Riders

that ran along the bottom. On the opposite hillside, the sun was filtering thick biblical rays through the trees, which in turn cast long powder blue shadows down the fields. And, sauntering leisurely down one of these rays like horses of the dawn, came three of Rupert’s sleek and beautiful thoroughbreds, two grays and a chestnut. Tossing their heads, they broke into a gallop and careered joyously down the white valley, vanishing into the mist like a dream.

Leaning on the stone balustrade on the edge of the terrace, Helen gazed and gazed. Behind her the wood was filled with bluebells; thrushes were singing out of a clump of white lilacs to the left. Badger, after the long journey, wandered around lifting his leg on bright yellow irises, before happily plunging into the lake.

“It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen,” she breathed. “You’re not a closet earl or anything, are you? I feel like King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid.”

“King who?” asked Rupert, hitching a hip onto the lichened balustrade and edging open the champagne with his thumbs. The cork flew through the air, landing in a rosebush.

“Is it all yours?”

“As far as that village on the right.” He filled a glass and handed it to her.

“Anyway it’s yours too now, darling, every inch of it.”

Looking up, she saw he was smiling. Even an eighth of an inch of blond stubble, and a slight puffiness round the wickedly sparkling eyes, couldn’t diminish his beauty.

“Just as every single inch of you belongs to me from now on,” he added softly.

Then she realized it was not King Cophetua he reminded her of, but the Devil tempting Christ in the wilderness, saying, “All this will I give you.”

Just for a second she had a premonition of unease. Then Rupert chinked his glass against hers and, draining it, said, “Let’s go to bed.”

“We can’t,” stammered Helen. “What will everyone think?”

“That we’ve gone to bed,” said Rupert.

Upstairs he pulled the telephone out, but didn’t bother to lock the door.

“Well, at least I’m going to draw the curtains,” said Helen.

“I wouldn’t,” said Rupert.

But the next minute she’d given the dark red velvet a vigorous tug and the whole thing descended, curtain rail and all, on her head in a huge cloud of dust. In fits of laughter, Rupert extracted her.

“I told you not to pull it!” Then, seeing her hair covered in dust, “My God you’ve gone white overnight. Must be the effect of saying you’ll marry me.”

He pulled her into the shade of the great ancient four-poster and began unbuttoning her shirt. Next minute she leapt out of her skin as the door opened. But it was only Badger, dripping from the lake, trying to join them in bed.

“Basket,” snapped Rupert. “And you might bloody well shut the door,” he added, kicking it shut.

After Rupert had come, with that splendid driving flourish of staccato thrusts which reminded Helen of the end of a Beethoven symphony, he fell into a deep sleep. Helen, lying in his arms, had been far too tense and nervous of interruption to gain any satisfaction. Looking around the room, she took in the mothy fox masks leering down from the walls, the Munnings and the Lionel Edwards, and surely that was a Stubbs in the corner, very much in need of a clean. All the furniture in the room was old and handsome, but it too was desperately in need of a polish, and all the chairs and the sofa needed reupholstering. There were angora rabbits of dust on top of every picture, and sailors could have climbed up the rigging of cobwebs in the corners. Judging by the color of the bed linen, it hadn’t seen a washing machine for weeks. Helen began to itch and edged out of Rupert’s embrace. She was touched to see a copy of War and Peace by the bedside table. At least he was trying to educate himself. Writing “I love you” in the dust, she wandered off to find a bathroom.

She found the john first, and was less touched to find a framed photograph on the wall of Rupert on a horse, being presented with a cup by Grania Pringle. Along the bottom Grania had written, “So happy to mount you — love Grania.” That’s one for the jumble sale, thought Helen, taking it off the wall.

The bathroom made her faint. A great white bath, standing six inches off the ground on legs shaped like lion’s paws, was ringed with grime like a rugger sweater. Above it, a geyser on the wall spat out dust and then boiling water. The ceiling was black with dirt, the paint peeling like the surface of the moon. On another beautiful chest of drawers, which was warping from the damp, stood empty bottles, mugs, and two ashtrays brimming over with cigarette stubs.

Having found a moderately clean towel and spent nearly an hour cleaning the bath, she had one herself, then set out to explore the house, finding bedroom after bedroom filled with wonderful furniture, carpets, and china, with many of the beds recently slept in but not made. At the end of the passage she discovered a room which was obviously Billy’s. On the chest of drawers was a large photograph in a frame of Lavinia Greenslade, and an even larger one of Mavis. There were glasses by the bed and drink rings on everything.

A bridle hung from the four-poster. There were sporting prints on the wall and more framed photographs of horses jumping, galloping, standing still, and being presented with rosettes. On the chest of drawers was a pile of unopened brown envelopes and more overflowing ashtrays.

Descending the splendid staircase with a fat crimson cord attached to the wall to cling on to, she admired a huge painting of Badger in the hall. Underneath it two Jack Russells were having a fight. She found a pair of Springer Spaniels shut in the drawing room. Every beautiful faded chair and sofa seemed to be upholstered in dog hair. On the wall was a large lighter patch where a painting had been sold. The rest of the walls were covered, among other things, by a Romney, a Gainsborough, a Lely, and a Thomas Lawrence. Next door, behind the inevitable wire cages, was the library. No wonder Rupert was indifferent to culture; it was all around him, to be taken for granted. For a minute, looking at more cobwebs and dust, she thought she’d strayed into Miss Haversham’s house.

Then she trod on something that squelched.

“Oh my God,” she screamed.

“What’s the matter?” asked Billy, coming through the door, holding a pile of entry forms and a checkbook.

“One of those damned dogs has gone to the bathroom in the living room.”

She couldn’t understand why Billy laughed so much.

“It’s not funny,” she said. “I’ve never seen such a dump. Doesn’t anyone ever clean it? It’s an arachnophobe’s nightmare. Marion and Tracey must be the most awful slobs to let it get into such a state.”

“Suppose it is a bit of a mess,” said Billy apologetically. “But we’re not in the house much during the day and one never notices dust at night. We had a char. She wasn’t very good, but Rupert kept her on because she made him laugh. He said she had charisma. Then he came back and found her in one of the spare room beds drinking gin with the electric blanket on. After that even he had to sack her, so we haven’t had anyone for about six weeks.”

“Doesn’t look as though you’ve had anyone for six years,” said Helen, scraping her shoe on the gravel outside.

“Come and look at the stables; that should cheer you up. Is Rupert asleep?”

Helen nodded.

“I know it’s a mess,” he said, putting his arm through Helen’s and leading her across the lawn, passing overgrown shrub roses that hadn’t seen a pruner in years and pink scented peonies collapsing on the grass. “But we’re so frightfully busy, we haven’t really got time to organize the house. That’s why Rupert desperately needs a wife,” he went on, squeezing her hand. “Not only are you the most adorably beautiful girl we’ve ever seen, but we really need you to look after us.”

“Thanks,” said Helen. “So in fact I’m really marrying two riders, four grooms, thirty horses, a million dogs, and a stable cat. I feel like Milly in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. But it’s such a beautiful house, and it could be made so gorgeous.”

“And I’m quite confident you’ll be able to do it,” said Billy happily.

The stables were built of the same honey-colored stone as the house, the doors painted the same dark blue Rupert had chosen on the color chart in church on their first date. Horses looked out inquisitively, eager for any diversion. Brick red geraniums bloomed in blue and white striped tubs. There was not a blade of straw or a speck of dust anywhere. In the center was a circle of grass beautifully mown round an ancient mulberry tree. It was like a