Helen giggled. Scenting enthusiasm, Miss Carlton turned towards her. “You’re a lovely little thing,” she went on. “We certainly haven’t met. I’d have remembered you.” She looked Helen up and down approvingly. “Don’t belong to any of these boring little farts, do you? Might have guessed it; too good for any of them.”

“I resent that,” said Humpty. “The amount of times I’ve given you a fireman’s lift home after parties, Monica.”

“Well, perhaps you’re better than some. Now, where are you from, my beauty?” she said, turning her full attention on Helen. “Are you going to be here tomorrow?”

“I don’t know,” stammered Helen.

“Well, if you are, I’ll take you for a spin round the countryside in my trap. You’d enjoy that. My two chaps travel at a spanking pace.”

And she was off, describing the merits of her two cobs who, it seemed, had won prizes at every show in England. As she talked, her eyes wandered over Helen’s body and the hand not clutching a glass squeezed Helen’s waist on every possible opportunity. Around them, Helen was vaguely aware of all the show jumpers creasing themselves with laughter. None of them was prepared to rescue her.

“Everyone all right?” It was Grania flitting past.

“Just admiring your antiques,” called out Helen desperately. “I’m a real Chippendale freak.”

“Oh, you Americans are always mad about old things; you must meet my husband. I see you’ve already met naughty Monica.” She patted Miss Carlton’s bristly cheek. “Grub’s up downstairs, by the way.”

“Thank God for that,” said Humpty. “I’m starving. Come on, everyone.”

Rupert caught up with her just as she was entering the dining room. “All right, darling? Sorry to neglect you; I’m in the process of selling a horse.”

“I’m fine,” said Helen, hardly able to trust herself to speak. “Just fine.”

“You must be starving. I’ll get you a plate.”

But the next moment he’d been lassooed by a large woman in red, asking him what had happened to some horse she’d sold him last year. Next minute the crowds had closed around him. Turning around, Helen saw Miss Carlton bearing down on her with two huge plates of chicken and rice. “Coo-ee,” she shouted.

Desperately, Helen fled in the other direction where she could see Billy and Mavis and Lavinia sharing another armchair. She’d just have to play gooseberry.

“Please,” she rushed up to them, “can I talk with you? Rupert’s with some woman, and Miss Carlton’s on the warpath.”

“Of course.” Billy got to this feet. “You haven’t met Lavinia, have you? Are you having an awful party?”

“I haven’t seen much of Rupert,” she said, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“I know. I’m sorry. He’s still haggling with Dick Brandon and it’s the first real show of the season. No one’s seen each other all together for ages, if you know what I mean. They’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

“Oh, Billy, darling,” said Lavinia, “I’ve forgotten to put any Fwench dwessing on my lettuce. Can you get me some, and do see if there’s any more of that delicious garlic bwead.”

For a second Helen’s eyes met Billy’s, but both of them managed not to giggle.

“Well, if Monica comes up, you must protect Helen.”

“He’s weally nice, isn’t he?” said Lavinia dreamily. “Mummy doesn’t approve because he’s such a fwiend of Wupert’s. Not but what Wupert isn’t very attwactive,” she added hastily, “but Mummy thinks Wupert leads Billy astway. Is this your first date with him?”

“No,” said Helen, finding herself chewing and chewing on the same piece of chicken, “my second.”

“Goodness,” said Lavinia, her china blue eyes widening, “that must be a wecord.”

Billy came back and they were joined by Humpty and Ivor Braine with a bottle of red.

“I say, Helen,” said Humpty, going rather pink, “you certainly made a hit with Monica.”

“Oh dear,” said Helen, blushing.

“Thinks you’re the prettiest filly she’s seen in years,” said Ivor and roared with laughter. “Going to take you in her trap tomorrow, she says.”

“Well, don’t get twapped in her twap,” said Lavinia. “She chased me round the tackwoom once.”

“Better watch out. She breeds her own Welsh cobs; they say she doesn’t even need a stallion,” said Billy.

“Well at least she’s better than Driffield,” grumbled Ivor. “Since he’s given up booze he’s got so bad-tempered.”

“The big fairy,” said Humpty. “Let’s chuck him in the lake after dinner.”

Next moment Hans joined them carrying a plate of trifle.

“Mind my dog,” said Billy, as the German prepared to sit heavily on the sleeping Mavis.

Hans rolled his eyes in the air. “Always zee same, zee English, zee dog sleep in zee chair or zee bed, zee husband sleep on the floor. You are American, Fraulein Helen. Are zey not crazy people? Why not come back to Germany wiz me?”

“I say, Hans off,” said Humpty. “You’ll have to fight a duel with Monica.”

“You might also have Rupert to contend with,” said Billy, giving Mavis the rest of his chicken.

“No, Rupert is no problem. I can beat him any day of zee week, how do you say it, against zee cock? But Monica, she is different proposition, she is Superman. If Monica stake a claim, I can only love you from afar.”

Helen felt suddenly happy. She hadn’t been a flop after all. In their clumsy way they were paying her attention, accepting her, ragging her as they ragged each other.

“Oh blast,” said Lavinia, “here come Mummy and Daddy. They’ve been talking to Malise an awfully long time. Talk to me like mad, Helen. And, Billy, you turn away and talk like mad to Humpty and Hans and Geoff. Then perhaps they won’t suspect anything. Where did you get that lovely dwess, Helen?”

“Bus Stop,” said Helen. “My mother doesn’t really approve of me wearing black.”

“Nor mine,” said Lavinia. “If you’re here tomowwow you must come and have a cup of tea in our cawavan. It’s not gwand like Wupert’s.”

Once again, Helen felt overwhelmed with pleasure, particularly when Driffield suddenly brought her a plate of fruit salad.

“This moment must go down in history,” said Humpty. “It is the first time Driffield has ever done anything for anyone else in his life. Where’s Joanna? She must put it in the Chronicle.”

“Are you feeling all right, Driffield?” said Billy.

“He’s dwunk too much tomato juice,” said Lavinia.

Driffield went scarlet and looked irritated and pleased at the same time. They were all laughing. Then Helen looked across the room and her happiness evaporated. There was Rupert standing by the sofa signing autographs for some girl and still talking to Dick Brandon, who was sitting down. Beside Brandon sat Grania talking to another woman. Helen watched frozen as she saw Grania slide her hand up and down the inside of Rupert’s thigh, those beautiful brown muscular thighs she’d seen earlier. Rupert did not move. Grania carried on. Leaping to her feet and spilling the fruit salad mostly over the carpet and Mavis, Helen fled from the room.

“Darling!” yelled Rupert as she passed. He caught up with her in the hall.

“Where are you off to?” Then, seeing her stricken face, “What’s the matter?” and, taking her hand, he pulled her into a nearby room which turned out to be an office with desks and ledgers and a calendar of spiky-legged racehorses on the wall.

Rupert leant against the door.

“Now, what’s the matter? I thought you were having a good time.”

Helen backed away until she found herself sitting in a wire basket.

“I’m fed up with all these people treating you like public property,” she said.

Rupert shrugged. “Come back to the caravan now and I promise you my undivided attention until morning.”

“Like hell! In five minutes someone’ll be banging on the door trying to sell you a horse, or asking for your autograph for their great aunt.”

Rupert laughed. “Temper, temper. I’m sorry about all these people.”

“It was positively obscene, all those women hanging round you like wasps round a molasses tin.”

Rupert felt a surge of triumph. It had worked. She really was jealous.

“I’m fed up with them all. Gabriella, and Bianca, and that obnoxious Joanna,” she emphasized all the “a’s, “and Marion looking daggers at me all afternoon, and worst of all Grania; if she’s a lady, I’m the queen of Sheba.”

“Don’t be silly. No one ever suggested she was. Her father made his fortune flogging laxatives. Do you honestly think I fancy her? She’s like some geriatric canary.”

“You didn’t think so two minutes ago when she was running her hand up and down your thigh like an adrenalized tarantula.”

“I was hemmed in. Autograph hunter to the right, prospective buyer to the left, I couldn’t just prise her off. It might have distracted Dick Brandon. Do you realize I’ve just made twenty grand?”

“Bully for you; you’ve also just lost a girlfriend.”

He put his head on one side and grinned at her.

“A girlfriend, have I just?” he said mockingly. Then his voice softened. “Don’t be such a crosspatch,” and he came towards her, pinning her against the table so she couldn’t escape.

“Now you’re hemmed in, and don’t you like it?” he said, drawing her towards him until he was holding her tight against his body, which was so smooth and hard it seemed to curve into hers like expensive soap.

For a second she melted, her longing for him was so strong, her relief to be in his arms. Gently he pulled down the shoulder of her dress and began to kiss her along her collarbone.

The other hand glided over her bottom: “Chicken, you are wearing pants.”