and a ?5,000 fine.
‘And you can fucking well pay it,’ roared Bart. ‘You only got off because I threatened to pull out of the Gold Cup.’
64
Perdita was in turmoil. There was no doubt Red was playing her up. It was as if, spurred on by the media attention showered on Angel, he wanted to establish himself as the chief headturner, the one the girls flocked round the most. He was also furious with Perdita for playing so badly in the semi-final of the Queen’s Cup. Since then he had hardly touched her, and Perdita, deaf, dumb and blind with love, didn’t know how to play it. She should have backed off and flirted with other men. Instead she made scenes, then, overwhelmed with remorse, crawled back again with morale plummeting.
The Polo Ball at Hurlingham the following week didn’t help matters. Bart, furious they’d been beaten by the Tigers, who’d in turn been smashed by Apocalypse in the final, insisted that all the Flyers turned up. It was a foul night with torrential rain drumming a million, irritable fingers on the roof of the marquee, flattening the blue hydrangeas and preventing anyone stealing off into the romantically shadowed garden glades.
Perdita, who had a black eye, a tooth knocked out and a swollen purple lip from playing in the Royal Windsor and had to play in an All-Ladies match at the Royal Berkshire the following day, longed to back down.
‘If you hadn’t made me cut my hair off,’ she stormed at Red, ‘I could at least have trailed it over my face. Now I just look hideous.’
Red, by contrast, always looked his most desirable in a dinner jacket. He had no truck with white tuxedos, or coloured ties, shirts or cummerbunds. Just black and white, perfected after ten fittings and setting off his beech-leaf colouring.
Bart, having annexed a table for six, promptly disappeared to telephone. Red, who was in a strange, detached mood, took advantage of his father’s absence to bitch up Chessie, who was looking heart-breaking in Prussian-blue strapless taffeta with white roses dyed Prussian blue in her hair.
Angel, whose mood was anything but detached, was attaching himself to every blonde he could find. Aware that she had lost him, but unable to tear herself away, Bibi was near to suicide. Looking round at all the smooth brown backs, the shining manes, the jewelled, lit-up, happily chatting faces, she gave a sob.
‘I must be the only ugly woman in polo.’
Perdita, who couldn’t get drunk because of the All-Ladies match next day, took another slug of Perrier.
‘That makes two of us,’ she said gloomily.
‘But you’ll be beautiful when the bruises go,’ said Bibi despairingly.
Realizing she should have contradicted Bibi’s earlier remark, Perdita said quickly, ‘But you’re terrific- looking.’
Idly Red turned Bibi’s profile to face him.
‘I don’t know why you don’t have a nose job. Then you’d be fine.’
‘Then she’d look just like you, you mean,’ snapped Chessie. ‘If you had a heart job, you’d be fine. Yes, I’d love to come and dance,’ she added, grabbing Dommie Carlisle who was sidling past.
‘I’m on my way to the Gents,’ protested Dommie.
‘Well, you won’t find any at this table,’ said Chessie.
She was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman in the room. Eyes followed her. Men pressed their cheeks against their partners so they could gaze undetected as she passed. The Prussian-blue taffeta seemed part of her body like a fish’s tail. The roses in her greeny-gold hair gave her the look of some naiad.
Red, flanked by two girls miserably aware of not feeling beautiful, watched Chessie lazily.
‘What’s bitten her?’ he asked Bibi.
‘Dad’s been calling Mom about me and Angel. Ricky’s been talking to Dancer and Rupert all evening and hasn’t asked her to dance. Take your pick,’ said Bibi.
‘Any news of Luke?’ asked Red.
‘Good,’ said Bibi, cheering up for a second. ‘The last op’s been a total success. And he’s talking about starting a green pony clinic in Palm Beach. You know how he could always sort out anything difficult.’
‘Didn’t work with Perdita,’ drawled Red.
‘Don’t be bitchy,’ said Bibi. ‘Oh, Christ.’
Through a gap in the dancers, she could see Angel bopping with Jesus’s baby sister, whose sense of rhythm was as good as his. All her seventeen-year-old peanut-butter-coloured body seemed to be bouncing out of her gold dress.
Seeing his worst enemy’s wife miserably neglected, Drew Benedict felt it was not only a duty but a pleasure to rescue her.
‘May I have this dance?’
Bibi looked up with a start. ‘Oh my God, Drew. How are you?’
‘OK. Talking’s a bit painful. But I’ve never been into yattering.’
‘I’m so sorry about last week.’
‘Thank you for the flowers.’
‘They were from all of us,’ stammered Bibi. ‘Angel should never have . . . I guess he was provoked.’
‘Get up,’ said Drew gently, ‘and we’ll provoke him some more.’ Then, as Bibi slid into his arms: ‘Has anyone ever told you you’ve got the most beautiful body in polo.’
‘Prettier than Malteser’s?’
‘Much,’ said Drew.
‘Wow!’ Perdita turned to Red. ‘
Looking round in mid-gyration, Angel saw Bibi laughing up at Drew. With a growl, he broke away from Jesus’s sister. Dommie, returning with Chessie and sizing up the situation, blocked Angel’s path by shoving Chessie into his arms.
‘Dance with your stepmother-in-law, Angel, I truly must go and have a slash.’
Red and Perdita were left alone. She wanted to dance so desperately, but she was damned if she was going to beg.
‘Are you coming to the Ladies’ match tomorrow?’
‘No,’ said Red, filling up his glass.
‘Please come.’ I go to every match in which he’s playing, she thought.
‘I don’t want to.’
‘Auriel’s playing.’
‘You are totally irrational,’ snapped Red. ‘You’d raise hell if I came saying it was because I wanted to see her, if I don’t come, you’ll complain I’m neglecting you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Perdita humbly. ‘Christ, talk of the devil.’
‘Hi, Red,’ said Auriel, ‘I’ve just come from the airport. Victor and Sharon persuaded me to drop by.’
She was looking stunning and, in her starkly simple, black linen suit amidst all the bare shoulders and ball dresses, curiously seductive. Her perfect ankles were not remotely swollen from the flight.
‘Shall we have a dance for old time’s sake?’ she added to Red.
‘Old is the operative word,’ snarled Perdita.
‘Don’t be bitchy, Perdita,’ said Auriel. ‘Under the circumstances I would have thought you could afford to be generous.’
Sitting alone at the table, Perdita was suddenly aware that people didn’t like her any more. The twins, who never bore grudges and who’d been buying drinks for Victor, who’d sacked them only last year, were avoiding her. Ricky had cut her dead just now. Bas had nodded unsmiling and walked passed. Her erstwhile great mate, Dancer, couldn’t wait to get away from her and now Red was dancing with Auriel, smiling affectionately down at her,
