Alice-Miranda Shows the Way Page 7

  Ambrosia spun on her towering heels and threw a copy of the latest Gloss and Goss down in front of him.

  Herman stared at the page, then back at Ambrosia and shrugged.

  ‘Can’t you see?’ she asked.

  Herman shook his head. ‘I don’t know vot I am supposed to be seeing.’

  ‘It’s me!’ Ambrosia’s high-pitched shriek caused the man to jump. She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at a photograph of herself dressed in a stunning gold gown. ‘I’m at the FFATAS.’ She ran her left hand through her brunette tresses.

  ‘Who is farters?’ Herman asked blankly.

  ‘Are you joking?’ Ambrosia stared at the man in disbelief. ‘Everyone knows about the FFATAS.’

  ‘Not me.’ Herman’s blue eyes stared vacantly at the picture. ‘But is nice frock. You look good.’

  ‘For your information, Mr . . .’ Ambrosia sniffed. Jacinta and Sloane had joined her at the counter and placed their ice-creams on the bench.

  ‘It’s Mr Munz, Mummy,’ Jacinta said. So much for her mother introducing herself, she thought.

  ‘For your information, Mr Munz, the FFATAS are the Foreign Film and Television Awards.’

  ‘Are you actress?’ he asked. ‘Because I don’t know you.’

  Ambrosia shook her head.

  ‘Are you director?’

  Ambrosia shook her head again.

  ‘Writer? Camera operator, sound person?’ Herman Munz was drawing a blank.

  ‘Of course not.’ Ambrosia’s mouth turned down slightly in a frown, although the rest of her face didn’t move.

  ‘Then you are married to one?’

  ‘No,’ Ambrosia scowled.

  ‘Then why you go to FFATAS and get photograph in magazine?’ Herman asked.

  ‘Because I’m Ambrosia Headlington-Bear, that’s why.’ Ambrosia opened her purse and pulled out a large note, which she pushed angrily across the counter.

  ‘Sorry, I not know who that is.’ Herman rang up the amount for the ice-creams and magazine and began to count out Ambrosia’s change.

  Ambrosia pushed the magazine towards him. ‘I’m not buying that. I’ve already got three copies.’

  Herman pointed at a sign behind the counter. ‘You read magazine, you buy magazine.’

  The hulky man pushed the volume back towards Ambrosia.

  ‘Hmph.’ She turned and strode out of the store, leaving Jacinta and Sloane in her wake.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Munz,’ Jacinta apologised, ‘but you’ve just had the pleasure of meeting my mother.’

  ‘Vos no pleasure, Miss Jacinta. But you are not like her,’ he said and grinned at the blonde girl.

  Jacinta and Sloane picked up their ice-creams and peeled off the wrappers, depositing the papers in the bin outside the shop.

  Ambrosia was sitting in the car, red-faced and flicking her fingernails.

  ‘You’d better hurry up and eat those before you get in,’ she called. Her lower lip quivered. ‘I want to go home and I have to get you back to school.’

  Jacinta couldn’t believe her ears. She threw the rest of the ice-cream in the bin.

  ‘But I thought we were staying out with you, Mummy?’ She opened the passenger door and pulled the back seat forward for Sloane to wedge herself in.

  ‘I can’t stay down tonight. I have a ball back in town. Your father is coming in from overseas and he insisted I go with him,’ Ambrosia explained. ‘I think he’s got something for me. He was being very mysterious on the telephone. I rather hope it’s that gorgeous diamond necklace I’ve had my eye on. It would be just perfect with the pink Chanel gown I’m planning to wear.’

  ‘I should have guessed there would be something more important than me. I don’t think I’m ever going to see Wisteria Cottage,’ Jacinta complained, folding her arms in front of her, ‘let alone stay there.’

  ‘Of course you’re the most important thing, darling. It’s just that Daddy really wants to see me, and we haven’t spent any time together for ages. You know him; his whole life is just work, work, and more work. Anyway, I’m sure you could con that dowdy old housemistress into taking you to the cottage if you’re that desperate to have a look. There’s a key under the flowerpot at the back door. Heavens knows the place is nothing special. It needs a load of work. Besides, I’ll be back again in a week or two.’ Ambrosia hit the start button beside the steering wheel. The engine purred like a lion. She glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then put her foot to the accelerator and roared off down the street.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re going to leave him here,’ Millie said as she and Alice-Miranda left the stable block.

  ‘It’s the best thing for Rockstar,’ said Alice-Miranda. ‘He and Bony seem to have a connection, and if it means that Mr Wigglesworth can train Rockstar to run in the Queen’s Cup, then it’s the least I can do. Imagine how pleased Aunty Gee would be if Rockstar won! We can come over tomorrow to visit. Maybe they’ll have had a fight by then and I’ll be able to take Bony home,’ she finished with a little smile.

  ‘But we can’t train for the show,’ Millie said sulkily.

  ‘If Bonaparte gets a workout like that every day, he’ll be fitter than ever for the show. Maybe I could ask someone to drive me over after school to see him during the week,’ Alice-Miranda suggested.

  ‘I suppose so,’ Millie said with a frown. ‘Anyway, you’re going to have to double back with me on Chops this afternoon and I can’t guarantee it will be the best riding experience of your life.’

  ‘I will be honoured to accept a lift.’ Alice-Miranda curtsied.

  After witnessing Rockstar’s behaviour on the track, Alice-Miranda had started to wonder. She’d heard about racehorses sometimes having companion ponies but she’d never seen anything like it before.

  Wally had joked that he’d come to Chesterfield Downs to get away from Bony the menace, but he thought it was awfully kind of Alice-Miranda to let him stay there for Rockstar’s sake.

  The only person who hadn’t seemed terribly excited about having Bony was Mr Wigglesworth, but Alice-Miranda had insisted. When she’d pointed out that Aunty Gee would be pleased to know that Rockstar was at least out training again, he seemed to change his mind. She thought Miss Pepper would be thrilled too.

  Alice-Miranda had kissed Bonaparte goodbye and said that she would come and see how he was getting on tomorrow. He had ignored her completely, which was not unusual.

  Now, outside in the sunshine, the two girls were chatting about the events they planned to enter in the show when they spied Mrs Smith’s car trundling towards them.

  ‘Hello,’ Alice-Miranda called out as the cook turned off the ignition and hopped out.

  ‘Hello girls,’ Mrs Smith said with a wave. From inside the car she retrieved a sizable biscuit tin and a huge plate containing an equally huge strawberry sponge cake.

  Alice-Miranda took the tin and Millie offered to help carry the cake but Mrs Smith just asked that she close the car door.

  ‘How was your ride?’ the older woman asked.

  ‘Eventful,’ Millie replied.

  ‘And how’s Wally settling in?’ Mrs Smith motioned for Millie to open the gate that led to the whitewashed cottage in front of the stables.

  ‘He’s amazing,’ Alice-Miranda said, her eyes wide.

  ‘Amazing?’ Doreen frowned at Alice-Miranda. ‘Really? I’m looking forward to hearing what he’s done to earn such high praise on his first day. Now, Mr Wigglesworth said I should leave these at the cottage,’ said Mrs Smith.

  On hearing the visitors’ approach, Evelyn Pepper’s faithful hound Keith raised his head and began to howl.

  ‘Hello there boy.’ Alice-Miranda reached down and gave the basset a pat on the head. He reciprocated by sniffing her hand.

  Mr
s Smith motioned for Millie to open the back door and the girls followed her inside.

  The country kitchen was warm and inviting with a fire burning in the giant AGA stove.

  Doreen placed the cake on the pine table in the centre of the room and Alice-Miranda handed her the tin of brownies.

  The screen door opened and Dick Wigglesworth entered the kitchen.

  ‘Hello Doreen. This is marvellous,’ he said, spying the sponge cake on the table. He planted a kiss on her cheek. ‘With Evelyn away it feels like we’re running on half-steam. Place just isn’t the same without her. But all this food has been wonderful. The lads just about inhaled those chicken sandwiches you made yesterday.’

  ‘It’s no trouble at all. I’m quite used to feeding the masses and I’m glad it’s a help to Ev.’

  ‘You’re a good friend, Doreen,’ Dick said.

  ‘And how’s Wally settling in?’ Mrs Smith asked.

  ‘The lad’s doing all right,’ Dick replied.

  ‘All right!’ Millie exclaimed. ‘I think he’s doing better than all right. He rode Rockstar down on the track.’

  ‘Rockstar!’ Doreen gasped. ‘But I thought the only one who could ever get near him was Evelyn.’

  ‘That’s what we were going to tell you, Mrs Smith,’ Alice-Miranda began. ‘Rockstar has made friends with Bony, so I’m going to leave him here for a few days so that Mr Walt can ride track work and then Rockstar will still have a chance at winning the Queen’s Cup.’

  ‘Of course he’s going to win,’ Millie nodded.

  ‘Don’t get ahead of yourselves there, girls. It was just one run and who knows how the young upstart will wake up in the morning. I think he’s only a very slim chance of running in the cup,’ Dick Wigglesworth replied as he filled the kettle and placed it on the stovetop.

  ‘How are you getting back to school, dear?’ Mrs Smith asked Alice-Miranda.

  ‘Alice-Miranda’s going to double with me on Chops,’ Millie said.

  ‘Oh, that doesn’t sound very comfortable,’ said Mrs Smith. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather come back with me? Millie, perhaps you can leave Chops here with Bony and his friends until tomorrow? I can drop you off at school before I go to see Evelyn at the hospital. It’s no trouble.’

  Millie shrugged. ‘I suppose we could do that – if there’s a spare stall in the stables?’

  Dick Wigglesworth nodded. ‘I’m sure we can find a spot for him, Millie, but I suggest you both come back in the morning. I think Bony will be right to go home tomorrow.’

  Wally Whitstable arrived at the back door with Freddy and another couple of the lads. ‘Hello Mrs Smith,’ the young man greeted the older woman.

  ‘What about you, then? Wait until I tell Charlie about your heroics riding Rockstar,’ Mrs Smith exclaimed as she gave Wally a hug.

  ‘It wasn’t planned, Mrs Smith, I can tell you that. I only got on him ’cos of this little one.’ He nodded towards Alice-Miranda.

  ‘You were perfect, Mr Walt,’ she said, grinning at him.

  ‘Surprised myself a bit,’ Wally said. ‘Didn’t think I’d ever ride anything half as good as him. I didn’t even want to think about him being owned by Her Majesty, or what he’ll be worth when he’s finished on the track.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Millie asked.

  ‘Stallions like him are worth a fortune, Miss Millie, because once they stop racing they can father lots of babies who might also turn out to be champions,’ Wally explained.

  ‘Or donkeys,’ said Dick Wigglesworth with raised eyebrows. ‘They don’t always sire good offspring, but usually you’d expect a few decent runners out of them.’

  ‘Of course,’ Millie replied.

  Mrs Smith suggested that Alice-Miranda and Millie head off and put Chops away and she’d meet them outside in a few minutes.

  The girls bade farewell to the lads and Mr Wigglesworth and headed off to the stables.

  With Chops safely away for the night, Alice-Miranda, Millie and Mrs Smith set off in the cook’s positively ancient Mini. At the bottom of the driveway something in the trees opposite caught Alice-Miranda’s attention.

  ‘There’s someone over there,’ she said, pointing towards the slope.

  ‘I can’t see anyone, dear,’ the cook replied, squinting. ‘But that doesn’t count for much these days.’

  Alice-Miranda could have sworn it was a child.

  Millie spotted a movement too. ‘You’re right. Oh,’ she groaned. ‘It’s that girl from the carnival.’

  ‘You mean Fern?’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘Could you stop the car please, Mrs Smith?’

  ‘Now, why would I want to do that, young lady?’ Doreen Smith kept her foot on the accelerator and the vehicle puttered along the laneway.

  ‘I just thought I should talk to her,’ Alice-Miranda replied, ‘and ask if she’s okay.’

  ‘I think you should leave well enough alone,’ Mrs Smith said firmly.

  Alice-Miranda leaned around to look back. The girl was now standing on the edge of the road, staring at them.

  Millie looked around too. ‘She’s a bit odd. Her eyes are like a cat’s.’

  But Alice-Miranda didn’t feel the same way. Something about the carnival girl and her brother gave her a strange feeling and she was eager to find out why.

  As Mrs Smith reached the main road the girls were surprised to see Ambrosia Headlington-Bear’s sports car speeding towards them. With the roof down and the wind in her hair, Ambrosia was singing along with the radio and clearly feeling quite pleased with herself.

  ‘I wonder where Jacinta and Sloane are,’ Millie asked as the car roared past. ‘I thought they were staying with her tonight.’

  Alice-Miranda grimaced. ‘It doesn’t look that way.’

  Although Jacinta hadn’t exactly said so, Alice-Miranda had guessed that her friend was looking forward to the weekend with her mother very much. The mere fact that she had asked to wear the dress Ambrosia had sent her was indication enough. And now Ambrosia was speeding out of the village without any sign of Jacinta or Sloane. AliceMiranda’s tummy knotted. Poor Jacinta.

  Millie had a similar thought. ‘If her mother’s done something to upset her, Jacinta will be in a right foul mood. I’m glad she’s sharing with Sloane.’

  ‘Millie,’ Alice-Miranda scolded her friend. ‘I have a feeling Jacinta might need all of us to cheer her up.’

  Doreen Smith glanced at her tiny charge sitting beside her in the passenger seat. ‘Why don’t I make Jacinta’s favourite dessert tonight?’ she said.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Smith, I think that’s a wonderful idea,’ Alice-Miranda replied. ‘I think its cherry cheesecake.’

  The woman nodded. ‘Consider it done.’

  Myrtle Parker arrived home from her errands and stared sadly at the jungle of weeds growing among the roses in the front garden. She was tired of living a widow’s life, having lost her beloved Reginald years ago. Except Reginald wasn’t dead, he was just asleep in the front sitting room.

  It had happened one evening when Evelyn was on her way home from a Show Society meeting. She had left Reginald with his favourite dinner, curried sausages, and a list of jobs that needed doing before she got back. Myrtle arrived at the front door to find him up a ladder on the roof in the dark, clearing out the gutters. She hadn’t meant to startle the silly man, but startled he was and he slipped right off the edge. Myrtle discovered him lying on the driveway in an odd position. His injuries didn’t appear to be life threatening at the time – a broken leg and a gash on the forehead – but while he was in hospital something terribly strange happened.

  Myrtle visited every day, telling him how much she needed him and bringing in an ever-growing list of chores that would need to be attended to as soon as he was out of hospital. According to one of the nurses, Reginald wa
s reading the list one morning when his eyes began to get heavy. She asked him if he was all right and the poor man just said that he was tired – exhausted, really. He closed his eyes and had been asleep ever since. That was three years ago.

  Test after test said that there was plenty of activity going on in his brain and his body seemed to have recovered from the injuries. No one could work it out. There was some nasty talk around the village that Myrtle had driven him to it – the poor man, never getting a minute’s rest. But of course that wasn’t true. Myrtle was a stickler for eight hours sleep a night, not a minute more, not a minute less.

  The doctors said that he should make a full recovery but after six months they simply gave up, saying they couldn’t understand it. One of the physicians said that it was as if he didn’t want to wake up. Every now and then, usually on the days that Myrtle was too busy to visit him, a smile would settle on the man’s face.

  Myrtle trekked back and forth to the hospital in Downsfordvale. The whole arrangement was highly problematic, particularly in the lead-up to showtime, when Myrtle was always busier than an ants’ nest before a summer storm.

  The doctors wondered if Reginald might do better in his own surroundings. So Myrtle took him home and set him up in the sitting room as the bedrooms were far too small to accommodate the required equipment. She found this a terrible inconvenience when it came to entertaining. Afternoon tea parties were never the same again as the ladies were forced to spy each other over the top of the bedclothes. On a couple of occasions Myrtle thought that all the noise her friends made might wake him up, but if anything, their presence seemed to send him into an even deeper sleep.

  Home care was expensive too but Reginald had been a sensible man and his life insurance policy covered the cost of a live-in nurse, although they were usually unreliable young things and Myrtle frequently found herself having to interview new staff.

  So, despite the fact that Reginald lived and breathed, Myrtle considered herself as much a widow as any other in the village.

  With the whole afternoon on her hands, she decided to give the sitting room some special attention. The new nurse, a stout woman called Raylene, had ducked out to the pharmacy. If the past couple of weeks were any indication, she’d be gone at least a couple of hours. The woman seemed to find any number of things to do that kept her away from the house.