Riders

by Jilly Cooper

  For the first course Janey lapsed and had huge sticks of asparagus dripping in melted butter.

  “Naughty,” chided Kevin. “At least three hundred calories.”

  “I don’t care,” said Janey, lasciviously taking an asparagus head in her mouth. “I’ll go back to grapefruit tomorrow.”

  Kevin had melon and left the maraschino cherries, followed by steak, well done, with runner beans and a green salad. Janey noticed he left the spring onions. She felt a great weariness, probably because she hadn’t had enough to drink. She was fed up with talking about product attributes and growth potential. Then suddenly when she thought the evening was beyond redemption, he ordered another bottle of Sancerre, and some of his cronies came over, plainly impressed by Janey.

  “I’m taking care of her while Billy’s abroad,” said Kev, and winked.

  Suddenly Janey was enjoying herself. There was nothing like the high that went with the possible beginning to an affair. Kev kept looking at her, holding her eyes a second longer than necessary, as if he was caressing her. He was so tough, and positive, and knew exactly where he was going.

  “D’you want to go somewhere and dance?” he said, as he signed the bill.

  She shook her head, ashamed of the hopeless desire that was sweeping over her. As they left the restaurant, she swayed and he caught her arm.

  “Sorry, Kev. Don’t ask a girl to drink and diet.”

  It had been a clear hot day, followed by a dewy short night. They’d been haymaking. The fields had that mingled honey scent of mown grass and drying manure. As they drove home she said, “You’ll be the first man since Billy.”

  “So I should hope.”

  “It’ll be like losing one’s virginity all over again.”

  Kevin put a perfectly manicured hand on her thigh. The diamond in the center of the thick gold ring on his third finger glittered in the moonlight.

  “I’ve wanted you since the first night we met, but you’ve always been so bloody superior.”

  “Not a lady like Helen?”

  “You’re a snob. She’d never have sneered and put me down the way you have.”

  “I’m sorry. I suppose I hated Billy being dependent on someone else.”

  He removed one of the two bracelets on her right wrist and threw it on her lap. “And don’t jangle.”

  “You jangle enough,” she said.

  When they got back to the cottage, Mavis followed her around like a disapproving duenna. Kevin went to have a pee. Janey went into the kitchen. It was so hot, she opened the fridge and, getting a piece of ice out of the tray, ran it over her tits to make the nipples stand up. Then she poured herself a huge drink to steady her nerves. The next minute Kev walked in and took it from her and poured it down the sink. “You don’t need that sort of booster anymore,” he said.

  I hate him, she said to herself. He’s everything that darling Billy isn’t.

  Mavis, who’d done sterling service as a hot water bottle all winter, was outraged when Kevin tried to shut her out of the bedroom.

  “She always comes in,” protested Janey.

  “Not anymore, she doesn’t,” said Kevin, booting her with his foot.

  “You would get on well with Helen,” sighed Janey.

  “I don’t approve of pets in bedrooms. Ouch!” howled Kev as Mavis bit him sharply on the ankle.

  It took all Janey’s self-control not to giggle. There was no plaster in the house, but finally Kev, stripped off except for one of Billy’s handkerchiefs tightly bound round his ankle, climbed into bed.

  “I hope your alarm clock works,” he said. “I’ve got a meeting in Bristol at nine-thirty.”

  Janey looked at him through half-closed eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to send me back because I’m not at room temperature?”

  She put her hand on his cock, which was inching upwards, and was about to add that in terms of growth potential he was not bad himself, but she didn’t think he’d be amused. He made no comment about her shaved bush until afterwards.

  “You do that?”

  “No, Billy does.”

  “Relationship still very much alive, then?”

  “Yes,” said Janey.

  It was very nice to be made love to by someone so scented and powdered and tasting of Gold Spot (which Janey was less keen on), but all the perfumes of Arabia couldn’t conceal the feral whiff of the jungle killer. Beneath his trappings, Kev was a wide boy, a thug as ruthless as Rupert.

  She was ashamed of betraying Billy by sleeping with Kev in their bed. On the other hand, it was bliss not to have to get up and go home dribbling afterwards. Kev had only brought a slimline briefcase with him. Inside was a clean shirt, a toothbrush and toothpaste in a case, and a disposable razor. He’s everything that Billy’s not, thought Janey once again. Perhaps that’s why I fancy him and that’s what I really need.

  Billy rang up next day. Things weren’t thrilling. He was missing her. He’d be back on Sunday.

  “Did Kev ring you? Good. Mandryka got a third yesterday, but The Bull’s a bit stale. I’m going to rest him next week before the World Championship. How’s the book going?”

  “Fine,” said Janey, who hadn’t touched it. She felt guilty but safer. Kev wouldn’t let her starve.

  “By the way, where were you last night?” asked Billy.

  Janey’s mind galloped. “I had dinner with Helen.”

  “That’s nice.”

  Putting down the telephone, she rang Helen and suggested they had supper at the local bistro. Before she went out she was fortified by a telephone call from Kev. She’d been waiting all day, wondering if he’d ring. She found she couldn’t eat anything, so pushed her food around her plate.

  “You’re not pregnant, are you?” asked Helen.

  “No, no. I was so disgustingly fat, I took the opportunity of Billy’s being away to go on a diet. Now my stomach seems to have shrunk, thank God.”

  “Don’t talk to me about reducing,” sighed Helen. “Rupert’s given up liquor until after the World Championship. He’s lost ten pounds and he looks great but, golly, it makes him mean.”

  For once, Helen unbent a bit. Rupert had bought her a gym tunic and wanted her to dress up as a schoolgirl.

  “But I can’t. I’ve got knobbly knees and I’m terrified he’s going to start fancying the real thing.”

  Janey, remembering Billy’s tales about Tiffany Bathgate, rather thought Rupert already had.

  “I wish Billy’d occasionally look at another woman,” she said idly. “It’d be such fun getting him back.”

  Janey was doing no work on her book but the house looked absolutely marvelous. Although women deny it, they very seldom have a new man in their lives without idly thinking what he’d be like to marry. Janey Coley sounded perfectly dreadful; it really wouldn’t do.

  On Saturday morning, Janey steamed open their bank statement, was appalled at what she saw, hastily stuck it up again, and went out and bought a pair of white dungarees, a white canvas skirt, and two striped T-shirts. The weather was so lovely, she lay in the sun. She could always tell Billy she’d been typing in the garden.

  Kev came and screwed her on Saturday afternoon. Both of them were sober and the pleasure was even more intense. Janey’d lost eight pounds and was beginning to feel beautiful again. Afterwards they lay in each other’s arms.

  “Did Billy ring you?” asked Kevin.

  “Yes, not much joy. Sometimes I wish he wasn’t such a good loser.”

  “He’s a loser,” said Kevin brutally. “Let’s make no bones about it.”

  “How are we all going to cope at Les Rivaux? Billy’s so sweet, he won’t suspect anything, but I’m not so sure about Enid.”

  Suddenly she was startled out of her wits by the doorbell. It was a member of the Tory Party, canvassing for a by-election.

  “I’m just changing to go out,” Janey called out of the window, “but you can rely on my vote.”

  “Got to get that bloody man Callaghan out someho
w,” said Kevin.

  Next time the bell went Kev had to unplug himself. Janey staggered to the window. This time it was the Labor Party.

  “No, you don’t need to convince me; you can rely on my vote,” she said.

  “That’s done it,” said Kev, getting up. “I’ve got to go anyway.” Janey was appalled at how miserable she felt. They had a bath together.

  “Too small, really,” said Kev as he dried himself. “You ought to come in my Jacuzzi at Sunningdale. You will, one day.”

  Feeling happier, Janey put on her new white overalls, which just covered her boobs, and nothing else. Her newly washed hair divided over her brown shoulders. As she made the bed, she instinctively removed hairs, looking for Kevidence, she told herself with a giggle. She persuaded him to have a drink before he went. They were in the drawing room when they heard a step outside. Janey went to the window. “Expect it’s the Liberal Party. Oh my God, it’s Billy.”

  “It’s all right,” said Kev calmly. “Billy told me you were depressed and to drop in to cheer you up. I just happened to be in the area.”

  Janey patted her hair frantically in the mirror.

  “Do I look as though I’ve just got out of bed?” she asked.

  Kev laughed. “You always do anyway.”

  Billy was absolutely thrilled to see them both. He’d always been worried that they got on so badly and this would certainly make things easier. He looked awful: thoroughly tired out, his hair a tangled mess, eyes bloodshot. He smelt of curry and drink. He needs some Gold Spot, thought Janey.

  “How did the last days go?” asked Kevin.

  “Bloody awful. The competition’s so hot because everyone’s over for the World Championship. You’re lucky if you get in the money at all. Here’s some Arpège for you, sweetheart.” He also put down a bottle of duty-free whisky.

  “Your wife’s been on a diet,” said Kev. “Doesn’t she look great?”

  “Sensational,” said Billy. “So does the house.” He looked around. “Really lovely. You must have worked hard. I’m filthy. I must go and have a bath and change.”

  “Have a drink first,” said Janey, sloshing three fingers of whisky into a glass. She was nervous Kev might have left some of his jewelry in the bedroom. Billy accepted it gratefully; anything to postpone the opening of the brown envelopes and his bank statement. They discussed the World Championships—he would either jump Mandryka or The Bull.

  “The Bull—I mean Moggie Meal Al—is a bit stale. I’m going to rest him for the next fortnight.”

  32

  The gods that had blessed Billy during the first year of marriage seemed to withdraw their sponsorship during the second. The following week, Billy rang, jubilant from a show in the South, saying he’d just come first in a big class and won a £5,000 car. He was going to pop up to London in the morning for a ten o’clock appointment with Enid’s gynecologist, who’d been making some tests, then pop back to the show, compete in the afternoon, then drive the car straight home afterwards. Tracey would drive the lorry and, as the car was still being run in, he was afraid they’d both arrive in the middle of the night.

  “But I really feel my luck’s turning, darling.”

  Janey spent the afternoon in bed with Kevin, so she was glad Billy was going to be late. At midnight the telephone rang. It was from a call box.

  “Billy!”

  “Yes, darling.”

  “Where are you?”

  “On the Penscombe-Birdlip road.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I don’t know. I was driving home when a wall jumped out and hit me.”

  “Christ.”

  “I’m afraid I was a bit over the limit, and I think the car’s a write-off.”

  “Stay where you are,” said Janey. “I’ll come and get you.”

  She drove in her nightie, frantic with worry. The first thing she saw was a concertinaed pile of scrap metal. God knows how Billy had escaped alive. Then she saw Billy sitting on the wall, singing:

  “Billy Lloyd-Foxe sat on a wall,

  Billy Lloyd-Foxe had a great fall.

  All Kevin’s horses and all Kevin’s men

  Couldn’t put Billy together again.”

  He was absolutely plastered. She must get him home before the police came along and Breathalyzed him.

  “Billy Lloyd-Foxe sat on a wall,” he began again.

  “Shut up and get in the car.”

  She had to help him in; his legs kept giving way. When they got home she helped him upstairs. He collapsed on the bed, white and shaking. There was a huge bruise on his forehead.

  “Must have a pee.”

  He got to his feet and, staggering towards the wardrobe, opened the door and was about to step in.

  “Bill-ee, the loo’s the other way.”

  “Oh, yes.” He took two steps back, one forward, and veered off towards the loo.

  “I didn’t know anyone could pee that long,” said Janey when he came back.

  “I’ve done one minute, fifty-five seconds before now. Rupert timed me.” He collapsed on the bed again. She knelt down beside him.

  “What’s the matter?”

  He looked at her, not focusing. “I went to the doctor.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “That it’s me, not you. I’ve got a zilch sperm count. He showed me it under the microscope. Not a tadpole in sight.”

  He hung his head. “He said we should think seriously about adoption.” Janey put her arms around him.

  “Oh, angel, I’m so sorry. But it doesn’t matter. Of course we can adopt.”

  “But I wanted you to have my babies. You wanted one so badly and I can’t give you one. Christ!”

  She felt desperately sorry for him, but she couldn’t help feeling relief in a way for herself, and boo sucks to his bloody mother. She put him to bed and within seconds he had passed out. He woke with a most appalling headache and went to the doctor, who said he had concussion as well and he should rest for a week. Billy ignored him. The following morning he set off with Rupert for Aachen.

  Janey rang Kevin as soon as he’d gone and, feeling disloyal, told him about the car and the sperm count. In a way, she felt she’d been dealt a marked card. She’d married Billy thinking he was a star and the star had almost immediately started falling out of the firmament. That she’d contributed almost entirely to this fall didn’t enter her head. She forgot how miserable she’d been, racketing from lover to lover in Fleet Street, waiting desperately for telephone calls, often spare at weekends. She remembered only the fun and excitement. Kevin’s propaganda was soft-pedaled but lethal.

  “Honey, Billy is simply not macho enough for you. You’re like a beautiful lily. You’ll only thrive if tied to a very strong stake. He’s too weak, too Piscean. He’s totally dominated by Rupert. He simply can’t cope on his own. He’s never going to get himself out of this mess. He’s over the top. Everyone’s saying so.”

  By contrast, Kev was so positive, ordering her about, paying restaurant bills with wads of fivers. She even suspected he put her on expenses.

  Billy rang her from Aachen. He sounded depressed and slightly tight. “Darling, please don’t worry about babies. I promise I’ll sort us out after the World Championships. I miss you horribly. I wish you were here.”

  Janey proceeded to plead with him not to ring her until he got home. “I hate to hear you so down. It really upsets me, puts me off work. I know you’ll get in the money soon.”

  Feeling faintly guilty, Janey then left Mavis with Mrs. Bodkin and flew off to Spain with Kev. Billy was due back on Sunday. She’d be home by Saturday lunchtime. She spent a fortune on clothes and having her hair streaked beforehand. She felt, subconsciously, that if she made the financial situation worse, some kind of confrontation would be triggered off. Kev had never mentioned any permanent relationship—he was too fly for that. But the affair was certainly hotting up.

  Billy got home at midday on Saturday, his heart like lead. There was no
barking. Janey must have taken Mavis for a walk. He had difficulty opening the front door for letters on the doormat. He was so tired, it took him a little while to realize that among them were his own letters and postcards from Aachen. And there was the telegram he’d sent yesterday saying he was coming home early, unopened.

  The house was very tidy. Harold Evans weaved furrily round his legs. But there was no sign of Janey anywhere. He felt faint with horror. Perhaps she’d been murdered or kidnapped. He poured himself a large whisky and telephoned Mrs. Bodkin.

  “She’s gone away, researching for her book in Norfolk,” she said, “and staying with her mother. She’s coming home today. I’ve got Mavis. She’s been as good as gold. D’you want to come and pick her up?”

  Relief gave way to a dull anger. Mrs. Bodkin looked secretive and overexcited when he arrived, her mouth disappearing in disapproval. She loved Billy; he was as nice a gentleman as you could find, and so thoughtful. But he should never have married that trollop.

  After two more drinks back at the cottage, he heard a car draw up. There was Janey running up the drive in a faded purple T-shirt and sawn-off pink trousers. Her tortoiseshell hair was incredibly bleached by the sun (Billy didn’t recognize streaking) and she was browner and thinner than ever. His stomach twisted with desire and the pain of his ulcer. All he could think of was how much he’d like to fuck her.

  “Darling, how lovely! You said you weren’t coming back until tomorrow,” cried Janey. “Must have a pee.”

  She didn’t look as though she’d been staying with her mother, thought Billy. She never bothered to wear makeup or scent when she went down there.

  “I bought you some Norfolk strawberries, darling,” she lied. Actually, she’d bought them in Cheltenham on the way from the airport, in case she needed an alibi. They went back into the house.

  “Sweetheart, you look awfully pale,” said Janey, suddenly noticing. “What’s happened?”

  “I sent you this telegram. You haven’t read it.”

  He turned away, fighting a terrible desire to break down and cry. Janey opened it with shaking hands. Had he heard something about her and Kev? Smoothing out the paper, she read: “Mandryka broke leg. Had to be shot. Coming home. Love, Billy.”