Gradually the first wild intensity died down, subsiding into a succession of wrenching, despairing sobs.

“I’m so sorry,” she kept saying. “I’m such an idiot. Please, please forgive me.”

“If we don’t both want to die of hypothermia,” he said, “we ought to find that pub.”

She suddenly realized that he was only wearing a Barbour, his shoes were soaked, and his teeth chattering.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again in a trembling voice. “I can’t go to a pub looking like this.”

He handed her her bag. “Well, powder your nose, then.”

In the pub Jake found Helen a seat by the fire and went off to order treble brandies. Looking in the bar mirror he could see her vacantly gazing into space, twisting her fingers around and around. Christ, he thought, she’s the one who ought to be in hospital. He took the brandies back to the table, holding one out to her. It was a second before she took it.

“I’m a trusty St. Bernard struggling through the snow to bring you sustenance,” he said.

She didn’t answer.

“Come on, it’ll really help.”

He noticed how loose her expensive boots were around her legs, and that her skirt, which was held up only by a brown suede belt, was on an extra notch. She took a gulp, made a face, choked, and then took another gulp. She wished the taste didn’t remind her so much of that last night in Kenya.

“Where’s Rupert?”

“Gone skiing.”

“Needn’t have bothered. Plenty of snow here. When’s he coming back?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Five days — a week.”

“And you’re left to cope with all this?”

Helen held out thin, shaking hands to the fire.

“I ought to go back,” she said restlessly.

“No, you ought not. They’ll ring if he wakes.”

“Poor little guy, he’s been so ill,” she said. “He was so excited about coming into hospital. All the gifts and everyone for a change bothering about him rather than Tab — except Rupert, of course.”

“He ought to be in a ward. Other children’d take his mind off his sore throat. Darklis and Isa didn’t want to come home.”

People kept coming in, stamping the snow off their feet. On the other side of the fireplace a couple of undergraduates in college scarves were eking out Scotch eggs and pints of beer. Helen’s hair glowed in the firelight; it was the only bright thing about her. Suddenly there were tears trickling under her dark glasses again.

“Oh God,” she muttered in a choked voice.

“Don’t worry.”

“I haven’t got a tissue.”

One by one Jake removed all the paper napkins on the nearby tables and handed them to her. The waitress, trying to keep the tables for people having lunch, clicked her tongue disapprovingly as she replaced them.

“Do you want a menu, sir?” she asked, pointedly.

“Yes, later, but for the moment, can you get us two more very large brandies?” He gave her a fiver, adding, “Keep the change.”

The waitress looked at Helen curiously. Must have been a death at the hospital, she thought. Then she looked at Jake. He was familiar, with his dark brooding eyes. She was sure she’d seen him in Poldark or Jamaica Inn.

“Who’s that by the fire?” she asked the other barmaid. “What was he in?”

“I think he’s got a group. No, he’s a show jumper! I know. He’s the one that broke his leg. Dr. Millett was telling us. They thought they was going to have to amputate, but he put up a real fight and pulled through. What’s his name, Rupert Lovett, Jack Lovett?”

“Jake Lovell,” said the first barmaid, picking up the soda syphon.

“Here you are, Mr. Lovell,” she said, putting down the brandies on the table. “How much soda would you like? Can I have your autograph for my niece? She loves horses.”

Jake scribbled his name on the back of her bill pad and turned back to Helen. He felt a certain academic interest in why she was in such a frightful state. He’d never admired her looks, too thin, breedy and rarefied, and in his eyes she was always contaminated by being part of Rupert. But today he was drawn to her, as he had been drawn to Macaulay, and to all other things terrorized by Rupert. Being out of the circuit for nearly a year, he was not au fait with the gossip. He’d read about Samantha Freebody, of course, but that was too long ago to have such a traumatic effect.

“He’s a beautiful child,” he said.

Helen gave the ghost of a smile. “And he’s extra bright. He’s starting to read and he’s not four yet.”

“Rupert got him on a horse yet?”

“He’s allergic to horses.”

“Lives in the wrong house, doesn’t he? Sure he’s not allergic to his father?”

“Rupert thinks he’s a wimp,” she said bitterly. “Can’t wait for him to go to prep school.”

“Where’s he going?”

“St. Augustine’s — if Rupert gets his way.”

“Christ, don’t send him there,” said Jake, appalled.

“What was Rupert like at school?” asked Helen.

“Same as he is now — Torquemada.”

She looked up with a start of recognition.

“Have you always hated him?”

“For over twenty years.”

“He had an awful childhood,” said Helen. “His mother didn’t really love him.”

“A woman of taste,” said Jake.

The waitress came up, all smiles now.

“Are you ready to order? And could I have your autograph for our manager’s daughter?”

“Steak and kidney, chips, and cauliflower cheese,” said Jake.

“I don’t want anything,” protested Helen.

“Don’t be silly, and bring a bottle of red,” he added to the waitress. “You need food,” he said a minute later. “I used to try and go without it until Dino Ferranti converted me. He always said that most depression is caused by tiredness and lack of food.”

“I liked Dino,” said Helen. “He was fun.”

“We all liked him,” said Jake. “Fen misses him like hell, but she’s too proud to admit it.”

Then lunch arrived and Jake tucked in in the way that only really thin people do. Helen suddenly found she was hungry after all. It was real steak and kidney and there was wine in the gravy.

Jake nodded approvingly: “How’s Rocky?”

“Rupert figures he’s the best horse he’s ever ridden.”

“Paid enough for him.”

“How’s Macaulay?”

Jake’s face softened. “He is something else. After Sailor died I vowed I’d never get so fond of a horse again. But Macaulay really gets to me. If he could read, he’d go around on his own. He’s not really a world-class horse, but he’s such a trier and he’s got so much heart.”

“He’s not overly fond of Rupert.”

Jake grinned. “That’s another thing we’ve got in common.”

After a good start Helen didn’t manage to finish her lunch. Quite pink now from her thermal underwear, she looked as though she’d got a temperature.

“I ought to go back.”

“I’ll ring and check,” he said.

When he came back she’d disappeared. He thought she’d bolted until he saw her shopping basket, with the copy of The Brothers Karamazov and The Guardian. When she returned, he noticed she’d toned down the flushed cheeks and tidied the rumpled hair. He knew it wasn’t for his benefit. Just the instincts of a woman who liked looking perfect all the time.

“He’s fine,” he said, getting up. “Out like a light, still. No one expects him to wake for several hours.” He filled up her glass.

“You have been kind,” she said slowly. It was as if she was noticing him as a person for the first time.

“Why are you here anyway?”

Jake told her.

She was stricken with remorse. “It’s such a crucial day for you. I’m so sorry. I’ve been so obsessed with my own problems, I didn’t even think of anyone else. Are you hoping to go to L.A.?”

Jake touched wood. “Yes, if Johnnie Buchannan gives me the go-ahead today. I’ve got just six months to get fit.”

“Will you take Macaulay?”

“I’d like to, although potentially Hardy’s a better horse. He’s been going well with Fen, but he’s still very spooky and erratic. Christ, if only I had a year.”

Looking at him, Helen suddenly saw coming alive that single-minded, driving fanaticism, which had to be there: the fuel of Olympic fire.

“Buchannan warned me I might never ride again. I promised that if he mended me, I’d bring him home a medal. Fighting talk, huh?”

He stopped suddenly, flushing slightly, hearing his own obsession, wanting to disguise it.

Helen looked at the black hair, the thickly lashed dark eyes, and the thin, watchful face. Suddenly she winced and clutched her temples.

“What’s the matter?”

“I get this pain. It seems to start as a headache, then becomes toothache, then often reappears as earache.”

“Neuralgia,” said Jake. “Caused by tension.”

He felt so sorry for her. She reminded him of a vixen escaping from hounds, lying in the bracken taking a brief panting respite to get her breath back. In a minute she’d be running again, waiting, terrified, for the kill. But Rupert hadn’t killed her. He’d totally destroyed her self-esteem.

As they came out of the pub it was still snowing, shortening the visibility, so they could see only the vague outlines of the towers of Oxford.

“ ‘Beautiful city’,” said Helen softly. “ ‘Home of lost causes, and forsaken beliefs, unpopular names and impossible loyalties.’ ”

“Pretty impossible to be loyal to Rupert,” said Jake dryly.

Underfoot it was freezing so hard that he ought to have been more frightened of falling over. But, in vino, he crossed the snow without a slide or a stumble.

Helen was amazed that Marcus recovered so quickly. Driving in on the fifth day to take him home, she found him playing with the most exquisite model circus. There were clowns, little dogs with ruffs, a ringmaster, and even a ballerina in a pink tutu, who slotted into a cantering horse with a pink plume. All the nurses were gathered around playing with it.