and fly, and ever since he’d run away with her at the Royal and Lancaster early in the month, jumping right over two rows of girl guides sitting quietly by the ringside, Fen had been frightened of him, and he knew it. If he got any worse, he’d be a serious danger to Jake when he started riding again.
The horses occupied her more than full time, and it was only on the endless drives, or when she fell into bed, usually long after midnight, that she allowed herself to think of Billy.
Rumors filtered through on the groom grapevine that all was not well in the Lloyd-Foxe household. Tracey told Dizzy, who told Sarah, who told Fen, of endless rows into the night, of Janey opening Billy’s suitcase on the motorway and throwing all his clothes out of the window, because she thought he was driving too fast, of Janey storming out of a BSJA party because she heard Fen was coming, of Billy looking white and strained, and uncharacteristically snapping at the grooms.
So Fen lived on the crumbs of hope. She knew Billy would make every effort to save his marriage, but she couldn’t help counting the days to Wembley in October, when they would all be under the same roof for a week.
The following evening a very tired Billy arrived home from the Lisbon show. It was the first show to which Janey had not accompanied him since they got back together. She had stayed at home to write a piece on international polo players. At first, Billy found it a relief to be away from the rows and hysterics, but it was not long before the old demons started nagging him. He had forgiven Janey totally for going off with Kev, but he couldn’t stop the sick, churning fear which overtook him when he rang home and she wasn’t there. He hated the idea of her being closeted with handsome polo players. He remembered how she’d first interviewed him. He could hear her now: “In the last chukka, how amazing! You
He and Rupert had reached Penscombe as a great red September sun was falling into the beech wood. The trees had hardly started to turn, but there was already a ring of lemon-yellow leaves round the mulberry tree in the center of the yard and a wet leaf smell of autumn in the air. Having supervised the unloading and settling-down of his horses, Billy decided to walk the half-mile home through the dusk. He needed a few minutes to prepare himself for Janey. What sort of mood would she be in? Would she have missed him? Would she have ransacked his drawers, frenziedly searching for evidence? He dreaded Wembley, because Fen’s presence would trigger off more abuse.
Dew was already whitening the grass, the blue smoke from a hundred bonfires was blending with the damp vapors rising from the stream at the bottom of the valley. A blackbird was scolding as he approached the cottage; the golden dahlias in the front garden were already losing their color in the fading light. The sick feeling of menace overwhelmed him once more. There were no lights on in the cottage.
Oh God, where was she? She knew he was coming home this evening. He broke into a run, slipping on the wet leaves and the mud. He banged the gate noisily behind him. That should give the polo player a chance to leap for his breeches. He
“Billy, darling is that you?” called Janey.
Overwhelmed with relief, he could only croak out, “Yes.”
“I’m in the drawing room.”
He found her sitting at her typewriter, wearing only his sleeveless Husky and a pair of scarlet pants.
“I thought you weren’t here,” he muttered.
She got to her feet and ran to him.
“Oh, darling, I’m sorry. The piece was going so well, I couldn’t be bothered to put the light on.”
“You’ll ruin your eyes,” said Billy. “Sorry to interrupt. Why don’t you keep on working?”
“ ’Course not, now you’re back. How d’you get on?”
Billy unzipped the holdall, produced a handful of rosettes, and chucked them down on the table.
“Brilliant,” said Janey, sorting them out. “Two firsts, three seconds, a third, a fourth, and two fifths.”
“The first was the Grand Prix, and there’s lots of loot, a lovely kitchen clock and a television set and a very obscene china bull with a huge cock. I left it at Rupert’s. I’ll bring it down in the morning.”
Watching her poring over the rosettes, her breasts falling forward, strands of bush escaping from the red satin pants, Billy felt his own cock rising and wished he didn’t always want her so much. Sex had not been brilliant lately because Janey had so often fallen asleep drunk, but if they could avoid a row before they went to bed, he might get to screw her tonight.
Janey looked up, misconstruing the expression on his face.
“Sorry I look so awful, but I took Mavis for a walk in the woods at lunchtime and my trousers got drenched, so I took them off and couldn’t be bothered to find any more.”
“You look lovely.”
“I’ve been a good little wife,” Janey went on. “There’s a casserole bubbling in the oven. I’ve ironed all your shirts; not very brilliantly, I’m afraid; some of the collars curl worse than Mavis’s tail, and I’ve got your dinner jacket back from the cleaners.”
Billy was pleased she was in high spirits; then he felt a lurch of fear. The last time he’d seen her in this manic mood, floating-on-air, that inner-directed radiance that had nothing to do with him coming home, was when she was starting her affair with Kev. He desperately wanted a huge drink to blot out the terrors.
Janey read his thoughts. “Let’s have a drink.”
He followed her into the kitchen, which looked amazingly tidy. Janey got down two glasses and, instead of reaching for the vodka for herself, got a carton of orange juice out of the fridge. Filling the glasses, she handed one to him.
“Aren’t you drinking vodka?”
“Nope. I’ve got something to celebrate.”
“You’ve sold the book in America?”
“Nope, I’m coming off the booze for a few months.” She chinked her glass against his. There was no mistaking the sparkle in her eyes. Billy couldn’t bear to look at her anymore. He went to the dresser and started flipping through his pile of mail.
“Seven and a half months, in fact,” said Janey.
“What?”
“That’s the time I’m giving up booze for.”
“Whatever for?” said Billy wearily.
“I’m going to have a baby.”
Billy dropped the pile of letters.
“Your baby,” said she softly. “Our baby.”
“How d’you know?” he muttered. There had been so many false alarms.
“James Benson confirmed it today.”
“Is he sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Billy turned incredulously.
Then she ran to him, flinging her arms round him, burying her face in his shoulder.
“Oh, Christ,” he said, “how wonderful. Oh Christ, how wonderful. Where can I hug you that I won’t hurt it?”
“Anywhere you like. It’s only six weeks old.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to Benson?”
“I didn’t want you to get too excited. I told myself if I could manage to keep my trap shut until I’d had the test, it’d be all right. It’s like you not drinking until all the bills are paid off.”
“They are now. Lisbon wiped out the lot. Oh, angel, I’m so happy.”
“Are you sure?” she said in an uncertain voice. “You don’t f-feel,” she stumbled over the word, “I’ve done it to trap you into staying with me?”
She took his face in her hands and found it was wet with tears.
“I was so miserable about the low sperm count,” he muttered. “I felt such a shit not being able to give you a baby. Oh, darling, I’m so happy. It’s the best news I’ve ever had. Can we ring my mother and tell her? She’ll be
