Polo (55 page)

    As the substitute calmly changed into a spare black shirt and borrowed Luke's helmet which was too big and fell over his handsome nose, a demented Perdita kept demanding if Luke would be OK.

    `I 'ope so,' said Dancer who was looking very shaken himself. Without Luke, he felt as though his rudder had been taken away.

    `You don't look very happy, Dancer,' sneered Bart.

    `I'm
not
very 'appy, Bart,' replied Dancer. `We've just lost our best player, we're 3-6 down wiv five minutes to go and it's pouring with fucking rain. No, I'm not very 'appy, Bart.'

    After ten drenching minutes the rain let up and play started again. It had always been arguable that Fantasma was wasted on a Number Four player, who is mostly occupied with defence. With her handiness and dazzling turn of speed, she was more suited to a Number Three. The substitute was a brilliant rider. Everyone noticed how wonderfully Fantasma went with him. Luke had been so busy covering up for Ricky earlier, the mare had had no chance to show off her paces. Although she now swished her tail furiously and rolled her eyes when the substitute gave her half a dozen whacks, she set off towards goal like a Derby winner.

    What a horse, thought the substitute, as ghostly white Fantasma streaked through the gloom. And what smoothaction - he could have carried a glass of champagne without spilling it. Then, as Bart raced to cut off the ball and back it up the field, Fantasma swung round like a weathercock when the wind changes.

    I want this horse, decided the substitute as the gallant mare reached the ball, waited while he backed it once more towards the Flyer's goal, then instantly turned. This time he scored, and a minute later he had scored again.

    Then the Flyers' poor Mexican ringer crossed Dancer out of nerves. His face expressionless, all the joy and power in his stick, Ricky drove home a miraculous sixty-yard penalty, making it six all as the bell went. Emerging from under their coloured umbrellas into the diminishing drizzle, the crowd went berserk, overjoyed that such a thrilling match would go to an extra chukka.

    Through dense fog Luke heard voices, shouts of laughter and some singing and slowly opened his eyes. The room seemed to blaze with gleaming cups. Then he heard Perdita's shrill voice.

    `Luke darling, please come round.'

    He could feel her hand and, laboriously, he tried to focus finally identifying Perdita and Dancer, drunk as skunks and brandishing a huge gilt cup.

    `We won,' cried Perdita, overjoyed.

    `What happened?' asked Luke.

    `We went into extra time.' Dancer took Luke's other hand. `I tell you I was shaking like a leaf. Wiv you gone I had to play back and Ricky and Perdita and the sub was up the other end going towards goal, and next moment Charles Napier's thundering towards me yelling, "Leave it, leave it", and Bart yells, "I'm not going to fuckin' leave it," and hits the ball straight at me. Thank Christ, it hits my pony who gives a fuckin' groan and somehow I hits it back past Charles and next moment the boy's waving the flag up the other end. "Fuckin' ell," I yelled, "We've won."'

    `And Spotty kicked the ball in,' crowed Perdita.

    `Riding back past your Dad,' went on Dancer, `I said, "You don't look very 'appy, Bart," and he was so angry he bundled his wife into 'is helicopter and flew straight back to 'is new 'ouse at Cowdray.'

    `That's terrific,' said Luke, wondering why they were now disappearing in a whirling snowstorm.

    `And Fantasma won Best Playing Pony yet again,' said Perdita, laying a royal-blue blanket edged with scarlet over the bed. `There's the most terrific party going on at the Star of India in Windsor. The twins started a food fight and hit Mrs Hughie on the nose with an onion bargie. Victor's so pissed Dommie's sold another of his horses back to him and Sharon is comforting the Mexican José who speaks no English.'

    Sitting down on Fantasma's prize-winning blanket, they started going through every play.

    `What did the Queen say to you, Dancer?' Luke asked wistfully.

    `That she was very pleased. She's met me before at the Royal Variety Performance, but she was less shy this time.'

    Perdita giggled. `She said she was sorry you were out cold and hoped you'd be better soon.'

    Luke had never known her so happy.

    `Who was the guy who stood in for me?' he asked. `Pretty good scoring two goals right away.'

    `Oh, didn't we tell you?' said Dancer in surprise. `It was your bruvver, Red.'

    `What's he doing over here?'

    `Victor's so furious at being beaten by your father that he's dropped poor Bobby Ferraro for the rest of the season and flown Red over at vast expense to play for him instead.'

48

    Next day Red's name dominated the headlines.
`Auriel's toyboy turns game around',
screamed the
Sun; `Bart sees Red',
said
The Scorpion
with a splendid picture of Bart having a shouting match with Red and Major Ferguson. The
Telegraph
warmly praised Red's polo skills: he could hit a ball through the eye of a needle.
The Times
concentrated on his horsemanship and how the great grey mare Fantasma rose like Pegasus to the challenge.

    Not content with bringing a sparkle to Perdita's eyes,Red had seduced his beloved Fantasma as well. Luke was ashamed how jealous he felt. He loved his brother but Red always spelt trouble and at the moment Luke felt incapable of getting him out of any more scrapes. Yesterday's feeling of floating detachment had given way to sickness and a blinding headache. He felt dizzy if he sat up; if he lay down his bed pitched like a raft in a force-ten gale; any sudden movement of the head made him leap with pain. The X-ray showed no fractures, but nurses were taking his pulse and blood pressure on the hour. He definitely wouldn't be fit for the Royal Windsor in which he was playing with Kevin Coley next week. Despite heavy sedation, Luke was desperately worried. Injury was the professional's worst nightmare. Just when Apocalypse was coming good he had to desert them.

    Ricky, looking very pale, had dropped in first thing in the morning. He obviously hadn't slept and, stammering badly, apologized for playing so hopelessly yesterday. He never dreamed he'd be so pole-axed by seeing Chessie, but that was no excuse.

    Knowing how much it must have cost the great
El Orgulloso
to admit such a thing, Luke was touched.

    `No sweat,' he said. `We won anyway. How's Fantasma?'

    `Got a bang on the nearside cannon bone.' Then, seeing Luke's face: `No, she's OK. We poulticed her and she was almost sound when we walked her out this morning.'

    After Ricky had gone, Luke fretted. Tempted to discharge himself to check that Fantasma was all right, he was slightly cheered around lunchtime when an Irish nurse with eyes greener than a Granny Smith and a white cap riding on her lustrous piled-up black hair, like a paper boat on stormy rapids, came in to check his blood pressure.

    `Why are you doing that?'

    `A sudden drop might indicate bleeding in the skull.' Her voice was like a furry bell.

    No-one's blood pressure could drop with you around,' said Luke as she checked his pulse.

    Looking at the badge on her starched apron he saw her name was Rosie O'Grady, and couldn't remotely imagine her being a sister under the skin to Mrs Hughie.

    `Who's Perdita?' she asked slyly. `Your wife? A girlfriend?' `Just a friend,' said Luke carefully. `Why d'you ask?'

    `I was on when you came in yesterday. You never stopped babbling about her. She's a lucky girl,' she added softly. `I had to undress you. I never knew polo players were,' she smiled sleepily, `so… er… well-hung.'

    Luke blushed beneath his red-gold stubble. `And I was out cold. Jesus, what a waste!'

    `There'll be other opportunities. We're not letting you out yet.'

    She handed him some blue pills and a glass of water which he had difficulty in keeping down.

    What are they?'

    `Analgesic and sedatives.'

    `I don't want to feel sedated,' said Luke, taking her hand. Perhaps he was still concussed. `Please stay with me.'

    They both jumped as the door flew open and Perdita stormed in. She was wearing dark glasses, which emphasized her long nose, jeans and a torn, grey T-shirt of Daisy's. Her hair was scraped back with a mauve plastic clip. She didn't look her best.

    `What's she doing?' she snapped as Nurse O'Grady melted away. `Giving you intensive care? Thought she'd have better things to do. How are you feeling?'

    `Pretty good,' lied Luke.

    `That's more than I am. I've got such a bloody awful hangover and there was a four-mile tailback on the motorway with the sun pounding down on the roof of the car. Christ, look at all your flowers. I've brought you grapes and some Lucozade. Luke-ozade, it's a joke!'

    `Very funny, thanks a lot,' said Luke who'd heard it often before.

    `This is a jolly nice room.' Perdita switched on the racing on television. The horses' hooves seemed to be pounding through Luke's skull. `Ricky's thinking of buying that grey.'

    It came fourth. Perdita switched it off.

    `I see you got the papers. Your bloody brother stole all our thunder. No-one even mentioned Dancer or me or Ricky and Chessie. The press were clinging to Red like burrs all last night. He got plastered and Seb and Dommie had a fight in the Taj Mahal because Seb was winding Dommie up saying Decorum loved him morethan Dommie. I had a good morning though.' She started eating the grapes she'd brought.
`Horse and Hound
want to put me on the cover. The
Daily Mail want
me to do a fashion feature. Best of all, Rupert Campbell-Black rang. Venturer are keen on making a documentary, or it might be a series of six half-hour programmes, taking me through the Gold Cup, Deauville, possibly Argentina and then Palm Beach next spring. I'm lunching with him and Bas later this week.'

    `That's terrific,' said Luke, wishing he felt more enthusiastic. She seemed to be slipping away from him. Christ, he mustn't be possessive. He took her hand. `It's really great.'

    There was a hammering on the door and the twins and Red burst in all wearing dark glasses.

    `Hi, baby boy,' said Seb.

    `We are
so
ill,' announced Red putting a hand on Luke's shoulder.

    But even Red's hangover and no sleep couldn't dim his beauty. Luke noticed how Perdita had whipped away her hand when he came in. Now she was surreptitiously removing the mauve plastic clip from her hair and raking it out with her fingers.

    `We brought you some booze,' said Seb, plonking three bottles of Moët and one of Lucozade down on Luke's bedside table. `We didn't think you'd have time to get any in.'

    `How're you feeling?' asked Dommie. `It was your fault, you know. You mustn't go round pulling Charles Napier off his horses. If I hadn't loathed him so much I'd have blown a foul on you.'

    `He's a bastard. Have you seen my bruises?' Perdita lifted her T-shirt to show ribs dappled black and blue.

    `Higher,' clamoured Dominic. `But we've brought you some porn mags to cheer you up, Luke.'

    `Thanks, and congratulations.' Luke turned to Red, who was opening a bottle. `I hear you played great.'

    Red laughed. `I intend to make headlines with my mallet rather than my cock from now on.'

    As usual he was miraculously dressed in off-white trousers, a cream shirt and a yellow blazer braided with pale grey silk to out-fox the young bloods in Palm Beach

    who were all now wearing pale blue blazers with green silk braiding. Luke winced as the champagne cork flew out.

    `Blimey,' said Dommie, who was deep in a porn mag. `It's wicked the things that girl's doing to that horse.'

    `Horse seems to be rather enjoying it,' drawled Red, peering over Dommie's shoulder and handing him a glass.

    `Better than being ridden by Charles Napier,' said Sebbie, holding out toothmugs for himself and Perdita. `All his ponies will be queueing up for auditions.'

    `When are they letting you out of here?' asked Red, sitting down on Luke's bed.

    `I won't make the Royal Windsor on Thursday,' said Luke, taking a sip of champagne and nearly throwing up

    `Don't give it a thought,' said Red. `Kevin already knows. He left a message on my machine asking me to stand in for you until you're OK.'

    `I'm not OK,' said Dommie, fretfully putting down the porn mag and pressing the bell beside Luke's head. `I feel awful.'

    `How's Auriel?' asked Luke. The cigarette smoke clouding the room was making him feel even sicker.

    `Making a movie near Deauville,' said Red. `She gave me a lift over here. How about that stupid bitch Chessie marching up to Ricky just before the game?'

    `Didn't help,' said Luke.

    `I wish she'd stop spending Dad's money and I wish he'd go back to work. They had to close another plant last week. And he's going to get a lot of flak over the Pegasus. That's the third crash in three months.'

    `How's Bibi?' asked Luke, who was watching Perdita watching Red, frightened yet excited by him like a mare with a stallion.

    Red shrugged. `Spending too much time covering up for Dad, which pisses Angel off. Like all Argies he expects her to wait on him hand and clay foot.'

    `You wanted something, Mr Alderton?' It was Nurse O'Grady answering the bell.

    `I'd like some Fernet-Brancat,' said Dommie, then, taking in her charms, `and a large, secluded, pay bed for two if you've got a tea-break coming up.'

    `I'll get you some Alka-Seltzer, but you ought to putthose cigarettes out,' said Nurse O'Grady and, turning to Luke with gentle reproof, `and you oughtn't to be drinking.'

    `He's not,' said Red, draining Luke's glass. `Christ, you're good-looking. Come and take my pulse.'

    Grinning, he, Seb and Dommie all held out their hands like dogs' paws.

    `I'll go and get you some Alka-Seltzer,' said Nurse O'Grady, backing hastily out of the room.

    `I'll help you carry it,' said Dommie, belting after her.

    `Talk about Florence Night-in-the-Sack,' said Seb. Having eaten all the grapes Perdita had brought, he started on his own.

    Red was opening the second bottle of Moët when the door opened and Daisy walked in. She was looking incredibly pretty, thought Luke, with her dark hair shiny and loose, her rosy cheeks just beginning to break through the layers of Clinique's Basic Beige and her mascara smudged under her eyes. She was wearing jeans and a man's blue and white striped shirt and reeked of Je Reviens.

    `That's all I bloody need,' snarled Perdita.

    Daisy blushed. `I'm sorry to barge in,' she faltered. `I just came to see how Luke was. How are you?' She handed him a bunch of roses as pink as her face. `They don't smell much, I'm afraid. Violet's doing her A levels, but she's sent you a card and some poems by Kingsley Amis, and some Lucozade as a joke.' She plonked them down on the bed.

    `Wow, that's kind,' said Luke, taking her hand and kissing her cheek. `You are an incredibly nice lady.'

    My mother, thought Perdita furiously, has a thumping great crush on Luke.

    `What the fuck are you doing here anyway?' she asked Daisy.

    `I went to London to see the Annual Exhibition of the Royal Society of Portrait Painters. Marvellous stuff,' mumbled Daisy, then, changing the subject, she turned to Luke. `We were all so worried about you. Have you got a ghastly headache?'

    `Not nearly as bad as ours,' said Seb, putting down the porn mag and pouring Daisy a glass of champagne. `You look stunning today, Mrs Macleod.'

    `This is my brother Red,' said Luke.

    Oh, what a beauty, thought Daisy in wonder - that staggering perfection of feature allied to that rain-soaked red setter colouring.

    `This is Perdita's mother,' added Luke.

    `Jesus!' Red was shaken out of his habitual cool. `You kidding? She must be Perdita's daughter.'

    Strolling over to Daisy he idly zipped up her jeans and removed a buttercup petal from her hair. Then, grinning down at her, he murmured, `I always figure the best way to see paintings is lying down,' as he poured her a toothmug of champagne.

    `I shouldn't,' said Daisy, who'd gone absolutely scarlet. `I'm driving.'

    `Why don't you come to Paris with us?' said Red, realizing in a trice that Perdita was wildly jealous of her mother and such an invitation would irritate the hell out of her. `If we leave in twenty minutes we can have an hour at the Louvre before it closes. My father's lent a painting to the Renoir exhibition. We can book in to the Ritz, dine at Maxim's and I'll take you to Montmartre tomorrow.'

    `Come on, Mrs Macleod,' urged Seb. `If we can't show you a good time, no-one can. We're coming back tomorrow lunchtime. We've got a four-thirty match at Cowdray.'

    Seeing the two of them so brown, carefree and handsome, Daisy suddenly thought how heavenly it would be to take off.

    `I can't leave Ethel and Gainsborough,' she stammered.

    `Course you can,' said Seb. Perdita'll look after them. Haven't I been trying to seduce your mother for ages?' he added over his shoulder to an absolutely spitting Perdita. `Dommie's been a long time with that nurse. This must be him.'

    But instead Drew walked in. Taking in the number of bottles and people, he went straight up to Luke's bed.

    `You poor sod, how you feeling? Besieged, I should think. You don't want this mob here, do you?'