Mount! (67 page)

Gala regaled Rupert with gossip: how Louise and Marketa had got off with two handsome Arabs and went round giggling, ‘We’ll be with you in a couple of sheikhs.’ How Harmony had lost so much weight. How Tarqui was quite relieved to be away from his new baby because he hated being made to change nappies.

‘It’s not funny,’ she went on, ‘but Marketa’s so miserable about Safety, she needed distracting last night and was complaining: “I’ve left my wibrator behind, so I’ll have to make do with you”, and dragged Meerkat off to bed.’

Rupert laughed and picked a fishbone from Gala’s sole, then he said, ‘Gav gave me a pep-talk earlier about not hurting you.’

Gala blushed. ‘Did he really? That’s very brave. He’s been so good, putting aside his hang-up about Tarqui being Bethany’s lover. He and Tarqui have almost made friends, and he’s really helped Tarqui to bond with Quickly – two such wilfully strong characters letting Quickly think he’s boss.’

‘I don’t want to talk about Gav,’ said Rupert, drawing her leopardskin top over her black bra strap. ‘My fifth leopard.’ Then, running his fingers through her tawny mane of newly washed hair: ‘You’ve got spanner eyes.’

‘What’s that?’ stammered Gala.

‘Every time you look at me, you tighten my nuts.’

I can’t help myself, I utterly can’t, she thought.

‘Come on.’ He took her hand. ‘Let’s go to bed.’

Upstairs he hung a Do Not Disturb sign on the door. Someone had turned down the sheets and put a chocolate on the pillow. Out of the window Dubai glittered like Taggie’s diamond necklace in the darkness.

Rupert had stripped off first and lay on the bed checking results on his app. Seeing the Love Rat cufflinks given to him by Taggie on the chest of drawers, Gala was overwhelmed with sadness. This must be the last time she slept with him. Suddenly she thought of Browning’s poem ‘The Last Ride Together’:

Then how did it go?

Rupert patted the bed. ‘Bit more comfortable than that Paddington duvet in front of your fire. Hopefully Dora won’t barge in.’

The room was glitzy, with a gold-threaded counterpane and curtains, pictures of stallions, falcons and sheikhs on the walls and scores of silk cushions on the sofa.

‘Wouldn’t Forester love to chuck all those on the floor?’

Oh God, Forester, who’d be missing Taggie back in England.

I’ll never go to bed with such a beautiful man again, she thought as she lay down beside him, kissing his smooth forehead, his long blue eyes, his high cheekbones and the tip of his Greek nose before moving down to his lips.

‘I can’t help it,’ she breathed as his hand reached for her breast. ‘I’m just crazy about you.’ Kissing her way down his flat stomach, she took his soaring penis in her mouth, licking and teasing the tip.

‘It’s no good, I’ll come too quickly,’ said Rupert, tugging her up level with him and kissing her, before plunging deep inside her.

‘Oh buttercunt, buttercunt.’ A few frenzied thrusts and it was all over.

‘That’s the best thing that’s happened to me in weeks,’ Rupert told her with such tenderness. ‘Definitely ride of the century.’

‘And I adore you,’ whispered Gala, wishing she could stay awake to prolong the joy, but she’d been up since five. As she drifted off, she suddenly remembered the last lines of Browning’s poem:

Waking, not knowing where she was, murmuring, ‘One more last ride with me,’ she discovered a naked Rupert looking out of the window at the stars. He was shivering. There was something desolate about his hunched shoulders. Overwhelmed with love and pity, she got up and put a white towelling dressing gown around him, tucking his arms into the sleeves and doing up the cord as if he were a little boy.

Then, as though leaping into a waterless swimming pool from the top diving board, she made the supreme sacrifice.

‘I know you love Taggie,’ she whispered, ‘and she loves you.’

‘Funny way of showing it,’ said Rupert bleakly.

‘Well, as we speak, she’s been having an operation today for breast cancer. She found a lump – that’s why she didn’t want you to touch her, in case you found it. And with Love Rat so ill and Safety Car missing she didn’t want to worry you; she knew how important the World Cup and winning Global Leading Sire was to you,’ floundered on Gala. ‘She always said her breasts were the thing you loved most.’

‘That’s fucking intrusive, Tag would never have said that,’ spat Rupert.

Then he went berserk, seizing Gala by the arms, shaking her as Cuthbert would a rat.

‘Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?’

‘She didn’t want anyone to know.’

‘So who told you all this?’

‘I found a letter summoning her to the hospital and some leaflets hidden in a kitchen drawer, then I overheard Jan comforting Taggie in the kitchen.’

‘Jan,’ exploded Rupert.

‘Jan’s a snake,’ gasped Gala as Rupert’s fingers nearly broke her arms. ‘He’s madly in love with Taggie, he’d do anything to break up your marriage.’

‘Taggie’s got breast cancer,’ said Rupert slowly. Suddenly World Cups, and Global Leading Sires had faded into insignificance. ‘I’m going home.’

Next moment, he’d telephoned and roused Sheikh Mohammed, the ruler of Dubai, and borrowed a jet to fly home.

‘But what about the World Cup?’ wailed Gala.

‘Fuck the World Cup,’ said Rupert, diving into the shower.

Oh God, what had she done? All she could think about was poor Gav, after all the work he’d put in, as she helplessly watched a still dripping Rupert tug on his clothes. He didn’t need to pack because he’d never unpacked. Nor did he apologize to Gala, merely telling her to keep the suite herself.

Gloucestershire after Dubai was freezing. Arriving mid-morning, still in wet clothes, Rupert couldn’t stop shaking. Reaching Cotchester Hospital, he found Taggie still asleep after the operation, and a hovering James Benson, looking a lot less smooth than usual, who when shouted at, replied that he’d wanted to tell Rupert, but Taggie forbade it.

Happily, they’d saved the breast, but had had to take quite a large lump out of it. ‘We won’t know for a week or so whether the cancer’s spread to the lymph glands, but if the breast’s too misshapen we can always insert a bit of lipo from off the stomach.’

‘That’s fucking immaterial.’

Taggie was wearing a hideous grey, yellow and red gown, with a label saying
for hospital use only
as if it could be for anything else.

Looking down at her, Rupert thought she had the longest, darkest eyelashes in the world, appalled that he hadn’t realized quite how desperately thin and pale she had become. He was touched by a photograph of him and Forester on the bedside table. As she woke, she blinked, struggling to understand, gazing at him in wonder. ‘I thought you were in Dubai.’

‘When I heard, I had to come back. Why didn’t you tell me? I can’t bear to think you had to go through this on your own.’ He stroked her face. ‘Oh my poor angel, if you knew how much
I love you.’ He picked up her hand, longing to take her in his arms but deterred by the drips and fear of hurting her.

‘I’m so sorry,’ mumbled Taggie. ‘I thought if I lost a breast you wouldn’t want me any more.’

‘I’d still love you if your head was cut off.’ Rupert’s voice broke. ‘Darling, I’m so sorry, I thought you were bats about Jan, when I found you crying in his arms. That’s why I stormed out.’

‘He was comforting me because of the cancer, and I thought you loved Gala.’

‘Whatever gave you that thought?’ said Rupert in outrage. ‘I missed having Billy to talk horses with. You’re the only thing that matters to me in the world. I love you so much,’ and he kissed her wrist with the hospital band, on which he wanted to write
Mine
, rather than
Agatha Campbell-Black
.

‘And I love you.’ Taggie was drifting off to sleep again.

Next moment, a beaming Jan walked in clutching a big bunch of daffodils – and nearly had a heart attack to see Rupert.

‘Yeah, I’m back.’ Rupert grabbed the daffodils and with a crash shoved them into the pedal-bin. ‘And you can fuck off and stop my father leaving stable doors open, which is what you’re paid to do.’

‘Poor daffies, not their fault,’ said a nurse, fishing them out of the bin.

Leaving Taggie to sleep, promising to come back immediately, Rupert returned to Penscombe, having rung in and been told there was no news of Safety Car, and that Love Rat was fading.

Going straight to the stables, he was met by Old Eddie in his pyjamas and odd slippers, crying his eyes out. ‘He’s dead, he’s dead. I went into Rattie’s box and found him lying down. I said, “Come on, you lazy old boy, stop playing games,” but he didn’t move, he’s dead, he’s dead.’

Love Rat was lying in the straw, his dappled coat turned almost white with age, his big, dark, lustrous eyes still open. Rupert closed them and kissed him on the forehead, muttering, ‘Rest in peace, Legend.’

‘He so wanted to see you again,’ Pat’s voice trembled, ‘but he couldn’t wait any longer.’

Everyone in the yard was in tears, except Geraldine. ‘What about his book of mares?’ she grumbled.

Ignoring EU regulations that don’t allow horses to be buried at home, Rupert said to Pat, ‘Can you dig a grave for him in the graveyard?’

Outside, Old Eddie was sitting on a bale of hay, still crying his eyes out.

‘He’s dead, he’s dead.’

Wincing to hear the desperate bleating of sheep calling for Safety Car, Rupert put his arms round his father. ‘It’s all right,’ he said, making a superhuman effort not to break down too. ‘He was such a sweet horse, he’ll gallop up to heaven and jump straight over the Pearly Gates. We’ll bury him beside Rock Star and Furious and Gertrude and Badger. He’ll have loads of friends.’

But as he led his father back to his office and poured him a large glass of brandy, it sunk in that Love Rat would never be Leading Sire now, and even if Quickly won the World Cup later today, what would it matter if Taggie’s cancer had spread to the lymph glands?

Purrpuss, who was missing his friend Quickly, wandered in and rubbed against Rupert’s legs as if begging for news, then took a flying leap, claws out, on to Rupert’s shoulder as the Penscombe dogs, just realizing Master was home, came barking joyfully into the office. Except for Forester who, finding no Taggie, crept dolefully back to the kitchen.

Me too, thought Rupert.

Back in Dubai on Saturday morning, desert-coloured mist swirled around buildings glittering in the rising sun, as excited crowds, revving up for the World Cup, gathered long before the first race at twelve noon.

Surprised that Gala hadn’t turned up at the barn to join Marketa, Louise and Lark in taking Rupert’s four runners for a gentle jog, Gav stood in for her and rode Quickly.

‘Gala’s obviously had too good a night with the Guv,’ giggled Louise.

‘Don’t be bloody silly,’ snapped Gav, gutted to be of the same
opinion, but having to concentrate on staying on Quickly who, reaching a peak of fitness, was bounding all over the place and still yelling plaintively for Safety Car.

On Gav’s return to the barn, however, he was stunned to receive a text from Rupert.

‘Please take over, had to go back to England.’

Getting no answer from Rupert’s mobile, he sprinted over to the Meydan. Here he discovered Gala alone and in pieces in Rupert’s vast bed, and took her in his arms.

‘I told the fucker not to hurt you. Oh baby, I’m so sorry. I know you loved him and he couldn’t keep his filthy hands off you, the bastard.’

‘No, he isn’t – he loves Taggie.’

‘Where the hell is he?’

‘Flown home.’

‘The fucker – Quickly’s uptight enough as it is. In the middle of the fucking World Cup.’

‘Taggie’s ill.’

Gavin, with his passion for Quickly, was about to say, ‘Fuck Taggie.’

‘Very ill,’ sobbed Gala.

‘Right.’ Gavin took over with total authority. ‘Get up,’ he ordered Gala, and pointing to Rupert’s desk diary, ‘Cancel all his meetings, tell people to get in touch next week. Then get yourself dressed and down to the barn. Quickly needs you.’

The World Cup’s vast stadium, the biggest on the planet, had been built out in the desert by Dubai’s ruler, Sheikh Mohammed, and consisted of endless stands and luxury boxes, now brimming over with people. In the middle was one small box behind curtains, into which all the Sheikh’s wives and daughters were allegedly confined.

Before each race, the runners were stabled behind the stadium in the hope they would not be upset by massed bands and endless firework displays, with fairies or magicians on huge horses, exploding out of the sky. Every so often on the wide screen appeared one of Sheikh Mo’s publicly admired poems, more Sheikhspeare than Shakespeare.

Glamorous non-Arab spectators from all nations abounded, mostly in lounge suits or cocktail dresses. The best-dressed man and woman would each be awarded a Jaguar car. The atmosphere was formal but intensely theatrical, the prize money astronomical. The winning World Cup jockey would get eight per cent of the ten million dollars, plus a gold whip.

Cosmo Rannaldini was in high spirits, offering to sell his mother Dame Hermione, who was very excited by the gold whip, for 1,000 camels. Cosmo himself, who had arrived with Mrs Walton, Sauvignon and Repay’s new owner, Zixin Wang, was very excited by rumours of Rupert’s defection. And Zixin Wang was very excited by his first colours – gold stars on
a scarlet background – echoing the Chinese National Flag.

Meerkat was even more excited to be riding Geoffrey later in the World Cup. Rosaria had surprised everyone by turning up with Colin Chalford, Mr Fat and Happy, the banker she’d met at Cosmo’s orgy.

‘What’s he doing here?’ snarled Brute, who was in the process of selling Geoffrey for a vast sum to Mr Tong. ‘Fat and Happy is Janey Lloyd-Foxe’s boyfriend.’