also loved jumping against the clock. He had already won one class at the Royal Highland, where he had trounced all the other possibles. Now he was in Aachen with the probables, for the final trial, and attracting a huge amount of interest from the world’s press. How would Gyppo Jake’s horse go with Rupert over such huge fences?
Rupert, in fact, had received a lot of flak. After Sailor’s tragic death, the public felt it was very unfair on Jake that the other horse he’d spent so much time bringing on should be snatched from under his nose. As soon as Marion heard that Rupert had appropriated Revenge, she handed in her notice, properly this time, then went straight to Fleet Street and told them exactly how much Rupert had paid for the horse, an offer the frightful colonel couldn’t refuse, and then went on to give them some choice titbits about the cruelty of Rupert’s training methods. The
No one could get any comment from Jake on the subject, so the reporters besieged Rupert.
“Well, I’ll concede Jake Lovell’s a good trainer,” he said diplomatically, “but the horse needed an experienced rider on his back. Winning’s about taking chances. Jake wasn’t even prepared to take the horse to Colombia. As for the cruelty charges, they’re too ridiculous to discuss. Horses won’t jump if they don’t want to.”
And now it was the eve of the trials and Rupert knew perfectly well that if Revenge beat the rest of the international field as well as the English probables tomorrow and was picked for Colombia, people would conveniently forget how the horse had been acquired. Helen was so wrapped up in little Marcus that she hardly appreciated the furor. Rupert had hoped she might leave Marcus with Mrs. Bodkin and fly out to Aachen, but she was still looking desperately tired and said she didn’t feel quite confident enough to leave him.
Rupert, however, was finding consolation in his new groom, Petra, whom he had nicknamed Podge. He was glad Marion had gone; he was fed up with her tantrums and her beady eyes following him all the time. Podge, on the other hand, with her chunky body and legs, though not as upmarket or as handsome as Marion, had a nice smooth skin and was always smiling, and she adored the horses, almost more than she worshiped Rupert. Naturally, Revenge was homesick at first; any horse coddled as Jake’s were would feel the draft when he left the yard. But Podge had made a huge fuss of the horse and after a few days kicking his box out and spurning his food, he had settled in.
It was the eve of the Aachen trials and, having seen the horses settled, Rupert and Billy took a taxi back to their hotel. There was something about a hotel bedroom that made Rupert want to order a bottle of champagne and a beautiful girl to drink it with.
“What shall we do tonight?”
Billy pushed aside Rupert’s clothes, which littered both beds, and collapsed onto his own bed.
“Go to bed early. I’m absolutely knackered.”
“Ludwig’s having a barbecue at his house.”
“I don’t want a hangover tomorrow.”
“But just think of all that Kraut crumpet.” Rupert went to the window and gazed down the tidy village street, then said casually, “Thought I might take Podge.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, leave her alone. You know how it rotted up your relationship with Marion. Pity there isn’t a Gideon Bible, then I could read you the seventh commandment all over again.”
“Well, I’m not getting much joy out of my wife at the moment. She’s temporarily closed, like the M4.”
Billy put his hands over his ears. “I don’t want to hear. You know I adore your wife.”
The telephone rang. Rupert picked it up.
“Hello, darling. I was just talking to Billy about you.” Next moment the lazy smile was wiped off his face.
“It’s Marcus,” sobbed Helen. “He’s been hospitalized. He can’t breathe and he’s gone purple in the face. Oh Rupert, I know he’s going to die. Please come back.”
“I’ll be on the next plane. You’re at Gloucester Hospital? Don’t worry, darling, he’ll pull through. The Campbell-Blacks are very tough.”
He rang Malise in his room, who came over straightaway.
“You must go back at once.”
“I’m sorry. Helen’s in a frightful state.”
“Hardly surprising. They’re terrifying, these illnesses of little children. I remember going through them with Henrietta and,” he paused, “with Timmy. I hope everything’ll be all right. Give Helen our love and sympathy.”
Rupert was lucky enough to get a plane at once and he reached the hospital by midnight. He hadn’t bothered to change; he was still wearing boots, breeches, and a tweed coat over his white shirt and tie.
“My name’s Campbell-Black,” he said to the receptionist. “My wife came in this afternoon with our baby, named Marcus. He may be in the operating theater.”
His hand shook as he brushed his hair back from his forehead. The girl looked down her list, wishing she’d bothered to wash her hair that morning. She remembered Rupert from earlier in the year, when he’d caused such a stir when Helen had the baby.
“Marcus’s in the children’s ward on the fourth floor.”
The lift was occupied with a patient coming back from the operating theater. Rupert ran up the stairs. The sister met him in the passage.
“My son, Marcus Campbell-Black,” he panted, “he was brought in this afternoon.”
“Oh, yes.” With maddening lack of haste the sister went back into her room to check the chart.
“He’s in Room Twenty-five.”
“Is he, is he?” Rupert choked on the words, “going to be all right?”
“Of course he is. He had an attack of croup.”
“What’s that?”
“No one quite knows why it comes on. The baby goes blue and can’t breathe. Parents invariably think he’s swallowed something and is choking to death. All he needs is to inhale some moisture. We’re keeping him in the humidifying tent for tonight. Dr. Benson says he’ll be as right as rain tomorrow.
“Are you all right?” she asked staring at Rupert’s horrified expression. “It must have been a terrible shock for you. Mrs. Campbell-Black will be so pleased you’ve come back. She was very upset, but Dr. Benson’s given her something to calm her down. Can I get you a cup of tea?”
And she brought me all the way back for this, thought Rupert, in the middle of the final Olympic trial. In Room Twenty-five, he found Marcus lying happily in a huge cellophane tent, inhaling friar’s balsam from a humidifier. Helen was sitting on the edge of the bed wiggling Marcus’s toes. She got up and ran to Rupert.
“Oh, I’m so glad you came. I was so frightened. I thought he was going to die.”
Rupert patted her shoulder mechanically. Nanny would have recognized croup, he thought darkly. Behind her on the bed, he could see his son and heir pinkly gurgling, digging his pink starfish fingers into his shawl, and felt a black rage.
“Look,” said Helen fondly, diving under the tent and holding Marcus up in a sitting position. “He can hold his head up now. Don’t you want to cuddle him?”
“I’m sure he ought to be kept quiet,” said Rupert.
He listened while she poured out her worries and tried not to contrast the innocent fun he’d be having in Aachen, getting tight with Billy at Ludwig’s barbecue, with the terrifying world of children’s illness and the dark claustrophobic intensity of Helen’s love.
“I’m sorry I brought you back,” she said. “I was so terrified you might find him dead. I needed you so badly. I’m sorry I’ve been offish lately, but it must be worth coming all this way just to see him. He’s so cute, isn’t he? Do you think he’s grown?”
“I need a drink,” said Rupert. Next moment Dr. Benson walked in.
“Hello, Rupert,” he said heartily. “You must have been worried stiff, but, as you can see, he’s all right. Nothing to worry about. You need a drink? Come on, I’m sure Matron’s got something tucked away.”
Benson obviously wanted a heart-to-heart. Matron had only sweet sherry, but at least it was alcohol. Immediately Benson launched into the subject of Helen.
“Bit worried about her. Only twenty-four. Very young to cope on her own with a big house and a young baby. She misses you, you know.”
“I miss her,” said Rupert, somewhat shirtily, “but Christ, she won’t come to shows with me. I got her a marvelous nanny and she promptly sacked her. I asked her to come to Aachen. I’ve got an Olympic trial tomorrow. I’ll have to fly back in the morning.”
