Polo. Part 55

He couldn't actually blame Luke for Fantasma not being sound, but he had to kick out at someone. Emerging trembling with rage from her box, he saw the young girl groom, who'd only started that week, gingerly trying to pick out one of Spotty's hind hooves.

'For Christ's sake,' he roared at her, 'you're supposed to lift the hoof with your left hand, and just lay it along your thigh - like this.' He picked up Spotty's foot.

Giving Ricky a reproving look for shouting, Spotty calmly removed his hoof from Ricky's thigh and placing it in the small of his back, gave a brisk shove, catching Ricky off-guard and spreadeagling him on the ground. Perdita made the mistake of screaming with laughter.

His dignity bruised more than anything else, Ricky picked himself up. 'You b.l.o.o.d.y animal.' He raised his fist at Spotty.

'Don't you touch my pony,' screamed Perdita, seizing the yard broom.

'Knock it off both of you,' yelled Luke.

'This is my my yard.' yard.'

'And you're not fit to run it!' Luke lowered his voice. 'Jesus, man, simmer down. G.o.d knows where your head was in the final of the Queen's Cup, but we don't want a repeat performance tomorrow. Perdita's got Champions Champions and and International Velvet International Velvet out of the video shop to keep you quiet. Just f.u.c.k off and watch them and give us all a break.' out of the video shop to keep you quiet. Just f.u.c.k off and watch them and give us all a break.'

For a moment Luke expected Ricky to land him one, then he swung round and stalked into the house.

Gazing mindlessly at International Velvet International Velvet ten minutes later, Ricky felt bitterly ashamed of himself and wished he had as nice a nature as Nanette Newman. What a f.u.c.king ten minutes later, Ricky felt bitterly ashamed of himself and wished he had as nice a nature as Nanette Newman. What a f.u.c.king awful example to set to Perdita and the grooms. Sitting grimly through both films, he was continually distracted by visions of Chessie, exquisite in her pale green suit, taunting him that he hadn't even won the first leg of his bet.

He woke in tears to find himself gazing at a black leaping screen. It was dark outside. He'd better go and apologize yet again. But he found Luke slumped at the kitchen table, fallen asleep over The Maltese Cat, The Maltese Cat, a hardly touched ham sandwich on a plate beside him. a hardly touched ham sandwich on a plate beside him.

It was still impossibly hot as Ricky wandered out into the yard. The air was heavy with meadowsweet and the night-scented stock Louisa had planted in the stable tubs this summer around the geraniums. Overhead the sky was crowded with stars. There was the Swan, winging out of the Milky Way, and Pegasus soaring above the clock tower and Bootes, the Shepherd, going gently home in the west. Then Ricky caught his breath, for striding jauntily above him was the constellation Hercules. That must be a sign. Hercules had won immortality and his heart's desire by accomplis.h.i.+ng all ten labours. Ricky had only three to achieve and the first leg, the Gold Cup, must surely be within his grasp tomorrow. Fantasma might have dropped out this evening, but the Kaputnik Tigers, after Red and the twins' roughriding, had even more horses unsound.

A whicker of affection startled him out of his trance. Wayne, as usual avid for distraction, was hanging out of his box.

'You've got a lot of work to do tomorrow.' Ricky scratched him along his bristly mane. 'We don't have Fantasma to get us out of trouble any more. You've got to outrun and ride off everyone, and forget about the Cowdray tea tent.'

Wayne's lop ears flickered as he listened to every word.

'If we win tomorrow,' went on Ricky, burying his face in the pony's silky, yellow neck, 'you can have every cuc.u.mber sandwich in the world.' Then, his voice becoming a sob, 'Oh, Wayne, just help me get my wife back.'

Next morning, after three months of drought except for the thunderstorm on the afternoon of the Queen's Cup, the temperature plummeted and torrential rain and vicious east winds stripped the roses of their petals and blew straw all round the yard. At the last moment Perdita had another screaming match with Ricky and opted to go in the helicopter with Dancer. The drive from Robinsgrove was long and dogged by roadworks. At each sign pointing to 'Polo' Ricky felt sicker.

As they pa.s.sed the greying blond ruins of Cowdray Castle, with the cows and horses grazing around the battlements, he had to leap out of the car and throw up behind an oak tree.

Down by the pony lines everyone was uptight. Grooms b.u.mped into each other and cursed as tails refused to go up and bandages wouldn't go on smoothly. Ponies were flattening their ears and las.h.i.+ng out at each other. At Thursday's semi-final the problem had been flies; now it was keeping them warm.

'Golly, I wish Dancer hadn't chosen black rugs; every hair shows up,' moaned Louisa.

'I scored with Red Alderton last night,' said Victor's prettiest groom. 'f.u.c.king marvellous, marvellous f.u.c.king, but the moment it was over he looked at his watch and said, "Christ, I'm dining at Windsor Castle in half an hour!" and was out of bed like a rocket.'

Which means Red'll be hung over today, thought Louisa with satisfaction. What on earth was that din coming from the direction of Dancer's helicopter?

The row had blown up because a distracted Perdita had not only forgotten to get the second set of Apocalypse s.h.i.+rts out of the cleaners, but, far worse, hadn't shut the hatch of the helicopter properly so the first set of lucky s.h.i.+rts which had been worn in every final this season had all fallen out and were now probably being worn by rabbits and squirrels all over the Savernake Forest. Ricky was yelling at Perdita, who was half-yelling, half-crying back.

'It's no big deal,' Luke was shouting at Ricky. 'It was us won the matches, not the G.o.ddam s.h.i.+rts.'

Apocalypse were therefore forced to play in white s.h.i.+rts which matched their complexions but considerably reduced their air of menace.

'We'll all be pale riders,' said Dancer, trying to make a joke.

Sobbing, Perdita rushed off to change in the Ladies' loo.

Venturer Television, on their first day of making a doc.u.mentary about Perdita, were out in force. Directed by Cameron Cook, Rupert's ex-mistress and a virago with short spiky hair and a rapacious body, they had gleefully filmed the entire row. Now they were filming another one. Perdita, because she wanted to compete with Red's army of groupies, had bought a new pair of breeches for the final.

'Oh my G.o.d, can they go any tighter?' whooped Dommie Carlisle, clapping his hands over his eyes as she came out of the Ladies. Then, peering through splayed fingers: 'And you're not wearing any pants. How wildly exciting.'

'Go and put some on,' snarled Ricky.

'It'll ruin the line,' shrieked Perdita.

'It'll ruin your reputation if they split, for Chrissake,' yelled Luke. 'Go back and change.'

The Gold Cup had been sponsored by Davidoff who'd laid on a splendid lunch in their marquee. Drew, who was umpiring and playing for Kevin Coley in the second match, had w.a.n.gled Daisy a ticket. He'd also seen Sukey into hospital that morning to have her baby, ringing on the hour to see how she was. As Daisy ate lobster, prawns and ratatouille, followed by strawberries and cream, and drank a great deal of Pouilly Fume and admired Drew's handsome profile and enjoyed his left hand on her thigh as he forked up strawberries with his right, she was desperately ashamed to find herself praying that Sukey might die in childbirth.

'My father was an MFH,' said Brigadier Hughie, who was sitting opposite. 'When I was a baby I was knocked out of my pram and nearly eaten by two hound puppies. My father said it would have been a glorious death.'

Daisy was acutely conscious of Chessie at the next table, who ate nothing but drank a great deal of excellent burgundy which matched her ravis.h.i.+ng, red wool Yves St Laurent suit. Hardly addressing a word to Bart, she seemed wildly elated at the possibility of Ricky winning the first leg of his bet within the next two hours.

As everyone poured out to watch the final, wincing at the cold, Chessie wrapped a pale grey, fringed shawl round her shoulders. Despite a plethora of gorgeous girls yearning after Red, she was easily the most glamorous woman in thestands. What a prize for Ricky to win back, thought Daisy.

Down by the warm-up area Apocalypse, looking curiously vulnerable in their white s.h.i.+rts, were being geed up by Ricky. Stammering and swearing, he ran for the twentieth time through the game plan, urging on them the need to win, win, win.

'The Tigers are brilliant in attack, but they have no defence. We must attack. Your job, Dancer, is to make Victor foul.'

'He's foul enough already,' said Perdita through chattering teeth.

'Don't be fatuous,' snapped Ricky. 'And then Luke can convert the penalty. At least he will if the wind's behind him. All I want you to do for the first two chukkas, Perdita, is stick to Red till he loses his temper. He's h.e.l.lishly quick, too, in the line-out. He scored two goals from there in the Warwicks.h.i.+re, so watch him.' Suddenly he paused in horror. 'What the f.u.c.k's Miguel O'Brien doing here?'

No-one could fail to recognize the hulking shoulders and the crinkly, greasy mop of black hair. Miguel, looking like a Mafia hood in a belted fur coat and dark gla.s.ses, was hissing instructions at Victor, Red and the twins. Bart was hovering in the background.

'I guess Bart isn't too keen on you winning the Gold Cup,' said Dancer.

'He's probably just advising Dad in the second match,' said Luke. 'Let's go and bury them.'

From the start both teams played with colossal driven intensity. Apocalypse's greatest fear was letting the twins and Red, all dazzlingly aggressive players, get loose, knowing they'd go straight down and score. But between them, Luke and Ricky managed to hold the twins, while Perdita shadowed Red the whole time, until he was screaming with rage. Then, suddenly, at the end of the second chukka Ricky hit a miraculous nearside forehand from the halfway line and the wind carried it through the goal. In the next chukka Victor, on his favourite pony, Tiger Lily, showing profound contempt for his enemy's right of way, gave away two penalties which Luke converted despite the wind. In the third chukka, after a pep-talk from Miguel, Red pulled himself together and scored twice, but was countered by Ricky picking up a short pa.s.s from Perdita and sinking a big nearside neck shot. 4-2 to Apocalypse at half-time.

'You're doing great,' Luke told his huddled team-mates. 'You're doing terrific. Just don't let up. Red's greatest buzz is to lull us into a state of false security and then pow, he'll zap us, the later the better. If we're gonna win, we've got to attack.'

Treading in the divots, running to get warm, Daisy was towed straight up to Drew by Ethel, who started singing with delight to see such a familiar friend umpiring.

'Stop sneaking, Ethel,' said Drew, who was s.h.i.+vering from the cold. Perdita's playing brilliantly. Looks as though Ricky's going to clinch the first leg of his bet.' Then, dropping his voice: 'I rang the hospital. Sukey's just had a daughter.'

'Oh, I'm so thrilled for you.'

'So am I. You and I can spend the night together. I'll go and see her straight after our match and be with you about nine.'

Chessie, who had just applied lipstick to match her red suit and who didn't seem to go blue like everyone else, drifted towards Ricky as he rode back on to the field. For a second they stared at each other, then Chessie smiled.

'Good luck, my darling, you can do it,' she murmured, pretending to tread in a divot. Then breaking off a long pale-grey strand of wool from her fringed shawl, she handed it quickly up to him. 'Wear it on your lance.'

'I love you,' Ricky called after her as he rode on. He was about to knot the wool round his stick, then realized he would be changing it and tied it to his whip. They would win now, he knew it.

Early in the fourth chukka, Red narrowed the gap with a penalty, but a second later Ricky widened it again. Galloping down the field with love in his heart, he skedaddled like a child in a bending race round Dommie, then Red, dummied pa.s.sed Seb and with two magical offside forehands found the flags: 5-3. The stand went crazy. As if Chessie's favour had put a spell on him, he went on to score three more goals.

'Ricky France-Lynch has a secret weapon there,' explained Terry Hanlon, the Cowdray commentator, 'and it's called practice. There he goes - eight goals of Ruts.h.i.+re dynamite - soon to be nine, if my spies are telling me right.

Good to see you back on form, Ricky, oh, what a lovely shot, but it's. .h.i.t the posts. And Luke Alderton gives him back the sort of pa.s.s all players dream about, and Ricky slams it in. Apocalypse lead 9-3.'

In the fifth chukka, the Flyers tried repeatedly to score, but were foiled by the dogged b.l.o.o.d.y-minded courage of Apocalypse.

On its green baize table the Gold Cup, which had been reflecting the desperate struggle on the field, seemed to be waiting to be carried home in triumph to Robinsgrove. Surely even Red couldn't score eight goals in one chukka.

But now Apocalypse changed on to stick-and-ball horses, which were all they had left. Luke, getting on to Geoffrey, the hangover horse, kept up the pressure.

'Cool it, you guys. Don't get over-confident. Red's scored seven goals in a chukka before now and his blood's up. Just keep rattling them, stop them scoring, above all stick to Red, Perdita, and we can do it,' he exhorted, clamping a great hand on Dancer and then on Perdita's back.

Without Fantasma he felt like a mercenary who's run out of ammo in enemy territory, but he kept his fears to himself. Silently Ricky mounted Wayne. He was seven minutes away from his first leg and he didn't dare to hope. As they rode out for the last chukka their s.h.i.+rts were no longer white but black with mud - Apocalypse again. Already they could hear the Midhurst town band warming up for the presentation; 'Four hors.e.m.e.n, riding, riding, riding'.

'Come on, n.i.g.g.e.r,' said Perdita clamping her legs round her fat black pony. 'Why are you so f.u.c.king slow?'

'You better rename him Snowflake if he wins Best Playing Pony,' said Luke with a grin. 'It's being presented by some African prince. Oh, Jesus! No!'

The others followed his gaze.

's.h.i.+t,' whispered Ricky.

'Oh, my G.o.d,' gasped Perdita in horror, for the Tigers were riding towards them on four of the most beautiful, glossy, well-muscled thoroughbred ponies she had ever seen. 'Who the h.e.l.l are they?'

Inecita, Cecilia, Leila and Carmen - in a word,' said Luke bleakly. 'I don't believe it, I simply do not believe it. Miguel must have flown them over.'

He cantered up to Red. 'What the f.u.c.k are you doing on those ponies?'

Red grinned, white teeth flas.h.i.+ng in a mud-caked face. 'Dad was worried we were out of horses so he lent us four of his.'

'Why isn't he playing them in his own match?'

Red laughed. 'He's so unselfish he thought our need was greater. After all, he really doesn't want Ricky to win the Gold Cup.'

'And how does Victor feel riding his worst enemy's horses?'

'I guess he hasn't noticed and he won't care as long as he wins.'

The sixth chukka was crucifixion. On four matchless horses, who had each won Best Playing Pony in the Argentine Open, there was no defence. It was like putting three-legged bulldogs against greyhounds. And from the way Red and the twins were riding them, it was obvious they'd tried them out several times before. From the first throw-in Red scored goal after goal until the crowd, most of whom had no idea what had happened, were yelling on their feet. A wide-angled shot from Seb thirty seconds from the end of the match had the Tigers in front and now they had the wind behind them. Ricky was near suicide.

'There's still time,' beseeched Luke. 'For Christ's sake, settle down, you guys.'

Then Victor, failing to control Inecita, barged across Dancer's line. Whoever converted would tie up the score and take the match into extra time.

'I'll take it,' said Ricky.

'You sure?' asked Luke.

Dancer opened his mouth to protest, then realizing Ricky needed the ultimate responsibility, shut it again.

Ricky turned, and for a moment stared at Chessie, who pointedly held up two crossed fingers; then he cantered Wayne round in a perfect arc before a totally silent crowd. Forward went his stick then back, then down it swooped like an eagle, meeting the ball perfectly so it flew straight and true between the posts. Then at the last moment a gust of wind tossed it against the right goal post and it bounced back. Apocalypse lunged forward, but the bell had gone.

Perdita burst into floods of tears. 'We've been robbed! We've been b.l.o.o.d.y robbed!'

Luke cantered over and pulled her against his chest. Geoffrey and n.i.g.g.e.r were so exhausted they just stood still, leaning against each other.

The twins, looking very sheepish, rode up to shake hands, followed by an openly laughing Red.

'f.u.c.k off, the lot of you,' said Luke.

With his arm round Perdita's shoulders he rode back to the pony lines where all the Apocalypse grooms were in tears and Ricky was sitting in the boot of his car, head in his hands, absolutely stunned.

Perdita threw her arms round him. 'They stabbed us in the back,' she sobbed frantically. 'Oh, poor, poor Ricky.'

'Why don't you b.u.g.g.e.r off?' snapped Luke to Cameron Cook and Venturer who were still avidly filming.

Putting a coat round Perdita's shoulders and leaving her with Dancer and Daisy, who'd just arrived, Luke went off in search of his father whom he found putting on his knee pads for the second match.

'You son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h,' he roared. 'We had it in the bag and we were robbed. I've always stuck up for you, but, by G.o.d, I'm well and truly in the enemy camp now.'

Bart looked up, as coldly angry as Luke was inflamed. 'I know how to guard my own,' he said softly. 'It's my marriage I'm fighting for. You're the one who betrayed me, right? Publicly helping Ricky to win his bet.'

'What bet?' demanded Luke. 'I don't know anything about a bet.'

'You'd better ask your friend Dancer.'

50.

That night Luke had a blazing row with Dancer.

'I've been working my a.s.s off all summer trying to help Ricky win a bet everyone seems to have known about but me. Dad said I was being treacherous coming over here. I'd no idea how treacherous, and that son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h Ricky was in on it too.'

Dancer shook his head vehemently. 'It weren't Ricky's fault. You know how p.i.s.sed off he was when I hired you.

He wanted to win the Gold Cup without any help from the Aldertons. An' anyway your Dad started it by nicking Ricky's wife in the first place.'