Griselda, who was exchanging even hotter glances with the next-door cyclist, cried off the evening, saying she was still jet-lagged. Luckily, after two more stints on the nonair-conditioned bus, Malise had hired a car to drive the team about. As the Eriksons’ house was only five minutes from the stables, they decided to check the horses on the way to the barbecue. Shadows of palm trees were beginning to stripe the road, but it was still punishingly hot. Even Desdemona seemed listless.
“Probably still suffering from travel sickness,” said Malise, reassuringly.
Perhaps Dino would be suffering from jet lag, too, thought Fen, and wouldn’t feel like a party. But next minute she saw Carol Kennedy going past in dark glasses, so Dino must at least have arrived. Frantically she checked her face in the depths of Desdemona’s box.
Outside, she met Rupert, who pulled out the front of her voluminous overalls, peered inside, and asked if she was “reduced to wearing Tory’s castoffs,” which did nothing to increase her self-confidence.
“Come on,” he said. “Malise is champing for the off. Not that he’ll get any dinner before midnight, Suzy Erikson is so disorganized.”
As they reached Malise’s hired car, Fen said, “There’s Mary Jo.”
Mary Jo was wearing a white T-shirt with “Carol Kennedy for President” printed in large blue letters across the front. “Wait,” she called out to them. Close-up she looked red-eyed and distraught.
“My dear child,” said Malise, concerned. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s Dino,” she sobbed.
“What’s happened to him?” said Fen, in horror.
“Manny went ape on the plane. They think he may have been stung by something. It was Dino’s plane. He was driving it. He wanted to crash-land in the desert, but he was transporting Carol’s horses as well and there was the chance he might have killed the lot of them, the terrain was so rocky, so he had to shoot Manny.”
“Christ,” said Rupert, appalled. “Surely they could have tranked him?”
“They tried. It didn’t make any difference.”
“Where’s Dino now?” asked Malise.
“Dropped off Carol’s two horses and then flew Manny’s body back home.”
“Who’s he riding now?” asked Jake, looking absolutely shattered.
“Nothing,” sobbed Mary Jo. “That’s what makes it so awful. Manny was our star horse, right, but he was really Dino’s only horse. His father’d been ill and he was letting the yard run down.”
“Won’t he come to the Games at all?” whispered Fen.
“He told Carol he couldn’t face it, not after all those years and years of hard work. And he just adored Manny. I tried to call him at his place just now, but his mother said he was too upset to talk to anyone.”
“Surely he can ride someone else’s horse?” said Rupert. “He’s easily your best rider.”
Mary Jo allowed herself a faint smile.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Well, almost,” said Rupert.
“Dino wouldn’t do that to anyone — take their horse off them at this stage, knowing how much work they’d put in.”
“Seems crazy to me,” said Rupert. “If I was your chef d’equipe I’d put him on one of Carol’s horses.”
“I’m awfully sorry,” said Malise. “I’ll write to him tomorrow. It’s heartbreaking.”
“But extremely fortuitous for us,” said Rupert in an undertone, as Mary Jo moved out of earshot to tell Ludwig and Hans.
“That was totally uncalled for,” snapped Malise. “Dino was definitely in the running for the gold.”
“Exactly,” said Rupert. “We had better go and have some dinner.”
“I think I’ll go back to the village,” said Fen, in a high flat voice. “Jet lag’s suddenly got to me. After all, it is four in the morning in England.”
“Oh, come on, darling,” said Rupert. “Come and see this amazing place. They’ve even got Jacuzzis in the dog kennel. A couple of Bloodies and a good steak and you’ll feel on top of the world.”
“Honestly, I’m jiggered,” said Fen, who’d gone terribly white.
“Are you sure?” said Jake, who also seemed stunned by the news about Manny. “I’ll come back with you.”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
Back at the Olympic village, Fen had to climb four flights of stairs, because some Ghanaian athletes, who’d never been in a lift before, were spending all day riding up and down. Despite her talk of jet lag, Griselda, thank God, was not in the room. As she slumped on the bed, Fen felt the Games had lost any importance. If she blew it next Monday, or the following Sunday, what did it matter.
Poor Dino, she kept whispering, oh poor, poor Dino. In a daze she got out her writing case. Donald Duck paper didn’t seem suitable, nor a postcard of an athlete running with the Olympic torch. She tore a page out of her diary, headed December — appropriately wintry, some day in the future, when life didn’t matter anymore.
“Dearest Dino,” she wrote, “I just heard about Manny. I can’t think of anything to say except I’m sorry. I loved him, too. I know what you’re going through. I can’t think of anything to say about my behavior last winter, except I’m sorry too about that. With all my love, Fen.”
Walking down the four flights of stairs again, she posted the letter before she had time to change her mind.
The Eriksons lived in a beautiful ranch-style house, which had once been an avocado farm, now converted into the most exquisite garden, with clematis, morning glory, and bougainvillea growing up every tree. Behind reared the mountains, snow-capped and often blacked out by thunderstorms or rainstorms, but seldom affecting the perfect weather in the valley.
Rupert went into the house and kissed his beautiful hostess, with whom he had once been on intimate terms. She was wearing a sopping wet yellow bikini and drinking a margarita.
“Helen’s by the pool,” said Suzy Erikson. “Have you any idea how many are coming so I can warn Annunciata?”
“Well, the American team aren’t coming,” said Rupert, “nor are either of our women riders, although you’d hardly call Griselda a woman!”
Then he told Suzy about Dino. She was shattered.
“Oh, poor Dino, and bang goes our chance of a gold. That’s tough, that’s real tough.”
“What is?” said Helen, from the doorway.
She was wearing the briefest of dark blue bikinis that she would have thought absolutely shocking eight months ago in Kenya, and a blue spotted silk scarf tying back her hair. It was the first time Rupert had ever known her tanned; it brought out the amber of her eyes and the wonderful slenderness of her body.
“What’s tough?” she said.
“Your lover’s had an accident,” drawled Rupert.
“What d’you mean?” said Helen, aghast. “What are you talking about?” She gripped the door handle for support, her knuckles whitening. Fortunately Rupert had turned to the drinks’ tray and was pouring out some Perrier.
“His prize horse threw a fit on the plane and had to be shot — so I’m afraid he’s not coming to the Games. Tough, huh?”
“Is he hurt?” said Helen, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Nothing broken except his heart, according to Mary Jo.”
Helen, as though sleepwalking, found one of the leather sofas flanking the fire and sat down very suddenly on it.
“Could I have a drink, please?”
Her mind was galloping: where was Jake? Had he flown home already, without getting in touch? Did horses mean that much to him? Her heart seemed to be crashing against her rib cage.
“I guess Manny was insured,” said Suzy Erikson, examining her back view in the long mirror. “I wonder if I ought to get my bottom lifted.”
“Only by me,” said Rupert, putting a hand under her buttocks.
“If he’s not coming,” said Helen shakily, “Fen’ll have to jump.”
Letting go of Suzy, Rupert looked at her irritably. “Are you that out of touch? Since when did Fen ride for the
