Polo. Part 22

'Let the best man win,' he smirked at Drew.

'Well, it certainly won't be you,' drawled Rupert.

Mrs Sherwood turned and smiled at Kevin. After all, he was picking up her sons' expenses. 'Do you know Dancer Maitland and Rupert Campbell-Black, Kevin?' 'Rather too well,' said the new Minister for Sport, his eyes like chips of ice.

'Shut up,' said Drew out of the corner of his mouth. 'I hope he's going to sponsor me.'

'I wouldn't advise it,' went on Rupert, not lowering his voice at all. 'Kevin sponsored a friend of mine a few years ago and took over his wife. If you're going into business with Key, I'd slap Sukey into a chast.i.ty belt p.r.o.nto.'

'That is quite uncalled for,' spluttered Kevin.

'They're about to throw-in. Come on, Ruts.h.i.+re,' shouted Bas, filling up everyone's gla.s.ses.

'Why are you wearing that wrist brace?' Merlin asked Randy as he lined up behind Justin Lombard.

'Too much w.a.n.king,' said Mike Waterlane, going bright pink at his own daring.

'I don't need to w.a.n.k, you little pipsqueak,' snapped Randy, nodding and smirking in Trace's direction. 'I've got the real thing.'

'I hope she's better at s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g than polo,' hissed Perdita, who, like a cat waiting to spring, was watching the umpire's hand.

'You b.i.t.c.h,' squealed Trace.

The umpire, who was having great difficulty controlling his dapple-grey pony, hurled the ball in. Hermia hated throw-ins. It took all the strength of Perdita's frantically squeezing legs to stop her ducking out. Reaching over, however, she managed to hook Randy's stick, so Mike was able to tap the ball away. Thundering towards the centre of the field, giving two South Suss.e.x players the slip, Perdita picked up a beautiful pa.s.s from Mike, skedaddled easily round Paul Hedley, hit two glorious offside forehands towards goal, before cutting the ball perfectly through the b.u.t.tercup-yellow goal posts. Up went the yellow flag.

'That'll teach you to booze at lunchtime,' she said sweetly to Randy as she cantered back.

After that Randy really had it in for her. Taking a pa.s.s from Patrick during the next chukka, she set out once more for goal.

'Leave,' brayed a hoa.r.s.e donkey voice behind her, 'leave, you b.l.o.o.d.y idiot.'

For a fatal second Perdita paused, thinking it was Mike shouting. Turning her head, she saw it was Randy Sherwood imitating Mike to muddle her, and that he was the only player in pursuit and had now gained valuable distance. The ball was ahead on her left. As she stood up in her stirrups, stretching over Hermia's nearside shoulder to hit the forehand, her right leg automatically swivelled up in the air. Lined up along the south of the field, the crowd could only see her left side. One umpire was up the other end, the other was too busy controlling his refractory pony to watch what Randy was up to. A second later he had neatly kicked her right stirrup out. Perdita mis-hit wildly, and only by some miracle stayed in the saddle, by which time Randy had backed the ball upfield to Merlin, who scored.

'b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' screamed Perdita, racing down the field, twirling her stick in the air, which was against the rules.

She also knew that she should have reported the foul to Mike, who would then make an official complaint to the umpire, but she was too angry.

'The f.u.c.king, cheating b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' she screamed. 'He kicked out my stirrup.'

'I what?' asked Randy, the picture of innocence.

The umpires conferred, then, like Tweedledum and Tweedledee in their striped s.h.i.+rts, cantered over to the third man in the stands, who'd been gazing at Mrs Sherwood at the time and missed the incident altogether, and who now waved his down-turned palms back and forth to indicate no foul.

'You've got to be joking,' said Perdita hysterically. 'b.l.o.o.d.y, dirty cheat.'

The umpires awarded a thirty-yard penalty to South Suss.e.x.

At the slowest, most mocking hand-canter Randy Sherwood circled and stroked the ball between the posts.

'You're making things seriously easy for us,' he told a raging Perdita as he cantered back.

Despite dogged marking by Ruts.h.i.+re, the superior pony power of South Suss.e.x was beginning to tell. They were six-five ahead and Drew and Ricky had their heads together at half-time. Then, as the Ruts.h.i.+re ponies' girths were loosened and they were washed down, sc.r.a.ped and walked round by the grooms, Drew called a brief team meeting.

'I'm going to swap you over,' he said. 'You're going to Number Four, Justin, and you're moving up to Number Two, Mike.'

Mike lowered the can of c.o.ke which he'd been emptying down his parched throat.

'I couldn't. I'll never hold Randy.'

'Randy's got a slower pony in this chukka, who won't like Dopey taking a piece of him in the line-out one bit.'

It was a wise change. Randy's late night and heavy lunch were telling on him. He was not seeing the ball so well. Like a fly on an open sore, Mike hara.s.sed him, the way Randy had hara.s.sed Perdita earlier, and was too busy to notice that his father had finally arrived. Randy got so mad, he slashed Mike across the knuckles with his stick. The umpire, who'd finally got control of his pony, gave Ruts.h.i.+re a penalty. Taking it, Mike hit the post, but a hovering Patrick Lombard slammed it in. Six all. The cheering was now non-stop.

Perdita had the line and was cantering a wilting Hermia down the boards, her roan coat turned the colour of red cabbage with sweat, her breath coming in huge gasps. Ahead, the ball was b.u.mping and slowly losing momentum over the divots, and Paul Hedley, the South Suss.e.x Number Four, was galloping over to ride her off and back the ball up the field. What was that fake she'd practised with Ricky and Dancer last week? She checked a grateful Hermia. Paul checked his big, black thoroughbred. Perdita checked Hermia even harder, Paul followed suit. Filled with the devil, Perdita swung Hermia even closer to the boards, so the ponies' nearside hooves were sc.r.a.ping the paint off, and Paul, who'd been instructed to mark Perdita at all costs, stayed with her.

For a second his mind was off the ball, leaving it free for Patrick Lombard to belt in and whip it away, dribbling it for a few yards, then powering it to Mike, who, relis.h.i.+ng his new freedom at Number Two, took it up field.

Merlin, who'd been covering for Paul and protecting the South Suss.e.x's goal, cleared once again, but Perdita blocked his shot. She could have tried for goal, but Mike had an easier shot so she gave him a lightning, nearside, under-the-neck pa.s.s. The whole ground groaned as Mikehit the post. Like Chrissie Evert executing an effortless backhand crosscourt volley at Wimbledon, Perdita shot forward and whacked the ball home. Seven-six, Ruts.h.i.+re were in the lead - the ground erupted, flat caps were being hurled in the air. Horns tooted. There were fifteen seconds left of play.

'We can't go to extra time,' Drew muttered to Ricky. 'Our ponies have had it.'

Realizing this, Randy shook off Mike at the throw-in and raced off to level the score.

'Look at the ground opening up for Randy Sherwood,' said Fatty Harris. 'Watch him going into overdraught, whoops, I mean overdrive. Can Randy make it seven all?'

Randy felt he could. With Sherwood arrogance, he lifted his stick for the copybook cut shot. Next moment Perdita, streaking down the field, had thrown herself out of the saddle and clinging with her left hand round Hermia's damp hot neck, hooked Randy as the final bell tolled for South Suss.e.x. The crowd went crazy.

'Ouch,' howled Ricky.

'Oh my G.o.d,' gasped Daisy, letting him go. Was that your bad arm?'

Nothing's bad at this moment,' said Ricky triumphantly. 'b.l.o.o.d.y marvellous,' yelled Drew.

'I knew they'd win easy,' crowed Dancer.

'Swap jerseys with me, I dare you,' said Merlin Sherwood to Perdita. Without missing a beat, she whipped off her Prussian-blue s.h.i.+rt to show a flash of white breast and browny-pink nipple before she dived into Merlin's olive-green jersey.

'Did you see that?' said Sukey in a shocked voice to Brigadier Canford.

'Indeed I did,' said the Brigadier. 'Wish I'd brought binoculars. d.a.m.n fine little player.'

Stripped to the waist, brown from the Zimbabwe sun, Randy rode up to Perdita to shake her hand. Grabbing it, he pulled her towards him. For a second she felt his hot, strong sweaty body against hers, then he kissed her.

'Well played, you stuck-up little b.i.t.c.h,' he whispered. 'I'll get you in the end.'

Next minute Perdita had slapped him across the face. 'f.u.c.k off, you great oaf,' she screamed.

Laughing, Randy cantered off. Trace Coley, who'd lost a match and a lover in as many minutes, burst into tears.

Dismounting to rest Hermia, Perdita walked off the field straight up to Ricky.

'Was it OK?'

It was the first time she'd seen him look really happy. 'It was f-f.u.c.king wonderful.'

Oh G.o.d, thought Daisy, he mustn't smile at her like that, he's utterly irresistible.

Kevin and Enid Coley were slightly compensated by the barrage of cameramen, particularly one from The Taller, The Taller, who photographed them talking to Lord Cowdray, and later handing out prizes and cups. who photographed them talking to Lord Cowdray, and later handing out prizes and cups.

Tabitha Campbell-Black was livid because she won a bag of Bailey's Performance Mix horse feed rather than a T-s.h.i.+rt with a picture of a polo pony on the front.

'I'm sure your performance isn't at all mixed,' murmured Rupert to Mrs Sherwood who seemed to have accepted South Suss.e.x's defeat with great equanimity. The Brazilian lover was looking increasingly disconsolate.

The prize-giving was supposed to be compred by Fatty Harris, but having taken so many nips while he was commentating, he had to pop into the Portaloo immediately after the match. He then had the humiliation of being locked in and towed away, with all the Pony Club screaming with delight at the sight of his vast red-nosed, anguished face and hammering fists at the window.

Horse boxes and cars were already driving off as Trace Coley, looking s.e.xy in her father's panama, sauntered up to receive a body brush and a blue rosette as one of the runners-up in the Jack Gannon.

Hastily scribbling out his copy for The Times The Times on the bonnet of his car, J.N.P. Watson wrote: on the bonnet of his car, J.N.P. Watson wrote: 'The star of the side, however, was seventeen-year-old Perdita Macleod, the Ruts.h.i.+re Number One, who scored three goals. Working at Richard France-Lynch's yard for the past two years, she showed much of the old France-Lynch magic, and must be regarded as high goal potential.'

'And finally,' announced Brigadier Canford, 'we come to the Mary Tyler Award for the most promising girl player.' Daisy watched an expectant Trace Coley re-arranging her panama in the driving mirror of her father's Rolls as Brigadier Canford put on his spectacles to have a better look. Then he beamed with delight. 'Which goes to Perdita Macleod.'

For a second Perdita froze as the reluctant cheers began to crescendo and stuffed her fists in her eyes, fighting back the tears. Then, immediately pulling herself together, she strolled up and thanked Kevin and Brigadier Canford very sweetly for her polo stick, before flicking a very obvious V-sign at Trace on the way back. Immediately Drew took her aside. 'Will you b.l.o.o.d.y well pull yourself together. Non-stop swearing, stripping off on the field, making V-signs at the sponsor's daughter. I saw you. Do you want that scholars.h.i.+p or not? After all the trouble your mother's taken driving you round the country, why the h.e.l.l are you deliberately trying to hurt her?'

'So we'll no more go a-Land-Roving so late into the night,' sang Daisy five minutes later, as, dizzy with pride and vodka, she weaved back to Drew's boot looking for her bag and went slap into Drew.

'The Coleys have asked us back for drinks at Chateau Kitsch - that's worth seeing anyway,' he said, 'but lots of potential patrons will be there and the Pony Club Committee, so it could be useful to Perdita. They've just confirmed her scholars.h.i.+p by the way, but don't tell her or she might blow it. It's nothing to cry about.'

'I don't know how to thank you, and I've got nothing to wear,' mumbled Daisy.

'You look fine. No one'll change.'

Daisy wished just for once that Drew could see her when she wasn't looking awful.

'Are Ricky and Dancer going?'

'They've gone home. Ricky's just been even ruder to Kevin than Rupert was. Told him he didn't want to accept hospitality from patrons who go round cuckolding their players. It gave him a ghastly feeling of dej vu.' dej vu.'

'Does Kevin know what dej vu dej vu means?' means?'

'He does now. And Enid's hopping.'

Half an hour later Enid had calmed down, at least on the surface, and changed into her aquamarine lurex hostess gown. As her hair had been squashed down by her David s.h.i.+lling spotted hat, she put on her prettiest blond wig with the tendrils over the forehead. Drenched in Shalimar, wearing her pearls, because her diamonds might make people who'd been unable to change feel under-dressed, Enid awaited her guests, radiating regality.

'I didn't realize it was going to be a tented w.a.n.k,' said Drew, as Sukey applied a dash of pink lipstick. It was not yet dusk, but the drive up to Kevin's mock Tudor house was lined with lit-up toadstools. The front door was flanked with the famous Moggie Meal cat and the Doggie Dins terrier. Six foot high and floodlit, they winked, mewed and yapped when the door bell was rung. Inside, maids in black took coats for tickets, and told everyone to go through the lounge as Mrs Coley was receiving in the pool area.

Perdita listened to her mother grinding gears and going on and on and on about how marvellously Perdita had played and how it had been the proudest moment of her life, and how everyone from Rupert to Brigadier Canford said what a great future she had and Drew this and Drew that. And of course, being Daisy, she was quite unable to resist telling Perdita the thrilling news which she mustn't tell anyone, anyone, that she'd got the scholars.h.i.+p. that she'd got the scholars.h.i.+p.

'Just think,' she raved on, as they drove past honey-suckled hedges and trees covered with reddening apples, 'six months in New Zealand. Hot springs and Kiwis and,' Daisy couldn't remember anything else about New Zealand, 'oh yes, Maoris, of course.'

'Maori, Maori quite contrary,' said Perdita gloomily.

Why wasn't she flying back to Robinsgrove with Dancer and Ricky? She didn't want to go to New Zealand. She'd die if she was parted from Ricky for five minutes. He'd been so lovely, and her shoulder still burned where he'd put a hand on it after the game. If she stayed in England with him, she'd learn much faster than shovelling horse-s.h.i.+t in New Zealand and being made to get up early in the morning. Getting up early was only worth it if she were going to see Ricky.

'I wonder if you'll be in South Island or North Island,' said Daisy, narrowly avoiding ramming the car in front which had braked suddenly.

'Oh, shut up, Mum, I want to think.'

By the pool at Chateau Kitsch, which was as blue as Enid Coley's hostess gown, Trace, who'd changed into a slinky black dress, was having a row with Randy Sherwood. 'How dare you kiss Perdita Macleod in front of everyone?' she hissed.

'Because I want to screw her,' said Randy unrepentantly. 'I bet she's a virgin, and she'd be volcanic in the sack.' Perdita had just walked in. She was still wearing muddy breeches, black socks and Merlin's polo s.h.i.+rt. Her hair was sc.r.a.ped back in a pony tail, her face was smeared with mud. What was the point of tarting up if Ricky wasn't there? Ignoring Randy's imperious wave, she walked over to talk to Mike Waterlane.

On the edge of the pool, knowing there was a possibility of Kevin sponsoring Drew, Sukey was chatting up Enid Coley. Perdita remembered Sukey being just as deferential to Grace Alderton three years ago, the first time she'd seen Ricky in the flesh. I can't go to New Zealand, she thought.

The food being handed round was quite awful - muesli sticks, unsalted nuts, prunes, figs, sliced bananas. Huge jugs of fruit juice were being pressed on guests, rather than booze.

Randy Sherwood edged up to Perdita.

'My mother's just gone off with Rupert Campbell-Black,' he said. 'I think he is the coolest guy in the world, and the richest. I wouldn't mind him as a stepfather.'

Reaching out for a vegetarian Scotch egg, and hurling it at his brother, Randy added casually, Will you have dinner with me tonight?'

But Perdita wasn't listening; she was far too engrossed in Sukey's conversation with Enid Coley.

'When one thinks of the number of miserably displaced children from broken homes who've been given a sense of purpose by the Pony Club,' Sukey was saying, then, lowering her voice, 'take Perdita Macleod. She was a little horror when Drew took her over - but look how she played today.'

'Given one or two shocking lapses of behaviour,' snorted Enid Coley. 'Mind you, it can't have helped working all this time for Ricky France-Lynch. He is the rudest, most arrogant man I've ever met. I mean, who does he think he is? I totally understand his little wife going off with Bart Alderton. Kevin and Bart do a lot of business together.'

'He did lose a child,' said Sukey.

'Because he was drunk. From all Bart says, he was rude and arrogant before that. That's what stopped him getting to the top.'

'What did you say?' said an icy voice.

Beneath the mud smears, Perdita was as white as a new polo ball. She was shaking with rage, there was fifth-degree murder in her eyes.

Sukey started. 'Oh, Perdita, I'd no idea you were there.'

'We were saying,' said Enid, without looking over her hefty lurex shoulder, 'that Ricky France-Lynch's personality stopped him getting to the top.'

'Well, you're going to the bottom, you disgusting old bag,' screamed Perdita, and the next moment she had b.u.t.ted Enid in the small of a very large back right into the swimming-pool. Jumping in after her, Perdita pulled off Enid's wig to reveal scant grey wisps and pushed her under the water, where the aquamarine hostess gown billowed up to display fawn pop socks at the end of fat, purple legs.

'How dare you slag off Ricky?' screamed Perdita. 'How dare you? How dare you?'

Everyone was shouting. There were even some cheers. Next minute, Kevin, Drew and Randy Sherwood, who was laughing his handsome head off, had jumped into the pool and were trying to prise Perdita away.

'Stop it,' said Drew, pinning her arms behind her back and grimly increasing the pressure until she gasped with pain and let go.

'Did you hear what she was saying about Ricky?' she cried hysterically.