Charlotte and the Starlet Read Online Free PDF Page B

flared and her mouth
was crammed with teeth the size of bathroom tiles.
And when she laughed it was with a decided whinny.
A lack of grey hair suggested an age less than fifty but
her attitudes belonged to somebody in their sixties.
On rare occasions she could act quite girlish, but most
of the time she ran her academy the way Captain Bligh
had run his sailing ships, with an iron fist. Today she
was trying to occupy herself while awaiting what, for
her, was the highlight of the year – the new intake of
horses. Like a child on Christmas Eve, she had barely
slept last night and had been up as usual at five a.m.
    Miss Strudworth was extracting troublesome
weeds from around the base of the parade ground
flagpole when her acute hearing snaffled the hiss of
hydraulic brakes, the way a frog's tongue might lash
out and snatch a fly mid-air. The lorry had arrived and
was slowing to negotiate the gate at the foot of the
drive.
    A minute or so later she reached the stables, her
heart beating fast. Bevans, the stable foreman, was
already at the big lorry chatting with the driver. His
gaze turned on Miss Strudworth as she arrived.
    'Chap here says he's got thirteen horses. I told him
we only ordered twelve.'
    'That is correct, Bevans.' Miss Strudworth was
certainly not going to pay extra. She pulled out the
invoice from a stiff tweed pocket. 'I have the invoice
right here and I'm not paying a cent more.' She
handed it across to the driver.
    He checked it against his order and shrugged. 'It's
the same price. Maybe they threw in an extra one,
like? Baker's dozen?'
    Bevans pointed out that Hero, the colt, was still
struggling with colic and an extra horse would be
handy with the new intake of JOES due to arrive
today. Miss Strudworth had learned from great-grandfather
Tobias, founder of Thornton Downs, to
never look a gift horse in the mouth.
    'Very well, so long as it's not costing me anything,'
she said.
    She noted the first of what would be a long line of
Mercedes, BMWs and those absurd four wheel drives
arriving at the gates. The intake comprised fifteen
girls, all proven horsewomen. Over thirty days they
would hone their skills under Miss Strudworth's
watchful eye. After this they would compete in the
disciplines of dressage, jumps and point-to-point, and
then seven would be selected to return as full-time
members of the squad.
    Miss Strudworth knew that while the girls might
arrive with the same hopes, they would not all leave
with them intact. For those who succeeded there
would be boundless happiness; for those who
missed out, utter despair. A pity, but that was the
way of the world. As Miss Strudworth herself knew,
it was a very foolish person who believed in happy
endings for all. Somebody always had to miss out.
She thought of her lonely trophies up there in her
parlour. Yes, sad but true, somebody had to miss out.
Her gaze drifted to a large Mercedes where the
Hayes-Warrington girl was climbing out.
    'Yes, Mum, no, Mum, bye, Mum.'
    She slammed the door. A beautifully groomed
blonde was getting out of a BMW next to her. She was
talking quite angrily to somebody in the car.
    '... and if pizza face uses my computer while I'm
away, I'll set fire to her pigtails again.'
    Miss Strudworth took a deep breath. Thirty days of
having to deal with these precocious princesses would
test her. But life, after all, was not meant to be easy.
She would emerge triumphant as always.

    Leila had no idea where she was. The last thing she
remembered clearly was being in a field and a big
truck arriving and bundling her in with the 'hacks'.
Then somebody had jabbed a needle into her and the
next thing she knew she was being led out of the truck
with a dozen or so other nags, including that bundle-of-fun-not
grey mare.
    'Hey, nanna,' she managed in horse. 'Where are
we?'
    The grey mare narrowed her eyes. 'What's it look
like?'
    'It looks like the set of every movie I've ever made.'
    'We're in a riding academy.'
    A riding academy! Ludicrous. 'I don't