MClarke - Green Wellies and Wax Jackets

by Green Wellies

  ‘Won’t I?’ she said, with a wry smile. That remained to be seen. Thinking of a reason to slip away from the stables for a couple of hours a day would be tricky, if not impossible. It would mean taking one of the other horses out and riding it over to the farm, exercising Majesty, and then riding it back again. That was the only feasible excuse she could think of, for disappearing for hours every day.

  The trouble was that Ursula’s beady eyes didn’t miss much that went on around the place. She would have to be careful if she were to avoid arousing her suspicions.

  Ursula, however, was otherwise preoccupied in the days following Majesty’s unscheduled departure from the stables. A rather snotty phone call from the bank manager’s secretary had put her in a foul mood.

  ‘No, I cannot come into the bank this afternoon,’ she told the girl firmly. ‘It’s not convenient.’

  ‘Mr Jenson says it’s imperative that he speaks to you. He’s rather concerned you haven’t responded to any of his letters…’

  ‘That’s because I haven’t had time,’ she snorted. ‘Tell him I’ll ring him – sometime.’ She slammed down the receiver. Bloody bank managers. They were quick enough to offer her cash, and even quicker to demand it back again. The new surface to the all weather sand school had cost her a small fortune. To say nothing of the regular visits from the farrier and the feed merchant. All she seemed to get these days were bills, bills and more blasted bills.

  She scrolled down the screen of her computer, carefully examining the pages of accounts – the real accounts that she had kept stored on a back up disc, well out of sight of Ella. Things were not looking good for the stables. Losing Majesty was bad enough, but now two other horses had been removed from the livery yard. Rumours of bad management and lack of care were rife. Someone was stirring up trouble. She was going to have to do something drastic to stop the rapid decline of her fortunes. The publicity generated by the film company would have been priceless, if the filming had gone ahead, but even their interest seemed to have faded like a damp squib.

  Petunia Fitzgerald had told her, quite imperiously, that she had heard they were planning to use the annual agricultural show as the setting for the riding scenes. (This was over coffee and cream cakes at the Disabled Riders Bazaar, when Ursula had been trying to brag to her about having the film crew over at Hollyfield).

  ‘My Gerald is on the organising committee,’ Petunia said. ‘So he should know.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s right,’ Ursula replied sweetly. ‘Nevertheless, I am still in negotiations with the film company. The facilities we have at Hollyfield, you see, are quite superb.’

  ‘As are the ones at the County Showground.’

  Ursula hoped Petunia would choke over her freshly percolated coffee and cream horn. This wouldn’t do at all. If the film company backed off, she would be made to look a laughing stock. She had told everyone – well, mostly everyone - that Hollyfield was going to be featured in the latest Simon De Silva movie. Even the obnoxious kids from the Saturday pony club were bringing their autograph books to their lessons, in case one of the films stars happened to walk by. Something would have to be done.

  Back in her office, Ursula scrolled down the columns of figures on her computer screen. Her reading glasses were perched on the end of her narrow nose, so that she looked like a stern headmistress glaring down at her pupils.

  The figures in red seemed to far outnumber those in black. Where and when had it started to go wrong?

  Ursula thought back to the early days when money, or the lack of it, had never been a problem. Her first husband, Clive – a corpulent businessman with a stress filled job in the City, had keeled over and died of a massive heart attack when their daughters, Vanessa and Caroline, were both small.

  His ample life insurance fund and generous widow’s pension had softened the blow of his untimely demise, and she had been able to indulge the girls and herself in the lifestyle to which they had all become accustomed.

  The girls had attended private schools, and each had their own pony, which they took to various rallies and pony club events.

  It was at one such event that she had first laid eyes on Robert Johnson, the talented show jumper. He was two years older than her – a widower, whose wife had tragically died from cancer, leaving him to bring up their only daughter, Ella.

  The child, Ursula decided, needed a mother. And she needed a husband. The life insurance lump sum was running low, and she wanted some security for herself and her daughters. Marriage to Robert Johnson was the ideal solution.

  Luckily, it was a doddle to convince him to feel the same way.

  The marriage was satisfactory for both of them. Ella gained a mother, and the siblings she had never had, and Robert was able to leave the business side of the stables in his wife’s (supposedly) capable hands whilst he toured the world.

  Ursula could not have been happier.

  Even Robert’s death in a tragic car accident so soon after their marriage took place, did not trouble her unduly. Apart from the inconvenience of having his daughter to look after, and the petty conditions attached to his will, life could not have been more perfect. She had money, power, and prestige – everything that came with being the business manager of Hollyfield Stables.

  And now, five years down the line, it looked as if everything was going wrong again.

  Two letters had arrived on the very same morning. One, in a muddy brown envelope, was from the bank, complaining about the current state of her business account. (Immediate action was required to reduce the size of her rather sizeable overdraft). Ursula had ripped it in half and tossed it into the bin.

  The other one - a white envelope embossed with silver swirls, and a pressed seal on the reverse – had been put to one side whilst Ursula answered the phone call from the bank manager’s snooty secretary.

  It stood propped against the phone, as she peered at the figures on the screen. The only solution, she decided, was to put up the livery charges. Either that, or cut the wages bill, but she couldn’t see that going down very well with the staff.

  Distracted, her gaze rested on the pristine white envelope, that she had almost forgotten to open. It looked infinitely more interesting than the figures on the screen.

  She picked it up, and turned it over between her fingers. It wasn’t a bill, that much was for sure. No one wasted money sending bills in fancy, decorative envelopes. It felt like a card, or some sort of invitation.

  Now whom, she wondered, running her fingernail along the flap, and ripping it open, could this be from?

  Chapter Eight

  Whilst Ursula was shut in her study pondering over the accounts, Ella was enjoying an after work drink with her friend Kate in the lounge bar of the village pub.

  ‘We could eat here, if you like,’ Kate suggested. ‘Otherwise it’s beans on toast for me. My folks have gone to visit Aunt Ethel in Southwold.’

  ‘Don’t you ever cook?’ Ella said.

  ‘Not if I can help it.’ Kate picked up the menu. ‘Believe me, if you’d tried my cooking, you’d understand why.’

  Ella smiled. ‘I’ll need to phone Ursula. She’ll be expecting me.’

  ‘My God – you mean she feeds you?’

  ‘Actually, she’s a pretty good cook.’ Ella groped in her bag for her mobile. ‘I have a feeling she went to cordon bleu classes when she was younger. She thought it would come in useful for all the entertaining she used to do. You know – posh dinners for businessmen and their wives – that sort of thing.’

  Kate drained her glass. ‘That woman never ceases to amaze me. I bet she…’

  ‘Shush.’ Ella waved Kate to be quiet as she jabbed out the numbers on her phone. ‘Oh hi,’ she said as the call was answered. ‘It’s only me. I thought I’d better let you know I’ll be late back. No, I won’t be home for supper.’ She paused, and then said ‘No, you don’t need to leave me anything. Thanks anyway. Bye. Well,’ she said, glancing across at her friend. ‘Was she in a good mood?’
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  ‘I don’t know. Was she?’

  ‘Yes – oddly enough.’ Ella pulled a face. ‘She was positively foul earlier on. In fact, she’s been bad tempered all week. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’d been drinking.’

  ‘Maybe she’s drowning her sorrows.’

  ‘What sorrows?’

  ‘I thought you said she’d lost some prize horse from the livery yard,’ Kate said, handing her the menu. ‘I’m going to have the home cured gammon and egg.’

  ‘Hmm, that’s right.’ Ella mulled over the menu. ‘Majesty’s gone. Heather’s taken him to River View Farm. You know, Mr Dobson’s place. Think I’ll have scampi,’ she added. ‘Do you want me to order?’

  ‘No, I’ll do it.’ Kate picked up the glasses. ‘Same again?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Two glasses of wine later, and Ella found herself confiding in her friend about the worrying situation at the stables.

  ‘I thought it was just Thomas at first – you know, being a bit melodramatic. He doesn’t get on with Ursula. In fact I don’t think he ever has done. But when Heather said virtually the same thing, I began to wonder if there was something in it.’

  ‘And is there?’

  ‘I don’t know. That’s the funny thing. I’ve gone through the records and everything seems fine, but Ursula’s definitely trying to cut corners.’

  ‘Maybe she’s spiriting a bit away for her retirement,’ Kate said. ‘After all, she wasn’t very well provided for in your dad’s will, was she? He left almost everything to you.’

  ‘Not quite everything,’ Ella said. ‘Yes, I got the house and the business, but Ursula got a tidy sum as well. More than enough, I’d say, to see her through a wealthy old age.’

  ‘Ah, but she’s not a frugal lady.’

  ‘Nor are her daughters,’ Ella giggled. ‘Did I tell you how much Vanessa’s hair had cost?’

  ‘Yes, and if I’d paid that much, I’d be wanting a makeover as well. Nice hair, shame about the face.’

  ‘Honestly, Kate. You can be so cruel.’

  ‘Truthful, I’d say.’ Kate groped for her lighter, and lit another cigarette. Her eyes were looking rather glassy, and she was grinning profusely. Ella too, was feeling slightly tipsy. Must have been a good bottle of wine. No doubt they’d both be suffering the after effects of it in the morning.

  ‘We need to find some men,’ Kate announced cheerfully, as she peered around the lounge bar. ‘You need to find a man.’

  ‘Don’t start that again,’ Ella groaned. The memory of the debacle at the Jazz Club was still pretty fresh in her mind. As was the last attempt Kate had made to pair her off with someone. An ex boyfriend, to be precise, who had spent the whole evening casting puppy-dog-eyes rather forlornly at the sight of his lost love, draped around the latest in her long line of male conquests.

  ‘Leave it with me, Ella.’

  ‘I’d rather not,’ she groaned. She was doing quite nicely on her own, thank you very much. She didn’t need a man to complicate her life, despite what Kate seemed to think. Besides which, her friend didn’t seem to be doing very successfully in the man-hunting stakes herself. If she was so good at matchmaking, where was the great love of her life?

  ‘You’ve gone very quiet,’ Kate said, as she slapped her credit card down on the bill, slipped discreetly onto the table by the waitress.

  ‘Have I?’ she said, ‘Oh here, let me pay my share.’

  ‘Rubbish.’ Kate waved her hand away. ‘This was my idea. In any case, you’ve saved me an evening slaving away over a hot stove.’

  ‘I doubt that.’

  Kate looked mortally offended. ‘One of these days I might surprise you,’ she said. ‘I might invite you over to mine for dinner.’

  ‘I didn’t know they delivered takeaways to your neck of the woods.’

  ‘Ha bloody ha,’ she said, scrawling her signature on the receipt and handing it back to the waitress. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘That was lovely.’

  ‘It was. It was delicious,’ Ella agreed.

  ‘Better than Ursula’s culinary delights?’

  She shrugged. ‘It was different. Scampi does not come deep fried in Ursula’s kitchen. Believe me.’

  ‘Anyway, it was worth every penny,’ Kate said, glancing at her watch. ‘God, is that the time? We’ve been here for hours. It’s a good job I ordered us a taxi.’ She yawned. ‘I wish I didn’t have to go to work in the morning?’

  Ella smiled. ‘Think yourself lucky you can sleep in till eight. I’ll be up at six.’

  ‘Yes, well you know what I think about that. Get those two other lazy toads out of bed. Let Vanessa and Caroline do some of the work.’

  ‘I like the horses too much for that,’ she said, grinning. ‘I wouldn’t wish their happy morning faces on anyone, man or beast.’

  Kate shook her head. ‘Ella, you’re too nice, and that’s half your trouble. You need to toughen up, my girl. It’s the first rule of business – learn how to delegate’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I do.’ She slipped her arms into the sleeves of her jacket, and wrapped a long, silk scarf at least twice around her neck, before leaning forward to kiss her fondly on the cheek. ‘Now then, where’s that taxi driver got to?’

  He was standing by the bar, where he had been for the past ten minutes. It was a well-known fact that whenever Kate rang for a taxi, it would involve a long delay before she got in to it. The drivers were used to her by now.

  ‘Sorry,’ Ella murmured, by way of apology, as she followed her friend to the waiting car.

  ‘He’ll have left the meter running,’ Kate said, as she settled herself into the front seat, and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. ‘They always do when they know it’s for me.’

  The driver, a middle-aged man with a full head of grey hair, grinned at her as he climbed in and slammed the door shut. ‘Marsh Lane Cottage, ladies?’

  ‘That’s the one,’ Kate said. ‘But stop at Hollyfield Stables on the way, thanks. And you,’ she peered over her shoulder at Ella, and waggled a finger at her. ‘You think about what I’ve said, and I’ll ring you tomorrow, okay?’

  It was almost eleven o’clock, and way past the time Ella would normally have gone to bed (on a work day, that is), when she waved goodbye to Kate from the sweeping driveway at the front of the stables. The lights were still on in the house, and the sound of animated conversation, when she turned her key in the door, signalled that Ursula and her daughters were still up.

  Not wanting to disturb them, she clicked on the hall light, and headed quietly for the stairs.

  ‘Ella? Is that you?’

  Oh damn. ‘Yes,’ she said, as she hung her jacket on the banisters.

  Ursula’s florid face appeared in the lounge doorway. She appeared to be slightly inebriated. A half drunk glass of something dangled from one hand. The other was hanging on to the door frame.

  ‘Had a good evening?’

  The stench of gin was horribly apparent.

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  ‘Good. Good.’ Ursula paused, and blinked at her. ‘Good,’ she said again.

  Ella wondered if she was supposed to say something. There was an expectant look on her stepmother’s face.

  ‘I had a meal with Kate.’

  ‘Ah.’ Ursula took a mouthful of her drink. ‘Was it good?’

  ‘Yes, it was. Very good.’

  ‘And did she…er… say anything?’’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Oh,’ Ursula waved her hand in the air. ‘Anything.’

  ‘Not really.’ Ella was well and truly puzzled by now. ‘We just chatted. You know?’

  ‘You girls,’ Ursula smiled. ‘You like to have your little chats, don’t you?’ She raised her eyebrows, and winked at her.

  This was ridiculous. Ella didn’t have a clue what she was going on about. Nor did she want to stay and find out. Ursula was well away, if the glassy eyed gleam in her eye, and the lopsided smile was anything to go by.


  ‘I think I’ll go up to bed now,’ she said, pretending to stifle a yawn. ‘I’m really shattered.’

  ‘Yes…yes, you do that. You’ve got an early start tomorrow.’

  As usual, she thought. ‘Well, goodnight, then.’

  ‘Goodnight, Ella.’

  She padded slowly up the stairs. The lounge door closed, and she paused on the landing, listening to the sudden shriek of laughter, which sounded as if it came from Caroline.

  ‘You mean she doesn’t know?’ (That was from Vanessa)