Polo

‘There’s that Koo Stark,’ yelled a fat flushed woman, pointing at Daisy.

‘Well done getting the franchise,’ said Daisy, breathing in the heady scent of Givenchy for Men and Bas’s gardenia.

‘Marvellous, isn’t it. About time my awful brother got his come-uppance. When can I come and see your etchings?’ Gazing down, Bas massaged the inside of her rose-patterned arm with his thumb.

‘Any time.’ Daisy was anxious to spin out the conversation as long as possible so she might grab a word with Drew on his return journey.

‘How was Rupert’s stag party?’

‘Hell.’ Bas put down his umbrella as they entered the cathedral. ‘Rupert wouldn’t drink, wouldn’t chat up any of the stunning crumpet we’d provided, just banged on and on that he wasn’t good enough for Taggie, with which I entirely agree, and how he wasn’t going to see her until this evening and how he was suffering from the most godawful withdrawal symptoms, which is not something that’ll happen in their nuptial bed this evening.’

Inside the cathedral to the smell of musk, incense and antiquity were added wafts of a hundred scents and aftershaves and of huge banks of white roses, lilies and freesias. The women’s jewellery, much of it paid for in the past by Rupert, and their excited painted faces were lit up by thousands of white flickering candles. And the clothes they wore were also in jewel colours, sapphire, ruby, garnet-pink, emerald and amethyst; satins, silks and taffetas all rustling and gleaming. Daisy thanked God she’d taken so much trouble with her appearance.

‘We could fill the bridegroom’s side alone with Rupert’s stepparents and his exes,’ murmured Bas. ‘Now, where can we find a space to squeeze you in?’

‘For Christ’s sake stop gassing, Bas,’ snapped Drew. ‘Hello, Daisy, you look pretty.’

‘Just finding a glamorous, unattached man for her to sit next to,’ said Bas maliciously, ‘No, let’s make it two,’ and he swept Daisy off to a pew ten rows in front, which was already noisily inhabited by the Carlisle twins, mahogany-tanned from playing in the Mexican and Argentine Opens, and Janey Lloyd-Foxe, an incredibly glamorous journalist, married to Billy Lloyd-Foxe, Rupert’s best man and old show-jumping crony.

‘They’ll tell you who everyone is,’ said Bas, massaging Janey’s collarbone, and sliding his hand down the front of her bright blue suit.

‘Mrs Macleod, you look stunning,’ said Seb, patting the space between him and Dommie. ‘How’s that sexy, toffee-nosed daughter of yours? Janey’s just telling us how furious the Bishop is.’

‘The Bishop’s got a thumping crush on Taggie,’ Janey smiled wickedly at Daisy, ‘so he agreed to marry her in Christmas week, which is quite unprecedented, before he realized she was marrying his bete noire, or rather bete-Campbell-Black. And Declan told the Bishop it was going to be the tiniest wedding, and now look at this circus.’ She waved a gold-braceleted hand at the packed pews who were yelling away like a vast drinks party. ‘And someone’s lit all the candles which were meant for Midnight Mass. God, look at that.’ Janey paused in her lecture as a Brazilian polo player with blackcurrant ripple hair and an amazing brunette on his arm, shimmered past. ‘And the Bishop’s even more miffed because Rupert’s mother – that’s her up the front with her fifth husband and roulette chips rattling round in the bottom of her bag – insisted on inviting an outside priest to help. That’s him in the red cassock. I’m sure he’s got breeches and boots underneath like Richard Chamberlain in The Thorn Birds.’

‘Here comes the bride’s mother,’ said Dommie, as Declan O’Hara’s wife Maud swept by in a fuschia-pink suit, clashing dazzlingly with her piled-up red hair.

‘That suit cost more than the wedding put together,’ said Janey scribbling frantically. ‘Balmain, I think. She’s determined to upstage the bride.’

‘And that’s Rupert’s immediate ex-mistress, Cameron Cook, even more determined to upstage the bride,’ said Seb, as a furious-looking girl in a clinging, leopard-skin dress and no hat on her short, sleeked-back hair stalked by.

‘Cameron’s taken up with Declan’s son, Patrick,’ explained Janey to Daisy. ‘He’s the beauty following her. Isn’t he amazing looking? But it must be hell for Cameron handing the torch over to Taggie so publicly. My God, there’s Victor and Sharon Kaputnik. How the hell did they get invited?’

‘Victor paid me ?5,000,’ said Seb simply, ‘half of which I split with Rupert.’

‘You never told me. I should get a cut,’ protested Dommie as Victor, carrying his telephone, and Sharon all in white like a great swan, filled up almost an entire pew.

‘That’s Declan’s other daughter, Caitlin,’ went on Janey, as a pretty teenager with grass-green hair clumped by in a black cloak and Doc Marten boots. ‘She refused to be a bridesmaid unless she could wear jeans,’ she added, as Caitlin slid into a pew two rows in front, already inhabited by her brother and Cameron Cook, and promptly lit a cigarette.

Daisy was aware of Drew going steadily back and forth bringing in different people, smiling slightly in her direction. He made so much less din and worked twice as efficiently as the other ushers, particularly Bas, who couldn’t resist squeezing and joking with every girl he accompanied. I love Drew, thought Daisy, I love his dependability and sense of responsibility.

‘Interesting, she’s turned up,’ said Dommie, offering Daisy a swig of brandy, as the arrival of Rupert’s ex-wife Helen caused a ripple of interest. She was wearing a dark grey suit with a white, puritan collar and a tiny grey hat with a veil over her huge, yellow eyes.

‘She’s stunning,’ sighed Daisy.

‘Bit earnest,’ said Janey. ‘Beattie Johnson was dead right describing her as a lead balloon at an orgy. That’s their son, Marcus, sweet boy, never got on with Rupert. Taggie might bring them together.’

A colossal cheer went up from outside the cathedral as Dancer came in, glamorously emaciated in a light grey morning coat, his glittering, grey eyes emphasized by kohl, his streaked, tousled mane coaxed forward to hide the Mantan join on the hairline.

‘He’s going to sing the anthem,’ said Dommie.

‘And I’m the only member of the press Rupert’s allowed in to witness it,’ said Janey smugly, ‘although that acolyte who’s just whisked by in that white laundry bag looks suspiciously like Nigel Dempster. I’ll kill Nigel if . . . That’s the one I want,’ went on Janey lowering her voice and her neckline by a button.

‘Who?’ asked Daisy.

‘El Orgulloso,’ murmured Janey, pointing at Ricky who’d just sat down beside Dancer. ‘Look at that duelling scar and those hard, hard cheekbones beneath those dark, dark eyes, and all that sadness waiting to be comforted. And he still never takes off that black tie in mourning for Will.’

‘He is lovely,’ agreed Daisy.

‘I could cheer him up. In fact I’m going to have a crack at him this evening.’ Janey had to raise her voice above another even more deafening burst of cheering, accompanied by pealing bells. ‘Oh look, here comes my husband and the bridegroom.’

Having not seen Rupert for eighteen months, when he’d been chatting up pretty mothers and cheering on his daughter Tabitha at the Pony Club Championships, Daisy was shocked by his appearance. He must have lost a stone and a half, and was as white as his carnation. As he stalked up the aisle, he was followed by Janey’s husband, Billy, whose top shirt button was missing and whose morning coat had split on the left seam. Running to keep up with Rupert, smiling and waving at everyone, he paused to kiss Janey.

‘Rupert’s in the most frightful tiz. I’ve been trying to force-feed him quadruple brandies, but he won’t drink because he’s got to fly the helicopter afterwards. See you later,’ and he was off to the front pew, simultaneously trying to calm Rupert down and turning round to chatter to Rupert’s score of stepparents in the rows behind.

‘What a lovely man,’ said Daisy.

‘Isn’t he?’ said Janey, who was, however, looking at the bridegroom’s cold, unsmiling face. ‘Perhaps Rupert’s having second thoughts. I never thought Taggie was very pretty.’

‘That’s because you’re not a man,’ said Dommie, offering Daisy another swig. ‘We’re awfully late starting. Oh, do look.’ He started to laugh. The next moment Janey, Daisy and Seb had joined in. For on Caitlin O’Hara’s heavily laddered black knees sat a little black-and-white mongrel Gertrude, with a pink bow round her neck bristling with disapproval and shutting her eyes to avoid Caitlin’s cigarette smoke.

‘I do think you ought to take that dog out,’ said her mother petulantly. ‘It’s so selfish of Rupert not to allow the television cameras in.’

Rupert looked at his watch.

‘Go and ring and see what’s happened,’ he snapped at Billy.