the Winters buy such a horse? Plus why was Rachel a Finbow and not a Winter? Where was her real father?

  I touched Marli with my legs and she trotted – a wonderful, balanced trot – and I wondered why we had not forced Rachel to try the mare. Why had we been so insipid and so feeble that now I was saddled with teaching Rachel to ride when I wanted to school Phantom and get ready for Pony Club camp? Also to read Mansfield Park and Chaucer so that I would be able to pass fast-approaching exams. I saw myself standing in the beautifully- railed paddock at Hill Farm House trying to get Rachel to sit still on her beautiful saddle; to keep her hands still, to be gentle and firm at the same time. It would take weeks, not days. Now we were out of the woods in the valley which I love more than anywhere else on earth, and the distant corn shimmered in the heat like a gently-moving sea, and the sun was so hot that it burned like a furnace on my back, the track was hard and dusty, and the distant main road cluttered with cars moving tail to tail towards a faraway coast.

  I loved every inch of this valley and wherever I went the vision of it was with me, buried in the back of my mind. It wasn’t really my valley but in my mind it would always be the valley which led to home.

  Dominic, who is a friend of ours, was loading straw into the back of a trailer and turned to wave and call, “Where’s Phantom? Is that a new horse?”

  So I stopped and told him about the new people at Hill Farm House. But he knew no more than I did.

  “They’re very well off, but no one knows where they made their money. My mother says ‘easy come, easy go.’ They shouldn’t be in the country, not really,” he said. “And what do they want a mare like this one for?” he asked, patting Marli. “They haven’t got a stable and only the one paddock. Can the girl ride?”

  I shook my head. “Not much. I’m supposed to be teaching her,” I confessed.

  “Rather you than me,” said Dominic. “By the way, would Angus like to turn an honest penny? We need some help.”

  “Yes, of course. But what about me?”

  “You, too. But it sounds as though you’ve got your hands full. Mind you charge them for lessons. They can pay,” said Dominic, turning back to the straw.

  “I’ll tell Angus anyway,” I said.

  “Yes. He can start tomorrow if he likes, after milking, say nine o’clock,” Dominic said, his hair bleached by the sun, broad shouldered, his feet firm on the acres which one day he would inherit. “Come this way again, Jean. We haven’t seen you for a long time,” he said, turning to smile at me. “We miss you, Jean, and you know you’re always welcome.”

  “Thank you, I will.” Marli was eager to be off. We trotted on between the fields, reached the road and climbed right up the long hill to Hill Farm House. I thought of my relationship with Dominic, which is one-sided, since he cares for me intensely and I only want a platonic friendship. The trouble is there’s nothing to discover in Dominic, I thought. It’s all there on his face – honesty, hard work, devotion. But half an hour alone with him and I am bored to the marrow of my bones.

  Marli shied at the traffic, then leaped out in front of a bus. I put out my arm, then pushed Marli into a spanking trot. I could see Hill Farm House in the distance with cars parked outside and men working close to the house erecting a tangle of wires and masts, something which was beyond my grasp.

  I reached the yard and drew rein. There was no one waiting for me, no one looking out of a window, only the sound of laughter coming from the swimming pool.

  Looking at me, a man in dungarees called, “They’re swimming, love. Go round the side of the house and tie the horse up.” But not by the reins I thought, standing undecided, Marli’s neck lathered with sweat.

  Finally I opened the paddock gate, took off her tack and let her go. She stood neighing for her friends while I looked in vain for a trough of water. I felt very low in spirit now. Marli will be so lonely, I thought. Who will look after her? There’s no shade anywhere.

  Then I walked round the side of the house and found a crowd of people with cut crystal glasses in their hands. “Why, it’s Jean,” cried Mrs Winter. “Come and have a drink.”

  Angus was there too, in red swimming trunks. “This is my little sister,” he said with a silly smirk.

  “There’s no water for Marli,” I said, embarrassed as I stood there smelling of horse in my faded jodhpurs, cotton shirt and brown boots.

  “We’ll see to that presently,” said a tall man, detaching himself from the others. “I’m David Winter.”

  He was heavily bearded; his eyes were small and brown, his nose fleshy, his lips full and red, his teeth small by comparison. He was broad shouldered, hairy chested, and was wearing nothing but white swimming trunks held up by a red belt, overlapped by an enormous stomach.

  He shook me by the hand. “Nice to meet you, Jean. Did the mare come over all right?” he asked.

  “Yes, but she needs water,” I said.

  “Water, yes, water. Rachel, water for your mare,” he called.

  Rachel took me to the kitchen, which was immaculate. She was dressed in a bikini and bare footed. We found a plastic washing-up bowl and had to fill it three times before Marli’s thirst was quenched.

  “You must get her a trough,” I told Rachel. “She’ll need at
least eight gallons a day in this weather.”

  “I’ll see to it later. I’ll ask one of the workmen. Are you coming back to the pool?” Rachel asked.

  “No thanks,” I said, and started for home. I noticed that there was now a brass sign on the gatepost. It read: WINTER AND FINBOW, WORLDWIDE COMMUNICATIONS SERVICES LTD.

  The workman in the dungarees called, “Did you find them, love?”

  “Yes, thanks,” I shouted.

  Marli was standing by the gate whinnying piteously. Avoiding her eye I ran along the drive, then on down the road, my head as heavy as a wet bale of hay.

  Mum was standing at our gate. “I was getting anxious,” she said.

  “ The Winters bought an Arab mare,” I explained impatiently, “and I’ve just been delivering it for them. Angus is still there”“Why didn’t they bring you home?”

  “I don’t think it even occurred to them,” I answered, gulping down a glass of water in the kitchen.

  “They could have rung me,” Mum said. “Lunch is dried up.”

  “I don’t think they have regular meals, just snacks round the swimming pool,” I said, and imagined Angus swallowing caviar, followed by smoked salmon sandwiches.

  “I wish we weren’t going on Sunday. They aren’t our sort of people,” Mum told me, placing a bowl of salad on the table. “But your father’s really keen to meet them. I can’t think why.”

  “He’s too serious for them; they’ll laugh at his striped shirt. They’ll probably be in swimming trunks and bikinis. I think they live in them,” I told her.

  “We’d better pray for rain, then,” Mum said.

  “Actually, I’m very worried about the mare, Marli. She’s very highly strung and quite unsuitable,” I said.

  “But I thought you went to advise them.”

  “We did, but somehow it went wrong. Now I’ve got to teach Rachel to ride. She’s older than me and very sophisticated, and I’m terrified,” I confessed, swallowing lettuce. “And I couldn’t like them in a thousand years, Mum. Angus thinks they’re marvellous, but I don’t. I don’t even like Rachel, in fact I hate her,” I continued, “because she’s everything I’m not. I would never choose her for a friend. She’s like a model and she doesn’t care one bit for Marli. That’s what is so awful. None of them do. So why did they buy her?”

  “As a status symbol. So that they can talk about Rachel’s Arab mare to their friends in London,” Mum told me. “They want to be more acceptable and to keep up with their rich friends. That’s my guess anyway.”

  “David Winter wants to hunt. He wants a hunter,” I said.

  “For the same reason. He wants to sound smart, to look the part. He won’t hunt, you can be sure of that.”

  Suddenly I did not want any more lunch. I stood by the window looking out, imagining Marli pacing the paddock. “It makes me want to cry,” I said.

  “I’m not surprised,” replied Mum.

  “Angus likes them,” I continued, with a choke in my voice.

  “But only for the moment and only because they treat him as someone special, as a grown-up. It’s just a phase,” Mum told me. But I did not believe her. I saw the whole summer ruined.

  Angus no longer at home, Rachel dominating every day.

  Then I heard hoofbeats in the lane. Phantom neighed, followed by Killarney. I opened the kitchen door and dashed outside. Marli was in the yard drenched with sweat. She was shaking visibly and there was blood streaming from her knee, slowly turning the white sock below bright scarlet.

  I fetched a head collar and put it over her shapely ears. Her breath was coming in gasps, her sides heaved. “Shall I ring the vet?” asked Mum.

  “I think so. We don’t know whether she’s had her tet, do we?” I said.

  Then a car stopped with a screech of brakes and David Winter, Rachel and Angus spilled into the yard, still in their swimsuits.

  “She jumped the fence, or tried to, and hit the rail,” shouted Angus. “Is she all right?”

  “I don’t know. She’s bleeding pretty badly. Mum’s sending for the vet. Hang on to her while I get Phantom out, she had better have his box.” Suddenly we were together again, on the same side, understanding one another without the need of words, while David Winter and Rachel Finbow looked on.

  “He’s on his way, they got hold of him on his radio,” Mum said, reappearing. “Does she need a tourniquet?”

  Angus was bending over the wound now, while Mum rushed for wadding and bandages to stop the bleeding and I held Marli, watching relief flood into her eyes.

  “It’s all right, you’ll be all right here,” I told her, while Killarney, looking over his door, nickered softly.

  The two strangers were forgotten. They might just as well have been at home.

  Then David Winter started to talk about our burglary. I suppose he had heard about it from Mrs Parkin, who knows everything that goes on in the village.

  “It must have been a terrible shock for you,” he said to Mum.

  “It was. I’m still shaking,” she said.

  “Did they take much?”

  “There wasn’t too much to take,” answered Mum wearily. “I keep my jewellery in the bank.”

  “It’s happening all the time. It’s worse in London. Why don’t you go in for a burglar alarm?”

  “I don’t think we could manage one. We would keep setting it off by mistake. Here comes the vet,” said Mum.

  4

  Our vet is called Mike Davis. He is small and dark-haired, with quick, sensitive hands. Wearing dark glasses, he drove into the yard in a brand-new Fiat.

  “And who would you be?” he asked David and Rachel, getting out of his car. Mum introduced them. Marli’s leg had stopped bleeding and the sweat had dried on her, leaving white streaks.

  “We don’t know whether she’s had her tet, and I don’t suppose Maureen knows either,” I told Mike. Mum fetched Angus a shirt, which he put on over his swimming trunks.

  “We’d better give her a jab just in case,” said Mike, feeling the wound. “It’s not too bad. How did she do it?”

  “She leaped a fence and hit the top rail. You could hear the impact half a mile away,” Angus explained.

  “She was all alone,” I added.

  “And came here in search of company,” suggested Mike, filling a syringe.

  “More or less.”

  I gave Marli a handful of oats while Mike slipped the needle into her chest, rubbing the place with cotton wool afterwards, muttering, “Whoa, take it easy. It’s all right, pet.”

  “You’ll send us the bill, won’t you?” asked David Winter, leaning over the box door.

  “Jean will give me your address. This horse needs to be turned out later. Standing still will only make her leg swell more. She should be all right in a couple of days,” Mike told us, obviously assuming that Marli would stay with us. “She must come in every day until it’s healed. I don’t want her stamping,” he continued. “Okay, Jean?”

  I looked at David Winter. “Phantom will have to stay out then,” I said.

  “We’ll keep her. Not to worry,” said Angus, smiling at Rachel.

  That is how we became friends, if you can call it friendship, with David Winter and his second wife, and Rachel Finbow.

  We should have known better. We should have said, “No, we can’t keep your mare. Send her to a posh stable where you will be charged over sixty pounds a week. We haven’t the room.”

  But Angus looked at Rachel and smiled – the die was cast.

  Mike got into his car saying, “Call me if you need me,” and glided away in the scorching heat, sweat glistening on his face.

  “We can’t keep her for ever,” I said. “Sorry, but we haven’t the room.”

  “We know that. You are a brick, Jean, the salt of the earth,” David Winter said. “We won’t forget it.”

  I believed him. But it was not as simple as that, nothing ever is. I wanted to keep Marli because I knew I would not sleep if she was in the railed pad
dock alone. Also, because we had let Rachel’s mother buy the mare, I felt responsible for her safety. So I was caught in an impossible situation. Now it would be Phantom who had to stand alone under the oak-tree in the scorching heat.

  Rachel and her stepfather returned to their car. “See you on Sunday. I look forward to meeting your husband,” he told Mum, starting the engine. “And don’t worry, Jean, you will be rewarded.”

  Rachel smiled at Angus and waved a small hand in my direction, while Phantom neighed despondently from the paddock.

  “You must admit they are fascinating, Mum,” Angus said. “Quite out of the ordinary. Nice too. Do you know what I had for lunch?”

  “No,” Mum replied, “and I don’t want to. Your lunch here is wilting on the kitchen table. I don’t know how we’re going to cope with the mare. Jean has enough on her hands already.”

  Dad was not pleased to see Marli either. She was in the orchard by this time, her wound dusted with green antibiotic and fly-repellent powder.

  “What is she doing here?” he asked.

  I tried to explain. It sounded unlikely, as well as idiotic.

  “You mean you helped them choose the mare for their daughter?” Dad asked.

  I nodded miserably. There was a short silence before Dad said, “You’re as idiotic as they are and, by the way, I would rather you didn’t see too much of them.”

  “Why?” demanded Angus.

  “Because they aren’t our sort of people.”

  “Oh, I see. Their background is wrong, is it? Not Oxbridge I suppose,” said Angus, in a cutting voice.

  “Actually, he’s Cambridge, and a scientist,” replied Dad, taking us both by surprise. “She was married to a bomb disposal expert before he met an untimely death in the execution of his duty.”

  “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe a word you say, Dad,” retorted Angus. “You don’t like them because they are in business. You’re inventing everything.”

  “You know he’s not, but I don’t think it matters,” I said. “I don’t like them either, but I’ll have to look after Marli and teach Rachel to ride her, otherwise Marli will end up as dog food.”