“Sweetheart, you must keep calm.” It was as though he was speaking to a child and watching himself in a black and white film, cushioned by drink, yet curiously sober. This wasn’t happening to him.
“Are you still wearing that gold dress? Okay. Well, get out of it and change into some day clothes. Pack a case, put in clothes to last you for a few days, bring your passport, bankers’ and American Express cards, dark glasses, and as much spare cash as you can get your hands on. I’ll come and fetch you.”
“Jake, I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, but hurry.”
Rupert stormed into the Olympic village twenty minutes later, and was held up by a further ten-minute hassle with the guards, because he was, if not completely drunk, obviously in a very wild, excitable state. Finally they let him through and he proceeded to search every room on the third floor, until he found Jake’s. The weight lifters, trying to get their beauty sleep, were not amused to be roused by Rupert, roaring around the room, searching under beds, in the shower, even in the fridge.
Then he looked in Jake’s chest of drawers. His passport and washing things had gone, and all his clothes, except his red coat, his breeches, white shirts, ties, and boots, which still hung in the wardrobe. On the chest of drawers were framed photographs of Tory and the children. It was as though he’d left the most important part of his life behind.
60
Rupert returned to the Eriksons’ house to find all the lights blazing and the place full of cops. Suzy and Albie, coming in tight and finding doors opened, chairs knocked over, whisky spilt, Helen’s room ransacked and the alarm unset, had promptly assumed that they’d been burgled. Rupert ran upstairs, took in the chaos of clothes, jewels, and papers. All his spare cash had gone. He went back to the drawing room.
“There’s only been one burglary in this house. Jake Lovell’s walked off with my wife.”
“Are you sure?” said Suzy in amazement. “He didn’t seem remotely keen on her.”
“He’s a better actor than she is,” said Rupert. “It’s been going on since February. We’ve just had true confessions time.” He looked at the carpet and the sofa. “Sorry about the whisky.”
He was very pale, which gave the suntan an almost green tinge, but seemed totally in control.
“Annunciata seems to have pushed off, too,” said Albie, wandering into the drawing room and pulling off his tie.
“Oh, no,” said Suzy, far more upset by that than by Helen’s departure. “I’ve got fourteen people for lunch tomorrow.”
“Only thirteen without Helen,” said Rupert grimly.
After the police had gone he told them what had happened. In a way their flip, brittle approach helped him to cling onto his sanity.
“I must say she has been looking sensational since Jake arrived in L.A.,” said Suzy, “and she got mad whenever he talked to me. I’m sorry, Rupert. Being bored with your wife doesn’t necessarily mean you want someone else to take her off your hands, particularly when it’s your worst enemy.”
She was amazed Rupert was so calm. She found it rather chilling. Perhaps he was still in shock.
Then he said, “Can I use your telephone to ring a few people? It’ll be midday Tuesday morning in England now.”
“Of course,” said Suzy. “Go into the study.” She was dying to discuss the whole thing with Albie.
Hell-bent on vengeance like an army scorching the earth, Rupert rang Amanda Hamilton in Scotland. Fortunately, perhaps, he got Rollo and explained what had happened. Rollo was most sympathetic and fully appreciated that Jake and Helen might try to seize the children. He said it would be perfectly all right for Charlene to fly up to Scotland with Marcus and Tab until Rupert got back from L.A.
“I’m awfully sorry,” Rollo said again. “Have a word with Amanda.”
Even thousands of miles away Rupert could almost hear Rollo putting his hand over the receiver while he briefed his wife.
Amanda sounded extremely shocked. “Darling, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“Fine,” said Rupert, “but they could have timed it better, with the team competition on Sunday. The press are going to have a field day. That’s why I want to get Tab,” he paused, “and Marcus, of course, out of the way.”
“Did you know yesterday? Was that why Rocky jumped so badly?”
“No,” Rupert interrupted her. “That was my fault.”
Then he rang his secretary, Miss Hawkins, and told her to put a red alert on all banker’s cards, Access and American Express, to order the bank to stop all checks and to close all Helen’s accounts at Peter Jones, Harrods, Hatchards, and Cavendish House in Cheltenham. Anyone at home, he said, particularly Charlene and Mrs. Bodkin, or any of the grooms or the gardeners, would be fired if they spoke to the press.
He went back into the drawing room with a grim smile on his face. “That should clip their wings.”
“I suppose I’ll have to wait till morning to try and trace Annunciata,” said Suzy petulantly. “I expect she’s moved in with that frightful boyfriend.”
Annunciata, in fact, was fed up with working for Suzy, fed up with the long hours, the untidyness (Suzy just stepped out of her clothes) and the meals demanded at all hours. She never knew how many people to cater for.
It was only a summer job anyway and she’d hardly had time to see any of the Games, not even Mr. Lovell winning his silver. After being woken up by the frightful row between Mr. and Mrs. Campbell-Black, Annunciata had crept upstairs and heard the whole thing, including hearing Rupert hitting Helen and storming off into the night, and a hysterical Helen ringing Jake Lovell. Annunciata had then appeared and asked Mrs. Campbell-Black if she needed any help with packing.
“She even wanted to know if we had any tissue paper,” Annunciata told her beady American boyfriend on the telephone. “She was very frightened but she still remembered to take the hot tongs and heated rollers and her hair dryer.”
The beady American boyfriend, deducing that Rupert would come roaring back to the house in a towering rage, advised Annunciata to move out pronto. After all, it was only a summer job and he was cute enough to realize that here was a story which, if Annunciata lived up to her name, and related to a newspaper, would save her having to work for several years.
Tory, after the victory celebrations, fell into bed at five in the morning, but still couldn’t sleep for happiness. After all that struggle, Jakey had got his silver. She’d never seen him as happy as he’d been at the press conference. And now, with the Boyson sponsorship, he’d be able to have the horses he wanted; he and Fen wouldn’t have to work quite so hard and he’d have more time with the children, which he’d always longed for, and they wouldn’t have to scrimp and worry all the time about where the next penny was coming from. She didn’t even feel tired when she had to get up at seven and take the sleepy, grumbling children to school. All day, people kept ringing up to congratulate her and Jake. Flowers and telegrams arrived constantly. The village was in a state of total euphoria, already planning the Welcome Home celebrations.
Tory watched clips of Jake’s silver four times on breakfast television, and in Olympic roundup,
Singing at the top of her voice, she went to collect the children. Jake would be getting up soon, she thought fondly, with a terrible hangover.
On balance, she’d decided not to fly to L.A. By the time she’d got everything organized it would be Friday. Then, after a night flight, there’d be only half a day before the team event. Then they’d be coming home again. There’d be other occasions.
Her mother had rung up and Tory’d been so happy she’d forgotten to be cool with her. After all, it was a long time since Colonel Carter had taken Revenge away. Surely yesterday’s medal proved Jake was the greater rider than Rupert?
