loo, as green as the elephant who ate the mushroom in the Babar books.
“I’ve vomited fifteen times,” she announced, collapsing onto her bed.
“Too many cyclists,” muttered Fen under her breath. “Shall I get a doctor?”
“No,” groaned Griselda. “I’ll be okay.”
By late evening poor Griselda’s temperature had gone up to 104 and she was admitted to hospital with suspected food poisoning.
“And then there were three,” said Rupert next morning, as they had a final workout before the competition the following day. Despite his appearance of icy indifference, Rupert was in a terrible state. Rage against both Helen and Jake kept bubbling up inside him, corrosive as black bile. Despite the quantities of whisky he’d shipped each night in search of oblivion, he had hardly slept since they’d gone. Drink had never affected his eye in the past, but watching Humphrey Bogart movies on television all night hadn’t helped. In the relentless Los Angeles sunshine that morning, as he was cantering towards a huge upright, Jesus the Mexican decided to gallop across his path ten yards beyond the fence. Just for a second Rocky panicked, took off too early, clouting the heavy pole with his forelegs. Turning a somersault in the air, he crashed down with Rupert under him.
By the time Fen, Malise, and Jesus the Mexican had reached them, Rocky had scrambled to his feet. Shaking himself gingerly, he decided he wasn’t hurt and cantered off. Rupert tried to get up, groaned, and fell back, clutching his shoulder.
“What is it?” said Malise, dropping to his knees.
“Shoulder,” said Rupert through clenched teeth. “Dislocated. Get me to a fucking hospital at once and get it put back. Jesus!”
Just for a second a ghost of a smile flickered across Rupert’s face.
“Not you,” he said. “I was talking to an earlier model.”
Malise went with Rupert to the emergency room. He lay stretched out in the ambulance, his face gray-green, sweat beads drenching his forehead and upper lip, cursing quietly to himself the whole way. Just to look at the horrible angle of his arm made Malise feel sick.
“At least it’s not fractured,” said the doctor, after the X-ray. “Pretty straightforward to put back. You’ll just be out of action for a few days.”
Malise and Rupert exchanged glances. Rupert turned to the doctor.
“I don’t want an anesthetic.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Malise.
“I don’t need one. How did they manage before they had chloroform? I don’t want my reflexes fucked up for tomorrow.”
“You’re not jumping tomorrow,” said Malise.
“What other alternative do we have?”
“Appealing to Jake to come back.”
“If he shows his face within fifty miles of the show ring he’ll end up in here as well,” said Rupert. “In the morgue.”
“Have you any idea how painful it will be without an anesthetic?” said the doctor.
“Yes,” said Rupert. “Our doctor at home put it back for me once when I was out hunting. I carried on for the rest of the day.”
“You were younger then,” said Malise.
“This is the second time,” said the doctor.
“I know,” said Rupert, throwing back his head and clenching his teeth. “Come here, sweetheart,” he added to the beautiful nurse who was gazing at him with pity and admiration, “and hold my hand.”
He was about to say he expected he’d do it a third time, but as the doctor got to work he fainted.
“At least the pain should take my mind off my erring wife,” he said when he came around. But despite repeated shots of morphine, he had never known such agony.
At five o’clock Malise called a press conference: “The British team is down to three riders. One of them, Rupert Campbell-Black, has been very seriously injured today but is determined to ride tomorrow. I want to make one more appeal to Jake Lovell to think seriously about coming back. Great Britain needs him. Rupert has agreed there will be no reprisals.”
Fen’s night was scarcely better than Rupert’s. She had thought that now Dino had reappeared, everything would be easier. But she found herself even twitchier. Had he really been there at all? Did he really love her and want to marry her? She felt bitterly ashamed of the resentment she felt that he’d gone to look after Tory. If he really loved you, mocked a voice, as she got dressed at four o’clock in the morning, he wouldn’t have been able to tear himself away. She’d been miserable for so long, she couldn’t adjust to happiness. In a few hours she was going to face the worst ordeal of her life and she felt quite unprepared to cope with it. She must get herself into the right frame of mind. But Enrico had gone off her as soon as he’d got her into bed. Might not Dino?
“Tell me how stupid I am,” she said to Lester the teddy bear, as she tied her tie.
But Lester didn’t answer.
“Have a nice day,” she said to him as she left the room. “It’s more than I shall have.”
Malise was standing by the car. Ivor was already in the back, looking green. “I slept like a log,” he said in a surprised voice.
“Lucky you,” said Fen.
The press surged forward.
“Any news from Jake?”
“Nothing,” said Malise bleakly. “We shall only be fielding three riders. It’s too late for him to declare now.”
Rupert was glad when the night was over. He’d always assumed he would be able to withstand torture; now he wasn’t sure. He wondered if the doctor had trapped a nerve when he’d put the shoulder back.
At five-thirty he had a bath. The hot water helped to relax him, but after a quarter of an hour he found he couldn’t get out. The slightest move to raise himself produced absolute agony in his shoulder. Another half hour passed, as he slumped between each thwarted attempt. He was terrified of slipping. With his left foot he pulled out the plug, waiting for the enamel surface to dry, so he might have more grip. It must be getting on for six-thirty. They’d be walking the course in an hour. He’d have to yell for Suzy, who probably had a hangover and wouldn’t wake up. He was almost sobbing with pain and frustration. If only he could crawl to the bedroom, he could give himself another shot of morphine. Then he heard the doorbell go, then again. He made another attempt to get out. Then he heard Suzy’s door open.
“Suzy,” he croaked. Then he heard voices in the hall.
Probably Malise, wondering where the hell he was.
“He’s not in his room, so he must be in the bath,” Suzy was saying sleepily.
Thank God he hadn’t locked the door. Suzy banged on it.
“Someone to see you, Rupe.”
“Who the hell is it?” he said.
“It’s me,” said a blissfully familiar voice, and there in the doorway stood Billy.
For a second Rupert gazed at him, dumbfounded.
“Christ, do I ever need you!” he said in an unsteady voice.
“I know. I’m terribly sorry about Helen.”
“No, to get me out of this bloody bath,” said Rupert. “But give me a shot of morphine first. It’s on the chest of drawers in my bedroom.”
The sting of the needle entering his shoulder was the most wonderful sensation he could imagine.
“How the hell did you manage to get out of Janey’s clutches?” he asked.
Billy grinned. “I told her that sometimes water was thicker than blood.”
“Draw’s good,” said Malise. “We’re fourteenth out of sixteen.”
All the other riders were tremendously sympathetic and friendly.
“They can afford to be,” said Rupert. “They think we’ve had it.”
“Who are the favorites?” asked Fen.
“Americans, Germans, Swiss,” said Rupert. “We’re about a million to one. I’ve put a monkey on.”
