Riders

The marriage limped on for a few more weeks. Helen continued to paint the house different colors, spending a fortune on wallpaper and fabrics. “One day I’m going to wake up and find I’ve been completely reupholstered in Laura Ashley,” grumbled Rupert.

As Dr. Benson had predicted, Helen and Rupert recovered from the clap. Rock Star continued to sweep the board and provide a powerful new interest for Rupert, achieving almost a walkover at the Olympia Christmas show.

The following Sunday, the last before Christmas, Janey and Billy lay in bed reading the papers.

“Christ,” said Janey. “Have you seen this?”

“Hell,” said Billy. “D’you think it’s true?”

“I’m sure, and checked for libel, or they wouldn’t risk it. Helen’s going to do her nut.”

The Campbell-Blacks were having roast beef for Sunday lunch. Rupert was just carving second helpings when he was called away to the telephone. Helen cleared away the children’s plates, helping them to apple pie and cream, and then settled down with the Sunday papers to wait until Rupert came off the telephone. She glanced at the one on the top of the pile. It was an awful rag, but you had to read it. Some starlet named Samantha Freebody was naming her loves on page six, the little tramp. Helen read about the antics of several deviant vicars and lascivious witches, then turned to page six and froze, for there, confronting her, was a large picture of Rupert lying on a beach in bathing trunks, eyes narrowed against the sun, glass in his hand, palm trees in the background.

“One of my most thrilling affairs,” Samantha Freebody had written, “was with international show-jumping ace Rupert Campbell-Black. I was filming in Portugal and he came out for five days as part of the British show-jumping team. We met at a party. I was swept off my feet by his blond, blue-eyed good looks, and his air of tremendous self-confidence. He’d had a good win in the show ring that day and, having met me, was keen to keep on riding all night. At first I resisted his advances; I didn’t want to appear cheap. But a tide of champagne and euphoria swept us down to the beach and at two o’clock in the morning we made passionate love under the stars, until the warm waves washed over us. For the rest of the five days we were inseparable, loving each other all night. By day I would go and watch him in the ring. After five days we decided to end our idyll. He had other shows to go on to; I had to finish my movie. He was married, his wife expecting her second baby. It was only fair to give him back to her, but I really enjoyed the novelty of our naughty, racy lovemaking.”

“Can I get down?” said Marcus for the second time.

“May I?” said Helen automatically, getting up and lifting Tab out of her high chair. “Go and watch television, darlings.”

Upstairs she locked herself in the loo and threw up and up and up. Rupert was waiting as she came out.

“What on earth’s the matter? You sound like Jake Lovell before a big class.”

“Look at this,” croaked Helen, handing him the paper.

Rupert skimmed through it without a flicker of expression. “Load of rubbish; don’t believe a word of it.”

“The dates tally. You were in Portugal just before I had Tab.”

“Just ignore it,” said Rupert. “That girl’s publicity mad.”

“I don’t understand you,” screamed Helen. “You go berserk if anyone criticizes the way you ride.”

“I ride for a living. That’s what matters. I don’t fuck for a living.”

“Could have fooled me. She obviously does.”

“I wonder how much she got,” said Rupert, picking up the paper again.

“Aren’t you even going to sue?”

“What’s the point?” Rupert shrugged. “If you leave mud to dry, you can brush it off. What did you do with the roast beef? I want a second helping.”

“You can honestly eat having read that?” said Helen, appalled. “And how am I supposed to cope? Mothers sniggering at the playgroup. Mrs. Bodkin, Charlene, and the grooms all talking their heads off.”

“I’m sure they’ll enjoy it enormously.”

“How can I ever hold my head up in the village shop again?”

“Ask them to deliver,” said Rupert.

Matters were not improved a week later when a leading columnist in the Sunday Times took Samantha Freebody to the cleaners for naming names.

“How must Rupert Campbell-Black’s unfortunate wife and children feel?”

The answer was much, much worse. Everyone who hadn’t seen the original piece rushed off to the library to read it. A couple of days later Janey rang up Rupert to wish him a Happy New Year.

“And for God’s sake hide Private Eye,” she went on. “You’ve been nominated White’s Shit of the Year.”

“Thank God it’s 1980 now,” said Rupert. “Apart from buying Rocky, 1979 hasn’t been the greatest of years.”

In the evening Rupert found Helen in the drawing room writing letters. He wished she wouldn’t always wear her hair up these days, like a confirmed spinster.

“Applying for a new husband?” he said.

Helen gritted her teeth and didn’t answer.

Rupert crossed the room, and kissed the nape of her white neck. “I’m sorry I gave you the clap and went to bed with Samantha Freebody. I am totally in the wrong. There is absolutely no excuse. But the more you reject me and take no part in what I do, the worse it becomes. Come on, get up.”

The sudden unexpected overture totally disarmed her.

“There, there,” he said, drawing her against him, “it’s all right. Shall we have another try? I’m going to cancel the next two shows and take you abroad. Charlie Masters has offered us his house outside Nairobi. We can lie in the sun and I’ll give you the honeymoon you never had.”

“ ‘And I will heal me of my grievous wound,’ ” quoted Helen sadly.

“Grievous womb?” demanded Rupert. “You been to see Benson again?”

Helen shook her head, smiling faintly.

“That’s better,” said Rupert. “It seems an awfully long time since you smiled.”

“What about the children?”

“They’re not coming,” said Rupert firmly, “nor are the dogs; just you and me on our own. And I’ll start off tonight by taking you out to dinner.”

The doorbell rang. It was Janey. Billy had gone to some evening show in Warwickshire and she was at a loose end.

“Come and have a drink,” said Rupert. “Helen and I are having a rapprochement.”

“About time,” said Janey.

She was full of gossip and in high good humor. Evidently Fenella Maxwell had gone into a complete decline since Dino Ferranti had walked out. Fen didn’t seem very good at holding men, she added with satisfaction. Janey had lapsed in her resolution to give up drink while she was pregnant, but at least she had cut down and was only drinking wine.

Helen could hardly believe her ears half an hour later when she heard Rupert saying to Janey, “Why don’t you come out to dinner with us?” She went upstairs and sat on her bed in a rage for ten minutes. Then she steeled herself to be tolerant. After all Janey was on her own.

Downstairs, she found Tabitha had invaded the drawing room, reducing the place to chaos. Every ornament had been moved, Janey’s handbag had been upended and a flotsam of bus tickets, old telephone numbers, pens, defunct mascara wands, and dirty combs lay scattered over the floor. Then she started screaming for sweets and for Daddy to read her a story. On being told Daddy was going out, the screaming redoubled. Picking her up under one arm, Rupert took her upstairs for Charlene to sort out.

“That child is more destructive than a JCB,” said Janey, reloading her bag. “Don’t ever worry that Rupert will leave you for another woman. No stepmother would take on that monster.”

Helen was appalled how pleased she was because Janey was bitching about Tab.

Rupert hadn’t bothered to book, but as usual the best table in the restaurant was rustled up straightaway. Everyone was staring and nudging: “Look who’s just walked in. It is, isn’t it? He’s even better in the flesh.” Helen wished she had washed her hair.

“Where are you going for your second honeymoon?” asked Janey.

“Kenya,” said Helen.