Polo

42

Not since the Civil War when it had been a Royalist stronghold, which only yielded to the Roundheads after a long and bloody battle, had the sleepy market town of Cotchester witnessed such scenes of mayhem. Police had been bused in from all over the West of England to control the crowds who, despite driving snow and bitter East winds, had turned up to catch a glimpse of Rupert and his bride. The media, who almost outnumbered the crowd, were going berserk because Rupert had banned them from the cathedral and refused, to the rage of his mother and his mother-in-law, even to allow the wedding service to be privately videoed. ‘We are not fucking film stars and the only record we need of this marriage is Tag’s wedding ring.’

Dusk had fallen and the snow turned to sleet as Daisy arrived. There were such traffic jams in the High Street that she was frightened she might be late. She was also slightly apprehensive about the clothes Drew had bought her which consisted of a black velvet blazer printed with big pale pink roses, black velvet knickerbockers, a white frilled shirt and black buckled shoes. She had added a bright pink cummerbund and tied her hair back with a black satin bow.

But all her nerves disappeared when the first person she saw was Drew holding a vast blue-and-green umbrella over the Tory Leader and her husband as they progressed to loud cheers and the popping of hundreds of flashbulbs through the great doors of the cathedral. Next minute Basil Baddingham, a wonderfully elongated figure with his red-and-yellow umbrella bucking in the wind like a spinnaker sail, dived forward to shield Daisy from the blizzard. ‘Darling, you look so sexy, just like Dick Turpin. Bags I be Black Bess.’

Daisy giggled. The flash bulbs popped.

‘There’s that Koo Stark,’ yelled a fat flushed woman, pointing at Daisy.

‘Well done getting the franchise,’ said Daisy, breathing in the heady scent of Givenchy for Men and Bas’s gardenia.

‘Marvellous, isn’t it. About time my awful brother got his come-uppance. When can I come and see your etchings?’ Gazing down, Bas massaged the inside of her rose-patterned arm with his thumb.

‘Any time.’ Daisy was anxious to spin out the conversation as long as possible so she might grab a word with Drew on his return journey.

‘How was Rupert’s stag party?’

‘Hell.’ Bas put down his umbrella as they entered the cathedral. ‘Rupert wouldn’t drink, wouldn’t chat up any of the stunning crumpet we’d provided, just banged on and on that he wasn’t good enough for Taggie, with which I entirely agree, and how he wasn’t going to see her until this evening and how he was suffering from the most godawful withdrawal symptoms, which is not something that’ll happen in their nuptial bed this evening.’

Inside the cathedral to the smell of musk, incense and antiquity were added wafts of a hundred scents and aftershaves and of huge banks of white roses, lilies and freesias. The women’s jewellery, much of it paid for in the past by Rupert, and their excited painted faces were lit up by thousands of white flickering candles. And the clothes they wore were also in jewel colours, sapphire, ruby, garnet-pink, emerald and amethyst; satins, silks and taffetas all rustling and gleaming. Daisy thanked God she’d taken so much trouble with her appearance.

‘We could fill the bridegroom’s side alone with Rupert’s stepparents and his exes,’ murmured Bas. ‘Now, where can we find a space to squeeze you in?’

‘For Christ’s sake stop gassing, Bas,’ snapped Drew. ‘Hello, Daisy, you look pretty.’

‘Just finding a glamorous, unattached man for her to sit next to,’ said Bas maliciously, ‘No, let’s make it two,’ and he swept Daisy off to a pew ten rows in front, which was already noisily inhabited by the Carlisle twins, mahogany-tanned from playing in the Mexican and Argentine Opens, and Janey Lloyd-Foxe, an incredibly glamorous journalist, married to Billy Lloyd-Foxe, Rupert’s best man and old show-jumping crony.

‘They’ll tell you who everyone is,’ said Bas, massaging Janey’s collarbone, and sliding his hand down the front of her bright blue suit.

‘Mrs Macleod, you look stunning,’ said Seb, patting the space between him and Dommie. ‘How’s that sexy, toffee-nosed daughter of yours? Janey’s just telling us how furious the Bishop is.’

‘The Bishop’s got a thumping crush on Taggie,’ Janey smiled wickedly at Daisy, ‘so he agreed to marry her in Christmas week, which is quite unprecedented, before he realized she was marrying his bête noire, or rather bête-Campbell-Black. And Declan told the Bishop it was going to be the tiniest wedding, and now look at this circus.’ She waved a gold-braceleted hand at the packed pews who were yelling away like a vast drinks party. ‘And someone’s lit all the candles which were meant for Midnight Mass. God, look at that.’ Janey paused in her lecture as a Brazilian polo player with blackcurrant ripple hair and an amazing brunette on his arm, shimmered past. ‘And the Bishop’s even more miffed because Rupert’s mother – that’s her up the front with her fifth husband and roulette chips rattling round in the bottom of her bag – insisted on inviting an outside priest to help. That’s him in the red cassock. I’m sure he’s got breeches and boots underneath like Richard Chamberlain in The Thorn Birds.’

‘Here comes the bride’s mother,’ said Dommie, as Declan O’Hara’s wife Maud swept by in a fuschia-pink suit, clashing dazzlingly with her piled-up red hair.

‘That suit cost more than the wedding put together,’ said Janey scribbling frantically. ‘Balmain, I think. She’s determined to upstage the bride.’

‘And that’s Rupert’s immediate ex-mistress, Cameron Cook, even more determined to upstage the bride,’ said Seb, as a furious-looking girl in a clinging, leopard-skin dress and no hat on her short, sleeked-back hair stalked by.

‘Cameron’s taken up with Declan’s son, Patrick,’ explained Janey to Daisy. ‘He’s the beauty following her. Isn’t he amazing looking? But it must be hell for Cameron handing the torch over to Taggie so publicly. My God, there’s Victor and Sharon Kaputnik. How the hell did they get invited?’

‘Victor paid me £5,000,’ said Seb simply, ‘half of which I split with Rupert.’

‘You never told me. I should get a cut,’ protested Dommie as Victor, carrying his telephone, and Sharon all in white like a great swan, filled up almost an entire pew.

‘That’s Declan’s other daughter, Caitlin,’ went on Janey, as a pretty teenager with grass-green hair clumped by in a black cloak and Doc Marten boots. ‘She refused to be a bridesmaid unless she could wear jeans,’ she added, as Caitlin slid into a pew two rows in front, already inhabited by her brother and Cameron Cook, and promptly lit a cigarette.

Daisy was aware of Drew going steadily back and forth bringing in different people, smiling slightly in her direction. He made so much less din and worked twice as efficiently as the other ushers, particularly Bas, who couldn’t resist squeezing and joking with every girl he accompanied. I love Drew, thought Daisy, I love his dependability and sense of responsibility.

‘Interesting, she’s turned up,’ said Dommie, offering Daisy a swig of brandy, as the arrival of Rupert’s ex-wife Helen caused a ripple of interest. She was wearing a dark grey suit with a white, puritan collar and a tiny grey hat with a veil over her huge, yellow eyes.

‘She’s stunning,’ sighed Daisy.

‘Bit earnest,’ said Janey. ‘Beattie Johnson was dead right describing her as a lead balloon at an orgy. That’s their son, Marcus, sweet boy, never got on with Rupert. Taggie might bring them together.’

A colossal cheer went up from outside the cathedral as Dancer came in, glamorously emaciated in a light grey morning coat, his glittering, grey eyes emphasized by kohl, his streaked, tousled mane coaxed forward to hide the Mantan join on the hairline.

‘He’s going to sing the anthem,’ said Dommie.

‘And I’m the only member of the press Rupert’s allowed in to witness it,’ said Janey smugly, ‘although that acolyte who’s just whisked by in that white laundry bag looks suspiciously like Nigel Dempster. I’ll kill Nigel if . . . That’s the one I want,’ went on Janey lowering her voice and her neckline by a button.

‘Who?’ asked Daisy.

‘El Orgulloso,’ murmured Janey, pointing at Ricky who’d just sat down beside Dancer. ‘Look at that duelling scar and those hard, hard cheekbones beneath those dark, dark eyes, and all that sadness waiting to be comforted. And he still never takes off that black tie in mourning for Will.’

‘He is lovely,’ agreed Daisy.

‘I could cheer him up. In fact I’m going to have a crack at him this evening.’ Janey had to raise her voice above another even more deafening burst of cheering, accompanied by pealing bells. ‘Oh look, here comes my husband and the bridegroom.’

Having not seen Rupert for eighteen months, when he’d been chatting up pretty mothers and cheering on his daughter Tabitha at the Pony Club Championships, Daisy was shocked by his appearance. He must have lost a stone and a half, and was as white as his carnation. As he stalked up the aisle, he was followed by Janey’s husband, Billy, whose top shirt button was missing and whose morning coat had split on the left seam. Running to keep up with Rupert, smiling and waving at everyone, he paused to kiss Janey.

‘Rupert’s in the most frightful tiz. I’ve been trying to force-feed him quadruple brandies, but he won’t drink because he’s got to fly the helicopter afterwards. See you later,’ and he was off to the front pew, simultaneously trying to calm Rupert down and turning round to chatter to Rupert’s score of stepparents in the rows behind.

‘What a lovely man,’ said Daisy.

‘Isn’t he?’ said Janey, who was, however, looking at the bridegroom’s cold, unsmiling face. ‘Perhaps Rupert’s having second thoughts. I never thought Taggie was very pretty.’

‘That’s because you’re not a man,’ said Dommie, offering Daisy another swig. ‘We’re awfully late starting. Oh, do look.’ He started to laugh. The next moment Janey, Daisy and Seb had joined in. For on Caitlin O’Hara’s heavily laddered black knees sat a little black-and-white mongrel Gertrude, with a pink bow round her neck bristling with disapproval and shutting her eyes to avoid Caitlin’s cigarette smoke.

‘I do think you ought to take that dog out,’ said her mother petulantly. ‘It’s so selfish of Rupert not to allow the television cameras in.’

Rupert looked at his watch.

‘Go and ring and see what’s happened,’ he snapped at Billy.

‘Do use Sir Victor’s phone,’ said Sharon Kaputnik, graciously waylaying Billy on the way down the aisle and cutting off a furious Victor in mid-call to New York.

‘Oh, look,’ whispered Janey to Daisy. ‘Here comes Sukey Benedict. Silly old fossil always doing up other people’s buttons. That’s a nice suit, Sukey,’ she called out as Bas maliciously showed Sukey into the pew in front.

‘Drew chose it,’ said Sukey, lowering her voice in deference to her surroundings. ‘Hello, twins, hello, Daisy. I absolutely adore the picture of Flash. Drew couldn’t resist giving it to me before Christmas. Such a good likeness.’

Drew, on his way back from delivering yet another of Rupert’s stepmothers, froze in his tracks when he saw where Sukey was sitting. Bloody Bas stirring it again.

‘Hello, darling,’ stage-whispered Sukey. ‘Just telling Daisy how much we love Flash.’

Drew’s eyes flickered. ‘It’s very good.’

A great party of show-jumpers and their wives, who’d obviously just finished a good lunch, were ushered into a side aisle as a returning Billy sat down beside Rupert whispering that Taggie was on her way.

With stately dignity the Bishop mounted the steps to the pulpit, which was topped with pink-and-white carnations, leaning out for a first glimpse of the bride. He looked thunderous. The heathen had invaded his church.

‘I should like everyone to spend the next five minutes before the bride arrives,’ he announced heavily over the microphone, ‘in silence, praying for the happiness of Rupert and Agatha and examining their own marriages.’

Everyone’s jaw dropped in amazement. Then, because none of them wanted to think about their marriages, they all started yakking again, ignoring the Bishop stomping furiously back down the aisle.

‘Rather suspect vowel sounds,’ said Rupert’s mother.

‘Who on earth’s Agatha?’ grumbled Rupert’s father. ‘Thought Rupert was marrying someone called Taggie.’

‘D’you think Rupert’s got AIDS?’ murmured Sharon Kaputnik nervously. ‘He looks so thin. Oh, do stop phoning for a second, Victor.’

‘Where the fuck is she?’ snarled Rupert. ‘I bet Declan’s had a shunt. I should never have let her out of my sight.’

His knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the pew. A muscle flickered non-stop in his cheek.

Just a simple service, thought the Bishop, inflating like a bullfrog as he began the long procession up the church, followed by choirboys and acolytes.

‘I’m sure that’s Nigel Dempster,’ said Janey. ‘Nigel . . .’ she hissed.

The passing acolyte flicked his censer in her direction, winked and moved on.

I want to marry Drew, thought Daisy, as Handel’s Water Music petered out and the organ swelled to the soaring yellow roof with ‘Here comes the Bride’. Rupert, who was tone deaf, didn’t recognize the tune, but the congregation stumbled to their feet.

‘It’s OK. It’s your opening number,’ said Billy soothingly.

And slowly up the long, long aisle came Declan O’Hara. His hair was almost all silver now, the worry of the fight for the franchise had dug great trenches on his forehead and on either side of his mouth. His morning coat was crumpled, he was wearing odd socks, tears poured down his cheeks, but Daisy, glancing round, thought his face should have been hewn out of rock on Mount Vernon. Surreptitiously taking a pencil out of her bag, she started to draw him on the back of her service sheet.

Beside him, almost as tall but half the breadth and shivering frantically like a young poplar in a force-ten gale, walked the bride. She wore Rupert’s mother’s tiara, shaped like the new moon, in her cloudy dark hair, now covered by the slightly yellowing Campbell-Black family veil. Her dress of heavy, ivory silk, only finished two days ago, was already too big for her. The train glittered in the candlelight like a dragonfly’s wing and seemed to have a life all its own as it slithered, iridescent, over the faded flagstones.

‘Look at that body,’ sighed Seb. ‘Oh lucky, lucky Rupert.’

The Bishop of Cotchester waited in his gold robes on the red-carpeted steps. Rupert glanced round. For a second he gazed unbelievingly at the trembling white figure, then the tension seemed to drain out of him. Walking straight down the aisle with his arms out, a huge smile suddenly transformed his face, the handsomest man in England once again. Meeting Taggie just level with Daisy’s row, he drew her against him, shutting his eyes for a second, stilling her trembling, checking she was real. Then he looked down at her and mouthed, ‘I love you.’

‘Hello, Daddy,’ interrupted the shrill voice of Tabitha Campbell-Black, angelic in light and dark pink striped taffeta with a coronet of pink-and-white freesias over her nose. ‘D’you like my dress?’

A rumble of laughter went through the cathedral.

‘You look gorgeous,’ said Rupert, taking her hand, then, turning back to Taggie and putting his arm round her shoulder: ‘Let’s get this over with.’

‘Oh, how sweet,’ mumbled Daisy, wiping her eyes. Glancing round, Drew smiled at her fleetingly.

‘Dearly Beloved,’ intoned the Bishop, who managed to conduct the entire service without once looking at Rupert. It was disgraceful that such an utter bounder should have captured such a beautiful, innocent child.

‘I, Agatha Maud,’ stammered Taggie gazing in wonder at Rupert, ‘take thee, R-r-rupert Edward Algernon.’

‘Forsaking all others,’ said the Bishop.

‘Forsaking all others,’ repeated Rupert squeezing Taggie’s hand.

‘That’ll be the day,’ said Janey still scribbling.

Everyone jumped out of their skins as Victor’s telephone rang.

The Bishop’s temper was further taxed when Gertrude, the mongrel, who’d been held up to watch, unable to bear being put asunder from her mistress a moment longer, wriggled out of Caitlin’s arms. Again the congregation rocked with laughter as she scampered along the pew, up the aisle, her claws clattering on the flagstones and stationed herself firmly between Rupert and Taggie, who both had to exert the utmost self-control not to laugh as well.

‘I would like to take as my text the words: Forsaking all Others,’ began the Bishop heavily, and launched into a long rant about AIDS, the perils of infidelity and the low morals of his congregation. Gertrude the mongrel, listening intently, started to pant.

‘Let flesh retire, speak through the earthquake, wind and fire, oh, still small voice of calm,’ bellowed the congregation.

‘I wish my flesh would retire,’ whispered Janey, fingering the beginning of a spare tyre. ‘I find weddings frightfully unsettling, don’t you? Particularly when the couple are so madly in love. One starts looking at one’s own marriage, or lack of marriage in your case, Daisy, and saying why aren’t I as happy as them. Oh look, they’re going to sign the register and here comes Dancer to sing the anthem.’

Lucky Rupert, lucky Taggie, thought Dancer as he adjusted the microphone and gazed out over the sea of cynical, mocking faces, waiting for him to make a cock-up. As the lovely strains of Gluck’s Orpheus swept over the cathedral like a river of sunlight, Dancer’s eyes were automatically drawn to Ricky’s face, as pale and frozen as Rupert’s had been a quarter of an hour before. Dancer had given his heart irrevocably to Ricky three years ago in prison, but Ricky would never have any idea.

‘What is life to me without you,’ sang Dancer in his haunting light tenor. He played it absolutely straight – no frenziedly flying blond mane, no jabbing fingers, no juddering pelvis, just a slight smile lifting his sad clown’s face. A shiver of amazed joy ran through the congregation. Daisy’s cheeks were not the only ones to be soaked with tears.

‘I like that crooner,’ said Rupert’s father loudly. ‘Didyer say he’d made a record or he had one?’

‘What a pity he didn’t take up opera,’ whispered Sukey.

‘Don’t think he’d have made so much money,’ said Seb, ‘and he certainly wouldn’t have been able to support a polo team.’

Nudging Daisy, he pointed to Sukey’s fingers which were tangling with Drew’s, paddling the centre of his palm and caressing the inside of his powerful wrist.

‘Captain Benedict’s going to get it tonight,’ whispered Seb in Daisy’s ear. Then, seeing her look of anguish, squeezed her hand. ‘’Spect all this reminds you of your own marriage. Don’t cry. Everyone thinks you’re stunning.’

At last the organ broke into the Wedding March and down they came, Taggie and Rupert glued together. Taggie, with her veil back, dark tendrils escaping on to her forehead, eyes huge with love, all her lipstick kissed off in the vestry, kept breaking into laughter at Rupert’s outrageous asides.

‘You’d think Rupert had won a gold and the World Championships all in one,’ said Janey, opening another notebook. ‘I must say she is pretty now.’

‘He absolutely adores her,’ said the Leader of the Opposition, checking her mascara in a powder compact, ‘and she’s so enchantingly unsmug about getting him.’

Out into the snow went Rupert and his bride and the cheers and the bells rang out as the flashes of a thousand photographers lit up the High Street.

‘I mustn’t cry,’ Daisy told herself, as she followed the twins out.

‘Must just go and have a word with the horse physiotherapist,’ said Sukey, bolting off down a side aisle.

Then, so quickly Daisy couldn’t believe it was happening, a warm hand slid into her frozen one and Drew’s voice whispered, ‘Wow! I want to worship you with my body.’