by Jilly Cooper
“How gorgeous,” she gasped.
“My God,” said Sarah. “Someone must have denuded every flower shop in the low countries. Not Interflora, but Entireflora, ha-ha. Who on earth are they from?”
Fen took a card out of the tiny envelope lying on the bed.
“Adorable Fen, you were magnificent, I die till Monday week, all my love, E.”
“I say,” said Sarah, snatching the card.
“Don’t,” screamed Fen, trying to snatch it back and keep the silly grin off her face.
“Who the hell’s E?” asked Sarah. “Prince Edward, Edgar Lust-garten, Ethelred the Unready, Edward Fox, ’Enry Higgins, Eamonn Andrews? Go on, who is he? Who is E?”
“I’m not going to tell you,” said Fen. “My trap is shut.”
Dino appeared at the door, “If we’re going to catch the restaurant before it closes…Christ.”
“Fen has a new boyfriend,” giggled Sarah. “His name begins with E.”
“Stands for excessive, extravagant, and extremely silly,” snapped Dino.
“No, it doesn’t,” said Fen, putting a freesia behind her ear and waltzing round the room. “It stands for ’edonism.”
Throughout the show, Fen jumped atrociously. Her mind was simply not on the horses. She couldn’t eat, she couldn’t sleep at night, as she inhaled the heavy scent of the flowers, which brought back the powerful disturbing image of Enrico. No man had any right to be that attractive. He had discovered erogenous zones she didn’t know existed. She kept looking at her watch, surprised that only a minute had passed.
On Saturday night he telephoned her from New York. The manager brought the telephone to the table where she and Dino and Louise were having a very scratchy dinner, attempting to celebrate Dino’s win in a big class that evening. The line was awful.
“I cannot wait to have you in my arms, cara,” said Enrico and, proceeding to tell her all the unmentionable things he was going to do to her when they met again, Fen was surprised the telephone didn’t turn blue. Fen in turn went redder and redder, acutely aware of Dino listening in stony silence.
Fen got an earful from Jake when she got home. Even though they arrived back after midnight, he had her up at the crack of dawn the next morning, insisting she jump a new and extremely difficult novice round the indoor school, with her arms folded, stirrups crossed, and reins knotted. She fell off four times and ended up on the floor screaming at Jake.
“You’re not going to make a bloody fool of yourself at Olympia,” he said.
“I suppose Tory and Dino have been sneaking.”
“They didn’t need to. One of the Olympic scouts was in Amsterdam. He said if Jesus Christ had ridden that donkey into Jerusalem the way you were riding Laurel and Hardy all week, he deserved to be crucified.”
The end of term jollities of the Olympia Christmas show were lost on Fen this year. Parties were held every night in lorries and on trade stands. Dino went to all of them, each with a different girl, and deliberately got drunk. Fen went to none, because she wanted to look beautiful for Enrico, which was difficult, with the long hours and the airlessness of Olympia and because sleep, when she finally got to bed, again evaded her because of the din outside.
Gossip circulated as usual. Rupert Campbell-Black had acquired a new wonder horse from America called Rock Star, which was reputed to have cost him $200,000. His marriage, on the other hand, was in trouble. Helen had managed to do her Christmas shopping without visiting Olympia once. The Lloyd-Foxes, by contrast, were blissfully happy. Janey had embarked on a book on postnatal depression called The Blues of the Birth. Jake’s leg was mending, but no one thought he would make Los Angeles. Fen was showing a dramatic loss of form, and so was Dino Ferranti. Wishbone, despite being in the whisky “tint” every day, had been placed in every class.
The days crawled by. Not eating properly, Fen was appalled to see that she was getting spots again. Not knowing where she was staying, Enrico sent flowers to her care of the BSJA tent and lots of giggling ex-debs carried them down to Fen’s lorry, which now, according to Dino, looked like a hearse.
At long last it was the final day of the show and Enrico was due that evening.
“What d’you think?” said Fen, teetering on one of the bunks in the lorry so she could see her bottom half in the mirror opposite. She was trying on a new pair of white sharkskin breeches, specially made for her.
“Brilliant,” said Sarah, who was cleaning Hardy’s bridle. “I’ve never seen anything so sexy. They make your legs go on forever, but you must wear panties underneath.”
“No. It’ll ruin the line.”
“It’ll ruin your reputation if they split.”
Fen bent down, straining the breeches to the limit, and extracted a riding coat from the tissue paper in the cardboard box.
“Now what d’you think of these together?” she said triumphantly, when she’d shrugged her way into it. The coat was dark purple instead of the regulation black or midnight blue, lined with rose-pink silk, tightly fitting, and only just skirting the top of her hip bones. It made the perfect foil for the white breeches.
Sarah whistled. “You’ll never get away with that. It’s a bum freezer. Colonel Roxborough will have another stroke.”
“You wait,” said Fen, “I bet it starts a trend. Everyone’ll be wearing them in a few months.”
“Not if you’ve got a bum Griselda’s size,” said Sarah.
“But it does look sexy!”
“Incredibly. But you look more like a page in Figaro than a show jumper, and I don’t think the BSJA will like it.”
As long as Enrico does, that’s all that matters, thought Fen. “I still think you ought to wear panties,” said Sarah, “What else did you get?”
Faintly embarrassed by such extravagance, Fen produced a pale blue flying suit with zips everywhere and a pair of matching pale blue leather boots.
“Gorgeous,” sighed Sarah enviously. “You must have spent your entire year’s winnings. Goodness, I must go and get Hardy ready.”
“Where’s Dino?” said Fen idly, suddenly wanting confirmation that her new riding clothes weren’t over the top.
“Playing poker with Ludwig, Rupert, and Billy. I don’t think he went to bed at all last night.”
Fen needn’t have worried. Her new clothes caused an instant sensation, setting every photographer snapping and all the riders wolf whistling; except Dino and Grisel, who both looked extremely disapproving.
“Playing Buttons in the Christmas pantomime?” was Dino’s only comment.
Just as she was walking the course for the last class of the show, in despair that he wasn’t going to turn up, Enrico arrived and caused an even bigger sensation. Wearing a red shirt, a black coat with a huge astrakhan collar, and half an inch of stubble on his chin, he was accompanied by a girl and a man. The girl, deeply tanned with her streaked blond hair scraped back into a bun, was wearing huge gold hoop earrings and the sort of long squashy fur coat destined to put her straight onto the hit list of the Animal Rights Movement. The man, also blond, was wearing dark glasses, a pale blue flying suit identical to Fen’s, and carrying a pale blue handbag.
Hell, thought Fen, that means I can’t wear my flying suit tonight—we’d look like hers and hers. Enrico, who had found the tickets Fen had left for him at the box office, was making a lot of noise settling in. All the fresh-faced pony club girls, the horsey ladies, and the fathers in their Barbours with three whiskys under their belts, were looking at him in amazement.
“Look, there’s Enrico Mancini,” said Rupert. “Who’s that bird with him?”
“Anna-Fabiola Caraccio,” said Dino. “She’s a friend of Mary Jo’s; and with them is that fag designer, Ralphie Walcott.”
E for Enrico, thought Dino. That was it. That explained the booming exhaust on the bridge. He watched Fen go crimson, giving Enrico a fleeting wave and mouthing that she’d be over to see him as soon as she’d jumped the first round.
Damn, damn, damn, damn, thou
ght Dino, his heart twisting with misery.
For once, Fen was glad she was drawn first. Even though she’d hardly taken in the course when she walked it, she managed to transmit her elation to a rather jaded Hardy, who went around without touching a fence, to the noisy delight of the crowd. Hardly bothering to pat him, Fen threw her reins to the waiting Sarah and ran off. Dino, watching from the riders’ stand, saw Fen mounting the steps, her spiky blond hair gleaming, turning every head with those shiny tight white breeches. He saw Enrico get up and kiss both her hands and her lips and then, because the people behind were complaining they couldn’t see Driffield jumping, watched him sit down and pull Fen onto his knee.
“I though you weren’t coming,” said Fen.
“Carissima,” purred Enrico, sounding rather like one of his own engines, “the traffic was terrible; all those stupid peoples looking at the lights. Then we have to queue at the entrance. Ralphie ’ere ’ad his ’andbag searched. ’Ave we missed a lot? That was a beautiful round; you look so sexy in those trousers.” He ran his hand up her inner thighs till it came to rest on her crotch.
Noticing disapproving glances from all around, particularly from the Royal box, Fen wriggled away.
“We’re going to a party,” said Enrico. “Don’t change. Just come like that. Can you leave now?”
“Not really,” said Fen, feeling flustered, “I’ve got another round to jump and I might be in the jump-off.”
“Give it the miss,” said Enrico, putting his hand back onto her groin.
“I can’t, really,” said Fen, thinking of the money she’d spent that morning. “Too much at stake.”
“Don’t be seely, Enrico,” said the beautiful girl. “Haff some self-control. You wouldn’t stop in the middle of a Grand Prix.”
“Those trousers—they turn me on so much,” complained Enrico.
Wishbone had just come in, but no one sitting near Fen and Enrico was watching him at all. Crimson with embarrassment, Fen escaped back to the riders’ stand.
“Vroom, vroom,” teased Rupert. “You are flying high. Enrico’s got an even worse reputation than I have. Watch out he doesn’t give you the big E.”
Dino, having kicked Manny with unaccustomed viciousness as they went into the ring, jumped appallingly and knocked up such a cricket score that he didn’t even qualify for the second round. Only sixteen riders went through. Fen, going first, went clear again. Instantly she went off to placate Enrico. She was appalled to find him creating yet another disturbance, infuriating everyone by coming out in the middle of Billy’s round.
“You have finished, no,” he demanded.
“No, I’m terribly sorry, not yet. I should be through in about three-quarters of an hour, but I’ve got to jump off and then change.”
“Don’t change a theeng. I want you like that,” said Enrico, stopping to give her a lingering kiss.
“For Christ’s sake, get a move on, Rico,” snapped Ralphie, who was still trapped in the row and being told from all sides to sit down.
“You go on to the party,” said Fen. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Ees better,” said Enrico. “Give her the address, Ralphie.”
“Are you sure it’s not smart and I can wear this?” asked Fen.
“Si,” said Enrico, his hand on her crotch again. “Come and come and come as you are.”
In a turmoil, Fen went back to the collecting ring. The second round over, the arena party rushed on with brushes to smooth the tan. The band played carols.
“Oh, come all ye unfaithful,” sang Rupert.
“Where’s Dino?” said Fen. Looking at the jump-off course, she suddenly felt nervous and uncertain, needing his advice.
“Disappeared somewhere,” said Sarah. “He seemed terribly choked about his round.”
Fen cantered Hardy around the collecting ring, trying to get him on his toes. It was like sitting on a log. For once he wasn’t even fighting for his head. As her number was called, she saw Dino go into the riders’ stand. He was wearing a suit, his hair wet from the shower. He must be angry if he didn’t even come and wish her good luck. There was £10,000 at stake.
Going first, her only answer was to put in such a fast clear she’d frighten the others into making mistakes. There was no doubt Hardy was exhausted. For once she had really to push him on for all her worth. She cleared the first four fences without too much difficulty, then pulled him too sharply into the triple. Unable to make it, and to avoid crashing into the wing, he ran out. Yanking him back, she rode straight at the jump from three yards away and just cleared it. Only the combination was left, but Hardy was all to pieces now. He took off too early at the first element and Fen had to hurl herself forward in a supreme effort to keep her weight off him and not jab him in the mouth. Alas, the effort was too much for her new breeches. As she flew through the air she was aware of a dreadful ripping sound and the sharkskin split right down the back. There was nothing she could do; she was going too fast. She had to jump the remaining two elements, splitting the breeches further each time until her entire backside was exposed with no long coat to cover it.
As she whipped through the finishing line, the entire riders’ stand stood up, cheering. The crowd was in an uproar, half drunken guffaws, half wails of embarrassment and sympathy. The photographers had no such scruples and rushed forward, an excited, snapping, leaping pack.
Frantically tugging Hardy to a standstill in front of a bank of pink chrysanthemums, Fen put her hands down to assess the damage and, encountering so much bare flesh, clapped her hands over her eyes, leaving Hardy to trot around the ring, reins flapping.
Next moment the course-builder was rushing towards her with a coat. But Dino was too quick for him. Vaulting over the hedge of red poinsettias in front of the riders’ stand, he sprinted across the tan, captured a somewhat bewildered Hardy and, tearing off his gray jacket, put it around Fen, leading her, sobbing, out of the ring.
Reporters converged on them from all sides.
“Great viewing,” said Rupert, who was about to jump and was laughing his head off. “Now I know why that fence is called the combination. Nanny used to wear combs that split up the back like yours.”
“Fuck off,” snapped Dino.
Pulling Fen off Hardy, whom he left to Sarah, he hustled her through the crowd. Before she knew it she was back in the lorry.
“Bloody little fool,” he yelled, slamming the door behind them. “Why the hell didn’t you wear panties?”
Fen looked at him aghast, her eyes full of tears, not even able to speak. So he answered for her.
“Because you wanted to excite the hell out of your new boyfriend, right? Well, he’s no bloody good for you, I can tell you here and now.”
“How d’you know?”
“Used to screw an old girlfriend of mine. Gave her crabs in fact, just proving that Latins are lousy lovers.”
“That’s not funny,” sobbed Fen.
“I’m amazed he asked you out a second time,” he went on furiously. “Fuck ’em and forget ’em, that’s his motto. Bloody Mafia thug. Do you honestly think he’s the way to get over Billy? Couldn’t even wait for you to finish your class, could he?”
“He had to go to a party.”
“You bet he did, and by the time you got there he’d have picked up another bit of trash.”
“You’re just jealous,” screamed Fen, “because he’s so attractive.”
Fighting to control his temper, Dino took a deep breath. “All I’m saying,” he said in a calmer voice, “is that the guy is bad, mad, stupid, cruel, and insensitive. But if you insist on finding that out for yourself, don’t come whining to me when he ditches you. Now, you’d better get changed. You must be fifth and you’ve got to collect your money.”
“I am not going back into that ring.”
“Don’t be such a drip. Go back in and laugh it off, and that mob’ll eat out of your hand. You’ve bared it, now you’ve got to grin. And then we’re going home.”
&n
bsp; “I’m bloody not,” said Fen. “I’m going to join Enrico at that party. Then I’ve got a broadcast at the BBC first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll make my own way home.”
There was a bang on the door. It was Louise.
“Fen, Sarah says they’re waiting for you.”
“I’m not coming, and you can get out,” she added to Dino. “I want to change.”
“You need to change,” said Dino brutally, “back into a decent human being. You were a really sweet kid when I first met you. I wonder whatever happened to her.”
“Get out,” screamed Fen, “out of my life.”
As soon as he’d gone she gave way to tears. Horrible man, how dare he say those awful things? She couldn’t wait to reach Enrico to be soothed by his admiration and distracted from her misery and humiliation by his lovemaking. But what the hell could she wear? Her breeches were only fit for the bonfire, she couldn’t turn up in the same flying suit as Ralphie. She only had a pair of black jeans and a white shirt, and she was far too drained to wear white. Rifling through Sarah’s drawer, she unearthed a black T-shirt. It’d have to do. She’d settle for looking pale, interesting, and understated. Enrico had liked her in black last time.
She knew she ought to have gone back into the arena. She ought to ring Jake and to check that Hardy was all right, but all she could think of was getting to that party before Enrico whizzed on to another one. She didn’t believe Dino. She was sure he was jealous, but he’d sown a whole seed packet of doubts.
The repeated hammerings on the door distracted her. Party eye makeup only seemed to emphasize the tiredness of her eyes. She now had three spots instead of two and makeup failed to disguise them. Obsessed that her breath might smell because she’d eaten so little recently, she cleaned her teeth until her gums bled, then cheered herself up by making a Dracula face in the mirror.
Outside the lorry, she went slap into a swarm of reporters, who peppered her with questions about Dino, Enrico, and her breeches. Without Dino, it was almost impossible to throw them off and she was forced to run out of Olympia into the homegoing crowd, who all stared and pointed at her. With so many Christmas parties around, it was impossible to find a taxi. Not knowing London well, Fen started to walk in the direction of Eaton Square, which was the address Ralphie had given her. It was bitterly cold. Half an hour later, frozen stiff, her feet like blocks of ice in her high-heeled shoes, she reached Knightsbridge and found a cab.
