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.”

“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.

She hardly had time to cover her red nose and her three spots, which had reappeared, when the cab pulled up. Her heart sank when a spectacular but utterly stoned girl opened the door. Her bright pink hair matched her trousers. Her sequined waistcoat only just covered her nipples.

“Hi,” she said vaguely.

“Is Enrico here?”

The girl gave a silly laugh. “Somewhere he is. Come in.”

Having repaired her face as best she could, Fen went into a big, dimly lit room. People with glazed expressions were having off-center conversations. Everyone was very done up and glamorous. Fen recognized several well-known actresses. Two women were necking in a corner, a man in a ballet skirt and a tweed coat was asleep on the sofa. There was no sign of Enrico.

She found him in the next room, in a corner, with Fabiola on his knee, one hand inside her shirt, the other halfway up her thigh. He was talking to two other girls. Heart hammering, Fen walked over.

“Hello, Enrico.”

“Fenella.” At least he tipped Anna-Fabiola off and came towards her. For a minute, she was wrapped in warm masculine reassurance as he held her to his chest. But she could also smell stale sweat and there was garlic and whisky on his breath when he kissed her.

He let her go and led her back to Anna-Fabiola, who smiled vacantly. The two girls who’d been vying for his attention looked at Fen as though she was something the cat couldn’t even bother to bring in. She desperately needed a drink.

“What happened to your breeches?” said Enrico. “I wanted to ’ave you like that.”

“They split in the jump-off,” said Fen miserably. “In front of ten thousand people. It was awful.”

But Enrico wasn’t interested. He was talking to Ralphie, who’d just wandered over with his flying suit undone almost to his crotch, so as to display a pink, hairless chest. In the end Fen was forced to find her own drink. When she came back Enrico had undone all the buttons of Anna-Fabiola’s shirt and was playing with her breasts.

“Isn’t she lovely?” he said to Fen. “Wouldn’t you like to play with her, too?”

With a sob Fen turned away. Suddenly she wished she was going home in the lorry with Dino and Sarah, home to reality and sanity. She was exhausted, sober, desperately in need of comfort, and bitterly aware that she was looking her worst and couldn’t compete with any of the girls hanging around Enrico. She was amazed when he followed her, taking her upstairs and opening and shutting several doors before he found an empty bedroom. There was no lock on the door.

“We can’t” said Fen, aghast. “Someone might come in.”

“Let’s hope they will,” said Enrico. “You are very sexy, cara. You need to be shared.”

Next moment he was undressed, lying on his back, his chest matted with black hairs like an ape, his cock rising like some grotesque Italian pepper grinder. The smell of unwashed body assailed her as she knelt over him. She suddenly remembered Dino’s warning about crabs. When Enrico seized her head, forcing it down, she nearly threw up.

“Go on, little schoolboy, you make love to me this time.”

His hand was fingering her bum crack. Appalled, she wished she could ram her tail between her legs, like Wolf. It was all horrible, with none of the ecstasy of the last time. She longed to run away but she had nowhere to go. There were no trains to Warwickshire at this hour. Anyway, she had to do the broadcast. There was a bang on the door. Fen snatched the sheet round her. It was Ralphie and Anna-Fabiola.

“Come and join us,” said Enrico, holding out his arms.

Leaping out of bed, Fen snatched up her clothes and fled past them. She spent the night, shivering, on a tiny sofa in some maid’s room, which actually had a lock on the door. All she could think about was getting back to the Mill House to tell Dino what a fool she’d been.

Somehow she got herself together and to the BBC by ten o’clock in the morning. It was a children’s program; she couldn’t let them down. She was met by a very embarrassed producer who said that, as Doctor Seuss was in town, they’d had to completely rejig the program and, very sadly, wouldn’t be needing her after all. Of course, she’d be paid all expenses and her fee and she must come another time; they’d be in touch. Fen knew perfectly well he was lying, that he’d seen the story and the photographs of her breeches splitting in all the morning papers and was terrified she might corrupt the young.

All the way home in the train, Fen died of shame as she huddled behind dark glasses, coat collar turned up, watching businessmen glued to and gloating over her photograph. The headlines were predictable: “Bottoms Up” said The Sun; “Cheeky Fen” said the Mirror.

Tory met her at Warwick station, looking very red-eyed. Fen thought it was because she’d been behaving so badly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ring,” she stammered. “I meant to, but I was so choked about my breeches splitting. When did the others get back?”