Charlotte and the Starlet

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  CHARLOTTE

  AND THE Starlet

  DAVE WARNER

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including printing, photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Charlotte and the Starlet

  ePub ISBN 9781864715569

  Kindle ISBN 9781864716689

  Random House Australia Pty Ltd

  100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060

  www.randomhouse.com.au

  Sydney New York Toronto

  London Auckland Johannesburg

  First published by Random House Australia in 2007

  Copyright © Dave Warner 2007

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

  reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any

  form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,

  recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of

  the publisher.

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry

  Warner, Dave, 1953–.

  Charlotte and the starlet.

  For primary school aged children.

  ISBN 978 1 74166 124 8 (pbk.).

  1. Games on horseback – Juvenile fiction. 2. Junior riders

  (Horsemanship) – Juvenile fiction. 3. Horses – Juvenile

  fiction. I. Title.

  A823.2

  Cover photograph by Getty Images

  Cover design by SASO content & design

  Typeset by Midland Typesetters, Australia

  Printed and bound by Griffin Press, South Australia

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For Violet and Venice, who showed me the way to a

  girl's heart is a pony.

  Chapter 1

  The sun bore down from cloudless blue sky onto the red earth. Intense heat bounced in waves against the soles of Charlotte's boots as she strode past the expectant faces. She had spent almost every day of her thirteen years, ten months and six days in Snake Hills and today's furnace was nothing out of the ordinary. What was out of the ordinary was the throng of people, the noise and excitement. The Show came only once a year and nobody who lived within three hundred kilometres was going to miss it for the world. The crowd on the football oval was nothing like rush hour in the city but, compared to what was normal in this vast expanse of harsh country, the area could be described as jam-packed. Little kids jumped on plastic air-castles, parents and children fed ping-pong balls into the gaping mouths of plastic clowns and screamed with delight at winning a plastic water pistol, while in the background, the police band from Banebago Crossing played tunes that made old people smile.

  In the mounting area, though, nobody was paying attention to anything except the other riders and their horses. Charlotte's new saddle gleamed on Stormy's back. When her father had led Charlotte into the lounge room last night while giving her yet another lecture on how to win the Golden Buckle, she'd been spellbound at the sight of the beautiful leather saddle. She had assumed he'd made it for himself.

  'Wow, it's amazing. Can I hold it?'

  'Of course. It's yours.'

  She was too shocked to speak. Her dad picked it up and placed it over her arms. It was heavy and smelled divine.

  'Well? D'you like it?'

  She had put it carefully down on the couch and then thrown her arms around his waist, hugging him as tight as the nuts on his ute's wheel.

  'It's really, really beautiful.'

  She had felt so happy holding her dad. If only her mum had been there too, things would have been perfect.

  The starter's command to take their mounts returned Charlotte to the present. The other riders couldn't help looking enviously at her saddle, which made her feel good. Dangling from it now was a small plush-velvet horse, a very special toy that Charlotte hoped would bring luck. She was the youngest rider in the race, but she knew she would receive no special treatment. Charlotte had ridden against these men and women informally many times while out on a muster and, at one point or another, had beaten them all. The cross-country was different though. This wasn't some quick, fun gallop from the hill to the gum tree. This was a prestigious event, and the winner was awarded the prized Golden Buckle. Her dad had won the race five times and she'd been dreaming of the day she'd be the one to bring it home.

  She looked over her main competitors. Doug Evans would be tough. He'd been runner up to her father three times, including last year, and he would see this as his chance to finally break through. Sam Risto was only nineteen but he was probably the most naturally gifted horseman in the race. If he had a weakness, it was his tendency to take his mount over unneces-sarily high jumps along the way. Becky Unly was the only other female in serious contention. She was a strong and smart rider with a wonderful mount.

  Charlotte's father's voice broke in on her musings.

  'Coming up that last straight the wind is very strong. You want another horse or two in front of you to shelter you a little, otherwise Stormy will tire.'

  Charlotte couldn't imagine Stormy ever getting tired. But she nodded anyway to keep her dad happy. It was a shame she wouldn't be riding against him. His mount, Rocket, had injured a tendon and, for the first time in ten years, he would be a mere bystander. Mr Thomas, the official starter, called out in a loud voice. 'Riders to the start.'

  Charlotte was excited, ready to win. Only one woman had ever won the race. That was her mum, the year before she got sick. Charlotte pulled herself up onto Stormy and moved into the line. Mr Thomas and her father went to either end and picked up a paper tape designed to keep the line of horses in some kind of shape.

  'Ready.' Mr Thomas' voice was firm and clear.

  Charlotte felt her heart begin to beat faster. She tried to fight the excitement. Her father had warned her not to worry about getting away quickly. So long as she didn't race too wide during the first lap around the oval before heading out to the bush, she would be fine. Charlotte was aware of the crowd becoming hushed. She sensed all eyes were on the riders and their mounts. The tape suddenly dropped and instinctively she drove Stormy forward as the crowd let out a big, whooping cheer.

  There were twelve riders all up and it was likely that, at the end of the thirty minutes of hard cross-country riding, at least a couple would have retired. Charlotte was determined she would not be one of them.

  The first lap was a blur, as if somebody else was on Stormy and she was hiding in her brain, looking through a keyhole at herself. She settled in the middle of the field, just behind Doug Evans. The next thing she knew they had left the oval and wer
e heading out along the red soil track towards the bush. Stormy felt strong beneath her and she was dimly aware that a couple of horses were already falling off the pace, but she was determined not to look back. She noted a black horse up in front and guessed that would be Jamie Howard. Jamie always liked to lead, even in school running races. They turned into the bush, which was not much more than low scrub. Occasionally a fallen tree necessitated jumping, but it was nearly always a low obstacle. Doug Evans had edged away from her a little bit and she decided to hunt Stormy up by digging just a little harder with her heels. She was pleased that he responded effortlessly.

  Tony Richards checked his watch nervously. The riders had disappeared into the bush twenty-four minutes ago and by his reckoning the leading horses should soon emerge, ready to sprint for the oval, where they would complete one final lap. He wished he were riding. Then at least he'd have something else to concentrate on apart from being worried for Charlotte. She was a natural horseperson but that was no guarantee against an accident, especially in a race like this. He imagined Julie giving him a stern lecture about letting Charlotte ride but then the thought vanished. Julie would never have forbidden Charlotte to do the thing she most loved, the thing she was best at.

  A cheer went up from those people closest to the bush to signal the arrival of the leading horses and Tony's heart skipped a beat. His eyes scanned the lineup. Sam Risto was leading, Becky Unly was a length back and then ... yes, there was Charlotte on Stormy, tracking Becky. About two lengths back came Doug Evans.

  Charlotte felt confident. She was so focused she barely heard the cheering crowd greeting their return. About ten minutes earlier Sam Risto had gone to the front and quickened the pace. The horses had split into two groups. Stormy had responded well and Charlotte had found herself one of five leading horses. The leading group remained intact and now here they were back onto the oval for the last lap. One of these five would win.

  Sam was about three lengths in front when Becky made her move to overtake him. Charlotte edged Stormy up behind. She sensed Doug Evans had not come with her and threw a quick look over her shoulder. Doug was dropping back a little, struggling. Coming up to the last turn, Becky sent her horse alongside Sam and then Sam's horse was drifting back towards Charlotte and Stormy, his race run. Charlotte moved around him swiftly. Becky had turned for the finish post, nearly two lengths in front. Charlotte panicked. Had she left it too late? She called on Stormy to give it everything.

  Tony Richards watched as his daughter sent Stormy up on the outside of Becky Unly. 'She's gone too early,' he muttered, hoping he was wrong. Charlotte and Becky didn't look at one another as they called for their horses to give one last effort. Charlotte felt Stormy edge ahead of Becky's pretty chestnut. Just a little, and then a little more again. Yes! Becky's horse was beaten, just a hundred metres to win the Buckle.

  Now that she was clearly in front, Charlotte could feel the strong breeze her father had warned her about. It was like an invisible arm pushing against her and Stormy. She could feel Stormy tiring. Not that it mattered. Becky's horse would be even more tired. And then she heard the crowd's shouting suddenly get louder and sensed something to her outside. She managed to turn her head just in time to see Doug Evans urging his mount on. He seemed to be flying. The winning post was so close she could even see where the paint was chipped.

  'Come on, Stormy!' she urged. Poor Stormy tried hard but he was just that little bit too tired. Like a panther, Doug's horse reached Stormy a split second before the line. It was close, very close, when they crossed but she knew in that split second that she should have listened to her father. She'd been impatient and it had cost her the race.

  Chapter 2

  A long way away on the other side of the world from Charlotte, a very frustrated man was trying to reason with another thirteen-year-old girl. The man was Tommy Tempest and he was a movie director, at this very moment on location shooting a movie. It was his job to help the actors understand what they needed to do and to make sure that the sound people, the lighting people and the camera crew all filmed the actors doing what they were supposed to do.

  Tommy Tempest had directed three very successful films at the box-office, which all involved a young girl and her horse. The young girl was played by Sarah-Jane Sweeney, the thirteen-year-old who he was currently finding very, very frustrating. For every minute that they were talking and not shooting film, it was costing the film studio more than twenty thousand dollars. The film studio did not like losing money. If Tommy couldn't start shooting soon it might cost him his job. He tried to explain it once more.

  'You don't actually fall, but it looks like you're going to and then you haul yourself back onto the saddle.'

  Sarah-Jane blinked her baby blue eyes at him. 'I understand that, Tommy, but what's my motivation?'

  Tommy was ready to scream. 'To win, Sarah-Jane, that's your motivation.'

  Sarah-Jane pretended to consider that. 'Hmm,' she moaned doubtfully. 'But see, I won in Spills and Thrills when it looked like Amanda was a certainty to beat me and in Dressage To Kill I caught the murderer in the last stride. Can't we do something less ... predictable?'

  Tommy started what was soon to become a high-pitched wail. The only reason it didn't become a fully fledged yell was because he saw his assistant's worried face.

  'What now?' Tommy snapped.

  Mitch, the assistant, was used to his boss' moods. 'She's refusing to come out of her trailer.'

  Tommy Tempest turned to Sarah-Jane, forcing a smile. 'With you in a minute, Sarah. Why don't you have a flavoured yoghurt or something?'

  He pulled Mitch aside. 'Tell Leila we've got an Entertainment Tonight crew here. That always works.'

  Mitch was deadpan. 'I already did. Nothing.'

  The movie location involved fields surrounded by thick woods. In a small clearing in the centre of the woods sat a very large trailer. The most modern and expensive that money could buy. From inside came the voice of a young woman. The sort of young woman who lives in Hollywood, parties a lot with celebrities and is used to getting her own way.

  'Sarah-Jane thinks she can throw a tantrum and get them all running after her. I'll give them tantrum. I'll show them who the real star is.'

  As she spoke, Leila studied herself in her custom-made mirror. It was the largest mirror in Hollywood, a town with many large mirrors. It needed to be that big to get all of her in. Not that Leila was grossly fat. But even a perfectly proportioned bay filly like Leila needed a substantial sheet of glass in which to study her reflection. And a vain one like Leila wanted to be sure she could see the sheen of her mane and the flare of her nostrils. She turned herself around, looked over her shoulder and studied the reflection of her butt.

  'You can go on the treadmill all you like, Sarah-Jane, you can eat your lunch on it, you can even sleep-walk on it, kid, but you ain't never gonna have hindquarters like these.' Revelling in her superiority, Leila laughed to herself in a short, asthmatic whinny.

  Feathers, a pink and white cockatoo who shared the trailer, looked down through the bars of his cage. Leila's ego was getting out of control.

  'You want to be careful, Leila. That filly Chiquita is just waiting in the wings to take your place.'

  Leila snorted through powdered nostrils. 'Chiquita? She can't understand human. When she hears Tommy talking about what he'd like the horse to do, she won't move automatically into position because to her it's gibberish. Little Leila, though, she knows exactly what they're wanting. Na, a few more hours and they'll be eating out of my hoof.' She turned her head to the side and studied her profile. 'Who's this new cameraman? Do you know what he's like? And what happened to Francesco anyway? Francesco was good.'

  'Francesco got sick of you and Sarah-Jane's tantrums and found somebody easier to shoot.'

  An inveterate gossip, Leila was curious. 'Who?'

  'Russel Raven.'

  Leila had heard about Russel Raven. He seemed to always be in trouble fighting somebody. His picture
s didn't make as much money as hers but he was an Oscar winner. She liked the idea of starring opposite a real actor as opposed to that ... brat with freckles. She felt she and Russ could push one another to new heights, whereas with Sarah-Jane she simply wanted to push her from very great heights. Still studying herself, she said, 'Yeah, well, the new guy better shoot my best profile or there'll be hell to pay.'

  Feathers had had enough. 'There's no "best profile". You haven't been working out, you're eating junk. Look at this place.' He threw out a wing at a litter of empty fast-food cartons and soda cans. Leila had gone on another binge. 'There's only one way anybody could make your fat, ugly butt look good, and that's shooting it next to your fat, ugly face.'

  'Watch it, no nose, or you might wake up with your claws glued to your perch.'

  Feathers wasn't backing down. He'd known Leila since she was a foal. 'If your mother were here ...'

  If only Leila had a dollar for every time she'd heard that. 'But she's not, is she? She's off in Mexico or Madrid reading her fan mail and wasting her time with those stupid exercises, and playing up to all those past-it stallions.'

  This made Feathers angry. 'You don't know what it was like for her. A single mom. She only wanted the best for you ...'

  'Oh, I had plenty of Swedish stablehands to look after me while she was on tour, I know.' The hurtful memories still burned in Leila's brain. When she had been a vulnerable foal Leila hadn't wanted 'the best', just a mother beside her to protect and teach. But instead of being with her only daughter, her mother was always off headlining some show, dancing around the world in another exotic location. Hour after hour, day after day, little Leila had waited vainly for a glimpse of her mother but, as the shadows grew longer and Leila's hopes of ever seeing her mother faded like the light, she had grown harder, made herself less caring. Instead of her mother's heart beating beside her at night, Leila had fallen asleep to the sound of humans on television. Maybe that's why she understood human. Because the television had been her mom and dad.