Charlotte and the Starlet 2 (8 page)

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.

'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 tall
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.