MClarke - Green Wellies and Wax Jackets

by Green Wellies

  ‘No, no, no!’ Stella said, whacking her whip against her thigh. ‘You’re letting him fall in on the forehand. Half halt. That’s it. And again. Good. He’s listening to you now.’

  Ella was suitably impressed. She gave Gemma a reassuring smile, before hopping down from the seat, and heading back to the yard.

  Thomas had finished hanging up the hay nets, and was mixing the feeds in the storeroom.

  ‘Feeling any better?’ he asked.

  ‘Not much,’ she said. ‘It’s my own fault, though, so I’m not going to moan. I thought I’d take Star out. I gather his owner isn’t coming up today. Her name’s missing from the exercise sheet.’

  ‘No. She’s on holiday,’ Thomas said. He straightened up and glanced over at her. ‘You think about what I said, Ella.’

  ‘Much good it will do me.’

  ‘There’s always a way or a means of doing things.’ He scooped a measure of chaff into a bucket, and mixed it with some soaked sugar beet as he spoke. ‘That’s if you’ve a mind to do it.’

  Oh yes, she could just see it – her, abandoning her responsibilities at the stables to ride in the show jumping stakes. Ursula would have a fit if she spotted her name appearing on the competitors list, especially as she had gone to such great lengths to keep the event such a secret.

  ‘Dream on, Thomas,’ she muttered, as she fastened her suede chaps over her riding boots. ‘If anyone asks, I’ve gone for a long ride.’

  ‘Going to see Majesty again, are you?’

  She gaped at him, appalled.

  He was whistling softly as he sliced up a handful of carrots. His eyes glinted mischievously at her.

  ‘How did you find out?’ she sighed.

  ‘I’m not daft, Ella.’

  ‘Promise me you won’t say anything.’

  ‘I won’t say anything, lass,’ he said. ‘You go and enjoy yourself.’

  He was already scooping up the feeds for the next bucket.

  Ella stared at him for a moment. How did he know? Had he spoken to Heather? Had she told him? She watched silently, as he measured out the scoops of feed.

  Well, it didn’t matter, one way or the other. She knew he wouldn’t say anything to Ursula. He disliked her more than anyone else did.

  ‘See you later, Thomas,’ she said, picking up her jacket.

  ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘That you will.’

  The sun was warm on her back as she rode Majesty out of the farm entrance and along the narrow tarmac road. A bridleway led through the woods, and over the fields. It was a track often used by ramblers and bird-watchers. If they followed it far enough they would come to the salt marshes, where hides had been built with money sponsored by a local shipping company.

  The tall cranes of the dock could clearly be seen in the distance. The sunlight glittered on the glassy surface of the estuary, and to the right, she could see the masts and rigging of dozens of yachts, tied up in the marina.

  She rode on a loose rein, enjoying the peace, and the stillness of the afternoon. Majesty walked briskly, his head tucked under him, despite the lack of rein contact.

  Her fingers patted the warm silkiness of his glossy neck.

  ‘You’d be good at the show,’ she murmured. ‘You miss jumping, don’t you boy.’

  Heather had invested in some poles and stands, and had erected a course of jumps in one of the farmer’s fields, but the ground was boggy in places, or too hard, or too uneven for any serious work.

  Perhaps she could persuade Heather to let her take him back to Hollyfield the following weekend, and put him through his paces there. She’d never get a better opportunity, what with Ursula, Vanessa and Caroline performing at the County Show.

  She relaxed in the saddle, and enjoyed the gentle swaying motion of the horse’s steady walk.

  ‘Next weekend, boy,’ she said, rubbing his withers fondly. ‘You and I are going to do some proper jumping.’

  One of Majesty’s ears twitched to the side. Ella laughed. ‘That’s right, my beauty. Proper jumping.’ She gathered up his reins. The track was long and sandy, and perfect for a canter. ‘Which means keeping you fit,’ she told him, as she urged him into a loping stride.

  In the distance, the brown sails of an old sailing barge flapped weakly in the gentle stillness of the breeze. As it made its way up the river a large container vessel, fully laden, moved slowly away from its mooring. The tugboats were guiding it past the marker buoys, and out towards the open sea.

  And five miles away, in the Grand Arena of the County Showground, the first camera crew had arrived, and were busy checking view points and angles, and selecting their optimum positions, in readiness for the planned filming of the event.

  * * *

  ‘My roots are showing,’ Vanessa complained, as she combed her blonde hair into a centre parting, and tied it back with an elastic band.

  ‘Rubbish,’ Ursula said, glancing up from the ever-growing pile of paperwork on her desk that needed attention. ‘And even if they are it doesn’t matter, because you’ll be wearing a hat.’ She had no intention of forking out another small fortune at the hairdressers, to cover up the miniscule line of mousy brown hair that her daughter was complaining about.

  ‘I won’t be wearing one all the time,’ she said sulkily.

  Ursula gave her a warning glare.

  ‘I want to look my best, mother. You know how important it is.’

  Not just important – imperative, Ursula thought, dividing the bills into two piles – the essential, and the not so essential. The bank was still threatening to call in its loan, so she had better give them a sweetener. The vet’s bill was well overdue, but she had known Simon Percival for years, and reasoned that he would be willing to wait. The important thing being he wouldn’t let any of the horses suffer because of non-payment of his bill.

  ‘Mother. You’re not listening, are you?’

  ‘I am, my sweet, but I really don’t think there’s anything wrong with your hair. You’d be far better off practising your jumping skills.’

  Vanessa pulled a face. ‘I’m fed up practising. Nero never does what I ask him to, and that stupid saddle hasn’t helped.’

  Yet another thousand pounds down the drain, Ursula thought wearily. ‘All right, well try riding Jasper again.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she muttered crossly. ‘Caroline wants him.’ She pulled her hair free from the elastic band, and decided to plait it instead. ‘It’s a pity we don’t still have Majesty,’ she said. ‘He would have been perfect.’

  ‘If you had been allowed to ride him,’ Ursula said. The memory of her argument with Heather was still pretty clear in her mind. That unfortunate incident, she was certain, had heralded the start of their downturn in fortune. Losing so many livery owners in one week had been nothing short of disastrous for the business. Now it looked as if the children’s lessons would be going the same way. ‘Try Minstrel,’ she suggested. ‘He’s a good jumper.’

  The grey Arab was a fine looking gelding with wonderful paces. Stella used him regularly in her class. Indeed, she had high hopes for him in the dressage event at the County Show. She had put Laura Middleton forward to ride the Intermediate Freestyle Test, and was confident that she would win a place in the final line-up.

  The scheduling was always tight at the County Show, so several events tended to run simultaneously. The three horse riding arenas made this possible, with the Grand Arena being used for major events, and the smaller ones being used for children’s ponies, or in-hand classes, or (as in this case), the dressage tests.

  Unfortunately, the timing of the Simon De Silva Show Jumping Stakes was going to clash with the timing of the dressage event - a fact that Stella made all too clear.

  ‘Your daughter cannot ride Minstrel,’ she said, in the snooty tone that Ursula had often aspired to, but never managed to pull off. ‘You’ll have to find something else for her. I’ve arranged for Laura Middleton to compete on him, and I can’t change the arrangements at this late stage.’
/>   ‘I’m sure you can,’ Ursula said, equally determined. Who did Stella think she was, telling her what to do? Who owned the stables, anyway?

  ‘Mrs Johnson,’ Stella sounded imperious, as she raised herself to her full height, ‘I’d like to point out that, as an instructor, I’ve seen both girls ride, and in my opinion, Laura has the better change of winning the trophy for dressage, than Vanessa has for competing in the show-jumping.’

  ‘You’re entitled to your opinion, Stella,’ Ursula said. ‘But that’s all it is – your opinion. I happen to think that Vanessa could do rather well on Minstrel, which is why I want her to be given the opportunity to ride him.’

  The normally stern face of the instructor grew more cross and implacable by the second. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t agree with you.’

  ‘Then don’t,’ Ursula said, effectively dismissing her. She turned and marched down to the stable block, where Vanessa was loitering nervously; awaiting the outcome of what she was sure was going to be a heated debate.

  ‘You can’t do this!’ Stella shouted, her voice rising.

  ‘Who can’t,’ Ursula muttered. She did not look back. ‘Vanessa, get Thomas to saddle up Minstrel. You can try popping him over a few jumps now.’

  ‘Now?’ Vanessa peered warily over her mother’s shoulder. Stella was in a furious temper. She had tossed her whip to one side, and was yanking off her pristine show jacket. The spotted necktie was following suit.

  ‘Yes, now. Just ignore her. She’ll calm down in a moment.’

  ‘I don’t think she will,’ Vanessa observed.

  Stella was goose-stepping across the sand school in her knee high black shiny boots like a Nazi storm trooper on parade. Her normally serene and unflappable expression had been replaced by one of red-cheeked fury.

  ‘I quit!’ she yelled.

  ‘Mother,’ Vanessa tapped her on the arm. ‘Stella said…’

  ‘I heard what she said,’ Ursula snapped. God in Heaven, when was it all going to end. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t mean it,’ she added hastily. She was, however, beginning to have her doubts. A quick glance behind her had shown her that Stella was tossing her jacket and hat into the boot of her car. And the duty list indicated she had a class at three – an advanced class, which no one else was qualified or skilled enough to take.

  ‘Perhaps you ought to talk to her,’ Vanessa said.

  ‘I’ll do no such thing,’ Ursula stuffed her hands into the pockets of her padded body warmer, and looked positively mutinous. ‘Do you want to ride Minstrel, at the show, or not?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Right. That’s all I need to know. Thomas! Thomas?’ Her voice raised itself by a full octave. ‘Where is that damn Irishman? Thomas!’

  The man in question was swilling down the yard with the hosepipe, and whistling loudly as he did so. The sudden slamming of a car door and the revving of an engine were the first things that disturbed him, and he glanced up in time to see Stella’s car screeching off down the driveway, leaving a scattering of gravel and stones in her wake.

  The second thing that disturbed him was the sound of Ursula’s bad-tempered caterwauling.

  For the love of Mary, he muttered, as he turned off the tap, and coiled up the hose. What now?

  ‘Didn’t you hear me calling?’ Ursula demanded, as he strolled nonchalantly into the stable block, a strand of straw stuck firmly between his teeth.

  ‘That I did, Ma’am,’ he said. ‘And that’s why I’m here.’

  His jaunty stance infuriated Ursula. His knowing look infuriated her more.

  ‘I want Minstrel tacked up and ready for my daughter to ride in less than five minutes, understand?’ she snapped.

  ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  ‘Well?’ she said. ‘What are you waiting for?’

  Thomas scratched his forehead. ‘Minstrel? That’s the grey Arab, right?’

  ‘You know it is,’ she responded crossly. The man was an idiot.

  ‘Only he’s already tacked up,’ Thomas explained. ‘It’s on the list, you see. He’s down to do a class at three.’

  ‘Well tack up something else, then, and bring Minstrel to me.’

  ‘Right you are, Ma’am.’

  The grey Arab was a distinctive looking horse with a pale cream mane and tail and an intelligent looking face. The straight-sided dressage saddle it was wearing was not the most suitable tack for a jumping lesson, but Ursula had neither the patience, nor the inclination to change it.

  ‘Take him into the four acre field,’ she told her daughter, giving her a leg up into the saddle. ‘The poles are already set up.’

  Vanessa fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat. ‘I don’t know if I can jump him in this,’ she complained. ‘There’s no knee support.’

  ‘Nonsense. You’ll be fine,’ Ursula assured her. ‘What now?’ She glared at Thomas, who was standing idly by the barn door.

  ‘I was wondering,’ he began.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘The three o clock lesson.’

  ‘Yes?’ she snorted. ‘What about it?’

  ‘Well, it looks to me as if Stella has gone home,’ he said. ‘So I was wondering who was taking it.’

  Ursula exhaled loudly. ‘Find Ella. She’ll have to do it.’

  ‘She’s out.’

  ‘What do you mean, out?’

  ‘Out riding,’ Thomas explained. ‘She’s taken Star, and I don’t reckon she’ll be back in time.’

  ‘Oh, brilliant. Just bloody brilliant.’ Ursula handed Vanessa a whip and waved her away as she considered what to do next. There wasn’t anyone else to take the class, and yet she couldn’t afford to cancel the lesson. Not the way her finances were going. ‘Thomas,’ she said, managing a weak smile. ‘You ride, don’t you?’

  ‘I’ve been known to,’ he said cautiously. What on earth was the old crow planning now?

  ‘An instructional hack,’ she announced, beaming. ‘That’s what we’ll do. We’ll tell them the horses need to relax, prior to the Show. You can do that, can’t you Thomas?’

  ‘I can,’ he said, somewhat dubiously. ‘But won’t they be wondering why Stella isn’t with them?’

  Ursula scowled. ‘Stella has a migraine. That’s why she’s gone home’

  Migraine, my foot, Thomas thought. Not by the way she had hared down that driveway. Something else was amiss here, and something serious, if the worried look on Ursula’s face was anything to go by. Still, he didn’t have time to speculate at the moment. He had to find a suitable horse to ride.

  Meanwhile, in the four-acre field, Vanessa was putting the grey Arab through his paces. Minstrel was a gentleman – a generous horse who could forgive inadequate riders their faults, since he was so well schooled himself.

  Vanessa was more than impressed to find that at the slightest tweak, or pressure from her, the horse floated through a variety of transitions, with seemingly little effort. His turns were exact, his stride relaxed, and his carriage superb. Why on earth hadn’t she ridden him before, or was this one of Stella’s best-kept secrets?

  She turned his head and cantered towards the first set of jumps – a double consisting of two sets of poles, a couple of strides apart. Minstrel’s ears pricked forwards, as he sailed effortlessly over the pair of them, made a perfect landing, and turned expertly towards the next jump.

  It was like flying, Vanessa thought. The horse was wonderful.

  Her enthusiasm grew along with her excitement, and she completed the course with no faults. Not one single pole fell, or even wobbled. He didn’t refuse, swerve, or run out of any of the jumps. He was fantastic.

  As she pulled him up and patted his neck, she felt her cheeks flush with pleasure. For the first time she suddenly realised that she stood a very real chance of making Lewis Trevelyan sit up and take notice of her. It was quite an exhilarating thought.

  ‘How many riders?’ Lewis said, tucking the phone between his ear and his shoulder, as he leafed through the pages of the script.

  ‘Dozens o
f them. More than they say they can handle,’ James said. ‘The secretary thinks we should limit the numbers. They’ve been inundated with entries.’

  ‘No way,’ Lewis said. ‘We can’t do that.’

  ‘We’ve got to think of something, if only for safety reasons.’

  ‘Okay.’ He paused, considering the problem. ‘What about if we narrow the age range again – say, from eighteen to twenty five.’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘There can’t be that many blonde haired, female riders out there, surely?’