Vanessa’s cheeks looked podgy and tear stained in the artificial light. Her hair, released from the all-encompassing folds of the towel, hung in bright orange strands around her face.
It was a disaster.
‘I wanted strawberry blonde,’ she sobbed, plucking at a clump of hair and holding it out as if, by examining it, the colour would miraculously change its vibrant shade to a more satisfactory one.
‘Did you leave it on for the correct length of time?’
‘Longer,’ Vanessa sniffed miserably.
‘Longer?’
‘Well, I wanted to be sure.’
Ursula groaned.
‘Mother, what am I going to do?’
‘God knows,’ she muttered.
‘Mother!’
‘All right, all right, I’m thinking.’
Fat shiny tears trickled down Vanessa’s cheeks. She had so wanted this to be right. She would do anything to meet Simon De Silva. He was the most vibrant, passionate, man she had ever seen. Her walls were plastered with pictures of him – her notebooks were scribbled with the name Vanessa De Silva. (It had a nice ring to it.) And she was certain that if he got the chance to know her as a person, he would see that she could be the love of his life - just as he was in hers.
‘We’ll book you into Michael Robbins salon first thing – he’ll do it as a favour to me, I’m sure,’ Ursula said, taking charge once more. ‘You should never have trusted these home colouring kits – not without a strand test. I always said you were too impulsive, darling. But don’t worry – Mummy will sort things out for you.’
‘Will it be all right?’ Vanessa sniffed. The carrot coloured mop on her head bobbed up and down like a Muppet. The sobs had subdued to a mere shuddering every now and then.
‘Of course it will, dear,’ Ursula sighed, though she was beginning to have her doubts. She had never seen such an adverse reaction before. ‘But we need to get you down to Michael’s salon as soon as it opens, darling. You go and get dressed, and I,’ she said, glancing at her watch, ‘will put the kettle on. I’ll phone him as soon as the doors open at nine.’
Chapter Five
‘Ninety eight pounds!’ Ursula gawped at her daughter, who was doing a kind of pirouette in front of her, and tossing her newly coloured hair (a perfect blonde), over her shoulder in a veritable imitation of Miss Piggy. ‘Is that what he charged you? Ninety eight bloody pounds?’
‘Yes, but it’s worth it, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, yes, I suppose so,’ she grumbled. Some favour that turned out to be. The next time Michael Robbins wanted riding lessons for his precocious six year old, she’d up the price and get her money back that way.
Vanessa stared gleefully at her reflection in the hall mirror, and pursed her lips expectantly. ‘Has he been back to the yard?’
‘Who?’ Ursula said, looking distracted, which, indeed, she was. Bloody hairdressers. She hated being taken for a ride.
‘Lewis Trevelyan.’
‘No, of course he hasn’t.’
Vanessa’s face fell.
‘But in case he does, you’d better get changed. I want you riding that course from dawn to dusk, if need be.’
‘I’ll get saddle sores.’
‘No pain, no gain,’ Ursula snapped, a trifle inconsiderately. ‘You want a part in this film, don’t you?’
‘You know I do,’ Vanessa sighed. To star in a movie with Simon De Silva would be like having all her dreams come true. He was so gorgeous, so handsome, so daringly devilish…
‘Mother,’ came Caroline’s rather petulant whine. ‘It’s not fair. Why can’t I ride the course?’ She tossed her hair over one shoulder, and glared at her sister. ‘I don’t mind riding. In fact, I’ll ride all day long if I have to.’
‘I know, my sweet, but the sad fact is that Mr Trevelyan knows it wasn’t you. He saw you in the house, remember?’ Ursula tried to sound sympathetic. ‘I’m sure if Vanessa gets the part, she’ll persuade them to take you on as an extra.’
Not bloody likely, Vanessa thought. If she got the part it would be her moment of glory and hers alone. No way was she going to share it with her sister. Caroline could go suck sour plums, for all she cared.
She stuck her tongue out at her – a gesture not spotted by the keen eyes of their mother, and then scuttled up the stairs to get changed into her riding clothes.
‘Thomas, for goodness sake – make the bloody animal stand still!’
Vanessa scowled, as Majesty swung his quarters towards her every time she approached to put her foot in the stirrup.
‘I’m trying, Miss, but he’s being a bit temperamental today.’
He didn’t like to add that perhaps it was the rather overpowering smell of hairdressing chemicals that was putting the horse off. Some beasts reacted quite strongly to off-putting smells, and this smell was more off-putting than most. The stench of hydrogen peroxide was making his eyes water. God only know knows what it was doing for the horse.
He groped in the pocket of his baggy cords, and found a half packet of mints. ‘Shush now, my beauty,’ he soothed, as he rustled the paper.
Majesty’s ears pricked forwards.
‘What have we here, now?’
Vanessa teetered precariously on the edge of the mounting block. ‘Move him closer, you idiot,’ she snapped.
Thomas gritted his teeth into the semblance of a smile, as he backed the horse towards the block.
‘There now,’ he murmured softly, as he slipped a mint onto the palm of his hand, and held it to the horse’s muzzle. ‘I think you’re going to need this, my boy.’
Vanessa thumped her weight down into the saddle, and snatched up the reins. ‘I hope you’re not giving him titbits, Thomas?’ she said.
‘No, Miss,’ he lied.
‘Because it’s a very bad habit, you know. He’ll come to expect it, and that leads to nipping and biting.’
So speaketh the mother, Thomas reflected crossly. ‘Right you are, Miss. Have a good ride.’ He stood to one side as she yanked the horse’s head around, and trotted him across the yard.
And don’t fall off and break your bleeding neck, he thought, because I, for one, won’t be coming to pick up the pieces.
Ten Snaffles, three Pelhams, four Kimblewicks – Ella counted out the number of bit pieces, and marked them off on a sheet of paper, as she went through the inventory Ursula had provided her with the previous day. There should be a rubber Mullen mouth snaffle somewhere – a vulcanite, and a happy mouth. Oh God, this was so boring!
She glanced out of the storeroom window in time to see Vanessa riding past on Majesty. The large bay was frothing at the mouth, and tossing its head up and down in an agitated gesture that didn’t need interpreting.
Don’t look, she thought miserably. It wasn’t worth it. But even as she turned her head away, she found herself forced to do a quick double take.
What on earth had Vanessa done to her hair? A long blonde plait escaped from the back of her riding hat, and was hanging down over the padded folds of her jacket. Blonde hair? Had she dyed it, then?
As she was considering this point, she caught sight of Caroline, stomping across the courtyard, in what appeared to be a foul mood. (Nothing new there, then).
She rubbed at the dusty pane of glass, and peered closer. It was Vanessa who was catching her attention, though. Her stepsister was now blonde – unashamedly, brassily blonde. How odd. Perhaps her mother had leant her some of her bleach. Maybe this was the new look for the season. Ella smiled. Well, she wouldn’t call it an improvement. Vanessa, with her mousy brown eyebrows, and florid complexion, should really have plumped for a darker shade. Blonde really wasn’t her colour. Deep rust might have gone better, especially with all those freckles. Still, there was no accounting for taste – good or bad.
She ducked back from the window as she spotted Ursula making a beeline across the yard, her mouth set in a tight-lipped scowl. She was gesticulating wildly at the departing horse and rider.
‘Get him on the bit, Vanessa. You won’t have any control if he tucks his head in like that. On the bit, I said,’ she repeated, somewhat needlessly, because Vanessa was, by now, well out of earshot.
‘You should have let me ride,’ Caroline complained. ‘You know I’m better than her when it comes to cross country.’
‘Yes, I know, my sweet, but your turn will come – you’ll see. Why don’t you go and help Stella with the dressage class.’
‘Because I don’t want to.’
Ella grinned. Dissent in the ranks – oh dear. This wouldn’t do at all. Ursula would go mad.
She didn’t.
She placed a tender arm around Caroline’s shoulders, and gave her a hug. A hug? Ella blinked in disbelief. Was her stepmother going soft in her old age?
Puzzled, she knelt back down on the floor. The heap of assorted tack lay spread out before her in a jumble waiting to be sorted. It would take her the best part of the day just to count everything, let alone put it in some kind of logical order. Then there was the task of cleaning and oiling all the bits of leather, and buffing them until they shone. “Show condition”, was what Ursula wanted. “Show condition”, was what she was going to get.
If that was what it took before she was allowed to ride Majesty again, then she had better get on with it. Otherwise Vanessa was going to do irreparable damage to a beautiful and naturally talented horse.
‘My, but you’ve been working like a little Trojan,’ Thomas observed, as he came into the storeroom to collect some spare tack.
Ella had laid out everything in order – stirrup leathers in one pile, reins and bridle pieces in another. A plastic crate full of gleaming stirrup irons sat on the bench, and a box full of bits was at her feet.
‘If she thinks I’m doing this for one more day, she’s mistaken,’ she said, as she finished polishing the last Pelham, and dropped it into the box. ‘Honestly, Thomas, some of the junk that’s in these boxes must be twenty years old or more. Half of it needs chucking out, let alone cleaned and polished. I don’t know what she’s thinking of.’
She stood up, and brushed the dust and dirt from the front of her trousers. ‘Anyway, I’ve had enough for today. I’m going to have a long soak in a hot bath, and then I’m going out with some of the girls.’
‘What girls?’ Thomas asked.
‘Oh, Gillian, Kate, the usual crowd,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you come along? We’re only going to the Mariners, and we won’t be back late.’
Thomas considered the matter for a moment. A good pint of Guinness sounded tempting enough. ‘Sure, and why not,’ he said. ‘I’ll meet you in there, once I’m done here. I’ll pop in about eight?’
‘Good man,’ Ella said.
The bar of the Mariners was crowded by the time Ella had washed, and changed, and met up with her friends from the village.
‘You’re just the person to ask,’ Gillian said gleefully, as she motioned her to sit down in the chair she had been saving for her. As always, she was impeccably dressed, in a pale lilac cashmere jumper, with a brightly coloured scarf draped flamboyantly around her neck. Her long brown hair had been wound into a knot and fastened at the back of her head with a deep purple ribbon.
‘Ask me what?’ Ella said, wishing she had worn something other than her usual jeans and the navy sweater she had put on.
‘About this film crew at Hollyfield, of course. Kate tells me you’ve had the people from Blackwater Films wandering round the place and that they’re planning to make a film with Simon De Silva in it. Simon De Silva,’ she repeated dreamily.
Not another one, Ella thought wearily. Who was this Simon De Silva?
‘Come on, Ella – we can keep a secret. It is a secret, isn’t it?’
All of a sudden she was surrounded by a group of eager faces, and everyone started talking excitedly at once.
‘What film is it? Joe says he’s heard they’re making a rerun of the Dark Spy series.’
‘I heard it was the Blaydon Files.’
‘…And Tony says they’ve been in touch with the committee of the County Show…’
‘I don’t know,’ she said loudly. ‘I mean it.’ The voices dropped off and faded, one by one. ‘I really don’t know. Honestly. You guys probably know more about it than I do. All I know is that yes, the producer, Lewis Trevelyan, and some of his colleagues came to the stables, and yes, they’re making some sort of film, which allegedly, is going to star Simon De Silva, but that’s all I’ve heard. They came to see Vanessa and Caroline ride.’
‘Ella I’m very disappointed in you,’ Gillian said. ‘I thought you were going to give us all the gossip.’
‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘I heard they were looking for show-jumpers,’ Becky said shyly. ‘I overheard Vanessa going on about it. We thought you might be doing it, Ella.’
‘Me?’ She almost choked over her glass of chilled cider. ‘Fat chance. I haven’t even met these people. Honestly – I’ve been too busy. And I’m not likely to meet them either. Ursula has given me the crappiest job imaginable, doing an inventory of the tack, of all things. Look at my hands,’ she added, holding them out to everyone. ‘I’ve been cleaning stuff all day.’
Thomas stood by the bar, listening, as he supped a mouthful of rich, dark beer.
Everything was starting to fall into place now – the reason Vanessa was riding the bay horse over the cross country arena, and the fact that Ella had been shut away in the store room for the best part of the day.
He picked up the pint glass, and carried it over to the table.
‘Oh, Hi, Thomas,’ Ella said. ‘You can vouch for me, can’t you? I haven’t been hob knobbing with the people from the film company, have I?’
‘No,’ he said, frowning thoughtfully. ‘Ursula’s made quite sure of that.’
Ella’s smile faded. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of his troubled expression. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked
‘Yes, Thomas,’ Kate leaned forwards, and rested her chin on her hands, as she smiled sweetly up at him. ‘What do you mean?’
The small Irishman glanced down at Ella, and then across at her friends.
‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? I mean, if I was a film producer looking for a pretty young girl to take part in a show jumping scene, would I be picking those two great galoots, or would I be picking someone with real beauty and flair?’
‘And blonde hair!’ Becky announced loudly. ‘That’s it! That’s why they didn’t want Caroline. I heard Vanessa say they were looking for a girl with blonde hair.’
‘Oh my God!’ Ella groaned. ‘So that’s why she’s dyed her hair.’
‘And that’s why,’ Thomas said, ‘you’ve been dissuaded from riding, and you’re shut away in that pokey little stock room all day.’
‘Wow,’ she gasped, the fingers of one hand going to her mouth in surprise. She stared round at her friends, who were all grinning and nodding at her. ‘Do you think Ursula’s worried that they might want me?’
‘I’d say it’s a dead cert,’ Kate said. This was so typical of Ursula. She couldn’t think why any of them were surprised. She’d do anything to make sure her daughters were in the limelight, even at the expense of others - Ella in particular. ‘Aren’t you going to say something?’ she said. ‘Or do something?’
‘Like what?’
‘Heck, I don’t know – phone them up, and tell them you’re blonde and beautiful, and you know how to ride.’
‘Sounds a bit perverted to me,’ Gillian said.
‘Trust you,’ Kate snorted. ‘Just because you’ve got a one track mind. I’ll phone them,’ she added brightly. ‘I could pretend to be your agent.’
‘Steady on,’ Ella said. ‘I’m not sure I want to be in this film, anyway – not if it means incurring the wrath of Ursula and her daughters. I mean, I do have to live with them, you know.’
‘Why?’
‘What?’
‘Why do you have to live with them?’ Kate said. ‘The house is yours �
� the business is yours. Heck, if I were you I’d have hoofed them out a long time ago.’
‘Yes, but you’re not me,’ Ella said simply. ‘And Ursula does a good job of managing the stables.’
‘Does she?’
‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘Well, better than I could. I haven’t the time or the inclination to do the accounts or the book-keeping. I hate paperwork. You know I do.’
‘Which is why computers were invented,’ Kate said, with more than a hint of sarcasm in her voice. ‘I don’t know why you let that woman run rings round you. She treats you like a servant, and you don’t seem to care.’
MClarke - Green Wellies and Wax Jackets Page 7