Determined to create some sense of union, however, Malise insisted the entire team and their wives, including Fen, went out to dinner that night to celebrate having two British riders in the final. Tomorrow was a compulsory rest day, so it didn’t matter if they suffered a few hangovers.
Jake promptly refused, on the grounds they couldn’t get a babysitter. Alas, they got back to their hotel to find the patron’s wife, who had given them frightful rooms overlooking a noisy main road, had suddenly discovered from the evening paper that she had as a guest a potential World Champion. Nothing, she insisted, was too much for Monsieur Lovell. She and her husband would immediately move out of their quiet bedroom overlooking the courtyard, so Jake and Tory could have the double bed and ensure two good nights’ sleep before the great ordeal.
All this was overheard by Malise, who was staying at the same hotel. Perhaps, he asked, Madame would be prepared to babysit that evening.
To Jake’s fury, Madame was only too ’appy. Darklis and Isa would have dinner in the kitchen and watch
By the time their rooms had been sorted out, Fen, Jake, and Tory were the last to arrive for dinner. The restaurant at the end of the town took up the entire ground floor of an eighteenth-century chateau on the edge of an estuary. Gleaming Virginia creeper jacketed the walls and threatened to close the shutters. Pale crimson geraniums cascaded into the khaki water.
“Smell that wine and garlic,” sighed Fen ecstatically. “Oh, cheer up, Jake. At least it’ll be a change from hamburgers and Mars bars.”
Malise, suntanned and elegant in a cream linen suit and dark blue spotted tie, and Colonel Roxborough, sweating in gray flannel, rose to welcome them. But not before Rupert had turned to Humpty, saying, “Here comes Prince Charmless and the two ugly sisters.”
“Rupert,” implored Helen, blushing scarlet. “Hi, Jake. Congratulations. I was so excited when I heard you were in.”
“As the actress said to the bishop,” said Rupert, “you’re privileged, Jake. You must be the only person who’s excited my dear wife in years. I certainly don’t.”
Helen had arrived at Les Rivaux after a long, long detour to visit some cathedral, so she had missed seeing Rupert go through to the final. They’d had a row because she refused to sleep with him, insisting she must wash her hair before dinner.
“That’s not true. I’m over the moon about you making the final. It’s just marvelous to have two British riders there.”
“Must be difficult for you, Helen. Do you support us or the Yanks?” asked Humpty.
“Particularly when you see Dino Ferranti,” said Humpty’s wife, Doreen. “He’s out of this world.”
“Come on, sit down,” said Malise. “You go next to Doreen, Jake, and Fen can go between me and Rupert, and Tory on Rupert’s other side.”
“Tory’s going to need a long spoon,” said Fen, glaring at Rupert.
“Touche,” he said, and laughed.
“What’s everyone going to have to drink?” said Colonel Roxborough. “Still on the wagon, Rupert?”
“Only till Saturday. Then I’m going to get legless. Christ, I’m starving.”
He looked across at a side table where a waiter was slicing up a long French loaf with a bread knife. “Just imagine that that was one’s cock,” he said with a shudder.
Thinking she must make some attempt at conversation, but feeling eighteen and a fat deb again, Tory asked Rupert how Tabitha was.
“Fine,” said Rupert, and proceeded to ignore her totally, talking across to Colonel Roxborough about Count Guy’s debacle and staring at a luscious brunette at a table nearby.
Jake longed to rescue Tory but he was trapped by Doreen Hamilton. Insulated by successive waves of exultation and apprehension at making the final, he looked at the slice of lemon in his gin and Schweppes, counting the pips: I will win, I won’t, I will. Must have the best of three. There were two pips in Mrs. Hamilton’s lemon: I will, I won’t. Despondency struck. Then he looked across at Colonel Roxborough’s glass, two slices, two pips on the top: he bent his head; three on the bottom, which added up to an uneven number. Relief overwhelmed him; he would win.
Doreen Hamilton looked at him oddly. “What
Jake grinned. “Counting lemon pips. Odd numbers I win, evens I don’t.”
“That’s cheating. You start with an odd, so there’s more chance of ending on an odd. Tell me,” she lowered her voice, “how is Macaulay going to behave when Rupert gets on his back.”
“Very badly, I hope.”
Rupert was making no secret of the fact that he found the company boring.
Doreen’s incessant chatter gave Jake plenty of opportunity to look around. Helen, with her sadness and red hair, reminded him of autumn. He noticed the rapt expression on Malise’s face as he talked to her. So that was the way the wind blew. She’d be much happier with Malise, thought Jake. He’d look after her, but he was far too upright and old-school-tie to make a play for her.
“Soupe de Bonne Femme.” Driffield was looking at the menu. “What’s Bonne Femme?”
“Good woman,” said Rupert. “Of absolutely no interest to anyone.”
At last the food, and several bottles of wine, arrived.
“I’m sure this octopus comes out of a tin,” grumbled Driffield.
“I wish I’d chosen hors d’oeuvres like you, Fen,” said Humpty, looking disconsolately at his piece of pate the size of a matchbox.
“I must say I’m terribly hungry,” said Fen, spearing an anchovy.
Rupert was eating cepes. He glanced up and caught Fen looking at him. “A franc for your thoughts.”
“I was hoping one was poisonous.”
“Even if it were I’d be okay for the final, have no fear. Do you honestly think Hopalong Chastity stands a chance against me?”
“He’ll beat the pants off you,” snapped Fen, “and don’t call him that.”
“Hasn’t got the big-match temperament. He’ll go to pieces.”
“He beat you at Olympia.”
“This is the big time.”
For a second he stared straight into her eyes, and suddenly it was as though he was putting a spell on her.
“You’re going to be a knockout in a couple of years,” he said, lowering his voice.
“Big deal for an ugly sister.”
“You heard, did you? I’m sorry.”
Almost matter-of-factly, as if he were examining a horse, he ran an appraising finger down her cheek. She winced away, aware of the bumpiness of her complexion.
“Those spots would go with regular sex, and you’d soon lose that puppy fat,” he said. “You ought to come and work for me. I’d let you ride in all the senior classes. You’re ready for it. That was a stunning win at the beginning of the week. Jake’s holding you back.”
“Like Revenge, I suppose. I don’t forget so quickly,” she said, her color mounting.
“Revenge won two medals,” he said. “I’m quite serious. You and I’d make a great team, in bed and out.”
He was speaking almost into his buttonhole, so none of the table except she could hear.
“What about Helen?” hissed Fen. “I suppose she doesn’t understand you.”
For a minute the candlelight flickered on the predatory, cold, unsmiling face. Then he laughed, making him human again.
“On the contrary, I don’t understand her. She uses much too long words.”
Fen gave a shriek of laughter. Then, as the smile faded and he went on staring at her, she was appalled to feel her stomach curl, overwhelmed with a squirming, helpless longing for him.
Her plate of hors d’oeuvres was taken away, hardly touched.
Humpty looked reproachful. “What a waste!”
