“Let’s go and get drunk,” said Billy.
Rupert’s temper was not improved the following day when they walked past the exercise ring and saw Fen lunging Revenge.
“Nice horse,” said Billy.
Although Revenge had been transformed into a picture of hard muscle, health, and well-being over the past six months, he was still unmistakable with his strange zigzagging blaze and his two long white socks. For a second they paused to watch him.
“Don’t recognize the groom,” said Billy.
“I say, darling,” shouted Rupert.
Fen swung round, turning crimson. She couldn’t believe they were talking to her.
“What’s the name of that horse?”
“Revenge.”
“Who does he belong to?”
“Jake Lovell.”
“Shit, that’s where he’s ended up,” said Rupert. “The little bastard pulled a fast one on me. I wonder who tipped him off.”
Dear God, prayed Fen fervently, make my spots go, give me some decent boobs, and don’t let me fancy Rupert Campbell-Black.
At the beginning of the week the collecting ring gossip was all of the two Italian horses who had escaped and had a lovely time galloping up and down the main road. Now it had switched to Guy de la Tour’s romance with Lavinia and to Jake Lovell’s new horse. Every time Revenge came into the arena, afternoon or evening, people rushed to the ringside to have a look. At the beginning of the show, the lights and the crowds had upset him and he went around star-gazing and leaping two foot above the jumps like a ginger, hairy-legged spider. After forty-eight hours, he settled down.
There had been a bad moment, however, on the second day. Jake put his foot in the stirrup and Revenge put in a hell of a buck, landing Jake on top of a steaming pile of dung.
“Found your own level, Lovell,” jeered Rupert as he rode past. Jake’s reply was suitably obscene. It took all Fen’s tact to calm him down.
“I’ll soak your breeches in bleach,” she said soothingly. “All the stains’ll come out.”
Nor were the fates being kind to Billy. Just when he was trying to woo Lavinia back, a local barber gave him a hideous, far-too-short haircut.
“I got so engrossed in
Even worse, Billy turned The Bull too fast into the combination on the second night, forcing him to put in a stop. Billy sailed over his head, landing on a pole and knocking out his two front teeth, which further damaged his beauty. There wasn’t time to have them capped. He’d have to wait until after Christmas.
With no sign of Helen, Rupert’s eye started to rove. Every day there were novelty events — the Army did a display of tent-pegging, lady clowns did dressage. The pony club put on a demonstration of “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.” First amused by the fact that Snow White’s horse had diarrhea, Rupert’s eye then fell on a ravishing girl playing Grumpy named Tiffany Bathgate. During the week he’d bought her drinks and chatted her up. He even bought her a ?150 gold watch from the Garrard’s stand as a Christmas present, which she permanently showed off on her wrist like a dog holding out a sore paw.
By the final night Fen was absolutely knackered. She hardly had the energy to wash her hair for the party that night. Living on junk food all week, her spots were worse than ever. She longed and longed to be a rider or at least one of the elite bunch of grooms who all knew each other, swapped endless gossip, and who had found time to go shopping and come back with pretty clothes from Biba and Bus Stop. She admired from afar the handsome Guy de la Tour, he who had so captivated Lavinia. Love had made Lavinia prettier than ever. She had cut off her long bubble curls and now, with her hair as short as a boy’s, looked the epitome of French chic. Already half the show-jumping groupies, who hung around the place in breeches hoping someone might mistake them for a competitor, had followed suit and lopped off their long rippling manes as well. Fen also noticed Billy looking absolutely miserable. She felt so sorry for him, although he had cheered up a bit earlier that evening when he and Rupert won the fancy dress relay. Billy with a pipe in his mouth and a Gannex mac had dressed up as Harold Wilson, while Rupert cavorted around in high heels, a red dress, and a blond wig, with orange peel in his teeth, as Marcia Falkender. It had brought the house down.
Now all the grooms were getting their charges ready for the last event, the Radio Rentals Grand Prix. Fen, with both Sailor and Revenge to do, had her work cut out. Cries of “Give me the body brush,” “Anyone seen my sponge?” “Christ, they’re calling us already,” were coming from all sides.
“In the bleak midwinter frosty wind made moan,” sang the loudspeaker. Now the band was playing “Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho” for the pony club demo. Rupert and Billy sat side by side in the riders’ stand, their long legs up on the backs of the seats in front, watching Grumpy.
“Isn’t she gorgeous?” said Rupert smugly. “She’s coming out with me tonight.”
“How old is she?” asked Billy.
“Sixteen, or so she claims.”
“Shouldn’t be playing Grumpy, she’s grinning like a Cheshire cat,” said Billy, as Tiffany Bathgate cantered by, ponytail swinging. “I’ll report her to the district commissioner.”
“She’s bringing Dopey with her,” said Rupert. “Meeting me at the flat. Just imagine having the two of them.”
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” snapped Billy.
“Why don’t you come too?”
“I’m going to the party afterwards. I must talk to Lavinia. She’s been avoiding me all week. Her parents are wild about Guy because he’s a count.”
“A cunt,” said Rupert.
“That too,” said Billy.
“I wonder if Greenslade pere realizes Guy hasn’t a bean,” said Rupert. “He needs the Greenslade cash to keep his place going in France. ‘I cannot afford to ’eat the underrooms,’ he told me last night. Do you think I should give Helen an English setter puppy for Christmas?”
“No,” said Billy.
Snow White and her entourage cantered out of the ring, with Grumpy blatantly grinning at Rupert, as the arena party put the finishing touches to the jumps for the Grand Prix. Now the rose red curtains which parted theatrically to admit each competitor were clashing with the scarlet coats of the riders, as they walked the course to a jazzed-up version of “Oh Come All Ye Faithful.”
The collecting ring was very hazardous. Belgians crashed their horses over the jumps crying “Numero Huit, Numero Sept” to their grooms and discussing where they were going for dinner. Rupert was having a row with an Irish rider (nicknamed Wishbone, because of his long bow legs) because they had both tried to jump the upright at the same time.
Fen walked her two horses around the outside, keeping out of trouble, Sailor calming Revenge, who looked as beautiful as Sailor looked ugly. Fen was still shaking from her first encounter with her mother and Colonel Carter since she left home. As owners, they’d come to the show to watch Revenge. Molly had been “absolutely livid” with Bernard when she discovered he’d spent ?5,000 on a horse for Jake, behind her back. She’d denied him her bed for more than a month. But gradually she was beginning to appreciate the kudos of being a winning owner. Everyone was tipping Revenge as an Olympic probable. Molly was already planning her wardrobe for the next games in Colombia the following August. She enjoyed sitting in the riders’ stand and talking about “My horse” in a loud voice. Molly was also very relieved that Fen appeared to have totally lost her looks.
Certainly it had been Jake’s show. Africa, Sailor, and Revenge had all won big classes. You couldn’t get into the lorry for silver cups. Sailor grew in popularity, the crowd were wild about the “Old Mule,” with his mangy tail and his drooping head, who caught fire in the ring. Whenever he left the lorry now Jake was mobbed by autograph hunters. And Fen told him someone had written “I love Jake Lovell” on the wall of the Ladies’, and underneath lots of people had written “Me, too.” Joanna Battie had interviewed Jake for the
