Polo. Part 50

'To sort out my game,' said Perdita. 'I'm playing like s.h.i.+t, and that a.s.shole Ricky won't let me near the ball.' Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, Luke laughed. 'You haven't changed.'

'I didn't have time. I came straight from the yard. D'you know, the Kaputnik Tigers thrashed us 8-0 yesterday, and Victor didn't do a b.l.o.o.d.y thing all the match. Oh yes he did, he fell off.'

Luke went to bed deeply depressed. Ricky had welcomed him guardedly and without any friendliness, making it clear he was the boss of Apocalypse and would only seek Luke's advice if he needed it.

After Florida in the nineties, Robinsgrove seemed bitterly cold. As a polo player, Luke was used to lousy accommodation, but there was something particularly chilling about Ricky's spare room, with the heavy, dark furniture, bare floors, apple-green walls and a royal-blue Best Playing Pony blanket instead of a counterpane. There were no flowers, and a pile of yellowing 1981 Tatlers Tatlers and and Harpers and Queens Harpers and Queens indicated that no one had used the room since Chessie left. indicated that no one had used the room since Chessie left.

Woken next morning by the cuckoo, however, he looked down Eldercombe Valley and freaked. Below him lawns,dotted with daisies, flowed into an orchard foaming with coral-pink apple blossom, then into paddocks full of b.u.t.tercups and sleek, grazing ponies, then falling into the jade-green ride which fell three-quarters of a mile down between wooded cliff walls to the little cottage where Perdita lived. The sweet scent of the montana clambering round his window and the primulas and dark red wallflowers below were fighting a losing battle with the rampant reek of the wild garlic which was sweeping the woods in an emerald-green tidal wave.

And whoever wakes in England, Sees some morning unaware, thought Luke. thought Luke.

Wandering downstairs in search of breakfast, he paused to examine the photographs in the hall. Christ, that was a Westchester team beside the grandfather clock. He found Ricky drinking black coffee, feeding pieces of sausage to Little Chef and making lists matching ponies to players for the medium-goal match at the Ruts.h.i.+re Polo Club that afternoon.

'This house is incredible,' said Luke. 'And the view from my room is to die for, and who are all those guys in the photographs in the hall?'

'Oh, various relations,' said Ricky, uninterested.

Luke admired the drawings of ponies crowding the kitchen walls. 'Those are neat. Who did them?'

'Perdita's mother. Not bad, is she? She's just painted Rupert Campbell-Black's wife, Taggie. Even Rupert liked it after the hundredth sitting.'

'Paint must never hope to reproduce that faint half-flush that dies along her throat,' dies along her throat,' murmured Luke. 'What's she like - Perdita's mother?' murmured Luke. 'What's she like - Perdita's mother?'

Ricky looked up from his lists and frowned. 'Sweet, like a hot bath after hunting. I wonder if Wayne's fit enough to play two chukkas.'

To Ricky's and Perdita's irritated envy, Dancer had provided Luke with a brand-new, dark green Mercedes, stuffed full of cla.s.sical tapes. As Don Giovanni Don Giovanni serenaded nesting birds on the way to the match, Luke was so knocked out by the beauty of the Ruts.h.i.+re countryside that he kept forgetting to drive on the left side of the road. Like sleeping, yellow, Labrador puppies, the ancient Cotswold serenaded nesting birds on the way to the match, Luke was so knocked out by the beauty of the Ruts.h.i.+re countryside that he kept forgetting to drive on the left side of the road. Like sleeping, yellow, Labrador puppies, the ancient Cotswold villages seemed to sprawl across the wooded valleys. The fierce sapphire of the bluebells had been faded by a hot April to pale periwinkle-blue, but the verges frothed with cow parsley, the fields were full of cowslips, silver cuckoo flower and leaping lambs, and many of the trees were putting out acid-green leaves against a threatening navy-blue sky.

To the right Perdita pointed out David Waterlane's splendid Queen Anne house, peeping over its dark fan of yew hedge, and the sweep of land Rupert and Bas had snapped up on which to build polo yards.

Then, driving through large, lichened gates up a long drive of beech trees, pa.s.sing little gazebos and towers on the edge of gra.s.sy rides or adding l.u.s.tre to a view, they finally reached the clubhouse and the fields with their ring of splendid trees and the magnificent stands donated by Bart.

The presence of both the Prince of Wales and Dancer Maitland in the same match had attracted a much larger crowd than usual for a Thursday afternoon. Perdita, who had changed into her black s.h.i.+rt with the red horse on the front, and who was more nervous than she cared to admit of playing in front of Luke again, shot off to the pony lines. She was enraged to go slap into Daisy.

'What are you doing here?'

'Cheering you on,' said Daisy, not altogether truthfully. Drew was playing for opposing Rutminster Hall with David Waterlane, the Prince and an underhandicapped Chilean called Jose.

'Is Luke playing?' asked Daisy.

'How many times do I have to tell you fifteen's the limit for medium goal? Luke and Ricky add up to sixteen between them. We're playing with Dancer and Mike Waterlane, who'll be useless because his father's playing for the other side.'

'Is Luke here?'

'Over there, listening to some stupid Mozart tape,' and she raced off to find Ricky yelling at Louisa, who'd replaced Frances as head groom and who'd put in the wrong bridle for Tero.

Fischer-Dieskau finished the aria. Coming down to earth, wis.h.i.+ng he was as successful with women as Don Giovanni, Luke discovered an adorable brunette tapping on his window. Unable to find the b.u.t.ton to lower it, he opened the door and the next moment was being licked all over by a large, scruffy English setter.

'I'm desperately sorry,' gasped the brunette, ineffectually trying to tug the dog off.

'It's OK. I like dogs, particularly when they come on the end of such pretty ladies.'

The brunette blushed. 'I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm Daisy Macleod. I wanted to thank you for being so kind to Perdita.'

Luke's jaw dropped. From Perdita's chronically unflattering descriptions he'd expected some bushy-haired middle-aged weirdo with vinaigrette stains all over her caftan. Christ, she's not much older than me, he thought.

'It was so wonderful of you to give her Tero last Christmas,' went on Daisy. 'She's so adorable. She used to be petrified of me, but she wintered in the field near our, or rather Ricky's, cottage. I used to feed the ponies carrots and Tero'd always lurk at the back, never barging like the others. Then I discovered she adored toast and Marmite, and we used to have secret trysts behind hawthorn bushes so I could feed her when the others weren't looking. She's got such a sweet way of coming up and giving you a little nudge in the back. She got so tame, she came into the kitchen while we were having Christmas dinner. She adores Spotty; they lie down side by side. Perdita says ponies never normally do that in case their legs get entangled. I'm sorry,' she flushed again, 'I didn't mean to bore you.'

'Bore me?' said Luke. 'I'm just blown away how young you are. You haven't got a portrait getting all wrinkled in the attic?'

'Only ones painted by me,' giggled Daisy.

'I saw your drawings in Ricky's kitchen. If I save up, will you do Fantasma when she comes over?'

'I'll do her for nothing after all you did for Perdita. She'd never have survived Argentina without you.'

Goodness, he's tall, thought Daisy, as Luke got out of the car. And what a friendly, charming and amiable face - you felt you could tell him anything.

Daisy s.h.i.+vered in the sharp east wind which whistled across the field. She'd been baking when she'd left the shelter of Snow Cottage, particularly as she'd just blow-dried her hair for Drew. Not wanting to waste a chance to get brown she had unearthed an ancient, blue sun-dress with lacing across the front, which was now strained horizontally across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Duo-tanned legs on their fifth day were turning purple. Taking off his US Open jacket, Luke put it round her shoulders.

'You'll need it, coming from Florida,' stammered Daisy. Luke grinned. 'I'm tough.'

What a lovely man, thought Daisy.

'Will you come to dinner tonight?' she blurted out. But before Luke had time to answer, Perdita had thundered up on Spotty.

'What a c.o.c.k-up! Neither Dancer nor Mike has arrived. The Prince has got to be in London to unveil some plaque by seven and Ricky's having a blazing row with that prat Harris who says we've got to forfeit if the match doesn't start on time.'

'Your mother's just asked me to dinner,' said Luke. 'I don't know what Ricky's plans are. Why don't we eat out?'

'b.l.o.o.d.y stupid idea,' snapped Perdita. 'Ricky'll be in no mood to go anywhere if we have to play two against four,' and she stormed off.

Luke grinned at Daisy. 'Let's go find a seat.'

On the way they pa.s.sed Ricky shouting in the pony lines. Kinta's bandages were too tight. Spotty had the wrong martingale, Tero the wrong bit. Luke hoped Ricky was just psyching himself up.

It was so nice to have someone to sit with, thought Daisy. As they climbed to the top of the stands, Luke was greeted from all sides by players who knew him from Palm Beach.

'Trust you to pick up the best piece of crumpet in Ruts.h.i.+re. I've been trying to become Mrs Macleod's toyboy for years,' yelled Dommie, patting the seats beside him, and offering a bite of his Mars Bar to Daisy. 'Go on, you might burst even more out of that exciting dress. Welcome to Ruts.h.i.+re,' he added, extending a hand to Luke.

'Nice dog,' said Luke as Decorum, the bull terrier, greeted his friend Ethel so delightedly that his tail dislodged the tweed cap of Brigadier Hughie in front.

'Lovely,' agreed Dommie. 'Apocalypse certainly needs you, Luke. We lynched them two days ago. Ricky's absolutely livid you're here. Worried you're going to queer his pitch, or,' Dommie giggled at his own joke, 'pitch for his queer. I see Dancer's given you a new Merc. What'd you have to do for that? Bend over?'

'That's not funny,' rumbled Brigadier Hughie disapprovingly.

'Should think not,' said Dommie. 'More likely b.l.o.o.d.y painful.'

Totally unfazed, Luke grinned broadly.

'Oh, here come the Prince and Drew,' said Daisy excitedly, as Rutminster Hall rode on in their cherry-red s.h.i.+rts and security men with expressionless faces and walkie-talkies spread out round the field.

Luke admired the upright figure of the Prince of Wales. 'He's a good back,' he told Daisy. 'Always takes his man out. It's incredibly difficult to get past him.'

'Have you ever played against Drew?' Daisy couldn't resist asking.

Luke nodded. 'He's pretty good. Gets all his team working for him. Never has any pa.s.sengers.'

'Captain Benedict's having an affair with someone,' said Dommie, unwrapping another Mars Bar. 'We tried to tail him the other night, but he really s.h.i.+fts that BMW. I'm surprised Sukey hasn't put a combination lock on his flies.'

Feeling her leap beside him as though the dentist had hit a nerve, Luke decided that Daisy, in addition to being terrified of Perdita, was also in love with the handsome Captain who was now tapping the ball around the field with incredible a.s.surance.

'Here's Jose the Mexican, Sharon's latest, and here's Seb,' cried Dommie gleefully. 'Green as the field! People are going to tread him in at half-time. Forgot he was umpiring today when he got p.i.s.sed last night. Ben Napier's the other umpire. He hates Ricky so much, he'll give goal after open goal to Rutminster Hall.'

Aware that he'd got the attention of the entire stand, Dommie opened a can of c.o.ke with a hiss, and asked loudly, 'What we're all riveted to know is what will happen when your fiendish father meets Ricky on the field this summer? Will we have the first polo murder, sticks flying, duel in the sun, Bart coming at Ricky at 100 m.p.h? And isn't Chessie going to love it - two knights jousting for her favours? Well?'

Luke shrugged and grinned back at him. 'You expect me to answer all that?'

'I'll give you time to think,' said Dommie. 'Oh, look here comes the Puffatrain.'

Since she had acquired a t.i.tle, Sharon had been slowly modelling herself on Sukey. Today they were both wearing blue Puffas, blue Guernseys, striped s.h.i.+rts with turned-up collars, navy-blue skirts and stockings, and Gucci shoes.

'Good afternoon, Dominic,' said Sharon graciously. 'Good afternoon, Luke. When did you arrive?' Not waiting for an answer, she sat down and gathered up her binoculars, 'Now, where's the Prince? Oh, doesn't cerise suit his Hay-ness. Hullo, hullo, your Hay-ness.'

The Prince of Wales turned, nodding rather vaguely towards the stand.

'We've met him several taimes,' Sharon told Luke, 'and of course we 'ad c.o.c.ktails with his mother when Sir Victor got his knaighthood.'

'Drew's known him for years,' said Sukey slightly acidly. 'Look at the love bites on Jose's neck. I thought you'd gone vegetarian, Sharon,' chided Dommie.

'Don't be cheeky, Dominic,' said Sharon icily.

Ponies, neighing like mad, were already arriving for the second match. Fatty Harris, on his third whisky, was shouting in the warm-up area.

'The throw-in will be in five minutes, Ricky, or you'll forfeit; you've had half an hour to get ready. You just delay and delay.'

'Oh, f.u.c.k off,' snarled Ricky.

Rutminster Hall had dismounted to rest their horses, except for David Waterlane, who rode over to the stands to cadge a cigarette. Seeing Luke, he yelled, 'That black mare you sold me in Palm Beach, why does she drop her head all the time?'

'I guess she's bashful she hasn't been paid for,' drawled Luke.

The stand collapsed with laughter. David Waterlane rode off discomfited.

'He owes Ladbrokes half a million,' said Dommie. 'You may be rather low down the list.'

Ricky was in despair. There was b.l.o.o.d.y Luke Alderton grinning up in the stands and he couldn't even get a polo side together.

As if in answer to his prayer, Dancer's black helicopter soared over the trees and landed behind the clubhouse. Mercifully Dancer was already changed. Racing towards the pitch, telling the autograph hunters he'd see them after the game and trailing security men, he jumped on to the pony Louisa was holding.

'Terribly sorry, Rick,' he said, quailing at Ricky's stony face. 'I overslept. I was recording till four o'clock this morning.'

'I hope you're going to get a chance to see England, Luke,' said Sharon, pressing her knees against his back. 'Ay'd love to show you round.'

'I hope Perdita's going to take me,' said Luke, 'but thanks all the same.'

'Dancer's security guards are going to have a punch-up with the Prince's in a minute,' said Dommie happily.

'Oh, thank goodness,' said Daisy. 'Here comes Mike Waterlane.'

Driving his Golf GTI to a screeching halt at the side of the pitch, a sweating Mike leapt out and, to the disapproval of Miss Lodsworth and her satellite trouts, continued to bray into his portable telephone as he did a one-handed strip out of his pin-stripe suit down to his Dennis the Menace boxer shorts.

'If you can go to five million, I think I've got just the job,' he went on, as he wriggled into his breeches and his black, Apocalypse s.h.i.+rt, 'but if you want much more land, you might have to go higher.'

As he zipped up his boots, Louisa fastened his knee pads and plonked his hat on his head.

'I'll get back to you later this afternoon,' he added, hoa.r.s.e with excitement and, handing Louisa the telephone in exchange for his stick and whip, jumped on to his old pony, Dopey, and thundered off on to the field.

'What the f.u.c.k d'you think you're playing at?' howled Ricky and David Waterlane in unison.

'Mick Jagger had a house under survey,' mumbled Mike. 'Discovered it's got dry rot; wants us to find him another one.'

'Mike Waterlane is so thick,' announced Dommie, 'that he started cheering for Reading University during the Boat Race last week.'

Luke laughed. Oh, to be in England now that April was there.

46.

Luke wasn't laughing half an hour later. Apocalypse was a complete shambles. Ricky, as usual, was over-extending himself and his horses, doing everything including all the shouting, never giving Perdita or Dancer a chance to score, or Mike, whose head was full of dry rot, a chance to defend.

Ricky was a brilliant player, but he couldn't take on Rutminster Hall, all good players who knew what each other were doing, single-handed. And whenever he wasn't blasting his own side, he was shouting at the umpire, Ben Napier, who as Dommie predicted gave penalties at every opportunity to Rutminster Hall. While Drew was taking one of these in the third chukka, Ricky whizzed off to change ponies, only to find Wayne had slipped his bridle and gone trot-about in the direction of the tea-tent.

'Get me a f.u.c.king horse,' he screamed, to the edification of the entire crowd.

By the time another pony had been saddled, Rutminster Hall had scored again, bringing the score to 11-4. The Prince's security men sneered discreetly at Dancer's minders.

Drew, by contrast, was playing beautifully. For Daisy the supreme pleasure, after sleeping with him, was watching him on the field. She longed to cheer, her fingers itched to draw him on her score sheet, but Sukey was all too noisily just behind.

'Oh, well done, Drew, well played. Oh look, we're going through. Oh dear, it's gone over. No, it hasn't. Oh, well stopped Drew. I must put my gla.s.s down to clap.'

Fatty Harris, who'd slipped in a fourth whisky while waiting for the off, was providing the official commentary:'The Wince of Prales takes the backhand. Oh, well hit, Your Majeshty.'