Fighting his way through the screaming overexcited crowd, Drew pulled off his white tunic to display a splendidly muscular torso.
‘Get off that pony, Perdita,’ he said softly.
‘Put her in the stocks,’ shouted Seb.
But Luke was too quick for any of them. Stripped to the waist, unable to give her his shirt, he snatched up a primrose-yellow shawl which had been left hanging over a chair and threw it round Perdita’s shoulders.
‘Take Spotty back to the stables,’ he ordered Red and, dragging Perdita off, carried her screaming, kicking and struggling back to the Normandie, followed by a pack of reporters baying as joyfully as bloodhounds.
Up in her room he threw her on to the bed, chucked a towel at her and leant against the door, not trusting himself to speak. Perdita had never seen him so angry. It was as though the door to a blast furnace had suddenly been wrenched open. Paint was streaked across his chest, arms and face, where it had settled grimly in grooves on either side of his mouth, darkened his eyelashes and smudged even blacker rings under his eyes. His spiky, gold hair was beginning to escape the silver spray. He looked like the only miner to escape alive after some prolonged and terrible pit disaster.
‘You drink all this?’ he roared, picking up the empty bottle of Moet on the dressing-table.
Perdita nodded.
‘What the hell for? Are you crazy?’
‘I was making a fucking statement. I came as Lady Godiva because I can’t afford a costume. The only way I can compete with all those rich bitches is when I’m naked. Half of them wouldn’t dare show off their bodies. They need all those three thousand pound dresses to hide the bulges.’
‘What about that grand I gave you last week?’
‘Wouldn’t buy a bra top round here. I’m fed up with being the best woman player in the world, and so fucking poor. It’s no fun gambling in the playground of the rich when you haven’t got a bean. I’ve never had any help from my bloody family.’
‘Bullshit,’ yelled Luke. ‘Daisy never stops making sacrifices for you.’
‘She’s a whore,’ said Perdita tonelessly. ‘You don’t know what it’s like being illegitimate, with no father to relate to.’
The next moment Luke had yanked her to her feet and swung her round to look into the mirror. Grabbing her face, he pulled down her eyes so the blood-red sockets showed, then with the other huge hand pulled her mouth upwards at the corner and squashed her cheeks together, like some hideously deformed cretin.
‘Howdya like to be born like that?’
‘Well, I wasn’t,’ said Perdita, wriggling so frantically the shawl slid to the floor.
‘Lots of people fucking were,’ Luke held her steady. ‘You, on the other hand, were given everything: spellbinding talent, charm if you’d bother to use it, a beautiful face, a body like an angel.’
Below the hideously deformed face, the flowing curves of her breasts, belly and thighs showed up even more perfectly, as though some wood nymph had donned a mask of chaos.
‘You’re eaten up with self-pity,’ went on Luke accusingly. ‘Millions of people would give their eye teeth to be illegitimate if they had your advantages. You’ve just got the wrong values. Money doesn’t buy happiness unless you know how to use it. You’ll be a great polo player. Just give it time.’
Coated now by grey-and-green paint, Perdita tried to wriggle free.
‘You’re supposed to be strong and silent,’ she screamed, ‘so shut up. You’re not interested in living. All you care about is ponies and working your ass off. With you, bread and onions, for Chrissake. All onions give you is stinking breath.’
For a second they glared at each other’s reflections. Her face was streaked with grey now, her eyes glittered. Her breasts were high enough to rest her chin on, her waist as narrow as the width of her face. Luke could feel the white cushion of her bottom against his cock, and in the mirror he saw the soft insides of her thighs just purpled by fading bruises from a match more than a week ago.
Luke was not a heavy drinker, but he had drunk a great deal that evening. Ignorant of what had happened between her and Red on the pitch earlier, he was only aware that he’d never seen anything so beautiful nor so achingly desirable. Dammed too long, passion burst the lid off his normal self-control and reticence.
Swinging her round, he pulled her into his arms.
‘I can’t pretend any longer, right. I love you, more than anything else in the world. From the moment you came off that plane at Buenos Aires airport two years ago. I’m sorry I chewed you out. I just wanna protect you.’
Her smudged urchin face reminded him of one of those children they sent up chimneys in the old days. Overwhelmed with compassion and love, he bent his head and kissed her. Just for a second Perdita kissed him back, arching her naked body against him, abandoning herself, overwhelmed by rightness, letting her instincts take over. Then the warning bells started. What the hell was she playing at? It was as if her old teddy bear, or Ethel or Spotty had jumped on her, all of whom would be just as useless at giving her the riches she wanted.
Punching herself free, utterly shocked, she slapped his face as hard as she could.
‘Fucking hypocrite,’ she screamed. ‘You just don’t want anyone else to have me.’
‘No, I bloody don’t.’
‘Well, get this straight,’ Perdita snatched up the shawl. ‘With all this sentimental crap about the right values and bread and onions, you’d never give me the things in life I want. I want security and stability, and I don’t think I’d find it living in a rathole over a stable for the rest of my life. So you better piss off and stop wasting my time. Now!’ she screamed, as Luke hesitated.
His lips were deathly pale, his eyes haunted and staring. For a moment the streaked, gargoyle face looked as though it had been turned to stone. Then he was gone.
Sobbing, Perdita collapsed on the bed. Her dear, dear friend, her bloody prudish friend, her rock turned to sifting sands beneath her feet. How
‘I can’t bear it,’ she sobbed dementedly into the counterpane.
There was a knock on the door. Frantically hopeful, Perdita looked up. It was a bad dream, they were still friends. But it was Red – not Luke – who stood in the doorway, grinning from earring to earring.
‘Hi, Godiva,’ he said softly. ‘Peeping Tom at the gate and no-one’s gonna blind me. I bet you don’t know why Godiva rode through the streets of Coventry. To save the peasants being taxed out of existence by her lousy husband. From now on, right, every time I don’t want to pay a tax bill, you can strip off in front of the tax inspectors. And I have to admit you are worth inspecting.’
‘Where’s Spotty?’ asked Perdita.
‘Back in his box. Talk about riding bareback. Jesus!’
Perdita was so distraught that she forgot she was still furious with Red and told him about the row with Luke. Whereupon Red went through to the bathroom, soaked a flannel and taking her face in his hands started to wipe away the green-and-grey smears.
‘Sweetheart, Luke’s always been dumb about money. He thinks everyone can live on snowballs like himself. If he’d just brown-nosed an iota to my father he could have inherited the earth like the rest of us. Not that it’s nearly enough. Lick.’ Like a child, Perdita dampened the flannel with her tongue so that he could remove a smear running from her left collarbone down to her breast.
There was just a primrose-yellow silk shawl between Red and gratification. In her present state of shock, he knew he could take her, but he preferred to wait.
‘Let’s not lose any sleep over Luke.’ He produced wads of francs out of his floppy shirt pocket. ‘I’ve had a windfall at the casino. Let’s go buy you some clothes.’
‘The shops’ll be shut,’ protested Perdita.
‘It’s only half-past nine.’ It seemed like midnight. ‘We’ll just catch them.’
52
