‘But I can’t just walk out on Ricky and Dancer,’ wailed Perdita. ‘I’m committed to play for them for the rest of the season, and what about Venturer? Omigod, I’m supposed to meet Cameron Cook in the lobby at seven.’
As if on cue the telephone rang. Red picked it up and held it away from his ear for ten seconds.
‘Miss Cook for you,’ he told Perdita with a grin. ‘She heard we came in together and she doesn’t like being kept waiting. Oh, shut up!’ he slammed down the receiver.
Perdita gazed out of the window. The mist had rolled back and the rising sun was polishing the white horses and the glassy depths of the Channel. The energetic were already pounding back and forth in the hotel swimming- pool, early riders were bouncing round a little riding-school ring.
Red crossed the room and kissed her properly for the first time.
‘Are you sure you’ve got your priorities right?’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Perdita helplessly.
The telephone rang. It was Cameron Cook again.
‘Go screw yourself,’ said Red. Then, cutting her off, immediately started to dial out. ‘I’ll call Orly and get us on the afternoon flight. You can get on with my packing.’
53
From that moment Perdita was a leaf, ripped untimely and whipped hither and thither by the whirlwind. Within quarter of an hour they were out of the back door of the hotel and flying to Paris in Auriel’s helicopter. Perdita was now wearing a scarlet cashmere jersey of Red’s over the ivy-green dress and, because her feet were killing her, had swapped last night’s new black, spike heels for flat, black pumps. Except for her polo gear, Red insisted she left her other clothes behind, claiming they were all gross.
‘But what about the stuff we bought last night?’ wailed Perdita.
‘They’ll send it on to Palm Beach. You won’t need wool suits where we’re going.’ He glanced sideways at her. ‘You won’t need any clothes at all.’
Nor would he let her leave a note for Luke or for Ricky. ‘Never explain, never apologize.’
Landing in Paris, he had whipped her into the smartest hairdresser in the Faubourg St Germain and handed her over to George the boss, who flexed his gold razor in glee at such a challenge.
‘I want the whole lot off and the colour changed,’ said Red. Then, when Perdita grew hysterical: ‘Pack it in. D’you want the press off our backs or not?’
‘I’ll be like Samson. I’ll lose all my strength and probably you.’
Returning three hours later, even Red was jolted by an almost unrecognizable Perdita. Her hair, short as a schoolboy’s, thick and darkest Prussian blue as a magpie’s stripe, clung sleek to her exquisitely shaped head, emphasizing the long neck, the curling mouth, the long, Greek nose, the smooth, white forehead and the blue-black, blazingly angry, wide-apart eyes. And as her face looked more fierce, more vulnerable, more like a Picasso, more boyish, by contrast her body looked more feminine and voluptuous.
‘Omigod!’ Red prowled round her. ‘What a piece of work! Christ, you look as sexy as hell.’
‘I look like hell,’ snarled Perdita. ‘I hate it, I hate it.’
‘Don’t be silly. Before you were just any old blowzy blonde. Now you look like no-one else on earth. No, leave it,’ he said sharply as she frantically tried to pull some tendrils over her forehead.
‘I loathe short hair.’
‘Well, I like it, and after two years of Bore-iel I’m not taking up with another woman who spends all day clutching a blow dryer. I’ve got better things for you to blow.’
‘I’ll have to spend all day washing my neck and ears now.’
‘Stop beefing.’ Red slotted the arms of a huge pair of dark glasses behind her ears. ‘We’ve got a plane to catch.’
An hour later they were in the front First-Class seats of an Air France flight to Singapore, drinking champagne and eating caviar. Red’s only concession to disguise was dark glasses and a dark blue baseball cap pulled down over his nose hiding most of his hair.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Perdita. ‘I only bitch when I’m rattled.’
‘Don’t worry on my account. I like rows.’
‘Last time I travelled First Class was because you upgraded me.’
Red took her hand and kissed it. ‘You’re upgraded for good now,’ he said softly. Then, as Perdita’s heart lurched, longing to ask what he meant, he started examining her hands. ‘We’ll have to get you a manicure in Singapore. You must’ve been skipping out the entire Apocalypse barn without a pitchfork. Christ, look at that.’
Two English businessmen across the gangway were drooling over a double-page coloured photograph of a naked Perdita riding Spotty into the Casino with Victor in his dragon’s head gazing up at her.
‘They’ve airbrushed your boobs to make them twice as big,’ said Red, ‘and blackened your bush.’
‘And my character,’ hissed Perdita.
‘Nice tits,’ said the nearest businessman thickly, putting on his bifocals to examine them more closely.
‘Lucky horse,’ said the other. ‘Bet he’s enjoying it. She’s a raver that Perdita; told Prince Charles to eff off. They say all that stimulation between their legs all day makes ladies really randy.’
‘I’m thinking of taking up polo,’ said his companion, drawing frantically on his cigar, ‘or at least sponsoring a polo function next year. Crumpet’s fantastic.’
Perdita was about to erupt. Shaking with laughter Red put a hand on her arm. ‘Now aren’t you glad you’ve changed your hair? Flattering picture of Victor though. He should use it in his annual report.’
Spotty’s wall eye, caught in the flash, looked both alarmed and disapproving.
‘He will be OK, won’t he, and Tero too?’ pleaded Perdita, taking a slug of champagne. ‘I’ve never been parted from them for a day since I came back from Palm Beach. Tero’s petrified of strangers.’
Still drunk when she had walked out on them that morning, she was trying not to sober up.
‘I rang Manuel while you were in the hairdressers,’ said Red. ‘He’s going to fly them straight to Boston. We’ll stay at the Ritz-Carlton. You’ll like that.’
Perdita couldn’t eat much dinner, but she kept on drinking. She was also incensed after the lights had been dimmed and the screen pulled down to discover the flight movie was
‘That’s good. Won’t need a Mogadon,’ said Red, pushing back his chair and putting the navy-blue blindfold over his eyes.
‘Aren’t you going to watch?’
‘Why should I? I’ve had the real thing. Good-night, sweetheart. See you in the morning.’ And immediately he fell asleep.
Perdita was outraged. It had been just the same on that long flight to Argentina with Ricky when she’d lain writhing with desire under two blankets and Ricky hadn’t lain a finger on her.
What the hell was Red playing at? Having not slept for two days, she had been feeling drowsy and sexy. Now she was wide awake, and however hard she tried not to watch, her eyes seemed to force themselves open as, with horrified fascination, she watched Auriel, big-bosomed, mature, her long, dark hair spilling over pillows, being let down, taken up, tumbling over her shoulders in the shower, as she murmured endearments in her throaty voice, and exuded Experience with a capital E.
‘Fucking gorgeous tits,’ leered the businessman across the way, whose hand seemed to be revoltingly active beneath his blanket, ‘and lovely hair. You can’t beat a really attractive mature lady.’
‘I wouldn’t mind beating her,’ said his friend.
Perdita clutched her head. God – her hair was short! It suddenly occurred to her that the only time she’d slept on a plane was when she’d been with Luke.
Three performances of