Jake’s brain reeled. This was really the big time, he thought excitedly, although his face didn’t flicker.
“Not much for horses.”
“Might be more — if you’d agree to another thing.”
“What?”
“I’ve got a lad of fifteen; nice boy, but I didn’t marry his mother, if you know what I mean.”
“Only too well. I had the same problem.”
“I know. That’s one of the reasons I thought you and I might get on. He’s crazy about horses, wanted to be a flat race jockey, but he’s grown too big. You could do with a third jockey in your yard, take the pressure off. He’s a good lad; admires you no end; got your picture on his wall; says you’re the only rider worth bothering about.”
“What if he’s no good?”
“He is,” said Boyson. “Believe me. His mother died recently. He needs a family.”
“I’ll think about it,” said Jake.
“Go to Los Angeles first. I know you’ve had a lot of expenses. The yard’ll be virtually out of action for a month. Horses may take time to get their form back, so don’t worry your head about how you’re going to pay for it all. Come home with a medal and we’re in business.”
“And if I don’t?”
“We’ll have to think again.”
“I don’t like bribery, Mr. Boyson.”
“Garfield to you, and I don’t like failures.”
“Why don’t you sponsor Rupert then?”
“Because he hasn’t kept his nose clean — too many scandals; can’t understand it with that beautiful wife.”
“And I’m squeaky clean,” said Jake, getting up.
“Well, at least you’re discreet,” said Boyson. “I haven’t been able to find anything on you.”
They left England on a perfect day. Tory was helping Fen with her packing upstairs. Jake was in the kitchen checking papers. Sarah had left from Stansted airport with Hardy and Desdemona two days before. The horses would be out of quarantine and into their Olympic quarters by the time Jake and Fen arrived.
Tory, going down to the kitchen, found Wolf on the stairs, swallowing miserably, knowing he wasn’t included.
“Nor am I, darling,” she said, stroking his rough brindle head. “We’ll have to look after each other.”
Jake looked out of the window at the soft russet stables. The willows round the millpond were already touched with yellow, and the millstream dried to a trickle. Last night he’d watched a rippling arrow of migrating wild geese spread out across the sky. Now the house martins were taking up their positions on the telegraph wire.
“Look at those birds all in a row,” said Darklis. “What are they doing?”
“They’re practicing leaving,” said Jake.
Perhaps that’s what he ought to be doing. The martins would be gone by the time he came home. With an aching feeling of sadness and anticipated homesickness, he gazed at his tawny fields and his stables, with the horses looking out of the half-doors, all knowing something was up; apart from Macaulay, who had turned away, sulking.
If only he could have afforded to take Tory and the children. If he accepted Boyson’s sponsorship he’d be able to do things like that. Tory wouldn’t have to work herself into the ground; she and the kids could have new clothes. Then in his pocket he felt the tansy that Helen had had specially made for him in gold — for luck. He’d given Helen the handkerchief; there was no way he could go back now.
Tory came into the kitchen.
“Fen’s ready. You ought to be off soon,” she said. “I wish you’d have some lunch. I’ve made you a quiche, and some sandwiches for the journey. I splurged and put smoked salmon in them.”
He shook his head, half-smiling. “We get dinner at the hotel tonight.” They were flying at crack of dawn tomorrow. He turned to Darklis. “Go and tell Fen we’re leaving in ten minutes.”
As soon as she’d gone, he drew Tory close to him, cradling her round, tired, kind, unmade-up face between his hands, smoothing back the lank mouse brown hair she’d had no time to wash.
“Don’t,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “I look so awful. I’m going on a crash diet. I’ll be thin when you come home.”
He put his arms round her, feeling her comforting solidity.
“I won’t expect you to ring,” she said in a not-quite-steady voice. “Malise has told me what lines from L.A. are going to be like. Just ring if you can, but we’ll all be thinking of you.”
For a second they clung together. Suddenly he wished she was his mother, wise and ever-loving, that he could always come back to, even though he was committing himself to Helen. With an uneasy premonition, he thought this might be the last time he saw her.
“Wish you were coming.”
“I wish I was, too. Take me next time.”
“I love you,” he said truthfully and for the first time. He’d just have to sort everything out after the Games.
As they went out into the yard he saw she was crying. To distract him she said, “You must go and say good-bye to Macaulay.”
Macaulay had his back to the door. As Jake approached he flattened his ears. Jake went into the box. “I’m sorry, boy — I know how you feel. I’m as disappointed as you are.”
56
“We’ll be landing in twenty minutes,” said the air hostess. “Can I have eight autographs for the crew?”
Fen fled to the loo, desperately tarting up, in case, by some miracle, Dino had come to meet her at the airport. When she came back they were still flying across the desert and Ivor was still struggling with the quick crossword in the
Suddenly there was Los Angeles and Fen’s tiredness seemed to disappear as she looked down at the great turquoise expanse of ocean and the platinum blond beaches. She could even see the flecking of the breakers. Now they were flying over a vast checkerboard of streets, houses, gardens, and brilliant blue swimming pools, and skyscrapers glittering in the midday sun, and the great network of freeways superimposed like arteries. The horizon was bordered by a thick, muzzy, browny-gray smog curtain.
Jake fingered his gold tansy, trying to keep his nerves in check. This is Dino’s country, thought Fen in ecstasy. I’ve finally made it.
“I can see Robert Redford and Donald Duck,” she cried, leaning across Ivor.
“Where, where?” he said, gazing out of the window.
“Go back to your crossword,” she said soothingly. “You might even finish it by the time we get through customs.”
As they stepped off the plane the heat from the scorching Californian sun hit them like a knockout punch.
“We’ll be microwaved,” moaned Fen.
“We’ll never jump in this,” said Jake to himself.
Customs seemed to take longer than the flight. Waiting for them outside, wearing nothing but sneakers, jagged denim shorts, and a baseball cap, was Rupert. He was so brown he almost made the black ground staff look white.
“Welcome to L.A.,” he said mockingly. “As part of Malise’s new solidarity drive, and because Big Mal himself is in a meeting, I’ve come to welcome you all. Security is a nightmare.”
