Young Rupert further scandalized the community by moving back into the house with his friend Billy Lloyd-Foxe and a floating population of dogs and shapely girl grooms. Even worse, hellbent on making the place profitable, Rupert promptly dug up the famous rose garden and the orchard, built stables for thirty horses, turned the cricket pitch, where the village used to play regularly, into a show-jumping ring, and put up an indoor school beyond the stables to buttress them from the bitter winds.

Gradually over the next four years, the chuntering subsided as Rupert and Billy started winning and were frequently seen on television clearing vast fences and being awarded silver cups by members of the Royal family. Journalists and television crews came down and raved about the charms of the village and the valley. Suddenly Penscombe had two local heroes and found itself on the map.

Penscombe Court was, fortunately, situated on the north side of the valley, half a mile from the end of the village, so any late-night revelry was deadened by surrounding woodland and didn’t keep the village or the neighboring farmers awake too often. Rupert was generally considered capricious and arrogant, but Billy, who loved gossip and spent a lot of time in the village shop and the pub chattering to the locals, was universally adored. Any inseparable friend of Billy, it was felt, couldn’t be all bad; besides, the locals had known Rupert since he was a child and had seen stepparents come and go with alarming regularity and, being a tolerant and generous community, felt allowances should be made. They also realized that Rupert, like the rest of his family, was indifferent to public opinion, so that their disapproval would not make a hap’orth of difference.

Just before midnight Rupert woke up from his nap in the layby and set off for home. He never saw the signposts to Penscombe’s without a leap of joy and recognition. As he drove along the top of the south side of the valley, Badger woke up and started snuffling excitedly at the crack of an open window. Ahead in the moonlight gleamed Penscombe’s church spire. Although it was after midnight, Rupert looked across to the north side and cursed in irritation to see half the lights in the house blazing. Billy must have gone to bed plastered without switching them off.

As he stormed up the drive through the chestnut avenue planted by his great-grandfather, he could see the pale green leaves opening like parachutes. Behind white railings, three dozing horses in New Zealand rugs blinked as he passed. The car crunched on the gravel in front of the house. There was a great baying and yapping. As Rupert opened the front door, two Jack Russells, a Springer spaniel, a yellow labrador, and a blond mongrel with a tightly curled tail threw themselves on him in delight, growling and fighting each other. Finally they all started rubbishing Badger, jealous because he’d been the one to go on a jaunt. Rupert kicked them gently out of the way. His suitcase was still lying in the hall where he’d left it that morning. In the drawing room the fire was going out, Sunday papers half-read and a pile of entrance forms lay scattered over the sofa. One of the dogs had shredded his hunting tie on the rug in front of the fire.

“Jesus,” said Rupert, slamming the door shut.

In the kitchen he found Billy trying to read Horse and Hound, clean the brown tops of a pair of black boots, drink whisky, and fork oysters out of a tin, all at the same time.

“Hi,” he said, looking up. “How did it go? Have you joined the Antis?”

Billy was not a handsome young man, for his nose was broken and his sleepy dark brown eyes were seldom visible because they were always creased up with laughter, but he had a smile that could melt the Arctic Circle. Rupert, however, was not in a mood to be melted.

“This place is a tip,” he snapped, pointing to the sink which was piled high with plates, glasses, and dog bowls. “Can’t you even put things in the dishwasher?”

“It’s full,” said Billy calmly.

“Or in the dustbin,” went on Rupert, pointing to the empty tins of dog food and milk cartons littering the shelf.

“That’s full too,” said Billy.

“And one of your dogs has crapped in the hall.”

“It was one of your dogs,” said Billy without rancor. “Anyway, I’ve been bloody busy.”

“Drinking my whisky and reading the Sunday papers.”

“The hell I have. By the way, there’s a nice piece about you in The Observer.”

“What did it say?”

“Oh, some sycophantic rubbish about you being the best rider in England.”

“Don’t try to placate me, and why’s the telephone off the hook?”

“To stop Bianca, and Gabriella, and goodness knows who else ringing up.”

Rupert replaced the receiver. Five seconds later the telephone rang.

“See what I mean?”

Rupert picked it up. Both of them could hear squawking. Putting the receiver in a nearby cupboard, Rupert shut the door.

Billy grinned: “Anyway, I repeat, I’ve been bloody busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Taking care of the entire yard single-handed. I’ve even sold a couple of horses for you.”

“How much d’you get?”

“Ten grand for Padua and eight for the gray with the ewe neck.”

“Not enough,” said Rupert, looking slightly mollified.

“Never is for you, and I worked everything we’re going to need tomorrow. Admittedly I was so hungover first thing I saw four ears every time I looked down a horse’s neck.”

He speared up another oyster. “And I think I’ve sorted out why The Bull keeps stopping. He’s terrified of water.”

“So am I,” said Rupert, “unless it’s got whisky in it.”

He picked up the bottle and, not finding any clean glasses in the cupboard, poured it into a teacup.

“Where the hell was Diane today?”

“Said she’s got the curse, soldiered on for a couple of hours, then collapsed into bed.”

“Rubbish,” said Rupert. “She had it a fortnight ago. She’d have stayed working if I’d been here. And Tracey?”

“It’s her day off.”

“And Marion?”

“Gave in her notice and flatly refused to work. She was pissed off because you forgot to take her to some party on Saturday night. She’s been ringing Sits Vac in Horse and Hound all day and left them deliberately lying on the table for us to find.”

He handed the magazine to Rupert.

“ ‘Cheerful, capable groom,’ ” read out Rupert incredulously. “Cheerful! Christ! She’s about as cheerful as Blackpool lights during a power cut. ‘Experienced girl groom required for hunters and stud work. Opportunity to further breeding knowledge.’ She doesn’t have anything to learn about breeding either. Oh hell, let her go, I’m fed up with her tantrums.”

“You cause most of them,” said Billy reasonably. “You know perfectly well that Mayfair and Belgravia, not to mention The Bull and Kitchener, will all go into a decline if she leaves. And we can’t afford that at the beginning of the season.”

He held out his glass for Rupert to fill up.

“And just remember how tremendous she is with customs men. They’re so transfixed by her boobs they never bother to even glance at our papers.”

“Are you after her or something?” said Rupert.

“No, my heart belongs entirely to Mavis,” said Billy, looking down at the blond mongrel who was now curled up on his knee, slanting eyes closed, head resting on his collarbone.

“Oh, all right,” said Rupert. “I’ll go and see her in a minute.”

“She’ll be asleep by now.”

“Not her, she’ll be tossing and turning with desire and frustration.”

From the pantry next door the washing machine was thundering to a halt. Wiping the boot polish off his hands onto Mavis’s blond coat, Billy set her gently down on the floor. Opening the machine, he removed a tangle of white ties, shirts, breeches, socks, and underpants and threw them into the dryer.

Rupert looked disapprovingly round the kitchen which was low-beamed with a flagstone floor and a window looking over the valley. A bridle hung from a meat hook; every shelf seemed to be covered with spilling ashtrays and unopened bills.

“We must get a housekeeper. I’m fed up with chaos.”

“It’s pointless,” said Billy. “You’d only employ pretty ones, then you couldn’t resist screwing them and they’d get bolshy. Mrs. Burroughs is coming in the morning. She’ll tidy the place up.”

“I want it straight on weekends. Perhaps we ought to get Nanny back.”

“She’d have a heart attack at the goings-on. Perhaps you ought to get married. Wives are supposed to do this sort of thing. How was your redheaded Anti?”

“Interesting. Very uptight.”

“Not the easy lay you expected?”

“You’ve put your finger on the spot,” said Rupert, draining his whisky, “which is certainly more than I did. She’s rather sweet, but frightfully intense; kept wanting to talk about books and the theater.”

“Must have taxed your brain. Are you going to see her again?”

“I might. I don’t like unfinished business. By the way, I bought a bloody good horse today from the barracks. No one was about, so Tommy let me try him on the Q.T. Never seen a big horse so good in front. Despite his size he jumps like a pony. Need some sorting out though.”

“Don’t make me tired. I’ve done enough sorting out for one day,” said Billy, picking up the yellow mongrel. “Mavis and I are off to bed. See you in the morning.”

“I’ll go and placate Marion,” said Rupert.

He went upstairs, brushed his teeth and his hair, then took the dogs out.

At the end of the lawn two black yew trees crouched like great gelded tomcats. Behind the house rose the wood, stretching for half a mile. Four vast Lawson cypresses rose in front of the bare beech trees like spires of a cathedral. Moonlight flooded the valley, silvering the lake and blanching the first daffodils. On the opposite side a car driving along the top towards Penscombe lit up the trees lining the road like a firefly. Rupert felt his heart expand with pride and love. This was his home and his land to do what he wanted with. He must keep on winning to keep it going, to make it better and better.