by Dave Warner
'Okay. But you owe me.'
'I had to speak to you.'
'Ever heard of a telephone?'
'This couldn't wait until tomorrow.'
The trail was on a large tract of bush that separated the boy JOES stationed at Milthorp from the girls at Thornton Downs. No physical contact was allowed between the boy and girl JOES apart from official functions, but they were allowed to make daytime phone calls to each other on Sundays. The girls had use of the trail in the morning, the boys in the evening. Charlotte had been pretty sure that Todd would be on it.
'You know they could boot us out of the JOES if they found us?'
Todd glanced around as he spoke, to make sure nobody was returning from his riding party. Charlotte called for Lightning.
'Believe me, I wouldn't be doing this if I wasn't desperate.'
Todd caught the urgency in her voice. Lightning appeared up ahead from a grove of banksias.
'What's the matter? And where's Leila?'
'That,' said Charlotte fighting back tears, 'is what I need your help with.'
A short time later Charlotte had told Todd the whole story.
'If I can find Leila, perhaps I can offer to buy her back. I'm sure Dad will help out. The other thing is, I thought Mr Graham might know how to find Miss Strudworth.' Mr Graham was the head of the JOES and was usually stationed with the boys at Milthorp. 'Could you ask him?'
Todd sighed.
'I would if he were here. But he's away in Canberra at the moment.'
Charlotte moaned.
'It's impossible.'
'Maybe not. What about Bevans?'
'I told you, Chadwick sacked him.'
'But he must live near here. Perhaps he saw who bought Leila?'
Charlotte almost jumped with excitement.
'Fiona should know where he lives.'
'All right. You see if you can find out from Fiona and ring me tomorrow. I'll come with you.'
'Thanks, Todd, I really appreciate it.'
Todd checked his watch.
'Better go.' He remounted swiftly. 'Tomorrow.'
Then he was off at the gallop. Charlotte felt so much better. At least now she felt like she was doing something.
Leila was soooo tired. The day had been worse than the worst film shoot she'd ever been on, which had been that time down near Tijuana where they'd all got some stomach bug and the air-con in her trailer had packed up. Even those first few times at Thornton Downs, when she'd had to jump over hurdles after not having exercised for years, had nothing on this. And at least at Thornton you got a clean stable at the end of the day. Now, not only did she have to work all day with those terrible monsters called 'children', she'd been forced to endure a long trip back in that germ-trap of a horse float. Mark the Shark had thought he was being Mr Generous by offering her hay. Great. And from what he was saying, this living hell was going to happen all over again tomorrow. Leila glanced up at the stars, wishing she was back in Snake Hills watching a movie projected on the side wall of a shop. She wished she was back in L.A. doing backstroke in Paris' pool. She wished she was in her stall at Thornton Downs shooting the breeze as Charlie brushed her. Leila tried to shake her mane. It was tangled and sticky from soft-drinks, ice-cream and fairy floss. Right now, life sucked. Big time.
Chapter 7
'Are you sure you don't want me to come?'
Hannah was waiting with Charlotte at the bus stop on the main road as the bus approached.
'I'd rather you stay here in case Strudworth returns. Tell her what happened. I'm sure she'll try and help.'
The bus arrived with a hiss of its hydraulic brakes and its concertina door opened.
'Good luck, Charlotte.'
Hannah and Charlotte hugged, then Charlotte stepped on board, paid the fare and slumped into her seat, waving to Hannah as the bus pulled away. A whole mass of concern weighed down on her. So worried had Charlotte been about Leila that she had hardly slept. Was she being fed? What was her stable like? Did she even have a stable?
Outside the day was fine and clear, a faint breeze carrying the smell of eucalypt across hot earth and in through the open bus window, but Charlotte didn't notice any of that. She was entirely focused on whether she and Todd could find Bevans. Even if they did, there was no guarantee he could help. According to Fiona, Bevans lived in a small cottage on the outskirts of the nearby town of Grenfell. Unfortunately there was no Bevans listed in the phone book so she hadn't been able to call him. The trip to Grenfell took around twenty minutes. It wasn't a big town – in fact, there was just one main street that stretched for a few hundred metres with some smaller cross streets running from it. The first premises seen from the bus was a large open lot that appeared to offer tractors and other farm machinery for sale. A pretty stone church followed, then a row of picturesque cottages. The bus passed two hotels and slowed as it reached the town hub, a strip of small shops. It finally chugged to a halt in front of the bakery, where Charlotte was relieved to see Todd waiting for her, waving as he tucked into a bread roll.
'Bought you one too.' He handed her the paper bag as she stepped from the bus.
'Thanks but I'm too nervous to eat.'
'Bevans might like it,' said Todd optimistically. That was something Charlotte liked about Todd. He was always positive. Todd had cadged a lift into town from the Milthorp blacksmith and he had pointed out Bevans' cottage as one of those in the row the bus had passed on the way into town. Todd was able to lead Charlotte to the neat stone cottage with a small but very colourful and well tended front garden. They passed through an ornate iron gate and headed up a narrow path to a low cement verandah festooned with hanging plants that had little purple flowers exploding all over them. The only furniture on offer was an old wicker chair and small bamboo table. It was the sort of place one could sit in the afternoon shade watching the to-ing and fro-ing along the main street. A bronze nameplate above the door announced the house's name: Hastings. Charlotte could see no bell but there was a large, iron knocker. She picked up the knocker and let it rap against the door. It made her sound much more confident than she truly felt. There was a shuffling inside and the door opened on a tall woman in a bright patchwork dress. A helmet of dark red hair surrounded a bright, chirpy face. Charlotte guessed she might be about fifty. The woman looked enquiringly from Charlotte to Todd.
'Who are you collecting for – Scouts and Girl Guides?'
It hadn't occurred to Charlotte that Bevans would not answer the door himself, and the thought of a Mrs Bevans had never entered her head. While she was still trying to process this and find an answer to the unexpected question, Todd spoke.
'Is Bevans in? We're from the JOES.'
'Oh. Yes, he's out the back.'
She stepped back to allow them into a narrow, dark passageway decorated with photos of equestrian horses. Charlotte caught a glimpse of a much younger Bevans in one of them, standing beside a young woman who had just won a ribbon.
The red-headed woman led them through a small, neat parlour inhabited by a sofa and armchair with wide armrests. It was dark in here but cool, the sort of room that hot Australian summers required before airconditioning became a way of life. By the look of it, this house was built a long time before that.
Mrs Bevans opened a flyscreen door at the back and ushered them through. After the darkness inside, the sun was almost painfully bright. They stepped into a small courtyard of concrete paving squares. Pots of plants hung everywhere. Flower beds were under the cottage's rear windows. It smelled wonderful.
'Wilfred, some people to see you.'
Wilfred? That must have been Bevans' first name. Charlotte had never thought about him having a first name before. In fact she'd never really spoken much to Bevans at all. Nobody at Thornton Downs had, apart from a hello and goodnight and a little bit about the weather and which paddocks were mown. It was beginning to dawn on Charlotte that coming here may have been a very foolish exercise.
Bevans appeared from behind some very t
all poppies, holding secateurs. 'Miss Charlotte. Master Greycroft. To what do I owe this honour?'
Charlotte dived in.
'First of all, I'm very sorry about your job.'
Bevans waved that concern away.
'Would you two like some lemonade?' asked Mrs Bevans.
'Yes, thank you,' Charlotte and Todd chorused.
'I'm Wendy, by the way,' she said with a smile.
Todd did the honours.
'Todd Greycroft and Charlotte Richards.'
'Nice to meet you. I believe I might have some sponge cake too. Would you like some?'
''Course they would,' replied Bevans before they could open their mouths. 'Especially young Charlotte here. With what that fool Chadwick feeds them, it's a wonder she can stand.'
Wendy Bevans bustled inside. Charlotte spoke.
'It's my horse, Leila.'
Bevans nodded knowingly.
'Thought it might be. That rotten little so-and-so sold her. I tried to stop him.'
Charlotte suddenly felt terribly guilty.
'Oh no. That wasn't why ...'
'Not your fault. It would have happened sooner or later. I wanted to speak to Miss Strudworth and he wouldn't have it.'
Bevans pointed to an iron garden setting camped under a shady willow tree.
'Here. Have a seat.'
A short time later, Charlotte and Todd were gulping down the most exquisite home-made lemonade. Charlotte didn't like fizzy drinks very much, she preferred her lemonade cold, flat and tasting of real lemons. The cake was delicious too. What wasn't so palatable was the story Bevans had told her about the man who had bought Leila from Chadwick. From Bevans' description, Charlotte had little hope that Leila would be pampered in her new home.
'His name,' prompted Todd. 'Did you hear his name?'
Bevans shook his head.
'No. I wish I had.'
'How about the number plate of his car? Did you catch a glimpse?'
Charlotte had heard stories about how the police could trace people from the number plate. Bevans shook his head again but then raised a finger, as if testing the wind.
'But there was something about his car ...'
Charlotte and Todd craned forward on their seats as Bevans tried to recall. It seemed like an eternity. Then he broke into a grin.
'There was a name down the side: Pony Parties.'
Todd became very animated.
'That sounds like a business name.'
'I'll get the phone book,' said Bevans, climbing from his chair.
Charlotte explained that they had been unable to find Bevans' name in the phone book.
'We pay to have our name left out of it. We don't like talking all that much,' said Bevans.
It didn't surprise Charlotte one bit. In fact, he reminded her of her dad and his stockmen friends. They didn't have much time for chatting either. Bevans returned with a pair of reading glasses and spread open the book for the surrounding districts.
'Of course,' he cautioned, 'it may be that this fellow doesn't live around here.'
Charlotte's heart sank. She told herself he had to. It was Todd who spotted it in the yellow pages under Hire.
'Here, Pony Parties.'
There was a mobile telephone number but no address. The advertisement mentioned a horse for hire, 'ideal for kids' parties'.
Charlotte was all set to ring immediately but Wendy and Todd cautioned her.
'If this man thinks we want to buy Leila, he might jack up the price.'
'Good point,' muttered Bevans.
Wendy suggested they ring and ask about hiring a horse for a party. They followed Wendy into the small, bright kitchen. It was full of knick-knacks: a mother-of-pearl Australia covered in small shells and a pair of small plaster kangaroos on a mantelpiece, and various old iron tools hung around the walls. Wendy handed Charlotte the telephone. Charlotte held her breath as she dialled. The phone rang and rang. She feared it was never going to be answered. And then ...
'Pony Parties. Mark O'Regan.'
The man's voice sounded gruff. The others nodded encouragement to Charlotte and she began.
'I saw your advert in the phone book. I want to hire a horse for my party.'
'Uh huh. When is it?'
Charlotte wasn't one to lie but she felt now was a time that it would be permissible.
'Next week. I'm looking for a bay mare or filly.'
She couldn't help pulling a face as she said it. It was the sort of face you pulled when a plate slipped out of your hand and was about to crash on the floor. O'Regan's answer would determine everything.
'Ah well. We have just the horse. Leila. She's a genuine movie star. You know, Dressage to Kill? Hedge Your Bets?'
Charlotte's heart leapt. He had Leila. But then he also knew Leila was a star. He wouldn't sell her cheaply.
'Can I come and see her before I hire her?'
'Sure, we're at the Salt Flat Fair this weekend. But are you sure you have enough money to hire her? She's two hundred dollars for three hours.'
All Charlotte's excitement was trampled. If O'Regan was getting that much for her he wouldn't want to sell her.
'Um ... yes, my father can afford that.'
'Good. I have to go. Do you want to leave me a number?'
'No, that's okay. I'll come and see Leila.'
She hung up, shaken, and told the others how much O'Regan was charging.
'Poor Leila, she must be exhausted.' It was only after he'd spoken that Todd realised he should have said nothing. Charlotte was on the verge of tears. He wanted to cheer her up.
'Look, my family isn't exactly struggling.' It was an understatement. Todd's family was mega-rich, as Leila would say. 'I'm sure we could help out.'
Charlotte knew Todd well enough to know that flaunting his wealth was the last thing he would do. He was genuinely trying to help. All the same, she felt that she should do this herself if she could.
'That's very kind, Todd, but I'll ask Dad first what he thinks. Maybe he can get a loan from his boss.'
She was already worrying how much her father would let her pay before he said it was too much. But Leila was her best friend, she simply had to get her back.
'Of course if it's more than we can get together, maybe I could borrow the rest.'
Bevans coughed.
'Let's not get ahead of ourselves.'
Oh, thought Charlotte, he's right. O'Regan might not be prepared to sell Leila at any price. But Bevans was actually thinking something else.
'You know, I'm no lawyer but I doubt Mr Chadwick had the authority to sell Leila in the first place.'
Todd grasped what he meant.
'You mean Leila could still belong to Miss Strudworth?'
'Well, to Thornton Downs, the business. In effect, Chadwick sold property that wasn't his.'
Charlotte could see a problem.
'But even if she is prepared to pay to get Leila back, Miss Strudworth might not want to get Chadwick into trouble.'
'True. But this fellow who has Leila might not know that. Maybe he can be bluffed?'
Todd said, 'So we need to speak to Strudworth asap.'
'And Chadwick won't tell us how to get in touch.'
Bevans chuckled.
'We don't need Chadwick. Somewhere or other I have a phone number written down from a previous visit she paid to her sister.'
Bevans opened the kitchen drawers and began sorting through scraps of paper.
Wendy Bevans appeared beside them and refilled their glasses, shaking her head affectionately at her husband.
'I told him to call Miss Strudworth when that Chadwick dismissed him. Do you think he would?'
'This is different. A horse is at stake.'
Bevans' head was buried inside a small cupboard and out came a muffled, 'Aha!'
His hand waved a piece of paper triumphantly.
It was well beyond Caroline Strudworth's imagination how other women could live like this. Her sister had a very comfortable house, in a v
ery respectable suburb in the city. By city standards the property was large but, compared to Thornton Downs, it felt like a prison cell. Not that Caroline Strudworth had ever been in a prison cell. She had spent many a night in a horse stall and she supposed a prison cell was even bigger than that. But the thing with a horse stall was there was usually a horse in it. And with a horse next to you the world never felt small.
She had risen at five, as was her wont, and had taken a brisk stroll around the quiet streets, passing exactly two people walking their dogs, and a foulsmelling garbage truck. Walking was a very poor second to riding. She wished her stallion Romeo was here. A little light canter would break the morning open like a perfectly cooked boiled egg. Back home by six, she was bored stiff. She thought of calling the hospital but realised Laura would likely be in the operating theatre. The house itself was what the women's magazines that littered this house would call 'tastefully furnished' but Caroline Strudworth had never had much time for 'tasteful' furnishings. She preferred big solid blocks of wood, be they dining tables, chairs or wardrobes. She tried to read the magazines but was soon bored. Who cared which Hollywood actor had left which Hollywood actress for another? She found a pack of cards and occupied herself with solitaire. The girls at Thornton Downs would be up and about by now. She missed their laughter and annoying giggles. She was tempted to ring and get a rundown from Chadwick on what was happening there but that would entail having to talk to Chadwick, who would tell her nothing useful anyway. When the telephone rang, it was therefore with alacrity that Strudworth seized it. She assumed it was the hospital but even if it wasn't, it was something to do.
'Good morning. Weir residence,' she answered.
'Miss Strudworth, Bevans here.'
She was surprised and alarmed to hear Bevans' voice. He avoided implements like the telephone as a badly trained horse avoided the water hazard. For him to ring, there had to be a problem and she suspected that problem began with C and ended in K.
Chapter 8
Leila had tried. She really had. Reason told her that she needed to put up with this oaf, O'Regan, and all the indignities that having to cart children for pony rides could inflict. It wasn't just her ego. It went without saying this demotion to the lowest form of quadruped entertainment was an insult. Did anybody expect Oprah Winfrey to lick the stamps on her own bookclub parcels? Or an Oscar-winning actor to have to learn her lines? No, it just wasn't done. It was demeaning. Leila now knew how Hollywood studio heads felt when they had to wait for a table in the latest hip restaurant with public eyes burning the shame into them.