Alejandro’s. The crowd relaxed happily in anticipation of slaughter. At last Bart was going to be taken out.
Tempers tend to get up a lot on the polo field – but never as much as when the most united families play together. Bart, determined to play better than both Luke and Bruce Van Doren, swore at his team non-stop.
‘How dare you call me an asshole, you stupid dickhead,’ screamed back Bibi as she missed an easy under- the-neck shot at goal. ‘I’ve never been so insulted in my life. I’m not a fucking board meeting, Dad, do not address me as a board meeting.’
‘Leave her alone,’ Luke shouted at his father. ‘Can’t you see she plays doubly horrible when you yell at her all the time?’
At first Luke refused to be rattled, which annoyed Bart even more.
‘I don’t know why the fuck I asked you to come back from Argentina,’ he howled.
‘Can’t you be more constructive in your criticism?’ said Luke sarcastically.
‘Don’t give me that lip,’ yelled Bart. ‘Leave it, leave it,’ he added, thundering down the pitch, and, seeing Perdita in front of him about to attempt a nearside forehand, ‘for Christ’s sake, leave it to me, you stupid bitch.’
‘Don’t call her a bitch, you evil fucker,’ roared Luke.
The crowd, straining to hear every expletive, were highly edified. The Van Dorens were so amused they failed to stop Bart from scoring. Six-love to the Aldertons.
Perdita, used to playing with Ricky, was unfazed by the abuse, but was amazed, on the other hand, by how much Bart had improved. Having been coached regularly by Miguel, he now played well up to his five handicap, a far cry from the ball-chasing traffic hazard of three and a half years ago. And with a polo helmet covering his greying hair and lined forehead and softening the crows’ feet round his sexy, slanting eyes, he looked virile, handsome and much younger than his forty-seven years. Perhaps Chessie might have trouble holding him.
After a dicey start herself, as she frantically adjusted to the vastly superior acceleration and handiness of Red’s ponies, Perdita played gloriously. Spoon-fed by Luke, who was desperate for her to do well, and used to playing with him anyway, she scored three goals.
Finding themselves playing against two women and expecting a walk-over anyway, the Van Dorens initially behaved like gentlemen. When they came in for a ride-off against Bibi or Perdita, they just brushed them. But after Bibi and Perdita had crashed back into them like a flying ton of bricks several times, they sharpened up.
Perdita, too, loving every moment of riding these wonderful ponies and turned on by the crowd who whooped at every good shot or goal scored and groaned at every miss, had never enjoyed a game more in her life.
Gradually, however, the Van Dorens, the better side on paper, gained the ascendancy. At half-time, when Chessie was photographed pretending to tread in divots, the score was tied at seven all. By the middle of the sixth chukka the Van Dorens were running out the winners at 11-9 and the heavens opened. Up went the tailgates, like seats after a ball game. Off along the boards drove the Lincolns, the Bentleys and the Cadillacs of spectators anxious to get away before the mass exodus and assuming the Van Dorens had won. Bart had yelled himself almost hoarse when Perdita lost her temper.
‘Stop screaming and muddling us all,’ she screeched at him, and, crashing off like a dodgem car with a Ferrari engine, sent the youngest Van Doren flying and scorched off to score a goal. Then, almost before they’d changed ends and thrown in, Luke had got the ball out and handed it to her. Picking up her whip, Perdita belted down the field and scored again, tying the score.
Despite the downpour, the Lincolns, Bentleys and Cadillacs stopped in their tracks and started hooting encouragement. Spurred on by Perdita, Bibi scored as well. 12-11 to the Flyers.
A minute to go, Chuck Van Doren got the ball out this time and, leaving his back door open, raced down the boards looking dangerous. One glorious offside forehand took the ball well within striking distance, another would find the flags.
Luke, pounding back to defend his goal, desperately attempted to hook Chuck. The sight of the ball bouncing past, however, was too much for Leroy. Barking joyfully, he shot on to the pitch, and, just avoiding being trampled to death by Chuck’s pony, bore the ball triumphantly off into the pony lines.
The crowd whooped and screamed with laughter. Up went the Van Dorens’ sticks. It had, after all, been an Alderton dog who had crossed Chuck. Shark Nelligan, who in the past had been bitten several times by Leroy, awarded a penalty three to the Van Dorens.
Make him miss, please make him miss, prayed Perdita, unable to look. Fortunately the strain was too much for Chuck who hit wide. As play began the final bell went.
‘Well played, congratulations,’ said the Van Dorens, smiling and gracious in defeat as they shook Perdita’s hand.
Bart, grinning from ear to ear and extraordinarily ungracious in victory, dropped his pony’s reins and, taking his whip and his stick in his left hand, put his right arm round Perdita’s shoulders, yelling hoarsely. ‘We beat those preppy fuckers, we pussy-whipped them. That’ll teach them to patronize Bart Alderton. You played real super, baby.’
A square was roped off and, despite the heavy drizzle, a lot of people gathered round, mostly to get a look at Luke’s latest acquisition who had played so well and who got the loudest cheer as she went up to get her little silver statue of a father with his hand on his young son’s shoulder. Although she could see her reflection all pink, hot, sweaty and damp-haired in the great silver cup from which the Van Dorens, being the losers, had the first swig, she felt terrific, particularly because Luke was so delighted.
Just then the heavens opened again and, across the cut-up pitch wearing dark glasses, cream Chinos, a cream silk shirt, a pale blue blazer braided with jade-green silk and carrying a black umbrella across the front of which was written ‘Shit, it’s raining’, sauntered Red Alderton.
‘Sorry, Dad,’ he said, without a trace of contrition. ‘I got held up. Lucky you had Perdita to fill in. I’d never have played so good, and this hangover would not have fitted under my helmet. No, fuck off, I’ve got nothing to say to you,’ he snapped, as the
‘I’d have disinherited you if we’d lost,’ said Bart furiously.
‘I guess you would.’ Red put his head on one side. ‘And Mom will probably disinherit me anyway, so I better go make my peace. Well done,’ he added to Perdita. ‘You’re definitely not just a pretty ass.’
After Luke had checked his horses he took Perdita for a drink at the Players Club. She was no longer invisible now. Everyone congratulated her. Immediately Bart drew her aside and, without even consulting Chessie or Luke, invited her to stay at Alderton Towers.
‘You can’t stop in Luke’s pokey rathole any more.’
‘I like it,’ protested Perdita.
‘Well, Luke can’t like sleeping in a mobile home.’
‘Sure I do,’ said Luke.
‘Well, come for Christmas dinner. We have it at
Luke raised an eyebrow in the direction of Leroy who was looking up, showing the whites of his eyes like two sickled slices of boiled egg, his legs splayed out behind like a frog. He was still carrying his polo ball and thumping his tail.
‘Oh, bring the goddam dog too if you must,’ said Bart irritably, ‘but I’m not having him terrorizing my Rottweilers.’
Infuriated with Red, Bart was doubly anxious to bring Luke back into the fold. Like many men whose business enemies were legion, he valued family ties very highly, even while constantly abusing them. His aim was to have Luke financially dependent on him like the other two so he could manipulate him. The neatest thing he could do would be to buy Perdita. Half an hour later he and Chessie had to leave to change for some silver wedding party. Perdita sensed that Bart would rather have stayed and gone through every play of the match. Chessie was equally reluctant.
‘Just another lot of geriatrics whinnying at Bart and thinking what an unsuitable marriage he’s made,’ she said bitterly as she drained her glass of champagne.
She’s far too young for that kind of evening, thought Perdita. Just before he left, Bart thrust something into Perdita’s hand.
‘Go buy yourself something nice,’ he said. ‘Chessie’ll take you to Worth Avenue.’
Glancing down, Perdita saw it was a wad of $1,000 bills.
‘I can’t,’ she said, trying to sound shocked.
