Polo

how frequently the East Cotchester foxes ran in the direction of Snow Cottage. Often they met in London in the Great Western Hotel or at Sukey’s house off Kensington Church Street. At first Daisy was appalled that Drew could make love in his and Sukey’s ancient four-poster, but as he was fond of pointing out, ‘A standing prick has no conscience’. Love, too, made Daisy worry less and less about morality. Her gratitude to Drew was unbounded because he had completely transformed her life. He had given her comfort and endless advice on bringing up her children and animals. Even Ethel didn’t take flying troilistic leaps into Daisy’s bed at the wrong moment any more.

Drew had also persuaded her to give up her job and trebled her income by finding her commissions. She was now not only painting people’s dogs and horses, but also their wives, children and houses, and everyone seemed delighted. He had even asked an utterly unsuspecting Sukey to show Daisy how to do invoices and tax returns and introduced her to several galleries who showed interest in putting on exhibitions. But as she tended to sell whatever she did, it was difficult to get enough paintings together.

Termtime gave Daisy a great deal of freedom. Eddie and Violet were still at boarding school. Perdita spent every day until long after dusk up at Ricky’s. Whenever Drew was able to see her, therefore, Daisy downed brushes and instead painted all night and most of the weekend.

The holidays, however, were a nightmare, because Violet and Eddie, having taken against Hamish and Wendy, refused to go to LA any more, insisting on staying at home and hogging the telephone. Drew was used to ringing Daisy three times a day: in the morning when Sukey walked the dogs, from his car telephone and then, just to say he missed her, last thing at night while Sukey was having her bath. All this was pegged when the children came home. And now Christmas was approaching and Daisy was ashamed that she was dreading it more than ever.

Towards the end of November, on the eve of Venturer’s crucial interview with the Independent Broadcasting Authority in London, all the papers were seething with speculation as to whether they’d win the franchise. Daisy, however, was only concerned that Drew, after a week playing polo in Dubai with Prince Charles, was flying home a day early, unknown to Sukey, in order to spend a whole night with her. This was a rare treat they had only managed twice since the affair had started.

Daisy had done no painting for twenty-four hours, she was so frantic polishing the house, putting flowers in every alcove, making the most succulent scallop, prawn and lobster pie, and lighting a fire of apple logs in the sitting room.

She’d just got out of her bath and was painting her nipples rose-madder when she heard a car door slam outside. Goodness, Drew was early. Tearing off her bath cap, shaking out her very clean hair, she dived into the clinging bottle-green wool dress she’d bought specially, dragged on the fantastically expensive brown boots Drew had brought her back from Deauville and, squirting Je Reviens behind each ear, charged downstairs. Drew was pounding on the door. He must have left his key behind.

‘Darling, how heavenly!’

‘Yes, I thought you’d be pleased to see me,’ said Violet, standing pink-faced on the doorstep in her navy-blue school uniform. ‘We spent the afternoon inspecting some ghastly Roman fortifications at Cotchester. They said we could have the night off yesterday but I thought I’d surprise you. Have you got a tenner for the taxi?’

As Daisy scrabbled up a shoal of coins from her bag, her mind was racing. She daren’t ring Drew on his car telephone in case he was giving someone a lift. Besides, if she warned him, he might not come and after a week’s absence she couldn’t bear it.

‘That’s nine-fifty,’ said Violet.

‘There might be a pound in the lining of my dark blue coat,’ said Daisy.

As Violet went out to pay the driver Daisy tugged the blue bow off Ethel. She’d just have to brazen it out. Mercifully Violet seemed far more interested in Rupert Campbell-Black’s memoirs, which were plastered all over The Scorpion and in abridged form in the late editions of every national newspaper. Daisy had been too preoccupied with Drew’s visit to turn on the wireless or read a paper all day.

‘Absolutely riveting stuff, Mum,’ said Violet in excitement. ‘Rupert had an affair with this journalist, Beattie Johnson, who was supposed to be writing his memoirs, then he ditched her and she’s had her revenge by telling everything about Rupert and his women in The Scorpion. The Daily Express said it would have brought the Government down if the Tories were still in power.’

There was a hiss as the potatoes boiled over on to the gas flame.

‘We were all reading it on the coach,’ said Violet, turning down the gas, ‘until bloody Miss Lovett-Standing confiscated it. All about kinky foursomes and Rupert’s ex-wife being frigid and even implying Rupert might be a bit gay. Tomorrow it’s going to be all about under-age schoolgirls, lucky things, and how Rupert got into politics by sleeping with the Foreign Minister’s wife, who loves being spanked.’

Violet giggled and blushed, which clashed with her red hair. She was nearly very pretty now.

‘Oh, poor Rupert,’ said Daisy, for a moment distracted from her panic over Drew. ‘I didn’t know anything about it.’

‘You are out of touch,’ said Violet fondly. ‘You must have been painting all day. Gosh, I’m starving. Something smells delicious. What are we having for supper?’

‘Fish pie,’ said Daisy faintly. ‘I haven’t mashed the potatoes yet.’

‘I’ll mash them.’ Violet prodded the potatoes with a fork.

Then, to Daisy’s horror, she opened the fridge and discovered passion and kiwi fruit salad, two bottles of champagne and a large plate of smoked salmon.

‘Yum,’ said Violet, peeling off a slice of salmon, ‘who’s coming round?’

Suddenly she took in the huge bunch of freesias on the table, the pink candles, the two laid places and the bowl of chocolates.

‘Mum, you’ve got a lover!’

‘Of course not.’ To hide her blushes Daisy grabbed the salt and added more to the potatoes.

‘Drew Benedict’s coming round. Sukey’s away and he’s been so good to Perdita, I invited him to take pot luck.’

‘Luck’s the word,’ said Violet. ‘Christ, this smoked salmon’s good. Drew’s a great friend of Rupert’s, isn’t he? He’ll be able to give us all the lowdown.’

Grabbing pieces of iceberg lettuce with the avidity of a starved rabbit, Violet suddenly noticed a painting of a Springer spaniel emerging from the reddening bracken which was propped up against one of the kitchen chairs.

‘That’s lovely. Bit like Ethel. Who’s it for?’

‘Drew and Sukey,’ mumbled Daisy.

She was doing it for Drew, then, as a way of getting it into the house, he could give it to Sukey. The subterfuges they resorted to were quite awful.

‘Drew – er – commissioned it,’ lied Daisy. ‘It’s a surprise present for Sukey. Drew’s coming round to fetch it this evening.’

‘That’s nice,’ said Violet. ‘I love it when husbands love their wives enough to surprise them like that. You haven’t painted in its left ear.’

‘So I haven’t,’ said Daisy, then jumped as Ethel’s great bass-baritone bark rang out. She must warn Drew before he let himself in with a latch key.

Skidding down the frozen garden path, the night air hitting her burning face like a cold shower, she crashed into Drew who was getting carrier-bags full of drink and duty-free scent out of the car.

‘Hello, darling, lovely welcome. That’s a nice dress.’

‘Violet’s here,’ gasped Daisy.

‘Christ!’ Suddenly, as cold and distant as the stars above, Drew reversed back into his car. Daisy couldn’t bear it.

‘She knows you’re coming,’ she gabbled. ‘She hasn’t turned a hair. I told her you were picking up Flash’s picture, and I’d asked you to supper because Sukey was away.’

Drew havered. He’d been looking forward to getting mildly pissed and screwing Daisy all night for the past week. A stilted dinner with a beady schoolgirl, who might easily sneak to Perdita, and limited booze because he had to drive home was no substitute.

‘Please stay. I’ve missed you.’