Riders

eyes.

“Even Helen of Troy couldn’t have been as beautiful as you,” he whispered, and kissed her very gently on the lips. Helen was very glad the beech tree was holding her up. No one had ever melted her in this way. She had no desire to fight him off, just a longing that he would go on holding her forever. But as they broke for breath, some death wish prompted her to ask, “It’s not because I’m Rupert’s wife?”

For a second his face was black with rage, just like the time he’d pulled a knife on Rupert.

“I don’t want anything of Rupert’s,” he said through gritted teeth, his hands biting into her arms until she winced. “Get this absolutely straight. Rupert poisons everything he touches. It’s a measure of what I feel for you, that I still want you despite the fact you’re his wife.”

This time he kissed her really hard and she kissed him back, half-longing that he’d push her down and take her on the beech husks. But he led her back to her car, his face shuttered.

“You’re not cross?” she stammered. “I’ve had such a good time today. Living with Rupert makes you skeptical, I guess, so you question everyone’s motives.”

“Well, don’t question mine. Where you’re concerned they’re quite straightforward. I just can’t stand that shit having anything to do with you.”

He opened the door and, as she got in, leaned over to slot in her safety belt, kissing her briefly on the forehead.

“You know this is only the beginning?”

“Is it?” Helen was overwhelmed by a great happiness.

He nodded. “But we can’t afford to rush things. I’ve got too much to lose.”

“You mean Tory and the children.”

“No,” he said slowly, “I mean you. I don’t want to panic you. Drive carefully. I’ll ring you tomorrow afternoon.”

It was a good thing there weren’t any traffic cops lurking as Helen floated home. She got lost twice and bought peace offerings of freesias for Charlene and sweets for the children. Really, she was going to the dogs in grand style. She came through the door singing with happiness at five past five.

“So sorry I’m late. Lunch went on and on and on. Everyone was rabbiting on about sponsored swims and bring-and-buys. What are you having for supper, darlings? Beefburgers and french fries. How yummy.”

Normally Helen would have freaked out at junk food, thought Charlene, putting the freesias in water, and she certainly didn’t get like that over a thimbleful of sherry and one glass of hock.

In the evening Charlene went to a wine bar with Dizzy, who this time hadn’t gone to Rome.

“Promise, promise, promise, you won’t tell anyone?”

“I promise.”

“Goodness,” said Dizzy in awe, a quarter of an hour later. “I wouldn’t have thought the old thing had it in her. Are you sure?”

“Well, she certainly wasn’t preventing cruelty to children. Mrs. Paignton-Lacey dropped off the minutes for the last meeting on the way home, two hours before Mrs. C-B got back.”

“Christ,” said Dizzy. “Well done, her. About time someone gave Super Bastard the run around. I wonder who he is.”

“Must be pretty special. She came back floating above ground like the hovercraft. She was never like that after lunching with Dino Ferranti.”

52

Helen sent Charlene and the children out for a picnic the following afternoon so she could talk to Jake without being overheard. But gradually as the minutes ticked by, she felt her happiness subsiding like a tire with a slow puncture. Three, four, five, six, struck the grandfather clock in the hall. It was no longer afternoon. The children came home, tired and fractious and, sensing her sadness and inattention, played up even more. Helen looked at the chaos of toys lying around the nursery, counting “he loves me, he loves me not” as she put them away. The last piece of Lego was back in its box, and came to “he loves me not.” Jake must have gone off her. Perhaps Tory had kicked up a fuss when he got home and he’d decided the whole thing wasn’t worth the hassle.

The evening passed with agonizing slowness. She couldn’t settle to anything. She was appalled how suicidal she felt. She couldn’t have got that hooked that quickly. This is only the beginning, he’d told her. A small dark stranger has entered your life. How could he hurt her like this? How could he reduce her to such ridiculous uncertainty and despair?

At midnight she took the dogs out for a last walk. As if to mock her, it was the most perfect evening, with a gold, almost full moon, with a hazy halo of apricot pink. Along the edge of the wood the huge Lawson cypresses rose like cathedral spires, taking on an almost sculptured quality. As she walked across gray, shaven lawns, past silent statues, the last of the daffodils gave a flicker of light. The reflection of the moon in the lake was rippled first by a wakeful carp, now by Badger drinking. Her shadow was tall and very black on the lawn. It was so light she could see the blue and green stones in her engagement ring. Was there after all to be no small escape, no respite from her marriage?

Despairing, she turned back. Glancing up at the golden, lit-up windows of her bedroom she could see the rose and yellow silk curtains of the huge four-poster in which she would soon lie alone. As she came into the house the telephone was ringing. After midnight, so it must be Rupert. He never had any sense of time. Steeling herself, she picked up the receiver.

“Helen! Can you talk? It’s Jake.”

She burst into tears. It was a minute before he could get a word in. “Hush. I’m sorry, pet. Please don’t cry; it breaks me up. I couldn’t ring before. Hardy cast himself this afternoon. Had the most frightful colic. The vet’s been here since two o’clock. He’s just finished operating. He’d swallowed a nail and we thought we’d lost him.”

“Oh God, that’s awful. Is he going to be okay?”

“He’s still out like a light; but the vet reckons he’ll pull through.”

“I’m so sorry. You must have been frantic.”

“I couldn’t get to a telephone. It’s in the tackroom and the vet and Fen were in Hardy’s box next door the whole time. Look, I can’t talk long; the vet’s still here, but I must see you tomorrow, if only for five minutes.”

“It’ll be hard for you to get away if he’s still sick. I’ll come over your way.”

“That would help and, pet, please don’t cry anymore.”

They met the next day, literally for a quarter of an hour.

Jake looked desperately tired; he hadn’t been to bed. Hardy was very shaky on his legs, he said, but well enough to bite the vet that morning, so it looked as if he would pull through. Watching his face as he talked about the horse, Helen felt deeply ashamed. He really loves him, she thought, as Rupert was incapable of loving a horse; in fact, anything. Last night he must have suffered just as much as she had waiting for him to ring, and she’d greeted him with hysterics.

They walked through the beech woods, breathing in the wild garlic, Wolf bounding ahead and Jake picking up the bluebells the dog had knocked over so Helen could take them home for a few more days of life.

They sat on a fallen log. Helen hung her head, clutching the bluebells. She’d put her hair up today. Jake slowly took out every hairpin so it cascaded down her back in a shining red mass.

“Don’t put it up anymore. It reminds me of what you were like before I started to”—he paused—“to know you.”

Then he said more briskly, “Look, we’ve got to get one thing straight. You’ve been married to a show jumper for quite long enough to know that things happen with horses, that it’s impossible even to say I’ll turn up or telephone at a particular time with a hundred percent certainty.”

“I know,” she said in a trembling voice, “but I’ve got so little self-confidence.”

“I know that,” he said, putting his hand under her chin and forcing it upwards. “And I want to give some back to you, but only if you give me a chance and realize from the start that if I ever don’t ring you, or don’t turn up, it’s