Billy rode off, trying to control his nerves. Rupert had been so cockahoop, he felt needled into producing something better. Other riders, having finished jumping, were all too ready to offer him advice. But it was no good listening to other people at this stage; he’d only get muddled. Over the years he’d schooled himself to tackle the problem by himself. In the ring you were on your own.
The German number two rider, Hans Schmidt, came out. An Irish rider was next, then Billy.
“How did you get on?” he asked Hans.
“Von stop at zee vater,” said the German despondently, “and zee gate and zee wall down, puts me in second place viz Ludvig and Humpty.”
“Bloody good,” said Billy.
“Zee Bull looks vell, put on a lot of condition.”
“Thanks,” said Billy.
The collecting ring steward called his number. Good lucks came from all round. Billy was very popular.
As he waited for the Irishman to come out, a little girl bent over and stroked The Bull’s nose.
“Good luck, Bull,” she said shyly.
Billy smiled and thanked her, wishing the butterflies in his stomach would go away. He couldn’t even remember which fence to jump first. The Bull, however, showed no such fears, striding out briskly, ears pricked, tail up, merry eyes sparkling, taking everything in.
“Take your hat off, Billy,” whispered a ring steward.
The crowd roared with laughter as Billy started and hastily whipped off his hat, damp curls sticking to his forehead. Malise stopped talking to Grania Pringle in the president’s box.
“I want to watch this round,” he said. “Must say The Bull looks marvelous.”
“More than can be said for Billy,” said Grania. “He’s pea green.”
“Take it slowly,” Billy told himself over and over again. If you can go clear, even with time faults, you’ll be second. “You’re the best, you’re the best,” he whispered to The Bull as he leaned forward and started cantering as the Klaxon went.
The Bull bucketed over the first three fences, giving huge scary leaps with inches to spare, then he settled down, trundling merrily along, little legs going like pistons, meeting everything just right.
“God, that horse has improved,” said Malise, as he flew over the double. “Billy’s really been working on him.”
Helen held her breath as The Bull scrambled up the bank which, after much use, was extremely slippery. On the top Billy steadied him. Just for a second The Bull looked dubious. The crowd crossed their fingers in case he stepped back, which would have constituted a stop, costing Billy three faults, but he popped over, tobogganed down the other side, and took a huge jump out over the tiny rail, snorting with disapproval, ears flat, tail swishing.
“Didn’t enjoy that,” laughed Humpty. “Look at his old tail going. Who did you say his dam was, Rupert?”
“Probably a cow,” said Rupert.
Helen giggled.
The combination, three good solid fences, held no fears for The Bull.
“He’s faster than you,” said Humpty with some satisfaction.
“I know,” said Rupert coldly.
Now it was only the water, and the final triple. Turning The Bull, Billy thundered down, his red coat like a spot of blood against the dappled crowd.
“Come on, Billy,” howled Rupert.
Ahead Billy saw the water glinting as wide and as blue as the Serpentine. On each side huddled the photographers, waiting for the third ducking.
“Go on, go on,” Billy whispered, “you’re a star, you can do it, we can do it.”
He felt The Bull tense. He’s probably thinking it’s twenty feet deep, thought Billy. Just for a second the horse hesitated. Then suddenly he seemed to relax and put his trust in Billy.
“If you think it’s okay,” he seemed to say, “let’s give it a whirl.” People who were close swear to this day that The Bull closed his eyes. Standing back, he took a mighty leap off his hocks, soaring about six feet in the air, and landed three feet beyond the tape on the other side. People claim it was the longest jump they had ever seen. As he landed, the ring erupted in a bellow of cheers: “Go on, Billy, you can do it, go on.”
He had only the triple to jump and that had caused no problems to anyone. But to the crowd’s amazement, Billy suddenly pulled The Bull up, hugging him, patting him, running his hand up and down his mane, and telling him what a king he was.
“You’ve got one more fence to jump,” yelled the photographers.
“You’ve missed the last fence. Go back. You’ve still got time,” shouted the ring steward who’d reminded him to take his hat off.
“I know,” said Billy, and, raising his whip to the judges to show he was retiring, he cantered slowly out of the ring in front of the stunned crowd.
Rupert met him in the collecting ring, absolutely white with rage.
“Bloody maniac, what the fuck are you playing at? You’ve just chucked away ?1,000 or ?750. It was only you and me in the jump-off.”
“I know,” said Billy, “but he was so frightened, and he jumped the water so bravely, I thought I’d call it a day, so he could remember how good he’d been.”
Rupert looked at him incredulously. “You must be crazy.”
Billy slid off The Bull, burying his face in the brown shiny shoulder, hugging him, patting his chest.
“Good boy, clever boy.”
Rupert suddenly realized Billy’s eyes were filled with tears. Tracey rushed up and, removing the rug which she’d been wearing round her shoulders for warmth, put it over The Bull.
“What happened?” she said in concern. “Did he hurt himself?”
Billy shook his head.
“No,” he said in a choked voice, undoing a packet of Polos, all of which he gave to The Bull. “I was so pleased with him, winning didn’t seem to matter anymore.”
Rupert sighed. “I’m afraid Malise Gordon will feel differently,” he said. “I hope you realize you’ve blown your chances of going to Rome.”
He put an arm round Billy’s shoulders. “All the same, it was a bloody good round. You were up on the clock on me.”
Marion came up with Belgravia. “They want you in the ring, Rupert.”
As Rupert rode off to collect his first prize, Billy turned to Tracey.
“I’m sorry,” he said humbly. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have done it.”
“ ’Course you should. He’s got years ahead. Look how pleased he is.”
The next minute they went slap into Malise, who took Billy and The Bull aside.
“That was a bloody silly thing to do,” he said.
Billy hung his head.
“I’m sorry, but it’s the first time he’s ever jumped water and it was such a tremendous jump.”
“Well, don’t do it again.” Malise patted The Bull. “I must say he looks terrific. So don’t get carried away and overjump him in the next three weeks. I’ll certainly be needing him for Rome, if not for Madrid.”
Billy looked up incredulously.
“What did you say?”
“Don’t go blathering it around to everyone, but I’d like you to bring him to Rome.” He gave The Bull another pat and stalked off.
“Whatever did he say to you?” said Tracey. Then, seeing there were tears in Billy’s eyes again, “Did he bawl you out?”
“No, yes, no, I don’t know,” said Billy in a dazed voice. “I think I’ll ride The Bull back to the stable myself.”
After winning a major competition, Rupert was usually in a manic mood. But today he felt that Billy had somehow stolen his thunder. Malise Gordon’s remarks had niggled him. He resented the implication that Belgravia’s win had been a matter of luck. If Billy hadn’t pulled The Bull up in that stupid fashion, Rupert would have been able to prove Malise wrong by trouncing Billy in the jump-off against the clock. Anyway, he’d like to see Malise or anyone
