MClarke - Green Wellies and Wax Jackets

by Green Wellies

  Ella thought it was a bit of a rip-off, but Ursula insisted it was good practice for the participants. After all, they were being trained in stable management techniques. Where else would they get such an opportunity, and at such reasonable prices? (And it saved her having to fork out wages for weekend staff, when she could rely on the youngsters to do all the work).

  This particular Saturday, Caroline was in charge of the smaller children’s riding lessons, and Vanessa had been given the task of organising the ‘Own a Pony Day’ helpers.

  ‘It’s all right for you,’ Caroline muttered crossly, as she tightened the girth on a fat little pony, which barely reached the height of her waist. ‘I’ve got eight riders under the age of twelve, accompanied by their doting parents, who all want to see little Henry, or Jasmine do something other than trot round in a boring circle. They have no idea what it takes to teach some of their kids. And if I have that little madam Sasha Wilkes in my class again…’

  ‘You have.’ Vanessa scanned the list of names.

  ‘Oh shit.’

  ‘Why? What does she do?’

  ‘Nothing I tell her to, that’s what,’ Caroline said. ‘And if she tells me one more time that, “mummy says I should do this, that or the other,” I’m likely to throttle the little blighter.’

  ‘Precocious child, isn’t she?’ Ella said, with a wry smile, as she poked her head around the barn door. It was almost worth missing her day off, just to stay and watch the proceedings.

  But she had plenty of things to do, and hanging about the stables was not one of them. ‘I’m taking the Range Rover,’ she said, dangling the keys in front of them. ‘Ursula says she doesn’t need it today and you two will be too busy.’

  ‘Rub it in, why don’t you,’ Vanessa said sulkily.

  Ella had no intention of rising to the bait. ‘See you later, then,’ she said, giving them a cheery wave.

  In the car park, various cars were depositing children, from toddlers in top heavy riding hats, to tweenies, as Ella considered the under tens, wearing Lycra jodhpurs and brightly coloured sweatshirts. The teenagers, complete with muddy boots and padded jackets, were assembling by the barn door, chattering excitedly.

  ‘…But I want Minnie – you had her last week.’

  ‘I’m going to ask if I can have Shannon today.’

  ‘I don’t care. I want Minnie…’

  ‘Oh, hi, Ella.’ Several pairs of eyes swivelled towards her, as she unlocked the door of the metallic blue Range Rover. ‘Aren’t you taking us today?’

  ‘No. It’s my weekend off,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’m going into town. I think you’ve got Vanessa.’

  Somebody groaned.

  ‘She’s no fun.’

  ‘Old bossy boots.’

  Ella tried not to smile. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see Vanessa making her way down from the tack room, her ample thighs squeezed into a pair of too tight breeches, which only served to accentuate the parts she would have been better off trying to hide. A large burgundy sweatshirt, with the Hollyfield stables motif on it, covered the unsightly spread of her spare tyre, which had been forced up above the waistband of her trousers. Dark navy suede chaps, and a polished pair of stable boots completed her outfit.

  ‘She’s gone blonde,’ observed one of the sharper-eyed teenagers.

  A titter of amusement rippled through the group.

  ‘Looks more like her Mum than ever, now.’

  ‘Maybe she’s trying to look like Ella.’

  ‘No. Oh my God.’

  Vanessa scowled as she approached the gathered party. She had the sneakiest suspicion that they were talking about her, and she didn’t like that thought one little bit. ‘Now then, you lot,’ she said, in her most authoritative tone. ‘We haven’t got time for you to stand around chatting all day. All the stables need to be mucked out. Come on, get a move on.’

  Ella switched on the radio, and hummed to herself as she negotiated the narrow twisting country roads that led away from the stables. She was going into town to do a bit of shopping, and then she had arranged to meet Kate for lunch.

  Normally, she would have used her free time to head over to River View Farm to exercise Majesty for Heather. But she stayed away at weekends, since that was the only time Heather herself could ride him.

  Ella had to admit that she was pleased with his progress. Although the farm lacked the facilities of Hollyfield stables, with its superb cross country course and all weather sand school, she found she could keep him equally fit by riding him over the vast area of bridleways and tracks that surrounded the farm.

  One day she had taken him down to the beach, and galloped him along the curving bay of sand. Another day they had headed over the fields, and popped over a few hedges and gates, by way of jumping practice. The horse was a natural – enthusiastic, eager, and willing. She was sure he would fulfil all of Heather’s hopes and ambitions for him.

  ‘I’ve waited a long time to own a horse like this one,’ Heather told her one evening, when she had popped round to discuss his exercise programme with her. ‘It’s funny, but when I saw him, I just knew he was the horse for me – I had this sort of inner intuition, that he was the right one. Have you ever had that sort of feeling?’

  ‘No, but I know what you mean,’ Ella said. ‘I’ve ridden dozens of horses over the years, and you learn to know when you’ve found a good one. Majesty, I’m sure, is going to be a star.’

  It was just a shame that he wasn’t still kept at Hollyfield, she thought. Ursula had done herself no favours by letting Heather take him away.

  She drove past the entrance to the farm, and turned left onto the road leading down to the end of the village. It was a back road, often used by locals as a short cut, and by horse riders and cyclists. Other traffic rarely went that way, since it was a narrow lane, with passing places, and if one got caught behind a tractor, the journey could take twice as long as on the main road.

  Ella wasn’t in any hurry. The reason she was driving that way was because it was convenient for the end of the village, and the junction leading to the road into town.

  The driver of the silver BMW, however, was in a hurry, and he was going far too fast for the twisting, country lane.

  Ella saw him in the same, shocked second that he suddenly saw her vehicle.

  ‘Christ!’ She wrenched the steering wheel hard to one side. The Range Rover bounced over the grass verge, through a ditch, and grazed down the length of a hawthorn hedge.

  The screeching of metal as the wing mirror of the silver car connected with the rear end panel of the Range Rover set her teeth on edge.

  The dull thud it made as it ground its bumper into the grassy bank, and came to an abrupt stop a few yards further down the lane, made her swear profusely.

  ‘You stupid, bloody idiot!’ she yelled, as she banged open the door of the Range Rover, and scrambled out to inspect the damage. A nasty gouge was missing from the metallic blue paint of the rear panel. Ursula would go mad. This vehicle was her pride and joy. She always said she felt like royalty in it, when she was driving around the countryside. (The fact that she often acted as if she were royalty, was neither here, nor there).

  Ella glared furiously at the occupants of the silver BMW.

  They had made no move to get out of the car. Her heart skipped a double beat. Oh my God – they could be injured. Here she was, shouting about a tiny scratch, when they could be dead, or dying.

  Lewis and Simon were neither hurt, nor incapacitated. They were, however, frantically wondering how they could get themselves out of what could possibly be a very embarrassing situation. The newspaper headlines flashed in front of Lewis’ eyes. “Speeding film star and producer force local person off the road.”

  Shit! ‘Simon?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.’ He was reaching for his dark glasses. A denim baseball cap had already been jammed down over his head. ‘Get us out of here, Lewis.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I intend to.’ He fumbl
ed in his pocket for his wallet.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  The tentative knock on the tinted glass of the window had Lewis reaching for his sunglasses as well. He hadn’t even seen the person he had hit, and nor did he want to. Carefully keeping his head averted, he wound down the window a fraction.

  ‘Yes, we’re fine. I’m so sorry. It was my fault.’

  ‘Too right, it was.’

  With his head bowed, he thrust a wad of notes through the narrow gap above the window. ‘Like I said, I’m really sorry. Here, take this. That ought to pay for any damage.’

  ‘I think you’d better give me your insurance details,’ the girl’s voice said.

  Ella was blowed if this boy racer thought he could just fob her off with a handful of money and a mere apology. He didn’t have to face the wrath of Ursula, when she showed her the damage to her cherished vehicle.

  She crouched down to get a better look at the driver, but all she could see was a pair of denims, and a pale cream shirt. His companion was slumped to one side in the passenger seat, a baseball cap pulled low over his forehead.

  ‘There’s no need for my insurance company to get involved,’ the man said, pointedly turning away from her. All Ella could see was the side of his head, and a glimpse of sun streaked hair.

  ‘I take it you have got insurance,’ she said scathingly.

  ‘Yes, but I don’t want to lose my no-claims bonus over a mere scratch. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’re in a hurry.’

  He switched on the ignition and revved the engine loudly.

  ‘Hey! Wait a minute.’

  Ella stepped backwards in surprise, as it became obvious that he had no intention of doing any such thing. He reversed rapidly over the grass verge, slammed the car into first gear, and then shot forwards again.

  ‘You idiot!’

  She shook her head in exasperation, and watched his brake lights come on as he took the next corner with a squeal of burning rubber. Heaven help them if there was a tractor heading their way. Their fancy powerful car with the personalised number plates wouldn’t save them then.

  She glanced down at the bundle of money the driver had practically thrown at her. Good grief! She fanned the notes out in her hand. They were mostly all fifty-pound notes. Over five hundred pounds worth. Her head jerked up again. And that number-plate – LEW 15.

  Surely, it couldn’t have been…? No, it couldn’t be. Could it?

  ‘Lewis Trevelyan!’ Kate shrieked, causing several heads in the pizza restaurant to turn and stare at them. ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ Ella said, in a hushed whisper. ‘I’m sure it was him. And look – look what he gave me.’ She discreetly unfolded the wad of notes, which she had stashed away in the zippered part of her handbag (they wouldn’t fit inside her small purse).

  ‘Bloody hell!’

  Ella blushed and wished, (as she’d wished on many previous occasions in the past), that her best friend wasn’t quite so loud and over-excitable.

  ‘Well, I hope you told him who you were.’

  ‘I didn’t get the chance to say anything,’ she said, carefully replacing the money in her bag, and slipping it down the side of her seat, where she could keep a close eye on it. ‘He was desperate to get away. I don’t think he even looked at me.’

  ‘Hmm. Strange.’ Kate picked up a triangle of pizza with her fingers, and chewed thoughtfully on it for a moment. ‘Wonder where he was going, in such a hurry.’

  ‘Where they were going,’ Ella said. ‘He had somebody with him.’

  ‘Male or female?’

  ‘Male.’ Ella cut herself a portion of garlic bread, and scooped up a forkful of green salad. ‘I couldn’t see much of him either, but I think he was young. He was wearing a baseball cap and dark glasses. You know,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘I can’t help wondering if it was that Simon De Silva.’

  ‘No!’ Kate almost choked over her food. ‘Really?’

  ‘Course not, you idiot,’ she laughed. ‘I was only teasing. How the heck would I know what he looked like.’

  ‘Hmm. I suppose,’ Kate said. ‘Still, it’s worth a thought. It could have been him. I mean, they are supposed to be filming round here, aren’t they?’

  Ella shrugged. ‘I don’t know. They never got back to us after that last visit, and to be honest, I didn’t really expect them to. Not after they’d seen Caroline,’ she added, with a rueful smile.

  ‘Well, they must be up to something.’

  ‘Yes, well, I’m sure we’ll find out what it is soon enough,’ Ella said, reaching for the large wooden pepper grinder.

  At the precise moment that she was grinding a generous serving of mixed peppercorns over her pasta, the slightly scratched and mud splattered, silver BMW, was turning into the grounds of Hollyfield Stables.

  Lewis Trevelyan was on a mission.

  So too, was Caroline.

  In her case, she wanted obedience, respect and cooperation from her motley group of junior riders, but sadly, it wasn’t forthcoming. She had come to the conclusion that she had more chance of winning the Grand National on a Shetland pony than getting any of her class to ride properly.

  True, it wasn’t her fault that Jemima had tumbled so spectacularly backwards over the rump of her short-legged, fat little pony.

  The blame lay squarely with Sasha Wilkes, who had insisted on twirling her scarlet whip around her head whenever she got excited (rather like a mounted majorette on parade). A slight misjudgement on her part had sent the whip hurtling skywards, and then plummeting back to earth again. Unfortunately (for Jemima, that is) it landed right in front of Mr Magic’s nose. The normally bomb proof pony had spun round and shot off, promptly depositing its little rider in a crumpled, wailing heap on the ground.

  ‘Oh my poor darling!’ Jemima’s mother leapt over the rail and sprinted to her sobbing daughter’s side. ‘Are you all right? Tell Mummy where it hurts?’

  Since the child was padded out with every available kind of body protection that money could buy, Caroline suspected that she wasn’t hurt at all. ‘Now then, Jemima,’ she said, in as caring a voice as she could muster. ‘You just sit quietly for a moment, while I find somebody to catch your pony for you.’

  She glared at the precocious Sasha Wilkes, who was looking innocently around the arena, as if none of this drama could possibly be attributed to her.

  ‘Sasha. I want you to dismount, please.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I say so. Now, Sasha, please!’

  Caroline felt her cheeks burning. All eyes were upon her, to say nothing of those of Sasha’s mother and father.

  ‘I want you to pick up your whip and give it to your parents. You don’t need it in this lesson, and perhaps if you’d listened to me in the first place, Jemima’s accident would never have happened. That’s right. Now hand it over to them – yes, over the rail. I know it’s hard for you to reach…’ She breathed out slowly and steadily as the child, obviously in a strop, thrust the whip at her mother. ‘Good,’ she sighed. ‘And now, you can get back on Honeybun. Thanks Kelly,’ she added, as the young stable girl who was helping her with the class lesson, brought back Mr Magic, from where he was standing snorting, rather nervously, at the furthest end of the arena.

  ‘Don’t want to ride that one,’ snuffled Jemima miserably.

  ‘He’ll be all right now,’ Caroline said. ‘He had a fright, that’s all. Come on, Jemima. I’ll lift you up.

  ‘No!’ A petulant foot stamped itself down hard.

  ‘You need to get back on.’

  ‘I don’t see why,’ the mother retorted, clutching her child to her side. ‘That animal’s obviously dangerous. It’s hardly suitable for a novice ride.’

  Give me strength, Caroline seethed. She attempted to smile at the distraught child and mother. ‘Little tumbles like this happen all the time, Mrs West…’she began, in what she hoped was a conciliatory tone of voice.

  ‘Indeed!’ The mother straightene
d her shoulders determinedly. ‘Well perhaps you should take another look at the sort of animals you use in children’s lessons. Come on Jemima. We’re leaving. And we won’t be coming back,’ she added loudly. ‘We’ll be going to New Hall Equestrian Centre from now on. I’ve heard they’re much more experienced with younger children.’