“Shows how bloody difficult the course must be,” said Rupert.

“We’ll all be up in the fifties,” said Billy.

“And here comes the despair of the pony club,” said Rupert, as Ludwig was followed by Humpty Hamilton on Porky Boy.

Humpty certainly rode in a very unorthodox fashion, pouter pigeon chest stuck out, hands held high, feet pointing down like a dancing master, showing a great patch of blue sky as he rose nearly a foot and a half out of the saddle over every fence. Nevertheless he acquitted himself well over the punishing course, and only had two fences down and a foot in the water for the same number of faults as Ludwig.

After that everyone went to pieces. Disastrous round followed disastrous round, slowing the proceedings up because the course had to be rebuilt every time.

Rupert got to his feet. “I’d better go and show them how to do it,” he said.

He kissed Helen on the cheek. “I won’t be long, darling.”

Without his red-hot presence beside her, Helen suddenly felt cold. A brisk wind was unfurling the flags and spreading out the horses’ tails. On television it had looked like a game for children with toy horses and toy fences. The camera had caught nothing of the colossal height of the jumps, the pounding hooves, the heroic splendor and sheer size of the horses thundering about like some Battle of Borodino. Suddenly Helen felt scared for Rupert.

“Aren’t you terrified?”

“Terrified,” said Billy, clutching Mavis for comfort and lighting another cigarette, “particularly as Malise Gordon has just arrived and parked himself below us.”

“Who’s he?”

“One of the selectors and the new chef d’equipe. He manages the British team and goes abroad with them to keep them in order.”

“What’s he like?” said Helen, admiring the taut aquiline features, the high complexion, and the dark hair graying at the temples. “He looks kind of attractive.”

“Bit of a tartar, stickler for discipline, always has spats with Rupe — well, you can never exactly tell what Rupe’s going to do next. Going to bed sober, early, and alone has never been his strong point. Although I’m sure,” Billy added hastily, worried that he might have hurt Helen, “now he’s met you, he’ll mend his ways. Mind you, it’s getting to the stage when Rupe’s so good, Malise can’t afford to leave him out.”

Helen watched Rupert saunter across the concrete below them, then vault over the fence into the collecting ring. Goodness, he must be fit. He walked up to Marion and Belgravia, bending down to adjust the bandages on the horse’s front legs.

“Is he that good?” Helen longed to talk about him.

“Christ, yes. Doesn’t have any nerves, cool as an icicle before every class, and he’s so fast and he meets every fence just right. Knows what risks he can take too. And he’s got the killer instinct. Even in novice classes he’s always out to win.”

Ivor Braine was in the middle of a good round. The television man ran nimbly after him with the boom, recording the grunts and snorts of his horse.

“Sounds like a live sex show,” said Billy. “We always say it’s Ivor’s Dumbo ears that carry him round.”

Ivor was followed by a handsome Frenchman in a blue coat with a crimson collar, who proceeded to demolish the course. As he came thundering down to the water the horse jammed on its brakes and the Frenchman took a leisurely somersault through the air, landing with a huge splash.

“Il est tombé dans l’eau,” said Billy. “I know that’s going to happen to me and The Bull. Now they’ll have to rebuild the course and Belgravia won’t like the wait.”

In the collecting ring the horse was plunging round, eyes rolling, nostrils flaring, flecks of foam going everywhere.

A colossal cheer went up as Rupert erupted into the ring through the red brick arch. In the private boxes people came out onto the balconies to watch, clutching their gin and tonics. Helen was sure she could detect some Beatle-screaming. Belgravia stood still just long enough for Rupert to take his hat off, fidgeting and stamping to be allowed into action.

Humpty Hamilton sat down beside Helen.

“Belgravia looks completely over the top. Is it true, Billy, his half brother was second in the Grand National?”

Belgravia gave three colossal bucks. Rupert laughed and didn’t move in the saddle. As the Klaxon went off with its eldritch screech the horse bounded forward.

“Complete tearaway,” muttered Humpty. “Steerable, but not stoppable.”

That horse would benefit from some dressage, thought Malise Gordon disapprovingly. “If it weren’t for Rupert’s colossal strength, he’d be quite out of control.”

Over the brush sailed Belgravia, over the post and rails, over the rustic poles, driven on by Rupert’s erotic pelvic thrusts. When he came to the massive upright he flew over it as though it was a tiny log.

At the gate with Crittleden written across it in large red letters he came in too fast, slipped, just righted himself, and rapped the fence hard as he went over. For a second it swung back and forth, making Rupert’s fans gasp, Rupert didn’t even bother to glance round. With his long stride, Belgravia managed the double in three strides. Now he was rounding the corner. Next moment Helen saw Belgravia’s pricked ginger ears appearing over the top of the bank, then his lovely head with the white star, and then Rupert. They were on top, popping over the little fence, then tobogganing down the other side, Belgravia on his haunches. Only Rupert’s superhuman strength again stopped the horse running into the fence at the bottom. He was over; the crowd gave a cheer. Over the wall and the combination, which caused him no trouble. Then he kicked Belgravia into a gallop and sailed over the water, yanking him back to get him in line for the final triple.

“Too fast,” said Billy in anguish. “He’s going to hit it.”

Helen shut her eyes, listening to the thundering hooves, waiting for the sickening thud of falling poles and the groans of the crowd. Instead there was a mighty roar of applause. Helen opened her eyes.

“Ouch,” said Billy.

Looking down, Helen realized she’d been gripping his arm.

“I’m really sorry.”

“Be my guest. Brilliant round, wasn’t it?”

“Wonderful.” Helen watched a delighted Rupert letting his rein go slack and walking Belgravia out of the ring, slapping his lathered neck, pulling the ginger ears with joy. Belgravia’s coat, dark, bronzed, and shiny with sweat, looked like uncooked liver.

“That puts me in joint second, which means £500, but there are still fifteen to go,” said Humpty.

Helen noticed the arrogant way Rupert ignored the cheers. Sliding to the ground, he patted the horse once more and turned towards the riders’ stand. Stopped by admirers on the way, in an exultant mood, he was prepared to sign autographs.

“Once you get a clear, people realize it can be jumped and you’ll probably get a lot more,” said Billy. “If I watch any more rounds I’ll start getting the heeby-jeebies.”

He lit another cigarette. Mavis closed her slanting eyes to avoid the smoke.

“How long has your mount suffered from hydrophobia?” asked Helen.

“What?” Billy looked alarmed.

“Been frightened of water.”

“Oh, ever since I had him. I think he might have nearly drowned in some tiny river when he was a foal because it really scares him. Last week I managed to get him over a six-foot stream at home, but he trembled for ages afterwards. I just don’t know how he’ll go today. He’s such a good horse,” he went on, his face lighting up. “So kind, and such a trier, he’ll get himself into all sorts of trouble rather than duck out, and he’s so bright. Over and over I put him wrong and he just brakes at the last moment and sails over, and he’s so cheerful, never moody, and so gentle, a child could lead him up to London on a piece of string like a little dog.”

Helen smiled. “I think Mavis is getting jealous,” she said.

“Oh, Mavis knows she’s my favorite dog, and there goes my favorite girl,” said Billy, as a blonde with a pink and white complexion on a gray horse waited to go into the ring.

“Look at her bloody father telling her to give it a whack at the water, and her mother telling her not to. Poor girl’s in such a muddle. I could sort her out,” he said longingly. “Good luck, darling,” he called down. Lavinia looked up, waved her whip, and smiled. Her parents looked simply furious.

How nice he is, thought Helen, and he’s Rupert’s best friend. There couldn’t be much wrong with Rupert if he inspired friendship like this. In anguish, Billy watched poor Lavinia, after a nervous, tentative round, meet the same fate as the Frenchman, flying through the air into the water.

“At least she won’t have to wash her hair before she goes out with you this evening,” said an amused voice. It was Rupert. He was eating an ice cream.

“Congratulations,” said Helen.

“Bloody well done,” said Billy.

“That should wrap the whole thing up,” said Rupert, shooting a sideways glance at Billy. “Don’t imagine there’ll be any more clears.”

“Thanks a lot,” said Billy. “I’ve still got to jump. Oh, look at poor darling Lavinia coming out in tears.”

“She looks like a seal,” said Rupert. “She may just be dwipping water, not cwying. Lavinia,” he added to Helen, “can’t say her Rs.”

“It was a good round until she came to the water,” protested Billy.

“That girl couldn’t ride in a taxi with the door shut,” said Rupert. “They ought to pay her disappearance money.”

Billy got up. “Can you hold Mavis for me?” he asked Helen.

“Good luck,” said Rupert.

As he went downstairs the dog whined and strained after him.