Having redeemed himself and his country by winning the Grand Prix on Saturday night, Rupert flew Rocky direct to Los Angeles the following day, which would give them both nearly a month to get used to the climate.
A fortnight later, he flew back to England on the excuse of having his Olympic uniform fitted and sorting out business matters, but in reality to see Amanda Hamilton. He was meeting her at her house in Kensington. This he regarded as a major breakthrough and also that he’d been able to drag her down from Scotland in the middle of August, when she should be making shooting lunches for Rollo and entertaining his cabinet colleagues.
As he drove past pavements pastel with tourists and looked at the expanse of female leg and the briefness of skirts and shorts, Rupert reflected how strange it was that his sexual energies had become almost entirely concentrated on Amanda. The fact that she often didn’t bother to dress up or wash her hair or put on makeup when she saw him only increased his interest. As did the fact that she was always busy with her children or her committees or Rollo’s career and had very little spare time for him. He’d had to fight every inch of the way. Used to girls who were only too available, who were always bathed and scented and dolled up to the nth degree and quivering with anticipation, Rupert found her an amazing novelty. They knew all the same people and were governed by the same rules. She was also the first woman he couldn’t bully.
The house in Rutland Gate was burglar-alarmed up to the eyeballs. Amanda’s excuse to Rollo had been Great Aunt Augusta’s eightieth birthday party, which had taken place at lunchtime. Amanda would spend the night in London and fly north next morning.
It was always a good idea, she explained to Rollo, to pop in on the servants unexpectedly and keep them on their toes.
The servants, a Filipino couple, who’d left a member of the Royal family because there had been too many riding boots to clean, were very put out at Mrs. Hamilton’s arrival. They’d planned to have a party in the basement that night, but were slightly appeased when Amanda told them to carry on and that she wouldn’t be needing dinner.
After dining in Barnes, which was safe, according to Amanda, because “one never saw anyone one knew in the suburbs,” and which didn’t take long because Rupert wasn’t drinking, they crept into the house unnoticed. Downstairs, the party was in full swing.
“Will Rollo have me for breaking and entering?” said Rupert, removing his tie.
Amanda didn’t laugh. “You know he can’t afford any scandal,” she said, putting her diamond earrings in her jewel case. “Is Helen flying back to L.A. with you next week?”
“Yes,” said Rupert. “I think she must have been to some marriage guidance counselor, who’s told her to take an interest in my career.”
“Good,” said Amanda, feeling the earth of the plants by the window.
“Why do servants never understand about watering?”
“Why ‘good’?” snapped Rupert from inside his shirt.
“You don’t want a messy divorce at the moment. You’ll go down much better with the party if you have a beautiful and adoring wife.”
“I go down brilliantly anyway,” said Rupert, leaping on her.
“It does seem rather awful doing it in Rollo’s bed.”
“Not nearly as awful as not doing it.”
Afterwards, she lay in Rupert’s arms thinking but not telling him how lovely it was to have a whole night together. Against her better judgment she was becoming increasingly fond of him. Rupert was spoilt and perfectly disgraceful, but he made her laugh and then of course he was terribly attractive.
“If you get a gold, will you retire?”
“Nail my whip to the wall, you mean? I might. I can’t go on riding horses forever.”
“What are you going to do about Helen? I really do mean it. You don’t want a divorce if you’re going into politics.”
“As long as I can have the dogs and Tab and the house, I wouldn’t mind. Helen can have Marcus and the first editions and the Van Dyck.”
“Will you promise to think seriously about politics after L.A.?” urged Amanda. “The PM was very charmed by you. If Sir William goes to the Common Market there should be a safe seat in Gloucestershire in the autumn. You can’t play around forever. An aging playboy is a pathetic sight,” she went on, lying back on the pillow. “Gradually he starts drifting down to girls who are less pretty, and instead of making them on the first night it takes three nights, or they decide after one night they don’t like him. You’re thirty-one now.”
“And you think that’s going to be my fate?” said Rupert, coldly.
Amanda Hamilton looked at the beautiful, depraved face and the marvelously lean, muscular, suntanned body, and her face softened.
“No, not for a long time, but I don’t think an unhappy marriage, coupled with an intellectually undemanding career, are doing you any good.”
Rupert took her face between his hands. “I suppose you’d never think of divorcing Rollo? You and I’d be marvelous together.”
Amanda blushed. “I’m far too old for you and there’s Rollo’s career and anyway we’ve got four children to educate. They’ll probably all go on to a university.”
“I’ll educate your children,” said Rupert. He glanced at the silver-framed photograph on the mantelpiece of Amanda’s eldest daughter, Georgina, and was about to say he wouldn’t mind teaching her the facts of life at all, then thought better of it. Amanda didn’t like those kinds of jokes.
By now, Rupert wanted her again and, getting out of bed, prowled the room looking for novelty. He could take her sitting in that pink, buttonback chair, then his eye lit on the huge mirror over the mantelpiece.
“What are you doing?” asked Amanda. “That looking glass is seventeenth century. It was a wedding present from Rollo’s grandmother. Been in his family for years.”
“I want to see us,” said Rupert, gasping under the huge weight of the mirror. He balanced it on the padded arms of the chair, which he’d pulled alongside the bed.
“Can you see yourself now?” he asked Amanda.
“Not a thing.”
“I’ll tip it forward a bit.” Rupert piled up pale blue and lilac silk cushions behind the mirror.
“For God’s sake, be careful,” said Amanda, but she was diverted by what she saw.
The old glass was very flattering and gave a dusky warmth to her body and a golden glow to her face. She liked the way her breasts fell and the lovely curve of her waist into her hips.
“Christ, that’s marvelous,” said Rupert, getting onto the bed behind her. He was so dark tanned it was almost like going to bed with a black man. Fascinated, she watched his long fingers stroking her belly, then sliding into the dark bush.
“Look how beautiful you are,” he said softly, spreading back the butterfly wings of her labia. Next moment he had lifted her buttocks and driven his cock into the warm, sticky cave of her vagina.
Amanda gasped.
“Nice, isn’t it?”
Now he was lifting her right leg, holding back the inside of her thigh so she could see the long length of his cock driving into her. It was like an express train going into a tunnel.
Madly excited, Amanda bucked back against him, feeling his fingers stroking her faster and faster.
“Come on, darling, come on.”
As they both came they were aware of a mighty crash. Amanda gave a shriek as, lurching forward, the mirror hit the wooden handles of the chair and crashed to the ground in a thousand pieces.
“Now see what you’ve done,” she said furiously. “Rollo will murder me.”
Next minute she heard voices. Drunken, excited Filipinos were storming up the stairs.
“Move the chair back and get into the bathroom,” snapped Amanda, sliding into her nightie.
“All right, Conceptione,” Rupert heard her saying. “I’m afraid the mirror fell off the wall — the string must have rotted.” Hastily, she shoved Rupert’s glass of Coke behind a cachepot. “Bring me a Hoover. No, I’ll clear it up. I’m fine. You go back to your party.”
Three minutes later Rupert heard the noise of the Hoover. Still pushing it around the floor, Amanda opened the door to the bathroom. “You can come out now.”
