Riders

60

Rupert returned to the Eriksons’ house to find all the lights blazing and the place full of cops. Suzy and Albie, coming in tight and finding doors opened, chairs knocked over, whisky spilt, Helen’s room ransacked and the alarm unset, had promptly assumed that they’d been burgled. Rupert ran upstairs, took in the chaos of clothes, jewels, and papers. All his spare cash had gone. He went back to the drawing room.

“There’s only been one burglary in this house. Jake Lovell’s walked off with my wife.”

“Are you sure?” said Suzy in amazement. “He didn’t seem remotely keen on her.”

“He’s a better actor than she is,” said Rupert. “It’s been going on since February. We’ve just had true confessions time.” He looked at the carpet and the sofa. “Sorry about the whisky.”

He was very pale, which gave the suntan an almost green tinge, but seemed totally in control.

“Annunciata seems to have pushed off, too,” said Albie, wandering into the drawing room and pulling off his tie.

“Oh, no,” said Suzy, far more upset by that than by Helen’s departure. “I’ve got fourteen people for lunch tomorrow.”

“Only thirteen without Helen,” said Rupert grimly.

After the police had gone he told them what had happened. In a way their flip, brittle approach helped him to cling onto his sanity.

“I must say she has been looking sensational since Jake arrived in L.A.,” said Suzy, “and she got mad whenever he talked to me. I’m sorry, Rupert. Being bored with your wife doesn’t necessarily mean you want someone else to take her off your hands, particularly when it’s your worst enemy.”

She was amazed Rupert was so calm. She found it rather chilling. Perhaps he was still in shock.

Then he said, “Can I use your telephone to ring a few people? It’ll be midday Tuesday morning in England now.”

“Of course,” said Suzy. “Go into the study.” She was dying to discuss the whole thing with Albie.

Hell-bent on vengeance like an army scorching the earth, Rupert rang Amanda Hamilton in Scotland. Fortunately, perhaps, he got Rollo and explained what had happened. Rollo was most sympathetic and fully appreciated that Jake and Helen might try to seize the children. He said it would be perfectly all right for Charlene to fly up to Scotland with Marcus and Tab until Rupert got back from L.A.

“I’m awfully sorry,” Rollo said again. “Have a word with Amanda.”

Even thousands of miles away Rupert could almost hear Rollo putting his hand over the receiver while he briefed his wife.

Amanda sounded extremely shocked. “Darling, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” said Rupert, “but they could have timed it better, with the team competition on Sunday. The press are going to have a field day. That’s why I want to get Tab,” he paused, “and Marcus, of course, out of the way.”

“Did you know yesterday? Was that why Rocky jumped so badly?”

“No,” Rupert interrupted her. “That was my fault.”

Then he rang his secretary, Miss Hawkins, and told her to put a red alert on all banker’s cards, Access and American Express, to order the bank to stop all checks and to close all Helen’s accounts at Peter Jones, Harrods, Hatchards, and Cavendish House in Cheltenham. Anyone at home, he said, particularly Charlene and Mrs. Bodkin, or any of the grooms or the gardeners, would be fired if they spoke to the press.

He went back into the drawing room with a grim smile on his face. “That should clip their wings.”

“I suppose I’ll have to wait till morning to try and trace Annunciata,” said Suzy petulantly. “I expect she’s moved in with that frightful boyfriend.”

Annunciata, in fact, was fed up with working for Suzy, fed up with the long hours, the untidyness (Suzy just stepped out of her clothes) and the meals demanded at all hours. She never knew how many people to cater for.

It was only a summer job anyway and she’d hardly had time to see any of the Games, not even Mr. Lovell winning his silver. After being woken up by the frightful row between Mr. and Mrs. Campbell-Black, Annunciata had crept upstairs and heard the whole thing, including hearing Rupert hitting Helen and storming off into the night, and a hysterical Helen ringing Jake Lovell. Annunciata had then appeared and asked Mrs. Campbell-Black if she needed any help with packing.

“She even wanted to know if we had any tissue paper,” Annunciata told her beady American boyfriend on the telephone. “She was very frightened but she still remembered to take the hot tongs and heated rollers and her hair dryer.”

The beady American boyfriend, deducing that Rupert would come roaring back to the house in a towering rage, advised Annunciata to move out pronto. After all, it was only a summer job and he was cute enough to realize that here was a story which, if Annunciata lived up to her name, and related to a newspaper, would save her having to work for several years.

Tory, after the victory celebrations, fell into bed at five in the morning, but still couldn’t sleep for happiness. After all that struggle, Jakey had got his silver. She’d never seen him as happy as he’d been at the press conference. And now, with the Boyson sponsorship, he’d be able to have the horses he wanted; he and Fen wouldn’t have to work quite so hard and he’d have more time with the children, which he’d always longed for, and they wouldn’t have to scrimp and worry all the time about where the next penny was coming from. She didn’t even feel tired when she had to get up at seven and take the sleepy, grumbling children to school. All day, people kept ringing up to congratulate her and Jake. Flowers and telegrams arrived constantly. The village was in a state of total euphoria, already planning the Welcome Home celebrations.

Tory watched clips of Jake’s silver four times on breakfast television, and in Olympic roundup, and played it back on the video, as she washed up all the glasses from last night. She didn’t bother with lunch. She’d been on a diet and had lost ten pounds since Jake left.

Singing at the top of her voice, she went to collect the children. Jake would be getting up soon, she thought fondly, with a terrible hangover.

On balance, she’d decided not to fly to L.A. By the time she’d got everything organized it would be Friday. Then, after a night flight, there’d be only half a day before the team event. Then they’d be coming home again. There’d be other occasions.

Her mother had rung up and Tory’d been so happy she’d forgotten to be cool with her. After all, it was a long time since Colonel Carter had taken Revenge away. Surely yesterday’s medal proved Jake was the greater rider than Rupert?

She even found time to go and give Macaulay two apples and tell him about his master’s great triumph. Housework could go by the board today. It was a beautiful September afternoon. Just a touch of wind ruffled the millpond and the hanging green willow curtains.

The children were very fractious when she picked them up from school. Darklis had lost one shoe, but at least it was better than two, she said. Isa had been beaten up in the playground for boasting about his father. Tory sent them off to watch television. Suddenly as she was cutting the fat off the lamb chops for their supper, she felt very tired. She’d have a large vodka and tonic when she’d put the children to bed. Then perhaps Jake would ring. Another wave of happiness overwhelmed her.

Then she heard the noise of argument from the sitting room. Isa, to Darklis’s rage, had switched on Ceefax over The Sullivans so that he could see the Olympic results.

“Mummy,” screamed Darklis. “Isa’s hitting me.”

“Stop it, Isa,” yelled Tory.

“I always get the blame,” shouted Isa. “Mummy, come quickly. There’s something about Daddy.”

Shoving the chops under the grill, Tory ran into the sitting room.

“Silver medalist Jake Lovell,” she read over the soothing tones of The Sullivans, “has disappeared from the Olympic village. Not seen since last night, he is alleged by the Los Angeles Times to have gone off with Helen Campbell-Black, wife of Rupert Campbell-Black, a fellow member of the British team and a bronze and silver medalist in 1976.”

Tory thought she must be dreaming. It couldn’t be true. They’d made some mistake. Jake had only rung her last night and told her he loved her. There was a moth bashing against the television screen.

“What does it mean, Mummy?” asked Isa. “Where’s Daddy gone?”

“Nowhere, darling,” said Tory in a strange voice. “It’s some mistake. Daddy wouldn’t do that.”

She canceled the Ceefax titles with the norm button then, after a few seconds, switched on the Ceefax Olympic report again.

“Mummy,” complained Darklis. “I want to watch The Sullivans.”

“Silver medalist Jake Lovell,” Tory read again, “has disappeared from the Olympic village.”

It was a few seconds before she realized that the telephone was ringing. She rushed to answer it. It must be Jake to say it was a hideous mistake.

“Mrs. Lovell?”

“Yes.”

“It’s the Sun newspaper here.” It was that thickened voice again with which they announced trouble or asked difficult questions. “Just wondered if you’ve got anything to say about your husband running off with Helen Campbell-Black.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Tory, and slammed down the receiver.

The telephone rang again. It was the Mirror with the same question. Then it was the Sun again. Tory took the receiver off the hook. She started to shake violently.

“Mummy, Mummy, the oven’s on fire.” Darklis, having wandered into the kitchen in search of a biscuit, found the neglected chops ablaze under the grill. The frozen peas had boiled down to a green scum.

“Mummy, Mummy,” yelled Isa, starting to cry, “they’re talking about Daddy.”

Martin Bell, gazing sternly out of the television screen, his light brown curls whipped by the Los Angeles breeze, was confirming that Jake had indeed disappeared from the Olympic village; so had Helen Campbell-Black from the house in Arcadia, where she had been staying with her husband. According to the Los Angeles Times, whose reporter had interviewed the maid, Helen had left after a row with Rupert, directly after a dinner at Ma Maison restaurant, held to celebrate Jake’s silver medal. Malise Gordon, the British chef d’equipe, had appealed to Jake to return for the team competition.

Tory was brought back to earth by the doorbell. It was a neighbor, Mrs. Irvine.

“I heard it on the radio,” she said. “I’m so sorry for you. I’ll get the children’s supper and answer the telephone. You’ll not want to be bothered.”

“I’m sure it’s some mistake,” said Tory.

“The poor little soul didn’t seem to have taken it in,” Mrs. Irvine told her husband later, “so I got the doctor.”

At that moment the doorbell went. It was the local stringer for the Daily Mail. After that they came like locusts, with their long-range cameras, trying to get in through the front door, the back door, even the windows, swarming through the village, attempting to bribe grooms, neighbors, trades people, desperate for information.

Tory tried to put a call through to L.A., but all lines were engaged.

It’s a bad dream, she kept telling herself. Jake wouldn’t go off like that, not when he’d asked her to come out to L.A., not with the team event on Sunday, which meant almost more to him than the individual, and which he knew meant infinitely more to Malise.

Alarmed by her calmness and refusal to accept the facts, the doctor gave her a sedative. It was not that Jake wouldn’t leave her, she kept saying, but he’d certainly never leave the horses, or the children, particularly in the middle of the Olympics. It was a belief she had to cling on to.

Malise, however, rang at ten o’clock. “I’m afraid we know nothing more at this end. What I imagine happened was that Jake and Helen may have walked out together; at least that’s what she told Rupert. Tempers flared. Rupert was absolutely livid at not getting the gold. He’d been simply poisonous all evening, threatening to beat Helen up. She appealed to Jake for help and he probably felt he ought to remove her somewhere safe until Rupert cooled down.”

Malise, reflected Tory, as the truth began to sink in, sounded like a gynecologist telling her she’d got a stillborn baby.

“I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,” he went on. “I’m convinced he’ll come back for the team event.”

But Jake did not come back. The Games were into their second week. The public was slightly bored with tales of derring-do and mega-achievement; they wanted a good scandal. Rupert, his beautiful American wife, and her romantic gypsy lover were the perfect answer.

“For just a handful of silver she left him,” quipped the New York Times.

Everyone who knew Jake and Rupert rekindled the old feud. Jake had been bullied at school by Rupert and had got his revenge twenty-two years later by trouncing Rupert at the Olympics and then running off with his wife.

It was the same in L.A. as at the Mill House. Once the Los Angeles Times had led on Helen’s row with Rupert and her running off with Jake, the reporters were everywhere. Like some horror army of killer ants, they crept through seemingly locked doors, through windows, haunting the Olympic village, the Eriksons’ house, the stables, and the exercise rings.

Fen, as their prime target, had been absolutely knocked sideways by the news.

“I must go to Tory,” she pleaded with Malise on the Wednesday morning. “She sounds absolutely terrible now it’s really sunk in. The English papers are crucifying Jake. I can’t leave her to face it on her own. Let me fly home.”

“You can’t,” said Malise, surveying his shambles of a team. “Unless Jake comes back you’ll have to jump Hardy.”

Everywhere Fen went, people were bad-mouthing Jake. Everywhere, the press swooped on her. Every time she worked Hardy the exercise ring was crowded with photographers and curious onlookers.

Rupert was far less vulnerable. First, he was holed up in Suzy’s house, which was electric-fenced and burglar-alarmed to the teeth. Secondly, you didn’t try and interview a man-eating tiger. Rupert was in the kind of eruptive mood that kept even the press at a distance.

“Jake was just doing his bit for Britain,” he told Billy on the telephone. “Unfortunately in this case, the bit happened to be Helen. Extraordinary. For seven years she never looked at another man. Then, according to Dizzy, for the last five months no one’s been able to see her ears for skirt.”

“He sounds terrible,” Billy told Janey as he came off the telephone. “Do you think I ought to fly out there? The Beeb have offered to pay my fare and give me a fat fee if I’ll help Dudley do the commentary for the team competition.”

“No, you ought not,” snapped Janey. “Rupert’s had it coming to him for years. I am not going to be left alone with Christy when he’s so little…nor,” she added to herself, am I going to let you loose in L.A. with Fenella Maxwell.

Twenty-four hours limped by with no sign of Jake. On Thursday morning Fen was working Hardy in one of the big exercise rings. Normally the German team should have been using the ring at this time but they’d willingly swapped over with the British to fox the press and give Fen the chance of a little privacy. It was nearly ten o’clock and the sun was already scorching down. Hardy, missing Jake, was edgy and miserable. He had received so much adulation on Monday and Tuesday morning. Now, suddenly, no one wanted to admire the horse whose master had disgraced a nation.

As she slowly cantered him around on the left rein, Fen pondered the horrors of the last two days. Rumors seethed. Jake and Helen had been sighted in England, in all parts of America, on a flight to Bermuda. Jake had grown a mustache, was wearing a false beard. Helen had dyed her hair, blond, brunette, even cut it all off. Last night Malise had made another stiff-upper-lipped plea on television for Jake to come back: “We will jump as a team and conduct ourselves like gentlemen.”

“Is he referring to Griselda?” said Rupert.

Rupert still keeps up the stream of flip remarks, thought Fen, allowing no one to see his black despair and utter humiliation. Malise seemed terribly upset, too. Fen herself had been in tears all night. She wished she could help Tory. Bloody Helen Campbell-Black, she thought savagely, not even able to hold off until after the Games.

Fen’s hair was wringing wet beneath her hat, as was her T-shirt. The reins slipped between her damp hands. Suddenly she was overwhelmed by longing for Dino. She had never needed him more. She could have lain down and slept for a year in his arms. But she musn’t think of Dino or Helen; it only upset her. She must keep calm and psych herself into the right frame of mind for Sunday. Perhaps by some miracle Jake would come back.

“Oh, Hardy, where’s your master?” she sighed.

In the distance she could see the German team riding down from the stables in a cloud of dust to take over. She must make herself scarce before the press turned up. This afternoon, she thought wearily, she had to take Ivor to Disneyland again.

Catching her not concentrating, Hardy gave a whinny and a great whicker of joy and carted her across the ring.

“For God’s sake, you disobedient bugger,” yelled Fen, hauling ineffectually on his mouth, “where the bloody hell d’you think you’re going?”

Hardy ground to a halt. Fen glanced up and gasped. For there, holding Hardy’s dark blue sweat rug, tall and golden as a Lombardy poplar in autumn, stood Dino Ferranti.

“Hi, Hardy baby,” he drawled, putting up a not altogether steady hand to stroke the dappled face. “I’m real glad you haven’t forgotten me, just as I’m real glad your mistress’s language is a lousy as ever.”

Dino had had a long and very trying nine months, but everything was compensated for when he looked up and saw the expression of incredulous, bewildered delight on Fen’s face, the expression on which left him in absolutely no doubt about how she felt.

“You’ve gone blond again,” she muttered.

“I know. I didn’t seem to score with gray hair.”

“Oh, Dino, Dino,” she cried, and tumbled off Hardy into his arms. He kissed her so fiercely she had no doubt of his feelings towards her.

“Oh, I love you,” she bleated incoherently. “I’ve missed you. I’ve been so so miserable.”

“Me, too,” he groaned. “Oh Christ, darling, we’ve been so dumb.”

As he held her tight, she could feel how much he was trembling and how his ribs protruded beneath the blue denim shirt.

“You’ve got so thin,” they both said simultaneously, and then started to laugh. Next moment Fen’s laughter had turned to tears.

“It’s so awful.”

“I know. I’m real sorry, sweetheart.” He took her face in his hands, kissing her forehead and her nose and the tears spilling out of her eyes before he found her mouth again.

“No, no,” she protested, when at last he freed her. “It was so awful for you about Manny. Did you get my letter?”

“There was so much mail and I was so unglued I didn’t even get around to looking at it until yesterday. Hell, I needed you so badly. But I guess I couldn’t handle seeing you again in case you were still mad at me, or didn’t feel the way I did. So I chickened out and went home to lick my wounds. Then I heard about Helen and Jake buggering off. I figured you might need me as much as I needed you. Right? So here I am.”

“Oh, I’m so glad,” said Fen, burying her face in his chest. “I was so aching to see you, it was the main thing that drove me on to get selected. I thought I’d die when Mary Jo said you weren’t coming. You won’t ever disappear again, will you? Life’s so awful when you’re not there.”

“You try getting rid of me.” He was about to kiss her again when he said, “Ouch.”

Hardy, irritably trying to tell them they were hopelessly neglecting a silver medal winner, had nipped Dino on the shoulder.

Then all three jumped violently as a rousing chorus started bellowing, “Vy vos zey born so beautiful, vy vos zey born at all.”

Swinging round, they found the entire German squad sitting on their horses, laughing their heads off. “And about bloody time too, my friends,” said Ludwig.

At the entrance to the stables the inevitable jackal pack of reporters was hovering.

“Heard from Jake?”

“No,” snapped Fen.

“How’s Tory bearing up?”

“Haven’t talked to her today.”

“Where’s he gone?”

“I don’t know.”

Oh, the bliss of having Dino there once more, to get rid of them.

“Go on! Pack it in. Fucking get off our backs,” he said, hustling Fen and Hardy through the gates.

“Dino, Dino Ferranti,” said one of the reporters with quickening interest. “You stayed at Jake’s barn last fall, didn’t you? What sort of guy was he?”

“The greatest,” snapped Dino. “Not just as a rider but as a human being. If he walked out on the Games, he must have had a good reason, okay? I guess he wanted to protect Helen from her bastard of a husband.”

On the way to Hardy’s box, Dino started kissing Fen again.

“Give him to me,” said Sarah, grabbing Hardy. “You are in no fit condition. Take her away, Dino. She deserves the afternoon off. Make a change from taking Ivor round Disneyland.”

Dino put his arm through Fen’s. “I’m staying at Carol Kennedy’s place just up the road. Let’s go there. At least we can be alone.”

“I ought to have a bath,” said Fen, suddenly aware of her sweaty hair and clothes.

“I’ll give you one,” said Dino. “It’ll take hours.”

Fen blushed scarlet.

“Dino!” shouted a voice.

It was a middle-aged woman, with the kind of lean muscular body that looks better in breeches than in the summer dress she was wearing.

“We thought you weren’t coming,” said her husband.

“Changed my mind.”

“We were real sorry about Manny.”

“Yeah, it was tough.”

There was a pause. The couple looked inquiringly at Fen, whose hand was still firmly held by Dino. Aware she must look hot and shiny from being kissed, she hung her head. Dropping her hand, Dino took hold of her hair at the back and very gently yanked her head upwards.

“You haven’t met Fenella Maxwell,” he said in the most drawling voice, “my future wife.”

Fen jumped out of her skin, then looked up at him with such startled, anxious eyes that he let go her hair and put a comforting arm round her shoulders.

“Truly?” she gasped.

“Very, very truly,” Dino said, laughing.

“Your future wife,” said the woman in delighted surprise. “Is that a fact, Fenella — er — Maxwell?”

“Jake Lovell’s sister-in-law, you were too polite to say,” said Dino. “She’s with the British team.”

“Well, congratulations,” said the husband, pumping Fen by the hand. “How long have you been engaged?”

Dino looked at his watch and laughed again. “About fifteen seconds,” he said, “perhaps sixteen by now.”

“Oh, wow! This may not be the best way of relaxing before a mega-competition,” said Dino, “but it’s certainly the nicest.”

He eased himself out of her and collapsed onto the flowered sheets. Carol Kennedy’s house was near Suzy Erikson’s. Out of the window they could see the mountains.

“I feel so relaxed I don’t think I’ll ever get up again,” said Fen.

“It sure went through the top of the Richter scale,” said Dino. “Were you scared?”

“Not as much as I thought I was going to be.”

“Nor was I. It didn’t matter if we bombed; we’ve got all our lives to get it right. Shall we have lots of kids? My daddy’s dying to be a grandfather.”

Fen rolled over. “Are you sure you want to get married?”

“Don’t you?” he said, appalled. “Oh, yes, more than anything. I just don’t want you to feel trapped.”

“I want to be trapped. You gotta make an honest man of me.”

He leaned on his elbow, running his hand down her body, stroking the hollow of her stomach.

“I’m going to feed you up.”

“I’m sorry I was so vile in England.”

“Well, I came on pretty hostile too. You were bent out of shape over Billy. I overreacted and backed off too hard so as not to crowd you.”

“But all that stupid business with Enrico,” protested Fen. “Ouch! That’s my boob you’ve dug your nails into.”

“Anyone else, I wouldn’t have minded, but he’s such a bastard. No, that’s not true. I’d have killed you if it had been anyone, I was so jealous.”

“I haven’t been out with a single man since you left.”

“What about married guys?” said Dino. Fen giggled. “Nor them, either. How about you?”

“Um — well I did try to screw my way out of it, but it didn’t do any good. I knew I’d never love anyone else. I worked and worked. I had fantasies about getting the gold and dazzling you into loving me back.”

Fen snuggled up to him. “You didn’t need a gold. God, I feel guilty feeling so ridiculously happy, when everything else is so awful.”

She knew she ought to put a call through to Tory, but couldn’t bring herself to burst the bubble of bliss just yet. She looked at the lean brown length of him, reveling once again in the thick blond hair, the Siamese-cat eyes, the wide, curling mouth. “I never dreamed I’d end up with anyone as stunningly attractive as you,” she said humbly. “In fact, your looks have definitely improved with age. D’you think I ought to ring Malise just in case he thinks his entire team is doing a disappearing act?”

“He knows.” Very gently Dino began to stroke the inside of her thigh. “I wanted to test the water, so I made sure I bumped into him first this morning. He told me where to find you. He also reckoned,” Dino smirked slightly, “you were going into a decline.”

“I was not,” said Fen indignantly. Then, as Dino moved his hand upwards and began to slide two fingers in and out of her, she gasped and said, “Well, perhaps I was.”

“Come here,” said Dino, bending over to kiss her. “I need a fix again.”

In the end it was he who made her ring Tory. She heard the operator saying the call came from L.A.

“Jake. Is that you?” Tory’s voice trembled with hope.

“No, I’m afraid it’s only me, Fen. You okay? No, I’m awfully sorry, there’s really no news of him this end. How are the children taking it?”

“We’re managing very well,” said Tory, in an unnaturally bright voice. “I just hope Jake isn’t too shattered by the press furor to come out of hiding.” She started to cry.

“Oh, please don’t,” said Fen, feeling her eyes fill with tears. “Look, d’you remember Dino, Dino Ferranti? He turned up today. Have a word with him.” She handed the receiver to Dino.

Dino was immensely kind but very practical. Had she got enough food in the house? Was anyone helping her with the kids and the horses? Who was fending off the press?

“Everyone’s being marvelous,” said Tory, “but they’re so embarrassed. They were so proud of Jakey and were planning this huge Welcome Home bonanza. Now they don’t know what to do.”

“Tell them to cheer for Fen. Angel, please don’t cry.” He raised a palm upwards in a particularly Latin gesture of despair, then said, “Listen, I’m going to get a night flight, right?”

“Oh no,” whispered Fen in horror. “You can’t do that. I need you.”

“I’ll be with you sometime tomorrow,” he went on. “Don’t bother to meet me. I’ll call from Heathrow. I’ll sort everything out. Well, he might do still; we’ll just cross our fingers.”

Putting down the telephone, he gathered Fen into his arms.

“I can’t bear it, not so soon after I’ve found you. I need you as much as she does,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry to be so selfish.”

Dino let her cry, stroking her hair, cradling her.

“It’s the most awful thing I’ve ever had to do,” he said, “but if I’m joining your family, right, I have a responsibility towards all of them. Things are simmering along at the moment, but if Jake doesn’t show on Sunday, the shit is really going to hit the fan. He’s already blown the monetary advantages of his silver. The press are gonna assassinate him for letting down his country and you’ve no idea of Rupert’s capacity for vengeance. Every door’ll be shut to him. He’ll probably be suspended for ten years.”

“Oh, poor Jake,” said Fen in horror. “Why did he do it?”

Dino brushed her damp hair and kissed her forehead. “I guess he fell in love. We know how potent that is. Helen was suicidal, frantic to escape from Rupert. Jake momentarily wanted someone glamorous to complement his new star status, probably wanted to deal the coup de grâce to Rupert. Nothing like cuckolding your enemy. All the same, I figure Helen’s to blame. However much Rupert hammers Jake for enticement, I guess it was Helen who pulled the plug out. She blew it to Rupert, knowing it would trigger Jake into leaving. But whatever happens, Jake’s on a collision course. Rupert’ll ruin them both.”

He glanced at her watch. “I’d better book that flight.”

As he came off the telephone Fen put her arms round him. “I didn’t believe it was possible, but I love you about a million times more than I did an hour ago; all the same I wouldn’t tell Tory about us yet. Other people’s happiness tends to push you over the top.”