by Jilly Cooper
‘So my lucky shirt went missing,’ rapped out Rupert, ‘and buckets of feed and water were left in stables before races and cats shut in drawers and new batteries taken out of torches and details about serious horses leaked again and again and stones chucked on gallops and bugs put in teddy bears, and down you came to the yard with my father, which gave you the chance to leave gates and doors open and he got blamed. Love Rat would have been alive today if you hadn’t let out Titus, who also very nearly killed Gala – and you accuse Rupert Black of being a murderer! You tried to frame Bao by putting my lucky shirt in his room, and if you loved Taggie you couldn’t have sent Safety Car across Europe on a journey to hell.’
‘I hacked into your phone calls,’ interrupted Jan, his voice growing so raucous and loud that two nearby pigeons flew off with a clatter, ‘but surprisingly I couldn’t find any women.’
‘There weren’t any.’
‘Except Gala, my trump card. She’d been hurt enough, for Christ’s sake, but you had the raging hots for her and had to pull her in Santa Anita and Dubai. Taggie’ll be so upset and I’ve got excellent footage of you both in Lime Tree Cottage.’
It was getting dark, the last red glow of the setting sun could no longer pierce the smothering mist. A barn owl like a rising ghost moon flapped past, making them both jump.
‘I’d love to shoot you through the testicles and leave you to bleed to death but then I’d be done for murder, so you and that slug of a dog,’ Jan gave Banquo a kick, ‘are going over the edge, and everyone will think you lost your way on a walk. It’s solid Cotswold rock at the bottom – no way you’ll survive.’ Jan’s hideous, mirthless laughter echoed round the wood. ‘Even if you shouted for help, anyone passing will think you’re James’ ghost and run like hell.’
Rupert was about to make a dive for the gun when Jan’s voice became obscenely lascivious. ‘And Taggie’s so pretty she won’t be a widow for a minute because I’m going to marry her and love and cherish her as you never did. She didn’t even tell you she’d got cancer; instead she turned to me. She loves me, and as Rufus has made me his heir, she’s going to be the loveliest Lady Rutshire of all.’
‘She fucking won’t!’ howled Rupert.
Then suddenly Banquo barked, as a twig could be heard breaking and then another – and behind Jan’s head, Rupert could see a bobbing torch approach.
‘I repeat I’m going to marry Taggie and love and cherish her and she’ll be the loveliest Lady Rutshire ever,’ shouted Jan, then nearly fell off the ledge as a bulky figure loomed into sight and a panting voice yelled, ‘No, she won’t!’
Not daring to take his gun off Rupert, Jan glanced round.
‘You bastard!’ Unmistakably breathy, the voice was choked with tears. ‘You swore it was me you loved, that I was the only one you longed to cherish. You promised to marry me and I’d be the next Lady Rutshire. And the loveliest.’
‘Shut up,’ screamed Jan, ‘just shut up.’
As the mist swirled, Rupert suddenly caught sight of a big distraught face. God in heaven! It was Harmony.
‘You promised me the Northfield family engagement ring,’ she sobbed, ‘if I sabotaged Quickly’s bridle – which could have killed both Quickly and Eddie. Not to mention all the lies you persuaded me to tell about Bao, swearing you loved me so much. You even made me ring up Gala today to find out where Rupert was so you could trap him. I’ve never had a boyfriend before – how dare you deceive me?’
She had picked up a huge branch, brandishing it over them. Seeing Jan distracted, Rupert leapt forward, snatching the gun, which went off, echoing around the ravine. Next moment, slippery from Jan’s sweating fingers, it had slid from Rupert’s hand and he and Jan were wrestling on the ground, furiously landing punches, their only ambition to murder each other. Jan was bigger, younger and stronger, as crash! went one of his fists into Rupert’s jaw, then crash! – another into his ribs. But Rupert was angrier and rage gave him strength to grab Jan’s dark head and bang it on the stony ground as they scuffled, rolling over and over until they were both caked in mud.
Banquo growled helplessly, unable to crawl to his master’s aid, even when Jan, landing on top, tightened his hands round Rupert’s neck until Rupert jerked his knee upwards into Jan’s groin, making him groan and loosen his grip.
They were both perilously near the edge, rocks giving way, when Rupert realized Harmony was on the ledge beside them. Slithering down the side in another shower of rocks, she had retrieved the gun from where it had disappeared into a clump of ivy, and shoved it into Jan’s back.
‘Let go of Rupert, you bastard.’
‘Give me back the gun, Harmsie.’ Jan had switched tack, his voice suddenly amorous. ‘It’s you that I love. I only said that I was going to marry Taggie to wind up Rupert.’
They were so near the edge, the ledge was giving way beneath them, about to precipitate them all into the abyss. Letting go of Rupert, struggling to his feet, Jan tripped over a bramble cable and before he could right himself and grab the gun from Harmony, Rupert had snatched it.
‘Go and get help,’ he snapped and with sudden superhuman strength, legged her bulk back on to the path. ‘Get a vet – and for Christ’s sake, hurry.’
Wailing in anguish as she lumbered down the track, Harmony rounded the corner slap into the arms of a large policeman.
‘Please hurry. Rupert’s taken Jan’s gun off him,’ she sobbed, ‘but his dog’s up there with a broken leg and Rupert’ll shoot and kill Jan if anything happens to Banquo.’
Chief Inspector Gablecross had rolled up at Penscombe soon after Rupert had left. Typical cavalier Campbell-Black behaviour, he reflected, calling the police, stressing the urgency of the case, then buggering off to rescue some dog.
Comparing notes, however, with Gav, Mike, Bao, Lark and Cathal who, driving home, had seen Rupert’s car parked on the edge of the woods, had spurred Gablecross into action, rustling up uniformed and CID men to raid the woods. Even so, it took eight of them to contain and handcuff Jan, who was now ranting and raving that Rupert had murdered his brother James Northfield and just tried to murder him by pushing him over the edge as well, and it was Rupert who must be arrested. Night was falling as they dragged him yelling out of the woods. Fortunately, an ambulance crew on standby had some morphine for Banquo.
As Rupert emerged, reeking of wild garlic, his face bloodstained and muddy, a heavily doped Banquo in his arms, a car splashed across the water meadows and Taggie in her nightie and blue striped dressing gown leapt out and came racing barefoot towards him through the twilight.
‘Oh Rupert, Rupert, my darling,’ then, as she drew closer, ‘oh my God, what have you done to yourself? Your poor head, your eye, and your poor lip.’ She caressed his cheek with her hand. ‘What happened?’
‘I’m fine, honest, but Banquo’s done a leg. I’ve got to get him to a vet and you back to bed or you’ll catch your death.’
‘More important, get you to a doctor.’
Doctor … How could a question of such enormity have skipped his memory! Crossing his fingers, he stammered, ‘Did James Benson ring?’
‘He did.’ Taggie suddenly smiled. ‘I’m OK, the cancer hasn’t spread.’
For a second Rupert’s head went back, his eyes closed and he took in a vast breath of relief.
‘Oh thank God.’ With no hands free he could only press his shoulder against hers.
Next moment Gav and Gala had raced up.
‘Christ, are you OK? Give us Banquo.’
‘He needs to go to the vet pronto. They’ll probably have to plaster his leg.’
‘We’ll take him, poor boy – you two push off home,’ said Gala.
The instant they had carefully relieved him of Banquo, Rupert took Taggie in his arms.
‘It hasn’t spread. Oh my angel.’ His voice shook. ‘If I’d lost you, my broken heart would never have mended, even if it had been in plaster for a thousand years.’
When Taggie, despite the sore and very
swollen breast, clutched him back even tighter, he also wondered if Jan hadn’t cracked a couple of ribs.
As, entwined, they walked through a crowd of police and onlookers back to Rupert’s car, Taggie said, ‘Gav told me a bit of what Jan’s been up to. I’m so sorry. I mean, Jan told me it was him who blacked your eye and dragged you home to the surprise party, but Constance Sprightly swore it was Gav – and evidently Jan shopped Bao and often didn’t pass on our messages.’
And the rest, thought Rupert.
‘But why should he behave so appallingly? What was he up to?’
The poor angel had supped enough horrors in the last few weeks, thought Rupert. Time in the future for her to absorb the depths of Jan’s iniquity.
‘I guess he fell in love,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid it makes men behave very badly.’
97
Two mornings later, a battered Rupert, convinced cracked ribs were much worse than childbirth, having taken three Zapains, was drinking tea out of his Love Rat mug when Dora breezed into the kitchen, her arms full of flowers.
‘Gossip, gossip!’
‘Amaze me.’
‘Zixin Wang has walked out on Mrs Wang. So two Wangs don’t make a right (ha ha), but more dramatically, he has eloped to China with Superbitch Sauvignon, where Dubai are holding a meeting similar to the World Cup to encourage the Chinese government to embrace racing big time!’
‘Valent’s already there. I was meant to be going too.’ Rupert handed Dora a cup of tea.
‘Thanks. They’re well suited, Wang and Sauvignon, two of the nastiest people on the planet. Mrs Walton’ll be pleased. The only horrible thing is, they’ve taken darling New Year’s Dave with them. Wang wants to show him off in some race.’
‘That’s appalling.’ Gentle Dave was Love Rat’s offspring most like him. ‘Don’t tell Lark.’
‘I won’t. Mind you, she’s so blissful with Eddie. And did you know Chief Inspector Gablecross is at Valhalla cross-questioning Cosmo about Jan, who’s gone completely off his handsome head?’
‘I know that too. I had a four-hour session with Gablecross yesterday, gathering evidence to charge Jan. Evidently he and Wang were inextricably linked. They met up back in Africa and Wang has poured billions into Cosmo’s yard. Gablecross also had a long session with Harmony, who confirmed this.’ He breathed out cautiously. The Zapains were beginning to kick in.
‘How did Wang make his billions?’ asked Dora.
‘Poaching, mining, flogging arms to terrorists, telling them what building to blow up, then getting the contract to rebuild it. But Zimbabwe’s got too hot for him – that’s probably why he’s moved back to China.’
‘Taking Sauvignon as a guard bitch. I do hope they’re kind to Dave.’
Dora was dividing her armfuls of flowers. ‘These are for Taggie. How is she?’
‘Still asleep. Sharing our bed with Forester and Banquo, whose leg’s in plaster. I’m surprised Tarqui, with his broken shoulder, and Safety Car, haven’t moved in to convalesce as well.’
‘Poor Banquo,’ stormed Dora. ‘How dare Jan try to kill him and Safety, poor old boy. Safety’s lost even more weight than Harmony.’
‘He’s still terribly jumpy,’ admitted Rupert. ‘Shivers out in the field, shakes whenever a gate slams, and totally ignores Cuthbert and Gilchrist when they try to play football with him.’
‘And why did Jan have it in for you so much?’
‘Generations of resentment. He must have arrived in England, gone to Rutminster, absorbed the ravishing beauty of Rufus’ 2,000 acres and the stunning house, thought: This is my island in the sun, brought to me by my great-great-etcetera-grandfather’s hand. Convinced he’d been denied such power and riches by Rupert Black shoving James Northfield down the ravine, he must have festered and festered and finally boiled over. He was also madly in love with Tag – another reason to dispatch me.’
‘There was always madness in that family – look at Rodders,’ said Dora. ‘Hopefully Jan’ll be inside for the rest of his life. The one I feel sorry for is Rufus: he was so excited about his new heir and his match race.’
‘He can go and visit Jan in prison.’ Rupert’s voice hardened. ‘That bastard tried to kill my dog, take my wife and he killed Love Rat – oh fuck!’ His clenched hands had smashed Love Rat’s mug.
‘I’ll get you another one,’ cried Dora, gathering up and throwing the pieces in the bin. ‘Cosmo’ll be livid to lose Sauvignon, but Bao will be in heaven. He was so worried Wang was going to bump off his mother. Can we go and see Love Rat’s grave? Oh, do look.’
Two doves, a robin and a blackbird had wandered in through the back door.
‘I don’t expect anyone’s fed them,’ said Rupert.
The animals’ graveyard lay beyond the tennis court, under the shadow of a huge cedar, half an acre fenced off before the land rolled away into the fields. Cordelia and her final Love Rat foal, a lovely little grey, hung over the fence, whickering in sympathy. Love Rat’s grave couldn’t be seen for flowers.
Dora had brought a jug of water for her hyacinths and freesias. ‘I hate seeing flowers without a drink.’
‘Or anything else,’ said Rupert.
‘Such a sweet horse,’ sighed Dora. ‘When his stone’s engraved, you must put: Rest in peace, Legend and Global Leading Sire, because he was. Nice that Gertrude the mongrel’s grave is next door. She’ll guard him.’
‘Sapphire used to ride her tricycle through Love Rat’s legs, and when she and Timon brushed him, he used to go to sleep.’
Realizing Rupert was having difficulty speaking, Dora slipped her hand into his.
‘I’m so sorry you’ve had such a horrible time. Taggie’s cancer, Love Rat, Banquo and Safety, Jan nearly murdering you … you must have done so much praying and bargaining with God.’
To lower the tone, Forester bounded up and lifted his leg on Gertrude’s gravestone.
‘That awful animal’s jealous,’ said Dora. ‘He wants to be Taggie’s all-time favourite dog.’
‘I ought to be ecstatic Tag’s OK,’ Rupert confessed, as he stroked Cordelia. ‘But I still feel as if I’m in a dark tunnel. It’s stupid.’
‘Not at all. You’re beaten up. For yonks you’ve never stopped working, roaring around the world, allowing yourself about half an hour’s sleep a night, forging an empire. You need a break, a holiday, but also you should realize what you’ve achieved, winning the World Cup, and if monstrous Jan hadn’t let Love Rat out, he’d be outright Global Leading Sire. What you need is a victory parade to celebrate.’
‘I bloody do not,’ howled Rupert, so loudly Cordelia and her foal bounded away. ‘We don’t want to attract any press. Taggie doesn’t need it.’ And turning on his heel, he stalked back towards the house.
‘Please, please,’ Dora panted after him. ‘You owe it to Eddie and Quickly. That was an historic achievement, like Fred Winter and Mandarin winning the National with a broken bit, and think of Tarqui and Delectable and Chuckoff winning those earlier races, and Meerkat and Geoffrey. Why don’t you invite them to join the parade? And Mrs Wilkinson.’ Dora’s shrill voice was piercing his ears. ‘She’ll want to be part of it. People will be so pleased Safety’s come home and we can celebrate Lark and Bao rescuing him and highlight the utter obscenity of transporting live horses, which you pointed out last month in your Racing Post column.’
‘Shut up! I said bloody no!’ Rupert was passing the tennis court, a salt-in-the-wound reminder of Jan’s trouncing. ‘Once Jan’s charged with trying to kill me, the press will never leave us alone.’
‘We needn’t have it here,’ Dora said breathlessly. ‘The horses can parade down Penscombe High Street and convene, “that was a good word,” at the Dog and Trumpet, and meet the press in the pub garden.’
‘I’m not going to stress out Taggie,’ exploded Rupert, ‘and that’s my last word on the subject.’
‘We don’t have to,’ begged Dora. ‘We just need to honour these great achievements.’
&nb
sp; As they crossed the bridge over the ha-ha on to the big lawn, Forester barged past, wagging his tail, jinking right to where Taggie, in her nightie, was topping up one of the bird-tables.
‘I think we should have a parade, Rupert,’ she urged him. ‘The yard and the stud deserve the recognition. They need cheering up too, and so do you.’ She raised a hand covered in breadcrumbs to stroke his furious face. ‘Everyone agrees you’re the King of Racing. You so deserve your crown. Please, please, Rupert.’
And so, Rupert caved in.
‘And we’ve got so much more to celebrate,’ added a delighted Dora, as a robin snatched a cornflake from the bird-table. ‘Lark and Eddie getting married, Gala and Gav – I told you she was always bats about him.’
‘You did.’ Rupert raised his eyes to heaven.
‘They’re having such a lovely time, working their way through The Joy of Sex, Puccini pouring out of the cottage. Gav hasn’t stopped smiling since the World Cup – and have you noticed his stammer’s gone?’
Rupert had, and leaving Dora and Taggie, he tracked Gala down in the feed room.
‘Congratulations, darling, Gav’s a very lucky man.’
‘So am I.’ Gala kissed him on the cheek.
‘I think,’ Rupert added carefully, ‘Taggie was scared I was in love with you, and I suspect Gav worried a little about us, and although it was lovely …’
‘Lovely,’ agreed Gala. ‘We made a trip to the moon “on gossamer wings”.’
‘Exactly, but it might be better if Gav moved full-time into Lime Tree Cottage to give you both a bit of privacy, and Tag and Gav might find it easier.’
‘I agree,’ sighed Gala, ‘but Gav would fret if he couldn’t watch over his horses.’
‘I’ve got a solution,’ said Rupert.
Geraldine was appalled when she ushered Harmony Bates into Rupert’s office later in the day. How could such a frump imagine gorgeous Jan was in love with her? She hadn’t even bothered to smarten herself up today, and now the boss was giving her a large glass of white.
