Kiss and Tell (47 page)

Amazingly, she realised, she was on trend today. Her own outfit of bright, clashing jewel colours and monochrome, inspired by the fashion pages of the
Sunday Telegraph
supplements that her mother-in-law stockpiled in her loo, had looked rather cutting-edge and cheering in the dusky mirror in her room, although when she’d later reassessed it in the less flattering mirror in the brightly lit downstairs loo it looked like she’d been styled by a colour-blind parrot fetishist with jumble-sale rejects.

Sylva’s outfit worked much better, not least because she had no baby sick on her shoulders or tractor oil on her cuffs.

Yet Sylva, who handed out compliments in almost every sentence, made her feel surprisingly good about herself. She said she envied Tash’s clear skin, her fabulous bone structure and – when they tumbled out on to a tarmac turning arc in front of a very exclusive Thames-side restaurant near Henley – her height.

‘My goodness, I forgot you are so tall – your legs finish where my arms begin, and I’m wearing my highest Jimmy Choos!’ She gaped up at her lunch companion in awe.

Lunching with Sylva was not a low-key event. Everybody in the restaurant turned and stared as she walked past, despite its exclusive reputation. She was just too famous – and too gaudy – to ignore. And she was demanding, insisting that their table be changed twice, that the flower arrangement was removed ‘because I cannot see my beautiful friend through all that foliage’, that she ate food ‘off menu’ and drank cocktails made to her own recipe.

At least all the attention-seeking and posturing took Tash’s mind off the whereabouts of her children.

And Sylva’s cocktails – apparently a mixture of vodka, coffee liqueur and coke – were strangely delicious. They drank two before lunch, followed by a bottle of vintage Cristal.

The champagne acted like a truth drug on Tash, who never normally drank during the day unless Hugo won a four-star, and who had barely touched any alcohol since Amery’s birth. Allowing herself this rare treat, she got tight incredibly quickly. Any attempt to sell Sylva the idea of owning an event horse rapidly lost focus, although Sylva remained gratifyingly interested in everything she said. Tash was surprised by how clever she was, and how knowledgeable.

‘Rory got me riding again, and I like your sport,’ she explained. ‘He has a very good owner, of course. Dillon Rafferty is a big fan of eventing, yes?’

‘God no – Rory never hears from him,’ Tash admitted. ‘But that’s how most event riders like it, as long as the bills get paid. The less interference the better. Although we treat all our owners really well at Haydown,’ she added quickly, reaching for her drink.

‘Maybe Dillon will visit his horses this winter, now that they are with you there?’

‘Maybe.’ Tash nodded, taking a swig of champagne. ‘He’s a lovely
man. So unaffected, and he’s such a champion of the countryside. Perhaps I should invite him to our shoot? We usually ask a couple of owners.’

‘Oh, I love shooting!’

‘You could come too,’ Tash suggested eagerly, taking another gulp of champagne, which went up her nose. ‘It’s a Christmas thing, so you’ll probably be away—’

But Sylva already had her phone out to put it in her diary as waiters bore down on their table with oversized white tableware.

Afterwards, Tash couldn’t remember exactly what she ate, if indeed she had eaten anything (although the tomato soup stains all over her lap and breadcrumbs in her bra indicated that she had at the very least handled her food thoroughly).

By the time their plates were removed and a fresh bottle of Cristal placed in the cooler beside them Tash was rambling freestyle about eventing and event riders, joking about their reputation for infidelity.

‘Sounds like showbusiness.’ Sylva nodded at the waiter to refill Tash’s champagne glass, while she helped herself to more water. ‘And is the reputation justified?’

‘Oh yes. Some riders are beyond redemption.’

‘What about Hugo?’ She was typically direct.

Startled, Tash looked at her over her glass, her mind full of sudden, horrible visions of Hugo seducing his way around the lorry parks.

‘I don’t know,’ she admitted in a frightened voice. ‘I thought I could trust him with my life, but lately he’s been behaving so strangely. I think he might be …’ She couldn’t say it out loud.

Those big blue eyes radiated sympathy across the table. ‘Darlink, you are talking to a world expert on unfaithful husbands. Now tell Sylva everything.’

‘I really don’t want to bore you.’

Nonetheless, cocktails and champagne surging through her veins, Tash found herself telling her dining partner about her concerns over her marriage.

‘He’s become so distant, and he always has so many women running after him. We used to live in each other’s pockets but now we’re apart so much it’s like we’re in different orbits. It’s been worse since Amery was born. He wants things to go back to the way they were, but we’ve changed. I’ve changed.’

Sylva’s advice on matters of the heart was predictably uncompromising.

‘You are a beautiful girl, but you do not make the most of yourself. Man likes to fight for his meat like a bear, you understand?’

‘Are you suggesting I disguise myself as a salmon and leap out of rivers at him?’

She laughed. ‘You are funny. Men desire us before they marry us like a member of an audience watches an act – we showgirls come out and flaunt a bit of arse, strike a pose, flirt over the footlights. But after we marry he only wants the private performance, yes?’

‘I guess.’ Tash didn’t think she’d ever posed over the footlights, but she let that pass.

‘Seduction is a gladiatorial sport played out in a huge arena. Marriage is a duel in a private room.’

‘We’re event riders. We do it in the open.’

‘You make jokes to hide your true feelings.’ Sylva sighed. ‘It is so British. Both my marriages ended when the showgirl became a married mother. Strawberry was paranoid that I was having an affair. He thought our child wasn’t his, but still wanted sex three days after he was born. When I refused he said I was a bad wife. Then I found out he had another woman all along. And of course the world knows that Jonte was being unfaithful before our baby’s umbilical stump fell off.’

Tash thought it terribly sad that a woman who was still so young had been through such a bad time. ‘You must hate men.’

She shook her head. ‘I love men. I love women. It’s what we do to each other I hate. When we were very poor in Bratislava my mother kept a little money aside in a secret place, but my father always found it and drank it, you know? He said it was his right. One time, we were so broke that she sold her hair, her beautiful long blonde hair – just for food for her family. My father was so angry he beat her black and blue, then he took the money and bought a whore for the night. He boasted about it to her afterwards, saying that she was too ugly to love any more without her hair.’

Tash was too appalled to speak.

Sylva held up her hands apologetically. ‘He was not always such a bad man, my father. He became bitter that my mother always loved her children more than him. So many men are like that.’

‘And you still want to find the right man to love?’

‘Oh yes!’ Her pretty face lit up at the thought. ‘I have promised myself that, and my children. But the next man, he will already be a father, you know? They understand the way things work, that children change things. It’s funny: I liked Jonte’s father; and we almost became lovers. He loved me very much. He asked me to run away with him but I am not unfaithful,
ever
, in my married life.’

Tash’s jaw dropped. ‘Your father-in-law asked you to run away with him? Jonte Frost’s father!’

‘Keep your voice down.’

‘Sorry.’ She glanced around at their fellow diners as she reached for her glass and took a bolstering swig.

‘When Jonte got wind of what was going on it was the only moment he really wanted me back, when he clocked that his own father might steal the jewel from under him. D’you see what I’m saying?’

‘Not really. Hugo’s father died ages ago, and anyway he was a horrible old goat.’

‘We have saying in Slovakia, “
Ni
nepovažuj za svoje,
o môžeš ztrati
”. It means, don’t take for granted anything you may lose.’ She fixed her with a determined look. ‘Make your husband see what he’s got and what he stands to lose if you’re neglected. You must take pride in yourself – wear sexy lingerie, pamper your body, dress better and value yourself. Make
him
value you. Make him jealous!’

Sylva reached across the table and took Tash’s hands. ‘Another saying from my country is: “
o máme, o to nedbáme a za iným sa zhá
ame.”
We disregard what we’ve got, always chasing what we’ve not.’

‘You think Hugo is chasing something else?’

‘No, darling Tash.’ Sylva rubbed her thumbs on Tash’s wrists, at the acupressure point known as the Very Great Abyss, a focus for loss, longing and regrets. ‘You are the one who is chasing something else.’

Tash smiled at her squiffily, not really understanding. ‘So if I get better undies and spend a few more minutes each day in front of the mirror things will get better?’

‘You need an admirer, Tash.’

Tash shook her head violently. ‘I couldn’t have an affair!’

‘We’re not talking infidelity here, darlink. Just flirtation. The two are very different things.’

‘I really don’t
do
flirting.’

‘You will flirt with me,’ Sylva ordered.

Tash snorted with laughter.

‘For practice,’ she insisted smoothly.

Tash hiccupped. ‘If it means you’ll buy an event horse then I’ll flirt my socks off.’

‘That’s the spirit, darlink!’ Sylva laughed, signalling for the bill.

Once they were back in the car, being smoothly chauffeured by Olaf, Sylva gave Tash a crash course in flirtation.

‘If you talk to a man like this,’ she told Tash, sitting respectably beside her on the hand-stitched leather upholstery of the back seat, ‘then he thinks nothing of it, but if you talk to him like this,’ – she slid closer so that her slender body connected alongside Tash, warm and soft – ‘he takes notice; and if you talk to him like
this
,’ – she turned her head so that their faces were inches apart, lips and eyes on a level, her breath warm against Tash’s skin – ‘then he gets the message.’ Her voice had dropped to a husky purr. ‘And if you talk to him like this,’ – she suddenly slipped a long, slim thigh over Tash’s knees and swivelled up so that she was astride her lap, facing her, their lips just a millimetre apart – ‘he knows you mean business.’ She cocked her head and smiled cheerfully. ‘You see?’