Riders

attention, accepting her, ragging her as they ragged each other.

“Oh blast,” said Lavinia, “here come Mummy and Daddy. They’ve been talking to Malise an awfully long time. Talk to me like mad, Helen. And, Billy, you turn away and talk like mad to Humpty and Hans and Geoff. Then perhaps they won’t suspect anything. Where did you get that lovely dwess, Helen?”

“Bus Stop,” said Helen. “My mother doesn’t really approve of me wearing black.”

“Nor mine,” said Lavinia. “If you’re here tomowwow you must come and have a cup of tea in our cawavan. It’s not gwand like Wupert’s.”

Once again, Helen felt overwhelmed with pleasure, particularly when Driffield suddenly brought her a plate of fruit salad.

“This moment must go down in history,” said Humpty. “It is the first time Driffield has ever done anything for anyone else in his life. Where’s Joanna? She must put it in the Chronicle.”

“Are you feeling all right, Driffield?” said Billy.

“He’s dwunk too much tomato juice,” said Lavinia.

Driffield went scarlet and looked irritated and pleased at the same time. They were all laughing. Then Helen looked across the room and her happiness evaporated. There was Rupert standing by the sofa signing autographs for some girl and still talking to Dick Brandon, who was sitting down. Beside Brandon sat Grania talking to another woman. Helen watched frozen as she saw Grania slide her hand up and down the inside of Rupert’s thigh, those beautiful brown muscular thighs she’d seen earlier. Rupert did not move. Grania carried on. Leaping to her feet and spilling the fruit salad mostly over the carpet and Mavis, Helen fled from the room.

“Darling!” yelled Rupert as she passed. He caught up with her in the hall.

“Where are you off to?” Then, seeing her stricken face, “What’s the matter?” and, taking her hand, he pulled her into a nearby room which turned out to be an office with desks and ledgers and a calendar of spiky-legged racehorses on the wall.

Rupert leant against the door.

“Now, what’s the matter? I thought you were having a good time.”

Helen backed away until she found herself sitting in a wire basket.

“I’m fed up with all these people treating you like public property,” she said.

Rupert shrugged. “Come back to the caravan now and I promise you my undivided attention until morning.”

“Like hell! In five minutes someone’ll be banging on the door trying to sell you a horse, or asking for your autograph for their great aunt.”

Rupert laughed. “Temper, temper. I’m sorry about all these people.”

“It was positively obscene, all those women hanging round you like wasps round a molasses tin.”

Rupert felt a surge of triumph. It had worked. She really was jealous.

“I’m fed up with them all. Gabriella, and Bianca, and that obnoxious Joanna,” she emphasized all the “a’s, “and Marion looking daggers at me all afternoon, and worst of all Grania; if she’s a lady, I’m the queen of Sheba.”

“Don’t be silly. No one ever suggested she was. Her father made his fortune flogging laxatives. Do you honestly think I fancy her? She’s like some geriatric canary.”

“You didn’t think so two minutes ago when she was running her hand up and down your thigh like an adrenalized tarantula.”

“I was hemmed in. Autograph hunter to the right, prospective buyer to the left, I couldn’t just prise her off. It might have distracted Dick Brandon. Do you realize I’ve just made twenty grand?”

“Bully for you; you’ve also just lost a girlfriend.”

He put his head on one side and grinned at her.

“A girlfriend, have I just?” he said mockingly. Then his voice softened. “Don’t be such a crosspatch,” and he came towards her, pinning her against the table so she couldn’t escape.

“Now you’re hemmed in, and don’t you like it?” he said, drawing her towards him until he was holding her tight against his body, which was so smooth and hard it seemed to curve into hers like expensive soap.

For a second she melted, her longing for him was so strong, her relief to be in his arms. Gently he pulled down the shoulder of her dress and began to kiss her along her collarbone.

The other hand glided over her bottom: “Chicken, you are wearing pants.”

“I am not, I’m wearing a dress.”

“What’s this then?” he pinged the elastic.

“Panties,” said Helen quickly.

Rupert sighed. “There is a language barrier,” he said.

Helen suddenly twigged. “You thought I’d go to a party without panties?” she said in a shocked voice.

“I hoped you might, seeing as how you’re going to take off all your clothes for me later this evening.”

“No,” said Helen, struggling away. “I’m not going to be another of your fancy bits, just to be spat out like chewing gum when the flavor’s gone.”

Rupert started to laugh. “Fancy bit, what an extraordinary phrase. Sounds like a gag snaffle. And I don’t like chewing gum very much. Nanny always said it was common.”

“Why do you trivialize everything?” wailed Helen. “I just don’t want to be rushed.”

“Oh really,” drawled Rupert. “Would you rather we made a date for the year 2000? Would January fifth be okay, or would the sixth suit you better? I’m afraid I can’t make the seventh. Perhaps you could check in your diary.”

“Oh, stop it. I just don’t believe in jumping into bed with people who don’t give a damn for me.”

“You haven’t given me much chance. You can hardly expect me to swear eternal devotion on the second date.”

“I don’t,” sobbed Helen, “I truly don’t. I just don’t want to get hurt again. Harold Mountjoy…”

“Oh dear, now we’re going to be subjected to another sermon on the Mountjoy. Is that it? You only go to bed with married men? If I get married to someone else, then can I fuck you?”

“Please don’t use that kind of language.”

“What’s wrong with the word fuck? That’s what we’re discussing, aren’t we? Stop being so bloody middle class.”

“I am middle class.”

“Personally I think prick-teaser is a much worse word than fuck. Why the hell did you come down here, then?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“You can, all of me. Come back to the caravan.”

“No!” screamed Helen. “I’m going back to London.”

“How?” asked Rupert.

“Where’s the nearest railroad station?”

“About ten miles away. And, frankly, I’m not going to drive you. Nor am I going to lend you one of my horses, although I suppose you could borrow a bike from one of Grania’s children. Or perhaps Monica could whizz you home in her trap.”

Helen burst into tears. Running to the door, she went slap into Grania Pringle.

“Oh, there you are, darling. I’ve been looking for you everywhere, Rupert. Can I borrow you for a sec?”

Helen gave a sob and fled down the passage. She locked herself in the john. Twice someone came and rattled the door, then went away again. The party was still roaring away downstairs and, from the shouts and catcalls, seemed to be spilling out into the garden. Feeling suicidal, she washed her face and combed her hair.

Creeping out into the passage she saw the huge red nightgowned back of Monica Carlton. She was talking to Mrs. Greenslade. Terrified, Helen shot into reverse, taking the nearest door on her left.

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