Polo (4 page)

5

    Chessie's
froideur
with Ricky didn't melt. But he was kept so busy getting acquainted with Kinta, now known as the `widow-maker', tuning her and the other ponies up for the first Gold Cup match next Thursday, playing in medium-goal matches and worrying about Mattie, who didn't seem to be responding to treatment, that he hardly noticed until he fell into bed. Then, when he was confronted by the Berlin Wall of Chessie's back, he tended, after his hand had been shuddered off, to drop into an uneasy sleep, leaving Chessie twitching with resentful frustration all night.

    Grace made it plain that she was livid with Chessie for leaving her hanging on the telephone. Bart had made absolutely no attempt to get in touch with Chessie - perhaps he was still sulking because she had thwarted his plans by giving Perdita a lift home. Surprised how anxious she was to see him again, Chessie went along to the Thursday match and deliberately dressed down in a collarless shirt and frayed Bermudas, held up with Ricky's red braces, to irritate Grace. Alas, the grooms were all tied up with the ponies and her baby-sitter had gone to Margate, so she was forced to take Will and his new, short polo stick with her.

    Will was a menace at matches. Having grabbed a ball, he proceeded to drive it into Fatty Harris's ankles, Brigadier Hughie's ancient springer, David Waterlane's Bentley, and finally a lot of little girls playing with a doll's pram, who all burst into noisy sobs. This was drowned by Will's even noisier sobs when he saw his father umpiring the first match between the Kaputnik Tigers and Rutminster Hall. Wriggling out of Chessie's grasp, he rushed on to the field and was nearly run down by Jesus the Chilean. Juan and Miguel were on epic form, and after a frenzied last chukka of bumps and nearly fatal falls, Rutminster Hall ran out the winners by 10-6.

    Victor Kaputnik, whose gloating when he won was only equalled by his rage when he lost, could be heard yelling furiously at the twins and Jesus as they came off the field. Chessie was about to wander down to the pony lines in search of Bart when he emerged out of a duck-egg blue helicopter, followed by Grace, extremely chic in brown boots, a brown trilby and a fur-lined trench coat, her glossy, dark hair drawn back in a French pleat.

    After last week's heatwave, a bitter north wind was flattening the yellowing corn fields, turning the huge trees inside out, driving icy rain into the eyes of the players and horses, and putting the easiest penalty in jeopardy. Despite this, there was a good crowd to watch the second match between the Alderton Flyers and the Doggie Dins Devils, who included the notorious Napier brothers, an underhandicapped Australian and Kevin Coley, their appalling petfood billionaire patron.

    Not being able to face an hour with Grace, Chessie was thankful when the Carlisle twins bounded up, teeth brilliantly white in their mud-spattered faces, and insisted she watch from their car. Will, who adored the twins, immediately stopped crying.

    `Aren't you flying home with Victor?' asked Chessie. `No, he's pissed off with us because we were late. I'll go and get us a drink,' said Seb.

    As the Alderton Flyers rode on to the field, all wearing polo-necked jerseys under their shirts, Chessie was glad of the warmth of the twins' Lotus. Listening to the whistling kettle sound of Victor's black-and-orange helicopter soaring out of the trees, she turned to Dommie: `I don'tknow why you're looking so smug about losing.'

    `Oh, we'll catch up,' said Dommie. `There are four more matches in the draw. Don't tell Victor. He thinks we were late because of the traffic. Actually we were selling a pony for about three thousand pounds more than it's worth. Seb had just lied that its grandsire was Nijinsky when I walked in and said it was Mill Reef, but we got over that hurdle.'

    `Who bought it?' asked Chessie idly.

    `Phil Wedgwood.'

    `Bloody hell,' said Chessie. `He rang Ricky yesterday. Said he'd just sent the mare Ricky sold him in May to the knackers because she had back trouble and could he buy another. Ricky loved that mare so much he hung up on him. Now Phil's bought one from you - Jesus!'

    `I don't think your husband's got his act together commercially,' said Dommie. `He's got to learn to care less about ponies and more about patrons. Victor is so thick we sold one of his own ponies to him the other day. Quick! Duck! Here comes the Head Girl!'

    Through the driving rain, both suitably clad for the weather, came Sukey and Grace going towards Bart's limo, which had been driven independently to the match for them to sit in. Grace nodded coolly. Sukey, who was carrying a camera, tapped on the window: `I was hoping to video the match, so Drew. could isolate his mistakes afterwards, but the visibility's so awful. Bad luck on losing, Seb.'

    `I'm Dommie.'

    `Oh, sorry. I can never tell you two apart.'

    `I've got the bigger cock,' said Dommie.

    Chessie giggled. Sukey firmly changed the subject. `We've had the
Daily Express at
home all morning, doing a feature on Drew. You'd never dream how many rolls of film they used.'

    `They wanted to do Ricky and me,' said Chessie furiously, `but Ricky was far too uptight to let them in on the morning of a match.'

    `Oh, Drew's managed to conquer his nerves,' said Sukey. Then, looking at Chessie: `Aren't you frozen?'

    `Not with me around,' said Dommie, running his hands up and down her bare legs.

    Before Sukey had time to look old-fashioned, Seb had arrived holding three Bloody Marys and a Coke in his

    hands, and a packet of crisps between his teeth for Will. `Christ, this weather's awful. D'you want a drink, Sukey?'

    `No thanks, I've just had a cup of tea. There's the throw-in. I must go and watch with Grace. Such a wonderful lady.'

    `Silly bitch,' muttered Chessie, putting the Bloody Marys on the dashboard as Seb got in beside her. Next minute Bart thundered past them, eyes screwed up against the rain, swiping at the ball and missing completely. He was so bad, reflected Chessie, it was a turn-off to watch him. But not as bad as the petfood billionaire Kevin Coley, who was simultaneously hitting his poor pony round the legs with his stick, tugging on its mouth, and plunging huge spurs into its sides.

    `Dreadful rider,' winced Seb.

    `He's just given me a book on dog breeds,' said Dommie, getting it out of his Barbour. `Seb and I are thinking of getting a pit bull.'

    `Jesus's game is distinctly off today,' said Seb.

    `Baby Jesus is a little bugger,' said Will, his mouth full of crisps.

    The conditions were worsening, the pitch was a black sea of mud. Beyond the clubhouse the pink-and-white sponsors' tent strained at its moorings. By the third chukka the Alderton Flyers were leading by 8-4, not because of superior play, but because Juan, who was umpiring, was so anxious to curry favour with Bart that he hadn't blown a single foul on him.

    `God,' said Seb, as Bart crashed into Charles Napier at ninety degrees, `that should have been a goal to the other side.'

    `Shall we get a white or a brindle one?' asked Dommie.

    `How's your ravishing schoolgirl?' asked Chessie.

    `Expelled, poor darling. We tried to take her out on Sunday. We were going to Windsor and thought she'd like a jaunt, but they wouldn't even give us a forwarding address.'

    `Oh, she'll turn up,' said Chessie. `Those sort of girls always do.'

    `Ready for another drink?' asked Seb, as the half-time bell went.

    `I quite like Basenjis,' said Dommie, `but they don't bark.'

    He ran his hand down Chessie's bare leg again. `Honestly, Mrs F-L, if you weren't married to Ricky, I'd make such a play.'

    `Feel free,' said Chessie, then jumped at a tap on the window.

    `Divot-stomping time, Francesca,' ordered Grace Alder-ton, looking disapprovingly at the row of glasses on the dashboard.

    Dommie lowered the window a centimetre.

    `It's too cold. Mrs F-L isn't dressed for treading in, and we've just got warm for the first time today.'

    Grace didn't actually flounce, but her body stiffened as she stalked off on to the pitch.

    `Good period, baby,' she shouted to Bart, as he cantered back, muddy but elated, having scored a goal.

    `Can we get our diaries together when we get back to the car?' Sukey asked Grace, as they trod back the divots. `I don't want to have our wedding on a day when you won't be in England.'

    Will took a great slug of Dommie's second Bloody Mary and started on a bag of Maltesers Seb had brought him.

    `Don't let him eat them all,' said Chessie. `He'll be sick.'

    Will ate four, then put the rest in the breast pocket of his shirt. `Allbody will think I've grown a tit.'

    The twins roared with laughter.

    Ricky's breeches were black with mud as he came out for the fifth chukka. His spare sticks were in front of Dommie's car, leaning against the little fence that ran along the edge of the pitch. Some players used the same length stick for every pony, but Ricky preferred longer sticks for taller ponies, and Kinta, the new dark brown thoroughbred was nearly sixteen hands. If he broke a stick, he expected Chessie to run out and hand him a new one.

    `Those are the fifty-ones on the left, and the fifty-twos on the right,' he shouted to her as he cantered back for the throw-in.

    `Are you going to Deauville?' Chessie asked the twins.

    `Shut up,' said Seb. `I want to see how Ricky goes on Juan's pony, and you can get your nose out of that book, Dom.'

    Ricky was used to riding with his reins completely loose, the slightest pressure on his horses' necks turning them to the left or right. Kinta, however, coming from the race track where horses are only expected to go one way and used to being yanked around by Juan, pulled like an express train and was almost impossible to stop.

    `Christ, Ricky won't have any arms left,' said Dommie, as Kinta easily outstripped Charles Napier's fastest pony. `But she's going bloody well for him. Juan must be as sick as a baby with its first cigar.'

    Both sides were now squelching around the Doggie Dins' goal. Bart should have dropped back and marked Ben Napier, but, instead, rushed into the męlée and, losing control of his pony, mis-hit.

    `Get back, you stupid fucker,' howled Ricky. `Interesting your husband never stammers when he's shouting abuse,' said Seb.

    As Will took another slug of Bloody Mary, Ricky and Ben Napier both bounded forward trying to prise the ball out of the mud. There was a crack as Ricky's stick broke. Swinging round, he galloped towards the boards.

    `He wants another stick,' said Seb.

    Reluctantly Chessie climbed out into the stabbing rain. Only the fence and the row of cars stopped Kinta. `Fifty-two,' yelled Ricky.

    `Are you trying to tell me your age?' drawled Chessie. `Give me my fucking fifty-two.'

    `Say please!'

    `Chess-ee, come
on,'
said Seb disapprovingly.

    `Sthop sthouting, Daddy,' said Will.

    `For Christ's sake,' howled Ricky.

    `Don't be infantile,' said a furious Grace, running forward and handing the stick to Ricky. Seizing it, he hurtled back into the game. But it was too late. Despite Kinta's phenomenal speed, Doggie Dins had taken advantage of Ricky's absence to score a goal.

    `Sthop sthouting,' said Will, filling up his water-pistol from Seb's Bloody Mary.

    As the bell went for the end of the fifth chukka, Chessie caught sight of Grace's face and was about to belt back into the smoky warmth of the twins' car.

    `May I speak with you, Francesca?'

    `Shall we have a word after the match? I'm watching Ricky.'

    `Not noticeably.'

    `Wee-wee,' clamoured Will.

    `I've got to take Will to the loo,' said Chessie.

    `Why don't you let him pee in Fatty Harris's rain gauge?' said Dommie.

    `Then Fatty will be so horrified by the amount of rainfall, he'll cancel Sunday's match and we'll have a day off,' said Seb.

    `I quite like Rottweilers,' said Dommie.

    `Wee-wee,' said Will, dropping his Maltesers in the mud as he scrambled out of the car.

    If Grace hadn't been present, Chessie would have picked the Maltesers up. As she dragged Will away, he burst into tears.

    `I'll take him to the la
<sup>y</sup>
,' said Sukey. `Then you and Grace can chat.'

    `He won't go with you,' protested Chessie.

    `Come along, Will,' said Sukey briskly. To Chessie's amazement, Will trotted off with her.

    `You only have to use the right tone of voice,' said Grace.

    `Do look,' said Seb, nudging Dommie. `Grace is about to urge Mrs F-L to exercise a little decorum.'

    `Decorum's a nice name for a dog,' said Dommie. `Then I could exercise it.'