MClarke - Green Wellies and Wax Jackets

by Green Wellies

  ‘…Miss Hilary Frampton and Pegasus. Can we have a big hand please, for our champion. Hilary, if you’d like to do a circuit. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Hilary Frampton, on Pegasus.’

  ‘What the hell do you mean, “This is Charlie”?’ Lewis spluttered, staring in the direction of Lucy’s waggling finger. ‘It’s a bloody machine, for Christ’s sake!’

  ‘A quad bike, to be precise,’ she said. ‘Which doesn’t buck, bite, bolt or kick. Plus, it’s fast, nippy, and easy to ride. So what do you think?’ she added, standing back and folding her arms rather smugly in front of her.

  ‘What do I think?’ choked Lewis.

  ‘Ye-es.’ Lucy smiled up at him. ‘Because, personally, I think it’s rather a brilliant idea. Simon can run from the first aid post as planned, jump on this, and ride into the distance. Voilà!’

  ‘But we need a horse-rider!’ Lewis circled the squat four-wheeled buggy warily.

  ‘Not necessarily.’

  ‘It’s in the script.’

  ‘Which can be changed.’ She flashed her gleaming white teeth at him in a delighted little smile. ‘Go on, Lewis – say it’s a good idea. It won’t kill you.’

  ‘It might kill Simon,’ he muttered. ‘For all we know he might be as useless at driving one of these as he is at riding a horse.’ He glanced over at the smartly dressed sales executive, who was eyeing him up with barely suppressed excitement, and then back at the shining machine. ‘How much is this going to cost us?’ he sighed.

  ‘Not as much as you think,’ Lucy said. ‘And if we do use it, we can come to some arrangement with the company. They’ll be getting free advertising, after all.’

  ‘Right.’ Lewis nodded.

  ‘You mean it?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he groaned. ‘Why not.’ He pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket. ‘You sort it out with these guys, Lucy. I need to talk to Miles.’

  And, he thought, glancing over at the distant Grand Ring, he needed to find out what had happened to Ella.

  It was a disaster – a total, unmitigated disaster. Ursula couldn’t believe her bad luck. Two girls in the final – not one, but two, and still neither of them had managed to win the coveted first place. She was ruined. Ruined! She had bills for tack and equipment to pay, vets bills, farrier’s bills, God-only-knows-what bills, and demands from the bank that could no longer be ignored. Well, that was it. That…was…it!

  ‘We can still go and meet Simon De Silva, can’t we Mother,’ Vanessa said, snuffling into her sleeve. It was her one and only consolation. ‘I mean all the runners up have been invited to the hospitality marquee.’

  ‘Oh, do what you like,’ Ursula snapped. She was beginning to wish she had never heard of the name Simon De Silva, nor Blackwater Films.

  ‘Ella – are you going?’ Vanessa asked, fervently hoping that she was. For once in her life, she could do with a bit of moral support.

  ‘Hmm, what?’ Ella said, lifting Majesty’s reins over his head and using them to lead him to the gate. She glanced back at her stepsister. ‘Me? No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘But why?’ Vanessa wailed.

  Heather darted her a quick look. She wasn’t going to tell her, was she?

  ‘I need to get Majesty sorted,’ Ella said. ‘He’s a bit sweaty so I thought I’d walk him round a bit to cool him off. Maybe later,’ she added, seeing Vanessa’s crestfallen expression. ‘I’ll see how I feel.’ She winked at Heather. ‘Coming?’

  ‘But I don’t want to go on my own,’ Vanessa whined.

  ‘I’ll go with you,’ Caroline said.

  Vanessa gave her a superior stare. ‘You’re not allowed,’ she said. ‘You weren’t one of the finalists.’

  ‘No…no, but I did take part. Oh go on, please?’

  ‘Not likely.’ She’d rather pair up with Hilary Frampton, than give Caroline a chance to show her face.

  ‘Mother! Mother make her!’ Caroline gave a petulant stamp of her foot. ‘Mother! It’s not fair.’ She lunged at her sister. ‘If you don’t take me…’

  ‘And I won’t.’

  ‘Ooh!’ Caroline was beside herself with frustration. She whacked her sister on the arm. ‘I hate you. I do. I really really hate you.’

  ‘Bet you’re glad to be out of it?’ Heather said a short time later as she and Ella strolled towards the film set, one on each side of Majesty.

  ‘Just a bit.’ She sighed. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t win, though. I really thought I might, until he lost his footing.’

  Heather shrugged. ‘It’s just one of those things. I thought he was the better horse, but then I’m biased, aren’t I?’

  ‘He is the better horse,’ Ella said, smiling. She patted his neck. ‘He’s a real star.’

  ‘A film star,’ Heather added proudly. ‘Aren’t you, boy?’

  Peter Marchant, fresh from his interview with the show’s winner, and now on his way to have a chat with the director, pricked up his ears at the mention of the words “film star”. He was surprised to see the girl he assumed to be the runner-up leading her horse towards the trailers surrounding the film set. Puzzled, he decided to follow them. This had all the makings of a fix, if he wasn’t mistaken. A pretty blonde girl and a striking looking horse. Interesting. He chewed on the butt of his pencil as he watched them talking to the security guards. The girl was very pretty – much more so than the show’s actual winner. Hilary Frampton was blonde, but she was hardly what he would call photogenic. Her angular jaw was rather masculine, and she had a nose like Julius Caesar. Whereas this girl – he glanced down at his list of names – Gabriella Johnson – she was stunning. And she had been the favourite – the one Lewis Trevelyan had his eye on. No, no this wasn’t right. He watched with interest as the two girls lead the horse through the entrance in the high security fencing. They were obviously expected – be they winners or losers. This had all the makings of a story – and one he intended to get to the bottom of.

  ‘Press,’ he said, flashing his pass, and then standing impatiently as his card was scrutinised by the burly security guard on the gate. ‘Can you tell me where I can find Miles Davison?’

  The man eyed him up and down, studied the photo card again, and sullenly handed it back to him. ‘Third trailer along on the left,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Peter Marchant had every intention of speaking to the director - eventually. But first, he wanted to see what was going on with the two girls and the horse. He followed them at a discreet distance, wishing fervently that he had brought a photographer with him.

  Ella and Heather were unaware of his watchful presence. They were more concerned with finding Lewis and explaining why they were so late.

  ‘He doesn’t seem to be here,’ Ella said. They had reached the area where filming had been scheduled to take place. The cameras had been set up on a running track beside the ramp, and men were busy laying cables and wires, and setting up lights.

  ‘Lewis? Nah – haven’t seen him?’ said a youth in overalls, who was lying on the ground trying to fix a cable under one of the lighting stands. ‘You could ask Miles.’

  ‘That’s the director, right?’ Heather said.

  ‘Yep. He’s over there.’ He waved them over to a catering van, where people were milling about with hot drinks and sandwiches.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Ella said, handing Heather the reins. ‘You wait here.’

  For all she knew, she had messed up the filming schedule for the entire day, so she felt that an apology was expected first and foremost. After that, she would see if they still wanted her to continue with the scene. It would have helped if she could have seen Lewis Trevelyan, or even Simon De Silva, but she didn’t see anyone that she recognised.

  She took off her riding hat and tucked it under her arm, shaking her long hair free as she did so. In her show breeches and tailored jacket, she was feeling distinctly out of place. It was as if she had gate crashed a fancy dress party, and been the only person not in fancy dress.

  ‘Hi
,’ she said, smiling, as she approached the catering van. A woman in a white overall and with a white cap on her head peered down at her through the serving hatch.

  ‘I’m looking for Miles – the director. I don’t suppose you could point him out to me, could you?’

  ‘Miles? He was here a moment ago. Effie? Do you know?’

  A stout woman with tightly permed hair ducked her head up from a cupboard. ‘I think he’s gone to meet Mr Trevelyan,’ she said. ‘He took a call from him on his phone. Left his drink, he did, and I’d made him a nice cappuccino too.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Ella said, turning away. Now what? She scanned the small groups of people milling around the set. Everyone seemed to be busy, and no one was paying her much attention. She shrugged at Heather. This was hopeless. They may as well take Majesty back to the horsebox and get him loaded.

  ‘Miss Johnson?’ The man in the ill-fitting jacket and beige trousers came up behind her, catching her unawares. ‘It is Miss Gabriella Johnson, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said warily.

  ‘Peter Marchant.’ He flashed his pass at her. ‘I’m from the press. Do you mind if I have a few words with you?’ He took his notepad from his breast pocket.

  Ella wasn’t sure what this was about, but some sixth sense told her it wasn’t good. Not good at all.

  ‘I take it you’re here for the filming,’ he said, his grey eyes perusing her steadily. ‘Is that right?’ His pencil hovered over the pad of dog-eared paper.

  ‘Um,’ she said. ‘Well, actually…’

  ‘Ella!’

  The shout caught her off guard.

  ‘Ella, my darling!’

  The endearment surprised her even more. To say nothing of the shock she got when Lewis Trevelyan suddenly appeared as if from nowhere, and swept her into his arms, with a, ‘Thank God you’re here. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’

  What? What? She blinked up into his face in stunned disbelief. She was clamped hard against his chest, with one arm pinned across the small of her back His head was bowed to hers and his breath was warm and intoxicating against her ear.

  ‘Tell him nothing,’ he whispered.’ Understand?’

  She managed a feeble nod, and was almost disappointed when she felt his grip lessen slightly. But not for long. His lips came down on hers in a kiss that was warm, passionate, and totally unexpected.

  ‘Mr Trevelyan!’ she croaked, finally coming up for air. It was a good job his arms were still around her waist, because her legs were giving way beneath her. She had been kissed before, but never quite like that. Her senses were reeling all over the place. In fact, if she didn’t know better, she would have thought she was going into shock.

  His eyes crinkled at the corners, and he gave her a reassuring wink. ‘Now then, Mr Marchant,’ he said, turning to face the gentleman of the press. ‘What can we do for you?’

  For one who was normally rather vocal, Peter Marchant appeared to be quite speechless.

  ‘Ah…Um.’ He glanced down at his paper and pencil.

  ‘You’ve come about the filming at the Show, I take it?’ Lewis suggested helpfully. ‘Well, it’s all in hand.’ He gave Ella’s fingers a reassuring squeeze.

  ‘And you’re going to use Hilary Frampton?’

  ‘Of course.’ Lewis smiled. ‘In fact, Simon and I will be heading over to the hospitality marquee in about an hour. Perhaps if you could arrange for a photographer to be there, we could have a photo shoot with all the finalists.’

  ‘An hour, you say.’ Peter Marchant was jotting the details down as he spoke. ‘Right, then.’ He glanced up and gave what seemed like a knowing smile to Ella. Her cheeks were burning, and she was quite convinced that guilt was showing all over her face.

  ‘I’ll be there,’ he said, tucking the pencil behind one ear.

  ‘Excellent.’

  Lewis continued to grin as he watched the journalist stroll away. ‘That was bloody close,’ he whispered, glancing sideways down at her. ‘Ella? Ella, are you all right?’

  Ella didn’t know if she was, or she wasn’t. Her head was buzzing, and every nerve in her body was tingling. They tingled even more when he swung round to face her and tilted her chin up with his fingers.

  ‘You look flushed,’ he said in a voice that was immediately concerned.

  ‘Hmm,’ was all she managed to say.

  ‘I’m sorry for leaping on you like that,’ he said ruefully. ‘But it was all I could think of doing at the time. Peter Marchant’s a bit of a weasel. I could see he was snooping round after something.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ she mumbled. It was more than okay. It was unbelievable, incredible, earth shattering.

  ‘Ella?’ he said. ‘Hey, I’m sorry.’ He shook his head as he pulled her into the warm and comforting security of his arms. ‘I really gave you a shock, didn’t I?’ He could feel her shaking through the thin cotton of his shirt. His chin rested on the top of her head, and the fresh scent of her newly washed hair gave him such a surge of longing, it was like a kick between his ribs. ‘Jesus,’ he thought, gently pulling away from her. It was a long time since he had felt like that.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Heather said, abruptly breaking the spell. ‘Are we taking Majesty back, or what?’

  Lewis felt reluctant to let Ella go. Yet, let her he must. He stepped to one side and ran a distracted hand through his hair. ‘Ah…yes. There’s been a slight change of plan.’

  ‘We’re ready to rehearse that scene, Lewis,’ came a shout from one of the film crew.

  He acknowledged the call with a thumbs up sign. ‘Simon’s not riding,’ he said. ‘Or at least, he’s not riding a horse. We’ve got him a quad bike,’ he explained. ‘Miles thought it might be safer.’

  ‘So you don’t need us?’ Heather said.

  ‘Ah…no. Well, not right now.’ His gaze rested on Ella as he spoke. But God, did he need her.

  ‘We might as well take Majesty back, then,’ Heather said, disappointment evident in her tone.

  ‘Yes,’ Lewis agreed. ‘Look, I’m sorry to mess you about like this. We’ve got some good shots of him jumping, and we’ll need to put a piece together with the winner of the competition, so maybe we’ll get back to you.’

  ‘I won’t hold my breath,’ Heather muttered. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  ‘No wait.’ Lewis caught hold of Ella’s arm. ‘Stay. I mean, you can watch, if you like.’

  She was staring up at him like a bewildered faun.

  ‘Please?’ he said.

  ‘Lewis! Are you coming to this rehearsal, or what?’

  ‘Ten seconds,’ he called. His gaze returned to Ella. His voice was slow and carefully measured as he spoke. ‘I’d really like it if you came with me.’

  Ella would like to do nothing more. It was almost hypnotic, the hold he had over her. She was being drawn to him even though she barely knew him. But Heather’s irritated shuffling behind her was enough to distract her from her thoughts.

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t,’ she said. ‘I need to help load Majesty.’

  The look on his face showed that he wasn’t sure whether to believe her or not. ‘Then come to the marquee later,’ he insisted. ‘Please.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ she said.

  Heather had stomped off ahead, and was busy unfastening Majesty’s reins from the railing where she had left him tethered.

  Ella was conscious of Lewis watching her as she hurried to catch up with them. It was a wonder she managed to walk at all, since her legs felt like jelly, her lips were glowing, and her skin tingled where he had touched her.

  ‘What a blinking fiasco,’ Heather muttered. ‘I should have known this would happen. It’s a good job you rode in the show, Ella, because coming here has been a complete waste of time.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Ella said, gazing dreamily back over her shoulder. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘Okay, so run this by me again,’ Matthew said, scratching the back
of his neck as he spoke. ‘We’re not using a horse now?’

  ‘No.’ Lewis stood, legs apart and arms folded, watching the preparations for the rehearsal.

  ‘And Simon’s riding that thing. Where the hell did you get it anyway?’ he said, stepping forwards to take a closer look at the gleaming quad bike.

  ‘Lucy found it. Clever girl,’ he added, winking at her. ‘It’s called Charlie.’

  ‘Charlie?’

  ‘An abbreviation of the company name, apparently,’ he explained. ‘Clopton Haverton Agricultural Rentals and Loans Incorporated or something like that.’