Riders

41

They decided to keep Fen in hospital overnight. After they’d cleaned her up, it was found she was suffering only from a severe nosebleed and slight concussion. Later, when Billy turned up to visit her, he found her in a clean white nightgown, slumped in bed, red-eyed, with her swollen face turned to the wall.

“Fen, it’s me, Billy.”

“Is Macaulay all right?”

“Blooming. I saw he got his five lemon sherbets. I’ve brought you these.”

He held a bunch of yellow roses in front of her face.

“Thanks.” She hunched up her shoulders, pulling the sheet up over her eyes. Billy put the roses in the washbasin and sat down on the bed.

“How are you feeling?”

She looked round, her eyes swollen with crying, her lips puffy and bruised where she’d hit the ground, her face covered in bruises.

“Terrible.”

Billy smiled. “You look as though you’ve just done ten rounds with Henry Cooper.”

“It’s very kind of you to come and see me, but I want to be on my own.”

“Just wanted to see if you were all right.”

“Perfectly,” she snapped.

Billy got to his feet. As he reached the door she gave a strangled sob. Billy sat down again and took her in his arms.

“I’m so ashamed,” she wailed, burying her face in his shoulder. “Such an awful thing to do. But I was so fed up with being chaperoned and everyone treating me like a baby. In fact, a baby would have behaved with more responsibility. Getting eliminated twice in a Nations’ Cup, I’ve let you all down: Macaulay, Jake, Malise, all the team, Great Britain.”

“Fen,” Billy stroked her hair, “can I tell you something?”

“No, I want to talk. I lied to you last night. I was just boasting because I was drunk and fed up. Umberto, that’s the minister of the arts, was awfully sweet, but his boyfriend died two months ago and he misses him terribly. All he wanted to do was to talk about him. He did the talking. I was listening, and you tend to drink a lot when you’re listening. He didn’t lay a finger on me except for kissing my hand. But when I got back Rupert was so bloody censorious, just assuming I’d been behaving like a whore, after all he’d been up to — and I was jealous of you chatting up that beastly redhead — I just lost my temper. But I promise I didn’t sleep with him.”

For a minute Billy couldn’t speak for relief.

“So I don’t want Malise calling Umberto out, or anything.”

“He’s hardly likely to after Umberto gave him a ticket to hear Placido Domingo,” said Billy.

“Don’t make jokes,” sobbed Fen. “It’s not funny.”

“So you’re still intacta.”

Fen nodded dolefully. “Not much else to boast about, with cock-ups in every other direction.”

“Except from Umberto.”

“Oh, shut up,” sniffed Fen.

Suddenly she realized he was still wearing boots and breeches spattered with her blood. He’d taken off his white tie and exchanged his red coat for a dark-blue jersey with a hole in the elbow, but he’d forgotten to take off his spurs.

“You came straight from the show. You shouldn’t have bothered. I’m sorry about your breeches.”

“Fenella,” said Billy gently, “if you’d keep your trap shut for one second, I’ve got something for you.”

He put his hand in his pocket, then dropped a red rosette and a little silver model of the she-wolf suckling Romulus and Remus.

“W-what’s this?”

“We won.”

“But how could we? Griselda was on twelve and I was eliminated.”

Billy grinned. “The Germans went to pieces and I jumped another clear.”

Fen opened her mouth and shut it again; then she flung her arms round his neck. “But that’s wonderful, and with Mr. Block watching. Oh, I’m so, so pleased.”

“Malise is going round like the Cheshire cat that’s just wolfed the canary.”

Fen picked up the rosette. “Is he still livid with me?”

“On the contrary. He now thinks you were very brave to jump at all. Rupert told him you’d swallowed a bad oyster last night and soldiered on because there wasn’t anyone else to jump.”

“Rupert did?” said Fen incredulously. “That was extraordinarily kind of him.”

Billy laughed. “Rupert loves winning, so now Malise thinks you’ve been very plucky.”

“I haven’t,” muttered Fen. “I’ve been an idiot.” She looked at the rosette again; it matched the spattered blood. “I had no part in getting this. I don’t deserve it.”

“You deserved the one at the beginning of the week which Ludwig got, so this one makes up for it.”

But the tears were starting again.

“Angel, please don’t cry.” He pulled her into his arms again, letting her tears drench his shirt. He was so warm, so comforting and rocklike, she couldn’t bear him to go.

A nun came in, saying time was up and that Fen ought to rest.

Billy looked up. “Duo momenti, grazie.” He turned back to Fen. “I’ll come and collect you tomorrow morning.”

“Could you bring me some clothes to wear, preferably a yashmak?”

“And tomorrow night I’ll take you out to dinner and treat you like a grown-up.”

It was a very pale, subdued Fen that came out of hospital next morning. Billy brought her some clothes, but what he’d thought in his haste was a dress turned out to be a cotton nightgown with the pink panther on the front. Her lips and nose were still swollen and blackened.

“Don’t look at me, I’m so ugly.”

The nuns bundled her bloodstained clothes into a carrier bag. “I hope we don’t get arrested,” said Fen.

“I’m afraid the taxis are on strike,” said Billy, putting his arm through hers, “so we’ll have to bus back to the Villa Borghese.”

“Ouch,” said Fen, as a passing Italian pinched her bottom.

The bus came crashing along, fighting for survival in the surging thrusting jam of cars.

“It’s illegal to hoot in Rome,” said Fen.

“Bad luck for owls,” said Billy, as they fought and pummeled their way into the bus. For at least ten seconds they were separated, then Billy fought his way back to her.

“You okay?”

“I need a pencil sharpener for my elbows, and I’ve been goosed by six men.”

“You mean geesed.”

The bus doors closed, shooting another ten people into the body of the bus and ramming Fen against Billy. She arched away from him in embarrassment, but it was no good, the crowd pushed her forward again and she lost hold of the bus strap, cannoning into his arms, which closed round her.

“I’m going to complain to sardine’s lib,” she mumbled in embarrassment.

“I’m not,” said Billy. “Relax.”

Looking up, Fen saw the tenderness in his eyes and looked away quickly. But once again there was something so comforting and solid about him that she let herself relax for the rest of the ride, praying he couldn’t feel her heart hammering.

He loves Janey, she told herself furiously. He’s just being kind.

The rest of the day seemed to pass in a dream. Everyone except Griselda was incredibly nice to her. Malise let her jump Desdemona in a small class to get her nerve back and was highly delighted when she came fourth. With a sense of unreality, she sat in the riders’ stand beside Mr. Block to watch the Grand Prix, which ended up with a jump-off between Piero, Rupert, Ludwig, Wishbone, Billy, and Griselda. Billy, galvanized by the previous day’s double clear, seemed to have got all his old fire and confidence back. Riding as if he’d got a spare neck in his pocket, he knocked three seconds off everyone’s time. Rupert was second.

“Why the hell did I bring you back, when all you do is beat me?” grumbled Rupert as they rode into the ring.

Back at the stables, everyone was beginning to pack up. Griselda watched Georgie working and grumbled, “I’ve got a bloody trek home, being misdirected by that stupid Maxwell child. Let’s hope Malise has learnt his lesson and leaves her out of the team.”

Billy, who was hosing down Bugle’s legs, looked up angrily. “She’s already been selected for Paris and Lucerne.”

“Oh, Christ, don’t say I’ve got to put up with her for the rest of the month. I must get Malise to make other traveling arrangements for her.”

Rupert, who was feeding popcorn to Snakepit, looked across at Billy and raised his eyebrows.

Billy nodded.

“He already has,” said Rupert. “I’ve sold a couple of horses this week, so we’re taking her back.”

“What about Sarah?” said Griselda, in tones of outrage.

“Very pretty,” said Rupert. “She can have my bed in the lorry any time, as long as I’m allowed to share it with her.”

Griselda looked absolutely furious. “The sneaky little thing, actually making other arrangements without telling me. Who’s going to share the petrol and pay for the tolls on the autostrada? Trust her to pull a fast one without telling me.”

“She doesn’t know she’s coming with us yet,” said Billy sweetly, “but knowing how much you and Georgie like the lorry to yourselves, I know she wouldn’t like to cramp your style.”

“Well, on your heads be it if she misroutes you into Romania,” said Griselda crossly.

Billy said good-bye to Mr. Block, who was flying back to London.

“Well done, lad,” he said, pumping Billy’s hand. “I’m highly delighted with the way things have gone. We’re on our way.”

Then Billy found Malise. “Look, I know I ought to foot the bill for dinner tonight, and I’m very happy to, and I’d really like to be with you all, but I thought I’d take Fen somewhere quiet,” he blushed. “I think she needs cheering up.”

Because he knew she was ashamed of her battered face, Billy took Fen to a little dark cave of a restaurant, where they sat in an alcove away from everyone else. She was still feeling fragile, so he ordered her a plain rice risotto with a knob of butter and parmesan, and fed her spoonfuls as though she was a child.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said for the hundredth time. “But this isn’t much of a celebration for you, with me off my food, and both of us drinking Coke.”

Billy put his hand over hers and it felt so right, he left it there.

Afterwards they wandered through the cobbled streets of Rome, past shadowy ruins and floodlit fountains, until they found a secluded stone bench to sit on. There, Billy kissed her very, very gently on her poor sore mouth.

“I’m so glad you didn’t go to bed with that wop the other night.”

He ran his hand down her cheek. It was such a relief not to have to duck her head out of the way so he shouldn’t feel her spots.

“Oh, Billy, I’ve had a crush on you since I was thirteen.”

“On me?” he said, amazed.

“Yes, millions of girls have as well, but you’re too modest or too nice to realize it. It’s the general consensus of opinion that Rupert’s for flings, but you’re the one they want to marry. Not that I’m proposing or anything,” she added, blushing furiously.

Billy kissed her again. She was not quite sure what one did with one’s tongue, so she copied him.

“You’re so sweet,” he murmured, “but I’m too old and battered and bitter for you. You don’t need thirdhand goods.”

“Rubbish,” protested Fen. “What about antiques? They’re third-and fourth-and fifthhand, and they’re infinitely more precious than anything new.”

They walked back to the hotel through the warm, scented night, Fen’s espadrilles crunching on the gravel.

As he opened her bedroom door for her he said, “I’ll knock on your door in twenty minutes, when the coast’s clear.”

Frantically, Fen bathed and cleaned her teeth and sprayed on perfume. Despite the warmth of the night she couldn’t stop shaking. If only she had bigger boobs. Janey was so gloriously top heavy. She looked at Lester the teddy bear, and turned his face to the wall. “I don’t want you to be corrupted.”

Overwhelmed with shyness, conscious of her swollen face, she turned off the lights before she let Billy into the room.

“Do you think we’ll ever find the bed?” he said, as he drew her, frantically trembling, towards him. “Hey, hey, there’s no need to be frightened.”

“That’s what they always say about adders. Look, I know I’m not as sophisticated, or as beautiful, or as witty, or as clever, or as sexy as Janey. Anyone would be a letdown after her.”

“Hush,” he said, stroking the nape of her neck. “Who’s making comparisons?”

“I am, because everyone you go to bed with must remind you of her and it must hurt.”

Billy found the bed and pulled Fen down beside him.

“It’s certainly not hurting at the moment. You’re the one it might hurt.”

“I’ve ridden for so long, I don’t think I’ve got a hymen anymore. I’ve never been able to find it.”

Her little hands were tentatively moving over his chest.

“Still scared?” he whispered. Then, when she didn’t answer, he kissed her upper lip. “I’ll take things very, very slowly. We’ve got all night.”

He was thinking so much about not rushing her, or scaring her, that he hardly worried about his own performance. But he felt an amazing happiness when her hands traveled cautiously down his stomach and she said: “Oh, feel: isn’t it lovely, and so strong, like the leaning tower of Pisa? Is it nice if I run my fingers round the rim?”

“Bliss,” mumbled Billy.

“And does that hurt?”

“If you stroke them gently like that, it’s heaven.”

She was so excited that neither of them ever discovered whether she had a hymen or not. Twined round him like a monkey, riding him so lightly, she exhorted him to please go on, go on. In the end he forgot to be gentle, driving into her with all his strength.

“Oh, it was magic, magic,” she whispered afterwards.

“Are you sure? Are you really sure?”

“Didn’t hurt at all,” she said, snuggling into his arms.

“Look,” said Billy, “the British flag is creaking up the pole.”

Suddenly she heard him singing, slightly shakily, “God save our gracious Queen. Long live our noble Queen,” until there was furious banging on the wall.

Fen gave an ecstatic sigh. Billy’s singing again, she thought.

To Billy, the following weeks came as a revelation. While Janey had exuded sex appeal, he always had the feeling that, although she enjoyed sex, it was more for her own gratification and her own ego. He was never irresistible to her. With Fen he felt he held the key to paradise. She quivered with excitement whenever he touched her. She wanted to touch him all the time, she adored everything about him and everything he did to her was perfect. She was the most unselfish person he’d ever been to bed with, always thinking of his pleasure before her own, massaging his back when he was tired, happy to stroke and caress him for hours.

They talked horses endlessly, but unlike other riders, she was prepared to spend hours discussing how his horses might be improved, not permanently waiting to engineer the conversation on to her own.

Having stabled Macaulay and Desdemona at Fontainebleau, they stayed an extra day there, wandering through the forest and enjoying a magnificent French dinner in the evening, to make up for not being able to eat anything except risotto in Rome. Then they flew home to take Laurel and Hardy, and a couple of Billy’s new horses bought by Mr. Block, to Windsor. Then on to Paris, Barcelona, and finally Lucerne, where at each place the British riders were invincible. Bugle was jumping brilliantly, so were Desdemona and Macaulay. It was also perfectly apparent to the rest of the team what was going on between Fen and Billy.

“You pipped me to the post,” said Rupert ruefully, but he couldn’t help being glad to see Billy so happy.

Malise, turning a blind eye, was delighted too. He was very fond of Billy and had hated to see him so down and lacking in confidence. He was also thrilled by the success of the team. Billy and Fen were obviously madly in love. They were discreet in public, but you only had to see the way he carried her cases for her and she turned to him for advice, and how they drifted together and always seemed to be echoing each other’s thoughts and laughing at private jokes. Fen had cheered up the team too. Humpty had replaced Griselda for Lucerne, and he and Ivor and Driffield were all mad about Fen. She was their team mascot, and as a team they had never been more united. They had not lost a Nations’ Cup this year.

Fen lay in a bubble bath. A champagne cork ricocheted off the steaming walls of the bathroom in their hotel at Lucerne.

“To your first Grand Prix,” said Billy, filling up a toothmug and handing it to her.

“I can’t drink the whole bottle,” protested Fen as Billy put down the loo seat and sat on it, watching her.

“What’s the matter?” he said. “Aren’t you glad you’ve beaten everyone?”

“It feels like the end of the holidays.”

He came and knelt down beside her, soaping her breasts and kissing her damp neck.

“Sweetheart, it’s only the beginning. We may be going home, but I’ll be seeing you at Crittleden next week, and then at the Royal and the Royal International.”

Fen looked down. The soap was beginning to disperse the bubbles.

“I know, but it won’t be the same.”

“It’ll be even nicer, I promise. Come on; we’d better buck up. Malise wants to leave to go out to dinner in twenty minutes.”

She didn’t tell him that that afternoon a telegram had arrived at the hotel for him from Janey, congratulating him on yet another double clear in the Nations’ Cup. Rupert had torn it up before Billy saw it.

“Last thing he needs at the moment, and don’t you go telling him either,” he’d said to Fen.

She hadn’t said anything, but it terrified her. Throughout the past month Fen and Billy had avoided talking about Janey. She felt like a broken ankle that didn’t hurt if you didn’t walk on it.

As well as her Grand Prix money, Fen, as leading lady rider of the show, had won a full-length fur coat. She disapproved passionately of fur in principle, but when Billy had dried her after her bath, she couldn’t resist putting it on as a dressing gown, feeling the silk lining caressing her hot naked body.

Billy stopped in the middle of knotting his tie and came towards her.

“God, that’s sexy. Just looking at you gives me a hard-on.”

He took her face between his hands. She was so beautiful. All the bruising and swelling had gone.

“You don’t realize what you’ve done to me,” he said. “Given me back my faith in life. I never believed I could wake up in the morning again with such a ridiculous sense of excitement.”

Fen parted the fur coat, so she could feel his cock nudging against her belly button. She laid her head against his chest.

“I’m not saying this to make you feel old, but I’ve never had a real father. My own father died when I was eight, but he divorced Mummy long before that and Colonel Carter was a twerp and, although Jake’s been wonderful, he’s not a cuddler; too austere. Apart from dogs and horses and guinea pigs and hamsters, you’re not only the first father, but the first thing I’ve ever been able to love.”

Looking down, Billy realized he must never, never let her be hurt.

“I know I’m carrycot snatching, but I can’t help it,” he muttered into her hair.

Anxious to get back to Tabitha, Rupert flew home to Penscombe after the Lucerne Grand Prix. Over a year old now, Tab could walk several steps, but usually crawled forward with a curious sideways gait like a crab, with one leg sticking out. She was wearing blue pajamas; the top had fallen off one shoulder. She was so enchanted when he walked through the door, she could hardly get a word out.

“My darling angel,” said Rupert, extracting her from a swarm of excitedly barking dogs and holding her above his head until she crowed with laughter. She was so pink and blond and beautiful.

“Daddy’s brought you lots and lots of presents.”

The best present for Tab was obviously seeing her father again. She snuggled up to him like a kitten.

Helen came into the hall warily, holding Marcus by the hand.

“Hello, darling,” she said, kissing him. “Had a good trip?”

“Great. We won the Nations’ Cup and Billy’s really back on form. Christ, he’s jumping well.”

“I’m so glad. Not back on the booze, is he?”

“No, no. He’s utterly bombed on Perrier and love.”

“Love?” said Helen, surprised.

“Little Fenella Maxwell. Best thing that ever happened to him.”

“But she’s not eighteen yet; just a child.”

“So’s he. She mothers him like an old mare. They’re really sweet together, and at last he’s got someone who can talk to him about horses.”

Unlike me, thought Helen bitterly. “I’m having lunch with Janey tomorrow,” she said.

* * *

After the four hundred-mile drive from Lucerne, Billy and Fen stayed near the coast and took a lunchtime ferry the next day. The grooms had lunch. Billy booked a berth for three hours and took Fen to bed, dreading the separation ahead as much as she was. They reached Gloucestershire, about sunset. It was one of those magical evenings when they had both the lorry windows open and the air was heavy with the scent of elderflowers and wild roses.

Fen sat glued against Billy, hand on his thigh, any pretense that they weren’t having an affair abandoned. It was only ten miles to Penscombe now. Once there she would borrow one of Rupert’s trailers and drive Macaulay and Desdemona on to the Mill House, arriving about midnight.

Tracey was fast asleep on one of the bunk beds. Sarah was emptying out the fridge. Billy and Rupert’s horses were beginning to stamp and whinney as they recognized the familiar scents of home.

“Will you do me a great favor?” said Billy, staring fixedly at the road ahead. She could feel how tense he was.

“Of course.”

“Will you stay the night with me at the cottage, then I’ll drive you back in the morning?”

Fen was almost speechless with happiness. Billy needed her, he really needed her. She reached up and kissed his cheek. “I was wondering how on earth I was going to drag myself away from you this evening.”

“I rang Mrs. Bodkin from Lucerne and told her to clean the place up and make the bed. I’m a big boy now. I can’t go on living with Helen and Rupert forever, and anyway,” he looked at his watch, “I haven’t fucked you for at least seven hours. Will you mind a few of Janey’s things lying around?”

“Not if you don’t,” said Fen.

She rang Tory from Rupert’s tackroom. “I’ve got as far as Rupert’s. I’m utterly jiggered. Helen’s asked me to stay the night. Do you mind awfully? Billy, or someone, will drive me back in the morning.”

I’ll be punished for lies like that, she said to herself as she put down the receiver.

It was dusk by the time they’d settled the horses. All that was left of the day was a saffron glow on the horizon. Billy, who knew the path along the edge of the woods, led the way, holding her hand, with Mavis racing in front chasing rabbits. He longed to kiss her, but both were conscious of not having cleaned their teeth since morning. The night was so warm they could smell the honeysuckle and syringa a hundred yards away.

“What an adorable place,” said Fen, in ecstasy. “Gosh, you’re lucky to live here.”

In the gateway Billy put his arms round her, holding her like a balloon that might float away at any moment.

“It’s all right,” she said softly. “I’m here to look after you.”

As he opened the front door, Mavis shot ahead, squeaking with excitement. He turned on the light and went into the kitchen, dumping the cases. Fen followed him. “It looks lovely,” she said.

“Mrs. B.’s been working fantastically hard,” said Billy. “Christ, I wish we could have a drink.”

“I’ll make some coffee,” said Fen, picking up the kettle.

“Are you hungry?”

She shook her head.

“Then let’s go to bed. I need to lay you and the ghost.”

Fen went into the hall. Behind the door opposite, she could hear excited squeaking and scrabbling.

“Mavis must have shut herself in.”

She opened the door and switched on the light, then gave a gasp of horror. In front of the fire, thin, beautiful, and menacing in a black sleeveless T-shirt and the tightest black leather trousers, stood Janey.

“Hello, Fen,” she said with a twisted smile. “It’s been amazingly kind of you to look after Billy in my absence, but I’d like him back now.”

Fen gave a sob and turned on her heel, bumping into Billy as he came out of the kitchen.

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No, I’ve seen a real live person. Go into the drawing room and see.”

As she fled down the garden path she heard Billy calling her to come back, but she kept on running along the woodland path. Once she stumbled and fell over, cutting her hands but not even feeling the pain. She didn’t stop until she reached Rupert’s front door. It was open. The dogs surged forward, barking. Rupert came out of the kitchen, a large whisky in one hand, a letter in the other.

“Hello, duck. Had a tiff?” Then he saw her dirty grazed hands and her stricken face. “Angel, what’s the matter?”

“It’s J-Janey, she was waiting for us at the cottage.”

“Fucking hell, how did she get in?” He led Fen into the kitchen and poured her a large drink.

“I don’t want anything.” Her face crumpled.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. He won’t take her back.”

“He will, I know he will. He only had me as a stopgap.”

“Rubbish, I’ve never seen him happier.”

“I can’t bear it, I simply can’t bear it.”

Helen, who’d been tucking the children up, heard the commotion and came downstairs. Walking into the kitchen, she found a blond in Rupert’s arms.

“Oh, I do beg your pardon,” she said with heavy sarcasm. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Don’t be stupid, it’s Fen. That bitch Janey’s come back.”

Fen turned to Helen. “I’m so sorry to bother you,” she sobbed, “but I didn’t know where else to go.”

The telephone rang. Still with one arm round Fen, Rupert picked it up.

“Yes, she’s here. Well, not brilliant. What the fuck’s going on? Good, see you. He’s coming over,” he said replacing the receiver. “Now dry your eyes and have that drink.”

Billy was over in ten minutes. Rupert left them alone. Fen looked up, her eyes spilling over with tears. “Oh, Billy.”

“Darling Fen.” He drew her towards him. “I never dreamed in a million years she’d come back.”

“You must talk it over with her. She’s still your wife.”

“I don’t know if I want her back. I’m so much better without her.”

“There’s something you should know. Janey sent you two telegrams, one in Paris and one in Lucerne. Rupert tore them up.”

Billy digested this. Then he said bitterly, “That was only when I started winning again. Janey likes hitching her wagon to a star. Whether she’ll be so amused by a star on the wagon, I doubt.”

His hold tightened on her. “I’ll go back and have it out with her. Will you stay here? Rupert’ll look after you and I’ll come and see you in the morning. I just want you to know you’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever been lucky enough to meet in my life.”

Meanwhile Rupert had gone onto the terrace and had found Helen watching the stars come out, the faint reflection of the half-moon mingling with the water lilies strewn across the lake.

“How the hell did Janey know Billy was coming home tonight?”

“Well, I may have told her. I don’t think I did. I had lunch with her yesterday. She was wearing Billy’s Old Harrovian tie. I certainly told her Billy was real happy with Fen.”

Rupert turned on her in fury. “You did what?”

“Well, she was so worried, she said it was so much on her conscience. Billy being on his own and drinking and doing so badly.”

“She knew bloody well he was doing well; she sent him telegrams.”

“Then she looked really sad, and said she did hope some day he’d find someone nice — so I told her about Fen.”

“She was fishing, you stupid bitch.”

“Rupert, please, don’t talk to me like that.”

“You’ve only done Billy the worst turn ever. He’d just struggled out of the quicksand; now you’ve pushed him back again.”

At that moment, Billy came out on the terrace.

“Will you look after her?”

“You should be doing that,” snapped Rupert, “and kicking out that slut.”

Rupert stayed up half the night talking to Fen, who was almost crazy with grief.

“I’m sorry to be so boring but I love him so, so much. I saw her. I know she wants to come back, and she’s so winning, and Billy’s too straight not to let her. It’s funny, I wanted to fall in love so badly — but I never dreamed it would hurt so much. Life’s not like the Pullein-Thompson novels, is it? They always have happy endings.”

Helen couldn’t sleep. Why did Rupert always have more time for other people — Fen, Billy, Tab — than he did for her? On the other hand she knew she was being punished.

“Dear God,” she prayed, “what have I done? I told Janey about Fen, not because I wanted to reassure her, but because I wanted to put her down.”