Suddenly Perdita felt
‘My Daddy owns a chunk of Florida,’ a stunning redhead was telling him. ‘You’re a seriously good polo player. Are you as good in bed?’ Luke was just laughing.
Perdita was furious. ‘Don’t be fatuous,’ she said to the redhead. ‘Just bugger off.’
‘I was only asking.’ The redhead flounced off.
‘Silly cow,’ said Perdita crossly, then added to Luke, ‘Chessie was telling me about Cassandra Murdoch.’
Luke looked at her steadily. ‘So?’
‘That you went out with her for a long time and she’s absolutely heart-broken.’
‘She doesn’t deserve that. She’s beautiful,’ said Luke.
‘Why did you dump her then?’
Luke’s gaze was unflinching. ‘Because I met you, I guess.’
Perdita felt herself blushing. ‘But there isn’t . . .’ she began.
‘I know, but it wasn’t fair to Cass.’
At that moment a waiter sidled up and whispered something to Red and Lucy.
‘Oh Christ,’ gasped Lucy, the colour draining from her face, ‘my husband’s just come in. See you, darling,’ and, pecking Red on the cheek, she shot out of the famous disappearing door. Instantly Red shot round the bar to the darkest corner and engaged an eager brunette and her disgruntled boyfriend in conversation.
‘I guess my brother’s been playing fast and Lucy,’ said Luke.
A second later a man with a blazing red face and upturned white hair stormed into the back bar, flanked by two enormous heavies.
‘Jesus,’ muttered Luke, putting three fingers through Leroy’s collar. ‘Red shouldn’t tangle with that.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘Winston Chalmers,’ said Luke. ‘Best lawyer in town; on his fourth wife; specializes in getting off very rich, very guilty people.’
‘I’m sure there’s some mistake, Mr Chalmers,’ said the manager, who was trying to block his advance. ‘Mrs Chalmers hasn’t been in for days.’
Winston Chalmers pushed him away as easily as a bamboo curtain. ‘Luke Alderton,’ he bellowed. ‘I want to see Luke Alderton. I know the fucker’s here.’
‘Sure I am,’ said Luke.
‘You know my wife, Lucy.’
‘Never met her. First time I clapped eyes on her was this evening,’ said Luke, getting to his feet and towering over Winston Chalmers. ‘Seems a nice lady.’
‘That’s bullshit,’ said Chalmers. ‘Get him,’ he ordered the heavies.
The next minute one of the heavies had hit Luke across the room. Then, as he struggled to his feet, the second heavy helped him up and hit him again in the stomach. Then the first heavy came in with a punishing right to the side of the head, knocking Luke to the floor again. Then he gave a yell as Leroy buried his teeth in his arm. No one moved in the bar except Perdita.
‘Stop it, you bastards,’ she screamed, snatching up a bar stool.
‘Don’t be silly, honey,’ said the second heavy, trying to wrench the stool from her. ‘We’re bigger than you.’
‘And call off this fucking dog,’ screamed the first heavy, reaching for his gun.
Perdita put down the stool and grabbed Leroy’s collar. ‘Drop,’ she screamed, ‘
‘Drop,’ mumbled Luke, raising himself a couple of inches.
Leroy dropped. Luke collapsed back on to the floor.
Winston Chalmers stepped over him, kicking him in the ribs. ‘Tell your friend,’ he said to Perdita, ‘to stay away from my wife. If he contacts her again, he’ll get acid in that ugly mug of his.’
‘He is not ugly,’ screamed Perdita, running after them out into the parking lot with Leroy barking at her side. But they had jumped into their big Cadillac and were screaming off past a bank at the end of the road, inappropriately named Fidelity Federal.
Going back into the bar, Perdita found Red chucking a bucket of water over Luke.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ she screamed. ‘Didn’t you hear Luke saying he’d never met her before this evening? And now he’s out cold and he’s got to play on Sunday.’
She knelt down beside Luke.
‘Luke, lovie, are you OK? Call an ambulance,’ she shouted at Red.
‘I’m OK,’ groaned Luke, feeling his jaw, ‘but I swear I’ve never met that woman before in my life.’
‘I know you haven’t,’ said Red, starting to laugh as he pulled Luke to his feet. ‘Whenever I call her up, I keep getting Winston, so I say I’m Luke Alderton.’
34
Three days later Perdita saw her first big Sunday match and was staggered by the razzmatazz. It had poured with rain all night, so four helicopters were brought in to blow-dry the field. After a lunch of lobster, chicken, bilberries and champagne, which cost each guest $200 a head, there was an auction for Band Aid, and, so that no- one could avoid coughing up, silver buckets were passed round the tables which were soon filled up with $100 and $1,000 bills. Each woman, as she left, was presented with a toy model of Hal Peters’ Cheetah convertible, and, as she reached her allotted seat, waitresses rushed forward to wipe off the rain with towels. Favoured clients of Hal Peters found glasses and bottles of champagne in ice awaiting them.
On the field before the match, two pop groups belted out: ‘Do they know it’s Christmas any more?’, and as both Bob Geldof and Auriel Kingham were alleged to be putting in an appearance during the game, the media were out in force.
Even with the temperature in the high sixties, the huge grandstand was filled with women smothered in jewels and huge hats as if they were going to a wedding. Some of them were young and very beautiful, but many were old. Perdita noticed some disgusting old crones looking like Egyptian mummies who’d spent the afternoon at Estee Lauder. Almost more gaudily dressed were the men who rolled up in jackets and trousers in an amazing variety of lime greens, terracottas and crocus yellows, and panamas with coloured ribbons. Bart, who’d paid for Perdita’s lunch, and her stand ticket, was wearing an extraordinary petrol-blue silk coat woven with yellow snaffles.
The teams had been expected to attend the lunch. Luke, looking very pale, had eaten nothing. He had refused to see a doctor, but Perdita was sure he was still slightly concussed and his right shoulder was giving him such hell that he had to resort to repeated shots of Novocaine. His amusement on Thursday night, which had been aided by alcohol, had given way to dread that he might be seriously injured. He could only feed his ponies and pay his grooms if he were able to make and sell on horses from dawn to midnight and play high goal for Hal Peters. It was crucial they won their first match this afternoon. Even Leroy kept a respectful six-foot distance from his master that morning.
As the teams lined up in front of the grandstand Luke was further irritated by Red, who couldn’t stop laughing at Hal Peters, who was so fat that you could hardly see his pony beneath him. Hal, however, who was an even worse rider than Victor Kaputnik, was loving every minute. Grinning from very clean ear to ear, his face aglow like a Dutch cheese, he waved to all his friends in the crowd. The commentator announced each player and they then had to canter forward, to loud cheers, taking off their hats while hanging on to their whips and sticks and controlling their ponies. Hal’s horse, an opinionated piebald called Horace, nearly carted him back to the pony lines, much to the joy of the crowd.
Victor’s canter forward was even more hazardous as he had to hang on to a new, and rather startling, ginger
