Riders

at his feet. Automatically he picked it up and was about to put it in his pocket for Isa. Then he realized there was no point and savagely hurled it across the car park.

“Hello, Jake,” said a voice.

Wary of rejection, he turned, frowning. But it was Tanya, his old groom, now married and wheeling a baby in a carriage. Jake knelt down to admire the child, picking up his little hands, tickling his ribs to make him laugh. He’d always been sweet with kids, thought Tanya. He must miss his own terribly, his swarthy face gray, his eyes deeply shadowed. The cotton jacket and jeans were far too thin for a bitter cold morning.

“He’s beautiful,” he said, reluctantly getting to his feet.

“I’m sorry about Wolf,” she said.

“What about him?” said Jake, suddenly tense.

“Oh, God, perhaps I shouldn’t have told you. Hannah rang me. He was run over yesterday afternoon.”

An hour later Jake got back to the bedsit to find Helen painting her nails and not in a good mood. She had just read in the Daily Mail that her husband had joined the Tory Party and was expecting to be given a safe seat at any minute. Tory, Helen reflected bitterly, was not her favorite word at the moment. She thought so even less when she saw Jake’s face.

“What’s the matter?” she asked in alarm.

“I’ve got to go home.” She winced at the word. “There’s been an accident.”

“Oh, God, not one of the kids?”

“No, Wolf.”

“Wolf? Is that a horse?”

“No, the dog. He was run over yesterday.”

“A dog?” said Helen incredulously. “A dog! You’re going back just for that? I could appreciate it if it was a child.”

“Wolf was like a child to Tory.” And to me, he wanted to add.

Helen looked at him in bewilderment. It was all part of this hideous conspiracy between the English and their animals.

“I simply don’t get it,” she said. “You refuse to go back when Malise appeals to you over and over again to jump for your country, then you scuttle home because some goddam dog’s been run over. I just don’t understand you.”

There was a pause.

“How long will you be?” she asked. “I suppose you’ll want the car.”

Jake looked at his watch. “I’ll be back in time for you to go to the hairdresser’s. If I get delayed, take a taxi.”

“We can’t afford it, and I’ve got to pay the hairdresser’s.”

Jake pulled a huge wad of tenners out of his pocket.

“Did you rob a bank?” asked Helen in amazement.

Jake shook his head. “I flogged my silver.”

“Oh Jake,” she wailed. “How could you? It was the one thing we had to cling on to, your one link with immortality. We’ve scrimped and saved so much so that you could keep it.”

He gave her eight hundred and fifty pounds—“Now you can buy some winter clothes”—and kept a hundred and fifty for himself.

With it, he went to his friend Harry, who bred lurchers, and bought a puppy: a tiny replica of Wolf, with a brindle, fluffy coat, a nose like an anteater and huge, anxious eyes. By the time he drove over the bridge at Withrington the puppy had been sick five times. As he gently lifted the little creature out of the car, she was sick again all over Jake’s coat. Jake hardly noticed. Unsure of his reception, his heart was thumping, his throat dry.

The yard seemed curiously deserted, except for the stable cat, who arched his back at the puppy, and the horses, particularly Macaulay, who nearly broke down their half-doors with delight at seeing their master again. The back door was open but there was no one in the house. As Jake washed the vomit off, he was tempted to go upstairs and get a sweater. But Helen would do her nut if he came back wearing something different. His heart was still thumping when the telephone rang and he automatically picked it up. He had great difficulty in even saying “Hello.”

“Dino,” said a voice, “this is Malise. I’m desperately sorry. Just wondered if there was any more news of Tory.”

“What about Tory?” snapped Jake.

“Who’s that?”

“Jake.”

“What the hell are you doing there?”

“What about Tory?” said Jake, on a rising note of fear.

“She tried to commit suicide last night.”

“Must have been a mistake.”

“I’m afraid not,” said Malise, losing his temper. “She took a massive overdose of one of your bloody poisons. She wasn’t expecting anyone back till this morning. Dino and Fen got worried, came back and found her last night.”

“Oh, my God,” whispered Jake. “Is she, is she…?”

Malise realized he’d been too harsh. “I’m afraid she’s dying, Jake.”

“Where is she?”

“The Great Warwickshire.”

Jake took Fen’s car because it was faster. It had never been driven so fast in its life. The poor puppy rattled back and forth in the back like a shuttle. The hospital steps were swarming with press.

“Hello, Gyppo. Shown up at last, have you?” shouted the Daily Mail.

“About bloody time. You come to pay for the funeral?” asked The Sun.

“Fuck off,” snarled Jake.

Mrs. Lovell was in intensive care on the second floor, said the receptionist, giving Jake a strange look. “You can’t bring that puppy in here.”

But Jake was off, limping across the polished floor, pulling the heavy gates of the lift with one hand, holding the puppy with the other. On the way up, it licked Jake’s face. Oh, please God, he prayed frantically, don’t let her die.

As he walked down the passage, a voice said, “What the hell are you doing here?”

It was Dino towering over him, barring his way, like the Archangel Michael with the flaming sword. For a second Jake thought Dino was going to smash his face in, knocking him flying back into a trolley of instruments. Jake stood his ground.

“I want to see Tory.”

“Well, you bloody can’t. She’s in a coma and fading fast, and it’s all your bloody fault, you bastard, you and your lousy poisons. My God, you wouldn’t treat a horse, or even a dog, the way you treated her, leaving her without a fucking word, never getting in touch, letting her just pine away.”

For two minutes Dino carried on in the same vein, calling Jake every name under the sun. His eloquence was fueled by misery and guilt that he and Fen had left Tory on her own, not appreciating how desperate she was. Jake let him finish.

“Everything you say is true,” he said.

Hearing the din, a nurse came out of Tory’s room.

“If you’d like to come in, Mr. Ferranti.”

Jake stepped forward. “I’m her husband, I’ve got to see her.”

But at that moment Fen came out, fighting back the tears, and went straight into Dino’s arms.

“Look who’s just turned up,” said Dino bitterly.

Fen spun around. “Jake, where the hell have you been?” She gave a sob. “You’re too bloody late, that’s all; she’s dying. She was just conscious when we got to her, but she’s got no will to live.”

Not waiting to hear any more, Jake pushed past them and into the room. At first he thought he was hallucinating. For there on the bed was Fen. Then he realized it was Tory — she’d lost so much weight since he’d seen her. Her face, still flushed from the belladonna, gave an illusion of health. Long lashes swept her hollowed