Polo

in one of the pale armchairs one of the prettiest Chinese girls she had ever seen.

‘This is Doris Chow,’ said Red.

Perdita giggled and wondered if Doris had a black tongue.

‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I’m mad about Singapore. Have you lived here long?’

‘All my life,’ said Doris.

‘Doris is a teacher,’ drawled Red.

‘Oh really. What d’you teach?’

‘Sex,’ said Red softly; then, to Perdita’s utter horror, he put out a hand and started to caress the Chinese girl’s neck just above her jade-green cheongsam. ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’ With the other hand he started pulling pins out of her black hair.

‘What the hell are you playing at?’ whispered Perdita.

‘She’s going to give you a few lessons,’ said Red as though he was explaining fractions to a seven year old. ‘You’re coming along nicely, but your technique lacks finesse. Wild Barry Bartlett says Doris gives head better than anyone else in Singapore.’

The next minute Perdita had picked up a vase and thrown it at Red.

‘You perverted bloody bastard.’

Maddeningly, Red caught it, putting it down on the glass table in the middle of the room.

‘Don’t be silly,’ he said sharply as Perdita reached for an ashtray.

Bursting into tears, she fled to the bedroom.

‘I won’t do it, I won’t. D’you want to turn me into a fucking dyke? Don’t make me, please, please, Red. I’m sorry I’m not good enough. I’ll read sex books, I’ll watch blue movies. Can’t you tell me where I’m going wrong, not her?’

Most hearts would have melted, not Red’s.

‘Why are you making such a stupid fuss over something that’ll turn out so nice later? You’d think nothing of going to Hugh Dawnay or Peter Grace to learn polo. What’s so different about sex? A few practicals with Doris, and you’ll be almost up to Auriel’s standards.’

Wham, Perdita had slapped him across the face.

Wham, he slapped her back much harder.

‘I can’t. Red, truly I can’t.’

‘You will if you want to stay with me. If not, there’s a plane back to England leaving first thing in the morning.’

After Doris had gone hours later, Perdita cried herself to sleep on the sofa in the drawing room. Sometime towards dawn she woke to find Red standing by the window. He was smoking, with an untouched glass of whisky beside him on the table. In the pale light filtering through the net curtains, he looked ghastly, his shoulders hunched, his eyeliner smudged beneath sad, despairing eyes – the picture of desolation.

‘Red,’ she called out, forgetting the desperate humiliation through which he’d put her, ‘are you OK?’

As though he were continents away he looked at her for a second in bewilderment. They met halfway across the room, collapsing into each other’s arms.

‘I’m sorry.’ His lips were against her forehead. ‘I’ll never put you through anything like that again. I’ll make you happy, I promise. I don’t know what gets into me.’

‘I love you,’ mumbled Perdita, who only felt passionate relief he’d forgiven her. ‘I thought I’d lost you.’

‘I’ve got problems,’ said Red wearily. ‘I’ll tell you one day.’

‘Tell me now.’ They both jumped as the telephone rang.

‘You get it,’ said Red.

‘It’s The Scorpion,’ said Perdita in panic a second later. ‘They know we’re here.’

‘Give it to me.’ Red took the receiver. ‘OK, you bastards,’ he said coolly, ‘I’ve only got one thing to say to you and the rest of the world, right. Perdita and I are getting married. We haven’t fixed a date yet, but it won’t be long. Now, fuck off and leave us alone.’ Slamming down the receiver he took it off the hook, and added, turning to a gaping Perdita, ‘That should shut them up.’

‘But you didn’t mean it?’

Red laughed. Suddenly he was all sparkle and high spirits at the novelty of the whole thing.

‘Yes, I did. I’ve always been turned on by the idea of arranged marriages, so I arranged this one. Let’s go and consummate the engagement.’

54

‘Red to wed’ screamed worldwide headlines. ‘Perdita steals Auriel’s toyboy.’ ‘Chukked her’, said the Sun in a huge front-page headline. Every member of the Red Army seemed only too happy to tell all about Red in bed. The press besieged the Goodwood Park Hotel. There were widespread rumours that James Whitaker, dressed as a monkey, had tried to climb into the roof garden of the Brunei Suite. But the tigerishly vigilant hotel staff only let in one person, the most expensive jeweller in Singapore, from whom Red bought an engagement ring for Perdita, containing a sapphire as big as a Victoria plum.

After a couple more days in Singapore they moved on to Thailand, by which time press interest had been considerably distracted by the wedding of another beautiful redhead to the Duke of York in Westminster Abbey. From Thailand they went to Hong Kong, India, then on to Kenya, and everywhere they were pestered.

Perdita secretly enjoyed the publicity. It excited her to be the other half of a beautiful couple with packs of reporters hanging on her every expletive and her photograph in every newspaper, sleek, exotic and shining with love. Lady Godivine, the press had nicknamed her. At last she had become a superstar.

Conversely, for the first time in her life, she was forced to be unselfish. Like a prince, Red expected her to do everything. Mix his drinks, tidy up after him, ring up the Singapore tailor, who arrived in a quarter of an hour quivering with excitement to receive an order for twenty suits and twice as many shirts, jackets and trousers. And Red gave the fitting of the suits – the slant of a pocket, the position of a button – the same total concentration he’d given Wilbur Smith on the plane or to a game of polo when he’d suddenly decided to win it.

He had incredible stamina. When they moved to India and Africa she found it difficult to keep up with the endless round of night-clubs and parties. And, like all wildly unpunctual people, he hated to be kept waiting because he wasn’t used to it. If Perdita wasn’t ready, he left without her.

Often sadistic, keeping her for ages on the brink of orgasm until she was screaming for it, he was in fact very like a tiger who’d been reared by humans, beautiful, playful, purring, rubbing against you, falling asleep in your arms, but liable at any moment to turn savage and wounding.

But if he had a wicked temper, he didn’t bear grudges, even after the most violent rows. Apart from the occasional sniping at Ricky, the only person he hated was Chessie. ‘The moment Dad dies of a coronary, there’ll be a taxi outside Alderton Towers to take her to the airport.’

Best of all, like a plant brought out of the winter frosts into a warm greenhouse, Perdita adored being rich, having fistfuls of notes to buy what she liked, ordering whatever she wanted to eat. One evening she ate so much caviar she was sick. The same tailor making suits for Red plucked the most amazing silks and cottons out of the rainbow and, strictly supervised by Red, transformed them overnight into a wildly flattering wardrobe.

‘I’m going to turn you into a great beauty,’ said Red, taking endless photographs of her both dressed and nude. ‘Within six months every girl in the world is going to want to look like you.’

Having refused to speak to any of her family or fellow polo players because she was frightened of getting an earful, Perdita finally rang Seb Carlisle to test the water and found it extremely icy.

‘Christ, you bitch, Perdita. Have you any idea how many people you fucked up?’

‘Who?’