Polo (65 page)

    It was a piece about Chessie flying Bart's private jet to Paris and spending half a million on clothes for the forthcoming Palm Beach season, not to mention buying one of the Duchess of Windsor's favourite brooches for Ł50,000 and a Poussin at Sotheby's.

    `So what else is new?' said Red coolly, although his eyes were narrowed with rage and his fingers drummed on the white paper tablecloth. `No wonder Dad wouldn't advance me any money last week.'

    `She's done all that,' said Bibi despairingly, `when Dad's had to lay off seven hundred people this week because he can't pay their wages. The guys are putting her photograph on the factory walls instead of pin-ups so they can throw darts at it.'

    `Chessie-Antoinette,' said Red. `Can't someone assassinate her?'

    `Hardly,' said Bibi with a hollow laugh. `The same piece reports her as attending a fashion show for bullet-proof clothes last week. Red, we are running out of money.'

    `I know,' said Red. `Can't Dad talk to her?'

    Not when he's spending so much on ponies. They're as bad as each other. I don't know who's spending the most - Dad, Chessie or Angel,' Bibi added bitterly. Then, lowering her voice, `Angel just adores the grand gesture. He gave a friend of his a $20,000 pony last week because his wife had just quit.'

    `Shit!' Red shook his head. `What triggered off Chessie's recent spate of extravagance?'

    `You did,' said Bibi. `You know how she hates Mom ringing Dad, but Mom's been in such a state about you and Perdita, she's been calling him a lot lately. She was bad enough about me and Angel.'

    Angel looked round. `Grace put a private detective on to my family,' he said haughtily. `All she found was that my side of the family were poor, but not at all non-U.'

    `And anyway, you're her ewe lamb, the light of her life,' said Bibi bitterly to Red, then added to Perdita, `I don't mean it personally. It's nothing to do with you. Mom'd be the same whoever Red married; she's positively oedipal about him. And even when Dad and Chessie are fighting like cats Chessie can't stand him having any communication with Mom.'

    'Bibi is going to lose that good-looking boy if she's not careful,' said Red as they drove home. `He's already catting around with that blonde cook who looks as though cocks wouldn't melt in her mouth.'

    But Perdita wasn't listening. Sick with churning fear, she was thinking that if Grace put a private detective on to her, in no time he'd find out about her being illegitimate or worse.

    Next week the Aldertons won the Fathers and Sons match, annihilating the Van Dorens by forty goals to five, which presaged well for the coming season.

    Christmas in Palm Beach was extremely fraught. Everyone missed Luke. Easy-going, imperturbable, prepared to see the funny side of practically anything, he had been a genius at defusing rows. Red and Perdita being so extravagantly in love seemed to unhinge Chessie. Her temper was not improved on Christmas Day when a vast JCB, wrapped in red ribbon and decorated with holly, was delivered to Alderton Towers.

    `Dear Chessie, to help you with your gold digging,' said the note inside, `Yours never, Red.'

    Nor was Angel particularly amused when Bibi gave him a green Lamborghini. She kept him short, humiliated him by refusing to pay his gambling debts, and then expected him to be grateful for a bloody car.

    His best present in fact was a small oblong envelope fromBart. Inside was a US passport. A senator friend of Bart's had pulled strings. This meant that at last Angel could circumnavigate the ban on Argentines and play in England.

    `Thank you,' Angel embraced a father-in-law he normally detested. `I am damn Yanqui now.'

    `You're gonna help me bury Apocalypse,' said Bart in an undertone.

    `You can play for America in the International,' said Chessie in delight.

    `You could even play for them in the Westchester if Bas and Rupert do really revive it in the autumn,' said Perdita.

    But Angel was miles away, thinking of Pedro at the bottom of the icy South Atlantic. The fish would have picked his bones clean by now and Angel had another bone to pick with a poker-faced British officer. At last he was going to England to take out Drew Benedict.

57

    Daisy Macleod, on the other hand, longed and longed to be taken out by Drew Benedict. Now he was earning serious money playing polo he was spending more time abroad and Daisy saw far less of him. But he assured her good times lay ahead once he was financially independent of Sukey.

    Daisy was also low because she blamed herself entirely for Perdita's defection. If only she hadn't conceived Perdita at Jackie's orgy, if she'd been a more forceful mother and hadn't let Perdita run wild, if she'd told Perdita the truth earlier and been able to hold on to Hamish, if she hadn't been distracted by falling in love with Drew.

    Since Perdita had run off with Red she had rung her mother twice, the first time from Kenya to say she was deliriously happy, the second to boast about the Fathers and Sons match and Ferranti's paying her a fortune. But when Daisy had reproached her gently for hurting Luke and walking out on Venturer and Apocalypse, Perdita had hung up and cut off all lines of communication.

    One of the highlights for Daisy, therefore, of a long, cold winter was a surprise party for Ricky's thirty-second birthday in the middle of February. Louisa had lured

    him away to look at a pony which turned out to be an absolute dog. Returning irritably home to Robinsgrove, he found a rip-roaring party in full swing with every light blazing, drink from Bas's wine bar flowing and live music provided by Dancer and Apocalypse pounding down the valley. Taggie Campbell-Black had produced the most succulent home-made ravioli stuffed with lobster purée and braised quails, served with fresh mangoes flown specially down from Harrods. To hide how touched he was, Ricky was absolutely furious. But gradually he and the great gloomy house he inhabited responded almost joyously to the intrusion.

    Daisy was bitterly disappointed that Drew couldn't make it and very embarrassed about her present; everyone else's were so much more exciting. Only after several drinks did she drag Seb Carlisle, who'd been bopping with a six-foot inflatable rubber doll he'd had gift-wrapped for Ricky, into the study.

    `Alone at last,' whooped Seb, grabbing her. `You and I and Dolly can have a threesome.'

    Giggling, Daisy wriggled free. `I've done a portrait for Ricky. Will you look at it and promise to tell me if you think he'll be upset?'

    `I'm the one who's upset, you keep spurning me,' grumbled Seb, unwrapping the red crępe paper. `Christ! that is absolutely stunning. How the hell did you get such a likeness? It's Will to a T.'

    He traced the thick flaxen hair and the dark slanting eyes with one finger. `He was such a gorgeous child. Ricky will go apeshit.'

    `Are you sure he won't be hurt by it?'

    `Au
contraire!
He's never had any decent photographs of Will. Chessie swiped the lot. I'll get him.'

    Shaking, Daisy took a great gulp of champagne. Rutshire Polo Club's fixture list for next year was already up on the wall. Ricky came in looking boot-faced. He detested people invading his private sanctum.

    `I don't want presents. I can't think why everyone's bothered.' The words died on his lips as he picked up the picture.

    `I'll quite understand if you want to throw it on the fire,' gabbled Daisy.

    Ricky just gazed and gazed at it and said nothing, then he shook his head in disbelief, tried to speak and found he was quite unable.

`I'm
sorry,' mumbled Daisy. `Give it back to me.'

    `No, no, it's beautiful, w-w-wonderful, so like him. I can't begin to tell you what it mm-m-means. I had no record. I've b-b-been haunted by not remembering what he looked like.'

    Daisy, in her delighted confusion, frantically stroked Little Chef who'd bounded in after Ricky, wearing a red, white and blue bow. Glancing up, she was amazed to see Ricky's eyes wet with tears.

    `How the hell did you do it?'

    `I was leafing through those old polo books you lent me for a picture of the Rutshire before the war, and Will's photo fell out. I've got it for you at home.'

    `I don't know how to b-b-begin to thank you.'

    `Or us you,' mumbled Daisy, `for letting us stay on at Snow Cottage.'

    Later in the evening Rupert took Daisy aside.

    `That's a bloody good picture of Will. Ricky is beside himself. Now all we've got to do is persuade Victor Kaputnik to invent a cure for Chessie.'

    Daisy found Rupert so incredibly glamorous and shy-making that she always talked rubbish in his presence.

    `Wonderful food,' she mumbled. `Taggie is
so
clever. They always say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.'

    `It's through his heart,' said Rupert quite sharply.

    There was a pause, then he said, `Cameron Cook's flying out to Palm Beach with a crew next week to film Perdita in the Rolex Cup. I hope she's not going to be bolshy. You heard from her?'

    Daisy shook her head miserably. `She doesn't answer letters, and hangs up if I try and ring her.'

    `I was just as impossible at her age,' said Rupert more gently. `She'll come round.'

    All the time Daisy was aware of him watching Taggie who was now rather tentatively asking people if they'd like chocolate roulade or raspberry bombe.

    `She's so beautiful,' sighed Daisy.

    Rupert's face softened. `She is, isn't she? The nightmare

    is trying to stop her doing too much. Look,' he lowered his voice, `Helen, my first wife, painted the nursery the most appalling jaundice-yellow. It's just been repainted. If I manage to lure Tag away for a long weekend, would you be able to slap on some flowers and birds and butterflies and perhaps the odd horse and dog for a surprise when she comes back?'

    `What a gorgeous idea,' said Daisy.

    `Hush, she's coming,' said Rupert. `I'll let you know when we're going, and arrange for you to have a set of keys.'

    Next day it snowed and Ricky gave Eddie a virtually new red-and-silver sledge he'd bought for Will one year there had been no snow.

    `Pointless it eating its head off in the attic.'

    `It's Mum's birthday next week,' confided Eddie. `What d'you think she'd like?'

    The day before Daisy's birthday Drew arrived bearing flowers, champagne, a side of smoked salmon and a great deal of silk underwear.

    Later, pretending she'd bought it all herself as a birthday treat, she couldn't resist showing the underwear to Eddie and to Violet, who'd come home for the weekend.

    `You goofed there, Mum,' said Eddie, disapprovingly. `Why waste a fortune on stuff no-one's going to see?'

    Next day they brought her breakfast in bed. Violet gave her a black polo neck, Eddie, having borrowed a fiver off his mother, gave her some fishnet tights. Around twelve Violet said, `Ricky's asked us for a drink.'

    `We can't,' said Daisy. `We've imposed on him enough. He doesn't know it's my birthday, does he?' Thirty-nine seemed horribly old.

    `Of course he doesn't,' said Violet.

    `Happy birthday,' said Ricky as she walked through the front door.

    `Pigs,' hissed Daisy to the grinning Violet and Eddie. `Happy birthday,' chorused all Ricky's grooms and Joel, the farm manager.

    After a glass of red wine, incapable of keeping a secret, Eddie told his mother that Ricky had a present for her. `Shut your eyes,' he added, at a nod from Ricky.

    Taking her hands, the children led her up flight after flight of stairs. Acutely aware of fishnet tights wrinkling around her ankles, Daisy wondered if Ricky was following behind. She was walking on bare boards now. Then she heard a door being opened and felt warmth.

    `OK, you can look now,' said Eddie.

    She was in a large attic room, with a window stretching the length of the far wall looking over the Eldercombe Valley to the Bristol Channel. A low winter sun was pouring in. By the window was an easel complete with canvas covered in white drawing paper. On a side table were sketch pads, more rolls of paper, a complete set of new paints, rubbers, pencils, brushes in a jar and a huge bowl of snowdrops.

    `The smock's from Ethel, so you won't get paint on your clothes any more,' said Violet.

    `I don't understand,' muttered Daisy.

    Ricky's face was expressionless. `It's your new studio. I'm f-f-fed up with you covering my cottage with paint.'

    `Oh,' gasped Daisy. `The view, the light, the peace. It's incredible!'

    `There's no excuse for you to be sidetracked now, Mum,' said Violet.

    `Here are the keys to the front door.' Ricky dropped them into her hand. `Come and go as you like.' `But I'll be in your way.'

    `I'm out most of the time. Seems a shame to waste such a nice room.'

    `I must be dreaming.' Daisy wandered towards the window.

    On the horizon was a streak of palest turquoise below a lavender sky. Opal-blue smoke rose straight up from chimneys and bonfires. The woods looked soft and fluffy like the stretched belly of a tabby kitten. Turning, she went up to Ricky and quickly kissed him on the side of his face where there was no scar.

    `Ricky can be your toyboy, Mum,' said Eddie.

    `It was all Ricky's idea,' said Violet as they floated home

    an hour later. `He's so knocked out with Will's portrait.' `He's a good bloke,' said Eddie. `We're going to shoot

    clays this afternoon.'

    `And he says I can practise driving on one of his flat fields,' said Violet.

    The only person not pleased with the arrangement was Drew.

    `How can I possibly get in touch with you if you're up at Ricky's all the time?'

    A week later Rupert flew into Palm Beach in a furious temper. Overdoing things, Taggie had nearly lost the baby. James Benson, Rupert's doctor, had ordered her to rest for the next month and had flatly refused to let her travel with Rupert when he was forced to fly over and sort out the ghastly row that had blown up over the documentary on Perdita Macleod.

    Venturer had already sunk a great deal of money in the project. Cameron Cook and a very expensive crew were out there filming, and now the mighty Ferranti's had come down like a ton of bricks, saying that their exclusive contract with Perdita precluded her from taking part in anything else.

    Cameron Cook had then waved Venturer's contract at Ferranti and was defiantly filming Perdita in an early Rolex Gold Cup match when a posse of Ferranti heavies, secretly alerted by Red, rolled up and frightened Cameron off. Knowing how much it took to frighten Cameron, who'd made programmes in Beirut and Grenada, Rupert realized that the heavies must have been very heavy indeed.

    Cameron's temper had not been improved by Perdita turning on the crew, whose presence had made her miss two easy passes, and screaming at them to eff off and make their piss-pot film somewhere else. It was then that the lawyers moved in.

    They had now reached a stalemate with neither side prepared to budge an inch, but Ferranti's were infinitely richer than Venturer and had, furthermore, employed Winston - `If you're innocent, you don't need me' - Chalmers, Florida's toughest lawyer, to act for them. Dino Ferranti, the sales director, who was an old enemy of Rupert's and disliked him intensely, was intending to take no prisoners in the ensuing battle. At this stage Cameron had reluctantly begged Rupert to fly out. It was the sort of tussle he would have relished in the old days, but not since he married Taggie. Under her gentle influence he had shed much of his aggression and he detested lettingher out of his sight for a second - particularly now she was having a baby.

    They had been married fourteen months now, during which time Rupert had never dreamed he would suffer such extremes of happiness and misery. There was the miracle of her love, not just for him but for his children. Every day he expected some flaw in her character to be revealed, some pettiness or bloody-mindedness, but she had not revealed even a toenail of clay. There had been the unbelievable joys of initiating her sexually, slowly, slowly breaking down her shyness and inhibitions, until he was rewarded a thousand-fold by the passion and enthusiasm of her response.

    But this wonderful happiness had a flipside. Rupert was absolutely terrified of losing her. With his track record, Taggie was the one who should have been jealous, but she trusted him implicitly and felt so blessed that he had married her rather than any of the legions of others that she had no right to question her exclusivity. It was Rupert who suffered hell-pains. He was jealous of every man she talked to, of her prodigal, importunate family who were always dropping in to borrow money and enjoy Taggie's cooking, of people she met in the street, even of his own children, dogs and horses. And now she was having his child and he was scared he might be jealous of that too. Although he made heroic attempts to curb this jealousy, every so often it overwhelmed him and he found himself biting her utterly innocent head off. Then, crucified when he saw the bewilderment in her big eyes, he pulled her into his arms frantic with remorse.