by Jilly Cooper
The president’s wife came forward in a pale blue dress and Fen bowed her head as the pink, blue, and green ribbon was hung round her neck. As though it were in braille, she put her hand up to touch the gold, tracing the lady with her sheaf of corn on one side, the athlete borne aloft on the other.
“We got a gold,” she said incredulously.
“Team gold’s the best,” said Rupert.
They watched the British flag slide up the white pole. A breath of wind stretched it out. Never had the National Anthem sounded so beautiful.
“God save,” began Fen, then found she couldn’t go on. Tears splashed onto her high cheekbones. Rupert put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.
When the music stopped she turned back to him, burying her face in his shoulder.
“What shall we do this evening?” he said.
“You ought to go to bed,” said Fen.
“How about a really marvelous fuck?” said Rupert.
Fen burst out laughing.
“I’ve always wanted you,” said Rupert, kissing her.
“Hey, lay off,” howled Dino, hurling a cushion at the television set.
“Lucky thing,” said Georgina Hamilton. “She’s very attractive. Mind you, I expect she’ll console him now Helen’s pushed off.”
Amanda Hamilton was surprised how much she minded that embrace. She knew it was victory euphoria, but Fen really was very pretty. Amanda caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and pulled in her tummy. She’d been eating too much porridge, and must go on a diet before Rupert got back.
“I’ve seen a lot of things,” Malise told Prince Philip, wiping away a tear, as the riders galloped round the arena, their rosettes streaming like colored meteors, “when I went all through the war, but this is the greatest experience of my life. Makes you very proud to be British.”
“That was a staggering piece of riding by Rupert Campbell-Black,” said Prince Philip.
Jake Lovell, in a scruffy motel near Kennedy Airport, and rapidly running out of money, decided not to have another cigarette, as he had only half a packet left. With Helen in his arms, he lay in bed watching television.
“Hardy was your horse,” sobbed Helen. “You ought to have been up there getting a gold, too.”
“I’m on the winners’ rostrum already. I’ve got you,” said Jake. But his heart was like lead. Helen must never realize the colossal sacrifice he had made, or she’d never forgive herself.
Dino tucked Tory up in bed, making sure that she took both her sleeping pills. Her apathy worried him; he felt it would be healthier if she raged against Helen and Jake. Then he put the children to bed. Darklis was so overexcited she wanted a story. Every time Dino tried to skip, or missed a word because he was tired, she corrected him. He found Isa in floods of tears. Why had his father gone off with Helen? Why was the paper calling him a traitor and a deserter? What did treachery mean? Who would look after his mother now? Was it something that he, Isa, had done?
Dino comforted him as best he could. He didn’t really know the answer to any of those questions either, but he knew Jake going off had nothing to do with Isa, and he was sure that once the Games were over, Jake would want to see him and Darklis again. At last Isa fell asleep.
It was two o’clock in the morning. The Mill House seemed bitterly cold after America. Dino supposed it was the changeover from summer to fall. Now, jet lag was catching up with him and he felt absolutely shattered. For the hundredth time he asked himself if he’d been insane to indulge in this quixotic gesture of rushing off to Europe to look after Tory.
He had avoided going into Fen’s room because he was missing her so appallingly. Now, desperate for reassurance, he pushed open the door, breathing in the faint trace of her perfume and the mustiness of damp and dust and lack of use. All the china horses on the shelves and the teddy bears that used to fill up the entire windowseat had been put away. Perhaps that was his fault for telling her during that terrible row she ought to grow up. He’d liked the room better as it was before—except for the photograph of Billy Lloyd-Foxe, which had been removed.
Feeling he shouldn’t be snooping, he opened the top drawer of the chest and found a small pile of newspaper cuttings and photographs held together by a pink plastic paper clip. They were all of himself, making him feel slightly better. All the same, he’d been mad to leave her with Rupert and Billy. He went back into the sitting room and opened a bottle of wine. He felt shattered but not really sleepy; his time clock was still up the creek.
Turning on the television, he stretched out on the sofa. They were now showing the press conference. Everyone cheered and whooped as Malise and the British team filed in. There was a tremendous popping of champagne corks.
Rupert, who sat next to Fen with his good arm along the back of her chair in a vaguely proprietorial way, did most of the talking. He looked great; the earlier tears might never have occurred. He must have lost another half a stone since Helen left him, but it merely made his arrogant, slightly depraved face more finely planed than ever.
“Now, none of us want to talk about my wife or Fen’s brother-in-law, so no questions about that,” he said. “I think we proved that we can win medals without the others. Ivor had the most difficult task, as the pathfinder. He jumped quite brilliantly. Fen had to jump on a different horse, and he can be a sod, I promise you. He’s much too strong for her, but she kept him sweet, and I’d like to remind you that she’s only just nineteen and jumping in her first Olympic competition.”
Fen blushed as a huge cheer went round the room.
“I’m incredibly proud of them,” said Malise. “I think today they all moved up a gear, and that people will talk about Rupert’s legendary second round as long as show jumping lasts.”
“And it wasn’t just us, either,” said Fen, holding out her glass for more champagne as the cheers subsided. “It was Malise who kept us all calm when we looked like going to pieces, and Dizzy and Sarah, our grooms, and poor Griselda who’s in hospital, and our families, who’ve had to put up with us being offish and totally self-obsessed for the last month…Also,” she added defiantly, “there’s my brother-in-law, Jake Lovell.”
Somebody booed, then everybody followed suit, stamping their feet, shouting, “Out, out, out.”
“No, shut up,” said Fen furiously. “He taught me everything I know, and he made Hardy the horse he is; Hardy who got a silver and a gold, so we ought to thank him and give him credit as well.”
“Particularly,” drawled Rupert, “for taking my wife off my hands.”
For a second there was an embarrassed pause, then everyone roared with laughter.
Rupert seized the champagne bottle, filling up his glass.
“In fact, the toast definitely isn’t absent friends. We like the people who stuck by us, don’t we, angel?” He stroked the back of Fen’s neck. There wasn’t a reporter in the room who didn’t respond to his magnetism.
“We noticed you had Fen in a clinch on the podium,” said the man from the Daily Mail.
“Who can blame me?” said Rupert insolently.
Fen looked wary. “Our horses are good friends,” she said.
“What about you two?” said the man from the Daily Mirror.
“This is quite unnecessary,” snapped Malise. “They came here to discuss the gold medal.”
The man from the Mirror ignored him. “Might be nice if you consoled Rupert,” he said.
“No, it would not,” said Fen furiously. “I’m going to marry Dino Ferranti.” Then she clapped her hands over her mouth in horror.
Dino knew that, where Rupert was concerned, Fen was unfinished business. He trusted Fen, but for the last three hours he had been through all the agonizing jealousy of a man deeply in love.
“Yippee,” he shouted, “Yippee.” Then, exactly on cue, he heard the bells pealing out in the village. He opened the window. It was a clear starlit night. Orion was climbing out of bed on the horizon, pulling on his boots. Not a breath of wi
nd ruffled the curtains. The peal of the bells must be carrying miles down the valley. His darling, darling Fen had won the gold. The village hadn’t known what to do; they had been shellshocked by Jake walking out. Now they had another heroic exploit to celebrate. They could carry on with their Welcome Home celebrations. Not many villages in England could boast a silver and a gold.
Tory, woken by Dino’s shout of joy, pulled the blankets and pillows over her head to blot out the sound of the bells, remembering in anguish how they had rung out for Jake only six nights ago. Oh God, please, please bring him back. As the telephone rang, she experienced a frantic surge of hope, then the black, black despair overwhelmed her again as she heard Dino say, “Fen darling, you were fantastic, a bloody miracle. I never figured I’d want another country to beat America, but you were just great, great, great.”
“Dino,” said Fen in a small voice. “I’ve got something to tell you. I didn’t mean to force your hand. But they goaded me about Rupert at the press conference and I told them I was going to marry you.”
“I know,” said Dino. “Best program I’ve ever seen.”
“You saw it?” said Fen in amazement.
“I taped it, so you can’t change your mind. Means we won’t have to put an announcement in the New York Times, either.”
Fen giggled. “Oh, you are lovely. I didn’t want to trap you.”
“Baby, how many times do I have to tell you? Look, are you coming home tomorrow? I’ve got the most god-awful withdrawal symptoms.”
“Oh, yes,” said Fen. “I can’t bear another minute away from you.”
“And when you get back, I’m going to frog-march you into the nearest Registrar’s office and marry you. What the bloody hell’s Billy doing out there?”
“Were you jealous?”
“Insanely—that’s why I want you home. I don’t trust either of those bastards.”
For a few minutes they talked nonsense.
“Have you said anything to Tory about us?”
“No, not really. I guess she knows. She’s not in very good shape.”
Tory, who had been listening at the top of the stairs, desperate for some crumb of comfort, some tiny piece of news about Jake, slunk back to bed. Only when Dino had checked that she was asleep did she give way to tears.
63
Autumn came, bringing huge red suns and frosty mornings and clogging the millstream with yellow leaves. Tory carried on as though there was a key in her back. There were no money problems. Fen came back from L.A. to a heroine’s welcome. She and Dino carried on taking the horses to shows and trying to keep their delirious happiness within bounds, at least when they were with Tory. The children, particularly Isa, were at first bewildered, even distraught, by Jake’s disappearance, but soon got involved in a new term, where they were both the object of increased sympathy and interest. Dino, whom they both adored, was back, and Fen and he infected the children with their happiness and took them out a lot, to give Tory a break. To Tory they seemed like four children, or very young parents with two kids. She was glad Dino and Fen had finally got it together, but it didn’t ease her own despair.
Tory normally loved autumn best of all, chopping logs for huge fires, making chutney, jam, and elderberry wine, loading up the deep freeze with vegetables and apple pies. But this year there seemed to be a glut of everything. Too many green tomatoes, too many apples thudding from the trees. She tried to pick them and gave up. She was always cold, always shivering. She covered herself up with three or four jerseys, so that no one should realize how much weight she had lost, or that she wasn’t eating. Alone in the house, she spent her time crying, then crept into bed at night to clutch an equally shivering Wolf, who missed Jake as much as she did. Malise came down to offer comfort, but was daunted by her grief. His own sadness that Helen had run off, he kept to himself.
To buck Tory up, Dino and Fen tried to persuade her to go to Wembley. But she couldn’t face the prying eyes or the memories. Billy Lloyd-Foxe had a brilliant week and won the Victor Ludorum. Every night Ivor Braine, Fen, and Rupert, with his arm in a sling, appeared at the end of the Personality Parade, and brought the house down as they displayed their gold medals. Otherwise, Rupert was off the circuit for two months. The doctor in L.A. had, in fact, trapped a nerve when he put Rupert’s shoulder back. An operation was needed to sort it out. That Rupert had been brave enough to carry on jumping, despite such excruciating pain, only enhanced his almost magical prestige. The press reported his increased interest in politics. He was tipped to take over a safe seat in Gloucestershire.
The press were also wildly interested in Jake, keeping a watch on all the airports, and continually ringing the Mill House in case there was news of him. But there was none. He simply hadn’t got in touch. Heaven only knew what he and Helen were living on.
Then, in the middle of October, the press caught Jake and Helen arriving at Heathrow, both wearing dark glasses. Neither would say a word to anyone, and somehow, as elusive as his gypsy forebears, Jake managed to shake off a pack of reporters and vanish. But not for long. The press’s blood was up and within a few days they had hunted them down, staying near Gloucester with a horse-dealing friend of Jake’s. Again, he and Helen refused to talk, despite the astronomical sums of money which were offered for their story. And two days later, blazoned across every paper, were pictures of Jake, again in dark glasses, applying for the dole at Gloucester Labor Exchange.
The fact that Jake was so near, yet still hadn’t contacted Tory, was for Dino the final straw. He saw how Tory was being crucified. He was all for driving over to Gloucester and beating the hell out of Jake, but Fen managed to restrain him.
“You can’t make him come back if he doesn’t want to. Tory would hate that more than anything.”
Once back in England, when he wasn’t dodging the press, Jake made heroic efforts to get work, but found every door shut. There was no point in ringing Garfield Boyson, as he hadn’t kept his nose clean, but he rang all the other sponsors who’d been pursuing him before the Games. They all gave him an earful or hung up. He buried his pride and applied for jobs running riding schools or working as a stud groom. A few people saw him out of curiosity before rejecting him. No one wanted a fallen idol.
Horse and Hound had announced that the inquiry into his defection at the Olympic Games would be held at the BSJA headquarters in November. Jake was expected to turn up and defend himself. If he didn’t, the general consensus of opinion was that he’d be suspended for at least ten years, if not for life.
Jake could have handled all that if he and Helen had been happy. But, as the days passed, he began to realize the full extent of her neurosis and egoism. Even if he did get a job, her insecurity was such that she couldn’t bear him out of her sight for an instant.
Before the Games, all they had really talked about was their love for one another and The Situation. Like a prisoner of war, Helen had dreamed of escape; now, having escaped, she found she was living in some bleak gray Eastern European zone. By running off, she and Jake had deprived themselves of everything except each other. Claustrophobically thrown on their own resources, they found they had nothing in common.
Helen longed for her beautiful house and garden, her children, particularly Marcus, her checkbook, and her status as Rupert’s wife. Rupert blocked her application to see the children, so she would have to go to court and, as they had no money, that would mean applying for legal aid.
Horses had been Jake’s life. Deprived of them, he was like a junkie without a fix. He missed the Mill House, the children, Wolf, but most of all he found he missed Tory. And yet some strange pride stopped him getting in touch. He was convinced they were all managing perfectly without him. It would look as though he was slinking back only because he’d run out of money and couldn’t cope. He also realized the enormity of his crime towards her and towards his country and was too ashamed to show his face. Above all, he’d given Helen the handkerchief; he must stick by the rules.
He
never blamed her once for forcing his hand, but he retreated inside himself. Knowing he was miserable, she became obsessively jealous of Tory, the good wife, who never made a fuss. Why the hell couldn’t Jake bitch about her occasionally? But Jake realized now that Tory had loved him for himself. Helen only loved the new, infinitely desirable image of herself which his love had created, and which must be preserved at all costs.
Feeling that the horse dealer who’d put them up shouldn’t be subjected to such a bombardment from the press, Helen and Jake moved into a bedsitter in Gloucester. But they were absolutely skint. The social security office came up with one reason after another why they shouldn’t give Jake any money. He sold his cuff links and some of Helen’s jewelry. Soon, the only thing left would be his silver medal. And all the time Fleet Street was tempting him, offering more than a quarter of a million pounds for their story.
Jake was accustomed to being poor. Helen was not. She tried to economize, but she was used to going to the hairdresser’s at least twice a week, and never having a run in her tights, and paying £15 for a pot of face cream. If she paid any less, she was convinced Jake would go off her. Having run away in Los Angeles with only summer clothes, she was desperate to buy winter ones, and thought wistfully of her furs in the wardrobe at Penscombe.
The last Monday in October began badly for Tory. She got up and took the children to school, only realizing when she got there and found the doors locked that it was half-term. Later, making her bed, she retrieved her hot water bottle from the bottom and, unscrewing it, found herself solemnly emptying it into her jersey drawer. In the middle of the morning Dino found her in floods of tears, turning out the contents of the vacuum cleaner in the sitting room, because she’d hoovered up a moth by mistake.
“The poor little thing was alive,” she sobbed, scrabbling frantically through the dust. “I can’t find it anywhere.”
