by Jilly Cooper
‘He’s not going to die, is he?’ begged Sapphire. ‘And Safety Car’ll come home soon, won’t he?’
‘I’m sure he will, darling.’ Rupert so loathed leaving them.
It was such a lovely day. Robins singing their heads off, woodpeckers laughing and rattling, custard-yellow sweeps of primroses, sticky buds on the chestnut avenue and a crimson blur on his beechwood. Rupert suddenly thought how nice it would be to stop chasing dreams and win the Lincoln Handicap, the first big race of the English flat season, rather than pushing off round the world. His dogs, knowing he was off, followed him around, all with sad ‘suitcase faces’.
Going into the kitchen in a last attempt to make it up with Taggie, he found her sobbing in Jan’s arms, toyed with the idea of hitting Jan across the kitchen … and then stormed out.
Thank God, Gala was going to be in Dubai.
85
Gala was already in Dubai but also in turmoil. On the eve of her departure, she had gone into the kitchen at Penscombe to check if she had any post and to rinse and return Rupert’s favourite mug with Love Rat’s picture on, which he’d left in the tack room. As she rummaged around for a drying-up cloth, an envelope fell out. Remembering this was the drawer where Taggie hastily hid any Valentines, Gala couldn’t resist having a look – and went cold. Inside was a letter from Cotchester Hospital summoning Taggie to an operation on 26 March at 8.30 a.m. – that was the Friday before Saturday’s World Cup. Also in the envelope were leaflets on treating breast cancer, including chemotherapy and radiotherapy.
Oh God – poor darling Taggie! That’s why she’d been so red-eyed, wretched and up and down recently, and Gala had been riddled with guilt that she’d guessed about her and Rupert.
Not wanting to distract Rupert, Taggie was obviously having the op when he’d be safely in Dubai. This changed every goal post. Rupert had gone ballistic over the surprise party – how infinitely more so, if he discovered Taggie had cancer, particularly with Master Chef here holding the fort.
Taggie had always been angelic to her. How could she go to bed with Rupert knowing this? Yet she had to fight off an utterly shaming thought: if Taggie died, that would free up Rupert.
Janey Lloyd-Foxe was just typing another venomous chapter, mobbing up Rupert for becoming a great-grandfather in her Billy and Me book, which she needed to finish to pay lots of bills. She wouldn’t have been so broke if bloody Rupert had allowed her to stay free at Lime Tree Cottage.
She was relieved to be interrupted by the doorbell – Colin Chalford, Mr Fat and Happy, dropping in with a bottle of champagne. As they were drinking it, even more excitingly, he took a little blue leather box out of his pocket and handed it to her.
‘I’d like you to look at this.’
Inside was a huge and beautiful sapphire.
‘Do you like it, Janey?’
‘It’s the loveliest ring I’ve ever seen,’ gasped Janey.
‘Oh good,’ said Colin. ‘I’m always unsure of my taste in women’s things, but if you approve …’
‘I do indeed.’
Janey flashed the sapphire on a dirty-nailed finger. If she married Colin, she reflected, she’d never have to sweat her guts out writing books any more. She was so delighted, it was a few seconds before she registered Colin saying, ‘You see, I’ve met the loveliest woman in the world and I want to give her an engagement ring she really likes.’
Rupert landed in Dubai early on the Friday before Saturday’s World Cup, moving into a suite in the Meydan Hotel, near the racecourse, where he could do business and pull off deals. Right in the middle of the desert, the hotel was attached to the end of a huge 600-metre-long stand which soared upwards like a multi-decked liner, topped from end to end by a roof shaped like a vast sickle moon. Meerkat, Tarqui, Gav and Cathal were staying in a nearby hotel.
On arrival, Rupert went straight to the deluxe quarantine complex half a mile from the racecourse where his horses, Blank Chekov, Delectable, Dick the Second and Quickly, were staying, with his stable staff accommodated in the rooms overhead.
Three overseas trainers were allotted to each barn, with Penscombe ironically sharing with Valhalla and Tommy Westerham. For this reason, Gav had employed a nightwatchman to guard Penscombe horses and their tack. Everyone was giggling because at 5 a.m. the nightwatchman had been traumatized by Louise running downstairs in only her thong to shut up a whinnying Chekov with a bowl of nuts.
‘He must have been kept awake finishing The Cherry Orchard,’ said Gala.
Gav, however, had his head in his hands because Quickly, in addition to all his other setbacks, had come out worst with a coffin draw in the World Cup – right on the outside, fifteenth out of fifteen – while I Will Repay had drawn number three.
‘But it’s great here,’ Lark reassured Rupert. ‘So warm after Gloucestershire, and our rooms are lovely and there’s a beautiful swimming pool and gorgeous food: lots of salads and kedgeree.’
Outwardly cheerful as usual, she was churning inside over whether Eddie would turn up. Knowing she shouldn’t talk to the opposition, she hadn’t been able to resist asking Harmony, who admitted Eddie was very out of favour, and that Roman and Ash were likely to take any rides. Horrible Sauvignon was evidently seeing a great deal of Wang, so Eddie was probably being kept out of the way.
Before he went back to his hotel, Rupert had a private word with Gav, who was pleased with the way Tarqui had limbered up Quickly with a half-mile work on the dirt that morning.
‘He’s in great form. Needs to be, to make up for this bloody awful draw.’
As Meerkat didn’t have a ride in the World Cup, Rupert had agreed Rosaria could borrow him to ride Geoffrey. Aware that Gala seemed abstracted and unhappy, Gav then bravely warned Rupert not to hurt her and was told to mind his own fucking business.
‘OK,’ said Rupert, returning to take leave of the troops: ‘I don’t want any of you to go out on the razzle. I don’t mind what you do tomorrow, but get some sleep tonight.’
He ignored the longing in Gala’s eyes. But out of earshot, five minutes later, livid with Jan and Taggie, and with Gav for sticking his nose in, he rang her, telling her to come and spend the night at the Meydan.
‘Are you sure it’s safe?’
‘Perfectly. Gulf News is hardly likely to lead on us and I need you. Bring your toothbrush.’
‘What about Quickly?’
‘Lark can keep an eye on him.’
It was terribly hot. As she blow-dried her hair, Gala looked back at Dubai, a vast distant huddle of skyscrapers, many of them wearing cranes like fascinators. Among the freebies beside her basin she found a little mending kit. Perhaps she should pass it on to Rupert to mend his marriage – and how could she put a deodorant called Sure under her armpits, when she was so unsure of everything? She felt shredded with guilt about Taggie, but couldn’t help herself.
She fiddled with her make-up all the way in the taxi, worrying if her new lipstick entitled ‘Passion’ was too dark a red? On the glass behind the driver was a list of questions on how you rated your ride.
Have you been completely satisfied? asked the last one. I’m going to be that later, thought Gala with a shiver, but right now I’m going to be late, as the traffic was held up by an accident on the other side of the road and her driver jumped out to photograph it.
Rupert met her by the main stand. He was wearing jeans and a blue and white striped shirt. How was it that tiredness never dimmed his beauty?
Briefly he showed her the Hall of Champions.
‘That room’s called “the Horse Connections Lounge” – ghastly expression.’
To the right was a huge wall covered in glass moons, each framing the name of a previous World Cup winner. There was mighty Cigar, and Curlin and Dubai Millennium, a home win, and Victoire Pisa from Japan, whose victory had cheered up his country after a devastating earthquake. A few glass moons were still empty.
‘That one’s waiting for Quickly,’ said Rupert.
‘Oh goodness.’ Gala’
s voice trembled. ‘Wouldn’t it be lovely?’
They dined in the Meydan Restaurant. Rupert had a rare steak and chips; Gala, Dover sole and a green salad. Trying to banish all thoughts of Taggie, Safety Car and Love Rat, they both drank a great deal more than they ate.
Rupert made no attempt to hide the fact they were together, calling her ‘darling’, holding her hand, waving to Tommy Westerham and Charles Norville and their wives across the room and blanking a furiously disapproving Roddy Northfield and Damsire, who were running Red Trousers in an early race.
Gala regaled Rupert with gossip: how Louise and Marketa had got off with two handsome Arabs and went round giggling, ‘We’ll be with you in a couple of sheikhs.’ How Harmony had lost so much weight. How Tarqui was quite relieved to be away from his new baby because he hated being made to change nappies.
‘It’s not funny,’ she went on, ‘but Marketa’s so miserable about Safety, she needed distracting last night and was complaining: “I’ve left my wibrator behind, so I’ll have to make do with you”, and dragged Meerkat off to bed.’
Rupert laughed and picked a fishbone from Gala’s sole, then he said, ‘Gav gave me a pep-talk earlier about not hurting you.’
Gala blushed. ‘Did he really? That’s very brave. He’s been so good, putting aside his hang-up about Tarqui being Bethany’s lover. He and Tarqui have almost made friends, and he’s really helped Tarqui to bond with Quickly – two such wilfully strong characters letting Quickly think he’s boss.’
‘I don’t want to talk about Gav,’ said Rupert, drawing her leopardskin top over her black bra strap. ‘My fifth leopard.’ Then, running his fingers through her tawny mane of newly washed hair: ‘You’ve got spanner eyes.’
‘What’s that?’ stammered Gala.
‘Every time you look at me, you tighten my nuts.’
I can’t help myself, I utterly can’t, she thought.
‘Come on.’ He took her hand. ‘Let’s go to bed.’
Upstairs he hung a Do Not Disturb sign on the door. Someone had turned down the sheets and put a chocolate on the pillow. Out of the window Dubai glittered like Taggie’s diamond necklace in the darkness.
Rupert had stripped off first and lay on the bed checking results on his app. Seeing the Love Rat cufflinks given to him by Taggie on the chest of drawers, Gala was overwhelmed with sadness. This must be the last time she slept with him. Suddenly she thought of Browning’s poem ‘The Last Ride Together’:
Since nothing all my love avails,
Since all, my life seem’d meant for, fails …
Take back the hope you gave, – I claim
Only a memory of the same …
Then how did it go?
Rupert patted the bed. ‘Bit more comfortable than that Paddington duvet in front of your fire. Hopefully Dora won’t barge in.’
The room was glitzy, with a gold-threaded counterpane and curtains, pictures of stallions, falcons and sheikhs on the walls and scores of silk cushions on the sofa.
‘Wouldn’t Forester love to chuck all those on the floor?’
Oh God, Forester, who’d be missing Taggie back in England.
I’ll never go to bed with such a beautiful man again, she thought as she lay down beside him, kissing his smooth forehead, his long blue eyes, his high cheekbones and the tip of his Greek nose before moving down to his lips.
‘I can’t help it,’ she breathed as his hand reached for her breast. ‘I’m just crazy about you.’ Kissing her way down his flat stomach, she took his soaring penis in her mouth, licking and teasing the tip.
‘It’s no good, I’ll come too quickly,’ said Rupert, tugging her up level with him and kissing her, before plunging deep inside her.
‘Oh buttercunt, buttercunt.’ A few frenzied thrusts and it was all over.
‘That’s the best thing that’s happened to me in weeks,’ Rupert told her with such tenderness. ‘Definitely ride of the century.’
‘And I adore you,’ whispered Gala, wishing she could stay awake to prolong the joy, but she’d been up since five. As she drifted off, she suddenly remembered the last lines of Browning’s poem:
Take back the hope you gave, – I claim
Only a memory of the same,
And this beside, if you will not blame;
Your leave for one more last ride with me.
Waking, not knowing where she was, murmuring, ‘One more last ride with me,’ she discovered a naked Rupert looking out of the window at the stars. He was shivering. There was something desolate about his hunched shoulders. Overwhelmed with love and pity, she got up and put a white towelling dressing gown around him, tucking his arms into the sleeves and doing up the cord as if he were a little boy.
Then, as though leaping into a waterless swimming pool from the top diving board, she made the supreme sacrifice.
‘I know you love Taggie,’ she whispered, ‘and she loves you.’
‘Funny way of showing it,’ said Rupert bleakly.
‘Well, as we speak, she’s been having an operation today for breast cancer. She found a lump – that’s why she didn’t want you to touch her, in case you found it. And with Love Rat so ill and Safety Car missing she didn’t want to worry you; she knew how important the World Cup and winning Global Leading Sire was to you,’ floundered on Gala. ‘She always said her breasts were the thing you loved most.’
‘That’s fucking intrusive, Tag would never have said that,’ spat Rupert.
Then he went berserk, seizing Gala by the arms, shaking her as Cuthbert would a rat.
‘Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?’
‘She didn’t want anyone to know.’
‘So who told you all this?’
‘I found a letter summoning her to the hospital and some leaflets hidden in a kitchen drawer, then I overheard Jan comforting Taggie in the kitchen.’
‘Jan,’ exploded Rupert.
‘Jan’s a snake,’ gasped Gala as Rupert’s fingers nearly broke her arms. ‘He’s madly in love with Taggie, he’d do anything to break up your marriage.’
‘Taggie’s got breast cancer,’ said Rupert slowly. Suddenly World Cups, and Global Leading Sires had faded into insignificance. ‘I’m going home.’
Next moment, he’d telephoned and roused Sheikh Mohammed, the ruler of Dubai, and borrowed a jet to fly home.
‘But what about the World Cup?’ wailed Gala.
‘Fuck the World Cup,’ said Rupert, diving into the shower.
Oh God, what had she done? All she could think about was poor Gav, after all the work he’d put in, as she helplessly watched a still dripping Rupert tug on his clothes. He didn’t need to pack because he’d never unpacked. Nor did he apologize to Gala, merely telling her to keep the suite herself.
86
Gloucestershire after Dubai was freezing. Arriving mid-morning, still in wet clothes, Rupert couldn’t stop shaking. Reaching Cotchester Hospital, he found Taggie still asleep after the operation, and a hovering James Benson, looking a lot less smooth than usual, who when shouted at, replied that he’d wanted to tell Rupert, but Taggie forbade it.
Happily, they’d saved the breast, but had had to take quite a large lump out of it. ‘We won’t know for a week or so whether the cancer’s spread to the lymph glands, but if the breast’s too misshapen we can always insert a bit of lipo from off the stomach.’
‘That’s fucking immaterial.’
Taggie was wearing a hideous grey, yellow and red gown, with a label saying for hospital use only as if it could be for anything else.
Looking down at her, Rupert thought she had the longest, darkest eyelashes in the world, appalled that he hadn’t realized quite how desperately thin and pale she had become. He was touched by a photograph of him and Forester on the bedside table. As she woke, she blinked, struggling to understand, gazing at him in wonder. ‘I thought you were in Dubai.’
‘When I heard, I had to come back. Why didn’t you tell me? I can’t bear to think you had to go through this on y
our own.’ He stroked her face. ‘Oh my poor angel, if you knew how much I love you.’ He picked up her hand, longing to take her in his arms but deterred by the drips and fear of hurting her.
‘I’m so sorry,’ mumbled Taggie. ‘I thought if I lost a breast you wouldn’t want me any more.’
‘I’d still love you if your head was cut off.’ Rupert’s voice broke. ‘Darling, I’m so sorry, I thought you were bats about Jan, when I found you crying in his arms. That’s why I stormed out.’
‘He was comforting me because of the cancer, and I thought you loved Gala.’
‘Whatever gave you that thought?’ said Rupert in outrage. ‘I missed having Billy to talk horses with. You’re the only thing that matters to me in the world. I love you so much,’ and he kissed her wrist with the hospital band, on which he wanted to write Mine, rather than Agatha Campbell-Black.
‘And I love you.’ Taggie was drifting off to sleep again.
Next moment, a beaming Jan walked in clutching a big bunch of daffodils – and nearly had a heart attack to see Rupert.
‘Yeah, I’m back.’ Rupert grabbed the daffodils and with a crash shoved them into the pedal-bin. ‘And you can fuck off and stop my father leaving stable doors open, which is what you’re paid to do.’
‘Poor daffies, not their fault,’ said a nurse, fishing them out of the bin.
Leaving Taggie to sleep, promising to come back immediately, Rupert returned to Penscombe, having rung in and been told there was no news of Safety Car, and that Love Rat was fading.
Going straight to the stables, he was met by Old Eddie in his pyjamas and odd slippers, crying his eyes out. ‘He’s dead, he’s dead. I went into Rattie’s box and found him lying down. I said, “Come on, you lazy old boy, stop playing games,” but he didn’t move, he’s dead, he’s dead.’
Love Rat was lying in the straw, his dappled coat turned almost white with age, his big, dark, lustrous eyes still open. Rupert closed them and kissed him on the forehead, muttering, ‘Rest in peace, Legend.’
