Polo. Part 64

'How can I possibly get in touch with you if you're up at Ricky's all the time?'

A week later Rupert flew into Palm Beach in a furious temper. Overdoing things, Taggie had nearly lost the baby. James Benson, Rupert's doctor, had ordered her to rest for the next month and had flatly refused to let her travel with Rupert when he was forced to fly over and sort out the ghastly row that had blown up over the doc.u.mentary on Perdita Macleod.

Venturer had already sunk a great deal of money in the project. Cameron Cook and a very expensive crew were out there filming, and now the mighty Ferranti's had come down like a ton of bricks, saying that their exclusive contract with Perdita precluded her from taking part in anything else.

Cameron Cook had then waved Venturer's contract at Ferranti and was defiantly filming Perdita in an early Rolex Gold Cup match when a posse of Ferranti heavies, secretly alerted by Red, rolled up and frightened Cameron off. Knowing how much it took to frighten Cameron, who'd made programmes in Beirut and Grenada, Rupert realized that the heavies must have been very heavy indeed.

Cameron's temper had not been improved by Perdita turning on the crew, whose presence had made her miss two easy pa.s.ses, and screaming at them to eff off and make their p.i.s.s-pot film somewhere else. It was then that the lawyers moved in.

They had now reached a stalemate with neither side prepared to budge an inch, but Ferranti's were infinitely richer than Venturer and had, furthermore, employed Winston - 'If you're innocent, you don't need me' - Chalmers, Florida's toughest lawyer, to act for them. Dino Ferranti, the sales director, who was an old enemy of Rupert's and disliked him intensely, was intending to take no prisoners in the ensuing battle. At this stage Cameron had reluctantly begged Rupert to fly out. It was the sort of tussle he would have relished in the old days, but not since he married Taggie. Under her gentle influence he had shed much of his aggression and he detested lettingher out of his sight for a second - particularly now she was having a baby.

They had been married fourteen months now, during which time Rupert had never dreamed he would suffer such extremes of happiness and misery. There was the miracle of her love, not just for him but for his children. Every day he expected some flaw in her character to be revealed, some pettiness or b.l.o.o.d.y-mindedness, but she had not revealed even a toenail of clay. There had been the unbelievable joys of initiating her s.e.xually, slowly, slowly breaking down her shyness and inhibitions, until he was rewarded a thousand-fold by the pa.s.sion and enthusiasm of her response.

But this wonderful happiness had a flipside. Rupert was absolutely terrified of losing her. With his track record, Taggie was the one who should have been jealous, but she trusted him implicitly and felt so blessed that he had married her rather than any of the legions of others that she had no right to question her exclusivity. It was Rupert who suffered h.e.l.l-pains. He was jealous of every man she talked to, of her prodigal, importunate family who were always dropping in to borrow money and enjoy Taggie's cooking, of people she met in the street, even of his own children, dogs and horses. And now she was having his child and he was scared he might be jealous of that too. Although he made heroic attempts to curb this jealousy, every so often it overwhelmed him and he found himself biting her utterly innocent head off. Then, crucified when he saw the bewilderment in her big eyes, he pulled her into his arms frantic with remorse.

As the months pa.s.sed things had got better, as Taggie, who originally had such a low opinion of herself she couldn't imagine anyone being miserable when denied her company, gradually realized how pa.s.sionately Rupert loved her, and that these outbursts of rage were merely expressions of his love. As Rupert became more sure of her, the outbursts became fewer.

And, although she still slipped the odd hundred to her family, she had persuaded them to telephone before they dropped in. It had helped, too, that Rupert had installed electric gates after her mother, Maud, had arrived unannounced after a row with Declan to find Rupert m the sitting room using a pastry brush to paint Taggie's l.a.b.i.a with olive oil before photographing her in the nude.

They had not spent a night apart since they were married, and now Rupert had to leave her at the Priory in the somewhat dubious care of Maud and Declan. But at least it gave Daisy a chance to paint flowers and animals all over the nursery walls and, flying overnight, he hoped he would be able to sort out Ferranti's in a day and fly back that evening.

He checked into his favourite hotel in Palm Beach, the charmingly old-fas.h.i.+oned Faversham, where he had been given the Kennedy Suite overlooking the ocean. Showering, then changing his s.h.i.+rt, he found a note in his suitcase from Taggie.

'Darling Rupert, I love you dessparately and miss you, pleese come home quickly, I promiss not too do too much. All my love, Taggie.'

It was not Eloise and Abelard standard, but to Rupert it was immeasurably more precious. Taggie had tried so hard to conquer her dyslexia. He was tempted to ring her, but hoped she would be having an afternoon sleep. He was unable, however, to resist getting out of a secret pocket in the lid of his briefcase three nude photographs he'd taken of her last week. One from the waist up showed off her glorious b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the second three-quarters turned away from him and smiling shyly over her shoulder displayed her narrow waist, high bottom and endless legs; in the third, she was sitting in an arm chair with her legs apart, showing a m.u.f.f Rupert had shaved down to a small goatee. Rupert felt himself go hard. G.o.d, she was beautiful and all his. b.u.g.g.e.r Venturer and Ferranti. He swore as the telephone went. It was Cameron ringing from the lobby.

'Thank Christ you're here. I've got a car waiting downstairs.'

Nine hours later they were still deadlocked - both sides refusing to give an inch. It was immaterial that Ferranti's contract was for a thousand times as much money. Venturer had signed Perdita up first.

'But not exclusively,' drawled Dino Ferranti, his beautiful, blue silk s.h.i.+rt creased, his Siamese cat's eyes squinting with tiredness and irritation. He and Rupert had exchanged very sharp words. But Rupert's real animosity was reservedfor Red Alderton, who, in his promiscuity, viciousness, arrogance and total lack of repentance, reminded Rupert of everything he wanted to forget about his own past. He was also allergic to red hair because it reminded him of his first wife and his appallingly grasping mother-in-law. Red, absolutely terrified of losing the $2,000,000 Ferranti's were contracted to pay Perdita, much of which had already been spent, kept b.u.t.ting in, until Rupert lost his temper.

'Just f.u.c.k off, Maureen O'Hara and curl your eyelashes,' he yelled. 'You knew all about the Venturer contract when you set up the Ferranti deal, you little pimp. f.u.c.king leech! You'd make Dracula look like a blood donor.'

'You're a fine one,' screamed Perdita, leaping to Red's defence. 'What about those memoirs? Talk about a c.o.c.k in every porthole. You could bore out the Channel Tunnel solo.'

Dino Ferranti suppressed a smile. Then, as Red weighed in, a fearful slanging match ensued and the lawyers banished both Red and Perdita from the building.

Back at Red's house Perdita lounged on his dark blue silk counterpane drinking Green Devils and watching Red pacing up and down, ranting on and on about Rupert.

'Arrogant s.h.i.+t, who the h.e.l.l does he think he is?' Then he paused, face lit up with satanic excitement. 'I've got it! I know how we can make him back off.'

'We can't,' breathed Perdita in appalled wonder two minutes later.

At three o'clock in the morning the lawyers decided to adjourn. Rupert rang Taggie, who was still staying at Declan's, to say he definitely wouldn't be home next day. Taggie tried not to sound disappointed, saying she was fine and it had frozen last night and now it was snowing and she missed him dreadfully. Rupert said it was a nightmare and the only person going to make any money were the lawyers, and that he loved her indescribably and would ring her in the morning.

Letting himself into his suite half an hour later Rupert longed to ring her again, but felt he shouldn't crowd her. The quickest undresser in the world, he stepped out of his clothes in the sitting room and wandered into the bathroom to clean his teeth. He'd have a shower when he got up - he glanced wearily at his watch - in about three hours' time. Thinking it would make Taggie seem nearer, he decided to have another look at her photographs, then panicked when he couldn't find them. He was sure he'd left them under his s.h.i.+rts. Checking the bedroom he froze.

'h.e.l.lo, Rupert,' said Perdita softly. 'I'm sorry I shouted at you earlier. I thought you might be lonely.'

The sheet was drawn up to her chin, but she let it fall, swinging her feet off the bed.

'You shabby little b.i.t.c.h,' whispered Rupert. 'Get out of here.'

'Don't be like that.' Perdita's eyes were as s.h.i.+ny as black olives drenched in oil and, as she stood up, her slender naked body seemed almost incandescent with heat and excitement.

'You must know I've always fancied you.' It was like a child actress trying to play Delilah.

'How did you get in here?' hissed Rupert.

'Easy. I just told them you'd asked me round. The hall porter even winked at me. You must have had loads of girls here in the past.'

In the past Rupert certainly had. Now his mind was racing. If he rang Security, they'd be here in an instant, but with his track record someone would be bound to leak it to the press. The same went for the police. And if anyone saw Perdita leaving his suite, he was also in trouble. She was slowly advancing towards him.

'Get your clothes on.' He tried to sound calm.

'Not so fast,' drawled a voice and Red came out of the wardrobe. Before Rupert could stop him he'd taken half a dozen photographs of both of them naked and dived for the door. But Rupert was too quick for him. Giving a great cat jump, he caught Red by the ankles and brought them both cras.h.i.+ng to the ground.

'You little s.h.i.+t,' he howled, grabbing the camera.

Next second Red had tried to knee him in the b.a.l.l.s and Rupert had smashed his fist into Red's face. Then, picking him up by his s.h.i.+rt, he smashed him to the floor again.

'Don't kill him,' screamed Perdita.

While Red was lurching to his feet, Rupert grabbed a towel and wrapped it round his waist. Hurling the contentsof a vase of flowers on the floor, he smashed the vase on a low gla.s.s table and brandished the jagged edge at Red with one hand, reaching for the telephone with the other. 'D'you want me to call the police?'

Red deliberated. 'I guess not.'

'Then give me back Tag's pictures.'

Very slowly Red removed them from his inside pocket and threw them down on the gla.s.s table. 'Very pretty. You must introduce me some time.'

'Shut up!' Rupert gave such a howl that the windows rattled and the gla.s.ses rang. 'If you ever come within a million miles of her Get dressed.' Picking up Perdita's pink dress, he hurled it at her. 'You cheap little blackmailing wh.o.r.e. I wouldn't put anything past the Scarlet Pimp here, but I thought a bit of Luke or Ricky might have rubbed off on you.'

'We wouldn't have gone to the press,' stammered Perdita. 'We just wanted you to back off.'

Still drunk from the Green Devils, she put her legs into one of the arm holes of her dress and nearly fell over when the telephone rang. Rupert was ashen when he put the receiver down.

'What's the matter?' whispered Perdita.

'Taggie. She was worried no-one would feed the birds and sneaked over to Pens...o...b.. and slipped on the ice. Declan thinks she's miscarrying. I've got to go back.' The events of the last ten minutes might never have happened.

'Borrow one of Dad's jets,' offered Red.

'Thanks,' said Rupert. All that mattered was getting home as fast as possible.

The truce was fleeting. Rupert got back to England to find Taggie had not only lost the baby, but nearly her life as well. She would get better, said James Benson rea.s.suringly, who had never expected to see Rupert so devastated, but she'd never be able to have children. This seemed irrelevant to Rupert at the time, compared with the frantic relief that he wouldn't lose her. Only when she began to recover did he appreciate how shattered she was not to be able to have his children. As she sobbed helplessly in his arms, he looked out at a robin pecking at the bird table, like a drop of blood against the snow which had already blotted out all the skid marks of her fall.

The same afternoon he discovered her weeping just as hopelessly in the nursery that Daisy had covered so riotously with b.u.t.terflies and birds, and even Gertrude the mongrel, and his heart had blackened against Perdita. If he hadn't had to go to America none of this would have happened. The only time he left Taggie's bedside the next week was to ring Dino Ferranti and tell him they were dropping the case, and to call Cameron Cook home because Venturer had no more interest in making a film about Perdita.

58.

Perdita was absolutely appalled that Taggie had lost the baby, but, secretly, what upset her most was that Rupert, whom she had always hero-wors.h.i.+pped, had rejected her s.e.xually and, because of this, she had lost points with Red. But she tucked it under the mattress of her mind alongside her treatment of Luke and her running out on Ricky and tried to forget it. She had much to occupy her. Obsessive, power-driven, the Alderton Flyers swept through the Palm Beach season unbeaten. Many people thought Red and Angel played better together than the O'Brien. They were less powerful physically, but younger and took more risks. Red, riding the legendary Glitz, won Most Valuable Player and Best Playing Pony in every match. Angel, getting $10,000 a win from Bart, which helped pay his gambling debts, had turned himself into a lean, mean, killing machine. The games were fantastically violent. All the other teams, furious that Bart had spent so much on ponies, were determined to beat them. In retaliation, Red and Angel had taught Perdita every dirty trick in the book. She got so terrified before matches that she grew more and more histrionic, while the media gleefully followed every tantrum.

Red egged her on. Nocturnal, sybaritic, self-indulgent, he could sleep anywhere, and, if he'd gone to bed late, could sleep in before a big match until lunchtime, have a huge steak or a toot of cocaine for breakfast and go on and play with no nerves. Perdita, on the other hand, went crazy with stage-fright.

In the past, too, Luke had always listened if she had a problem with a pony or was worried about her game. Red wasn't interested. He wanted to do all the talking. Then, when she wanted to have her say, he was off out of the room.

Nor were matters helped by Grace rolling up at every game and going into ecstasies every time Red touched the ball, but wincing at Perdita's expletives and her botched shots, which made her miss the ball more than ever. Chessie, furious at Grace's presence, stayed at home sulking, spending money and playing tinker, tailor with the caviar. Angel, sulking because Bibi wasn't there, or because she was there and criticizing him, stepped up his flirtation with Innocenta, all of which went down in Grace's little book.

Miraculously, because Luke was playing for Hal Peters at the Royal Polo Club at Boco Raton Perdita didn't b.u.mp into him.

Few people realized quite how much Luke suffered. He went on buying runts off the race track and making them under the arc lights until he was so tired he fell off them. He played polo with the same attack and won matches for Hal Peters. He joked with the other players and grooms and listened to their problems. He never talked about himself and appeared outwardly unchanged, except for a twenty-five-pound weight-loss, which hardly showed on his ma.s.sive frame. Because he was unhappy, he didn't see why the rest of the world should suffer.

Alas, music and reading, his great loves, no longer comforted him. Mozart and Mahler were impossibly painful. Biography and history were bearable, except that he read the same page over again, but poetry tore his guts out. Unable to sleep, tormented by visions of Perdita in Red's arms, he slumped in front of the television, but if any love story or programme about animals or children came on, he found himself racked with tears and had to switch off. Repeatedly he chided himself with Emily Bronte's lines that 'existence could be cherished, strengthened and fed without 'existence could be cherished, strengthened and fed without the aid of joy'. the aid of joy'. There was certainly satisfaction in his life when he won a match or mastered a tricky pony, but no joy. For not only had he lost Perdita, but also Red, whom There was certainly satisfaction in his life when he won a match or mastered a tricky pony, but no joy. For not only had he lost Perdita, but also Red, whom he had loved very deeply. He tried not to hate his brother, and late one night after a quadruple bourbon on no lunch, had called up determined to make it up: 'Red Alderton and Perdita Macleod are having a bang at the moment,' mocked Red's voice on the recording machine, and Luke had hung up and got so drunk he fell off the wooden horse.

And it was difficult to forget Perdita when every newspaper carried pictures of her and Red entwined and laughing: 'The golden couple so in lerve'. 'The golden couple so in lerve'. Once the Ferranti campaign started in March, her fleshless diamond-hard face with its streaked boy's hair, Greek nose and pa.s.sionate, arrogant, curling mouth was everywhere. If the press couldn't get hold of her or Red for a quote, they invariably rang Luke. Once the Ferranti campaign started in March, her fleshless diamond-hard face with its streaked boy's hair, Greek nose and pa.s.sionate, arrogant, curling mouth was everywhere. If the press couldn't get hold of her or Red for a quote, they invariably rang Luke.

The two things that saved Luke were Fantasma and Leroy, who had become inseparable. The ugly black mongrel slept in the beautiful grey pony's box, leaping in and out of her half-door, never being savaged or kicked by her, never in return nipping her nose or her fetlocks, proudly leading her out to the paddock with her rope between his snapping, long, white teeth.

Both of them wandered round the yard after Luke, both ganging up if any invader threatened him. Fantasma, given the chance, would have clambered up the narrow stairs into his bed. Sensing Luke was miserable, Leroy would rush in rattling a box of Bonios to make him laugh, or sc.r.a.pe his arm with his paw, gazing up with the crescents of white beneath his big brown eyes, as if to say, 'You still have me.' Often Luke woke from bad dreams to find Leroy licking away his tears.

He knew it was childish, but since Perdita had left him he couldn't bear to be parted from Leroy. So he only went to places that allowed dogs, turning down all invitations to work abroad, which would have helped him to forget, going everywhere by lorry, instead of flying, so Leroy could sit barking beside him.

It was the last tournament of the Palm Beach season with six crack teams playing each other over ten days for a huge silver cup topped with rearing silver horses. On the hottest Sunday of the year the Alderton Flyers were only leading the O'Briens by two goals at half-time. After weeks of no rain, the ground was as hard and dusty as a volcanic crater. The only liquid came from the sweat which poured off pony and player, and from the diet c.o.ke with which the teams slaked their parched throats. Huge white clouds gathering on the horizon suggested a storm to come.

Perdita had had a lousy first half, not helped by a ball on her arm in the second chukka which was now agony. No-one had noticed, but she wasn't going to complain in case the others dismissed her as a whinging female. As she cantered back to the little tent where the other Flyers were taking a break, she saw them standing in a huddle outside looking deadly serious, except Red, who was sitting down wiping his face with a yellow towel, while the ever-adoring Grace ma.s.saged his shoulders. Bibi, in a check suit, had obviously just come from the office. Perdita hugged and gave Spotty a Polo before handing him over to a groom. Aware she was tomato-red in the face and dripping like a defrosting fridge, and not wanting Red to see her like that or be subjected to a pep-talk from Grace, she seized some anti-bruise cream from the first-aid box to rub into her arm and lay down on the unyielding ground, using her hat as a pillow.

Then she heard Bart say, 'Well, for Chrissake, don't tell Perdita.'

'Tell Perdita what?' The dust made her hoa.r.s.e. 'Nothing,' snapped Red, not glancing round.

'What?' Perdita jumped to her feet and saw that Bibi was crying.

'Nothing.' Grace had all the charm of a steam-roller with brake failure. 'We were saying you're not on your man, and please centre the ball when you back it, and you're tapping it too much. It's meant to be hit.'

They were looking at her as if she was a lunatic that needed humouring.

'Oh, p.i.s.s off,' snarled Perdita. Then, seeing Grace's face: I'm sorry, Mrs Alderton, but what mustn't I be told?'

'It's Luke,' sobbed Bibi, whose mascara was streaked by sweat and tears.

'There's been a slight accident,' said Grace coolly.

Suddenly the rock-hard ground had no substance beneath Perdita's feet.

'He's OK,' said Bart, who was thinking only of his polo match. OK,' said Bart, who was thinking only of his polo match.

'He hasn't tried to k-kill himself?' whispered Perdita. 'Don't give yourself the b.l.o.o.d.y air,' snarled Angel. Red, who'd gone very pale, was lighting a Black Sobranie with a trembling hand.

'Bobby Ferraro hit him with a ball yesterday,' he said. 'Broke his hand in three places. Bobby's new patron, Pip Gilson, had Luke flown to New York. They've just operated and taken fifty chips of bone out of his hand.'

Perdita flinched, then thinking she was going to black out, sat down, nearly missing the edge of one of the duck-egg-blue canvas chairs.

'Will he be able to play again?'

'Too early to say,' said Bart.

'I must go to him,' said Perdita desperately, peeling off her gloves. 'Why weren't we told yesterday?'

'Luke didn't want anyone to know,' said Red tonelessly. 'It was Bobby who felt he ought to tell us and called Bibi just now.'

The white clouds had turned a dark sullen grey. Alderton Flyer horses that had played in the first half were being walked home. Rising to the canter to rest their horses, the O'Briens were riding back on to the field.

'Luke didn't want to worry us into blowing the semifinal, and we're not going to. Move it, you guys,' said Bart, slotting in his gum s.h.i.+eld and putting on his hat. Then, having mounted a leaping sorrel mare whose coat gleamed like cornelian, he asked the groom what sort of mood she was in.

'You can't play knowing this,' said Perdita, aghast. Bart adjusted his reins. 'If he's just had a three-hour op, he'll be out for hours.'

One of Bart's grooms led up Tero. It was only her third match since she'd recovered.

'She's a bit edgy. Knows it's a key match.'

Tero was already lathered up like a white poodle, her eyes popping, diarrhoea running down her back legs in a thin trickle.

'I'm not playing,' said Perdita.

'Sure you b.l.o.o.d.y are,' ordered Red. 'Get on that pony.' For a second they glared at each other. Perdita dropped her eyes first.

'Luke would 'ave expected eet,' said Angel. 'Don't be a dreep, Perdita.'

'Move your a.s.s,' bellowed Shark Nelligan who was umpiring.

Perdita vaulted on to Tero.

'Don't forget to hit not tap,' called Grace.

Perdita had to clench her first and second fingers not to give Grace a V sign.

'I'm b.l.o.o.d.y well flying up to see him immediately after the match.'