Riders (94 page)

“No, it would not,” said Fen furiously. “I’m going to marry Dino Ferranti.” Then she clapped her hands over her mouth in horror.

Dino knew that, where Rupert was concerned, Fen was unfinished business. He trusted Fen, but for the last three hours he had been through all the agonizing jealousy of a man deeply in love.

“Yippee,” he shouted, “Yippee.” Then, exactly on cue, he heard the bells pealing out in the village. He opened the window. It was a clear starlit night. Orion was climbing out of bed on the horizon, pulling on his boots. Not a breath of wind ruffled the curtains. The peal of the bells must be carrying miles down the valley. His darling, darling Fen had won the gold. The village hadn’t known what to do; they had been shellshocked by Jake walking out. Now they had another heroic exploit to celebrate. They could carry on with their Welcome Home celebrations. Not many villages in England could boast a silver
and
a gold.

Tory, woken by Dino’s shout of joy, pulled the blankets and pillows over her head to blot out the sound of the bells, remembering in anguish how they had rung out for Jake only six nights ago. Oh God, please, please bring him back. As the telephone rang, she experienced a frantic surge of hope, then the black, black despair overwhelmed her again as she heard Dino say, “Fen darling, you were fantastic, a bloody miracle. I never figured I’d want another country to beat America, but you were just great, great, great.”

“Dino,” said Fen in a small voice. “I’ve got something to tell you. I didn’t mean to force your hand. But they goaded me about Rupert at the press conference and I told them I was going to marry you.”

“I know,” said Dino. “Best program I’ve ever seen.”

“You saw it?” said Fen in amazement.

“I taped it, so you can’t change your mind. Means we won’t have to put an announcement in the
New York Times,
either.”

Fen giggled. “Oh, you are lovely. I didn’t want to trap you.”

“Baby, how many times do I have to tell you? Look, are you coming home tomorrow? I’ve got the most god-awful withdrawal symptoms.”

“Oh, yes,” said Fen. “I can’t bear another minute away from you.”

“And when you get back, I’m going to frog-march you into the nearest Registrar’s office and marry you. What the bloody hell’s Billy doing out there?”

“Were you jealous?”

“Insanely—that’s why I want you home. I don’t trust either of those bastards.”

For a few minutes they talked nonsense.

“Have you said anything to Tory about us?”

“No, not really. I guess she knows. She’s not in very good shape.”

Tory, who had been listening at the top of the stairs, desperate for some crumb of comfort, some tiny piece of news about Jake, slunk back to bed. Only when Dino had checked that she was asleep did she give way to tears.

A
utumn came, bringing huge red suns and frosty mornings and clogging the millstream with yellow leaves. Tory carried on as though there was a key in her back. There were no money problems. Fen came back from L.A. to a heroine’s welcome. She and Dino carried on taking the horses to shows and trying to keep their delirious happiness within bounds, at least when they were with Tory. The children, particularly Isa, were at first bewildered, even distraught, by Jake’s disappearance, but soon got involved in a new term, where they were both the object of increased sympathy and interest. Dino, whom they both adored, was back, and Fen and he infected the children with their happiness and took them out a lot, to give Tory a break. To Tory they seemed like four children, or very young parents with two kids. She was glad Dino and Fen had finally got it together, but it didn’t ease her own despair.

Tory normally loved autumn best of all, chopping logs for huge fires, making chutney, jam, and elderberry wine, loading up the deep freeze with vegetables and apple pies. But this year there seemed to be a glut of everything. Too many green tomatoes, too many apples thudding from the trees. She tried to pick them and gave up. She was always cold, always shivering. She covered herself up with three or four jerseys, so that no one should realize how much weight she had lost, or that she wasn’t eating. Alone in the house, she spent her time crying, then crept into bed at night to clutch an equally shivering Wolf, who missed Jake as much as she did. Malise came down to offer comfort, but was daunted by her grief. His own sadness that Helen had run off, he kept to himself.

To buck Tory up, Dino and Fen tried to persuade her to go to Wembley. But she couldn’t face the prying eyes or the memories. Billy Lloyd-Foxe had a brilliant week and won the Victor Ludorum. Every night Ivor Braine, Fen, and Rupert, with his arm in a sling, appeared at the end of the Personality Parade, and brought the house down as they displayed their gold medals. Otherwise, Rupert was off the circuit for two months. The doctor in L.A. had, in fact, trapped a nerve when he put Rupert’s shoulder back. An operation was needed to sort it out. That Rupert had been brave enough to carry on jumping, despite such excruciating pain, only enhanced his almost magical prestige. The press reported his increased interest in politics. He was tipped to take over a safe seat in Gloucestershire.

The press were also wildly interested in Jake, keeping a watch on all the airports, and continually ringing the Mill House in case there was news of him. But there was none. He simply hadn’t got in touch. Heaven only knew what he and Helen were living on.

Then, in the middle of October, the press caught Jake and Helen arriving at Heathrow, both wearing dark glasses. Neither would say a word to anyone, and somehow, as elusive as his gypsy forebears, Jake managed to shake off a pack of reporters and vanish. But not for long. The press’s blood was up and within a few days they had hunted them down, staying near Gloucester with a horse-dealing friend of Jake’s. Again, he and Helen refused to talk, despite the astronomical sums of money which were offered for their story. And two days later, blazoned across every paper, were pictures of Jake, again in dark glasses, applying for the dole at Gloucester Labor Exchange.

The fact that Jake was so near, yet still hadn’t contacted Tory, was for Dino the final straw. He saw how Tory was being crucified. He was all for driving over to Gloucester and beating the hell out of Jake, but Fen managed to restrain him.

“You can’t make him come back if he doesn’t want to. Tory would hate that more than anything.”

Once back in England, when he wasn’t dodging the press, Jake made heroic efforts to get work, but found every door shut. There was no point in ringing Garfield Boyson, as he hadn’t kept his nose clean, but he rang all the other sponsors who’d been pursuing him before the Games. They all gave him an earful or hung up. He buried his pride and applied for jobs running riding schools or working as a stud groom. A few people saw him out of curiosity before rejecting him. No one wanted a fallen idol.

Horse and Hound
had announced that the inquiry into his defection at the Olympic Games would be held at the BSJA headquarters in November. Jake was expected to turn up and defend himself. If he didn’t, the general consensus of opinion was that he’d be suspended for at least ten years, if not for life.

Jake could have handled all that if he and Helen had been happy. But, as the days passed, he began to realize the full extent of her neurosis and egoism. Even if he did get a job, her insecurity was such that she couldn’t bear him out of her sight for an instant.

Before the Games, all they had really talked about was their love for one another and The Situation. Like a prisoner of war, Helen had dreamed of escape; now, having escaped, she found she was living in some bleak gray Eastern European zone. By running off, she and Jake had deprived themselves of everything except each other. Claustrophobically thrown on their own resources, they found they had nothing in common.

Helen longed for her beautiful house and garden, her children, particularly Marcus, her checkbook, and her status as Rupert’s wife. Rupert blocked her application to see the children, so she would have to go to court and, as they had no money, that would mean applying for legal aid.

Horses had been Jake’s life. Deprived of them, he was like a junkie without a fix. He missed the Mill House, the children, Wolf, but most of all he found he missed Tory. And yet some strange pride stopped him getting in touch. He was convinced they were all managing perfectly without him. It would look as though he was slinking back only because he’d run out of money and couldn’t cope. He also realized the enormity of his crime towards her and towards his country and was too ashamed to show his face. Above all, he’d given Helen the handkerchief; he must stick by the rules.

He never blamed her once for forcing his hand, but he retreated inside himself. Knowing he was miserable, she became obsessively jealous of Tory, the good wife, who never made a fuss. Why the hell couldn’t Jake bitch about her occasionally? But Jake realized now that Tory had loved him for himself. Helen only loved the new, infinitely desirable image of herself which his love had created, and which must be preserved at all costs.

Feeling that the horse dealer who’d put them up shouldn’t be subjected to such a bombardment from the press, Helen and Jake moved into a bedsitter in Gloucester. But they were absolutely skint. The social security office came up with one reason after another why they shouldn’t give Jake any money. He sold his cuff links and some of Helen’s jewelry. Soon, the only thing left would be his silver medal. And all the time Fleet Street was tempting him, offering more than a quarter of a million pounds for their story.

Jake was accustomed to being poor. Helen was not. She tried to economize, but she was used to going to the hairdresser’s at least twice a week, and never having a run in her tights, and paying £15 for a pot of face cream. If she paid any less, she was convinced Jake would go off her. Having run away in Los Angeles with only summer clothes, she was desperate to buy winter ones, and thought wistfully of her furs in the wardrobe at Penscombe.

The last Monday in October began badly for Tory. She got up and took the children to school, only realizing when she got there and found the doors locked that it was half-term. Later, making her bed, she retrieved her hot water bottle from the bottom and, unscrewing it, found herself solemnly emptying it into her jersey drawer. In the middle of the morning Dino found her in floods of tears, turning out the contents of the vacuum cleaner in the sitting room, because she’d hoovered up a moth by mistake.

“The poor little thing was alive,” she sobbed, scrabbling frantically through the dust. “I can’t find it anywhere.”

Dino cleared up the mess, then sat her down.

“Angel, you’re very very tired. Fen and I have got to go up to London for this program.” (They were doing Billy Lloyd-Foxe on
This Is Your Life
that evening.) “We’re going to take the kids to get them out of your hair for twenty-four hours. They’ll enjoy seeing the inside of a studio. Hannah will be here to keep an eye on you. Sarah’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning, so you don’t have to worry about the horses. Tomorrow, when we get back, I am taking you to the doctor.”

“I’m all right,” protested Tory.

But the children’s wild delight at the prospect of a jaunt only depressed her more. They’re bored by me, she thought miserably. I’m no fun anymore.

“You do promise to look after her, don’t you?” said Fen to Hannah as they left.

After they’d gone, Tory tried to pull herself together and get down to making green tomato chutney. But as she was chopping the onions, she remembered it had been Jake’s favorite, and how he used to eat it neat out of the jar with a spoon, which made her cry again.

She started as the doorbell rang. Why did she still harbor some inside hope that it might be Jake? But it was her mother, in a new burgundy suit, looking very chic despite a burgundy face from the car heater.

“I’m not crying,” lied Tory, wiping her hands on her skirt.

“No, I can smell you’re not,” said Molly, backing off slightly. “We’re on our way to stay with some of Bernard’s dreary relations. I left him in the car.” As though he was a smelly old Labrador behind a grille, thought Tory.

“Doesn’t he want to come in?”

“No, we won’t be able to gossip.”

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

Molly looked pointedly at her watch.

“I would have thought it was more like sherry time.”

As Tory poured her a glass, Molly said how pleased she was about Fen and Dino. Tory returned to chopping onions.

“Seems a nice chap,” Molly went on. “Very good-looking and very rich. You should have married someone like that in the first place. Now I want to have a serious talk with you.”

Tory gritted her teeth.

“What are you going to do about your future?” said Molly. “Fen and Dino won’t want to stay here forever with you and the children. They’ll need a place of their own—perhaps they’ll go back to America.”

Tory looked up in horror. “D’you think so?”

“I know so. Of course, they’re too nice to say anything, but you can’t hold them back forever.”

Tory said nothing, but chopped one piece of onion to pulp.

“And when are you going to divorce Jake? I mean, he’s deserted you, so you shouldn’t have any difficulty. His father did the same thing to his mother. Like father like son, I suppose.”

“Please, Mummy, don’t.” Tory’s voice broke. “I can’t bear it.”

“Can’t think why you mind so much,” said Molly. “You always knew he never loved you. Only married you for your money. What d’you expect?”

Tory looked down at the sink tidy. It was a disgusting mess of bacon rinds, spaghetti hoops, rusty Brillo pads, and old tea bags. Like me, she thought, I’m as useless as an old tea bag.

“Let’s be positive,” Molly was going on. “I’m pleased to see you’ve lost a lot of weight. You may be looking quite frightful, but at least you’ve got a waist, and even ankles now. But you really shouldn’t have let yourself go like that. Can’t blame Jake pushing off, really. You never tried to hold him.

“However, Bernard and I have a plan. We’re going to send you to a health farm for a week. There’s a special offer for one in
Harper’s
this month. No, I won’t take no for an answer. We’ve filled in the form and sent it off. You can have it as an early Christmas present.”

Tory was obviously not going to offer her another glass of sherry, so Molly helped herself. She wondered if the child was quite right in the head at the moment.

“Cheer up,” she said. “You’re only twenty-eight. If you smarten yourself up, you might easily get another man. One of your own class this time.”

After her mother had gone, Tory sat down and cried and cried. Wolf sat at her feet, raking her knee with his paw, licking her face, desperately trying to comfort her.

Eventually she responded to his sympathy. She had to go up to the village to buy brown sugar for the chutney, and afterwards she’d take him for a walk. She couldn’t be bothered with lunch. As she got her coat and purse, the telephone rang. But it was for Hannah, who took it in the tackroom.

Going out into the yard Tory met Hannah, standing on one leg. Her boyfriend, she explained, had got tickets for the Rolling Stones concert that night. Of course she must go, said Tory. If Hannah gave the horses their final feed Tory would check them last thing to see everything was all right.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” said Hannah.

“I’ll be fine,” Tory reassured her. “It’ll be rather peaceful to have the house to myself.”

She didn’t need a lead for Wolf anymore. Since Jake had gone he never left her heels, waiting outside the village shop for her, with an anxious expression on his pointed brindle face. As she came out of the baker’s, the low afternoon sun shone directly into her eyes. Suddenly she gave a gasp of excitement. Across the road a black-haired man was watching them. Then she felt a desperate thud of disappointment. It was very like him—but it was not Jake. Wolf, however, gave a bark of joyful recognition and shot across the road into the path of an oncoming lorry. The passers-by, watching in horror, couldn’t be sure if it was the dog or the girl crouched over him who was screaming.