Mount!

by Jilly Cooper

  ‘What’s your secret?’ asked Clare Balding.

  ‘The horses having something to beat at home. They’re all running so well, they stretch and challenge each other.’

  ‘Do you feel guilty at pinching Valhalla’s stable jockey?’

  ‘Not remotely. Cosmo and Isa should have put him up on their best horses.’

  He then announced that he would be supplementing Quickly for the Breeders’ Cup.

  Outside, he could hear the crowds still cheering.

  After deflecting a few more questions about Fleance in the Melbourne Cup, he said: ‘OK, guys, that’s enough. I need another drink.’

  Next moment, a hard-eyed red-head had pushed her way to the front. ‘How much are you looking forward to your sixtieth birthday?’

  ‘Not particularly.’

  ‘You having a big party?’ asked Marcus Armytage.

  ‘No party at all. Definitely not.’

  ‘I’d have thought you wanted to celebrate,’ taunted the redhead. ‘Becoming a great-grandfather – isn’t that the greatest sixtieth birthday present?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ snarled a returning man-eating tiger.

  The room fell silent. As every tape recorder was switched back on and thrust forward, accompanied by a firework display of flash-bulbs, Rupert realized it was the same red-head he’d told to piss off at the Derby.

  ‘Did you know Sauvignon Smithson has posted a picture of you on Facebook, with a caption: “Hello, Great-grandfather Rupert”?’

  ‘Don’t be utterly ridiculous.’

  ‘Is this true?’ asked Matt Chapman, over the rumble of excited speculation.

  ‘Course it isn’t.’

  ‘Sauvignon Smithson has just tweeted that she’s over the moon, she’s expecting Eddie Alderton’s baby. And she hopes you’ll be equally thrilled with such a wonderful sixtieth birthday present.’ Smiling lasciviously, Rhiannon turned to Taggie. ‘And congratulations to you, Mrs Campbell-Black. You’re so young to be a great-grandmother.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ stammered Taggie.

  ‘Is that why Eddie Alderton’s no longer riding for you, Rupert?’

  ‘He’s got a whip ban, for Christ’s sake.’

  Next moment, Rupert had grabbed Taggie’s arm and made a run for it, racing to the middle of the course where helicopters and planes were parked, giving the Green Galloper the best publicity of its career.

  By early evening the news had gone viral: RUPERT CAMPBELL-BLACK TO BE A GREAT-GRANDFATHER, with pictures of Rupert, Eddie and Sauvignon: ‘Is this the handsomest woman in England?’ And jokes flying back and forth about Eddie not firing blancs at Sauvignon.

  Gav, the only sober member of the party, flew the plane. Fuelling the media frenzy was a truly bitchy piece by Janey Lloyd-Foxe, already posted online, which, thank God, Taggie couldn’t read.

  What with becoming a great-grandfather and reaching sixty, wrote Janey, Rupert was going to need a lot of counselling. The piece was accompanied by a for-once unflattering photograph of Rupert, who hadn’t put back on any weight since the Legends race, looking gaunt and shadowed.

  ‘No longer the handsomest man in England,’ crowed Janey. ‘No longer the cure for loss of female libido.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s not true,’ soothed Taggie, as Rupert chucked his laptop on the floor in fury.

  ‘Cosmo will have set the whole thing up to get at you,’ said Gav, ‘and Sauvignon’s incapable of telling the truth. It would suit Cosmo to link Eddie and Sauvignon, who Mrs Walton is extremely beady about.’

  Rupert tried to ring Eddie, but his mobile was permanently engaged.

  Back at Penscombe, the lights were all on, as yard and stud became a hive of gossip and celebration. Four winners and an heir on one afternoon. Cheers lifted the valley as re-runs of the races were watched over and over again. The press were already camped outside the gates, offering large sums to all the staff to dish the dirt. The pool money from the four-million-pound prize money would be enormous.

  Eddie, who’d been texted by Dora, was on to Sauvignon in a trice.

  ‘What the fuck is all this about? Are you really pregnant?’

  ‘Of course, I took a test yesterday.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? How the hell do you know it’s mine?’

  ‘That’s rather ungallant. You’re the only guy I’ve slept with. Cosmo’s got some lovely footage of us at the chess party. Talk about Ride of the Month. You certainly provide a stiff finish, you should be flattered.’

  ‘Don’t be fucking stupid: you’re not going to keep it.’

  ‘Of course I am, I’m nearly thirty.’

  ‘Well, I’m only twenty-three, not old enough to start a family. Kids need a mom and dad.’

  ‘This baby’ll have both.’

  ‘Sauvignon, for Christ’s sake. Rupert’ll go ballistic. He’s uptight enough about being sixty, he’ll throw me out. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me instead of the whole fucking world, then I could have broken it gently to him and Taggie? And what about my mom and dad?’ Oh Christ, his mother Perdita had been conceived at an orgy.

  As they approached Penscombe, Rupert spied the towering red blaze of his beechwoods, and the tawny-yellow brick road of the horse chestnuts along his drive. As the Galloper landed, a great fountain of gold leaves rose upwards, and they could see the dogs running across the lawn, Forester leading the pack.

  As Gav opened the door, a roaring party din and cheers could be heard. Rupert, not stopping to congratulate anyone, went straight to his office and poured himself a treble whisky. Rupert Black, astride Third Leopard, so like him and Eddie, waved his whip jauntily: ‘Good on you, lad, pre-potent sire carrying on the line.’

  It wasn’t that Rupert minded being sixty or even being a great-grandfather that much. It was the accusation of cradle-snatching Taggie, depriving her of her youth, that he detested. He went into the drawing room where Forester, sulky at being left, had chucked all the cushions on to the floor.

  Taggie, who’d changed out of her violet suit into a dark-blue jersey and jeans, was trying to comfort Rupert when Eddie wandered in, pale and trembling. Like a Bacchante, he had two fallen leaves in his blond hair.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Grandpa, I didn’t know anything about it.’

  ‘You presumably slept with her?’

  ‘Well, I certainly didn’t stay awake.’

  ‘Don’t be fucking lippy.’

  ‘But only once at Cosmo’s party. The only time she wanted to.’ Eddie had turned his mobile off, but could feel it vibrating and jumping in his pocket.

  ‘You’re a fucking disaster. Can’t you keep your dick in your trousers?’

  It was as though he was under Vesuvius being stoned with molten lava. As Rupert ranted on, Eddie edged towards the drinks table. Any moment all the silver horses, won as trophies, would bolt in terror. One by one the dogs slunk out of the room except Forester, who lay on his back with his legs apart, aping Sauvignon. Taggie opened her mouth and shut it.

  ‘It’s your own bloody fault for going to Cosmo’s orgy in the first place and getting pissed. You were bound to get stitched up,’ snarled Rupert.

  Suddenly Eddie lost it.

  ‘It must be in the genes then. You’re always banging on about pre-potent sires. You’re a goddam hypocrite – my mom was conceived at an orgy. Everyone had Grandma Daisy that night, including you. Mom didn’t know you were her father until she was twenty. At least it was just me and Sauvignon. You accuse me of being promiscuous when you were shagging half of Gloucestershire.’

  ‘Eddie, stop it!’ screamed Taggie. ‘Both of you stop it, we’re talking about a baby.’

  ‘I guess Grandpa’s got great-grandkids littered all over the West Country.’

  Hideous, hideous silence followed. Forester let out a sulphuric fart.

  ‘Get out,’ howled Rupert. ‘You can pack your bags, get out and don’t come back.’

  ‘Oh, please Rupert.’ Taggie bu
rst into tears. ‘We must discuss it, there’s going to be a baby. You can’t turn Eddie out.’

  ‘And you can shut up too.’ Rupert turned on her. ‘It’s fuck-all to do with you,’ and stalked off to his office.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Taggie.’ Eddie’s voice broke, and he fled. Outside, he bumped into a hovering Jan, who was wearing a striped blue apron and waving a wooden spoon. A delicious smell of roasting lamb and garlic followed him from the kitchen.

  ‘You in for supper?’

  ‘I guess not – I’ve been fired.’

  Fighting back the tears, he wandered across the lawn, rustling through kite-shaped chestnut leaves, conkers crunching beneath his feet. He longed for Gala. She’d understand. But she’d be still driving back from Ascot. He jumped as a conker landed on his head and his mobile vibrated again. Numbly he answered it.

  ‘Hi, baby boy.’ It was Cosmo. ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘Whatever for?’ Eddie’s voice broke again. ‘Rupert’s just fired me.’

  ‘How ill-judged of him. Come and join us immediately. Sauvignon’s just told me the great news about the baby – she’s so excited. You can move in here and ride all our horses, and together we’ll shaft geriatric Rupert. Go and get packed. Have you been drinking?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Then drive over at once.’

  Eddie felt there was no alternative. How had Cosmo got his mobile number, he wondered, and got on to him so fast? Perhaps Sauvignon did love him a bit and had persuaded Cosmo to hire him.

  Mindlessly he wandered towards the lake, jumping as a mewing Purrpuss rubbed against his legs. To get Quickly used to travelling catless to the Breeders’ Cup, he had not been taken to Ascot.

  As Eddie gathered him up, the cat turned into an ecstatic rumbling bundle. They were joined by Safety Car, who’d been drinking red wine at the celebrations; he gave a whicker of pleasure, hiccuped, nudged Eddie in the chest and got bopped with a sheathed claw by Purrpuss.

  Pulverized by misery, Eddie realized how much he’d miss Penscombe: the animals as much as the people. It had become his home, and he’d blown it, never taking the job seriously enough.

  Going back to the house, Eddie bumped into an overjoyed Tarqui, dressed in a sharp suit and new red shirt to go out on the pull. He was already several drinks up, but sobered instantly, utterly appalled by Eddie’s news.

  ‘Don’t go, for Christ’s sake.’ His mocking swarthy face was for once serious. ‘I don’t want to disillusion you, but Cosmo’s only employing you to get his revenge on Rupert for poaching me and tings working out so spectacularly. He’s evil. Rupert wants Leading Sire, Cosmo wants to bury Rupert. He took on a young Italian jockey earlier this year, persuaded him to move house and bring his wife and three children, then sacked him last week without a qualm. Please, Eddie, I beg you. Isa hates Rupert almost more than Cosmo does. And Ash is a focking sex maniac – he adores blue-eyed little poster boys. Take a chastity belt, put a wardrobe against your door.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Purrpuss,’ swore Eddie, as a clutched-too-tightly cat clawed his way free.

  ‘And don’t trost Sauvignon, she’s evil. You don’t want her as mother of your children.’

  ‘Full Hammer House of Horror then?’

  ‘No – Harmony’s nice. Go to her if you need help. But honestly, I beg you, don’t go. Rupert will never forgive you.’

  ‘That’s enough, Tarqui.’ It was Jan.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ said Eddie.

  ‘I’ll come and help you pack,’ said Jan. ‘Let Rupert cool down.’

  ‘Where’s Taggie?’

  ‘Just had a blazing row with Rupert.’

  Eddie still wondered who had tipped Cosmo off.

  As he was leaving, Bao, who had just given Timon and Sophie a Mandarin lesson, sidled up.

  ‘I will miss you very much, Mr Eddie Young. I’d like you to accept good luck charm.’

  It was a rabbit, exquisitely carved from ivory.

  69

  Uncheered by orgy din, pounding music and bright lights, Valhalla seemed the creepiest place. Although faint from lack of food, and wearing only a polo-shirt and jeans, Eddie had fortified himself with a stiff gin and tonic at the nearby Pearly Gates, to find the great abbey almost in darkness, an icy east wind stripping the leaves from the trees. As the huge oak door opened, he was almost asphyxiated by wafts of scent and aftershave. Cosmo, in a dinner-jacket, and Mrs Walton, glittering diamonds and smothered in mink, were on their way out.

  ‘Hail and farewell,’ purred Cosmo. ‘I’m so sorry to desert you on your first night, but Ruth and I have a previous engagement. We will talk through everything in the morning. Isa will be over shortly.’ He waved to a lurking manservant, who looked more like an undertaker. ‘Logan will bring in your bags and see that your car’s parked, and he will show you your room and find you something to eat.’

  ‘I need to talk to Sauvignon,’ stammered Eddie, clinging to the door-handle for support.

  ‘Of course you do,’ smiled Mrs Walton. ‘And do put on a jersey – you look frozen.’

  ‘Sauvignon!’ Cosmo yelled up the stairs. ‘Eddie’s here. Go into the drawing room,’ he told Eddie. ‘She’ll be down soon.’

  Sauvignon kept him waiting ten minutes. With her newly washed hair straightened and gleaming, her flawless skin slightly flushed, wearing a red polo neck and the tightest of black leather trousers, she looked all set for a night on the tiles.

  ‘This is very dramatic,’ she said, draping a black leather jacket over a chair and offering just a cheek for Eddie to kiss, ‘moving to Valhalla. You should have warned me.’

  ‘So should you. Why the hell didn’t you?’

  ‘I wanted to be sure.’

  ‘I need a drink.’

  ‘Help yourself.’

  Eddie sloshed more gin and a breath of tonic into a glass. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Nothing, thanks. I’ve got to drive.’

  ‘You’re going out, for Christ’s sake?’

  ‘It is Saturday night.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘Alas, you can’t really. I’m meeting a girlfriend, whose partner just left her.’

  ‘Surely you and I are more important.’

  Logan the lugubrious manservant appeared in the doorway with Eddie’s suitcases.

  ‘Mr Alderton’s in the Gold Room,’ Sauvignon told him.

  ‘I am fucking not, I’m sleeping with you.’

  ‘We can’t. The doctor said no intercourse for the next three months in case I miscarry.’

  ‘Probably the best solution.’

  ‘Don’t be obnoxious.’

  ‘We could have gentle sex and talk.’

  ‘No.’ Sauvignon shook her head, her sleek dark mane swirling like I Will Repay’s. ‘You’re far too attractive; if we slept in the same bed I couldn’t trust myself.’

  You’re a lousy actress, thought Eddie. As she ran a finger along his lip, he captured her hand and drew her towards him, but when he tried to kiss her she ducked her head and wiggled away.

  ‘Why did you post Rupert’s picture on Facebook?’ he asked.

  ‘Because he’s so up himself and not at all nice to you. How’s he taken it?’

  ‘I doubt if he’ll ever speak to me again.’

  ‘You’re better off here – Isa’ll give you some decent rides.’

  ‘Sauvignon, for God’s sake, my life’s in smithereens.’

  ‘Not for long. Ah, here’s Isa to sort it.’ She kissed Eddie’s cheek. ‘See you in the morning, babe,’ and she was gone.

  Eddie drained his glass and was just refilling it when Isa grabbed the bottle. Not in carnival mood either, unamused by Champions Day without wins, Isa weighed in immediately.

  ‘The average jockey has the body weight of a thirteen-year-old girl. You’re much too fat. From now on, you’re going to run twice a day and not go to the gym – that puts on heavy muscle. You’re to stop drinking and get in the sauna. No
diuretics, no laxatives, no flipping, you need to be fit. Go to bed now. I want you out on the gallops at 6.30 tomorrow. The Breeders’ Cup’s in only a fortnight.’

  Too weak to argue, Eddie followed Logan along endless twisting, dark passages, past suits of armour, nude sculptures and tapestries to a room with just a chest of drawers, a wardrobe into which his clothes had been unpacked, a large chair, a bookcase full of Felix Francis novels and a big four-poster with frayed gold curtains.

  Fighting utter desolation, Eddie opened the window, which had creepers as curtains, jumped as a raped vixen let out a shriek, then again as his mobile rang.

  ‘This is Harmony Bates,’ said a breathy voice. ‘Gala called me, asked me to look after you. I thought I’d bring you a bowl of soup.’

  Eddie was never so grateful to see anyone, as he inhaled wafts of tomato and basil, picked up a spoon kept upright by lentils, and took a bite of hot white bread and butter.

  ‘You are kind, thank you so much – this is better than Claridge’s.’ Then when Harmony retreated, ‘Please sit down and talk to me.’

  ‘You must ask me if you need anything.’

  In her dark-green pyjamas, Eddie thought, she looked much thinner, and less plain than he remembered her. As she couldn’t comfort him about Sauvignon, whom she loathed anyway, she asked him how he’d got on with Isa.

  Eddie laughed for the first time that day.

  ‘Like S and M without the sex.’

  Out on the gallops beneath a silver sky next morning, the grass was drenched with dew, owls hooted, foxes barked, a tiny sickle moon lit the east. Only he and Isa went out through the deer-haunted parkland. Isa was riding Eumenides. Eddie realized he’d been put up on I Will Repay, who was being kept fresh for the Breeders’ Cup.

  ‘OK, let him go, fast as you can.’