Grania fed in another one and saw to it that Rupert’s glass of whisky was constantly topped up. Every so often he looked across and mouthed “All right?” to Helen and pride made her nod back.
She was certain Grania had deliberately thrust her into a group of small men. She topped all of them in her high heels. Separated from Rupert, she wanted him to be able to see her as the center of attention, being madly chatted up, but among this lot she felt about as attractive as a spayed Great Dane among a lot of Jack Russells. She bent her legs slightly.
Now they were discussing who’d bought what horses during the winter and which looked as though they were going to be the most promising novices. Hans Schmidt, wearing slightly too fitted and too bright blue a blazer, came up, clicked his heels, and kissed Helen’s hand.
“Ha, Mees Helen of Troy,” he said.
Helen turned to him gratefully, but next minute he was caught up with the others, discussing some potentially unbeatable Hanoverian mare.
Over in the corner Billy was hanging over the back of an armchair shared by Mavis and Lavinia Greenslade. After her dunking in the water she’d rewashed and curled her hair. A belted peacock blue dress showed off her tiny waist. Her small hand rested on Mavis’s head. Billy and she’ll have very curly-haired children, thought Helen. She wished Rupert would look after her like that. She must pull herself together and try and be more extrovert.
The group had moved on to discussing the best routes to take to the next show, which was in the West Country.
“The A40’s much quicker,” said Humpty Hamilton.
Suddenly they were joined by an amazing woman of about sixty. Squat, with a discernible black mustache on her upper lip, she was wearing a hairnet, a red flannel nightgown, bedroom slippers, and looked, thought Helen, not unlike President Nixon in drag.
“Hello, boys,” she said in her deep voice. “If we don’t get something to eat soon, you’ll have to carry me home.” She was just about to move on when she caught sight of Helen, gave her the most enthusiastic eye-meet she’d received all evening, and joined the group.
“Who’s that?” whispered Helen, holding out her glass to a passing waitress.
“Monica Carlton,” whispered Humpty. “Law unto herself, breeds Welsh cobs, always comes to parties in her nightgown, then can get absolutely plastered and doesn’t have the hassle of undressing when she gets back to her caravan.”
“While that waitress is here, she might as well fill me up too,” said Miss Carlton, thrusting her glass at Humpty. “You look familiar,” she added to Joanna Battie.
“We met at Olympia last Christmas,” said Joanna. “I write for the
“Dreadful rag,” boomed Miss Carlton, retrieving her full glass. “Still, it comes in useful for wiping up puppies’ widdle.”
Helen giggled. Scenting enthusiasm, Miss Carlton turned towards her. “You’re a lovely little thing,” she went on. “We certainly haven’t met. I’d have remembered you.” She looked Helen up and down approvingly. “Don’t belong to any of these boring little farts, do you? Might have guessed it; too good for any of them.”
“I resent that,” said Humpty. “The amount of times I’ve given you a fireman’s lift home after parties, Monica.”
“Well, perhaps you’re better than some. Now, where are you from, my beauty?” she said, turning her full attention on Helen. “Are you going to be here tomorrow?”
“I don’t know,” stammered Helen.
“Well, if you are, I’ll take you for a spin round the countryside in my trap. You’d enjoy that. My two chaps travel at a spanking pace.”
And she was off, describing the merits of her two cobs who, it seemed, had won prizes at every show in England. As she talked, her eyes wandered over Helen’s body and the hand not clutching a glass squeezed Helen’s waist on every possible opportunity. Around them, Helen was vaguely aware of all the show jumpers creasing themselves with laughter. None of them was prepared to rescue her.
“Everyone all right?” It was Grania flitting past.
“Just admiring your antiques,” called out Helen desperately. “I’m a real Chippendale freak.”
“Oh, you Americans are always mad about old things; you
“Thank God for that,” said Humpty. “I’m starving. Come on, everyone.”
Rupert caught up with her just as she was entering the dining room. “All right, darling? Sorry to neglect you; I’m in the process of selling a horse.”
“I’m fine,” said Helen, hardly able to trust herself to speak. “Just fine.”
“You must be starving. I’ll get you a plate.”
But the next moment he’d been lassooed by a large woman in red, asking him what had happened to some horse she’d sold him last year. Next minute the crowds had closed around him. Turning around, Helen saw Miss Carlton bearing down on her with two huge plates of chicken and rice. “Coo-ee,” she shouted.
Desperately, Helen fled in the other direction where she could see Billy and Mavis and Lavinia sharing another armchair. She’d just have to play gooseberry.
“Please,” she rushed up to them, “can I talk with you? Rupert’s with some woman, and Miss Carlton’s on the warpath.”
“Of course.” Billy got to this feet. “You haven’t met Lavinia, have you? Are you having an awful party?”
“I haven’t seen much of Rupert,” she said, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“I know. I’m sorry. He’s still haggling with Dick Brandon and it’s the first real show of the season. No one’s seen each other all together for ages, if you know what I mean. They’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
“Oh, Billy, darling,” said Lavinia, “I’ve forgotten to put any Fwench dwessing on my lettuce. Can you get me some, and do see if there’s any more of that delicious garlic bwead.”
For a second Helen’s eyes met Billy’s, but both of them managed not to giggle.
“Well, if Monica comes up, you must protect Helen.”
“He’s weally nice, isn’t he?” said Lavinia dreamily. “Mummy doesn’t approve because he’s such a fwiend of Wupert’s. Not but what Wupert isn’t very attwactive,” she added hastily, “but Mummy thinks Wupert leads Billy astway. Is this your first date with him?”
“No,” said Helen, finding herself chewing and chewing on the same piece of chicken, “my second.”
“Goodness,” said Lavinia, her china blue eyes widening, “that must be a wecord.”
Billy came back and they were joined by Humpty and Ivor Braine with a bottle of red.
“I say, Helen,” said Humpty, going rather pink, “you certainly made a hit with Monica.”
“Oh dear,” said Helen, blushing.
“Thinks you’re the prettiest filly she’s seen in years,” said Ivor and roared with laughter. “Going to take you in her trap tomorrow, she says.”
“Well, don’t get twapped in her twap,” said Lavinia. “She chased me round the tackwoom once.”
“Better watch out. She breeds her own Welsh cobs; they say she doesn’t even need a stallion,” said Billy.
“Well at least she’s better than Driffield,” grumbled Ivor. “Since he’s given up booze he’s got so bad- tempered.”
“The big fairy,” said Humpty. “Let’s chuck him in the lake after dinner.”
Next moment Hans joined them carrying a plate of trifle.
“Mind my dog,” said Billy, as the German prepared to sit heavily on the sleeping Mavis.
Hans rolled his eyes in the air. “Always zee same, zee English, zee dog sleep in zee chair or zee bed, zee husband sleep on the floor. You are American, Fraulein Helen. Are zey not crazy people? Why not come back to Germany wiz me?”
“I say, Hans off,” said Humpty. “You’ll have to fight a duel with Monica.”
“You might also have Rupert to contend with,” said Billy, giving Mavis the rest of his chicken.
“No, Rupert is no problem. I can beat him any day of zee week, how do you say it, against zee cock? But Monica, she is different proposition, she is Superman. If Monica stake a claim, I can only love you from afar.”
Helen felt suddenly happy. She hadn’t been a flop after all. In their clumsy way they were paying her
