Desdemona quietly round the collecting ring that morning, he stared for a minute at the familiar big black horse with dinner-plate feet and the ugly white face, but made absolutely no comment.
It was a mark of Rupert’s nerve that it had no effect on his riding. He continued to bitch and mob up the other riders, which was always his way of psyching himself up before a class, then produced a round that threw everyone else into a panic. Not only was his speed faster than light, but, from the way he had to exert every ounce of brute strength to keep Snakepit on course, the horse was obviously a devil to ride.
Guy de la Tour, the star on whom the French crowd had pinned their hopes, jumped a slower but stylish clear to a storm of bravos. He was followed by Ludwig, recovered from his hangover, but who, despite Clara’s long legs, couldn’t catch Rupert. Speed was not Macaulay’s strong point; he was too careful and jumped too high. Jake was very happy with a slow clear, putting him in eleventh place.
As the Americans were hot favorites for the Nations’ Cup, there was a lot of interest in how the horses would react to a French course. Neither the Number One male rider, Carol Kennedy, nor the Number Two, the redheaded Mary Jo Wilson, had found their form yet, and notched up eight and four faults respectively.
Interest was therefore centered on Dino Ferranti, riding a young liver chestnut thoroughbred called President’s Man. Dino had never competed in Europe before, but even Fen, who’d had another row with him in the practice ring because his groom dismantled the upright when she was about to jump it, had to admit he was a glorious rider. For the purist, he lounged in the saddle like a cowboy and sat a little too far back, but he was so supple he seemed made of rubber, and was able to throw his weight completely off the horse while it was in the air, yet somehow touch down smoothly as he landed.
Loose mane and long tail flying in the American fashion, President’s Man loped round the course like a cottontail rabbit. There was consternation and raised eyebrows all round when the clock said he was three seconds faster than Rupert.
“Well done,” said everyone as he came out.
“That’s very lucky to win the first class in the show,” said Humpty. “That is a handsome animal. Who’s he by?”
“Great, our first win,” said Mary Jo, rushing up and hugging Dino. “That’s Rupert second, Ludwig third, and Guy fourth.”
“Do you mind?” said a shrill voice, barging through the circle of mutual admiration. “I haven’t been in yet.”
Laughing and joking, Ludwig, Dino, Rupert, and Guy had their backs to the ring, all admiring the comely Mary Jo. Suddenly they heard cheering from the crowd and, turning, saw the little roan mare flying round the ring. She turned in the air over the stile, whipped over the double, and took the wall at full gallop, clearing it by inches. Jake put his hands over his eyes as she thundered down towards the combination.
Looking in wonderment through splayed fingers, he saw her pop, pop, pop over the three fences like a Ping- Pong ball. Knocking a tenth of a second off Dino’s time, she had to gallop halfway round the ring before she could pull up. Pink in the face with elation, she made a discreet but perfectly noticeable V-sign at the group round Mary Jo as she came out of the ring. Darklis and Isa were yelling like savages.
Jake bawled her out for “bloody irresponsibility.” “You could have brought her down at any moment.” Then his face softened, “But it was a great round.”
They were calling for the winners. Fen stuck her nose in the air and rode into the ring. Dino caught up with her. In a white stock, black coat, and the tightest of white breeches, with her newly washed hair tucked into a net, she was almost unrecognizable as the angry child who’d barged into Rupert’s caravan the previous night.
“Lady, ah sure underestimated you.”
Fen ignored him.
“You look real pretty when you’re mad, but Ah sure wish you’d smile.”
“I will when they give me my rosette.”
“Ah thought you were Jake Lovell’s groom.”
“So I am, so are Isa and Darklis. We all muck in. Everyone’s everything.”
“Are you going to ride that pony in the World Championships?”
Fen patted Desdemona lovingly. “No. I’m too young.”
“Thank Christ for that,” said Dino, looking them up and down. “I guess it’s only a matter of time, though.”
News of Rupert’s strip poker party and Fen’s moonlight flit with his horses spread round the ground like wildfire, rivaled as gossip only by stories of Billy’s drinking, and speculation as to whether Jake’s horse, now registered as Nightshade, was really Macaulay. Then, an Italian rider found a bucket of bran in his horse’s stables, not put there by any of his entourage, and immediately everyone started panicking about sabotage. Security was tightened up all around. The Americans and the Germans hired security guards with Rotweillers. Even Rupert went so far as to employ a man to sleep all night outside Snakepit’s box.
“Terrified Fen’ll let him out again,” said Dizzy.
“I bet you wouldn’t have taken him,” she added to Fen, “if you’d known what a sod he can be — only equaled at the moment by his master. I don’t know what the hell’s the matter with him.”
Rupert was missing Billy. In every major competition he’d ever jumped, Billy’d been there to fool around with, bounce ideas off, and talk out problems. Rupert was too proud to go to Malise for advice. He’d lecture him and then be irritated if Rupert didn’t follow the advice. Helen was too ignorant and not really interested.
Hyped up to a peak of physical fitness, Rupert longed to swim in the sea, but thought it might put his eyes out for the Nations’ Cup tomorrow. He longed for a drink, but he’d vowed not to touch a drop till the championship was over. French girls mobbed him, if anything, more than English ones, but he was finding easy lays less and less satisfactory, and Helen’s arrival the following day would put the kibosh on that. He was also livid with Helen for not bringing out the children. Lavinia de la Tour had offered them the run of Guy’s chateau, thirty miles away, but Helen was too nervous about French food and water and rabid dogs and the effect of the heatwave on Marcus’s delicate skin. Tab, whom Rupert was dying to show off, Helen felt, was too young.
Rupert had never suffered from nerves before, but he didn’t want to ride Macaulay in the final. He’d watched the gypsy rabble of the Lovell gang — those beautiful children, with their frightful Birmingham accents and their fearlessness, swarming all over Jake’s horses, polishing and plaiting them up, kissing them, playing round their feet as if they were big dogs. He’d never seen horses so relaxed or children so happy. He compared Marcus’s cringing terror and he vowed Tab would never grow up like that.
He was drawn to Dino Ferranti, whom he’d met while jumping on the Florida circuit, as he was drawn to Ludwig, as the rich, beautiful, and successful are invariably drawn to one another.
Dino reminded Rupert a little of Billy. They were both easygoing and had the same sense of the ridiculous. But at twenty-six, Dino was tougher and more ambitious. He was vainer than Billy too, with his pale silk shirts, his beautiful suits, his expensive cologne, and his ash blond hair that fell perfectly into place, however much he ran his hands through it. But beneath that almost effeminate languor, Dino had a will of iron, and physical strength like Rupert that allowed him to be in the thick of a party until five o’clock in the morning, yet still able to wipe the smile off the opposition next day.
Dino’s grandfather had been an Italian immigrant who loved messing around with flowers and had started a small perfume factory. He produced a perfume called Ecstasy, which became as famous and enduringly popular as Joy, Arpege, or Chanel No. 5. His son, Paco, had a shrewd head and capitalized enough on his father’s talent to become a millionaire, as president and founder of Ferranti, Inc., which made all kinds of scents, colognes, soaps, and aftershaves, which sold worldwide. Later he diversified and started an engineering business. His three elder sons all went dutifully into the company. But Dino, his favorite, the youngest and most beautiful, rebeled. From an early age, he was interested only in horses, riding his own ponies and, even though he was beaten for it, his father’s racehorses. Assuming he would grow out of this obsession, Paco let his son ride as much as he liked, feeling deeply relieved when Dino reached six feet by the time he was seventeen, obviously too tall for a flat-race
