Riders (56 page)

Night fell. Jake and Tory were safely tucked up at the hotel. In a sleeping bag outside Macaulay’s box, Fen took up her position with Lester the teddy bear. It was quiet and very hot. All she could hear was the occasional stamp of a horse and the sound of Rupert’s bodyguard pacing up and down outside Snakepit’s box. The indigo sky was overcrowded with stars. Too many, like my spots, thought Fen. They suddenly seemed to have doubled. It must be the curse coming. Perhaps that was why she was so jumpy.

Now she was alone she could think about Rupert—and Dino. She was in such a muddle. Jake had kept her so busy over the past three years that truthfully there had been no time for men in her life, except for her long-distance crush on Billy Lloyd-Foxe. Now she was assailed by all kinds of longings and despairs. If only she were Helen, able to roll up at the championship with gleaming hair, bathed, in a beautiful uncreased dress after eight hours of sleep. She hated Rupert, and Dino, who had asked her out only because he wanted to pump her, but it made her realize how much she was missing by devoting herself so exclusively to horses. If only she felt tired. She stiffened as a step approached. Then she caught a waft of scent. It was Dino.

“Couldn’t sleep. No point in jumping rounds in my head, so I just came by to check no one’s been after Manny.”

“They haven’t,” said Fen.

“D’you want a drink?” He produced a flask from his pocket. “It’s only bourbon. I’ve only had two drinks all evening. Christ, I’d like to get looped. May I talk with you for a few minutes?”

He slid down the stable wall beside her, sitting with his long legs bent at an acute angle. In the faint light, she could see the perfect profile.

“Are you nervous?”

He nodded. “Sounds kinda Girl Scout, but I don’t want to let the team down—they’ve been so great—or the horse, or my Daddy or Mumma. They were great, too, to back me. I guess none of us needs the money like Jake. How come he hates Rupert so much?”

Fen explained about the bullying at school and the barrage of insults and the annexing of Revenge, and the cruelty to Macaulay.

“Guess that’s enough to be going on with,” said Dino, handing her his bourbon flask. He noticed with a flicker of encouragement that she didn’t bother to wipe the neck before she drank.

“Jake’s terribly torn,” explained Fen. “He wants to beat Rupert so badly, but he’s crucified at the thought of what it might do to Macaulay’s confidence having Rupert on his back again. It must be hell, like going to a wife-swapping party on one’s honeymoon. Bad enough the thought of one’s darling wife sleeping with three other men, but even worse if she enjoyed it more than she did with you.”

Dino laughed. “Yeah, that just about sums it up. I’m kind of ambivalent about Rupert, too. I really like the guy. He makes me laugh, but that was before I met his wife.”

“What about her?” Fen tried to sound casual.

“Well, she’s so beautiful; I mean, seriously beautiful. The way he carries on with girls. They were coming out of his ears on the Florida circuit, and boy, they threw themselves at him. I figured he’d made some kind of marriage of convenience to some dog. Then I had dinner with them this evening. I mean, how could you cheat on that? Christ, I’d never let her out of my sight, and he treats her like shit, putting her down all the time. I was appalled. Doesn’t she have anyone on the side? She could get anyone.”

Fen suddenly felt horribly depressed. Because Rupert was so unfaithful to Helen, one tended to write her off as a sexual threat.

“I’ve never heard anything about other men. I think she’s too frightened of Rupert, and so are the men. One of the Italian team kept her too long on the dance floor once and his hands started to travel, and Rupert hit him across the room.”

“That figures—like hamadryas baboons.”

“Like what—?”

“Huge baboons that live in the desert in Abyssinia. They’re more interested in fighting off other male baboons than in screwing their wives. In fact they neglect their wives when there’s no one to fight off. I’m telling you, I’m going to be in Britain for Crittleden and I am going to make one helluva pitch. She doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment.”

“I wonder if Jake’s getting any sleep,” said Fen.

“Shouldn’t guess so. It’s like Henry the Fifth on the eve of Agincourt. I’d better go and get some insomnia. Night, honey, this time tomorrow we’ll be bombed on euphoria or despair.”

Lying awake at the hotel, Jake looked at his watch—three o’clock. Within fourteen hours, he’d know if he’d pulled the mightiest from their seats. His good leg ached because it hadn’t been relaxed with sleep. He kept breaking out in a cold sweat at the thought of riding Snakepit. He knew he wasn’t strong enough to hold him. If he fell off and wrecked himself, there wasn’t anyone to ride the horses. He also knew Tory had been awake all night beside him. Thank God she knew when to keep her trap shut.

“Tory,” he said, reaching out for her.

“Yes.” She put her arms round him. “Do you want to talk, or turn on the light and read?”

She could feel him shaking his head in the darkness.

“It’s going to be all right. Horses always go well with you. You’re going to win.”

“I wish I was riding Sailor.”

“He’d have looked after you, but he might have looked after the others a bit too well. Macaulay hasn’t got such a conscience.”

She slid her hand down the empty hollow of his belly and touched his cock.

“Would that help?”

“It might, but I won’t be much use to
you.
”

“I don’t need it.” The bedsprings creaked as she clambered down the bed, then he felt the warm soft caress of her lips and the infinite tenderness of her tongue. Because he knew she liked doing it, there was no hurry, no tension.

“I was so right to marry you,” he mumbled.

Tory was filled with an overwhelming happiness. In the eight years of their marriage, he’d probably paid her as many compliments, but when they came they were worth everything. She felt bitterly ashamed that she had wasted so much emotion being jealous of Fen.

Rupert got up and dressed.

“Where are you going?” said Helen.

“For a walk. It’s hot. I can’t sleep.”

“Oh, darling, you must rest. Shall I come with you?”

“No, go back to sleep.”

A quarter of an hour later he paused beside Fen, her long hair fanning out, already slightly damp from the dew, teddy bear clutched in her arms. He toyed with the idea of waking her, but she needed sleep. He’d put her on ice for a later date. As he pulled the sleeping bag round her, she clutched the teddy bear tighter, muttering, “Don’t forget to screw in the studs.”

When he let himself into the lorry, Dizzy hardly stirred in her sleep, smiled, and opened her arms. Rupert slid into them.

Ludwig von Schellenberg had such self-control that he willed himself into eight hours’ dreamless sleep.

W
orld Championship day dawned. There were a couple of small classes in the morning to keep the rest of the riders happy, but all interest was centered on the four finalists. Each box was a hive of activity of plaiting and polishing and everyone giving everyone else advice. It was hotter than ever. In the lorry, Jake watched an Algerian schools program on television, trying to steady his nerves, and wondered if there was any hope of his keeping down the cup of tea and dry toast he’d had for breakfast. Tory was frying eggs, bacon, and sausages for the children (it didn’t look as though anyone would have time to cook them a decent meal before the evening) and at the same time ironing the lucky socks, breeches, shirt, tie, and red coat that Jake had worn in each leg of the competition. The new tansy lay in the heel of the highly polished left boot. Jake had seen one magpie that morning, but had been cheered up by the sight of a black cat, until Driffield informed him that black cats were considered unlucky in France. Milk bottles, tins, eggshells in the muck bucket were beginning to smell. Fen was studying a German dictionary.

“It doesn’t give the German for ‘whoa.’ You’ll have to fall back on dummkopf, lieberlein, and achtung.”

“Or auf wiedersehen,” said Jake, “as Clara bucks me off and gallops off into the sunset.”

“The American for whoa, must be starp, starp,’ she went on.

“You remember that red T-shirt you wore when Revenge won at Olympia?” said Jake.

“I’ve got it here,’ said Fen.

“D’you mind wearing it this afternoon?”

Fen did mind very much. It was impossibly hot and she’d got very burnt yesterday, and the red T-shirt would clash with her face. But it was Jake’s day; she mustn’t be selfish.

“Of course not,’ she said.

Jake was encouraged by the number of telegrams. British hopes rested with Rupert, but Jake had generated an enormous amount of goodwill. People were obviously delighted to see him back at the top again. There were telegrams from the Princess and one from the colonel of the regiment at Knightsbridge Barracks, who’d somehow discovered that their old horse Macaulay had ended up with Jake. The one that pleased him most was from Miss Blenkinsop in the Middle East. He knew that she, as much as he, enjoyed the sheer pleasure of showing the world that he could succeed with a horse Rupert had thrown out. Every time Macaulay won anything, he’d religiously taken 10 percent of the winnings and posted them to Miss Blenkinsop for her Horse Rescue hospital. If he won today, she would get £1,000.

If he won, “Oh my God,” he said, and bolted out of the caravan, through a crowd of reporters, and into the lavatory, where he brought up his breakfast.

“Why don’t you bloody well go away?” shouted Fen to the reporters. “You know you won’t get any sense out of him before a big class.”

In the end they had to be content with interviewing Darklis, who sat on a hay bale, smiling up at them with huge black eyes.

“My daddy’s been thick four times this morning. He doesn’t theem to like French food. I love it. We’ve had steak and chips every single night.”

At last there was the course to walk, which made Jake feel even worse. It was far bigger than he’d imagined. The water jump seemed wider than the Channel. The heavy, thundery, blue sky seemed to rest on the huge soaring oxblood red wall, and Jake could actually stand underneath the poles of the parallel.

Malise, walking beside him, winced at the French marigolds, clashing with purple petunias and scarlet geraniums in the pots on either side of each jump. How could the French have such exquisite color sense in their clothes and not in their gardening?

A couple of English reporters sidled up to them. “Did you really pull a knife on Rupert, Gyppo.”

“Bugger off,” said Malise. “He’s got to memorize the course. Do you want a British victory or not? That’s tricky,” he added to Jake, looking at the distance between the parallels and the combination. “It’s on a half-stride. The water’s a brute. You’ll get hardly any run in there. You’ll need the stick.”

“Macaulay never needs a stick,” said Jake through frantically chattering teeth. The sheer impossibility of getting Snakepit, let alone President’s Man, over any of the fences paralyzed him with terror.

Rupert walked with Colonel Roxborough, wearing dark glasses, but no hat against the punishing Brittany sun. He seemed totally oblivious of the effect he was having on the French girls in the crowd. The German team walked together, so did the Americans. Count Guy, in a white suit made by Yves St. Laurent, was the object of commiseration. Over his great disappointment now, he shrugged his shoulders philosophically. At least he didn’t have to jump five rounds in this heat and his horses would be fresh for Crittleden the following week.

In the collecting ring, Ivor Braine had been cornered by the press and was telling them, in his broad Yorkshire accent, that he was convinced Jake had been brandishing a knife because the steaks were so tough.

“I wish Saddleback Sam had made it,” said Humpty for the thousandth time.

Driffield was busy selling a horse at a vastly inflated price to one of the Mexican riders.

“Wish it was a wife-riding contest,” said Rupert. “I wouldn’t mind having a crack at Mrs. Ludwig, although I would draw the line at Mrs. Lovell.”

Once again he wished Billy were there. He’d never needed his advice more, or his silly jokes, to lower the tension. Obviously drunk at ten o’clock in the morning, Billy had already rung him to wish him luck.

Rupert had asked after Janey. Billy had laughed bitterly. “She’s like a wet log fire. If you don’t watch her all the time, she goes out.”

Next week, reflected Rupert grimly, he was going to have to take Janey out to lunch and tell her to get her act together.

Despite the lack of a French rider in the final, all the publicity had attracted a huge crowd. There wasn’t an empty seat or an inch of rope unleaned over anywhere. Malise sighed. If there was a British victory, all the glare of bad publicity of the feuds between riders might be forgotten. He watched Rupert, cool as an icicle, putting Snakepit over huge jumps in the collecting ring. Jake was nowhere to be seen. He was probably being sick again.

At two o’clock, each of the four finalists came on, led by their own band. Ludwig came first, to defend his title on the mighty Clara, yellow browband matching the yellow knots in her plaits. Her coat was the color of oak leaves in autumn, her huge chest like a steamer funnel. Unruffled by the crowd, her eyes shone with wisdom and kindness.

Then came Dino on the slender President’s Man, who looked almost foal-like in his legginess. The same liver chestnut as Clara, he seemed half her size. Dino lounged, totally relaxed in the saddle, like a young princeling, his olive skin only slightly paler than usual, hat tipped over his nose, as though he was taking the piss out of the whole proceedings.

Then Rupert, eyes narrowed against the sun, the object of whirring cameras and cheers from the huge British contingent, motionless in the saddle as the plunging, eyerolling Snakepit shied at everything and fought for his head.

And, finally, Jake, his set face as white as Macaulay’s, who strutted along, pointing his big feet, enjoying the cheers.

Like a council of war, the four riders lined up in front of the president’s box, the bands forming a brilliant scarlet and gold square behind them. Les Rivaux can seldom have produced a more breathtaking spectacle, with the flags, limp in the heat, the scarlet coats, the plumes of the soldiers, the gleaming brass instruments, the grass emerald green from incessant sprinkling, the forest, which seemed to smoulder in its dark green midgy stillness, and in the distance the speedwell blue gleam of the sea. The bands launched into the National Anthem, each crash of cymbal and drum sending Snakepit and President’s Man cavorting around in terror. Macaulay and Clara stood like statues at either end of the row.

Fen, body aching from grooming, fingers sore from plaiting, her red T-shirt drenched with sweat, waited for Macaulay to return to the collecting ring. She was far more nervous than usual. She had a far bigger part to play. With the three other grooms she would spend the competition in the cordoned-off part of the arena and change Jake’s saddle onto each new horse. Nearby was Dizzy, braless and ravishing in a pink T-shirt, her newly washed blond hair trailing pink ribbons. One day I’m going to look as good as her, vowed Fen. Then she squashed the thought of her own presumption and had another look at the vast fences. How absolutely terrifying for Jake. The field emptied, large ladies bustled round with tape measures, checking poles for the last time.

“I’ve bet a hundred on Campbell-Black,” said the colonel in an undertone to Malise. “I reckon it’ll be a jump-off between him and Ludwig, with the American third and Lovell nowhere. He simply hasn’t got the nerve.”

Helen, seeing the riders in their red coats, was reminded of the first day she’d met Rupert out hunting.

“Dear God,” she prayed, “please restore my marriage and make him win, but only if you think that’s right, God.”

Tory, in the riders’ stand, with Darklis and Isa, prayed the same for Jake, but without any qualification.

“I wonder when Daddy’s going to be thick again,” said Darklis.

Then a hush fell as in came Ludwig. As he rode past the president’s box and took off his hat, the rest of the German team, who’d all been at the champagne, rose to their feet, shooting up their hands in a Heil Hitler salute, to the apoplexy of Colonel Roxborough, who went as scarlet as his carnation.

The only sound was the snort of the horse, the thunder of hoofs, and the relentless ticking of the clock. Girding her great chestnut loins, a symbol of reliability, Clara jumped clear.

Malise lit a cigar. “At least we know it’s jumpable,” he said.

Dino came in, talking quietly to the young horse.

“That’s a pretty horse,” said Malise.

And a pretty rider, thought Helen, who was sitting near him.

Being so much slighter, President’s Man seemed to go twice as fast. Dino’s thrusting acrobatic style and almost French elegance and good looks soon had the crowd cheering. He also went clear.

Then came Rupert, hauling on the plunging Snakepit’s mouth, hotting him up so he fought for his head all the way around. By some miracle of timing and balance, he too went clear, and Snakepit galloped out of the ring, giving two colossal bucks and nearly trampling a crowd of photographers under foot.

“God help those who come after,” sighed Malise.

“I’m not taking a penny less than £30,000,” said Driffield.

Fen gave Macaulay a last-minute pat and a kiss.

“Good luck. Remember you’re the greatest, and remember what you’ve got to avenge.”

Jake looked suddenly gray. “I can’t go in.”

“Yes, you can. You’re doing it for Macaulay and Miss Blenkinsop.”

“I’m going to throw up.”

“No, you are not. Keep your mouth shut and off you go.”

“Numero Quatre,” called the collecting ring steward irritably.

Jake rode into the ring, obviously quite untogether. He might never have been on a horse in his life. He had the first fence down; and the second he took completely wrong, Macaulay stumbled and nearly came down on the hard ground. Then he hit the third.

Twelve faults. He’s been nobbled, thought Tory in despair.

“He’s blown it,” drawled Dino.

“Oh, my God,” said Fen. In anguish she watched the tenths of seconds pirouetting on the clock as Jake pulled Macaulay up to a standstill, stroked his neck, spoke to him, and started again.

“Can’t even ride his own horse,” said Rupert scathingly. “It was a freak he got to the final anyway.”

“He’s bound to get time faults,” said Colonel Roxborough.

Jake set off again in a somewhat haphazard fashion and cleared the rest of the ten fences, but never really connected all the way round, notching up three and a half time faults.

He shook his head as he rode up to Fen.

“A great start, huh?”

“Competition’s young, you wait,” she said, giving Macaulay a lemon sherbet. Then, when Jake had dismounted, she removed the saddle, which had to be put on Snakepit, the horse Jake was riding next.

“You’ve got three minutes to warm him up,” she said, looking at her watch.

“Needs cooling down, if you ask me.”

Ludwig’s groom came over to collect Macaulay, who went off looking very put out, turning his head continually to gaze back reproachfully at Jake. Jake went up to Snakepit, who flattened his ears and rolled his eyes.

“Now you’ll get your comeuppance,” Dizzy hissed at him.

In the roped-off arena, Macaulay did several wild jumps, nearly unseating Ludwig. He didn’t like the discipline of the German rider. He went into the ring, a mulish, martyred expression on his white face.

“Look at the old moke,” giggled Fen. “Isn’t he lovely?”

Despite his disapproval, however, Macaulay gave Ludwig a good ride and went clear.

“Interesting what that horse can do when it gets a proper rider on its back,” said Rupert.

Dino went in on Clara. He was very nervous and gave Clara very little help, but each time he put her wrong she was so well trained she got him out of trouble, rising like a helicopter off her mighty hocks.