by Jilly Cooper
“Should have been a clear,” said Rupert, kicking his right foot out of the stirrup and wincing and biting his lip as he lowered himself down.
“Tremendous performance, Rupert,” said Malise, looking at his score sheet. “The Yanks are on twelve, the Germans on sixteen, the Swiss on eighteen, the French on twenty. We’re fifth with twenty-two,” he added with quiet satisfaction.
“You shouldn’t be jumping, but I’m sure glad I saw you. Congratulations,” said a voice. It was the doctor from the hospital.
Rupert smiled, but the doctor, noticing his pallor and how much he was sweating, waved his medical kit. “I thought you’d probably need something stronger to face this afternoon.”
“I need an enormous whisky,” said Rupert.
“Not too enormous,” said Malise.
62
Afterwards Fen couldn’t recall if she ate any lunch. Ivor ate his way solemnly through two steaks without realizing it. Billy came too, cracking jokes with Rupert, keeping up everybody’s spirits. They knew they wouldn’t win, the margin was too big, but they were quietly elated. They had conducted themselves with honor.
Prince Philip, who was an old friend of Rupert’s, came up and congratulated them.
“Really tremendous! Well done, all of you! Don’t know why you bother to ride with any hands at all, Rupert.”
“I’d better go back and wind up Dudley,” said Billy, getting to his feet. “He says I must be more enthusiastic about the other nations. Good luck, everyone. Take care of yourself, Rupe.”
Rupert raised his hand. He wished Billy could stay. He was beginning to feel desperately tired and the pain was really getting to him.
“Can you give me something?” he said to the doctor.
“It’d be better nearer your round or the effect might wear off. I daren’t give you two shots or you’ll pass out in the ring.”
When the riders came out for the second round, it was soon apparent that the first round had overstretched the horses. Despite menacing clouds on the horizon and the rumble of thunder, the sun was at its height, beating down on to the stadium at a heat of over 100 degrees.
Only the top ten teams went through, but it still meant nearly forty rounds for the crowd to watch. The Americans, who had been led to believe that their team couldn’t lose, came back in anticipation of slaughter. Bored now by foreign rounds, screaming and hysterically cheering on their own riders, their chauvinism was equaled only by Billy’s in the commentary box.
“He’s a nice guy, he deserves it,” he said when Ludwig went clear, dashing British hopes, but he was unashamedly delighted when Mary Jo put in an unexpected twelve faults, and Lizzie Dean hit two fences and put in a stop, and the early French and Swiss riders knocked up cricket scores.
Ivor came in so elated by his first round success that he knocked up only eight faults.
“Marvelous,” said Billy. “That’s really marvelous. Now, with all the second riders gone, Great Britain’s edged up to third place, and the Germans are moving right up behind the Americans.”
As it became apparent that a duel to the death was setting in, people ran in from the halls and the stands filled up to bursting.
“I must have another shot,” said Rupert.
“You can’t risk it,” said the doctor.
Carol Kennedy went clear again. Once again Fen had to follow him.
“The Americans are on thirty-one; we are on thirty,” Malise told her.
Fen’s nerves were in tatters. Last time they’d had so little to lose; now they were in with a chance. If Hardy started kicking out fences, all was lost.
“Kiss me, Hardy, e’er I die of fright,” she said.
In England, they were televising only the second round of the competition. Dino checked the video for the hundredth time to see if there was enough tape for Fen’s round.
“Tory, darling,” he called into the bedroom, “Fen’s about to jump. I think you ought to come and see it.”
He could hardly bear to watch her, she looked so small and defenseless as she rode into the ring. He had seen Rupert patting her hand and giving her encouragement. The bastard looked so impossibly handsome and, with his dislocated shoulder, a more romantic figure than ever. And even worse, Billy Lloyd-Foxe was doing the commentary. What the hell was he doing in America?
“And here comes Fenella Maxwell, riding her second round for Great Britain,” said Billy. “Only nineteen and easily our most brilliant and beautiful girl rider, and voted Sports Personality of the Year in 1979. Come on now, Fen, darling.”
“Oh, shut up, Billy,” howled Janey and Dino from different parts of England.
“Please don’t cheer,” Fen prayed to the crowd as Hardy plunged all over the place. “Please don’t distract him. Let us get around. Concentrate, Hardy, my darling.”
Suddenly Hardy decided to behave, jumping over the fences as though they were fallen logs in the wood.
“I want to go clear, oh please, let me go clear,” prayed Fen, getting excited. But Hardy took such an unexpectedly huge jump over the wall that it didn’t give him enough run into the water and he landed well in with a splash. Fen felt her face covered with tepid water. Hardy was drenched. He loathed getting wet. He lashed his tail, ears flattened.
“That’s done it,” groaned Rupert. “He’ll never clear the upright; he’s come in too close.”
Determined to prove Rupert wrong, Hardy did an incredible cat jump; up and up he went as if he was climbing a ladder. Then with a merry flick of his back feet he was over.
Dino put his arm around Tory.
“Go on, Fen,” yelled Darklis.
“Don’t look round,” screamed Isa. “Daddy’ll murder you.” He stopped, remembering, and looked in embarrassed apology at his mother. “I mean, for goodness sake, hurry.”
Fen thundered down to the last triple—she was over.
“Hooray,” yelled Billy, stamping his feet in the commentary box.
The applause was so defeaning, Fen didn’t realize she’d got a time fault.
Once again, everyone got out their calculators.
“That puts us on thirty-five, very much in contention,” said Malise. “The Germans are on thirty-four, the Americans on thirty. But we can’t afford any complacency. The Italians are on thirty-nine, with Piero Fratinelli to come.”
Rupert was seriously worried. The morphine wasn’t having the desired effect this time. He hardly warmed up Rocky at all; every stride was agony. There was no point risking a fall and finishing himself off altogether over a practice fence. He sat in the tackroom on an upturned bucket, with his head in his hands. He daren’t go near the First Aid Post in case they stopped him riding.
“You going to be able to make it?” said the doctor.
“Sure,” said Rupert, “but I hope they bloody hurry.”
Hans Schmidt had eight faults.
“That’s good for us,” Billy was saying in the commentary box.
Then, blighting everyone’s hopes, Piero Fratinelli came in and jumped clear for Italy.
“That’s not at all good for us,” sighed Billy. “Good round though.”
He grinned across at Fen, who was biting her nails in the riders’ stand, and mopped his brow.
In came Peter Colegate, who’d replaced Dino. The American crowd was in a state of hysteria. All across the stands U.S. flags were being waved in encouragement, as the big striding bay thoroughbred, who’d won several races in his youth, ate up the course.
“I don’t fancy anyone’s chances against him if there’s a jump-off,” said Billy.
The thoroughbred’s racetrack origins were his undoing, however. Picking up the tension from his rider, hearing the hysterical yelling of the crowd, he was reminded of his youth and, thundering towards the final fences, he cleared the pink wall with ease, then accelerated and flattened both parts of the double and, hearing the howl and groan of the crowd, only just scraped over the last massive triple.
“Hooray,” said Billy from the
commentary box. That’s absolutely marvelous for us, but admittedly not great for the Americans.”
Carol Kennedy turned to Fen, shaking his head. “Our mutual friend would have gone clear.”
“What’s the score?” Fen asked Malise.
“Italians forty, Americans thirty-eight, Germans forty-three.”
They looked at each other for a minute.
“That means if Rupert goes clear we get the gold, four faults we get the silver, eight faults we’ll have to jump off, which will be too much for Rupert.”
Rupert rode into the ring.
“And here comes Rupert Campbell-Black on Popstar,” said Dudley. “He has a dislocated shoulder, which was put back yesterday. The suspense is absolutely killing, but I think we are about to witness a great display of courage.”
“Courage is a quality the Campbell-Blacks have never lacked,” said Billy. “One of Rupert’s ancestors was on the King’s side during the Civil War, and even though he was tortured by Roundheads, he never squealed.”
All the vengeful heat of the sun seemed to be concentrated on Rupert’s black velvet hat. The colored poles and the flower arrangements swam before his eyes. The officials in their coral blazers seemed to be dancing, the derby rising and falling by itself, the red and blue boat sailing away. The pain was excruciating now. If Rocky played up, he was doomed. Somehow he removed his hat, but, as Rocky sidled away, it took hours to get it back on again.
Where the hell was the first fence? For a panic-stricken moment he couldn’t remember. He looked up at the sea of faces, curiously still for once, the peaks of their caps like a million beaks. He had a terrifying hallucination—they were going to swoop down and peck him to death. Everything went black, he swayed, then forced himself to look down at Rocky’s blond plaits. His good hand was shaking violently—like a wanking schoolboy. The thought made him laugh. Thank God, there was the first fence. He kicked Rocky into a canter.
“And there goes Rupert,” said Billy in a voice that was not quite steady. “All our hopes go with him.”
Rocky, aware that his master was wildly untogether, jumped the first fence wrong, rapping it really hard, jarring Rupert’s shoulder appallingly. To a man, the crowd winced. The next jump was almost as unhappy. Rupert lost a stirrup, his balance all awry. Then he jabbed Rocky’s mouth over the sailboat and the horse pecked on landing.
“God, that must hurt,” moaned Billy.
Coming up to the derby, Rupert found his iron and somehow managed to stay on.
“Oughtn’t he to retire?” said Fen in anguish. “It must be killing him.”
Suddenly, with a relentless surge of courage, Rupert cleared the gate, and turned to the water, riding at it like a man possessed, clearing it by two feet. The crowd roared in ecstasy and then in apprehension. Rupert was beginning to do a bit too well. Suddenly an American victory was in jeopardy. Now he was turning towards the big combination: three vast brick-red fences with their clashing bright green pools of ferns. He left the first element to Rocky, who jumped it big, leaving him too close to the second element. With a brilliant shift in the saddle, Rupert swung Rocky to the right so he had more room and could get in an extra stride before clearing it, then swung him back again so he had the same extra diagonal. Rocky clouted the final pole, which was almost indistinguishable from the greenery filling the jump, but it stayed put.
The crowd burst into a spontaneous yell of applause.
“ ‘The gods who live forever,’ ” muttered Malise to himself, “ ‘are on our side today.’ ”
“That was the most glorious piece of riding,” said Billy. “Oh, come on, Rupe. I can’t bear to look anymore. You take over, Dudley.”
There were only three fences between Britain and a medal and, because of this, they all seemed higher than the grandstand.
Rocky was jumping majestically, but Rupert realized he must speed up. He couldn’t afford time faults. Through a haze of pain the three fences receded and came towards him; he’d never judge the distances; he couldn’t really gallop on with only one hand.
“He can either go carefully and risk time faults, or risk knocking them down,” said Billy. “Knowing Rupe, I bet he chooses the latter.”
Rupert did. He came thundering down to the first fence.
“Oh, steady,” said Malise in anguish.
“Too fast,” gasped Fen. “Oh, God help him.”
Rupert was over the first fence, meeting it absolutely perfectly.
“We’ll have to jump off for the bronze,” shouted Billy excitedly.
Rupert was somehow over the two treacherous uprights of the double.
“We’ve got the silver,” yelled Billy. “Come on, Rupe, come on.”
Rocky gathered himself together, took a mighty leap, and sailed through the air, over the triple and into the history books. Pandemonium broke out in the commentary box. Billy was hugging Dudley, both yelling at once. Dizzy burst into tears.
“I’m awfully sorry, ma’am,” said Fen, realizing she was hugging Princess Anne. Suddenly she heard a hoarse strangulated sound behind her; it was Ivor, cheering like an old mule.
“We got the gold!” screamed Fen, jumping up and down. “We got the gold!”
As Rupert rode out of the arena at a walk, the whole stadium rose to their feet to applaud him. The cheers went on for a full five minutes. Naturally disappointed the home team hadn’t made it, the crowd were prepared to honor such a display of courage.
Rupert rode up to Malise. His face was expressionless.
“What price fairies now?” he said.
Malise grinned up at him. “On the day, my fairies came good. Bloody marvelous.” Then, surprised at Rupert’s lack of excitement, “You went clear you know. We’ve got the gold.”
Rupert shook his head. A loudspeaker confirmed his victory. He stayed absolutely calm. He didn’t smile or give Rocky great slaps of joy on the neck which was his normal practice. His hand didn’t even tremble. He slid off the horse, gave him a quick pat, and leant his head for a second against the red-gold satin neck. Everyone swarmed round him, cheering and yelling.
“Great, Rupe, terrific, you showed them.”
Rupert broke away from them and stumbled towards the tunnel. Everyone followed him, cheering. Malise fought his way back to Rupert’s side.
“Leave him alone,” he snarled at the pack, suddenly losing his temper. “Can’t you understand the strain he’s been under?”
“It’s all right,” he said gently to Rupert.
Rupert turned, his eyes streaming. “A moron, a schoolgirl, and a cuckold,” he said. “We took on the whole bloody world.”
“And beat them,” said Malise.
Halfway down the tunnel Rupert slumped against the wall, shutting his eyes, battling to stop the tears.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Been a bit of a strain the last few days. Too much dope, not much sleep. Oh, Christ.”
“Look,” said Malise, patting Rupert’s good shoulder, “over the years I’ve seldom seen eye to eye with you. But I have to hand it to you today. Without doubt you produced the finest and bravest display of riding I’ve ever seen. You made the other riders look like gymkhana kids. No one in that stadium or watching it on television will ever forget it.”
Rupert sniffed and wiped away the tears with the back of his hand.
“Think Jake would’ve beaten me?”
“My dear boy, today no one could have beaten you.”
Rupert stretched out his good hand and grabbed Malise’s arm.
“I’ve always given you a hard time,” he said shakily, “but I guess you’re the best, too.”
Odd, thought Malise, how the moments of greatest happiness come from the people you least expect.
Suddenly Rupert brightened perceptibly. “I put a monkey on our winning,” he said. “I must have made a fortune.”
Chestnut, dappled gray, and dark bay, they walked proudly into the arena, ears pricked, eyes bright, knowing they were the best in the world. On t
heir backs rode Rupert and Ivor in their red coats, with Fen in black in the center. And realizing once again they were riding one man short, the magnanimous crowd cheered them to the top of the stadium. Everywhere, Union Jacks seemed to be waving.
‘And straight against that great array / Forth went the dauntless three,’ thought Malise.
“Mummy,” said Georgina Hamilton in Scotland, “you really must allow me to meet Rupert. I mean, he may be old and frightfully wicked, but he is phenomenally attractive. And they always say it’s best to start with an older man.”
Tabitha, who’d been allowed to stay up, bounced on Amanda’s knee.
“Daddy jump,” she said. “Daddy jump well.”
“He did indeed, darling,” said Amanda. She turned to Rollo, trying to keep her elation within bounds. “If that doesn’t get Rupert a safe seat, nothing will.”
“He is stunning,” said Georgina. “Oh, promise you’ll introduce me.”
It’s a good thing, thought Amanda, that Georgina is going back to boarding school next week.
“Want Mummy. When will I see Mummy?” said Marcus for the hundredth time that day.
“I’m so proud of her,” said Tory. “She rode so wonderfully well. It’s so awful that such a marvelous victory should be blighted by the other thing. Jakey must be heartbroken not to be part of it.”
“He couldn’t come back into that,” said Dino. “I guess he didn’t want to rock any more boats. If he’s coming back, I figure it’ll be later.”
Malise followed them with his military walk, marching on air. The crowd once again gave an extra cheer in appreciation of Dizzy and Sarah in their Union Jack shorts.
As she stood on the highest middle step of the podium, Fen was still smaller than Carol Kennedy.
“Dino will be very proud of you,” he said, kissing her.
“You’d have pulled it off if he hadn’t dropped out,” said Fen.
Carol shrugged: “You’d have pulled it off more easily if you’d had Jake.”
“We might not have,” said Fen. “We were more of a team than ever before.”
