‘Sure you can. You’d get a fee as a pro. You sure played a pro’s game this afternoon.’
Perdita waltzed back to Luke. ‘Look what your father’s given me.’
Jesus, I could do with that right now, thought Luke. Perdita’d played so well, he wanted to take her to Chez Colbert and pour Moet down her all night, but he simply couldn’t afford it. He’d been financially crippled buying and flying back four horses of his own from Alejandro’s who might take weeks to adjust to the Palm Beach climate. He still had to pay grain bills and the grooms’ salaries. Nor had the fat cheque promised by Hal Peters arrived yet, and he felt it was uncool to hassle.
He tried to persuade Bibi to come out with them, but she said she had too much work and had to fly straight back to LA.
‘You played super,’ she said to an amazed Perdita. ‘You must be floating on air.’
Perdita giggled. ‘I’m floating on hairs. The first thing I’m doing tomorrow is get my legs waxed.’
‘Very painful, worse than childbirth,’ warned Bibi.
‘I’ll hold your hand,’ said Luke. ‘No one shall accuse me of not being present at the waxing.’
33
The rain had stopped, giving way to a glorious evening with a huge apricot-pink moon and clouds rising like an indigo tidal wave on the horizon. Orion was lying on his back with the Dog Star above him. It was hard to tell the other stars from the lights of the incoming planes. The air was as soft as a shawl round Perdita’s shoulders.
‘Isn’t Palm Beach the most heavenly place in the world?’ she said, taking Luke’s hand.
Red was waiting for them at Cobblestones, the famous polo bar. Early diners were devouring huge steaks, veal and french fries, or mountaineering through vast salads in the front room, which was very light, decorated in ice-cream colours with some rather crude paintings of polo games on the walls.
‘Don’t think my father would fork out two million for any of those,’ said Red, sweeping them into the darker bar at the back. He was already very high and giggly, drinking green devils, a lethal concoction which included vodka,
‘You’ll have to drop that ball now,’ said Luke, ‘if you want a potato chip.’
‘I gotta job for that brute,’ said Red. ‘I’ll buy him a dozen polo balls if he eats Auriel’s Yorkshire terriers. She ordered them tuna-fish sandwiches on the airplane and they threw them up just as we were landing.’
Then, taking Perdita’s arm, he spun her round towards a square doorway concealed in the back of the bar.
‘That, my darling, is the famous disappearing door. When husbands barge in here looking for their errant wives, the lovers nip out through that door. And that’s the phone where all the players make assignations with people they shouldn’t. I don’t know why they don’t install a second booth for Juan O’Brien and Jesus.’
A crowd had soon gathered round them, congratulating Perdita, admiring Red’s blue blazer with the green silk braiding, and asking him what the hell had happened.
‘Auriel gave me a Ferrari today in the colour of my choice. I chose red to match my hair and my bank balance. I couldn’t just leave her and fly back.’
‘What we all want to know,’ asked Bobby Ferraro, the great American player who was so strong no horse ever answered back and who was playing for the Kaputnik Tigers in Luke’s charity match, ‘is what’s she like?’
‘OK,’ said Red. ‘Got more stitches in her face than I have in this coat, but OK.’
Over the laughter, Bobby Ferraro insisted: ‘No, what’s she like in the sack?’
‘Pretty good,’ said Red, grinning. ‘Takes some getting used to. First time she gave me a blow job, her wig came off in my hands. I haven’t been so embarrassed since they repossessed my helicopter.’
Everyone yelled with laughter.
‘You’re a shit, Red,’ said Luke, shaking his head.
He had tried to call Angel to get him to join them, but Angel was still out carousing.
‘Miguel and Juan are hopping you’ve brought this greaseball over,’ said Red. ‘They wanted another cousin they could manipulate. They’ll give him a hard time. So will Bibi. She’s got awful bossy.’
‘Not when she sees Angel,’ said Perdita.
Luke turned to talk to Bobby Ferraro, who was handsome in a chunky Neanderthal way.
‘Bobby’s known as All-Brawn because he’s so thick,’ Red told Perdita. ‘Comes from Montana. They turn the ponies out at night there. If the wolves don’t catch them, they know they’re fast enough to play polo.’
He yawned; his fingers drummed on the bar. He was getting restless.
Unnerved, Perdita blurted out: ‘What did you read at university?’
‘Dirty books mostly.’
‘Sorry – what did you major in?’
‘Underwater basketweaving.’
‘Oh, stop taking the piss.’
‘Howdya like my ponies?’
‘Fantastic!’ Perdita’s face brightened. ‘I’ve never ridden anything like them. Spotty was terrific and that bay mare with the four white socks in the last chukka was like a Porsche with four legs, she came round so fast. I nearly came off her each time. What’s her name?’
‘Haven’t a clue,’ said Red. ‘My father owns them. Juan and Miguel school them. I just sit on their backs.’
‘Aren’t you interested in horses?’
‘Not particularly. A polo pony isn’t an animal, it’s a means to an end.’
‘I disagree,’ said Perdita coldly. ‘So does Luke.’
‘Luke loves them too much for his own good,’ said Red dismissively. ‘Eats his heart out when he sells them on.’
He ordered another green devil.
‘I wouldn’t,’ said Luke. ‘And will you please lay off on Saturday night.’
‘Christ, it’s only a charity match,’ snapped Red.
‘But it’s my first game with Hal, OK? And I want to win.’
‘I hear Hal’s found God,’ said Red. ‘That’s one helluva pass.’
Luke grinned. ‘Is Auriel coming to watch you on Sunday?’
‘I guess so,’ said Red. He seemed abstracted. ‘Where are we going to eat – Charlie’s Crab?’
Luke yawned. He’d been up at five and jet lag had finally caught up with him. The adrenalin pumping in the match had given way to aches and pains. All he wanted to do was to go home, talk to his horses and fall into bed, but Perdita was obviously dying to go out on the town.
‘I’ll pay,’ said Red. ‘As long as you pay for the drinks here. I owe them so much, they won’t give me any credit. Let’s go.’ He got off his bar stool, and then got back on again. ‘Second thoughts, let’s not.’
Following his gaze, Perdita noticed a girl with tousled dark hair in a flame-red dress, telephoning with her back to the room. Although she had picked up the receiver, it was plain she was only pretending to telephone. After a few minutes she looked round and gave a start of surprise.
‘Hi, Lucy,’ said Red softly. ‘Long time no see.’
‘Hi, Red. Where have you been hiding?’
She had big brown eyes, a face and body so olive-skinned, soft and supple that they looked as though they’d spent their life in linseed oil and she smelt of dollars and Diorella.
‘This is Perdita,’ said Red. ‘My brother Luke’s just brought her back from Argentina. She played a blinder this afternoon. Stood in for me and scored four goals.’
‘That’s great,’ said Lucy, who seemed to be laughing at some private joke and not remotely interested in goals.
