He was wearing dark jeans, which fitted him perfectly, and a pale blue shirt. A pair of sunglasses poked out of his top pocket. His sun-bleached hair was tousled and windswept, and a shadow of stubble covered his jaw. He looked every inch a movie producer – the sort of person splashed all over the celebrity magazines, shaking hands with all the major Hollywood stars.
‘He can’t see me like this,’ she screeched, darting back from the window. Her cheeks were red and shiny, and wet rat’s tails of hair dripped down the back of her lumpy towelling robe.
‘It’s probably not you he’s come to see,’ Caroline said airily. She examined her immaculate nails, and buffed them with an emery board as she spoke.
Vanessa gave her a sudden hard look. She was suspicious of the fact that her sister was dressed to impress. Had she known about this surprise visit, and not had the decency to tell her?
‘What do you mean?’ she said. ‘What do you know about this?’
‘Shush!’ Ursula said, rubbing her hands on a damp kitchen cloth. ‘He’s coming to the door.’
‘Stall him, mother!’ Vanessa pleaded, as she made a frantic dash for the stairs. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘Take as long as you like,’ Caroline said, smugly. ‘I’m sure I can keep him entertained.’
Vanessa looked as if her cheeks would explode. They were scarlet with rage. How dare she! The Bitch! Well, she would get her for this. She would. She would!
She galloped up the stairs and burst into the bedroom, flinging the towelling dressing gown onto the bed as she ran. Naked and glorious, she yanked open the wardrobe door, and began snatching down jumpers, shirts, trousers…no, they wouldn’t do. Where were her show breeches – the black ones? Oh damn! She thrust her foot into the narrow elasticated leg, and stumbled sideways, fighting to keep her balance. She could hear voices from the hallway – his voice. Oh, what a wonderful, deep voice with just a trace of an American accent. Must come from working with all those Yanks – Julia Roberts, Brad Pitt…
Oof! She staggered onto the bed, and sat down, panting. Shirt – shirt – which shirt? Polo shirt – that would do, that would be quick. Bra? Where the hell was her…Oh sod, the bra.
She snatched up the yellow polo shirt and dragged it down over her head. There! She was ready.
‘Well, thanks again.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry about the misunderstanding…’
Oh No! No…ooo!
Vanessa stumbled to the top of the stairs, but she was too late. The front door was closing, and Lewis Trevelyan…had gone.
‘Mother!’
‘He wouldn’t wait, darling. I did try.’ Ursula clicked the latch on the door.
Hot angry tears pricked at the back of her eyelids, as she thumped her way downstairs. She glared at her sister who was perched on the window seat, staring outside. ‘Cow!’
‘Oh shut up,’ Caroline snapped. ‘It’s not me you should be cross with.’
She looked almost as shattered as she felt. Defeated, humiliated, and bitter to boot. Her one chance – her one real chance to impress, and it had all been in vain.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s bloody Miss Perfect again.’
‘Who?’ Vanessa’s breasts bounced uncomfortably as she strode across the front room and peered miserably over her sister’s shoulder at the rapidly departing and godlike, Lewis Trevelyan.
‘It’s got to be Ella, of course,’ Ursula said, coming to stand behind them. ‘It can’t be anyone else.’ She rested her hands on both girls’ backs. ‘He saw someone riding the cross-country course this morning, and he wants to know who she is and where he can find her.’
‘Oh no! Oh Mother!’ Vanessa looked quite distraught. ‘He can’t want her. It’s not fair. She always wins at everything – every competition, every show, everything.’ She sucked in a deep breath. ‘It’s our turn now. Oh, it’s not bloody fair.’ She glanced sideways at her mother, her voice rising. ‘You didn’t tell him who she was?’
‘No – well, not exactly,’ Ursula faltered. ‘I said I didn’t know who it was, but I’d make enquiries and let him know.’
‘And he believed you?’
‘Why shouldn’t he,’ she said.
‘So he’ll be coming back?’
‘I expect he will.’ Ursula smiled a trifle sadly. ‘He seemed keen enough.’
‘And he’s still planning to make this film?’
‘I think so.’
‘If he can find the right rider,’ Caroline said, sniffing miserably.
She didn’t know when she had ever felt so wretched. She could tell, the moment her mother had proudly introduced her to Mr Trevelyan, that she was not the girl he was looking for. Disappointment and disbelief had been etched all over his face. ‘He wants someone with long blonde hair,’ she added sulkily.
Blonde hair, hmm? Now there was a thought. Vanessa chewed on her top lip for a moment, and then turned and glanced at her reflection in the mirror on the wall. Her hair was long – as long as Ella’s when she brushed it out loose. She curled a tendril of it around her finger, and tried to imagine the finished result. Already, her spirits were starting to rise. ‘Mother,’ she said. ‘Can I borrow the Range Rover? I thought I might pop into town. There’s something I want to buy at the chemists.’
Caroline jerked her head up. ‘Like what?’
‘It’s none of your business,’ she snapped.
‘You’re going to dye your hair, aren’t you?’
‘I might be.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, why shouldn’t I?’
‘Because…because…’ Caroline was lost for words.
‘Actually, that’s rather a brilliant idea,’ Ursula said.
‘It is?’
‘Yes, it is.’ She glanced from one expectant face to the other. ‘Don’t you see – Lewis Trevelyan wants to see a blonde haired rider. Who’s to say that the girl riding the cross country course wasn’t you?’
Caroline’s voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘Because he saw her riding Jasper?’
Ursula shook her head. ‘No, I’ve been thinking about that.’ She looked back at Vanessa. ‘You were wearing a hair net under your hat, weren’t you?’
Vanessa nodded.
‘Excellent.’ She beamed. ‘I don’t suppose he even noticed the colour of your hair. It’s only because Ella was riding with hers hanging loose that he saw it was so long and blonde.’
‘So technically - it could have been me?’ A look of glee settled itself on Vanessa’s smug face.
Caroline’s scowl deepened.
‘Exactly.’ Ursula dangled the set of car keys in front of her. ‘Now off you go, and make sure you buy a good make. We don’t want any more disasters, do we? I’ve always gone for ash blonde, myself.’ She patted her tightly coiled bleached bun with the tips of her fingers as she spoke. ‘And in the meantime…’ Her eyes narrowed slightly. ‘I’m going to have to think of some excuse to keep Ella out of the way. If you’re serious about going through with this, we can’t have her wandering about the place.’
Vanessa had never been more serious about anything in her life.
‘You’ll think of something, mother,’ she said, clutching the keys to her ample and bra-less chest and heading for the door. ‘I know you will.’
Ursula wished she had her confidence in the matter. She glanced at Caroline, who was weeping a tearful mixture of misery, anger and resentment, and then back to Vanessa, who was positively glowing with her new found energy and excitement.
‘Yes, darling,’ she sighed. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure I will.’
Chapter Four
The Church of St Mary stood tucked away down a side street, appropriately named Church Lane, a few hundred yards away from the centre of the village. It was one of the oldest buildings in the area, with parts of it dating from the fourteenth century.
The huge oak door was locked, with a notice pinned to the handle, stating the church would be open for private prayers from two o clock.
‘Or when
one of the church wardens or the flower arranger turns up,’ Kate said.
A spate of local robberies had necessitated the locking of the doors. Ecclesiastical furniture such as solid wooden pews and kneeling stools, were forever turning up at car boot sales and auction rooms, supposedly salvaged from derelict churches. The local constabulary had other ideas.
‘I think it’s sad,’ Ella said. ‘You’d think people would have more respect.’
‘Not these days,’ Kate said scornfully. ‘There are a lot of valuable things to be had in these old churches – brass candlesticks, gold plate, even the lead off the roof. Nothing’s sacred these days.’
They strolled round the back of the church, and into the neatly tended graveyard. The smell of newly mown grass and the tidy flowerbeds showed that the groundsman, Arthur Billington, had been hard at work. Clumps of fading daffodils had already been deadheaded and crimson tulips and creamy coloured primroses were blooming in their place.
Ella laid the bunch of fresh flowers and greenery, cut from the gardens of Hollyfield Stables, beside the engraved marble headstone of her father’s grave.
She no longer felt sad about coming here. In a strange way it gave her comfort. She crouched there for a moment, tidying away a few stray bits of grass, and a handful of stones. It didn’t seem possible that five years had passed – five long years since that awful day.
Kate stood a short distance away, reading the epitaphs on various weathered and lichen covered headstones. They never failed to intrigue her. Goodness – four children from the same family, “Gone to sleep with the angels”. How tragic was that? Or the one with mother, father and son, all dead by drowning, in “the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and one”.
‘Ready?’ Ella said, standing up, and brushing the soil from her trousers.
‘Hmm,’ Kate murmured. ‘Look at this one, Ella – “Mary Martha, spinster of the parish, one hundred and three years old.” And that was in the last century as well. I didn’t think people lived that long in those days.’
‘Well she obviously did,’ she said. ‘Anyway, don’t be so bloody morbid. I can’t see what you find so fascinating about other people’s headstones.’
‘I’m just interested, that’s all.’
‘Nosey, more like,’ Ella said. ‘So tell me, where are we going for lunch?’
Kate linked her arm through hers. ‘I thought we’d go to the Red Fox.’
‘That’s a bit pricey, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, but this is my treat.’
Ella raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Got promotion, have we?’
‘Not yet, but I’m working on it.’
Kate was one of Ella’s closest friends from the village. They had known each other since primary school, but even she would be the first to admit that in lifestyle and circumstances, they were miles apart. Kate worked for one of the major insurance companies in town. She wore smart and fashionable clothes, and had a string of well-heeled boyfriends falling in her wake.
Ella spent her days in muddy green wellies and wax jackets. The only men she seemed to attract were those of the farming variety, or the occasional (elderly) vet, or the arthritic blacksmith. She shuddered at the thought. Tom Bluntesham, the lecherous farrier, had been making suggestive remarks to her for years. She would be glad when he retired, but Ursula insisted on using him, since he was the cheapest farrier she could find.
‘Watch this,’ Kate said, as she unlocked the doors of her sporty looking blue car. The roof collapsed back on itself with a gentle whirring sound.
‘Wow,’ Ella said. ‘That’s cool.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Kate grinned. ‘Come on, hop in.’
The lounge bar of the Red Fox Hotel was bustling with lunchtime customers. The food was reputed to be delicious there – all home cooked and freshly made.
Ella had never eaten there before, but knew it received a favourable mention in an Egon Ronay Guide – a recommendation that was truly justified. The lamb shank with redcurrant sauce was a real treat, and the lemon mousse that followed it, utterly delectable.
‘I’ll never be able to work after this,’ she groaned. ‘I feel stuffed.’
‘Don’t go, then,’ Kate said, as she flicked her lighter underneath the tip of her cigarette and inhaled deeply.
Ella looked appalled. ‘I’ve got a class to take.’
‘So? Can’t Ursula do it?’
‘Not today, she can’t,’ she said, stirring a spoonful of sugar into her coffee. ‘She’s expecting a very important visitor. Did I tell you about this film company coming to the stables?’
‘No.’ Kate’s eyes widened visibly.
‘Oh, well they turned up this morning,’ she said. ‘They’re looking for locations in this area, and they also want some show-jumpers, so Ursula recommended Vanessa and Caroline to them.’
‘Well that ought to put them off for a start,’ Kate said bluntly. ‘I’m sorry, Ella, but it’s the truth. I’m no rider, but I can tell a good one when I see one, and those two ain’t it.’
‘Yes, well that’s what I thought.’
‘But?’
She shrugged.’ Oddly enough, they seem to be interested in Caroline.’
‘You’re joking?’
‘No. In fact, they’re coming back to see her this afternoon.’ She took a mouthful of strong coffee. ‘That’s why I’ve got to get back.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Kate said. ‘What’s the film? A comedy or something?’
‘God knows,’ Ella smiled.’ But it’s got someone called Simon De Silva in it.’
‘Simon De Silva?’ Kate’s jaw dropped.
‘You’ve heard of him, then?’
‘Heard of him,’ Kate gasped. ‘Ella, he’s drop dead gorgeous. You must know who he is?’
‘Nope,’ she said. ‘I haven’t a clue. Mind you, that might explain why Vanessa and Caroline were in such a state this morning.’
‘Too right,’ Kate sighed. ‘Ella, you need to get out more.’ She stubbed her cigarette out, and reached for her handbag. ‘I’ll just pay for this, and then I’ll run you back. What time are they supposed to be coming?’
‘Not you as well,’ Ella groaned.
She honestly couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. It wasn’t as if this Simon De Silva, whoever he was, was going to turn up. Only the producer and the locations manager were involved at this early stage, and the shoot may not even happen, if things weren’t right for them. This, she suspected, would probably turn out to be the case.
She stood up and pulled on her suede jacket. Kate was standing at the bar talking to two well-dressed young men. Both wore suits and ties. The taller of the two, the one with short dark hair, was carrying a black leather briefcase. They were probably people she knew from work, she decided. The Red Fox was the kind of place that business people came to for working lunches.
She waved, and caught Kate’s eye. ‘I’m going to the loo,’ she mouthed, pointing at the sign above the door.
Kate nodded, and turned back to her companions.
Ella felt distinctly under-dressed as she peered at her reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror of the Ladies powder room. Her jacket was faded in places, and her pale blue jumper had seen better days. Even her smart navy trousers looked a tad jaded under the harsh and unforgiving lights above the mirror.
Beside her, a woman with a mass of dark red hair, and a figure to die for, was pouting and applying a thick covering of scarlet lipstick to her lips. She was wearing a pale green jacket and a matching long skirt that screamed “designer label”. A chunky gold chain hung around her neck, and her wrists jangled under the weight of matching bangles and bracelets.
Ella fluffed up her hair with her fingers, and smeared some lip-gloss on her lips. The woman beside her was spraying herself liberally with a flowery fragrance that reminded her of jasmine and roses.
Ella had to make do with a squirt from the complimentary bottle of perfume left in a straw basket on the Formica-topped dressing table, alo
ngside the pot-pourri and tissues. It reminded her strongly of the lavender water old Mrs Wallace used to wear.
The woman gave her a polite smile, as she breezed past her on a pair of high-heeled shoes that Ella could never have managed to stand up in, let alone walk in.
How the other half live, she thought glumly, as she made her way back into the crowded bar.
Kate didn’t look out of place at all, dressed as she was in a smart knee length skirt, with an off the shoulder blouse. Her dark curly hair had been pinned up in an artistic arrangement of tufts and tendrils, which looked as if it was going to cascade free at any moment.
MClarke - Green Wellies and Wax Jackets Page 5