Polo (42 page)

    Daisy's cheeks were bright pink, but she was deathly white under her eyes, which were still red-rimmed from crying outside the bookshop. Her lovely soft mouth had nearly disappeared in her desperate attempt not to cry again.

    Drew, who said nothing and went on stroking Ethel, had a reputation for coolness because he had an analytical mind and always thought before he spoke. Being in the Army for nine years had also given him a certain fixity of outlook, but he was extremely kind in a detached way, never took himself very seriously and was an excellent listener.

    `I bet you haven't had any lunch,' said Daisy leaping to her feet. `I'll make us some scrambled eggs. Lots of people are like me,' she rattled on. `There's a frightfully pompous piece in the paper today saying the New Singleton is the emblematic, contemporary figure.'

    Her hands shook so much she spilt most of the eggs as she cracked them on the edge of the bowl. Her coordination was so jiggered she could hardly manage towatch the toast and cook the eggs at the same time.

    `This piece rabbited on about always looking your best in case Mr Right Mark II came along, but I don't see anyone except my awful boss and it seems silly looking smart while I'm painting or walking Ethel. D'you think the badgers would appreciate bright red lipstick to match a red scarf and taupe eyeshadow? Besides I don't think anyone would put up with me now.' She scraped the wooden spoon frantically against the bottom of the pan. `You get into such awful habits living alone. Talking to yourself, wiping your hands on your trousers. Oh, bugger, I've turned off the grill.'

    `I turned it off,' said Drew. `I adore the way your bum judders when you stir those eggs,' he added, turning off the gas as well, `and I like cold scrambled eggs.'

    Next moment he had taken her in his arms.

    `Oh no,' squeaked Daisy. `What about Sukey?'

    `Shut up,' said Drew gently. `She's at home making lists for Easter. I have a marriage of convenience. It was the only way I could play polo.'

    The arctic-blue eyes which turned down at the corners were suddenly anything but cold. Daisy's resolve weakened. `It's still wrong.'

    `Hush, two wrongs make a Mr Right,' said Drew and kissed her. Daisy was utterly lost. Until one kisses a man, one cannot tell if one truly desires him, and something melted inside Daisy and as Drew's tongue coolly and languorously explored her mouth, her hands shot upwards to tangle in his fine silky hair, and then to feel the wonderful muscular strength of his shoulders. She was so taken by surprise that next moment she found herself upstairs. Thank goodness she'd changed the sheets that morning, Ethel hadn't shredded a bone in her bed and there were more clothes on the chair than the floor.

    `Lovely room,' said Drew, admiring the huge roses, peonies and delphiniums which Daisy had painted growing out of the skirting board. `It'll be like screwing on the lawn on a summer evening.'

    `I haven't slept with anyone for three years,' mumbled Daisy in panic, as Drew slowly undid the buttons of her black cardigan, until he could drop an infinitely leisured kiss on her bare shoulder.

    `It'll come back. It's like riding a bicycle,' whispered Drew as his hand slid round to the back to unhook her bra.

    `I'll need stabilizers to start off with,' said Daisy feeling wildly unstable.

    `Christ,' said Drew lifting one heavy breast after another in delight, `they
are
beautiful.'

    And he really admired them from all angles before bending his head and kissing each nipple. As he slowly removed her skirt, her laddered tights, and her pants, grey as a dishcloth which ought to have been retired years ago, Daisy curled up with embarrassment.

    `I haven't shaved my legs or anywhere else. I'm like an old ewe.'

    `The Welsh Guards were always known as the sheep shaggers. That's better,' he went on as Daisy laughed and as his warm hands moved over her body, just grazing the hairs, he had her leaping with desire. Still dressed, he sat beside her on the bed and stroked down her belly.

    `This is the only bit that needs cutting back,' he said, parting her pubic hair and gently fingering. `All you need is a bit of spit and polish. Don't hurry, my darling. I've no desire to get back to my mother-in-law.'

    Daisy giggled, shuddered, tensed, came and then burst into tears. Appalled, Drew pulled her into his arms. `Darling, what's the matter?'

    `I never came with Hamish,' sobbed Daisy, `never in fifteen years, I never believed anything could be so lovely.'

    `Then we'd better make up for lost orgasms. It's my turn next.'

    Dreamily Daisy watched him undress. Apart from slightly bow legs and a shrapnel scar from the Falklands, he was wonderfully built - stocky and muscular without being fat. Even his cock seemed to have biceps as, with the ball of his thumb seldom far away from her clitoris, he drove her to extremes of joy. She was amazed anyone so phlegmatic could be such a sensitive, imaginative lover. He didn't even mind when Ethel, unaccustomed to sex, and stumbling upon 'an unbelievably jolly romp, decided to join in with a great leap on the bed.

    Afterwards, as she sat wrapped in a scratchy, dark blue

    towel watching Drew have a bath, Daisy said again that she felt quite awful about Sukey.

    `Don't,' said Drew, who certainly scrubbed himself very vigorously. `As long as she doesn't find out, it won't hurt her. Anyway, I've always had a crush on you.'

    `Me?' said Daisy incredulously.

    `Ever since you got rained on the first time we met at the Pony Club, and I could have hung my polo hat on your nipples.'

    `A crush helmet,' giggled Daisy.

    `I've been wondering,' went on Drew, `what you'd look like without your clothes on.'

    `Hairy,' said Daisy.

    Drew shook his head as he reared out of the bath. `Absolutely gorgeous.'

    Pulling off her towel, he gently squeezed her right breast. `Promise never to lose any weight.'

    He glanced at the watch that he'd left on the edge of the basin. `Christ, I must go.' Then, seeing the shadow of desolation flicker across Daisy's face, `I'll ring you tomorrow morning.'

    `How?' asked Daisy.

    `When Sukey rides out with my mother-in-law.'

    Outside, Ricky's ash trees, like a clump of swaying broomsticks, were trying to sweep the stars out of a pearly grey sky. Drew kissed her again. `Merry Christmas, Mrs Macleod, I'm afraid you've got yourself a toyboy.'

    Daisy felt it was all dreadfully immoral, but she couldn't help being hugely cheered up, particularly when Drew rang her as promised next day saying how much he wanted to see her again. Going into the garden, she found midges dancing and crab apples glittering crimson against a bright ultramarine sky. Breathing in the wild-rose scent of a pale pink rambler called The New Dawn, which clambered up to the cottage eaves, and always seemed to be in flower, Daisy hoped it would be a new dawn for her and she might do some brighter paintings.

    On Christmas Day she had another surprise. Ricky rang up stammering badly and thanked her for the drawing of Little Chef she'd sent him as a Christmas present.

`It's
f-f-fantastic. How is he?'

    `Fine, but missing you.'

    `And Perdita?'

    `Fine - in Palm Beach staying with the Aldertons.'

    Oh God, why had she blurted that out? She must have wrecked his Christmas.

    But, after a long pause, Ricky asked, `You're not by yourself?'

    `Yes, but I've got a lot of friends dropping in' (well, one friend).

    `Good.' Then, after a really long pause: `Have you got Perdita's number?'

    Perhaps he was keen on Perdita after all, thought Daisy after he'd rung off. If she hadn't met Drew again, she might have been very jealous.

    Later on Violet rang from LA.

    `Daddy and Wendy have gone out. Eddie and I spend our time baby-sitting. Oh, Mummy, it's awful. Daddy was present at the birth, and Wendy insisted we watched the video last night. It was disgusting. Eddie nearly fainted. And they've got a white album of even more disgusting photographs - even of the afterbirth, and they show it to everyone, and Wendy breastfeeds in public, in the shops and at parties. And she's gone completely Californian, no salt in food, no getting brown, no drink, no fags. I wish we could come home. I love you, Mum. You're not too lonely on your own?'

    Daisy put down the telephone feeling so happy.

    Drew seemed to have ignited some creative spark. Daisy painted and painted late into the night, listening to the foxes barking, and singing `I just called to say I love you' that she slept until she was woken by Drew's telephone call in the morning.

    On Boxing Day it turned bitterly cold. In the west a band of crocus-yellow was fading into daffodil below a dark purple cloud. Having shaved her legs and her armpits, Daisy rigged up a mirror in the drawing room, lit the fire and did a series of sketches of herself in the nude. If Drew liked her body maybe it wasn't that bad. She mustn't be too obvious, she mustn't glamorize herself. Completely absorbed, she didn't hear the door bell at first. Wrapping

    herself in a rose-pink shawl she'd draped over the sofa to hide two large cigarette burns, she opened the front door and gave a gasp. For there was Drew in a red coat, white breeches and brown-topped boots.

    `I decided to change the quarry,' he said, shoving her back into the house and slamming the door.

    `How lovely. Where's your horse?'

    `Gone home. Sukey thinks I'm having a drink with Rupert.'

    `Does he know you aren't?'

    `Yes, I've covered up enough for him over the years.' Imagine Rupert being used as an alibi for me, thought Daisy amazed.

    `You been down a mine?' asked Drew, taking in her charcoal smudged face and hands.

    `D'you want a drink?' asked Daisy.

    `No, I want you.' Drew ripped off her shawl.

    As he took her in his arms the taut athletic muscular hardness of his body evoked some distant memory, something familiar yet incredibly disturbing, stirring like a hibernating butterfly at the back of her consciousness.

    His face was ice-cold against hers, so were his hands as they moved over her body. There was nothing measured or leisurely about his approach today. Whisking her into the drawing room, he laid her down on the threadbare carpet, unzipped his flies and, forcing his way into her, came almost immediately.

    `Sorry, darling,' he murmured into her shoulder, `that was bloody selfish, but I couldn't help myself - pleasured my lady with my boots on. Stay there. I don't want to ruin your carpet.'

    Easing himself out, he returned with some kitchen roll.

    `That was lovely,' sighed Daisy truthfully. After years of indifference from Hamish, the greatest aphrodisiac for her was that Drew wanted her so much.

    `How was your party at lunchtime?' he asked.

    `Undemanding,' said Daisy, flattered that he'd remembered. `Mawled wine and retired colonels rabbiting on about wind breaks and frost pockets. I still feel awful about Sukey. The same thing happened to me at Christmas. I remember the telephone always smelling of Paco Rabanne when I came back from being out and not understanding

    why when Hamish claimed no one had rung. Then there were all the dropped telephone calls.'

    `Don't torture yourself,' said Drew, leaning up on his elbow and stroking her belly. `Every situation is different. Ricky married for love, and look where that got him. I didn't. I'm not attracted to Sukey. We never sleep together, but I love Jamie and I'm fond of the old thing. This isn't doing her any harm, and it's doing me so much good,' he slid his fingers inside her, `and this is definitely not a frost pocket.'

    Catching sight of them both in the mirror, he reached over and adjusted the angle so they could both watch.

    `Hamish never did that either,' said Daisy afterwards.

    `Sounds a prat.' Then, out of the blue: `If you didn't come with him, what about Perdita's father?'

    Burying her face in his chest, Daisy decided to tell the truth and the circumstances because she trusted Drew to keep his trap shut.

    `So it might have been some handsome rock star or polo player,' said Drew afterwards. `Could have been me. I was eleven and
very
precocious.'

    `Don't think there were any children present. Jackie wasn't into paedophilia.'

    Making a joke of it suddenly made the whole thing less awful.

    `You're not shocked?' asked Daisy.

    `Having been a friend of Rupert's for fifteen years, nothing shocks me. Anyway, you were a baby.' Daisy felt weak with gratitude.

    `My parents were dreadfully upset. They tried to sweep it under the carpet, but as they had fitted carpets at home it was rather hard.'

    `I'm getting rather hard too,' said Drew, pulling her on top of him.

    `Oh, I love you,' said Daisy covering him with kisses, then added hastily, `but don't worry, I say "I love you", all the time to Ethel and Gainsborough and the children. I'm honestly not getting heavy.'