rabbit caught in the headlights, not knowing which way to bolt.
“Hi,” said Rupert. “We’ve decided not to kill each other. You’ve met Helen before, haven’t you?”
As Jake took his glass from Helen to stop the frantic rattling, he wondered for a second if Rupert was speaking ironically. Then decided that such was his egotism and contempt for Jake that he couldn’t possibly envisage anything between him and Helen. All the same it was a good thing there was
Jake took a huge gulp of whisky and nearly choked. Christ, it was strong, and thank God for that.
Rupert poured two fingers into his own glass.
“I’m giving up after Dublin,” he said. “I want a stone off before the Games.”
“I can’t afford to lose it,” said Jake. “How was Dinard?”
“Bloody good.”
“And Rocky?”
“Bloody good, too. I keep thinking he’s going to jump off the top of the world. I’m scared he’s going to peak too early.”
In a daze, Helen poured herself another glass of wine. I cannot believe this, she said to herself. Here are two men, who I know detest each other beyond anything, talking not just politely but with enjoyment. Not by a flicker of an eyelid did Jake betray any nerves or the slightest interest in her, but continued to discuss the team, their weaknesses, the strength of the opposition at the Games, and which riders they had to watch. He asked Rupert’s advice about the L.A. climate, and possible breathing and fitness problems. After Dublin, Rupert explained, he was flying Rocky straight out to L.A. to give them both time to get adjusted to the climate. This would certainly give him the edge over the other British riders, who wouldn’t be leaving until a fortnight later.
If Rupert’s in L.A., thought Helen, that’ll give Jake and me a safe fortnight. She marveled at his quick- wittedness. She never dreamed he would use the excuse of coming to make peace. She was overwhelmed with gratitude that he had averted a scene. She wished she could remember his exact words before Rupert arrived, but she’d been in such a panic. When he said Rupert would have to find out sometime, did he mean that he was going to commit himself to her and leave Tory; or merely that, by the law of misfortune, Rupert would rumble them sooner or later? She felt sure he had meant the former. Watching his face, dark, intense, growing more shadowed as the sun slipped behind the beeches, yet suddenly illumined gold as a chink was found between the leaves, Helen could read only one emotion; passionate interest in what Rupert was saying. Bloody, bloody horses, she thought; will I ever get away from them?
Jake tried to leave after the second drink. He was already slightly tight and, on an empty stomach, might easily make some false move. He glanced at his watch and put his glass down: “I must go. Sorry to barge in on you like that. Good-bye, and thanks,” he added casually to Helen.
Rupert went to the door with him. A desire to show off overcoming natural antipathy, he said, “Like to see the yard?”
“Okay,” said Jake, “Just for two minutes.”
An hour later, Helen heard his car drive away and Rupert came through the front door.
“I’m starving. Shall I go and get a take-away?”
I want to be taken away, thought Helen in desolation. She had been so happy when Jake had turned up and now she had no idea when she’d see him again, particularly as he was going to Dublin first thing in the morning.
She couldn’t resist discussing him with Rupert.
“Wasn’t it amazing his coming here?”
“He was certainly impressed by the setup,” said Rupert, picking up his car keys. “Said he’d come to bury the hatchet; bury it in my cranium more likely. Don’t trust the bugger an inch. Suspect he came to have a gawp, as much as anything; to see if he could pick up a few tips. Asked me the way back to Warwickshire. Hadn’t a clue where he was. I told him the Sapperton way. He was so pissed, with any luck he’ll run into a wall. Do you want Chinese or Indian?”
The following Friday, Helen slumped in total despair at the breakfast table, two hands gaining warmth from a cup of black coffee. She had heard from Jake only once since he’d been in Dublin and that was only a two-minute call before someone interrupted him. He said he’d ring back and hadn’t. He’d obviously got cold feet.
“Letter for you, Mrs. C-B,” said Charlene, handing her a bulky envelope: “Postmarked Dublin. You’d better watch out it’s not a letter bomb.”
Helen was about to tell her not to be nosy, then she recognized Jake’s black spiky handwriting. Inside the envelope was folded a large, dark blue, silk spotted handkerchief.
“That’s lovely, Mrs. C-B,” said Charlene. “Navy goes with everything.”
Helen went white and upended the envelope. There was nothing else inside. The spotted handkerchief — Jake was telling her he wanted her for good.
“She seemed absolutely dazed,” Charlene told Dizzy afterwards.
Then Helen jumped to her feet, laughing.
“I’m going to Dublin,” she said. “I want to watch — er — my husband in the Aga Khan Cup.”
* * *
The Aga Khan Cup — a splendid trophy — is presented to the winning side in the Nations’ Cup at the Dublin Horse Show. All Dublin turns out to watch the event and every Irish child who’s ever ridden a horse dreams of being in the home team one day. For the British, it was their last chance to jump as a team before L.A. All the riders were edgy; which of the five would Malise drop? In the end it was Griselda, who pulled a groin muscle (“shafting some chambermaid,” said Rupert) but who would be perfectly recovered in time for L.A.
On the Thursday night the British team had been to one of those legendary horse-show balls. Unchaperoned by Malise (who was unwisely dining at the British Embassy) and enjoying the release from tension after being selected, they got impossibly drunk, particularly Jake, and all ended up swimming naked in the Liffey. Next day none of them was sufficiently recovered to work their horses.
Jake, who didn’t go to bed at all, spent the following morning trying to ring Helen from the press office. He had huge difficulty remembering and then dialing her number. A strange bleating tone continually greeted him. Dragging Wishbone to the telephone, he asked, “Is that the engaged or the out-of-order signal over here?”
“Sure,” said Wishbone soothingly, “ ’tis somewhere between the two.”
“Christ,” yelled Jake, then clutched his head as it nearly exploded with pain.
Half of him was desperate to talk to Helen and find out how she’d reacted to the blue spotted handkerchief he’d sent off to her the other day, when he was plastered. The other half was demented with panic at what he might have triggered off. None of the telephones seemed to work. Wishbone, who was talking to a man in a loud check suit, who seemed to know every horse in the show, bought Jake another drink.
“Drink is a terrible dirty ting,” he said happily, “but the only answer is to drink more of it.”
Jake looked at his watch and wondered if he’d ever totter as far as the ring.
“We’d better go and walk the course,” he urged Wishbone. “We’ll be very late.”
“Stop worrying,” said Wishbone. “We haven’t got a course yet.” He jerked his head towards the man in the loud check suit, who was busy buying yet another round. “He’s the course-builder.”
All in all the British put up a disgraceful performance. A green-faced tottering bunch, they staggered shakily from fence to fence, holding on to rather than checking the spreads, wincing in the blinding sunshine, to the intense glee of the merry Irish crowd, who had seen visiting teams sabotaged before.
Ivor fell off at the first and third fences, and then exceeded the time limit. Fen knocked every fence down. Rupert managed to get Rocky round with only twenty faults, his worst performance ever.
Jake, waiting to go in by the little white church, was well aware, as Hardy plunged underneath him, that the horse knew how fragile he felt.
“For Christ’s sake, get round,” said Malise, who was looking extremely tight-lipped, “or we’ll be eliminated from the competition altogether.”
Suddenly Jake looked up at the elite riders’ stand, which is known in Dublin as the Pocket. He felt his heart lurch, for there, smiling and radiant, was Helen. She was wearing a white suit, and her hair, which she’d been in too much of a hurry to wash, was tied back by a blue silk spotted handkerchief. His challenge had been taken up.
