Luke admired the drawings of ponies crowding the kitchen walls. ‘Those are neat. Who did them?’
‘Perdita’s mother. Not bad, is she? She’s just painted Rupert Campbell-Black’s wife, Taggie. Even Rupert liked it after the hundredth sitting.’
Ricky looked up from his lists and frowned. ‘Sweet, like a hot bath after hunting. I wonder if Wayne’s fit enough to play two chukkas.’
To Ricky’s and Perdita’s irritated envy, Dancer had provided Luke with a brand-new, dark green Mercedes, stuffed full of classical tapes. As
To the right Perdita pointed out David Waterlane’s splendid Queen Anne house, peeping over its dark fan of yew hedge, and the sweep of land Rupert and Bas had snapped up on which to build polo yards.
Then, driving through large, lichened gates up a long drive of beech trees, passing little gazebos and towers on the edge of grassy rides or adding lustre to a view, they finally reached the clubhouse and the fields with their ring of splendid trees and the magnificent stands donated by Bart.
The presence of both the Prince of Wales and Dancer Maitland in the same match had attracted a much larger crowd than usual for a Thursday afternoon. Perdita, who had changed into her black shirt with the red horse on the front, and who was more nervous than she cared to admit of playing in front of Luke again, shot off to the pony lines. She was enraged to go slap into Daisy.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Cheering you on,’ said Daisy, not altogether truthfully. Drew was playing for opposing Rutminster Hall with David Waterlane, the Prince and an underhandicapped Chilean called Jose.
‘Is Luke playing?’ asked Daisy.
‘How many times do I have to tell you fifteen’s the limit for medium goal? Luke and Ricky add up to sixteen between them. We’re playing with Dancer and Mike Waterlane, who’ll be useless because his father’s playing for the other side.’
‘Is Luke here?’
‘Over there, listening to some stupid Mozart tape,’ and she raced off to find Ricky yelling at Louisa, who’d replaced Frances as head groom and who’d put in the wrong bridle for Tero.
Fischer-Dieskau finished the aria. Coming down to earth, wishing he was as successful with women as Don Giovanni, Luke discovered an adorable brunette tapping on his window. Unable to find the button to lower it, he opened the door and the next moment was being licked all over by a large, scruffy English setter.
‘I’m desperately sorry,’ gasped the brunette, ineffectually trying to tug the dog off.
‘It’s OK. I like dogs, particularly when they come on the end of such pretty ladies.’
The brunette blushed. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m Daisy Macleod. I wanted to thank you for being so kind to Perdita.’
Luke’s jaw dropped. From Perdita’s chronically unflattering descriptions he’d expected some bushy-haired middle-aged weirdo with vinaigrette stains all over her caftan. Christ, she’s not much older than me, he thought.
‘It was so wonderful of you to give her Tero last Christmas,’ went on Daisy. ‘She’s so adorable. She used to be petrified of me, but she wintered in the field near our, or rather Ricky’s, cottage. I used to feed the ponies carrots and Tero’d always lurk at the back, never barging like the others. Then I discovered she adored toast and Marmite, and we used to have secret trysts behind hawthorn bushes so I could feed her when the others weren’t looking. She’s got such a sweet way of coming up and giving you a little nudge in the back. She got so tame, she came into the kitchen while we were having Christmas dinner. She adores Spotty; they lie down side by side. Perdita says ponies never normally do that in case their legs get entangled. I’m sorry,’ she flushed again, ‘I didn’t mean to bore you.’
‘Bore me?’ said Luke. ‘I’m just blown away how young you are. You haven’t got a portrait getting all wrinkled in the attic?’
‘Only ones painted by me,’ giggled Daisy.
‘I saw your drawings in Ricky’s kitchen. If I save up, will you do Fantasma when she comes over?’
‘I’ll do her for nothing after all you did for Perdita. She’d never have survived Argentina without you.’
Goodness, he’s tall, thought Daisy, as Luke got out of the car. And what a friendly, charming and amiable face – you felt you could tell him anything.
Daisy shivered in the sharp east wind which whistled across the field. She’d been baking when she’d left the shelter of Snow Cottage, particularly as she’d just blow-dried her hair for Drew. Not wanting to waste a chance to get brown she had unearthed an ancient, blue sun-dress with lacing across the front, which was now strained horizontally across her breasts. Duo-tanned legs on their fifth day were turning purple. Taking off his US Open jacket, Luke put it round her shoulders.
‘You’ll need it, coming from Florida,’ stammered Daisy. Luke grinned. ‘I’m tough.’
What a lovely man, thought Daisy.
‘Will you come to dinner tonight?’ she blurted out.
But before Luke had time to answer, Perdita had thundered up on Spotty.
‘What a cock-up! Neither Dancer nor Mike has arrived. The Prince has got to be in London to unveil some plaque by seven and Ricky’s having a blazing row with that prat Harris who says we’ve got to forfeit if the match doesn’t start on time.’
‘Your mother’s just asked me to dinner,’ said Luke. ‘I don’t know what Ricky’s plans are. Why don’t we eat out?’
‘Bloody stupid idea,’ snapped Perdita. ‘Ricky’ll be in no mood to go anywhere if we have to play two against four,’ and she stormed off.
Luke grinned at Daisy. ‘Let’s go find a seat.’
On the way they passed Ricky shouting in the pony lines. Kinta’s bandages were too tight. Spotty had the wrong martingale, Tero the wrong bit. Luke hoped Ricky was just psyching himself up.
It was so nice to have someone to sit with, thought Daisy. As they climbed to the top of the stands, Luke was greeted from all sides by players who knew him from Palm Beach.
‘Trust you to pick up the best piece of crumpet in Rutshire. I’ve been trying to become Mrs Macleod’s toyboy for years,’ yelled Dommie, patting the seats beside him, and offering a bite of his Mars Bar to Daisy. ‘Go on, you might burst even more out of that exciting dress. Welcome to Rutshire,’ he added, extending a hand to Luke.
‘Nice dog,’ said Luke as Decorum, the bull terrier, greeted his friend Ethel so delightedly that his tail dislodged the tweed cap of Brigadier Hughie in front.
‘Lovely,’ agreed Dommie. ‘Apocalypse certainly needs you, Luke. We lynched them two days ago. Ricky’s absolutely livid you’re here. Worried you’re going to queer his pitch, or,’ Dommie giggled at his own joke, ‘pitch for his queer. I see Dancer’s given you a new Merc. What’d you have to do for that? Bend over?’
‘That’s not funny,’ rumbled Brigadier Hughie disapprovingly.
‘Should think not,’ said Dommie. ‘More likely bloody painful.’
Totally unfazed, Luke grinned broadly.
‘Oh, here come the Prince and Drew,’ said Daisy excitedly, as Rutminster Hall rode on in their cherry-red shirts and security men with expressionless faces and walkie-talkies spread out round the field.
Luke admired the upright figure of the Prince of Wales.
‘He’s a good back,’ he told Daisy. ‘Always takes his man out. It’s incredibly difficult to get past him.’
‘Have you ever played against Drew?’ Daisy couldn’t resist asking.
Luke nodded. ‘He’s pretty good. Gets all his team working for him. Never has any passengers.’
‘Captain Benedict’s having an affair with someone,’ said Dommie, unwrapping another Mars Bar. ‘We tried to tail him the other night, but he really shifts that BMW. I’m surprised Sukey hasn’t put a combination lock on his flies.’
