Jilly Cooper - Riders

He was just dialing 999 in the nearest telephone box when suddenly Porky Boy emerged from behind a bank of wilting poinsettias, looking very put out at being deprived of his supper, and proceeded to rush back to Humpty straight through the stand of some enraged British Field Sports ladies, who were putting green rubber trousers into cardboard boxes.

Humpty then jumped on Porky Boy and chased Rupert, Ludwig, and Hans round the stands and into the arena. Ivor Braine was happily getting drunk with Wishbone, the sandy-haired Irishman.

“Get it down, lad, it’ll do thee good,” Ivor was saying, as he filled up the Irishman’s glass.

Dudley Diplock was grumbling to Malise about the fact that they no longer televised the presentation of the prizes.

“It’s what the public likes to see.”

But Malise wasn’t listening. He was looking at Helen Campbell-Black, who was being pinned against a pile of straw bales by Monica Carlton, who was still wearing her mustache and tricorn hat.

“Excuse me,” said Malise, and went over to rescue her.

“Oh, shove off, Malise,” said Monica. “I get little enough chance to talk to this exquisite creature.”

“So do I,” said Malise. She looks ill, he thought, and supposed it was the tired last months of pregnancy.

Fortunately Monica soon got sidetracked by the pretty waitress.

“Are you okay?” Malise asked Helen, slightly lowering his voice.

“Fine,” she said brightly.

“I like to take a fatherly interest in the wives of my team,” he said, in what he knew was an unnaturally hearty voice.

“I wish Rupert would take a fatherly interest in our baby,” said Helen bitterly.

“It’s probably jealousy,” said Malise, “and apprehension. He sees the looming challenge to his own identity and privacy. I know I felt the same, but I became positively doting once they arrived.”

“I sure hope so,” sighed Helen.

They watched Lavinia and Count Guy, arm in arm, working their way through the crowd towards them.

“Like Lavinia’s new barnet?” asked Monica Carlton, twirling her mustache. “Pity she’s chucking herself away on that frog.”

“I didn’t know,” said Helen, startled. “Is it serious?”

“I think so,” said Malise.

“Oh, poor Billy,” said Helen in distress. “I don’t think Lavinia would have been quite right for him, but then I don’t think anyone would be special enough for Billy.”

“Might just be the making of him,” said Malise. “He’s too soft, too protected by your husband, drinks too much, too.”

“We’re just going,” Lavinia said to Helen, adding fondly, “Guy doesn’t like parties over here because he hates not being able to talk Fwench, but I just wanted to intwoduce him.”

“Ah, la belle Hélène,” said the handsome count softly.

He took Helen’s hand, pressed it to his lips, then gazed into her eyes.

“Everyone speaks of your great beauty, but none did you the justice. Now I understand why Rupert keep you hidden away.”

“When’s your baby due?” said Lavinia, rather pointedly.

And when Helen told them, Guy, not appearing to mind in the least not talking French, proceeded to express amazement that Helen was still so slim, and launched into a long dissertation on what she ought to eat, and how his Aunt Hortense had just had her sixth child, and how he hoped Helen would come and stay in his château when the next Paris show was on.

“Must go and have a word with Jake Lovell,” said Malise.

“I thought you wanted to aller, Guy,” said Lavinia petulantly. “We’re getting married,” she told Helen.

“Oh I’m so pleased for you both.”

“Come on, darling,” said Lavinia, dragging the reluctant Guy away.

Helen wished she could go too. She was feeling absolutely shattered. Nearby, Wishbone was trying to sell Humpty an Irish horse.

“But who’s he by?” Humpty kept saying.

“Ah,” said Wishbone, smiling engagingly, “who would you like him to be by?”

Malise found Jake in a corner, talking to Hans and Ludwig. Beside them Fen had fallen asleep on a hay bale.

“That’s a very good horse of yours, Jake,” said Malise.

“Vitch von?” said Hans Schmidt. “Zay are both top hole.”

“Revenge,” said Malise. “You ought to be thinking of him in terms of the next Olympics.”

“Not enough mileage,” said Jake flatly.

“I disagree. I saw that horse when he was carting Annie Buscott all over the place. The improvement’s been remarkable.”

Jake blushed slightly.

“Olympics aren’t till September,” said Malise.

“What about Sailor?” said Jake quickly.

“Great Nations’ Cup horse, not sure if he’s Olympic stature. No, don’t look bootfaced. I know how you feel about Sailor, but his wind isn’t that good, and in a high-altitude country like Colombia, he won’t be very happy. Africa’s a great horse too, but I notice she likes soft going more and more these days. I only discovered this evening that Revenge is owned by your father-in-law.”

“Taking my horse’s name in vain,” said Colonel Carter, who’d been eavesdropping. “Think he’s got Olympic potential?”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t rule him out.”

“What are you going to do with him now?” Colonel Carter asked Jake. He’d had enough to drink to become bullying.

“Turn him out for a couple of months. He needs a break.”

“Well, don’t leave him out too long,” said Malise. “He needs the experience; but I congratulate you, Jake. He’s a credit to you. So’s she.” He looked down at the sleeping Fen. “Been watching her in the practice ring. Living with you full time, now, is she?”

Jake nodded.

“She’ll be knocking on the front door herself in a few years’ time,” said Malise.

Jake made sure Fen was asleep, then said, “She’s a little cracker.”

The party dragged on. Wishbone and Ivor were singing “Danny Boy” when Billy finally arrived at two in the morning. Rupert buttonholed him immediately. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” said Billy. “I’ve delivered them safely back. You can go home now.” He helped himself to the last four fingers of whisky with a trembling hand.

“How was little Tiffany?” asked Rupert.

“Upset; but not nearly as much as me. I’ve just seen Lavinia necking in the street with Guy de la Tour. She’s certainly out for the count.”

“So will you be if you keep on drinking. Helen and I are off. Come with us.”

“Did Lavinia say anything?” said Billy.

Rupert looked at him straight. “Yes, I’m afraid she said she and Guy are getting married. Look, I’m sorry, but you can do better than her.”

As Billy was leaving, he bumped into Malise.

Seeing Billy’s face, Malise said, “Why don’t you come back to my flat for a cup of coffee?”

“Terribly kind, but I think I’d rather be by myself.”

“Are you sure? Where are you going?”

“Don’t know really — bit of a shock — I was going to ask her to marry me, you see, when this Guy suddenly turns up.”

He was very drunk, but despite the awful haircut and the missing front teeth, he had a stricken dignity. Tenners were falling out of his overcoat pockets. Malise gathered them up.

“My fancy dress winnings,” explained Billy.

“I’ll look after them for you,” said Malise. “Come on, where are you staying?”

“Addison Gardens, with Rupert.”

As they passed the men’s lavatory, they could hear Ivor supervising Wishbone being sick. “Get it oop, lad, get it oop. It’s all right as long as tha’ knows the way it’s going.”

“I’ll walk you up there.”

“Please, I’d rather be alone,” said Billy.

“All right,” said Malise. “Look, Lavinia’s a nice girl, and I can’t imagine she and Guy will last very long, if that’s any comfort to you. But I honestly think you can do much better than that. As Helen said earlier, you’re special.”

Billy shook his head. “I loved her, but I suppose they’d have been frightful in-laws. Good night.”

It was bitterly cold outside. Programs, crisp packets, streamers, old number cards, and wisps of straw were whipped round his feet by the icy wind.

“In the bleak midwinter,” Billy sang, “frosty wind made moan.”

His voice broke and tears poured down his cheeks as he set out unsteadily in the direction of Addison Gardens.

Back at the Mill House, good as his word, Jake turned his horses out for a rest. It pleased him to see them really enjoying their grass. Even Revenge dropped his belly like an old hunter. In February, a program was announced for Olympic possibles. The riders mustn’t overjump their horses and they must take part in the Olympic trials at the Bath and Wells show and Crittleden in June. The probable team would then be chosen for a trial over the huge, demanding fences at the Aachen show in Germany in July, after which the Olympic team — four riders and a reserve — would finally be selected.

Officially, the Olympic committee told Jake, they were interested in both Sailor and Revenge. Unofficially, Malise rang Jake and asked him if, in the event of one of the other riders, say Rupert, being selected without a decent horse, would Jake be prepared to jump Sailor and lend Revenge to Rupert. The answer was an extremely curt negative. If Revenge made sufficient progress to be selected, over Jake’s dead body would he let anyone else ride him, particularly Rupert. Malise appreciated his sentiments and reported back to the Olympic committee, who felt somewhat differently. Colonel Roxborough, the chairman, master of the Westerham, a bronze medalist before the war, who’d never moved an inch to get any of his five wives, was not the only member who felt Jake was behaving in a thoroughly unsportsmanlike fashion. After all, Belgravia and Mayfair, who’d both been overjumped, were not as good as they used to be, and Macaulay, after a dazzling start, had suddenly lost form altogether.