Jilly Cooper - Riders

“All right,” said Tory, “but he won’t talk about it.”

“Well, it might cheer him up to know he and Revenge have been selected to go to Aachen. Probably he’s suffering from shock. He’ll be okay in a day or two.”

He rang up again two days later. “Just confirming Jake and Revenge are available for Aachen.”

“Well, it’s a bit awkward,” said Tory.

“Let me speak to him.”

“I’m afraid he doesn’t want to talk to you. And he’s completely gone off the idea of going to the Olympics.”

“But that’d give him an interest, best possible therapy,” said Malise. “He can’t deprive his country of a horse like that.”

Colonel Carter was less reticent. He rang repeatedly, complaining about Jake refusing to take Revenge to Aachen and poor Tory, who had to field the calls, received a torrent of abuse.

“It’s preposterous. Fellow’s a milksop, blubbing in the ring. Suppose he’s lost his nerve.”

For once Tory lost her temper. “Don’t you realize they’ve broken his heart?”

The village sent a wreath to put on Sailor’s grave. Letters of sympathy poured in. “We all loved him,” wrote one woman. “To us Sailor was show jumping.”

“I’m sending you my pocket money,” wrote one little girl. “I expect the other horses are missing him, and you might like to buy them some Polos.”

On the Thursday morning after Sailor’s death Fen, having spent two hours on the novices in the indoor school, was just eating a piece of toast and marmalade, and dashing off an essay on Mercutio before racing off to school, when Wolf started barking frenziedly and she heard the sound of wheels on the bridge. Going out, she found a plump blonde with a sweet round face, and two tough-looking men getting out of a horse box.

“Yes?” she said.

They all looked faintly embarrassed, then the girl said, “I’m Petra, Rupert Campbell-Black’s new groom. We’ve come for the horse.”

“What horse?”

“Revenge.”

Whimpering, Fen bolted back upstairs to wake Tory and Jake. Jake, unable to sleep, had only dropped off with the aid of a sleeping tablet at six o’clock. He came down zombielike, eyelids swollen, eyes leaden with sleep, wearing only jeans. Noticing his sticking-out ribs, Fen thought how much weight he’d lost recently.

“What did you say?”

“They’ve come for Revenge.”

“Don’t be bloody silly,” said Jake, going to the open back door. “Bugger off, all of you.”

The girl went very pink. “We understood you’d been told.”

“What?”

“That Rupert Campbell-Black bought Revenge yesterday.”

Jake went very still. “Are you certain?”

She nodded, pitying him. Jake had long been one of her heroes.

“I don’t believe it,” snapped Jake. “Just one of Rupert’s silly games. I’ll go and ring up Bernard.”

The colonel was out. Molly answered, hard put to conceal her elation.

“Bernard’s been trying to get through to you for three days, Jake.”

“Is it true?”

“Yes. Rupe’s been after Revenge for months.”

It was “Rupe” now, was it? Jake leant against the hall table, suddenly dizzy with hatred.

“I’ll buy him. Offer him to me.”

“I hardly think you can top Rupe’s offer.”

“How much?”

“Forty-five thousand pounds,” said Molly maliciously.

“You’re crazy. He’ll ride that horse off its feet in six months.”

“Well, that doesn’t really matter, now that Bernard’s got the cash,” said Molly. “Anyway, I’m sure Rupert won’t. He’s taking him to the Olympics. Bernard’s set his heart on that. We tried to talk to you last night to say the deal had finally gone through, but you wouldn’t come to the telephone. Oh, Bernard’s just come in. Have a word with Jake.”

The colonel picked up the telephone. “ ’Fraid it’s true, Jake. Had the feeling you were a bit chicken about the Olympics, bit out of your depth really. He who dares wins you know. Campbell-Black’s man enough to have a go.”

“He’s a sadist,” said Jake.

“Rubbish. He’s a brilliant horseman with a lot of experience. Not fair to Revenge to hold him back.”

Jake hung up and rang Malise.

“Rupert’s told me. I tried to dissuade him, but the deal had gone through. I’m awfully sorry, Jake, but there’s not much I can do. It’s Carter’s horse.”

Jake got dressed and went out to the yard, to find Fen standing outside Revenge’s box with a twelve-bore in her hands and Wolf snarling beside her.

“Keep away from that door,” she hissed. “This is our horse. If you lay a finger on him I’ll blast you full of lead.”

“You’ve been watching too many westerns, love,” said the taller of the two men, but he backed away slightly.

Jake strolled across the yard. “Put that gun down, Fen.”

“No! He isn’t their horse to take.”

“I’m afraid he is,” he said. “Bernard’s sold him to Rupert.”

It was too much for Fen. Revenge was her baby, the horse she’d transformed from a nervous, napping wreck to a loving, happy, and willing horse. She dropped the gun with a clatter and rushed up to the men. “Please don’t take him away,” she sobbed. “We lost Sailor last Saturday. Please don’t take away Revenge, too.”

“I’m sorry, love, I know it’s hard, but orders is orders.”

Jake turned to Tanya. “Go and get Revenge.”

It took only a few minutes to put one of Rupert’s rugs and a head collar on Revenge. Jake went to the book they kept in the tackroom, describing each horse’s likes and dislikes, and the training and the feed he’d been getting, and which of Jake’s medicines he needed. Numbly he wondered whether to give it to Rupert. It would certainly help the horse. Then, he thought, sod it, and, tearing out the page, he crumpled it up and threw it in the bin.

It gave him a terrible pang to see how merrily and confidently Revenge bounced up the ramp of the lorry, thinking he was going to a show. He’d been such a devil to load when he’d arrived. He looked worth every penny of £45,000 now.

Jake went up and stroked him and gave him a handful of stud nuts. It gave him an even worse pang to think how Revenge would react when he got to the other end and didn’t find Fen to welcome him. He couldn’t look as the lorry drove off over the bridge, through the fringe of willows.

Africa was the first to notice Revenge’s absence. She’d been looking out for Sailor since Jake came back, leaving her manger after a quick mouthful, coming to the half-door with a puzzled expression on her black face and calling out for him. Now Revenge was gone too, she was irritated and nervy, circling her box, picking up straw, letting it hang from her mouth like the village idiot. Jake went up and put his arms round her neck, fighting back the tears. “I miss them, too,” she seemed to be saying with her wise kind eyes, “but you still have me; please love me because I’m the one who always loved you best.”

And suddenly Jake felt ashamed. Africa, the goodest, truest, gentlest of them all, and he’d been neglecting her recently, because Sailor and Revenge seemed so much more important. He went into the tackroom, looking at the rows and rows of rosettes. Across the yard in the sitting room, lovingly polished by Tory, were all his silver cups. Pride of place had been given to the cup he’d won at Olympia with Sailor. Then, he’d been king of the castle. Now he was at the bottom of the heap again, with only Africa and half a dozen novices to his name. He looked up at the cupboard on the opposite wall where, well out of reach, he kept all his poisons: belladonna, henbane for galls, hemlock, and the ground-down toadstools, which if sparingly administered could cure colic or purge a sick horse to recovery.

In an old silver snuffbox he kept warty caps. One spore of the fungus would attach itself to Rupert’s throat, giving all the symptoms of consumption, but causing death in a few weeks. It was a nice thought. But he preferred to beat Rupert in other ways.

He went upstairs to Fen’s room, noticing the threadbare landing carpet. Tory was desperately trying to comfort her. Poor little Fen; first Marigold, then Revenge. He put a hand on Tory’s cheek and stroked it. She looked up startled, blushing at the unexpected tenderness, relieved he wasn’t as shattered as she’d expected.

“Fen,” he said, “I’ve got an idea. I think it’s high time Africa had a foal.”

Fen didn’t react. She just lay there, slumped, her shoulders heaving.

“And it’s high time you had your own horse,” he went on. “Think I’ve found one for you. She’s only five, and roan, not a color I like, but her mother was a polo pony, so she turns on a sixpence and she jumps like a cricket already.”

Almost blindly Fen reached out for Jake. “It’s so terribly, terribly kind of you,” she sobbed, “but it’s no good. I can’t stop thinking about Revenge.”

The more Rupert rode Revenge the better he liked him. He’d never sat on such a supple, well-schooled animal. It was like playing a Stradivarius after an old banjo. They clicked the moment he got on the horse’s back. It was easier for Revenge to carry Rupert’s twelve stones than Jake plus two unmovable stones of lead. The horse also loved jumping against the clock. He had already won one class at the Royal Highland, where he had trounced all the other possibles. Now he was in Aachen with the probables, for the final trial, and attracting a huge amount of interest from the world’s press. How would Gyppo Jake’s horse go with Rupert over such huge fences?

Rupert, in fact, had received a lot of flak. After Sailor’s tragic death, the public felt it was very unfair on Jake that the other horse he’d spent so much time bringing on should be snatched from under his nose. As soon as Marion heard that Rupert had appropriated Revenge, she handed in her notice, properly this time, then went straight to Fleet Street and told them exactly how much Rupert had paid for the horse, an offer the frightful colonel couldn’t refuse, and then went on to give them some choice titbits about the cruelty of Rupert’s training methods. The News of the World felt the material was too hot to print but Private Eye had no such scruples. Rumors were rife.