The tough guys on the gate, with their guns and their German accents, the bare institutional corridors, the guards seated on every floor, the smell of fear, the anonymity, all unnerved him, and reminded him of the children’s home.

Overwhelmed with homesickness and claustrophobia he started to unpack. Underneath the beautifully ironed shirts and his new red coat, he found a pile of telegrams and good-luck cards he hadn’t seen. There was also a letter from Tory.

“Darling, I’m missing you almost before you’ve gone. When you get this, you’ll be in L.A. on the way to the greatest adventure of your life. Please don’t be scared, and please eat properly. Don’t worry, remember you’re still the World Champion and the greatest rider in the world. Give a kiss to Hardy. The presents are from the children. All my love, Tory.”

One parcel contained a black china cat with a horseshoe around its neck. The other a toothbrush which had a glass bubble on the end containing a tiny model of Mickey Mouse, and a bell which rang when you cleaned your teeth.

One of the telegrams was from Garfield Boyson, another from Eleanor Blenkinsop. Feeling much happier, Jake undressed, showered, and fell into his first dreamless sleep in weeks.

“It’s too awful,” grumbled Fen the next morning. “I’m sharing with Griselda and an enormous lady discus thrower of very questionable sexuality who snored all night. The corridors are swarming with security guards. I could do with one in the room for protection, except there isn’t room for the three of us as it is. Griselda is already making eyes at a beefy cyclist in the next room, and on the other side there are three event riders who keep saying ‘Must go and ring Mummy.’ ” She giggled. Nothing really mattered today except that she would see Dino.

They were cheered up by more telegrams downstairs, although Jake was slightly daunted to find three long, rather hysterical letters from Helen, saying how much she was missing him, and would he make contact as soon as possible. Then they explored the Olympic village. Jake was appalled by the sheer noise and size. There were sports shops, hairdressers, cinemas and theaters, saunas, swimming pools, even a disco, and endless souvenir shops and televisions everywhere. He’d expected a kind of monastic retreat. It was going to be about as easy to distance oneself here as in a monkey house.

Fen was almost more appalled in the souvenir shop to see posters of Dino on sale. In one he had a terrific suntan, looked too ludicrously glamorous for words, and was wearing a pale gray shirt. In another he was jumping Manny, wearing the U.S. red coat with the sky blue collar. In horror she watched two American girl gymnasts buy copies of both.

“Look,” said Jake to distract her, “there’s Sebastian Coe.”

“And there’s Daley Thompson,” said Fen, in awe.

Then they went to a meeting called by Malise. The plan, he said, was that from tomorrow the team would rise at four in the morning, drive down to the stables, and work the horses from six to eight, then leave them to rest during the punishing midday heat. Then the grooms would walk them around to loosen them up for an hour or so in the cool of the evening. During the day the riders’ time would be more or less their own, except for the odd meeting or press conference. Beach barbecues, endless parties, trips to Disneyland, Hollywood, or Las Vegas were also on offer. Malise wanted them to relax, enjoy themselves, stick together, and save the adrenaline for the competitions. It was now Saturday. The opening ceremony was on Sunday, the individual competition a week on Monday, and the team event the Sunday after that.

That evening, Malise continued, the Eriksons, with whom Rupert and Helen were staying in Arcadia, had invited the British and the American teams to a barbecue at their house. This information threw both Fen and Jake into a panic. Jake was longing to see Helen, but he didn’t want a hassle. Dublin had been a nightmare, worrying all the time whether Rupert suspected anything. He didn’t want Los Angeles to be a repeat.

Fen, having showered about fifty times, couldn’t put on her makeup. She was shaking so much her eyeliner kept leaving her eyelashes and shooting up the lid. She totally gave up on lipstick. She wore new, baggy, pink-striped Andy Pandy overalls and a pale pink T-shirt.

Griselda, who was exchanging even hotter glances with the next-door cyclist, cried off the evening, saying she was still jet-lagged. Luckily, after two more stints on the nonair-conditioned bus, Malise had hired a car to drive the team about. As the Eriksons’ house was only five minutes from the stables, they decided to check the horses on the way to the barbecue. Shadows of palm trees were beginning to stripe the road, but it was still punishingly hot. Even Desdemona seemed listless.

“Probably still suffering from travel sickness,” said Malise, reassuringly.

Perhaps Dino would be suffering from jet lag, too, thought Fen, and wouldn’t feel like a party. But next minute she saw Carol Kennedy going past in dark glasses, so Dino must at least have arrived. Frantically she checked her face in the depths of Desdemona’s box.

Outside, she met Rupert, who pulled out the front of her voluminous overalls, peered inside, and asked if she was “reduced to wearing Tory’s castoffs,” which did nothing to increase her self-confidence.

“Come on,” he said. “Malise is champing for the off. Not that he’ll get any dinner before midnight, Suzy Erikson is so disorganized.”

As they reached Malise’s hired car, Fen said, “There’s Mary Jo.”

Mary Jo was wearing a white T-shirt with “Carol Kennedy for President” printed in large blue letters across the front. “Wait,” she called out to them. Close-up she looked red-eyed and distraught.

“My dear child,” said Malise, concerned. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s Dino,” she sobbed.

“What’s happened to him?” said Fen, in horror.

“Manny went ape on the plane. They think he may have been stung by something. It was Dino’s plane. He was driving it. He wanted to crash-land in the desert, but he was transporting Carol’s horses as well and there was the chance he might have killed the lot of them, the terrain was so rocky, so he had to shoot Manny.”

“Christ,” said Rupert, appalled. “Surely they could have tranked him?”

“They tried. It didn’t make any difference.”

“Where’s Dino now?” asked Malise.

“Dropped off Carol’s two horses and then flew Manny’s body back home.”

“Who’s he riding now?” asked Jake, looking absolutely shattered.

“Nothing,” sobbed Mary Jo. “That’s what makes it so awful. Manny was our star horse, right, but he was really Dino’s only horse. His father’d been ill and he was letting the yard run down.”

“Won’t he come to the Games at all?” whispered Fen.

“He told Carol he couldn’t face it, not after all those years and years of hard work. And he just adored Manny. I tried to call him at his place just now, but his mother said he was too upset to talk to anyone.”

“Surely he can ride someone else’s horse?” said Rupert. “He’s easily your best rider.”

Mary Jo allowed herself a faint smile.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Well, almost,” said Rupert.

“Dino wouldn’t do that to anyone — take their horse off them at this stage, knowing how much work they’d put in.”

“Seems crazy to me,” said Rupert. “If I was your chef d’equipe I’d put him on one of Carol’s horses.”

“I’m awfully sorry,” said Malise. “I’ll write to him tomorrow. It’s heartbreaking.”

“But extremely fortuitous for us,” said Rupert in an undertone, as Mary Jo moved out of earshot to tell Ludwig and Hans.

“That was totally uncalled for,” snapped Malise. “Dino was definitely in the running for the gold.”

“Exactly,” said Rupert. “We had better go and have some dinner.”

“I think I’ll go back to the village,” said Fen, in a high flat voice. “Jet lag’s suddenly got to me. After all, it is four in the morning in England.”

“Oh, come on, darling,” said Rupert. “Come and see this amazing place. They’ve even got Jacuzzis in the dog kennel. A couple of Bloodies and a good steak and you’ll feel on top of the world.”

“Honestly, I’m jiggered,” said Fen, who’d gone terribly white.

“Are you sure?” said Jake, who also seemed stunned by the news about Manny. “I’ll come back with you.”

“No, I’ll be fine.”

Back at the Olympic village, Fen had to climb four flights of stairs, because some Ghanaian athletes, who’d never been in a lift before, were spending all day riding up and down. Despite her talk of jet lag, Griselda, thank God, was not in the room. As she slumped on the bed, Fen felt the Games had lost any importance. If she blew it next Monday, or the following Sunday, what did it matter.

Poor Dino, she kept whispering, oh poor, poor Dino. In a daze she got out her writing case. Donald Duck paper didn’t seem suitable, nor a postcard of an athlete running with the Olympic torch. She tore a page out of her diary, headed December — appropriately wintry, some day in the future, when life didn’t matter anymore.

“Dearest Dino,” she wrote, “I just heard about Manny. I can’t think of anything to say except I’m sorry. I loved him, too. I know what you’re going through. I can’t think of anything to say about my behavior last winter, except I’m sorry too about that. With all my love, Fen.”

Walking down the four flights of stairs again, she posted the letter before she had time to change her mind.

The Eriksons lived in a beautiful ranch-style house, which had once been an avocado farm, now converted into the most exquisite garden, with clematis, morning glory, and bougainvillea growing up every tree. Behind reared the mountains, snow-capped and often blacked out by thunderstorms or rainstorms, but seldom affecting the perfect weather in the valley.