and enjoying themselves.
‘Oh, don’t they look lovely?’ Suddenly the tears spurted out of Daisy’s eyes and she had to turn away and bury her face in Drew’s Land-Rover. Next moment a large piece of kitchen roll had been shoved into her hand. A minute later, when she’d got control of herself, Drew was back with another glass of vodka and orange.
A great cheer rang out as Cowdray, the home team, came on in their orange shirts.
‘And here we have the other finalists in the Jack Gannon, unbeaten for the last three years, the South Shushex.’ Fatty Harris got it half right this time.
Randy, Merlin, Paul and Trace rode with a swagger and there was no doubt their ponies were the sleekest, fittest and most expensive of all.
‘I’m sure you all know that Trace Coley, the daughter of Kevin Coley, Chairman of Doggie Dins and our sponsor, is South Sussex’s Number One in the final today,’ announced Fatty Harris.
Kevin raised both clasped hands in a salute to acknowledge luke-warm cheers; Trace lifted her whip.
‘She’s left her hair loose, the little tart,’ said Perdita contemptuously. ‘That’ll cost them the turn-out prize even if they win everything else. Oh, I wish Ricky was here.’
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said Fatty Harris, ‘I give you the Pony Club.’
At the sight of these serried, beautifully turned-out ranks, this huge army with their polo sticks on their collarbones like bayonets, a deafening cheer went up. Fathers rushed about with video cameras, mothers wiped their eyes. Randy and Merlin Sherwood’s beautiful mother adjusted her mascara in the driving mirror and eyed Rupert Campbell-Black who’d just rolled up alone in a dark green Ferrari to watch his daughter, Tabitha, play in the first final for the under-fourteens. Rupert, who’d just been appointed Tory Minister for Sport, eyed Mrs Sherwood back.
Then, suddenly, out of the sky like a vast whirring hornet came a black helicopter. Perdita gave a gasp as it landed to the west of the pitch. The door flew open and, like a page from Nigel Dempster, out jumped the Carlisle twins, Seb carrying Decorum, their bull terrier, and Dommie helping out a redhead and a blonde whose skirts immediately blew above their heads to show off wonderful suntanned legs. They were followed by Dancer in dark glasses and black leather, Twinkle and Paulie, each with an Alsatian, and finally – Perdita gave a scream of delight – by Ricky with Little Chef in his arms.
‘Now, members of the Pony Club, will you please walk off the pitch,’ exhorted Fatty Harris. ‘We owe it to the Cowdray ground and to Lord Cowdray to walk off.’
In the past the temptation to gallop across the hallowed Cowdray turf, which so many of them were not going to have the chance to play on, had been too much for the teams. Dreadful stampedes had resulted, with the whole field being cut up before a ball had been hit, which had resulted in turn in threats of not being allowed back. The sight of Ricky, however, was too much for Perdita.
‘I’m here,’ she screamed, and digging her heels into Hermia, went straight into a gallop towards the helicopter, followed by 199 yelling Pony Club members, who fortunately veered off to the left, and didn’t trample the new arrivals to death.
‘Disgraceful,’ spluttered Sukey. ‘She should lose her scholarship for that.’
Drew shrugged. ‘The sooner she’s packed off to New Zealand away from Ricky the better.’
Seeing her master, Hermia ground to a halt and whinnied with pleasure. Little Chef leapt up and licked her nose.
Jumping off, Perdita threw herself into Dancer’s arms, hugged the twins, and then turned more shyly to Ricky. Her heart was crashing around like Big Ben about to strike.
‘Thank you so much. I never thought it’d make so much difference,’ she gabbled.
Ricky put up a hand and touched her cheek.
‘Hermia looks well,’ he said, ‘and much h-h-happier.’
‘She shakes hands for a Polo now,’ said Perdita.
‘You’d better win. We’ve all got money on it,’ said Dancer. ‘Can you get that crate of Moet out?’ he added to Twinkle.
The twins, who had only left the Pony Club two years ago, pushed off to see their old chums. Everyone else landed up beside Drew’s Land-Rover. Soon the autograph hunters were swarming round Drew, Bas and Dancer. It broke Perdita’s heart that Ricky, who’d only been out of top-class polo for three years, was totally ignored.
‘What a lovely shirt,’ said Sukey to Bas. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘Marks and Spencer, I think,’ said Bas.
‘There, you see,’ Sukey chided Drew. ‘I’m always telling you there’s no need to go to Harvie and Hudson.’
Seeing the flash of anger in Drew’s eyes, Bas tactfully enquired after the baby. He’d forgotten what sex it was.
‘Oh, Jamie’s at home,’ said Sukey. ‘I’m amazed how Drew dotes on him. Men love having a boy, don’t they?’ She turned to Ricky. ‘It matters so much to a man having an heir.’
For a second, as Ricky’s face went dead, Bas and Dancer exchanged horrified glances.
‘Isn’t that Tabitha Campbell-Black playing for the East Cotchester?’ said Bas, as a tiny figure, jaw thrust out, white stick-like legs flailing, thundered down the boards. ‘Come on, Tabitha.’
‘Man, man, man,’ screamed the tiny figure to the East Cotchester Number Three. ‘Take the fucking man, for Christ’s sake.’
The umpire blew his whistle. ‘That’ll be forty against you for swearing, young lady. Consider yourself lucky you haven’t been sent off.’
Bellowed on by her father, Tabitha scored three goals and East Cotchester won the Handley Cross.
Leaning against the Land-Rover, Daisy drew Rupert. Goodness, he had a beautiful face. Then she drew Ricky with his sombre, slanting dark eyes and then Drew twice, trying not to make him too handsome. In pencil, she could never capture the blueness of his eyes. Having sketched Bas as a merry Restoration rake, she had a crack at Sukey. Not easy – Sukey’s charm was all in her colouring. She had a long face and such a naked forehead, Daisy found herself turning her into a polo pony.
‘I’d hide that if I were you.’
Looking up with a start, Daisy saw that Ricky was actually smiling.
‘Oh my God.’ Daisy ripped out the page.
‘Very appropriate,’ said Ricky, taking it from her. ‘I’m sure Sukey turns on sixpence.’
‘She has a turn if Drew spends sixpence,’ said Bas, peering over Ricky’s shoulder. ‘Bloody good, that’s brilliant of Rupert. I’m much better looking than that.’
Giggling, Daisy stuffed the page into her pocket.
‘I’ve done a couple of Hermia, in fact several,’ she shoved the book at Ricky. He really was the most shy- making man.
Ricky flicked through, really looking. ‘You’ve got her, even that little scar over her eye. They’re marvellous.’
‘Keep them,’ said Daisy, blushing.
‘I framed your cat. You must come and see it.’
‘You must come and have supper sometime,’ Daisy was staggered to hear herself saying. It must be the vodka.
‘I’d like that,’ said Ricky.
And he always says no to Philippa Mannering, thought Daisy. Perhaps if he fancied Perdita he saw her as a potential mother-in-law.
‘Hello, Ricky,’ said a shrill voice. Grinning up at him, her two front teeth missing, was Tabitha Campbell- Black.
‘Hello, Tab. D’you know Mrs Macleod?’
‘You played very well,’ said Daisy.
‘I know. None of the others did.’ Tabitha, who had all the beauty and arrogance of her father, was now gouging out the centre of Sukey’s home-made fruitcake with both hands.
‘Have you had a good camp?’ asked Ricky.
‘Great. I haven’t cleaned my teeth for a week.’
‘They’ll fall out.’
