Riders (69 page)

Suddenly, Fen remembered Rupert in Rome sneering at her disastrous performances in the Nations’ Cup, saying that women always crack under pressure.

To hell with Rupert, she said to herself, to hell with Janey Lloyd-Foxe and her beastly baby. If I’m going to commit suicide this is as good a way as any.

Having bowed briefly to the Princess in the Royal box, she turned Hardy round and thundered through the start at a gallop. Hardy, who was used to being checked all the time and fighting for his head, was puzzled for a minute, then rose to the challenge. Over the first fence she was up on Rupert’s time, throwing herself over, her hands nearly touching Hardy’s noseband. Over the parallel bars and, with an amazing flying change, she jumped the gate almost sideways.

God, thought Dino, suddenly terrified, she’s taking me literally. Scorching over the upright, bucketing over the walls, Fen was already looking ahead to the combination. She was coming in too fast; she was going to crash. She knew a terrifying moment of fear, then Hardy took over and executed a trio of perfect jumps and hurtled Fen through the finish. From the earsptitting cheers of the crowd, who had risen to their feet, she knew she had beaten Rupert’s time. The problem now was stopping. At the side of the arena a bank of blue hydrangeas came to meet them. Hardy skidded to the right, sliding along on his back legs for five seconds before coming to a halt.

Fen sauntered out of the ring, pleased that for once even Dino seemed shaken out of his customary cool.

The next moment Ludwig clapped his hand on her back.

“Brilliant. I haf never seen a round like zat.”

Count Guy followed suit, and suddenly all the British riders, except Rupert and Griselda, were shaking her hand and hugging her. She was home from Coventry at last.

Was it all worth it? wondered Fen, as she accepted her red rosette from the Princess, with the huge, silver cup sparkling even more dazzlingly as it reflected the lights. Was it worth the lack of sleep, the setbacks, the heartbreaks, for this moment of glory? She admired the Princess’s perfect ankles in flesh-colored tights as she walked back to the Royal box. Then there was a terrific roll of drums which nearly sent Snakepit and Rupert into orbit, leaving a gap between Fen and Billy, who was third. Turning, Fen looked him straight in the eye. With a supreme effort, far greater than winning the cup, she managed to smile. “I’m so pleased about your baby,” she said.

Then, before he had time to answer, the arena was plunged in darkness and Fen and the dappled gray Hardy were illuminated by the spotlight. She was aware that no one was leaving, there was no crashing of seats or banging of exit doors, or feet running down the concrete steps, just a long silence followed by the most almighty cheering, and, as the band struck up “I want some red roses for a blue lady,” everyone started singing and clapping in time. Then the other riders filed out and she was alone and spotlit in the ring, sending Hardy into his wonderful, effortless, long striding gallop, and the crowd cheered so loudly that she went round again. Billy may not love me, she thought, but they do. Why can’t I go on riding around this ring for the rest of my life?

Dudley captured her in the collecting ring, brandishing his microphone like a furry, black iced lolly: “Se-uper, absolutely seuper. You sorted out the girls from the boys today.” He roared with laughter. He’d had too many in the whisky tent. “And Harvey went se-uperly. You
must
be pleased.”

“He did, and I am.”

“Must be a cert for L.A. now.”

“You can’t look beyond tomorrow with horses,” said Fen.

“Must be difficult to choose between him and Esmeralda.”

Fen looked broodingly at Dudley for a second.

“
She’s
called Desdemona, and
he’s
called Hardy, and why don’t you remove your silly hat when you’re talking to a lady, Dudley. Although, knowing you, you probably think I’m a gentleman.”

Oh, Christ, she thought, I shouldn’t have said that.

Out of the corner of her eye, beyond the Shetland ponies and the famous ex-racehorses who were lining up for the personality parade, she could see a pack of reporters hovering.

“Well done, Fen, wizard round. Let’s have a jar later in the week,” bellowed a voice, and there, leering above her, almost sending Dudley flying, was Monica Carlton bowling past with her Welsh cobs.

“One door shuts, another door opens,” said Fen, giving Monica a weak smile. Dudley was flapping around saying good night to the viewers and reminding them to switch on tomorrow for the puissance. Fen tried to dive behind a coster’s van, but the reporters were old hands. Next moment they’d ringed her like a lasso, blocking her escape on all sides.

“What d’you think about Billy Lloyd-Foxe’s wife having a baby?”

“I’m very pleased for him.”

“Nothing else to say?”

“If it grows up like Billy, it’ll be a wonderful child.”

“But not like Janey?”

“I didn’t say that.” Fen looked desperately round for help. “I hardly know Janey.”

“You were very fond of Billy, weren’t you?”

“It’s difficult not to be,” said Fen, bursting into tears. “He hasn’t an enemy in the world.”

All she could see was their avid searching eyes and their frantically scribbling pens.

“Why can’t you leave me alone?” she sobbed.

A shadow fell across the notebooks.

“Pack it in,” said Dino coldly and, taking the couple nearest Fen by their coat collars, he yanked them out of the way. “Bugger off and fuse your own typewriters with your lousy copy. You heard what the lady said—leave her alone.”

B
ack in the lorry, Dino peered unenthusiastically into the fridge. “One black avocado, half a can of beans, a pork pie that ought to be on superannuation. You have two choices,” he said to Fen. “You can cry yourself to sleep, right, or come out to dinner with me. I’m starving.”

“I’m not hungry and I ought to ring Jake.”

“Sarah called him. He said, what the hell were you doing risking Hardy’s neck, then exhausting him, showing off in that double lap of honor.”

Fen pulled a face. “And that’s all the bloody praise I get.”

Dino took her to an Italian restaurant off High Street, Kensington, which stayed open late. Outside, Fen could see dusty, yellowing plane trees fretted by raindrops, and lovers under pulled-down umbrellas hurrying to catch the last tube. Imprisoned in Wembley, with its heat, airlessness, and tensions, she’d forgotten an outside world existed. At the next-door table a couple were holding hands. Taking in the merry din, the bottles of chianti, the photographs of the Colosseum on the wall, the solicitous waiters, Fen was reminded of the night in Rome with Billy, when her face was all bruised and he’d fed her risotto with a spoon. She wanted him so badly it took her breath away.

“What are you thinking about?” demanded Dino.

“That I ought to be in the intensive care unit, not wasting your money.”

“It is
my
money,” said Dino, grabbing the menus. “I’ll order for you.”

“Grapefruit bolognese’ll do me fine,” said Fen, emptying half a glass of wine in one gulp.

“How come you speak Italian so well?” she said when he’d finished ordering.

“Because I
am
Italian, I guess.”

“You’re American.”

“Only by adoption. I’m just a simple, lousy, Latin lover at heart.”

“Why have you streaked your hair gray?”

“Well, hearing you were heavily into older guys, like Billy, I figured I stood more of a chance if I looked more mature. Besides,” he grinned, “I thought it suited me.”

“It does,” admitted Fen. “You look too bloody glamorous for words, but it’s too early to make jokes about my broken heart.”

Dino put a suntanned, beautifully manicured hand over hers. “How come you didn’t acknowledge my telegram?”

“I wasn’t sure it was from you.”

“It said it was, didn’t it?”

“You don’t know the terrible thing Rupert did to me in Rome.”

Just for a second his hand tightened painfully on hers.

“No, not that,” said Fen. “I’d been packed off to bed ludicrously early and was sitting there, dying of boredom, when Rupert rang up, pretending to be you, and asked me out to dinner.”

“Did you go?”

“Did I? I’ve never got bathed, washed my hair, and dressed quicker in my life. Then I found Rupert and Driffield killing themselves at the bottom of the stairs.”

Dino looked half-smug, half-sympathetic.

“That was a lousy trick. Were you disappointed?”

“Shattered. After that, I thought the telegram was probably one of Rupert’s vile little practical jokes too, so I never wrote and thanked you.”

“If you had, I’d have been over much sooner.”

“And I might never have got involved with Billy. D’you think I’ll ever get over him?” she added dolefully.

“Sure you will. Just stick around.”

The waiter arrived with their first course: half a dozen Mediterranean prawns each and a huge bowl of mayonnaise, strongly flavored with garlic.

Dino ordered another bottle, and started stripping the prawns with incredible dexterity, then dipping them in the mayonnaise and passing them to Fen.

“Mm, they actually are delicious. Do you undress women as expertly?”

“Far more expertly, and I don’t pull their heads and legs off, either.”

Fen paused for a minute, thinking how amazingly attractive he was; if you liked that sort of thing, she told herself hastily.

“Did you ever get Helen Campbell-Black into bed?”

Dino grinned. “We had lunch several times, but she never had more than one course and left half of that because she was always wanting to rush me off to some art gallery. I said, ‘Honey, I am not into culture, I’m only into sex.’ ”

“You didn’t manage to divert her into some large double bed?”

He shook his head. “She was running scared the whole time. Whenever I put my hand on her back to guide her across the road, she shot into the oncoming traffic. If you try anything further, a burglar alarm goes off.”

“In Rupert’s lorry?”

“No, in her head. She’s so beautiful you want to gaze and gaze, but I guess she’s like a Ming vase: beautiful but empty.”

“Goodness, I’ve eaten all those prawns,” said Fen.

“Good girl.” Dino ran his hand down the inside of her arm, caressing her gently, almost abstractedly as if she were a dog. “Funny, I fancy you. I always have.”

Fen jumped away. “You mustn’t say things like that. I’m not ready for propositions.”

“Wasn’t a proposition. Just a statement of fact.”

“Even though I’m not as beautiful as Helen?”

Dino looked at her meditatively. “You could gain some weight,” he said, “but you’ll do.”

Fen noticed he was beginning to squint slightly. He must be desperately jet-lagged.

“How’s Manny?”

“Awesome; much better than me. He’s grown so much and filled out. He was winning a lot earlier in the year. Then my daddy had a cardiac arrest in July. He’s better now, but I was off the circuit for some weeks.”

“Why have you suddenly come over here at the end of the season?”

“To work with this guy whom I reckon is the best coach in the world. I’m going to stable the horses at his barn for a few months, take in a few shows in Europe, then have a stab at the World Cup in April. Then back to the States for the run up to the Olympics. I guess I want a gold as much as you do.”

“Who is this coach? Do I know him?”

“No one knows him very well. He’s kind of unapproachable.” Dino smiled confidingly. “Actually, I fancy one of his female jockeys. I figured if I was living there with permanent access, I might stand a better chance.”

Fen slumped in her chair, utterly deflated. She looked down at the tiny lamb cutlets that had just arrived and removed the blackened sprig of rosemary that lay across them. She was utterly heartbroken over Billy, but no girl likes an attractive reboundee whipped from under her nose before she’s even had a moment to try and rebound onto him. It would have been useful to have Dino in England if anyone asked her to bring a man to a party or to some official dinner. Moodily she poured too much salt onto the side of her plate, watching it turn green in the mint sauce.

“No, I don’t want any more to drink,” she said sulkily. “I’ve got a class at nine tomorrow.”

Dino took no notice and filled up her glass.

“Did you meet this girl on the circuit?” she asked.

“Last year at the World Championship.”

Fen glanced up suddenly and was amazed to see he was laughing.

“Jesus, you’re thick, Maxwell. You may win trophies at shows, but you’ve got the perception of a blindworm.”

“I don’t understand,” stammered Fen.

Dino took her hand again, turning it over, gently tracing the heart line with his thumb.

“I saw Jake this afternoon. He figures you’ve done a fantastic job, but it might help to have another guy around the barn to jump some of the horses. In return, he’s going to help me with Manny when he comes out of the hospital.”

Fen suddenly felt near to tears again. “So he thinks I can’t cope?”

“On the contrary, he thinks you’re too good to waste. He wants a gold for you, too. He’s only helping me because he knows there’s no way I can beat you.”

Fen sat on Jake’s hospital bed a fortnight later. “It is absolutely infuriating,” she grumbled, “but the entire household: Tory, the children, the grooms, the horses, even Wolf, are madly in love with Dino Ferranti. It’s a good thing you’re coming home next week to restore normality before they all defect to America with him.”

She got up and wandered restlessly around the room, looking at the inside of the hundreds of get-well cards, eating grapes, trying not to be upset by Jake’s hisses of pain as, with contorted, sweating face and gritted teeth, he battled on, endlessly bending and stretching to strengthen the muscles of both broken and wasted legs. She couldn’t help noticing how fragile and lacking in muscle they looked and wondered if he would ever ride again, let alone make the big time.

“The physiotherapist warned you not to overdo it,” she said reprovingly.

“Physiotherapists aren’t interested in medals,” said Jake, pushing his drenched fringe out of his eyes.

“Tory’s planning a surprise Thanksgiving dinner for Dino, so he won’t feel homesick,” Fen went on. “Sarah is actually putting on makeup first thing in the morning for the first time in history. Any minute Desdemona will start curling her pink eyelashes. I can’t think why he has to be so bloody charming all the time. Goodness, you’ve got a card from the Princess! You are a star. Are you looking forward to coming home next week?”

“Of course,” panted Jake, leaning back for a second against the bedhead.

“We’re all longing to have you,” said Fen.

Neither statement was strictly true. Jake, having dreamed of nothing but getting out of hospital for five months, was now thrown into a blind panic at the thought of facing the outside world. Learning to walk again was really taking it out of him—crashing over all the time, dragging himself up again, black with despair that neither of his legs would ever be strong enough to support him, and terror whether he’d ever have the guts to get on a horse again.

Night after night, he dreamed of tumbling poles and colossal horses crashing from great heights onto his legs, splintering them to spillikins, and woke up sobbing and screaming, until the night nurse arrived to calm him down. After his early animosity, he felt an almost slavish gratitude to the nurses and the Matron, who had all taken such a personal pride in getting him right. When they weren’t too busy on the wards, particularly at night, they would spend hours talking to him and he found himself unbending as he never did at home or with the other riders. There was one blond nurse for whom he had a special fondness: Sister Wutherspoon, who brought him fresh eggs from the country and always popped in to show herself off, radiant and scented, before she went out on dates. Jake suppressed a faint suspicion that she might return his interest. Desirable nurses were not attracted to bad-tempered cripples like himself.

Finally, he didn’t feel up to facing the whole slog of running the yard, driving miles to shows, raking the country for new horses. He longed for the children but didn’t know if he could cope with the decibel level of their shrill demands, or with the doglike devotion of good, shiny-faced Tory, heaving her eleven-stone bulk round the Mill House, as she waited on everyone.

All he wanted to do was to spend two months soaking up the sun on some Hawaiian beach, with Sister Wutherspoon in a grass skirt ministering to his every need. Grass skirts would be no good in Warwickshire; Macaulay would eat them. He was glad Dino was going to be there to shoulder some of the responsibility.

Fen, on the other hand, was in a muddle. Having run the yard virtually single-handed for five months, she was close to collapse, but she had been buoyed up by her hopes of Billy coming sweet, and by the feeling that she was being indispensable and splendid. Now Dino had moved in and taken over at least half of the reins. Everyone seemed happier and she couldn’t help being jealous. She felt she’d been demoted from head girl to the upper fourth and when Jake came home, she’d be back in the kindergarten.

She was irritated by the way everyone deferred to Dino. She couldn’t fault him as a worker. Despite the very late hours he kept, he got up at six like everyone else and spent at least seven or eight hours in the saddle, working not only his own horses but all of Jake’s novices. He had strange ideas about feeding his horses, arriving with a trunk full of vitamins and additives, but he was out of bed in a flash if there was any trouble with a sick horse in the night.

And, despite his languid, playboy image, he was amazingly domesticated. Fen nearly fainted one evening when she came home from an interview in Birmingham with ATV, to find him ironing his shirts.

“What are you doing?” she asked in amazement, “Tory can do those.”

“Why the hell should she? She’s exhausted.”

Fen watched the expert way he slid the iron along the folds of the blue silk sleeve into the cuff. “Where d’you learn to do that?”

“At college. All the money went on the horses. I couldn’t afford to send shirts to the laundry. I hate crumpled shirts, so I figured I better learn to iron.”

“You’ll make a wonderful wife someday,” said Fen.

At that moment Darklis appeared in a pink nightgown, looking disapproving.

“ ’Lo Fen. We saw you on the telly. Are you coming, Dino? You promised to read
Green Eggs and Ham.
Dino’s going to take me to Disneyland,” she added to Fen. “Come on, Dino.”