Riders (54 page)

Great Britain had patchy fortunes in the Nations’ Cup. Rupert produced two dazzling clears on Snakepit. Humpty, trying to impress a new sponsor, jumped disastrously with over twenty faults in both rounds. Driffield went clear, then went to pieces in the second round. Jake had eight faults in the first round, then went clear.

The Americans jumped brilliantly; so did the Germans, putting them first and second, with the British a poor third. This meant four American riders, four Germans, Rupert, Jake, Wishbone, Piero Fratinelli, the Italian Number One, a couple of Mexicans and, to the ecstasy of the French crowd, Guy de la Tour, went through to the semifinal.

By the third and final competition of the semifinal, Ludwig and Rupert were so far ahead on points that they virtually only had to stand up to get into the last four. The class consisted of ten enormous fences, with a jump-off against the clock. Rupert got eight faults, Ludwig twelve, which ensured them a place in the final. Dino went clear. Only Jake and Count Guy were left to jump.

“It’ll be you, me, Ludwig, and Guy,” Rupert said to Dino as he came out of the ring. “One from each country. Very suitable.”

Jake was so incensed by Rupert’s contemptuous assumption that there was no likelihood he would make the final, that he was prepared to carry Macaulay over the fences if necessary.

“You must win this class, even to qualify,” said Malise, giving Macaulay a pat as Jake rode off into the ring.

Macaulay was obviously determined to give all his supporters a heart attack. Fooling around, pretending to shy at the crowd, bucking and getting up to all sorts of antics between fences, he nevertheless went clear, kicking up his heels in a sort of equine V-sign.

Everyone got out their calculators, trying to work out whether he was in or not. In came Guy, who was ahead of both Dino and Jake on points. Laughing, handsome, he was turned on by a big crowd, particularly of his own people. He could feel the waves of love and admiration wafting over like a hot blow dryer.

Coming up to the penultimate fence, a huge upright which had unsettled everyone except Macaulay, Guy’s spectacular black gelding, Charlemagne, gave it a mighty clout. Everyone held their breath, but the pole stayed put. Alas, Guy made the mistake of looking round, like Orpheus, and the Eurydice he lost was his place in the championship. His concentration snapped and he put Charlemagne wrong at the combination. The horse hadn’t enough impulsion to get far enough over the first element and demolished the second and the third. The crowd groaned. All round the course, riders and their retinues were frantically tapping their calculators.

“It’s worse than A-level math,” grumbled Fen.

Next moment, Malise came up to Jake, with a barely suppressed expression of delight on his face.

“You’re in,” he said.

Americans were crowding around Dino, punching him on the arm.

“We’re in, we’re in.”

No one dared show any elation in the face of such bitter French despair. Financially and, from the point of view of national morale, it was essential that the host nation had at least one rider in the final. The crowd were too stunned to clap. The commentator was too stunned even to translate into English his announcement that Rupert, Dino, Ludwig, and Jake would go through.

Dino and Jake decided not to jump off. They wanted to rest their horses for the final. They rode into the ring together. Twenty thousand francs would be divided between them, but not the huge vase that went to the winner. It looked just like an urn.

“Oh, my God, we can’t exactly break it in half,” said Dino. “You better keep it, Jake. I’m sure it’s to put your ashes in.”

Hell, thought Rupert, I’m going to have to ride that black bugger after all.

I
t 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?”