“And who may she be?” roared Mr. Maynard, brandishing the roses like a policeman’s truncheon.
“I’m me,” said Laura Bridges, “and don’t shout at that poor child.”
Rupert arrived to find Laura Bridges, Harold Maynard, a number of Harold’s horticultural chums from the allotments, several show officials, and the lady mayoress in the middle of a full-dress row. The Brownie was bawling her head off.
“What’s up?” he said.
“This lady’s stolen my Ena Harkness,” bellowed Mr. Maynard, glaring furiously at Laura Bridges.
Next minute, Rupert had grabbed him by his coat collar. “Don’t you speak to her like that, you revolting little shit. She did
“Those are my roses, and don’t use foul language. I’m calling the police,” yelled Mr. Maynard.
“You are bloody not,” said Rupert and, picking Mr. Maynard up, he hurled him backwards into the nearby horticultural and produce tent. A second later four of Mr. Maynard’s chums from the allotments had landed on Rupert. Shaking them off, he dove into the tent after Mr. Maynard, picking up a lemon meringue pie and smashing it in his red roaring face. Turning, Rupert started pelting Mr. Maynard’s cronies, who were trying to storm the tent in pursuit, with iced cakes. Next minute a Bakewell tart flew over their heads and hit the mayoress slap in the face. Just as the allotment contingent were advancing on Rupert, menacingly brandishing huge marrows, reinforcements arrived in the form of Billy, Humpty, Ivor Braine, and Driffield, who, picking up everything they could find, hurled them at Mr. Maynard’s chums. Carrots, turnips, cabbages, rhubarb pies, and fairy cakes flew through the air.
“What the hell’s going on?” Humpty asked Billy. “We’ve got to jump off in a few minutes.”
The next minute a vast Black Forest gateau, hurled by Mr. Maynard and meant for Rupert, hit Humpty in the middle of his forehead. Roaring like a little bull, rubbing cream out of his eyes, Humpty jumped on Mr. Maynard, hammering him with his fists. Driffield, behind the safety of a long white table, was lobbing sponge cakes into the melee, stopping to take a bite from time to time. Three of the allotment chums had Billy on the ground now and were belaboring him with parsnips.
“Stop it, you wotten cowards,” screamed Lavinia Greenslade. “Thwee against one isn’t fair.” And, having kicked them all in the bum, she picked up a chair and bashed it over their heads.
Suddenly there was the wail of police cars.
“We better beat it,” said Humpty reluctantly.
“Come on,” said Driffield, stuffing pieces of shortcake into his pockets and running towards the tent opening. But they were too late, for the next minute the tent had filled with policemen. Slowly show jumpers and horticulturalists picked themselves off the floor.
“Now, who started this fight?” said the sergeant, getting out a notebook. “Morning, Mr. Lloyd-Foxe, morning, Mr. Hamilton.”
For a minute no one said anything. Then, from the corner, pulling himself up by the trestle table, Rupert staggered to his feet.
“I did, officer,” he said, weaving towards them. “But
“Book him,” said the sergeant.
“You can’t,” said Humpty in tones of outrage, wiping chocolate icing out of his hair. “He’s got to jump- off.”
A noisy argument ensued, only ended by the police threatening to book all the show jumpers.
“You can’t do that,” said the show secretary in horror. “The public have come specially to see them. They’ve got two more big classes after the jump-off.”
“Well, I’m booking him,” said the sergeant, slapping handcuffs on Rupert. “Never heard such abusive language in my life.”
On the way out, Laura Bridges stopped him.
“I’m so sorry. It was all my fault.”
Rupert grinned. “Don’t give it a thought, sweetheart.”
“I’ll get you out of there,” promised Billy. “Not now,” said Humpty. “Bail him out after the classes.”
In the early evening Billy and Laura Bridges, who’d pulled every string in the book, arrived at the police station. The police agreed to let Rupert go as long as he appeared in court first thing tomorrow. They found him sobering up in the cells and playing poker with a couple of constables who happened to be show-jumping fans. The story had made the late editions of the evening papers and the showground and the front of the station were swarming with press. Rupert was smuggled out of the back door.
Despite the heat, he was shivering like a rain-soaked puppy. He looked terrible.
“Better come home with me,” said Laura. “Keep the press out of your hair and at least give you a decent night’s sleep.”
Billy, who wanted to see Lavinia, went back to the showground.
In the car, Rupert lay back and shut his eyes.
“How d’you feel?”
“Bit of a headache. Don’t know if it’s hangover or flying marrows.”
“Presumably you did take those roses from the tent?”
“Yes.”
She patted his knee. “It was very sweet of you.”
“Can I go and have a bath?” he said when he got to her house. “Just to wash the rainbow cake out of my hair.”
Downstairs, changed into a sweater and jeans brought by Billy, he found her in the kitchen. She had changed, too, into a long pale blue cotton dress with a halter neck, which showed off her beautiful brown shoulders.
“When did you last have something to eat?” she asked.
“I don’t remember.”
She gave him a glass of ice cold milk. “Do you good,” and got a large piece of steak out of the larder.
“You can put this on your eye if you like, or I can grill it for you.”
Rupert decided he was very hungry.
“Two newspapers rang for you while you were in the bath,” she said, as she switched on the grill. “I said you’d gone to stay with friends in Exeter.”
Rupert went up to her, dropping a kiss on the bare shoulder.
“What a very, very nice lady you are.”
They ate outside in the dusk, hardly talking, but allowing the silence to be companionable. Afterwards Rupert wandered into the drawing room and examined the photograph of the man on the desk.
“Your husband?”
She nodded. “My Charlie.”
“Good-looking bloke. You happy with him?”
“Very.”
She also had three children. The last had just gone to prep school. “I love them, but you’ve no idea the bliss, after thirteen years of marriage, of having the house to ourselves.”
She was swinging gently on the hammock seat. Every time she came forward her blond hair gleamed in the light from the window. Rupert longed to sit down beside her, but thought the swaying back and forth might make him sick.
“Ever get bored with each other sexually?”
She shook her head.
Reaching down, he took her hands, pulling her to her feet. She felt so honey soft and nicely fleshed. His hand crept round to the back of her neck where the halter was knotted.
“I’m not sure you should,” she said. “After that fight you can’t be feeling very well.”
“I know the one thing that’d make me better.”
Slowly he unknotted the halter, allowing her dress to slither to the ground. Underneath she was quite naked. On her warm golden breasts there were delicate blue lines. She had full thighs, and round curving hips. In a few years her body would collapse like a peony. Now it was superb. And, knowing it, she gazed back at him without embarrassment.
