Outside he froze with horror. Both halves of Revenge’s door were open. Isa, fascinated by the horses, had developed a dreadful habit of standing on a bucket and letting himself into the boxes. Heart hammering, Jake ran across the yard as fast as his limp would allow. Inside he found Fen, her arms round Revenge’s neck, feeding him carrots and kissing him on the nose.
“Good boy, good boy. You’ll love it here and you’re going to become a great and famous show jumper. Jake’ll see to that.”
“Fen,” said Jake, desperately trying to keep his voice steady, “come out of there.”
She looked up at him with an angelic smile. “He’s so sweet. Can I ride him later?”
Revenge glared at Jake, raised a threatening front hoof, and then darted his big white teeth in the direction of Jake’s arm.
“Stop it,” said Fen firmly, taking his head collar and giving it a shake. “That’s bad manners. You don’t bite your master.”
Revenge debated the matter for a minute, rolling his eyes and looking bootfaced.
“No,” said Fen, even more firmly, “you’re just showing off. You’re an old softy, really.”
Revenge, deciding that perhaps he was, butted Fen in the pockets in search of more carrots.
“What’s his name?” she asked.
“Revenge.”
Fen grinned. “Revenge is sweet, he really is.”
At that moment Jake decided to keep her.
“If you’re so taken by him, you’d better feed him and skip him out.”
“What’s he been eating?” said Fen.
“Stable boys, mostly,” said Jake, “but I think we’ll try and wean him off that habit.”
* * *
Rupert drove home in a blazing temper. He’d tried everything to make Masters tear up the check, but when the man insisted he’d given the buyer a receipt, and refused to name him, Rupert lost his temper and an undignified shouting match ensued.
On the way home Rupert took it out on Sarah, the brunette he’d met at a show earlier in the week. He’d been furious with himself for bedding her that morning. He’d been on the way home from a dinner in London and had rung Helen to say he’d be late home, as he was making a detour to Surrey to look at a horse. The detour had also taken in Sarah’s flat. He hadn’t enjoyed screwing her at all and he’d fallen asleep afterwards, which made him impossibly late for his appointment with Masters. He’d taken a stupid risk, too. Masters might easily have rung home and Helen smelled a rat and been hurt unnecessarily. He didn’t feel particularly guilty about being unfaithful, but enraged that, through his stupid dalliance, he’d lost a really good horse. He’d have to get his spies out and track Revenge down. By the time he had chewed up a few more people, he might go even cheaper. Since Madrid, Macaulay had been a write-off, losing all his form and confidence. He’d have to go too, he thought, as he dropped Sarah off.
“When’ll I see you again?” she called after him anxiously.
But Rupert had driven off without a word. Even the sight of Penscombe in the height of its summer beauty didn’t soothe him. Helen’s clothes, her endless schemes for the garden — a lilac walk here, a little heated swimming pool there, a seventeenth-century stone nymph there — cost a fortune. Billy worked hard, but he cost a fortune, too, always buying other people drinks and feeding Mavis chicken. The whole shooting match is dependent on me, Rupert thought sulkily. I’ve got to win and win to support it.
He drove straight around to the stables, where he found Billy working one of the novices in a nearby field. He admired Billy’s patience, but why was he resting The Bull and Kitchener this week and not at a show, winning money?
Billy pulled up and rode towards him, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
“Did you get him?”
“Already sold on.”
“Shit, that was bad luck. Who got him?”
“Wouldn’t say.”
“Might have been more trouble than he was worth. This is going to be a very good horse, by the way.”
“Good. It’s about time he started paying his way.”
He found Marion in the tackroom, cleaning a saddle. She didn’t look up. Still sulking, thought Rupert. For a second he admired the unsupported breasts in the tight blue T-shirt, and the succulent thighs in the denim skirt, which was only just buttoned up enough to hold it up.
“Didn’t get him,” he said. “He was sold on.”
“Who to?” Marion bent over the pommel, so Rupert couldn’t see how much she was blushing.
“Masters wouldn’t say.”
“Just as well. I quite like having two arms and legs.”
“Particularly when they’re such sexy legs.”
She looked up: “Wasn’t aware you’d noticed them recently.”
“I always notice them.”
“How was Sarah?” It was an inspired guess, but it hit home.
Rupert didn’t flicker, then, unable to resist a joke, added, “Rather like Coventry Cathedral — ravishing from the outside, but very disappointing once you got inside.”
Marion started to giggle. “You are frightful.”
He went up behind her, stroking the back of her neck. She leant against him, furious with herself for feeling faint with longing.
“Rupert, darling,” called a voice.
“In here,” said Rupert, moving away from Marion to examine the diet charts.
It was Helen, also in navy blue, in a dress which must have cost fifty times more than my skirt and T-shirt, thought Marion. Helen was looking rather pale, her newly washed hair falling to her shoulders, subtly smelling of Miss Dior, her blue high heels catching in the ridges of the floor.
She’s as out of place here as a tiger lily in a cabbage patch, thought Marion.
“Darling, how did you get on?”
“I’m coming in,” said Rupert. “I’m filthy. You can bring me a drink in the bath.”
He was reading
“Nice dress.”
“It can go back if you don’t like it.”
“I do. You can take it off in a minute.”
“Here’s your drink,” she said hastily, hoping to distract him.
Rupert took a deep gulp and went on reading Audax on the Derby.
“Why don’t you come and soap my cock?”
Helen blushed. “Billy’ll be in in a minute.”
“So what? Not in here, he won’t. Come on.”
Helen sat on the loo seat and took a birdlike sip of her drink.
“Why are you drinking vodka?” demanded Rupert. (She usually had sherry.)
“It’s Perrier, actually.”
“What on earth for?”
“I went to see Dr. Benson today.”
He looked up sharply. “You ill?”
“No,” she took a deep breath, “I’m going to have a baby.”
“You what?” The next moment he’d reared out of the bath like a great dripping whale and taken her in his arms, drenching her.
“Oh, darling,” he said in a choked voice, “are you sure?”
“Positive — Rupert, you’re soaking me.”
“Christ, that’s fantastic. I can’t believe it.”
