Polo. Part 79

To the shock horror of Venturer and the BPA were added next day the furious protests of the British and American sponsors and the American Polo a.s.sociation, who all felt Ricky was making a total mockery of the Westchester. The thirty-five-goal English team had struggled in the International. How did Ricky imagine he could field a bunch of babies with a team aggregate of twenty-six against the might of the Americans in their own country? The media were equally outraged.

'Cannon fodder,' said a huge headline in the said a huge headline in the Daily Express. 'How can David without a sling beat Goliath armed with an exocet? It'll be annihilation.' Daily Express. 'How can David without a sling beat Goliath armed with an exocet? It'll be annihilation.'

Frantic preparations ensued in the next week. Good horses about to be turned away had to be wheedled out of other owners and flown over to America for Mike and Perdita in case she had to play. Longingly she thought of the six ponies Red had given her. He'd probably be riding them against England. At least she still had Spotty, but he was in a frightful temper, as was Wayne. Announcing that they were both much too fat and that Argentines won matches because their horses carried no spare flesh, Rupert had put both ponies on a rigorous diet. Much to Ricky's irritation, Rupert was in fact supervising the diets of all the ponies. He also insisted that all the team took the equivalent of a Marine's a.s.sault course to get fit, but even he couldn't make Ricky go out jogging.

h.e.l.l, thought Perdita a day later, as she gritted her teeth to stop herself crying, is being coached by Rupert Campbell-Black. G.o.d, he was sarcastic as he rode up and down, blue eyes narrowed, whip tapping his boots, not missing a trick, the nerve-gas hostility in no way abated, the drawling commentary more b.i.t.c.hy than ever.

'I see Ricky's given you a second chance,' had been his first bleak words to her. 'I certainly wouldn't.'

For two chukkas, each time anyone missed a ball or a stab at goal it was greeted with sighs of 'Oh dear, a Perdita pa.s.s again'. After shouting at her every time she picked up her stick, he called her over.

'Stylistically you're not bad,' he said softly. 'You've got most of the shots.'

Perdita looked up in amazed relief, a compliment at last.

'It's a pity,' Rupert raised his voice, 'you're so f.u.c.king useless at selecting which shot and when.'

Perdita went crimson.

Two minutes later he was yelling, 'For Christ's sake, hook him, Perdita,' as Seb scorched towards goal. Then as Seb scored, 'What's the point of hooking air? Why the f.u.c.k didn't you catch up with him?'

'I was twenty yards behind when he started off,' stammered Perdita.

'Then you catch up with him. You're very deceptive. You're even slower than you look.'

Then, after she'd let Seb through a third time, 'Come here, Perdita.' Oh G.o.d, how she dreaded that soft, b.i.t.c.hy, upper-cla.s.s ring. 'This is a pony,' Rupert touched Spotty's neck with his whip. 'Rather an unattractive one, admittedly. These are his legs, these are your legs. You're supposed to use them to make him carry you upfield as fast as possible. This is a whip.' For a second he banged his whip against hers like a fencer starting a duel. 'I want you to use it. I want your ponies collapsing when they come off the field.'

For a second Perdita watched a gull drifting across the khaki woods. The Argentine word for gull was Tero. Tero.

'Like Tero collapsed,' she screamed, suddenly exploding like a pressure cooker.

'If need be, but they won't collapse if you get them fit enough. That pony is still too fat.'

'He is not, not, and he's and he's not not ugly.' ugly.'

'Shut up,' said Rupert coldly. 'If you were as quick on the field as you are with your temper, we might get somewhere.'

Perdita burst into tears.

'Oh dear,' sighed Rupert. 'I've always believed a woman's place was in the home, or on her back, or regrettably in the shops, but not not on the polo field. Ricky's got sprinklers to water this pitch. He doesn't need you.' on the polo field. Ricky's got sprinklers to water this pitch. He doesn't need you.'

Dommie, who had a softer heart than Seb, leapt to Perdita's defence.

'I've known you all my life, Rupert, and I've always liked you, but I never realized you could be quite such a s.h.i.+t.'

'Well, now you know, Suns.h.i.+ne,' snapped Rupert.

The trouble was that Rupert was right. He had a marvellous eye, miraculous antic.i.p.ation, and saw exactly where they were making mistakes. Every time he picked up a polo stick it looked right. Every time he got on the most refractory pony, it came together.

No-one was spared. He made Ricky cut down drastically on his bad habits, all those acc.u.mulated short cuts which great players resort to. Gradually Ricky straightened his swing, found he was. .h.i.tting the ball twice as far and learnt to use his team again.

71.

Feeling a slight chill in the air as the evenings drew in, Daisy brought crumpets, bramble jelly and a large fruitcake from the village shop. To cheer herself up she tried to count all the nice things about winter, but only got as far as roaring fires and being able to cover one's spare tyres with huge jerseys. Then she remembered what a bore it was sweeping out the ashes in the morning!

She was utterly fed up with the constantly ringing telephone. The press were on the whole time trying to get Perdita's reaction to being picked for the Westchester, to seeing Red again and to being coached by Rupert, who still wouldn't admit paternity. Perdita and Violet had had a frightful row that morning because Perdita had pinched Violet's car without asking, smas.h.i.+ng a sidelight and leaving hay and sweet-papers all over the floor. Eddie's thumping great crush on Sharon showed no sign of abating and he was not at all pleased to be joined by Violet's friends from the school rugger team, wandering round in boxer shorts showing off Portugal-tanned bodies.

'I could eat them alaive at that age,' said Sharon.

In retaliation, Eddie had borrowed a tenner off Daisy to buy stationery for school and instead came back with a bottle of crme de menthe crme de menthe for Sharon which he insisted on serving her for Sharon which he insisted on serving her frappe frappe and sitting chatting to her all afternoon so she never sat still. and sitting chatting to her all afternoon so she never sat still.

'We didn't have girls at my prep school,' he was now telling her, 'as we didn't really need them, but we've got fifty per cent at Bagley Hall, which is OK, as it'd be awful if there weren't enough to go round.'

'Oh look, there's Mrs Thatcher on the telly. What a smart blue costume,' said Sharon. 'She always looks well turned-out, doesn't she?'

'I admire her,' said Eddie reflectively, 'but I wouldn't like her as a mother.'

I suppose that's something, thought Daisy, mixing white with burnt umber to get the colour of Sharon's nipples.

In the corner two puppies were now having a tug of war with a pink-and-black scarf.

'Have some more crme de menthe,' crme de menthe,' said Eddie. said Eddie.

'Ay shall be tiddly,' said Sharon with a giggle as he filled her gla.s.s.

'Eddie darling, do rescue that scarf,' said Daisy. 'I'm sure it's Perdita's.'

'I don't care,' said Eddie stonily. 'I hate my sister,' he added to Sharon.

'How's she getting on being coached by Rupert Campbell-Black? There's an attractive man.'

Eddie's face fell. 'He's depressingly s.e.xist,' he said disparagingly. 'Not that I blame him for rubbis.h.i.+ng my sister. I would, if she wasn't so strong.'

There was a bang on the door, a bark from Ethel and in came Ricky.

'Christ,' he said taking in the chaos.

'Ricky!' said Sharon excitedly. 'Come in. Don't be shay, although I love shay men. Come and tell us what you think of Daisy's portrait.'

Stepping over several chewing puppies, Ricky looked at the painting.

'It's very good,' he said in surprise. 'Extremely good. Rubens crossed with Renoir.' Then, looking at Daisy's exhausted face: 'Come on, Sharon, Daisy's done enough for one day.'

Sharon leant forward, giving Ricky the benefit of her cleavage to look at her diamond watch: 'Heavens, taime does flay. Can I borrow your bathroom, Daisy? Goodness me,' - swaying as she got up, she deliberately clutched on to Ricky's arm - 'I really do feel a bit tiddly.'

Having toasted some crumpets and put them with the fruitcake and the tea things on a tray, Daisy suggested that they went in the garden as it was the tidiest place.

'You're sweet.' Ricky took the tray from her. 'But I honestly don't want anything to eat. Have you had a ghastly week?'

'Pretty standard,' said Daisy. 'I really must paint that bench before winter.'

Next minute Violet erupted into the garden in an uncharacteristically bad temper. 'f.u.c.king h.e.l.l, Mum, you've shrunk my olive-green jersey. Oh hi, Ricky.' She grabbed a crumpet.

She was followed by Eddie in an even worse mood.

'I was cleaning out my fish tank and Perdita's emptied her ashtray into it. I'm leaving home.' He s.n.a.t.c.hed up two crumpets.

A second later Perdita put her head out of her bedroom window. 'Sharon f.u.c.king Kaputnik's locked herself in the bathroom, and I've got to go out.'

'I don't want to hear,' said Ricky firmly. 'Go inside all of you, and tidy up the kitchen, and then the sitting room. I've never seen such a tip, and it's all your junk. Go on, b.u.g.g.e.r off.'

'Ay, ay, sir,' said Eddie, pinching another crumpet. 'Oh, thank you,' sighed Daisy. 'You're so wonderful.' Blus.h.i.+ng, Ricky said he'd found homes for two of the puppies and he'd take one himself.

'Oh, how lovely. That only leaves one. Perhaps we could keep it.' Rubbing b.u.t.tery fingers on her jeans, Daisy started to sew nametapes on Eddie's school socks. Ricky watched her.

It was a beautiful evening. The sun was setting behind the wood. Arrows of migrating birds, flown in from the sea to scavenge in the newly ploughed fields, were following a hyacinth-blue-and-crimson air balloon drifting across the softest, pink-flecked sky. In the garden red berries glowed on the honeysuckle and sapphire spears of delphiniums, pink j.a.panese anemones and pale roses crowded the flower-beds, not as vigorous as at their first flowering, but sweeter.

'Is Eddie being a pain too?' asked Ricky.

'Not really. Adolescence is so awful.' Almost as bad as being in one's late thirties, thought Daisy sadly. 'His uniform's being a bit of a bore. In the old days I just went and bought it and the only problem was money. Now he's worse than Beau Brummel about the relative tightness and length of his trousers.' Looking up from her nametapes, Daisy giggled, 'And having witnessed the rejection of every slip-on shoe in Rutminster, I know exactly how Prince Charming must have despaired at the thought of finding the owner of the gla.s.s slipper.'

She broke off the thread and picked up a pair of rugger shorts.

'I'll take him to London tomorrow,' said Ricky, cutting himself a piece of fruitcake. 'I've got to pick up the England s.h.i.+rts from Harrods. I'll get him some trousers and some shoes.'

'Oh no, it'd be such a bore for you,' said Daisy.

'I'd like his company. You know how I loathe London.' Lucky Eddie, thought Daisy.

'Perdita's not the only one who's lost too much weight around here,' said Ricky, handing Daisy the last crumpet. Daisy shook her head.

'A handsome husband and a thousand a year,' said a voice. 'Ay'll have it,' and Ricky and Daisy were enveloped in a cloud of Chanel Number 5 as Sharon stretched out a braceleted hand to help herself, pressing her splendid b.r.e.a.s.t.s against Ricky's shoulders as she did so.

'You'd certainly make the handsomest husband in the world, Ricky. Do drop in on us sometime.'

'She's definitely having an affair with David Waterlane,' said Ricky after she'd gone. 'He always buys Chanel Number 5 for all his mistresses.'

'She says she's going to marry him,' said Daisy.

In the darkening trees the pigeons were fluttering and cooing. Iceberg roses and white phlox grew more luminous, night-scented stock replaced Chanel Number 5.

'It's so beautiful here,' said Daisy, who was getting cold, but didn't want to break the magic of the moment. 'How's Perdita getting on with Rupert?'

'Not brilliantly,' said Ricky carefully, not wanting to hurt Daisy. 'Rupert's so desperately protective of Taggie, he can't really bring himself to forgive her, even though Taggie has. But he's getting results. He's sharpened up her game two hundred per cent.

'That's mine,' he added quickly, as one of Ethel's puppies tottered out, speckled as a seal, eyes frowsty with sleep, patrician except for one ear pointing up and an irredeemably curly tail. He picked the puppy up. 'He's just like Little Chef.'

Watching him gently stroking the pink-and-speckled belly, Daisy was appalled to find herself longing to swap places with the puppy. She must get a grip on herself.

'How's the Westchester going?'

Ricky sighed. 'I feel as though the entire contents of your septic tank has been tipped over my head. The BPA and the APA have both written me threatening letters and ring constantly. The American sponsors are collectively threatening to sue. The Prince rang up and said Hughie had actually had the cheek to ring him and advise him not to fly over to present the cup, as it would be so embarra.s.sing for him to witness a bloodbath. Fortunately the Prince told Hughie to get stuffed, and that if he's said he'll go to something he always goes. Cartier, Asprey, Tiffany and Dunhill have all written complaining. I wrote back saying I would not be dictated to by a bunch of watchmakers in Mayfair.'

'Quite right,' said Daisy indignantly. 'Oh ye of little faith.' She also noticed that he hardly stammered at all now when he talked to her. The moon was rising huge and pink, bats and swallows dived, owls hooted, the sky had darkened to lilac in the west. What Ricky hadn't told Daisy about was the brief bitter note Chessie had sent him: 'I thought you wanted me back. If you insist on playing with schoolboys, I was obviously wrong.'

Realizing Daisy was s.h.i.+vering, he had just taken his coat off and put it round her shoulders when Eddie appeared in the doorway, wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead. 'We've tidied the whole house, Mum. We've even made Ethel's basket.'

'Good boy,' said Ricky.

'Can I have a beer?'

'Later,' said Ricky. 'If you come into Rutminster with me, we'll get an Indian.'

It was the eve of the team's departure. Having finally got Eddie off to school and finished Sharon's portrait, Daisy sent Perdita up to London with money to buy some clothes for America.

Perdita - whose self-confidence seemed to have been finally smashed by Rupert - was in turmoil because shemight have to play and would certainly be seeing Red again. Having made heroic attempts to cheer Perdita up, Daisy was overwhelmed with despair. Tomorrow Ricky was off to America, and inevitably out of her life. I must not hate Chessie, she told herself sternly, I am very lucky my children and I are not dying of hunger in Ethiopia, my entire family haven't been wiped out in an earthquake or a volcano and this is the first time I've had access to my own bathroom in nine weeks. G.o.d, I look awful.

The only answer, in case Ricky dropped in that evening, was to wash her hair and have a bath. She had just emerged pink and Je Reviens-scented, with legs and armpits shaved and was combing out her wet hair when she heard Ethel barking and a hammering on the front door. Wrapping herself in a big dark-green towel, she ran downstairs and her heart failed. For there, beachboy-blond and absolutely black-brown, stood Drew.

'Darling Daisy!' He put the inevitable bottle of Moet on the kitchen table. 'You've no idea how I've missed you.'

Daisy just stared at him. She'd dreamt of this moment for so long, and she'd planned to be distant and icily disapproving because he'd forced Ricky's hand over the Westchester, but it was hard to be cool when you were hot and lobster-pink from the bath. And Drew looked so handsome and was in such high spirits. Inevitably the conversation turned in moments to polo.

'Boy, am I glad to be out of the Westchester,' he said, tearing the gold paper off the cork. 'It is going to be a ghastly embarra.s.sment to the English. They're having great trouble selling tickets. Americans love American victories, but they like a decent tussle first.'

'Ricky's playing,' said Daisy defensively.

'Maybe, but it'll be like Canute trying to stop the tide and not even bothering to put on gumboots. The twins are wildly erratic and hopeless in defence, which is all they'll have to do. Mike's a dolt.' He paused. 'D'you think Ricky'll ever speak to me again?'

As he went automatically to the right cupboard to get down two gla.s.ses, Daisy noticed he had US Open printed on the back of his bomber jacket.

'If he wins, he might,' said Daisy reprovingly. 'He's had so much flak recently.'

'Just because he's got this idee fixe idee fixe about getting Chessie back. Talk about ex-appeal.' about getting Chessie back. Talk about ex-appeal.'

Daisy didn't laugh. 'How's Sukey?'

'Really well. I've got a new American patron for Palm Beach next year, which means mega-bucks.'

'Is he nice?'