Polo. Part 23

'You're not helping him by behaviour like this,' snapped Drew.

For a second Perdita struggled with him, then watched with mixed emotions by Sukey, Daisy and a drenched Randy Sherwood, she collapsed sobbing in his arms. 'No one understands Ricky like I do.'

22.

Ricky was so furious with Perdita for deliberately sabotaging her scholars.h.i.+p that he gave her the sack.

Even the sight of Little Chef and the ponies longingly looking out for her every morning didn't make him relent.

'He's a hard man,' said plump Louisa, who also missed Perdita dreadfully. Only the sullen, scrawny Frances was delighted.

At home Perdita behaved more atrociously than ever before, storming round the house, refusing to get a job *nd screaming at Violet and Eddie when they returned bronzed from a month in LA with Hamish and Wendy. Nor were matters helped by Violet gaining ten 'A's in her O levels, losing a stone and getting her first boyfriend, who rang her constantly at all hours of the night from Beverly Hills. Violet and Eddie then went back to their respective boarding schools, paid for by Granny Macleod, which only stepped up Perdita's paranoia and jealousy.

At the end of September Violet came home for a long weekend and Perdita was so b.l.o.o.d.y-minded that in despair Daisy escaped to Harvest Festival for an hour of peace. Eldercombe Church was packed. Miss Lodsworth, who organized the flower rota, had excelled herself. Huge tawny chrysanthemums big as setting suns, gold dahlias like lions' manes, yellow roses, sheaves of corn, briar and elder glowing with berries all brought a glow to the ancient yellow stone. Every window-ledge was crammed with apples gleaming like rubies, vast vegetable marrows and pumpkins and, more prosaically, tinned fruit, sardines and baked beans. Some joker had even added a tin of Doggie Dins.

Daisy also noticed, as she slid into an empty pew at the back, that the church was unusually full of attractive women. There was Philippa Mannering looking avid in a beautifully cut check suit and a brown beret at a rakish angle. There was the pretty girl from the village shop wearing an emerald-green dress more suited to a wedding. Exotic scent mingled with the more religious smells of incense, furniture polish and veneration. Putting paid to Daisy's hour of peace were also h.o.a.rds of children clambering over pews, chasing each other down the aisles, punching their mothers, and having to be repeatedly hushed for talking. Not children used to being brought to church, thought Daisy. Then she realized realized she'd forgotten to kneel down when she came in, and blus.h.i.+ng, sank to her knees. she'd forgotten to kneel down when she came in, and blus.h.i.+ng, sank to her knees.

Oh, please G.o.d, she prayed, shake Perdita out of this ghastly mood and make her happy again, and look after darling Violet and Eddie, and Gainsborough and Ethel, and please G.o.d, if you think it's right, let me fall in love with a man who isn't married, who falls in love with me and don't make it too long.

h.e.l.l, she'd picked a pew next to the radiator. She'd be as red as those beetroots in the window in a minute. Please G.o.d, don't make me so vain, she asked, scrambling to her feet with the rest of the congregation as the organ launched into 'We plough the fields and scatter'.

Then Daisy twigged the reason for all those glammed-up women. Far ahead, in the France-Lynch pew, poignant because he was the sole inhabitant, stood Ricky. He was looking unusually smart in a pin-stripe suit and a black tie which was the only colour he'd worn since Will died. With the pile of huge marrows, the whole service seemed like some ancient fertility rite, with Ricky the unattainable corn king whom everyone wanted.

'He only is the maker of all things near and far,' bellowed Miss Lodsworth, totally out of tune. bellowed Miss Lodsworth, totally out of tune. 'He paints the wayside 'He paints the wayside flower, He lights the evening star.' flower, He lights the evening star.'

Daisy's eyes filled with tears. What beautiful words. Would she ever find time to paint wayside flowers again? Ricky certainly lit the Evening Star for Perdita. She must must ask him round for a drink. ask him round for a drink.

The gay Vicar, who loved the sound of his own voice, took a long time over the service and Daisy's thoughts started to wander. Tears filled her eyes again as she thought of the little gravestone in the churchyard: In loving memory of William Richard France-Lynch, 1978-81.

Oh, poor Ricky. Daisy blew her nose on a piece of blue loo paper. She felt even sorrier for him with that stammer when he went up to read the first lesson, and had to announce that it came from the eighth chapter of Deuteronomy, a word which took him four goes. His face was impa.s.sive, his hands steady. Only the long pin-striped right leg, shuddering uncontrollably, betrayed his nerves. Now he was wrestling with the bit about 'G.o.d leading thee 'G.o.d leading thee into the w-w-wilderness for forty years to humble thee and to p-p-prove thee.' into the w-w-wilderness for forty years to humble thee and to p-p-prove thee.'

Comparing his grey frozen features with the carved stoneangel beside the lectern, looking at the long lit-up scar, and the furrowed forehead as he wrestled with the difficult words, Daisy thought he didn't need to humble or prove himself any more. She supposed because he was ostensibly Lord of the Manor, he felt he had to do it. Dancer would have had much more fun.

Daisy was sweating for him, and as he stumbled over the word 'pomegranates', 'pomegranates', she could feel the collective goodwill of the painted ladies in the congregation urging him home like the favourite in the Grand National. she could feel the collective goodwill of the painted ladies in the congregation urging him home like the favourite in the Grand National.

The Vicar then took the text for his sermon from the second lesson, 'G.o.d loveth a cheerful giver', and was so carried away by his own rhetoric that he absent-mindedly helped himself to most of the grapes hanging down from the top of the pulpit.

Daisy was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up her courage to accost Ricky and ask him for a drink after church when the Vicar launched into the final prayer about being made flesh, and she suddenly remembered the vast ox heart cooking in the oven for Ethel, which would burn dry if it wasn't taken out, so she belted home. Anyway Ricky had been b.u.t.tonholed outside the church by the gay Vicar and scores of eager ladies.

'Come to dinner this evening, just kitchen sups,' Philippa was saying.

'I'm afraid I've got to work,' Ricky said brusquely. 'I'd 'I'd simply love to,' said the Vicar. simply love to,' said the Vicar.

Daisy was still giggling when she got home to Snow Cottage and made the mistake at lunch of telling Perdita that Ricky had read the lesson.

'Did you speak to him?' demanded Perdita, dropping her forkful of braised fennel with a clatter. 'What did he say about me? Did you ask him for a drink?'

'I didn't get near him. He was surrounded ' Daisy was about to say 'by women', but hastily changed it to 'by members of the congregation as I was leaving, and I had to get back for Ethel's heart.'

'What about my f.u.c.king heart?' screamed Perdita. 'You don't give a s.h.i.+t that it's broken. You're so b.l.o.o.d.y wet, one could grow waterlilies all over you,' and, storming out of the kitchen, slammed the door behind her.

'Why don't you stand up to her, Mum?' asked Violet.

I must not cry, Daisy gritted her teeth. After she'd cleared up lunch she hoisted Ethel's huge ox heart out of its water on to the chopping board. Usually she got through cutting it up by fantasizing that she was Christian Barnard saving the life of Francis Bacon or Lucian Freud. Today it didn't work, the tears started flowing again. I mustn't go to pieces, she whispered, tomorrow I'll be brave, and ask Ricky round for a drink.

Fortunately the Caring Chauvinist was away the following day, but Ricky's number was always engaged. Only when she checked with directory enquiries did she learn that the receiver was off the hook.

Getting home from the office, she found Violet and Perdita having another screaming match.

'I'm not coming home at half-term if she's here, Mum,' complained Violet. 'She's destroying all of us.'

Having cleaned her teeth, washed, put on a bit of makeup and brushed her hair, Daisy set out up the ride to Robinsgrove. The sun was sinking in a red glow, the lights were coming out in Eldercombe Village. Once more Daisy was knocked out by the fecundity of everything, the blackthorn purple with sloes, plump hazel nuts already shredded by squirrels, elderberries s.h.i.+ny as caviar hanging like shower fittings from their crimson stems. She ought to make elderberry wine, then she wouldn't spend so much on vodka.

Ethel bounced ahead, cras.h.i.+ng joyfully through the russet bracken, then splas.h.i.+ng and rolling in the stream, spooking as ponies loomed out of the dusk. Ahead towered Robinsgrove - such a large house for one unhappy man.

I must be brave for Perdita's sake, said Daisy through chattering teeth as she pressed the door bell. He can only tell me to eff off. Inside she heard frantic barking. The door opened an inch.

'Yes,' said an incredibly unfriendly voice.

Little Chef had other ideas. Barging through the gap, he hurled himself on Ethel in a frenzy of tightly curled tail-wagging. Then, on tiptoe with excitement, he danced round her licking her eyes and ears.

'Oh, it's you,' said Ricky. 'C-come in.'

'Ethel's soaking.'

'She's OK. Little Chef seems to like her.'

Following him through the dark, panelled and tapestriedhall, Daisy noticed the telephone off the hook in the drawing room, then froze. Ahead on the kitchen table lay a twelve bore. Ricky must be about to commit suicide. She must get him out of the house.

'I came to ask you to supper,' she babbled looking back into the drawing room. 'You must come at once. Autumn's awfully depressing, it affects lots of people. I'm sure things'll seem better tomorrow.'

Ricky followed her gaze.

'Oh, that accounts for the peace today. I must have left it off the hook this morning. Rupert rang about a pony. I went out to the yard to check some detail.'

He replaced the receiver. Instantly it rang - Philippa trying to fix up a dinner date.

'I'm working tonight,' snapped Ricky, 'and next week I'm going to Argentina.' He slammed down the receiver. 'f.u.c.king woman.'

He was going to shoot himself and Little Chef, thought Daisy numbly.

'I don't think you should be on your own,' she said in what she hoped was a calming voice. 'I know you'll never get over what's happened. But nice things do happen. They played "Invitation to the Waltz" on Radio 3 this morning' - she was speaking faster and faster, edging towards the gun - 'such a heavenly tune, I played it at school, and suddenly found myself waltzing round the kitchen, then Ethel leapt up and waltzed with me, and I thought perhaps there is a life after Hamish. If you came to supper now, you could watch television, and Violet learnt how to play poker in California, she's teaching me, we could have a game and Perdita would love to see you.' Her voice trailed off when she saw Ricky looking at her in utter amazement.

'What are are you going on about?' you going on about?'

Daisy pointed nervously at the gun. 'I think you should put that horrid thing away.'

Suddenly Ricky smiled with genuine amus.e.m.e.nt. It was as though the carved angel by the lectern had suddenly come to life.

'You thought I was going to top myself. I've been shooting partridge with Rupert. I was cleaning my gun. Look.' He held up his oily hands.

'Oh, gosh,' said Daisy appalled. 'How stupid of me!'

'Anyway, you can't commit suicide with a twelve bore, although they're always doing it in books. Look.' He picked up the gun, and held it to his temples, 'One's arms simply aren't long enough to pull the trigger.'

Daisy had gone absolutely scarlet.

'I was just worried, with the telephone off the hook and all.'

'I'm quite OK,' said Ricky, slotting the gun back in its case, 'and I would like to come to supper.'

'You would?' Daisy's jaw dropped. All they had in the house was six eggs for scrambling and the remains of Ethel's heart. As if reading her thoughts, Ricky said, 'Better still, we'll go out.'

'Oh, no,' said Daisy, appalled. 'I didn't mean that. I wouldn't dream of foisting myself on you. And the children '

'Are quite capable of looking after themselves. I got my licence back last week, so it's a treat to drive someone.' I'm not dressed.'

'Nor am I.' He was wearing faded olive-green cords, a check s.h.i.+rt and a dark brown jersey.

Daisy would so like to have got tarted up, but at least her hair was newly washed that morning and her teeth were clean. But Perdita would never forgive her for going out with Ricky.

'I'll just wash,' he said, 'and you can ring home.'

Daisy was desperately relieved to get Violet, who was wildly encouraging. 'Go for it, Mum, he's gorgeous. Got yourself a decent date at last.'

Ricky took her to a French restaurant in Rutminster with low beams, scrubbed pine tables, sawdust on the floor, rooms leading one into another and mulberry red walls covered with hunting prints. The head waiter, enchanted to see Ricky after three years' absence, kissed him on both cheeks, enquired after his elbow, and found him a quiet corner.

Daisy was mildly encouraged that Ricky deliberately sat on her right, on his non-scar side. He ordered her a large vodka and orange and Perrier for himself. At first the pauses were dreadfully long.

'D'you miss not drinking very much?'

He nodded. 'I'm lousy at small talk, and it helped.' 'Couldn't you just drink occasionally when you need it - like at parties?'

'Once I start I can't stop - like Kinta.' He uncrossed a pair of knives.

'I suppose you feel it's a way of making sure it never happens again.' She flushed as red as the mulberry walls. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't remind you.'

Ricky broke up a piece of brown bread, but didn't eat it. 'Does it get better?' asked Daisy.

'Not much.'

The flame from a scarlet candle lit up the stubble darkening his chin and the even blacker rings under his eyes. Oh, Christ, that's torn it, thought Daisy.

'Are you ready to order, Meester France-Lynch?' asked the head waiter. 'The moules marinires moules marinires are very very nice.' 'I'll have that,' said Ricky, then turned to Daisy. are very very nice.' 'I'll have that,' said Ricky, then turned to Daisy.

Oh help, she thought. One of the things that had driven Hamish crackers was her inability to make up her mind. 'No hurry,' said Ricky. 'Give us a few more minutes.' 'I'd like mushrooms la grecque,' la grecque,' said Daisy quickly, 'And to follow, said Daisy quickly, 'And to follow, les perdreaux sont superbes. les perdreaux sont superbes. We serve them We serve them stuffed with foie gras and cooked in Madeira.'

'Partridge,' explained Ricky. 'They do them very well here.'

Daisy nodded hastily. 'I'd like that.' Anything not to irritate.

'And don't overcook them,' said Ricky. 'And we'll have a bottle of the Number Fourteen.'

'I'll be plastered,' said Daisy, aghast.

'No-one could accuse me of being a half-b-b-bottle man,' said Ricky. 'What was your husband like?'

'Very half-bottle, very n.o.ble-looking, very serious. He thought I was too silly for words, but he made it possible for me to keep Perdita, so I'll always be grateful.'

'You miss him?'

'I miss all the things he did - like policies and banks and keeping the children in order. And I miss having a pair of arms round me. It's like being a house without a roof.'

She was boiling. She'd have to take off her thick blue jersey soon, and she couldn't remember how many b.u.t.tons had come off the s.h.i.+rt underneath, and it was sleeveless, and she hadn't shaved her armpits since Philippa asked her to supper last week.

'It's such a pity,' she gabbled on, 'one can't go out and buy a new husband or wife the next day, like you do with puppies or kittens. I'm sure it'd be much easier to help one get over things.'

'I don't want a new wife,' said Ricky flatly.

'No,' said Daisy humbly, thinking of poor Perdita. 'I can see that. Chessie was so beautiful. I've seen pictures.'

'Better in the flesh. Her colouring was so p-p-perfect. It was my fault I neglected her. I was foul-tempered and arrogant and polo-mad. I never had any money to buy her the things she wanted.'

She had you, Daisy wanted to say. It was no good, she'd have to take her jersey off. Horrors, two middle b.u.t.tons were missing to show an ancient grey bra. Hastily she breathed in and clamped her arms to her sides to hide the stubble. Then, seeing Ricky looking at her in amazement, said quickly, 'Bart Alderton sounds h.e.l.l.'

'He's a s.a.d.i.s.t,' said Ricky as the waiter arrived with their first course. 'That's why I must get her back.'

And while the black mussel sh.e.l.ls rose in the spare plate, like cars on a sc.r.a.p heap, he told Daisy about Chessie's last taunt.

'But that's wonderful,' said Daisy, 'so romantic. You can win the Gold Cup and the Westchester, and go to ten like the labours of Hercules. I'd rather do that than kill the Hydra. You must do it.'

Ricky pa.s.sed Daisy a mussel. 'They're very good. I will if Dancer has anything to do with it. Now they've lifted the ban on my going abroad, I'm off to Argentina next month to squander his millions on some really good ponies.'

Perdita adored Dancer,' said Daisy. 'These mushrooms are bliss. In fact, the whole thing is a real treat.' She took a huge gulp of wine.

'How is she?' asked Ricky casually.

'Suffering from ma.s.sive withdrawal symptoms. She misses you - all,' she added hastily.

'I miss her,' said Ricky. 'She's a menace, but she makes me laugh.'