kicking up the tan, following the hoofprints of earlier riders. She steadied him for the derby. He didn’t like it, then decided he did and took a mighty leap, clearing it by a foot. The yell of the crowd distracted him, the heat haze above the gate made judging the distance difficult. Fen asked him to take off too early, he kicked out the fence, and then toppled the wall after that, hurting himself, eyes flashing, ears flattened, tail whisking like an angry cat.
Now she’ll go to pieces, thought Malise in despair.
But Fen held him together and drove him on, picking her way over the obstacles, not touching any of them.
“Look at him,” said Sarah in ecstasy. “He’s really, really trying.”
Coming up to the last fence, Hardy started showing off and gave a huge kick back. The crowd laughed. He kicked back again. Lazily whisking over the last fence, he gave it an almighty clout. For a second the pole shuddered, trembled on the edge, then fell back into the cup.
“God is on our side after all,” said Malise.
“Bloody good,” said Rupert, as Fen slipped off the huge horse, flinging her arms round Hardy’s neck, and taking back all the beastly things she’d ever said about him.
“Until the next time,” said Sarah.
Now the last riders in each team had to jump. Peter Colegate, riding instead of Dino, knocked up a surprising fifteen faults, so his was the round the Americans dropped. Hans Schmidt went clear.
The round, however, the world was waiting for was Rupert’s. Fen straightened his tie and did up one brass button of his red coat which was draped over his damaged right shoulder: “Are you okay? Does it hurt horribly?”
“Yes, but I’ve just had another shot; I’m so spaced out I’ll probably carry Rocky over the fences with one finger.”
Not by a flicker, as he rode into the ring, did Rupert betray his awareness that every camera in the world was trained on him to see what the effect had been of Helen pushing off. If the press had gone to town on Jake that morning, it was without Rupert’s help. He had refused to say a word to them.
He held the reins lightly in his left hand. He carried no whip. The crowd, seeing that he was coming in to jump the most punishing course in history with one arm in a sling, roared their approval and encouragement.
Dropping his reins, he removed his hat. His blond hair glittered golder than any medal. The pain was agonizing. Even the gentlest pop in the collecting ring had jolted his shoulder unbearably, but none of this showed in his face.
Rocky was a gallant and kind horse. Something was different today; perhaps it was the sympathetic, almost helpless way Rupert had jumped him earlier; perhaps it was because for once his master wasn’t carrying a whip. Suddenly there was an expression of deep responsibility on Rocky’s handsome, golden face.
“I will take care of you today,” he seemed to be saying. “Just to make you feel a sod for all the times you’ve beaten me up in the past.”
Over the first two fences Rupert had the greatest difficulty balancing himself, then he settled in. Rocky was jumping carefully, only clearing each fence by an inch or so. Now he was thundering down to the water — and over. Now he was over the derby and the gate, now turning for the huge three-part combination.
“Undoubtedly Rupert is the best rider in the world,” shouted Billy jubilantly in the commentary box. “Look at the power of those leg muscles; he isn’t even shifting in the saddle. Go on, Rupe, go on.”
For a miraculous moment it looked as if he was going to go clear; then Rocky trailed a leg at the last fence and, unlike Fen, brought it down. Out he rode to almost the biggest cheer of the day.
Billy bolted out of the commentary box to congratulate him. “Wait,” wailed Dudley. “There are still the Japs and the Portuguese to jump.”
“That was absolutely brilliant,” said Billy, rushing up to Rupert. “God knows how you did it.”
“Should have been a clear,” said Rupert, kicking his right foot out of the stirrup and wincing and biting his lip as he lowered himself down.
“Tremendous performance, Rupert,” said Malise, looking at his score sheet. “The Yanks are on twelve, the Germans on sixteen, the Swiss on eighteen, the French on twenty. We’re fifth with twenty-two,” he added with quiet satisfaction.
“You shouldn’t be jumping, but I’m sure glad I saw you. Congratulations,” said a voice. It was the doctor from the hospital.
Rupert smiled, but the doctor, noticing his pallor and how much he was sweating, waved his medical kit. “I thought you’d probably need something stronger to face this afternoon.”
“I need an enormous whisky,” said Rupert.
“Not too enormous,” said Malise.
62
Afterwards Fen couldn’t recall if she ate any lunch. Ivor ate his way solemnly through two steaks without realizing it. Billy came too, cracking jokes with Rupert, keeping up everybody’s spirits. They knew they wouldn’t win, the margin was too big, but they were quietly elated. They had conducted themselves with honor.
Prince Philip, who was an old friend of Rupert’s, came up and congratulated them.
“Really tremendous! Well done, all of you! Don’t know why you bother to ride with any hands at all, Rupert.”
“I’d better go back and wind up Dudley,” said Billy, getting to his feet. “He says I must be more enthusiastic about the other nations. Good luck, everyone. Take care of yourself, Rupe.”
Rupert raised his hand. He wished Billy could stay. He was beginning to feel desperately tired and the pain was really getting to him.
“Can you give me something?” he said to the doctor.
“It’d be better nearer your round or the effect might wear off. I daren’t give you two shots or you’ll pass out in the ring.”
When the riders came out for the second round, it was soon apparent that the first round had overstretched the horses. Despite menacing clouds on the horizon and the rumble of thunder, the sun was at its height, beating down on to the stadium at a heat of over 100 degrees.
Only the top ten teams went through, but it still meant nearly forty rounds for the crowd to watch. The Americans, who had been led to believe that their team couldn’t lose, came back in anticipation of slaughter. Bored now by foreign rounds, screaming and hysterically cheering on their own riders, their chauvinism was equaled only by Billy’s in the commentary box.
“He’s a nice guy, he deserves it,” he said when Ludwig went clear, dashing British hopes, but he was unashamedly delighted when Mary Jo put in an unexpected twelve faults, and Lizzie Dean hit two fences and put in a stop, and the early French and Swiss riders knocked up cricket scores.
Ivor came in so elated by his first round success that he knocked up only eight faults.
“Marvelous,” said Billy. “That’s really marvelous. Now, with all the second riders gone, Great Britain’s edged up to third place, and the Germans are moving right up behind the Americans.”
As it became apparent that a duel to the death was setting in, people ran in from the halls and the stands filled up to bursting.
“I must have another shot,” said Rupert.
“You can’t risk it,” said the doctor.
Carol Kennedy went clear again. Once again Fen had to follow him.
“The Americans are on thirty-one; we are on thirty,” Malise told her.
Fen’s nerves were in tatters. Last time they’d had so little to lose; now they were in with a chance. If Hardy started kicking out fences, all was lost.
“Kiss me, Hardy, e’er I die of fright,” she said.
In England, they were televising only the second round of the competition. Dino checked the video for the
