Polo. Part 3

'Oh, Drew's managed to conquer his nerves,' said Sukey. Then, looking at Chessie: 'Aren't you frozen?'

'Not with me around,' said Dommie, running his hands up and down her bare legs.

Before Sukey had time to look old-fas.h.i.+oned, Seb had arrived holding three b.l.o.o.d.y Marys and a c.o.ke in his hands, and a packet of crisps between his teeth for Will. 'Christ, this weather's awful. D'you want a drink, Sukey?'

'No thanks, I've just had a cup of tea. There's the throw-in. I must go and watch with Grace. Such a wonderful lady.'

'Silly b.i.t.c.h,' muttered Chessie, putting the b.l.o.o.d.y Marys on the dashboard as Seb got in beside her. Next minute Bart thundered past them, eyes screwed up against the rain, swiping at the ball and missing completely. He was so bad, reflected Chessie, it was a turn-off to watch him. But not as bad as the petfood billionaire Kevin Coley, who was simultaneously hitting his poor pony round the legs with his stick, tugging on its mouth, and plunging huge spurs into its sides.

'Dreadful rider,' winced Seb.

'He's just given me a book on dog breeds,' said Dommie, getting it out of his Barbour. 'Seb and I are thinking of getting a pit bull.'

'Jesus's game is distinctly off today,' said Seb.

'Baby Jesus is a little b.u.g.g.e.r,' said Will, his mouth full of crisps.

The conditions were worsening, the pitch was a black sea of mud. Beyond the clubhouse the pink-and-white sponsors' tent strained at its moorings. By the third chukka the Alderton Flyers were leading by 8-4, not because of superior play, but because Juan, who was umpiring, was so anxious to curry favour with Bart that he hadn't blown a single foul on him.

'G.o.d,' said Seb, as Bart crashed into Charles Napier at ninety degrees, 'that should have been a goal to the other side.'

'Shall we get a white or a brindle one?' asked Dommie.

'How's your ravis.h.i.+ng schoolgirl?' asked Chessie.

'Expelled, poor darling. We tried to take her out on Sunday. We were going to Windsor and thought she'd like a jaunt, but they wouldn't even give us a forwarding address.'

'Oh, she'll turn up,' said Chessie. 'Those sort of girls always do.'

'Ready for another drink?' asked Seb, as the half-time bell went.

'I quite like Basenjis,' said Dommie, 'but they don't bark.'

He ran his hand down Chessie's bare leg again. 'Honestly, Mrs F-L, if you weren't married to Ricky, I'd make such a play.'

'Feel free,' said Chessie, then jumped at a tap on the window.

'Divot-stomping time, Francesca,' ordered Grace Alder-ton, looking disapprovingly at the row of gla.s.ses on the dashboard.

Dommie lowered the window a centimetre.

'It's too cold. Mrs F-L isn't dressed for treading in, and we've just got warm for the first time today.'

Grace didn't actually flounce, but her body stiffened as she stalked off on to the pitch.

'Good period, baby,' she shouted to Bart, as he cantered back, muddy but elated, having scored a goal.

'Can we get our diaries together when we get back to the car?' Sukey asked Grace, as they trod back the divots. 'I don't want to have our wedding on a day when you won't be in England.'

Will took a great slug of Dommie's second b.l.o.o.d.y Mary and started on a bag of Maltesers Seb had brought him.

'Don't let him eat them all,' said Chessie. 'He'll be sick.'

Will ate four, then put the rest in the breast pocket of his s.h.i.+rt. 'Allbody will think I've grown a t.i.t.'

The twins roared with laughter.

Ricky's breeches were black with mud as he came out for the fifth chukka. His spare sticks were in front of Dommie's car, leaning against the little fence that ran along the edge of the pitch. Some players used the same length stick for every pony, but Ricky preferred longer sticks for taller ponies, and Kinta, the new dark brown thoroughbred was nearly sixteen hands. If he broke a stick, he expected Chessie to run out and hand him a new one.

'Those are the fifty-ones on the left, and the fifty-twos on the right,' he shouted to her as he cantered back for the throw-in.

'Are you going to Deauville?' Chessie asked the twins.

'Shut up,' said Seb. 'I want to see how Ricky goes on Juan's pony, and you can get your nose out of that book, Dom.'

Ricky was used to riding with his reins completely loose, the slightest pressure on his horses' necks turning them to the left or right. Kinta, however, coming from the race track where horses are only expected to go one way and used to being yanked around by Juan, pulled like an express train and was almost impossible to stop.

'Christ, Ricky won't have any arms left,' said Dommie, as Kinta easily outstripped Charles Napier's fastest pony. 'But she's going b.l.o.o.d.y well for him. Juan must be as sick as a baby with its first cigar.'

Both sides were now squelching around the Doggie Dins' goal. Bart should have dropped back and marked Ben Napier, but, instead, rushed into the mlee and, losing control of his pony, mis-hit.

'Get back, you stupid f.u.c.ker,' howled Ricky. 'Interesting your husband never stammers when he's shouting abuse,' said Seb.

As Will took another slug of b.l.o.o.d.y Mary, Ricky and Ben Napier both bounded forward trying to prise the ball out of the mud. There was a crack as Ricky's stick broke. Swinging round, he galloped towards the boards.

'He wants another stick,' said Seb.

Reluctantly Chessie climbed out into the stabbing rain. Only the fence and the row of cars stopped Kinta. 'Fifty-two,' yelled Ricky.

'Are you trying to tell me your age?' drawled Chessie. 'Give me my f.u.c.king fifty-two.'

'Say please!'

'Chess-ee, come on,' on,' said Seb disapprovingly. said Seb disapprovingly.

'Sthop sthouting, Daddy,' said Will.

'For Christ's sake,' howled Ricky.

'Don't be infantile,' said a furious Grace, running forward and handing the stick to Ricky. Seizing it, he hurtled back into the game. But it was too late. Despite Kinta's phenomenal speed, Doggie Dins had taken advantage of Ricky's absence to score a goal.

'Sthop sthouting,' said Will, filling up his water-pistol from Seb's b.l.o.o.d.y Mary.

As the bell went for the end of the fifth chukka, Chessie caught sight of Grace's face and was about to belt back into the smoky warmth of the twins' car.

'May I speak with you, Francesca?'

'Shall we have a word after the match? I'm watching Ricky.'

'Not noticeably.'

'Wee-wee,' clamoured Will.

'I've got to take Will to the loo,' said Chessie.

'Why don't you let him pee in Fatty Harris's rain gauge?' said Dommie.

'Then Fatty will be so horrified by the amount of rainfall, he'll cancel Sunday's match and we'll have a day off,' said Seb.

'I quite like Rottweilers,' said Dommie.

'Wee-wee,' said Will, dropping his Maltesers in the mud as he scrambled out of the car.

If Grace hadn't been present, Chessie would have picked the Maltesers up. As she dragged Will away, he burst into tears.

'I'll take him to the lay,' said Sukey. 'Then you and Grace can chat.'

'He won't go with you,' protested Chessie.

'Come along, Will,' said Sukey briskly. To Chessie's amazement, Will trotted off with her.

'You only have to use the right tone of voice,' said Grace.

'Do look,' said Seb, nudging Dommie. 'Grace is about to urge Mrs F-L to exercise a little decorum.'

'Decorum's a nice name for a dog,' said Dommie. 'Then I could exercise it.'

Inside Bart's limo the new leather smelt like a tack shop. Grace had been a good wife to Bart. Twenty-one years ago, she had taken this roaring roughneck and turned him into a tyc.o.o.n. She had provided him with the contacts, the friends.h.i.+ps, the staff, the right silver and china at her dinner parties, where important people met the important people they wanted to meet. Grace was acutely aware of the social advantages of polo. She longed to invite the Prince to dine at one of her five houses, as much as she wanted her two children to make brilliant marriages. Grace's every action, whether she was fund-raising at a calorie-conscious teetotal buffet lunch or reading biographies of famous people as she pedalled away on her exercise bicycle, was geared towards improvement.

She couldn't understand Chessie's lack of motivation, and had spent a lot of time this summer discussing both Chessie's and Ricky's shortcomings with Bart. But in the last week she had noticed Bart was slagging off Chessie less and less. He was even talking about -bringing her and Ricky over to Palm Beach for the polo season in January. Having herself dreamt about Ricky last night, rather a disturbing dream, Grace had now decided that he was terribly misunderstood, and took a positive pleasure in giving his wife a pep talk.

'Are you supporting Doggie Dins, Francesca?' 'Of course not,' snapped Chessie.

'One could be fooled into thinking so. A married couple is two people, half a polo team, and you're intelligent enough to know that you only win at polo and in life if you play as a team and support each other. Your behaviour towards Ricky is flip, destructive and totally unsupportive.'

Chessie yawned. 'You've no idea how tricky he is. Women are always on Ricky's side because he's so good-looking.'

'I am not Women,' Women,' said Grace icily. 'How many times have you failed to pa.s.s on messages, turned up late at matches, and showed no interest in the game? Look at you today, egging on the twins, dressed like a tramp, and now not giving Ricky his fifty-two. If the Flyers lose this match it'll be entirely your fault. You're twenty-seven, not seventeen, Francesca.' said Grace icily. 'How many times have you failed to pa.s.s on messages, turned up late at matches, and showed no interest in the game? Look at you today, egging on the twins, dressed like a tramp, and now not giving Ricky his fifty-two. If the Flyers lose this match it'll be entirely your fault. You're twenty-seven, not seventeen, Francesca.'

'When Ricky signed his contract with you,' said Chessie furiously, 'there was absolutely no clause about my turning up in a ball dress at every match. You've no idea what it's like living with a man who's totally obsessed with polo.'

'If your husband's going to succeed,' Grace looked at Chessie's mutinous profile, 'you have to put up with loneliness. When Bart was building up the business, he often didn't come home till two o'clock in the morning.'

'Not surprised,' said Chessie, 'if you bent his ear like this.'

'Don't be impertinent.'

'I don't want to hear any more. You can buy Ricky but not me.' Scrambling out of the limo, Chessie went slap into Sukey and Will who was still clutching his water-pistol.

'All better,' said Sukey. 'Such a jolly little chap, I waited outside and didn't miss a minute. Oh, well played, Drew darling, oh go on, go on.'

'Stick 'em up,' said Will, his eyes squinting through his blond fringe.

'Don't point guns at people, dear,' said Grace.

Next minute Will had emptied a pistol full of b.l.o.o.d.y Mary into her cream silk s.h.i.+rt. Grace gave a scream. Chessie made the mistake of laughing.

'If you'd take your nose out of that book for one second,' said Seb to Dommie, 'you'd see Ricky finally losing his patron.'

As Chessie dragged Will off in search of Ricky, she could hear Sukey comforting Grace. 'I'm sure Mrs Beeton will know how to get tomato juice out.'

Suddenly Chessie stopped laughing and started to cry. 'That was naughty,' she screamed at Will. 'You may have been defending my honour but your methods were very extreme.'

'Hi, honey,' said a voice. 'You're getting soaked.' It was Bart, coming off the field.

Delighted to have scored two goals and trounced Doggie Dins, he was in exultant form. Then he realized that the rain pouring down Chessie's face was tears.

'Hey - what's the matter?'

'Your ghastly wife's been giving me a dressing-down for not dressing up, telling me what an awful wife I am.'

The icy wind was sweeping the drenched striped s.h.i.+rt against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. 'I tell you the only reason Frankenstein was a monster was because he was frank,' she added furiously.

Just for a second they were hidden from the pitch by a home-going horse box. Bart put a warm sweating hand on Chessie's neck and she felt her stomach disappear.

'I've tried to put you out of my mind,' he said roughly, 'but I didn't manage it. Grace and I are going back to the States tomorrow - for a wedding - one of the Biddies' - even in the pursuit of love Bart had to name-drop - 'I'll be back on Wednesday. How about lunch on Thursday?'

'All right.'

'Meet me at Rubens' Retreat at one o'clock,' said Bart and rode on.

Grace came forward as he reached the pony lines: 'Well played, baby.' Then, consulting her red book, 'but you were loose in the fifth chukka.'

'How dare you chew out Chessie France-Lynch?' snarled Bart. 'I run this team, OK, and don't you forget it.'

6.

Grace's pep-talk only intensified Chessie's desire to take her husband off her. The weather continued windy and very cold, and Chessie spent the next week sourly watching her suntan fade and thinking up alibis for Thursday lunchtime. Fortunately Ricky was being paid 1,000 to play in a charity match at the Guards Club that day, on the understanding that he stayed behind for drinks and allowed himself to be gawped at by all the sponsors' rich clients. This meant he wouldn't be home much before eight.

Ricky was loath to go. He was desperately worried about Mattie, who'd stopped eating and kept biting listlessly at her plaster. Her eyes were dull - always the first sign of pain in a horse. He was sure the plaster was beginning to smell, a sinister indication that infection or, even worse, gangrene, was setting in.