Benson looked pained. “So soon?”
“I do have a living to earn.”
“I know,” said Benson soothingly. “I do think it would help if you could get a nanny: a young cheerful girl, who Helen wouldn’t feel threatened by. Then in time she’d feel confident enough to leave Marcus.”
“She needs a holiday.”
“Best holiday she could have would be for the baby to get well and strong. But I’m afraid all the indications are that he’s going to be an asthmatic.”
“Christ, are you sure?”
“Pretty certain. We’ll do some tests while he’s in here. And you know that’s not a condition helped by the mother’s anxiety. With any luck he should grow out of it, or at least be able to handle it, as he gets older.”
Rupert drained the glass of sherry, pulling a face.
“Want another?” asked Benson,
Rupert shook his head. He felt absolutely shattered. He had been up at five that morning.
“What’s your schedule?”
“Well the trial’s tomorrow, then the International in London. Then, if I’m picked for Colombia, a brief rest for the horses before we fly out.”
“And after that, you could take her and Marcus away for a long holiday?”
Rupert shook his head. “Virtually impossible in the middle of the season. Horses lose their precision if you rest them too long.”
Benson nodded. “Appreciate your problem. I’ve got patients on the tennis circuit. Has she got a friend she can stay with?”
Rupert thought of Hilary. He guessed she had been stirring things.
“Not really. I’ll have to find her a nanny. Can I take her home this evening?”
“Good idea. The child’s in no danger now. Do her good.”
Helen was aghast when Rupert told her he’d be flying back in the morning. She lay in the huge double bed, with that pinched defiant look of roses touched by the frost in December. Then, as Rupert joined her, she lay back, staring at the ceiling, wanting to be soothed and comforted and told she was being splendid.
Rupert comforted her in the only way he knew, by trying to make love to her. After a few minutes she started to cry.
“Christ, what’s the matter now?”
“I’m too worried about Marcus. I can’t switch off, and now you’re going back.”
“Darling, the trial’s tomorrow afternoon.”
“Horse, horse, horse.” She was suddenly almost hysterical. “Surely Marcus is more important than a horse trial?”
It was a debatable point, thought Rupert, but he merely said, “Benson says there’s nothing to worry about.”
Rupert left at nine o’clock and ran into bad weather, arriving only just in time to walk the course. Once again he contrasted Podge’s lovely smiling welcome with Helen’s set, martyred face as she’d said good-bye that morning.
“How’s Marcus?” asked Podge. “Oh, I’m so relieved he’s okay We was all so worried. Revvie and I missed you. He was restless last night, so I slept in his box—’spect I look like it.”
“Lucky Rev,” said Rupert. “He looks in the pink anyway.”
“He’s great, on top of the world. You’ll just have to sit on his back.”
What a contrast to Marion, thought Rupert.
For the first time in his life he was suffering from nerves. It must be tiredness. He longed for a stiff drink, but Podge had made him a large cup of strong black coffee instead. He knew the world’s press was watching as he rode into the ring.
His fears were groundless. Revenge jumped like an angel, literally floating over the vast fences. After the trial, the selectors went into a huddle. Elated, almost sure of a place, Rupert went off to ring Helen, now back in the hospital with Marcus. He carefully spent five minutes asking how they both were before telling her Revenge had come first, beating even Ludwig, going like a dream and muzzling any critics.
“I’m very glad for you,” said Helen in a tight little voice.
“Who’s that in the background” said Rupert.
“Hilary and the kids,” said Helen. “She’s driving Marcus and me home from hospital and staying the night. She’s being so supportive.”
As he came off the telephone, a German reporter accosted him.
“Meester Black, it is unusual for zee English to beat zee Germans in this country, no?”
“No,” said Rupert coldly, “I think you’re forgetting the last two world wars,” and stalked off.
Feeling utterly deflated, he went back to the stable where an ecstatic Podge was chattering to Revenge as she settled him for the night.
“Didn’t you do well, darling? It’s Colombia here we come. We’ll have to make you a sun hat to keep off the flies.”
“Don’t count your chickens,” said Rupert, checking Revenge’s bandages.
“You look really tired,” said Podge, then, blushing, added, “I bet you didn’t eat last night, nor this morning. I made you a shepherd’s pie for tonight. It’s not very good and I’m sure you’d rather go out with Billy.”
Rupert pulled the half-door behind him: “I’d much rather stay in, right in,” he said softly, drawing her towards him, “and I absolutely adore shepherd’s pie.”
“Oh, we can’t,” squawked Podge, “not here, not in front of Rev.”
“Want to bet?” said Rupert, pushing her against the wall.
Jake Lovell heard the news on the tackroom wireless as he was filling in the diet sheets. Fen, who was cleaning tack, didn’t dare look at him.
“After a successful trial in Aachen, Germany,” said the announcer, “the following riders and horses have been picked for the Olympics in Colombia: Charles Hamilton and Porky Boy, Billy Lloyd-Foxe and The Bull, Rupert Campbell-Black on Revenge.” Fen gave a gasp of horror. “Brian Driffield on Temperance with Ivor Braine as reserve.”
Fen went over and put her arms round Jake. “I’m so, so sorry,” she said. “It was you who made him a great horse. Rupert just had to get on his back.”
Molly Carter, delighted that Revenge had been selected, felt a trip to Colombia would be in order.
“We must give a celebration party for Rupert and Helen before he leaves. ’Phone him up, Bernard, and fix an evening he’s free, and then we can invite everyone else. And do ask him about hotels in Bogota, and say to make sure we get tickets to watch Rev.”
Colonel Carter came off the telephone, magenta in the face. “Most peculiar. Rupe says Revenge belongs to him now, and there is no possible way he’s coming to any party.”
“Oh, Bernard,” snapped Molly. “You know what a tease Rupert is. He must have been joking. I’ll ring him up.”
“Rupert,” she said archly, two minutes later, “Bernard must have got the wrong end of the stick. We want to give a little celebration party for you.”
“Well, you can count me out,” said Rupert curtly. “I never mix business with pleasure and you and the colonel were strictly business, believe me.”
“You can say that?” spluttered Molly. “After all we’ve done for you?”
“Yes,” said Rupert. “Go and spend your forty-five grand on buying a few friends. It’s the only way you’ll get them,” and hung up.
Billy couldn’t believe he’d been selected for the Olympics. For days he floated on a cloud of bliss. He felt sorry for Lavinia — not being picked. But it would make things much easier in Colombia if she wasn’t there to upset him.
All the team had been much too superstitious to fill in their clothes measurement forms, so there was a last-minute panic to get the uniform in time. Rupert made a terrible fuss about the clothes.
“I am
