Stables S.O.S. by Janet Rising Page A

look at where the house was,” Sophie told us triumphantly.
    â€œYippee!” shouted Bean, punching the air. “That was fast work!”
    â€œDon’t get too excited!” Sophie warned us. “It’s just a preliminary visit to take a look and see what’s around. There are no promises, but the fact that he’s interested is pretty encouraging.”
    â€œWill he have to meet Robert Collins?” asked James, frowning.
    â€œEr, well, I sort of didn’t tell him that I wasn’t actually the owner of the land,” Sophie said ruefully. “He just seemed to assume that I had the authority, so I let him think that. When things progress I’ll get Mrs. Collins involved.”
    â€œShe lied,” said Dee, making a face.
    â€œNo, Dee, it isn’t technically lying. I just…well…neglected to tell him the full facts at the moment.”
    â€œShe lied,” Dee mouthed to us behind her mom’s back, her eyes wide and her mouth open in mock horror.
    â€œDesperate measures for desperate times,” said James, nodding.
    â€œWhat happens when he finds out?” I asked.
    â€œWe’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Sophie replied firmly. “First things first. We need to get some interest going, don’t we? If the site is important, it won’t matter who owns it. National Heritage will just refuse to let anyone build on it.”
    The sound of hoofbeats heralded Bambi’s return to the yard. Emily was once more walking beside her mother, and Bambi’s stirrups were run up their leathers, her girth slack.
    As Cat came out to take Bambi from her aunt, we heard Aunt Pam say, “I think I’d better bring Emily up for some more rides on Bam-Bam before she comes back home, Cat. We’ll say the first week in August, instead.”
    Cat just nodded, dumbly, not trusting herself to speak. I knew she hated the way her aunt called Bambi “Bam-Bam.” Just calling her that seemed to highlight how Bambi belonged to her, not Cat.
    We all watched Aunt Pam drive off with mixed feelings. Things were moving on. Mr. National Heritage was booked to Save Our Stables on Tuesday evening and Bambi had a stay of execution, so to speak. We had another two weeks to come up with a plan for our Keep Bambi Campaign.
    Would two weeks be enough?

You know how you always get a picture in your mind of how people are going to be? I had imagined the National Heritage man as pretty old, with gray hair and a matching mustache, wearing faded green tweed and with the air of an old army colonel. You know, all blustery and saying things like, “Well now!” and, “Look sharp!” And because he was from National Heritage, I somehow assumed he’d drive a very old, rather expensive car.
    How wrong was I?
    The man who got out of the small, modern, rather boring gray car couldn’t have looked less like an army type. He looked like a student. A bearded, long-haired, khaki-wearing student. Looking around the yard, he reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches.
    â€œYou can’t smoke in a stable yard!” Katy yelled at him from Bluey’s stable.
    The man dropped his unlit cigarette in alarm and gazed intently at Bluey, probably thinking he’d come to a stable full of talking horses. Which he had, only without Epona, there was no way he was going to hear them.
    Seeing me in the tack room, the NH man raised his hand in greeting and told me he had an appointment with Mrs. Wiseman.
    â€œI’ll get her,” I told him, running around the corner and yelling for Sophie. Then Katy and I shamelessly eavesdropped.
    â€œYou believe you have an Elizabethan structure here?” the man asked.
    â€œOh yes,” Sophie assured him, switching off her cell phone. Things were that serious!
    â€œVery exciting, very exciting,” breathed the NH man. “Not many of them around. We