Mount! (45 page)

‘Don’t talk rubbish.’ Jan turned on her furiously. ‘Rupert adores Taggie, he was just carried away. If you’d seen how upset he was when she loyally came to the fete instead of going to the King George with him …’

Helen had gone scarlet with rage – Jan was
her
ally – when Constance Sprightly popped her head round the door:

‘Time for the auction, everyone. And South Africa are 280 for no wicket.’

Meanwhile, back at Penscombe the yells of excitement when Quickly flashed past the post, and the winners bell rang out, were followed by howls of ‘
Ker-rist!
’ as Rupert kept on kissing Gala.

‘She’s got to first base,’ squealed Lou-easy. ‘That was more than a peck on the cheek.’

‘Throw that bucket of water over them, Gav.’

‘Lucky thing.’

‘God, I wonder if Taggie saw it.’

‘He was livid when he caught Gala with Eddie.’

Now Eddie was talking to the press: ‘Wonderful horse, Quickly, he’s manned up, and I was determined not to come too soon.’

‘Makes a change,’ said Pat to howls of laughter.

‘What a wictory – Gropius won the Dog with the Waggiest Tail,’ announced Marketa, who’d just returned from the fete with him.

‘I should think his mistress has the even more waggiest tail after that clinch,’ said Roving Mike. ‘Jesus!’

Jan orchestrated the auction out in the vicarage garden, talking up and getting good bids for magnums of champagne, pictures by local artists, free wedding flowers, days out at Longleat.

Taggie was too fazed by the goings-on at Ascot to take in much, until she heard Jan saying: ‘And now the most exciting lot of the afternoon, dinner, cooked by the best chef and the prettiest woman in Gloucestershire, Taggie Campbell-Black,’ followed by loud cheers.

‘Oh help!’ But before she could get too embarrassed, the bids came storming in, pushed by Jan, up and up to £700. This came from incredibly lecherous Brigadier Littleton and was then finally topped by Jan himself with £750 – a huge amount when he was sending so much home to his family. The vicar was beaming. The stalls had been counting their takings: Jan’s bid should push the total to over £5,000.

‘You are a darling,’ said a deeply embarrassed Taggie. ‘It’s far too much.’

‘And you’re not doing any cooking,’ said Jan. ‘We’re going to Calcot Manor, next week.’

Taggie was so grateful to him, particularly for telling Helen to shut up. She was just wondering why Rupert hadn’t rung when she realized her mobile was switched off. Immediately, he called.

‘Where have you been? We won, we fucking won. Did you see it?’

‘I did, it was wonderful, so proud of you – everyone said he hadn’t a hope. Do congratulate Eddie.’

‘I will.’ There was a pause. ‘Sorry about Gala and me. We were all so excited, got carried away, so used to kissing you. How’s the fete going?’

‘Fine. I’m … so thrilled you won. See you later.’

Eddie was in heaven. He loved being congratulated by the Queen and being presented with a little glass horse.

He was even more elated when Sauvignon took him aside.

‘Well done, Eddie. Why don’t you join us for a drink this evening?’

Gala might have felt jealous. She didn’t trust Sauvignon with her baby boy, but next minute, as Quickly’s stable lass, she was called up to collect a silver photograph frame, and Rupert’s hand had brushed hers as they lined up for the photographers.

‘We shouldn’t have done that,’ he murmured, ‘but it was incredibly nice.’

‘Incredibly.’

‘Sauvignon’s asked me for a drink,’ crowed Eddie to both of them.

‘Which pub are you going to?’ asked Gala.

‘All of them,’ grinned Eddie.

But fame and tranquillity are seldom good bedfellows, fame being a spur which often sticks in the side. While Gala and Jemmy went home with the horses, Eddie stayed in Ascot and, having been off the booze for a month, got drunk very quickly.

‘What have you done to yourself?’ asked a horrified Gala when he finally made it back to Penscombe the following afternoon, with two black eyes and a badly swollen wrist.

‘I fell out of a helicopter.’

‘Good God.’

‘I was hammered – it was on the ground.’

‘Whatever happened?’

‘I don’t remember. There were lots of jockeys there, Manu, and Ash and Hammond Johnson. I went outside for a piss. Someone must have beaten me up.’

‘That someone must have been jealous – you’d done much too well. Trebles mean trouble. Did you get off with Sauvignon?’

‘I think I’d remember if I had. The saddest thing was, my glass horse got smashed.’

There were, however, compensations. Eddie was touched to receive a congratulatory text from Lark in Australia: ‘Well done you and Quickly.’

Darling Lark, how unutterably sweeter was she than Sauvignon?

There were also pictures of him in every paper as ‘Rupert the Second’ with Alastair Down in the
Racing Post
describing his win as a masterpiece, reminiscent of the time Rupert, the greatest rider of his generation, had won an Olympic Gold medal with a trapped nerve.

Even better, Quickly’s victory had pushed Love Rat above Roberto’s Revenge in the Leading Sire charts.

Rupert also apologized again to Taggie.

‘I’m sorry, darling, I was missing you. Gala’d done a fantastic job and I got carried away. I’d have kissed the vicar if he’d been there.’

After the King George, Declan O’Hara turned up to see his daughter Taggie. He was desperately broke and had just had a gruelling session with his bank manager, who chided him.

‘Do you realize, Mr O’Hara, your overdraft is larger than my annual salary?’

After a long pause, Declan had growled: ‘Then I suggest you get a better job.’

Feeling he had scored a cheap point, Declan, a sweet man, had sought comfort by dropping in on Taggie, to find her out for dinner. Rupert was at Windsor, so Declan had several drinks with Gala, who was dogsitting.

It was another exquisite evening out on the terrace. The air was heavy with meadowsweet, Traveller’s Joy rioted primrose-yellow over the hedgerows, green fields turning gold formed little triangles between gaps in the darkening treetops. Except for cooing pigeons the birds had fallen silent. The dogs sought shade and panted. Declan liked Gala very much, but suspected, having seen the clinch on Saturday, she was dangerously drawn to Rupert.

‘No grandchildren?’ he asked.

‘No, for once. Everyone uses Taggie as a hotel, although her food’s much better. She’s so kind she never says no to anyone. How’s your book going?’

‘Backwards,’ sighed Declan. ‘It’s on Irish literature. It’s a terrible confession, but I’m so bored with it.’

Then, unable to resist talking about Rupert, Gala asked: ‘Were you pleased when Rupert and Taggie got married?’

‘Yes. When we battled for and won the Venturer contract together I got to know him really well.’

‘Must be difficult,’ Gala was fishing, ‘for such a ravishingly attractive man to stay faithful when he’s away so much. So many beautiful women hang around the racing circuit and descend on him in droves.’

Declan laughed. ‘He’s always been lethally attractive. I’m amazed the entire Pony Club hasn’t come out of the woodwork and sued him for
not
sexually abusing them. My wife Maud was bats about him. He fucked for England,’ Declan refilled their glasses, ‘before and during his first marriage. Helen’s a pain in the arse, but he did give her a hard time.’

‘She’s convinced he’s still in love with her,’ said Gala, ‘and that explains his animosity.’

‘I’ve never subscribed to that “who never loves, that hated not at first sight” theory,’ reflected Declan. ‘Then he met Taggie, who was desperately insecure, dyslexic, never been able to read well, brother and sister both very clever and beautiful. But Taggie was like a gentle giraffe – she touched his heart. She was eighteen years younger than him but so vulnerable; he fell madly in love with her. For months he fought it, then, although he knew Taggie adored him, in one of the few sacrifices,’ Declan smiled, ‘of a pretty selfish life, refusing, as he said, “to foist his utterly bloody promiscuous nature on her”, he fled to America, but after a week was unable to stay away.

‘On his return, Taggie surprised him at the airport, declaring her love, and the rest is very happily married history. In
The Faerie Queene
, Una tames the fierce lion by sheer goodness. I think Rupert feels with Taggie as he did with Billy Lloyd-Foxe, that her loving him is a kind of reference that he can’t be that much of a shit. His very, very disguised insecurity,’ Declan bent to stroke Forester, ‘I think stems from multiple married parents and a succession of indifferent and antagonistic stepfathers and stepmothers. Old Eddie’s not particularly fond of Rupert. Just
take, take, take. Never says thank you. Born in Scorpio, that most jealous passionate sign, Rupert is terrified of losing Taggie and going back to the anarchy of his old life, like Othello’s chaos coming again.

‘He is insanely jealous. Never got over Malise Gordon preferring Jake Lovell to him. He also had a perfectly frightful owner called Shade Murchieson, who had twenty horses and made a pass at Taggie. Roving Mike sneaked to Rupert, who told Shade to fuck off on the gallops, then loaded up all Shade’s horses and dumped them outside Shade’s office in St James’s Square. Never, ever underestimate his jealousy.’

‘Gosh,’ sighed Gala. ‘You are warning me off, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said Declan. ‘The marriage is proof of a marriage working and gives security to so many people, staff, family, friends and each other.’

Declan’s gorgeous voice, deep, husky and Irish, softened everything he said.

‘I wish you were twenty years younger,’ said Gala.

‘Where’s Taggie?’ asked Declan.

‘Gone out to dinner with Jan.’ Gala burst out laughing. ‘He caused lots of talk bidding £750 for dinner with her at the village fete. And he picked the night Rupert’s away at Windsor. Are you going to warn Jan to back off as well?’ She’d had too many glasses of red.

Then, as Declan looked at her: ‘If Rupert’s jealous like Othello, Jan’s Iago,’ she said. ‘He’s much keener on Taggie than he is on Rupert.’

‘You don’t like him?’

Gala shrugged. ‘He tries to be all things to all men, but not dogs – he beat up Gropius once. He can be very kind. He tracked down lots of pictures of my husband Ben, because I lost them all in the fire in Zimbabwe. And he’s very good at his job and a huge help to Taggie – for her, it must be suddenly like having wheels to help you pull along a huge suitcase – but he acts as though he owns the place. Rupert can’t stand him.’

Seeing the bottle was empty, Bao brought them out another one and some pâté on toast.

‘Thanks, Bao, I need that to stop me getting completely
indiscreet. He is such a sweet boy,’ confided Gala when he’d gone, then taking a deep breath: ‘Because some Chinese mafia warlord in Zimbabwe took out my husband and destroyed everything I loved, I was vile to Bao when he arrived, but he’s so good-hearted. He was even brave enough to ring up Rupert in Singapore and tell him he’d forgotten Taggie’s birthday.’

‘What was the name of the mafia warlord?’ asked Declan.

‘Wang. Zixin is his Christian name. He’s got houses in Beijing and Zimbabwe.’

‘I’ll check him out,’ said Declan, noticing how much she was suddenly trembling, then wondered if Wang was actually the cause, as Rupert’s helicopter came chugging through wisps of clouds turned salmon-pink in the sunset.

‘Goodness, he’s back early. He’s not expected till tomorrow.’

Believing Rupert was spending the night in London, Taggie had guiltily put on Bao’s leopardskin dress, fluffed up her shining clean hair, taken great care with her make-up, drenched herself in Eau de Mandarine, her new birthday scent, and looked so gorgeous, all the diners at Calcot Manor clocked that Mrs Campbell-Black was dining out with a man much younger than, and almost as good-looking as, her husband.

Realizing how shy and nervous she was, Jan immediately ordered a bottle of Sancerre.

‘You’ll have to drink most of it, mam, as I’m driving, and I’m going to sit opposite you, so I can really gaze for a change. You look so beautiful.’

They were dining in the conservatory with lilies everywhere and a lovely view of the garden. Knowing she’d have trouble reading the menu, which was full of delicious refinements like truffle-mashed potato, quails’ egg and fig dressing and seared turbot with bacon, Jan chose her a starter of crab mayonnaise.

‘Then why don’t we share salmon en croute with a champagne and caviar sauce?’

The only problem was that carers, worried about abandoning their clients, eat very fast, and Jan had wolfed two thirds of the salmon en croute, before Taggie confessed she was full up after a couple of spoonfuls.

‘I’m so sorry, such a waste.’

‘I’ll finish it up, mam, and we’re going to share a sweet.’

Only halfway through a mouth-watering passion fruit and banana soufflé with mango sorbet did Taggie realize they were using the same spoon, and he was feeding her.

‘Do you miss South Africa?’ she asked.

‘Not when I’m with you, and I don’t miss the danger. There’ve been three murders in our area this week. And people broke in to my father’s barn and smashed all the windows. The police won’t do anything about it. My father knows who the thieves are. They’ll even hail him in the street.’

‘How awful.’

‘They only attack during a full moon because car lights turned on would give them away. I worry about my kids. It’s a strange country. Black police tend to be lenient with blacks but when I applied for a new passport before coming to England, black queues were going twice round the building, but the white passport lady gave me a stamped one straight away.’

‘You must miss your children so much.’

Jan shrugged. ‘I married to please my parents, and give them grandchildren to boast about at the golf club and bridge parties.’ He felt guilty, he added, about his wife, Matilda.

‘Did she marry again?’

Jan shook his head. ‘That’s why I’ve got to support her.’

Taggie felt bad that he’d blued so much on the auction and now on dinner. She’d also had three glasses of Sancerre.