Riders

34

It was one thing to get through to the final but quite another to have to think about it for the next two days. Ludwig was lucky. The German team liked each other, ate, drank, sightsaw, sunbathed, and worked their horses together. All were firmly rooting for Ludwig. A German victory was all that mattered. Dino received the same support from the American team.

Malise sighed and wished he could unite the British in the same way. But Rupert, Humpty, and Driffield were all individuals motivated by self-interest and ambition and frantic jealousy. Nor could you expect any solidarity from Jake Lovell, a loner who liked to keep to himself at shows. At earlier shows, Billy had kept everyone sweet, particularly Rupert. Now he was absent, tempers and hatreds flared up. Driffield’s persistent grumbling was getting on everyone’s nerves. Humpty was in despair, knowing his newly acquired sponsors would be far from happy he hadn’t made the final. Rupert and Jake made no secret of their mutual animosity. It was ironic, thought Malise, that each would get more of a kick from finishing in front of the other than winning the championship.

Determined to create some sense of union, however, Malise insisted the entire team and their wives, including Fen, went out to dinner that night to celebrate having two British riders in the final. Tomorrow was a compulsory rest day, so it didn’t matter if they suffered a few hangovers.

Jake promptly refused, on the grounds they couldn’t get a babysitter. Alas, they got back to their hotel to find the patron’s wife, who had given them frightful rooms overlooking a noisy main road, had suddenly discovered from the evening paper that she had as a guest a potential World Champion. Nothing, she insisted, was too much for Monsieur Lovell. She and her husband would immediately move out of their quiet bedroom overlooking the courtyard, so Jake and Tory could have the double bed and ensure two good nights’ sleep before the great ordeal.

All this was overheard by Malise, who was staying at the same hotel. Perhaps, he asked, Madame would be prepared to babysit that evening.

To Jake’s fury, Madame was only too ’appy. Darklis and Isa would have dinner in the kitchen and watch The Sound of Music on television. It is arguable whether Monsieur or Jake felt more like strangling Madame at that moment.

By the time their rooms had been sorted out, Fen, Jake, and Tory were the last to arrive for dinner. The restaurant at the end of the town took up the entire ground floor of an eighteenth-century château on the edge of an estuary. Gleaming Virginia creeper jacketed the walls and threatened to close the shutters. Pale crimson geraniums cascaded into the khaki water.

“Smell that wine and garlic,” sighed Fen ecstatically. “Oh, cheer up, Jake. At least it’ll be a change from hamburgers and Mars bars.”

Malise, suntanned and elegant in a cream linen suit and dark blue spotted tie, and Colonel Roxborough, sweating in gray flannel, rose to welcome them. But not before Rupert had turned to Humpty, saying, “Here comes Prince Charmless and the two ugly sisters.”

“Rupert,” implored Helen, blushing scarlet. “Hi, Jake. Congratulations. I was so excited when I heard you were in.”

“As the actress said to the bishop,” said Rupert, “you’re privileged, Jake. You must be the only person who’s excited my dear wife in years. I certainly don’t.”

Helen had arrived at Les Rivaux after a long, long detour to visit some cathedral, so she had missed seeing Rupert go through to the final. They’d had a row because she refused to sleep with him, insisting she must wash her hair before dinner.

“That’s not true. I’m over the moon about you making the final. It’s just marvelous to have two British riders there.”

“Must be difficult for you, Helen. Do you support us or the Yanks?” asked Humpty.

“Particularly when you see Dino Ferranti,” said Humpty’s wife, Doreen. “He’s out of this world.”

“Come on, sit down,” said Malise. “You go next to Doreen, Jake, and Fen can go between me and Rupert, and Tory on Rupert’s other side.”

“Tory’s going to need a long spoon,” said Fen, glaring at Rupert.

“Touché,” he said, and laughed.

“What’s everyone going to have to drink?” said Colonel Roxborough. “Still on the wagon, Rupert?”

“Only till Saturday. Then I’m going to get legless. Christ, I’m starving.”

He looked across at a side table where a waiter was slicing up a long French loaf with a bread knife. “Just imagine that that was one’s cock,” he said with a shudder.

Thinking she must make some attempt at conversation, but feeling eighteen and a fat deb again, Tory asked Rupert how Tabitha was.

“Fine,” said Rupert, and proceeded to ignore her totally, talking across to Colonel Roxborough about Count Guy’s débâcle and staring at a luscious brunette at a table nearby.

Jake longed to rescue Tory but he was trapped by Doreen Hamilton. Insulated by successive waves of exultation and apprehension at making the final, he looked at the slice of lemon in his gin and Schweppes, counting the pips: I will win, I won’t, I will. Must have the best of three. There were two pips in Mrs. Hamilton’s lemon: I will, I won’t. Despondency struck. Then he looked across at Colonel Roxborough’s glass, two slices, two pips on the top: he bent his head; three on the bottom, which added up to an uneven number. Relief overwhelmed him; he would win.

Doreen Hamilton looked at him oddly. “What are you doing?”

Jake grinned. “Counting lemon pips. Odd numbers I win, evens I don’t.”

“That’s cheating. You start with an odd, so there’s more chance of ending on an odd. Tell me,” she lowered her voice, “how is Macaulay going to behave when Rupert gets on his back.”

“Very badly, I hope.”

Rupert was making no secret of the fact that he found the company boring.

Doreen’s incessant chatter gave Jake plenty of opportunity to look around. Helen, with her sadness and red hair, reminded him of autumn. He noticed the rapt expression on Malise’s face as he talked to her. So that was the way the wind blew. She’d be much happier with Malise, thought Jake. He’d look after her, but he was far too upright and old-school-tie to make a play for her.

“Soupe de Bonne Femme.” Driffield was looking at the menu. “What’s Bonne Femme?”

“Good woman,” said Rupert. “Of absolutely no interest to anyone.”

At last the food, and several bottles of wine, arrived.

“I’m sure this octopus comes out of a tin,” grumbled Driffield.

“I wish I’d chosen hors d’oeuvres like you, Fen,” said Humpty, looking disconsolately at his piece of pâté the size of a matchbox.

“I must say I’m terribly hungry,” said Fen, spearing an anchovy.

Rupert was eating cepes. He glanced up and caught Fen looking at him. “A franc for your thoughts.”

“I was hoping one was poisonous.”

“Even if it were I’d be okay for the final, have no fear. Do you honestly think Hopalong Chastity stands a chance against me?”

“He’ll beat the pants off you,” snapped Fen, “and don’t call him that.”

“Hasn’t got the big-match temperament. He’ll go to pieces.”

“He beat you at Olympia.”

“This is the big time.”

For a second he stared straight into her eyes, and suddenly it was as though he was putting a spell on her.

“You’re going to be a knockout in a couple of years,” he said, lowering his voice.

“Big deal for an ugly sister.”

“You heard, did you? I’m sorry.”

Almost matter-of-factly, as if he were examining a horse, he ran an appraising finger down her cheek. She winced away, aware of the bumpiness of her complexion.

“Those spots would go with regular sex, and you’d soon lose that puppy fat,” he said. “You ought to come and work for me. I’d let you ride in all the senior classes. You’re ready for it. That was a stunning win at the beginning of the week. Jake’s holding you back.”

“Like Revenge, I suppose. I don’t forget so quickly,” she said, her color mounting.

“Revenge won two medals,” he said. “I’m quite serious. You and I’d make a great team, in bed and out.”

He was speaking almost into his buttonhole, so none of the table except she could hear.

“What about Helen?” hissed Fen. “I suppose she doesn’t understand you.”

For a minute the candlelight flickered on the predatory, cold, unsmiling face. Then he laughed, making him human again.

“On the contrary, I don’t understand her. She uses much too long words.”

Fen gave a shriek of laughter. Then, as the smile faded and he went on staring at her, she was appalled to feel her stomach curl, overwhelmed with a squirming, helpless longing for him.

Her plate of hors d’oeuvres was taken away, hardly touched.

Humpty looked reproachful. “What a waste!”

Nor could she eat her chicken Kiev.

Jake, deep in conversation with Doreen and Colonel Roxborough about other people’s horses, had also drunk a great deal more than he’d eaten. Suddenly, he glanced down the table and saw little Fen staring at Rupert. She was curiously still. He’d seen that look in frightened mares confronted by stallions, terrified yet sexually excited. He’d felt the same terror, without the excitement, when Revenge was taken away from him. Rupert was not going to take Fen.

He stopped eating his steak, fingering his knife. Helen had noticed it too. Suddenly she stopped talking to Malise about Proust.

“It’s like asking me to go over to the Russians,” Fen was saying furiously, “and furthermore, I don’t like the way you treat your horses.”

“You’ve absolutely no idea how I treat my horses. You just listen to gossip.”

“You’re only sucking up to me because you think I’ll be so overwhelmed by your glamour, I’ll give you a lot of tips about how Jake rides his horses.”

But it was the helpless snapping of courtship.

Desperately, Helen turned to Tory. “What’s the name of the horse Jake’s riding in the final?” she asked.

Christ, she ought to know, thought Fen. She’s married to a finalist.

“He’s called Nightshade,” mumbled Tory nervously.

“But in the stable we call him Macaulay,” said Fen.

“How weird,” said Helen. “Rupert had a horse called Macaulay once, named after me. Macaulay was my maiden name.”

Rupert’s face was a mask.

“It’s the same horse,” said Fen, slowly spitting out every word.

“It can’t be,” said Helen, bewildered. She turned to Rupert. “He died of a brain tumor. You said he did.”

“I did not,” said Rupert in a tone that made Fen shiver.

Everyone was listening now.

“I sold him to that Sheik Kalil, who bought half a dozen horses a couple of years ago.”

“And you bought him from Kalil?” Helen asked Jake.

“No,” said Jake flatly, “I found him in the stone quarries.”

“He was pulling a cart loaded with bricks,” said Fen, “and he was starving. They don’t feed horses out there, or water them, just drive them in the midday sun till they collapse. Then they whip them till they get up again.”

A muscle was flickering in Rupert’s cheek.

“You’ve been listening to fairy stories again,” he said to Fen.

“We’ve got photographs,” hissed Fen, her fury fueled by guilt and anger because she found him irresistible. “Jake saved his life. I know you all sneer at all the medical knowledge he picked up from the gypsies, but it bloody well works. And it worked on Macaulay. He was just skin and bone held together by weals. He could hardly walk. It’s taken Jake two years to get him right.”

Helen looked appalled. “Is this true, Rupert?”

Rupert shrugged his shoulders. “How should I know? If you’re prepared to accept any cock-and-bull story. I run a yard on a very tight budget and I can’t ensure every horse I sell on is going to be mollycoddled for the rest of its life.”

“You sold him to the Middle East,” said Fen, knocking over her wineglass as she jumped to her feet. “You must have known what would happen. You ought to be bloody well ashamed of yourself.”

Bursting into tears, she fled out of the restaurant.

There was a stunned silence. Rupert picked up his knife and fork and went on eating his steak.

“What’s up with her?” said Driffield, looking at the puddings on the menu.

“Perhaps she’s eaten something that doesn’t agree with her,” said Ivor.

“Adolescent girls,” said Colonel Roxborough. “Up one moment, down the next. Overemotional. My daughter was like that. It’s their age. How old is she?” he asked Tory.

“Sixteen,” muttered Tory, staring at her plate. She detested scenes and she felt desperately sorry for Fen, but need she have gone quite so over the top?

“Probably tired,” said Malise.

“Needs a good night’s sleep,” said Doreen Hamilton comfortably.

“Needs a good screw,” said Rupert.

He hadn’t noticed that Jake had got to his feet and had limped down the table until he was directly behind Rupert.

“What did you say?”

Rupert didn’t turn his head. “You heard.”

“Yes, I heard.” Jake’s eyes glittered like deadly nightshade berries, his face ashen against the tousled black hair.

“You leave her alone, you bastard.”

“You’re hardly in a position to call me that. At least my parents were married to one another, in church too, unlike yours.”

“Rupert,” exploded Malise.

“You leave my parents out of this,” hissed Jake. “I’m warning you — keep away from her.”

“Why?” drawled Rupert. “Have you got the hots for her? If you read your prayer book you’d realize that sort of thing’s very frowned on. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife’s sister and all that.”

The next moment, Jake had grabbed Rupert’s shirt collar with one hand and snatched up the bread knife from the side table with the other.

Jerking Rupert towards him, he held the knife against Rupert’s suntanned neck.

“Keep your foul mouth shut,” he gritted. “If I catch you putting one of your filthy fingers on her, I’ll run this through you, you fucking sadist,” and very slowly he drew the blade across Rupert’s throat. No one moved, no one spoke. Everyone’s eyes were mesmerized by the knife blade glinting in the candlelight.

Then Helen gave a strangled sob.

“Jake,” said Malise quietly, “give me that knife.”

“It’s all right, Colonel Gordon,” said Jake, without looking in his direction. “This time it’s a warning, Rupert, but you heard me: you stay away from her. Next time you won’t get off so lightly.”

He threw the knife down so it fell across Fen’s red wine stain, giving an illusion of spilt blood, then limped out of the restaurant.

“Are you all right?” gasped Helen.

Rupert sprang to his feet, ready to give chase. But Malise was too quick. Leaping up, he blocked Rupert’s path.

“No,” he said sharply. He might have been speaking to a rabid dog about to pounce. “Stay — here. It was all your fault.”

Rupert looked at him incredulously.

“That man has just tried to kill me.”

“There’s a simple remedy to that,” said Malise. “Don’t wind him up.”

“Bloody bad form,” said Colonel Roxborough. “Fellow can’t hold his drink. Let’s have some brandy. Think we all need it.”

“I want some crêpes suzette,” said Driffield.

Rupert sat down, his face absolutely still.

Malise looked round. “None of this is to go any further than this table. We don’t want the press getting hold of it. Rupert was simply taking trouble to be nice to Fen; she overreacted because she’s protective about Macaulay. Jake overreacted because he’s protective about both her and the horse. Isn’t that true, Tory?”

Blushing scarlet, Tory mumbled that Jake was probably uptight about the final and she better see where’d he got to, and, thanking Malise for a lovely dinner, she stumbled out of the restaurant, knocking over a chair as she went.

“Tory the elephant packed her trunk and said good-bye to the circus,” said Rupert.

Fen didn’t stop running until she got to the stables. It was dark now, a huge full moon with a smudged apricot pink face gazed down at her reproachfully. How could she have let herself go like that?

She went straight to Macaulay’s box. He was enchanted to see her and nuzzled her pockets inquiringly as she sobbed into his solid black neck. “Oh, Mac, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t dump on you when you’ve got so many worries of your own, but I’m in such a muddle. I should never have said all those awful things. Malise’ll never pick me for the team now.”

Gradually her sobs subsided as Macaulay stood in silent, titanic sympathy.

“You’re such a duck,” she said in a choked voice. “Please buck that pig off the day after tomorrow.”

She heard a step outside. Jake, Malise, Rupert? She couldn’t talk to anyone. She melted into the dark of the box behind Macaulay. The top half-door was stealthily opened. Behind Macaulay’s stalwart frame she couldn’t see who it was. Then she heard the sound of something hitting the water bucket. Then the door was shut and bolted.

“Hell.” She was locked in for the night.

Next minute the ever-greedy Macaulay had shot towards the door and she heard the sound of munching. Desperately she snatched the bucket from him.

“No, darling, you mustn’t eat it. We don’t know what it is.”

Snorting with exasperation, Macaulay pursued her around the box.

Suddenly the top half of the door was opened again.

“Who is it?” she said in terror.

“What the hell are you doing here?” said Jake.

“Talking to Mac.”

“Disturbing his beauty sleep more likely. You okay?” he added more gently.

“Yes, but look what someone’s put in his box.” She held up the bucket.

Jake lit a match and then whistled. “Jesus Christ!”

“What is it?”

“Beet, unsoaked,” he said grimly. “Someone’s trying to nobble him.”

“Rupert,” said Fen.

Jake shook his head. “He’s still in the restaurant. Might be one of his supporters, but I don’t think it’s Rupert’s form. Too easily traced, and he’s just longing for a chance to make me look silly in the final. More likely some Kraut fanatic or one of the Yanks. Brits don’t knobble Brits. All the same, we’ll have to take turns to sleep outside the box. I’ll stay here tonight. You go back and share our double bed with Tory.”

“You ought to get a decent night’s sleep.”

“I’m so bloody tired, I’d sleep on a bed of nails.”

Back in their hotel, still wearing a pale gray silk petticoat, Helen Campbell-Black removed her makeup with a shaking hand, turning her head to catch different reflections in the three-sided mirror. Rupert was already in bed, watching a tape of Clara jumping on the hired video machine. Every so often he froze the film so he could study the angle of Ludwig’s body or the position of his hands. Each fence was played over and over again. Then he got up and strolled naked across the room, changing the tape to one of Dino jumping President’s Man in Florida. The horse was young and inexperienced, giving each fence at least a foot, because he hadn’t yet learnt to tuck his legs under him. Manny, as Dino called him, would need much more riding in the final. Rupert could see Dino carefully positioning him at each fence. Pity there wasn’t any film of Hopalong jumping Macaulay.

As Helen picked up a different jar to remove the makeup round her eyes, she caught a glimpse of Rupert in the mirror, with his back to her. He must have lost ten pounds. He’d always had a marvelous physique, but now he was fined down to a leaner, even more muscular hardness. He seemed to burn with excess energy and restlessness. I must be married to the most desirable man in the world, she thought despairingly, so why do I feel so undesiring? Since the affair with Podge, she’d tried so hard to make advances, to be more imaginative, but it was as though he pressed the freeze button on her each time, turning her to stone, robbing her of any spontaneity.

Was he attracted to Fen, she wondered, or had he just been baiting Jake? She knew Jake pulling a knife wouldn’t put him off in the least. Malise had dismissed the incident as a drunken brawl, but she was frightened by the obsessive black hatred in Jake’s eyes.

She delayed getting into bed as long as possible, praying that Rupert might fall asleep. But when she finally came out of the bathroom, he had turned off the television and was lying on the bed, looking at the latest photographs of the children she’d brought from England. He flipped past the ones of Marcus with hardly a glance, but examined every angle of Tab’s sweet pink face. Perhaps Tab would be the one female in his life he could love unstintingly without despising her or himself.

“Take your nightdress off,” he said, without even looking up.

Helen sighed and complied.

Rupert pulled her towards him, not even bothering to kiss her. I’ll be so dry inside, she thought in panic, and he’s so huge it’s going to hurt. Instinctively her mind and her body went rigid. His cock reminded her suddenly of the gray stone gargoyles jutting, hard and ugly, out of the walls of the cathedral.

“What’s the matter?” Rupert prised her legs open with his hand.

“Jake pulling that knife, I can’t get it out of my mind.”

“What aspect of it?” he said mockingly. “Were you turned on by such a macho display on Jake’s part, or the thought of being a rich widow?”

“Oh, stop it,” sobbed Helen.

“Or were you jealous of Fen?”

“She’s only a child,” gasped Helen, as his fingers moved up inside her. “It’s not fair.”

“To her or you?” said Rupert. “Look, do you honestly think I’m going to chat up a fat pustular schoolgirl for any other reason than to rile Hopalong Chastity? And I certainly succeeded. None of the Lovell contingent’ll get any sleep tonight.”

“And what about Macaulay?”

“You never bothered about him when I had him. Any solicitude after he’s sold on seems a bit out of place.”

He took her then. Helen lay back, quite unable to participate. It was over in a couple of minutes and she was certain he’d been thinking about Fen.

Tense and miserable, she knew she should drop the subject, but she couldn’t help warning Rupert to stay away from Fen. Jake was obviously unbalanced about her. When he didn’t answer, she thought he was really taking in what she said. It was five minutes before she realized he was fast asleep.

Rupert was right. None of the Lovell contingent slept. Fen, lying on one edge of the bed, couldn’t stop thinking about Rupert. “My only love sprang from my only hate,” she whispered to herself, as Helen had five years earlier. Tory lay on the edge of the other side. She was worried about Jake. A row like that was the last thing he needed before the final. She felt even more guilty that she was suddenly racked with jealousy of Fen, her baby sister, who was growing more beautiful every day. Rupert, who had never treated Tory with anything but contempt, had really taken the trouble to chat up Fen, and she too had seen the black hatred in Jake’s face when he held that knife to Rupert’s throat. She tried to tell herself that Jake was fiercely protective of anything he owned, particularly his family. She tried to suppress the thought that Jake was falling in love with Fen.

Jake, after an hour’s deep sleep, was woken by the barking of the Rotweiller guarding Ludwig’s horses. Hatred of Rupert, churning around and around in his head, prevented him dropping off again. Next morning, despite all Malise’s stipulations, the story of the knife was all around the showground.

Grooming the horses next day, Fen found she had never been the recipient of so much chatting up. The public flowed by to get a glimpse of a possible future champion. Suddenly, every German, American, and English groom or rider seemed to have time to stop and gossip, and ask her how she and Macaulay were getting on, what he was like to ride, what sort of temperament he had. Watching the Lovell children swarming all over him, they could be excused for thinking he was as mild as an old sheep.

Dino Ferranti rolled up about midday.

“Hi,” he said.

“Buzz off,” said Fen, applying the body brush with more vigor.

“That is a cute horse, and you sure have a cute ass when you’re grooming him. How’s he feeling today?”

“Just fine,” snapped Fen.

“I really like him. Jake’s smart; doesn’t jump him that often, does he? Pulls him out for the big event. I never heard of him before this week.”

Fen turned, pink from exertions and anger. “Don’t smarm over me just because you want information about Mac. I’m not telling you anything about him.”

“Honey, you’re overreacting. I admire your boss. How’d you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

“No, thanks.”

“We won’t mention Macaulay once, right. I just need an attractive girl to help me relax.”

“Why should I help you relax? You’re the opposition.”

He really is attractive, she thought reluctantly, lounging against the door, with that wide untroubled smile and the marvelously relaxed, elongated body.

He shook his head. “You ought to get out. There’s more to show jumping than the inside of a tack-cleaning bucket. You ought to have some fun. Anyway,” he added slyly, “I am just dying to hear what happened last night. Did Jake really pull a bread knife on Rupert? You must be the most fought-over girl in France.”

“Shut up,” said Fen, blushing to the roots of her sweating hair. “I don’t want to discuss it. Now, please go away.”

Later in the day all the finalists tried to relax. Leaving Helen to visit the house in which Proust spent his childhood, Rupert went racing with Count Guy and Lavinia, and had three winners, which seemed a good omen. The copy of the Evening Standard, specially flown in for Patric Walker’s horoscope, also predicted Scorpios would have an exciting and successful weekend. So he felt he could legitimately relax. The German team swam and sunbathed together. The Americans took a plane to Paris and went sightseeing. Jake took Tory, Fen, Tanya, and the children for a picnic in the Brittany countryside, finding a perfect place shaded by a glimmering silver poplar copse by the side of a meandering river. Tory and Tanya slept, the children swam and made daisy chains with Fen. Jake wandered off with binoculars, reveling in the wildflowers and butterflies. He found a very rare orchid, stocked up on the medicine cupboard, and also, to his joy, discovered a clump of tansy, so he had a fresh lucky sprig to put in his left boot for tomorrow.

Night fell. Jake and Tory were safely tucked up at the hotel. In a sleeping bag outside Macaulay’s box, Fen took up her position with Lester the teddy bear. It was quiet and very hot. All she could hear was the occasional stamp of a horse and the sound of Rupert’s bodyguard pacing up and down outside Snakepit’s box. The indigo sky was overcrowded with stars. Too many, like my spots, thought Fen. They suddenly seemed to have doubled. It must be the curse coming. Perhaps that was why she was so jumpy.

Now she was alone she could think about Rupert — and Dino. She was in such a muddle. Jake had kept her so busy over the past three years that truthfully there had been no time for men in her life, except for her long-distance crush on Billy Lloyd-Foxe. Now she was assailed by all kinds of longings and despairs. If only she were Helen, able to roll up at the championship with gleaming hair, bathed, in a beautiful uncreased dress after eight hours of sleep. She hated Rupert, and Dino, who had asked her out only because he wanted to pump her, but it made her realize how much she was missing by devoting herself so exclusively to horses. If only she felt tired. She stiffened as a step approached. Then she caught a waft of scent. It was Dino.

“Couldn’t sleep. No point in jumping rounds in my head, so I just came by to check no one’s been after Manny.”

“They haven’t,” said Fen.

“D’you want a drink?” He produced a flask from his pocket. “It’s only bourbon. I’ve only had two drinks all evening. Christ, I’d like to get looped. May I talk with you for a few minutes?”

He slid down the stable wall beside her, sitting with his long legs bent at an acute angle. In the faint light, she could see the perfect profile.

“Are you nervous?”

He nodded. “Sounds kinda Girl Scout, but I don’t want to let the team down — they’ve been so great — or the horse, or my Daddy or Mumma. They were great, too, to back me. I guess none of us needs the money like Jake. How come he hates Rupert so much?”

Fen explained about the bullying at school and the barrage of insults and the annexing of Revenge, and the cruelty to Macaulay.

“Guess that’s enough to be going on with,” said Dino, handing her his bourbon flask. He noticed with a flicker of encouragement that she didn’t bother to wipe the neck before she drank.

“Jake’s terribly torn,” explained Fen. “He wants to beat Rupert so badly, but he’s crucified at the thought of what it might do to Macaulay’s confidence having Rupert on his back again. It must be hell, like going to a wife-swapping party on one’s honeymoon. Bad enough the thought of one’s darling wife sleeping with three other men, but even worse if she enjoyed it more than she did with you.”

Dino laughed. “Yeah, that just about sums it up. I’m kind of ambivalent about Rupert, too. I really like the guy. He makes me laugh, but that was before I met his wife.”

“What about her?” Fen tried to sound casual.

“Well, she’s so beautiful; I mean, seriously beautiful. The way he carries on with girls. They were coming out of his ears on the Florida circuit, and boy, they threw themselves at him. I figured he’d made some kind of marriage of convenience to some dog. Then I had dinner with them this evening. I mean, how could you cheat on that? Christ, I’d never let her out of my sight, and he treats her like shit, putting her down all the time. I was appalled. Doesn’t she have anyone on the side? She could get anyone.”

Fen suddenly felt horribly depressed. Because Rupert was so unfaithful to Helen, one tended to write her off as a sexual threat.

“I’ve never heard anything about other men. I think she’s too frightened of Rupert, and so are the men. One of the Italian team kept her too long on the dance floor once and his hands started to travel, and Rupert hit him across the room.”

“That figures — like hamadryas baboons.”

“Like what—?”

“Huge baboons that live in the desert in Abyssinia. They’re more interested in fighting off other male baboons than in screwing their wives. In fact they neglect their wives when there’s no one to fight off. I’m telling you, I’m going to be in Britain for Crittleden and I am going to make one helluva pitch. She doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment.”

“I wonder if Jake’s getting any sleep,” said Fen.

“Shouldn’t guess so. It’s like Henry the Fifth on the eve of Agincourt. I’d better go and get some insomnia. Night, honey, this time tomorrow we’ll be bombed on euphoria or despair.”

Lying awake at the hotel, Jake looked at his watch — three o’clock. Within fourteen hours, he’d know if he’d pulled the mightiest from their seats. His good leg ached because it hadn’t been relaxed with sleep. He kept breaking out in a cold sweat at the thought of riding Snakepit. He knew he wasn’t strong enough to hold him. If he fell off and wrecked himself, there wasn’t anyone to ride the horses. He also knew Tory had been awake all night beside him. Thank God she knew when to keep her trap shut.

“Tory,” he said, reaching out for her.

“Yes.” She put her arms round him. “Do you want to talk, or turn on the light and read?”

She could feel him shaking his head in the darkness.

“It’s going to be all right. Horses always go well with you. You’re going to win.”

“I wish I was riding Sailor.”

“He’d have looked after you, but he might have looked after the others a bit too well. Macaulay hasn’t got such a conscience.”

She slid her hand down the empty hollow of his belly and touched his cock.

“Would that help?”

“It might, but I won’t be much use to you.”

“I don’t need it.” The bedsprings creaked as she clambered down the bed, then he felt the warm soft caress of her lips and the infinite tenderness of her tongue. Because he knew she liked doing it, there was no hurry, no tension.

“I was so right to marry you,” he mumbled.

Tory was filled with an overwhelming happiness. In the eight years of their marriage, he’d probably paid her as many compliments, but when they came they were worth everything. She felt bitterly ashamed that she had wasted so much emotion being jealous of Fen.

* * *

Rupert got up and dressed.

“Where are you going?” said Helen.

“For a walk. It’s hot. I can’t sleep.”

“Oh, darling, you must rest. Shall I come with you?”

“No, go back to sleep.”

A quarter of an hour later he paused beside Fen, her long hair fanning out, already slightly damp from the dew, teddy bear clutched in her arms. He toyed with the idea of waking her, but she needed sleep. He’d put her on ice for a later date. As he pulled the sleeping bag round her, she clutched the teddy bear tighter, muttering, “Don’t forget to screw in the studs.”

When he let himself into the lorry, Dizzy hardly stirred in her sleep, smiled, and opened her arms. Rupert slid into them.

Ludwig von Schellenberg had such self-control that he willed himself into eight hours’ dreamless sleep.