All that Glitters, page 3
‘Well, if you’re going to be so damned miserable about it, and make everyone around you miserable, I’ll be the one to opt out. So watch it.’
‘Okay. Okay. Understood. Or should I say Under Standing?’
Polly laughed, a well-bred cackle.
‘Funny name. The traffic’s awful. No wonder there’s all these notices: Bypass Now. Should’ve been ten years ago. Here’s the bridge. Start looking for the drive. I’ll need to indicate in good time.’
‘It’s coming up now. You can see the yard across the field, by the river. A good way off the road. Looks like a dump.’
‘It is a dump. I know what I’m taking on, rest assured. Auntie’s never touched it since her parents died. All she cares about is her garden, winning the leek class in the village show, and the best rose, all that sort of thing.’
She came to a halt, waiting for a gap in the oncoming traffic. ‘Lucky I’ve got the money to spend on it.’
‘You’re a vulture, getting that pay-off from poor old Nick.’ ‘He could afford it!’
‘You got your million far more easily than I’m ever going to get mine.’
‘Rubbish. You earning yours is a doddle if you just put your addled mind to it.
You might even enjoy it once you get started.’
‘Pigs might fly.’
The car turned at last and bumped its way up the rarely used drive. The big archway of the stable yard reared ahead.
‘It must have been fine once. Splendid gateway. What a crime to let it run down like this.’
Polly drove her car into the yard, narrowly avoiding a bicycle thrown down in the middle.
‘Auntie says she runs it as a livery yard. Let’s see what the punters’ horses are like. They can’t be very ambitious coming to a dump like this, especially when there’s the Standing District Equestrian Centre down the road.
Millie and Imogen had seen the car come through the archway and had already guessed who it was. They were in Bluebell’s box, about to give him another groom. Millie grabbed Imogen’s arm and pulled her down into the corner of the box on the same side as the door where they were unlikely to be seen. Why she did this she never quite knew, save that she was scared of what she had heard of the money-grubbing divorcee and acted in a sort of panic. Imogen squeaked and pulled away but Millie hissed at her to shut up.
‘It’s her!’ Imogen immediately wriggled round and put her eye to a large crack in the wooden wall of the box.
‘Cor!’
She got an eyeful of black boots, leather trousers, a biker jacket, wrists covered in bracelets, bright red fingernails, honey blonde hair and flashing inquisitive eyes casting all around with an expression of sneering distaste. Behind her, so that Imogen couldn’t really see him, was what appeared to be a tall young man.
‘Who’s he?’ she whispered.
Millie couldn’t see anything other than Bluebell’s tummy. Friendly as always he moved over to greet the newcomers and Millie got a glimpse of an appalled face drawing back from his slobber, the lips uttering, ‘Oh my God, what rubbish have we got here?’
‘Hey, and this one too,’ said the young man, looking into Barney’s box. ‘Looks like the rescue home here.’
At this Imogen leapt up shrieking, ‘How dare you!’
Millie wanted to die.
The woman with the boots said, ‘Who exactly are you, may I ask?’
Millie shrunk even further into the straw.
‘I’m a livery owner. I belong here. I am a client of Miss Brocklebank’s. And who are you, driving in here making insulting remarks about our ponies?’
‘My name is Polly Power and I’m Miss Brocklebank’s niece. I’m taking over the yard, so now you are a client of mine, not of Miss Brocklebank. So I think we had better be friends.’
She smiled a glacial smile and stuck out her hand to shake. Imogen, after a moment’s hesitation, took it, and said, ‘My friend is here too, Millie Hodge. This pony is hers.’
‘What were you doing crawling about in there in the straw?’
‘We were grooming Bluebell but we dropped the hoofpick and we were looking for it.’
How clever she was, Millie thought! She would have come clean and said they were eavesdropping.
‘Where are the other horses then? Besides just these two –?’
‘There aren’t any. Only two little Dartmoors who live out mostly. Just us. We run the yard.’
‘Really?’
Polly was somewhat stunned by this belligerent child and instead of saying, ‘I’m sorry but I run the yard now and you can take a running jump,’ as her instinct prompted her, she bit back the words and smiled ingratiatingly.
‘Well, isn’t that nice? I can see you will be a great help to me when I take over.’
Imogen, being equally tactful, swallowed down a scathing, ‘Oh yeah?’ and said,‘Does Miss Brocklebank know you’re here?’ (meaning go and see her and get out of our hair).
‘Not yet. I’d better go down to the cottage and make myself known. She’s expecting me for lunch.’
‘Cripes,’ said Imogen, seeing that Polly was a smoked salmon sort of person, and knowing that Miss Brocklebank lived on baked beans and cabbage.
Polly turned to the young man and said, ‘You want to come? Or wait here?’
‘I’ll wait in the car,’ he said.
‘I might be a while.’
‘It’s okay. I’ll read the paper.’
They both departed, leaving Millie and Imogen stunned.
‘Blimey, she’s horrible!’
They could both see their cosy world collapsing in tatters.
‘She’ll chuck us out! Or put the price up sky-high. You can see we’re not the sort of livery people she wants.’
‘Perhaps Miss Brocklebank won’t like her. She’s not her sort of person.’
‘No, but she’s the sort of person who gets her own way. Poor Miss Brocklebank won’t stand a chance.’
‘And who’s he, the sulky one? She didn’t introduce us. Is he her new guy?’
‘He didn’t look very loving.’
‘No, he looked hating.’
‘Perhaps we should suss him out.’
They went to the cobwebby window that looked out on to the yard and peered through. The young man was standing with his hands in his pockets morosely kicking the front wheel of the Aston Martin.
‘Not a happy bunny.’
‘We could offer him a cup of tea,’ Millie suggested. ‘Find out things.’
‘Yes! He obviously doesn’t like her, so he might be quite chatty.’
They had trouble making a mug clean enough to offer to a visitor but there were still a few dregs of long-life milk and some claggy sugar in a bag if he wanted it. Imogen went out and invited him to join them in elevenses.
‘Okay,’ he said, and came back into the stable. They both stared at him over their tea mugs. He was really quite dishy, dark and well groomed. Not their sort, but interesting.
‘My name’s Joe,’ he said. ‘You are—?’
They said.
‘Are you her boyfriend?’ Imogen asked boldly (rudely, Millie thought, blushing for her).
‘Oh God, no. No fear. She teaches me. Dressage.’
‘Oh, dressARGE,’ Imogen said, the way they always said it. ‘We’re not into dressARGE. We’re not clever enough. We just ride about, stop and go sort of thing.’
‘She says anyone who rides at all does dressage, whatever. It’s just obedience and control.’
‘I thought it was riding sideways instead of straight on and going round in circles.’
Joe smiled (yes, rather nice!), ‘There’s quite a lot of that, true. I’m not that good. I’d rather ride straight on. Gallop, you know, have a bit of fun. But I’m not allowed.’
‘Blimey!’
‘She says anyone can gallop about.’
‘Yes, but—‘ Imogen was stymied. Why did he do what he was told? ‘Are you riding her horse then? Or something. Why can’t you gallop about if you want to?’
‘No. I’ve got my own horse. I have to do as I’m told because I’m working for something
… Oh, it’s a very long story — ’
‘An exam? What?’
‘No. Money, basically,’ he said.
‘Oh …’ Both Millie and Imogen groaned. Boring!
‘All the same, if it’s a very long story, we’ve got ages till Thingy comes back, so you can tell us. We need to know, if your horse is coming here. What’s it like, by the way? Gorgeous?’
‘Yes, very gorgeous. Have you got any biscuits? I’m starving.’
They got the jar and were lucky enough to find two grimlooking ginger biscuits in the bottom, which they offered.
‘Sorry, that’s all. The boys take them. We buy them and they eat them.’
‘Boys? Are there many of you round here?’
‘No. Only four. Six if you count Jake and his mate Harry.’ Millie felt a sad stroke of loss at seeing Jake’s plans for digging up his treasure going down the drain. ‘Tell us your long story.’
‘Not very long really. I’ve got a very rich grandmother and she’s going to leave me all her money if I get off my backside and do something she thinks is manly. All I do is computers, you see, all day and all night. I service them all day as a living and play games on them all night for fun and she thinks this is a disgraceful way to live. So she’s given me this rather splendid horse and says I’ve got to get out there and win a few silver cups or she’ll leave all her money to the cats’ home.’
The two girls digested this. They agreed with his grandmother that he must be a number one nerd to spend day and night with computers but couldn’t quite see why he had to do dressage to prove he was manly.
‘Can’t you race him? Over jumps, of course. That’s very manly.’
‘He’s not a thoroughbred. He’s a warmblood. They don’t race, I’m told.’
‘No, that’s true.’
‘It’s not all that important what I do. It’s just to make me get out and learn to ride a horse. She thinks – my grandmother, that is – that it will transform my life, to get outside and ride a horse. Wean me off computers. It’s Polly – she’s my cousin – who insists on dressage because it’s her thing. She’s got a fantastic dressage horse. She says I’d be a real fool to forgo the money, but I don’t care really. I make plenty. But when Polly’s after you, I can tell you, it’s difficult to shake her off. And of course, having been given the horse, I had to get Polly’s help because what do I know about horses? Nothing. I just asked her to look after it for me and now look what’s happened …’
His voice trailed off. The two girls digested this information slowly. It had all sorts of implications. Two fantastic horses were going to come to their stable. Polly was someone who must be obeyed – although they had rather come to that conclusion without Joe’s story. Joe was a nerd who was to be transformed by riding a horse in the great outdoors, which he rarely saw. (He was rather pale and wishy-washy and the great outdoors would certainly improve his quite promising looks.)
‘And – a livery stable? Does she want lots of horses here?’
‘Build it up, she said. Make money. She thinks a lot about money. Get all her friends here at a hundred pounds a week or something.’
Even Imogen couldn’t think of anything to say at this, while Millie felt quite faint.
‘What about Miss Brocklebank?’
But they knew that Miss Brocklebank hardly ever came into the stable yard. It was only her garden she cared about. And how could poor old Miss Brocklebank withstand her niece when it seemed nobody else could?
‘Polly’s got a lot of money from her divorce and is dying to spend it. She thinks this would be a fantastic place to take on. And apparently the old auntie wants watching a bit these days. I daresay she’s also got a load of money to leave to someone, so Polly’s getting her nose in there as well.’
Millie remembered that’s what her father said. Her snout in the trough.
‘She sounds a right cow,’ Imogen said.
They weren’t her sort of people, it was quite obvious. Their dear old stables to be given a makeover and filled with smart horses and smart people, their wonderful freedom to do what they liked to be snuffed out by Miss Snout-in-the-Trough …
‘We can’t let this happen!’
‘We shall die!’
Joe looked sympathetic. ‘I can guess how you feel. Like me.’
He thought they were going to cry so said, ‘I’m sorry if I’ve spoilt your day. I’ll leave you to it. Go and wait in the car. Thanks for the coffee.’
Millie and Imogen went back into Bluebell’s box and stared at each other over his back.
‘It can’t be as bad as I think it is,’ Imogen said.
‘It is. A hundred pounds a week … ‘
‘Jake had better dig up that treasure fast! We need it.’
‘Before Snout-in-the-Trough concretes it over.’
‘Snout-in-the-Trough ?’
‘My father said she was one of those – people with snouts in the trough.’
‘It’s a good name for her. Snouty.’
‘Polly Power, she said.’
‘Polly High and Mighty. It suits her.’
‘She’s awful.’
They went back to grooming Bluebell but Millie kept sniffing because she thought she was going to lose her new pony. They discussed keeping the ponies in Mr Hodge’s cattle yard but Imogen said her parents would never let her cycle along that road to get to it and walking would take her too long (and kill her just the same) and Millie said it was horrid anyway, all mud and nowhere to keep their stuff and nowhere to ride either, except in the close-by fields.
They hung around, hoping to hear what Polly Power’s meeting with Miss Brocklebank had decided, hoping that, after all, Miss Brocklebank had told her to take a running jump. But no such luck. When she came back, Joe got out of the car and they both came into the stables again and she started to talk excitedly what she was planning to do. Millie and Imogen stood listening without bothering to hide this time.
‘The old girl said I could do what I liked, as long as I don’t touch her garden. Well, that’s not a problem, although it would be a good place for the arena – that’ll have to go on the other side now, if we can find the flattest place. She gave me the name of the local builder but I think I’ll get my London builder to do it. These locals, round here – they’re in the dark ages. It’ll take for ever.’
‘You’ve got to get planning permission,’ Joe said. ‘The locals might be better at that, knowing everyone, like.’
‘A bit of cash shoved the planners’ way will help, surely?’
Imogen piped up, ‘My uncle’s in the planning department. He’s a jobs-worth and if you try to bribe them he’ll refuse you permission point blank, whatever you want.’
Polly glared at her. ‘Did I ask your opinion?’
‘I was helping you, so you don’t make a big mistake.’
Millie, emboldened, said, ‘It’s in the flood plain too. The river floods quite often. I shouldn’t think you’d get permission.’
Snouty smiled patronisingly. ‘I’ve a lot of experience in these matters. I don’t think you two should worry too much about my problems.’
‘They’re ours too,’ said Imogen. ‘If you’re coming here.’
‘Well, when I come, I don’t expect you’ll be here.’
With which she stalked out and drove smartly away.
‘You shouldn’t have put her back up,’ Millie said. ‘We’ve got to be smarmy and helpful so that she likes us. Then we stand more chance. And you haven’t got an uncle in the planning department. If you have it’s the first I’ve heard of it.’
‘No. But my cousin Josh makes tea for the Environmental Health Officer and sometimes the planners ask him for biscuits.’
When they parted Millie decided she would have to come clean with her parents about Bluebell. Now Snouty had arrived their curiosity would be fully engaged and she could slip in about Bluebell as an extra and hope they would hardly notice. Miss Snouty Power was bound to take all their attention.
As it already had. They knew about her visit, with a young man, and that she had visited Miss Brocklebank. They didn’t know how foul she was, and what she was planning: at least Millie was ahead on that.
‘A whole new stable block and an arena.’
‘Well, she won’t get that. It’s in a flood area.’
‘She said she’d bribe them. No problem.’
Mike Hodge laughed. ‘I’d like to see old Colonel Brigstock’s face when she offers him a brown envelope! Poor girl. She’s put her money on the wrong horse there. He’s uncorruptible.’
‘Incorruptible,’ said his wife.
‘One of the old school. Fine.’
‘I don’t see, if she really wants it, why she can’t improve the interior without permission. She doesn’t want change of use. It’s always been stables. She’s only got to put a new floor in, new partitions and things. What’s the problem?’
‘Well, I suppose she wants a swanky front. Impress the neighbours. She ’d do better to improve the cottage. It’ll fall down any day now.’
‘I can’t see Miss Brocklebank living happily with a type like that, poor old dear. And how are you children going to get on with her, Millie – as you spend more time down there than in your own home? She won’t want you lot underfoot.’
‘Imogen’s got her pony there. And the Creambuns. And there’s a stray pony we’ve taken in. It was loose down by the river…’
The story came out. To her amazement her father laughed and said, ‘Sitting tenants then. You’ve got rights, if Miss Brocklebank stands by you.’
‘Do you think so?’ This was a new idea to Millie.
‘Stick up for yourselves. She sounds a right tyrant. Not our sort. I’ll have a word with Miss Brocklebank.’
No mention of the new pony, paying for it, all the harrumphing Millie had expected. Her father on her side! Millie couldn’t believe her ears.
Chapter 4
‘Listen! I told you!’ Jake stood in the middle of Miss Brocklebank’s vegetable garden with his metal detector thrust into her astounding bed of leeks. Millie and Imogen had to admit to being impressed by the manic chuntering of his darling machine.
