“Look, I’m sure it upset you, and what Bianca said, too. But if you and I are going to have anything going together, and I feel we can, you must shut your eyes and ears to gossip. If you’re any kind of celebrity, which I suppose Billy and I are, people will always bitch about you. If they don’t know you, they make it up; if they catch you snapping at a traffic warden because your mother’s just died, they’ll assume you’re always bloody-minded. I had a brief walkout with Bianca. I broke it off. I’ve even had girls accusing Billy and me of being queer because I haven’t made a pass at them. You listen to me, not anyone else. Is that clear?”
Helen nodded, speechless.
“You’re terribly sweet.” Leaning forward, he kissed her very gently. At first she resisted, then, as her lips parted, he drew away.
“Come on, we’ve got to see that horse.”
8
“Jesus, Tommy,” he said a quarter of an hour later, as a huge black horse with a white face clattered out of the stable, tugging a helpless, terrified trooper on the end of a rope, “are you trying to sell me an elephant?”
“He’s a good horse,” said Tommy. “Jump the Harrods building with all four feet tied together.”
Going up to the plunging animal, ignoring its rolling eyes and snapping teeth, Tommy caught the other side of the head collar. Together, he and the trooper managed to steady him.
“Come and have a look,” he said.
From a safe distance, Helen watched Rupert’s practiced hands moving over the horse, running down a leg here, picking up a hoof there, examining his teeth, looking at him from front and back.
“Lovely courageous head,” said Tommy, dodging hastily sideways to avoid a diving nip.
“What’s his background?”
“Dam was an Irish draft mare, father was clean bred, won a few races in Ireland. We got him from Jock O’Hara.”
“Doesn’t usually miss a good horse,” said Rupert, walking around him again.
“His wife was having a baby at the time. He was a bit more distracted than usual.”
“And he’s being discharged? What’s wrong with him?”
“Well, quite honestly, he’s a bit of a bugger; run away with nearly every trooper in the regiment, fidgets on parade, breaks ranks, naps on duty, and won’t obey orders.”
Rupert laughed. “And you’re suggesting I buy him?”
“You could always sort out difficult horses and I promise you he can jump. He carted a trooper in the King’s Road last week. A milk float was crossing the road; old Satan stood back on his hocks and cleared it by inches. Several witnesses saw him. That has to be some horse.”
“Okay,” said Rupert, taking off his coat, “tack him up.”
A trooper stood nervously in the center of the indoor school, waiting for Rupert’s orders. Tommy and Helen, to her relief, watched from the gallery. At first, Satan walked around as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth; only his eyes rolled and his tail twitched. His white face and the one white sock that came above knee and hock gave him a comic appearance. Rupert pushed him into a canter; with his huge stride he circled the school in seconds. Then, suddenly, the horse seemed to gather itself together and, as they rounded the top end, he humped his back in a series of devastating bucks which would have unseated any rodeo rider.
Helen gave a gasp, putting her hands over her eyes.
“It’s all right,” said Tommy. “He’s still there.”
“Okay,” said Rupert to the trooper, “put all the fences up to four foot six.”
Tommy got out a silver cigarette case and handed it to Helen, who shook her head. “Watch this,” he said.
As Satan bucketed towards the upright, Rupert put him at exactly the right spot and he cleared it by a foot. It was the same with the parallels.
“Put them up to five foot six,” said Rupert.
“Known Rupert long?” asked Tommy.
“No,” said Helen, “and it won’t be much longer at this rate,” she added nervously as Satan thundered towards the upright, then put in a terrific stop. The next moment Rupert was beating the hell out of the horse.
“Poor Satan,” murmured Helen.
Rupert turned him again. Satan cleared the upright, then, careless, stargazing at some pigeons in the roof, he rapped the parallel so hard that only Rupert’s immaculate riding held him together and saved them both from crashing to the ground.
“Put it up to six foot,” said Rupert to the white-faced trooper.
“Crazy,” agreed Tommy, “but he always liked riding something over the top.”
This time Rupert cantered down quietly and Satan cleared the upright with several inches to spare. Rupert pulled him up. Coming out of the school the horse appeared positively docile. Sliding off, Rupert reached for his coat pocket which was hanging on the door and, taking out a packet of Polos, gave a couple to Satan, who looked at him suspiciously, then ate them, curling his upper lip in the air.
“I think we’ll get along,” he said. “I’ll buy him, Tommy. You’ll discharge him as uncontrollable, will you? And I’ll have a word with Colonel Cory up at Melton Mowbray.”
Helen was ashamed how much the sight of Rupert mastering that huge, half-wild horse had excited her. He might not have heard of Francois Truffaut or Kandinsky, but when it came to horses he was obviously a genius. Suddenly, she felt a spark of pure envy; however much she slaved at her novel, she could never display such joyful, spontaneous talent as Rupert.
The sun was going down now, firing the barracks windows. Dog walkers were hurrying home from the park. As Rupert sorted out the details of the sale with Tommy, Helen did her face yet again. She turned on the car radio and found the middle movement of Schumann’s piano concerto. Listening to the rippling, romantic music she looked uneasily at the pile of mail on the backseat. Many of the envelopes were mauve, or peppermint green, or shocking pink. Someone had addressed a letter: “To Rupert Campbell-Black, the handsomest man in England.”
And so he was, thought Helen, as he walked back to the car, Badger at his heels. He looked very happy.
“That is one hell of a good horse. I reckon I could take him to the Olympics if he doesn’t kill me first. Let’s go and have a drink at my mother’s house.”
“That’d be nice,” said Helen. Privately, she didn’t feel quite up to meeting Rupert’s mother. She’d have to talk out of the corner of her mouth to hide the drink fumes.
Rupert listened to the piano concerto for a minute. “I suppose this is the sort of music you like?”
“Yes,” said Helen. “Are your parents happily married?”
“Yes,” said Rupert.
“How lovely,” said Helen.
“But not to each other. My mother’s on her third marriage. My father on his fourth.”
“Were you very traumatized when your parents split up?” she asked.
Rupert looked surprised: “Not at all. I stayed with Mummy and Nanny.”
“But you must have had endless replacement parents?”
“What?”
“Stepmothers and — fathers.”
“Oh, legions.”
“Weren’t they very unkind to you?”
“I was very unkind to them. I was a little sod when I was young. They got their own back by never taking me out when I was at school.”
“So you never went out?” said Helen, her eyes filling with tears.
“Nanny came down by train occasionally and brought me fruit cakes. I spent most leave-outs and a lot of the holidays with Billy’s family.”
