Polo

35

‘The moment I divorce you,’ Chessie screamed at Bart over the buzz of his electric razor, ‘you’ll be cut out of the Forbes four hundred richest people list, and I’ll be in it.’

Christmas had got to Chessie as it had always got to her when, married to Ricky, she’d had to look after Will as well as having Ricky’s father and her parents to stay. This year, when she had nothing to do except instruct a fleet of servants, she’d decided she missed feeling sweaty, exhausted and put upon like 99 per cent of the world’s married women.

Watching his wife rearing out of the bath, her maenad’s face sullen as the water slid off her golden boy’s body, Bart tried to be conciliatory.

‘I know you miss Will worst at Christmas, honey, but there’s a perfectly simple remedy. Have some more kids with me. Give you something to do and fill the gap.’

‘Any child I had with you could never mean as much as Will,’ yelled Chessie.

Bart had walked out after that. It was the pattern of their relationship that she would play him up and he would punish her if she went too far. But this time she knew she had overdone it and when she called his office, on the flimsy excuse of asking him to find out if Red was coming, his secretary, Miss Leditsky, who was mean, lean and sexy, said he had meetings all day and had asked not to be disturbed.

Feeling like a row, Chessie rang Red.

‘The number you have called is being checked for trouble,’ said the operator’s recorded message.

‘You bet it is!’ Chessie slammed down the receiver. The little beast must have had his telephone cut off again.

The post didn’t improve her temper. The first Christmas card she opened was postmarked Australia and addressed to Bart and Grace, the second to Bart and Chrissie.

‘I saw three yachts come sailing by,’ said Chessie gazing moodily out on to an ocean as blue as Mary’s robes.

Then, with a stab, she remembered Will tunelessly singing: ‘Little Lord Jesus, asleep in the hedge.’ It had been one of hers and Ricky’s few shared jokes. No-one came to sing carols at Alderton Towers. They’d be too terrified of the Rottweilers and the security guards and the paparazzi still hanging around for the latest news on Red’s break-up with Auriel.

She’d go crackers if she didn’t do something. Grace was in Uruguay with a woman friend, so tomorrow, for the first time, Bibi, and supposedly Red, as well as Luke and Perdita, were coming to Christmas dinner with her and Bart, who was cock-a-hoop at having all his family under one roof.

They’re bloody well going to have a better dinner than ever they had with Grace, thought Chessie, suddenly excited at the challenge.

The telephone rang. ‘Mr Alderton for you, Mrs Alderton,’ said Conchita.

Chessie’s heart eased. Bart had forgiven her. ‘Mr Luke Alderton,’ added Conchita.

Yet Luke calmed her more than Bart would have done, as he said, in his deep, slow, sleepy voice, that he and Perdita would be there at eight tomorrow, and would Chessie mind if they asked Angel who was on his own and might cheer up Bibi, whose boyfriend, Skipper, had begged off again at the last moment.

‘Anything to put her in a better mood,’ said Chessie. ‘Is he presentable?’

‘Christmas presentable,’ said Luke. ‘Wouldn’t even need gift-wrapping. He’s very glamorous.’

‘Good,’ said Chessie. ‘Might put your rotten brother’s perfectly straight nose out of all those joints he smokes. Is he coming?’

‘Haven’t seen him.’

‘How’s your shoulder?’

‘So, so,’ – which means bloody painful, thought Chessie – ‘I’ll be off games till mid-January at least. I’ll miss the Challenge and the January cups and have to put in a substitute for the Sunshine League.’

‘Christ,’ said Chessie, appalled. ‘That’s losing serious money. Let Bart help out. You know he’s dying to.’

‘Nope,’ said Luke firmly.

‘And is it true you’re squeezing into one of those grooms’ caravans while Perdita hogs your bed? I can’t believe you haven’t bonked her yet.’

Luke laughed. ‘Making ponies taught me one thing – to be patient. If you bump young horses too early they’ll throw in the towel.’

Chessie sighed. ‘You love her, don’t you? She’s a lucky girl.’

Luke, in fact, was fighting depression. A caravan was indeed not the ideal place for a shoulder injury or for lying awake night after night wracked by desire. Out of the tack-room window he’d just seen Perdita flying off to the mail box, desperate for a word from Ricky. She pretended it was because she was frantic for him to buy Tero who was improving by the day, but Luke understood that all the loving kindness of Christmas and pop songs singing ‘I just called to say I love you’ every five minutes on the radio made her miss Ricky more than ever.

Luke’s heart was even heavier because he’d had to sell a favourite pony that morning. It was the only way he could feed his other ponies and pay the grooms’ wages and give them Christmas presents and take Perdita out in the evening, which was what she expected after long days schooling all his ponies.

In addition, Perdita, having screwed up Red and Auriel by spilling the beans about Lucy Chalmers, was getting increasingly uptight about meeting Red tomorrow at Christmas dinner. Finally Luke had spent an agonizing two hours yesterday trying to comfort his ex-girlfriend, Cassandra Murdoch, who was coming apart at the seams.

Chessie spent a fraught and joyful Christmas Day doing what she did best in the world after sex – cooking, keeping the kitchen staff in a flurry, stuffing a fresh goose with truffles, creating an exquisitely delicate smoked salmon mousse in the shape of fishes, one for each person, and finally, as it was Christmas, making a surprise pudding which she knew Red adored.

By seven-thirty she was really pleased with herself. The ten-foot Christmas tree which grazed the top of the El Paradiso living room was covered with tinsel and glass balls the exact duck-egg blue of the Alderton Flyers’ shirts. Holly, with the berries painted blue, decorated every priceless painting, blue paperchains criss-crossed the room and three huge vases were filled with sky-blue delphiniums. In the dining room the dark crimson tablecloth was laid with a new blue-and-gold dinner service, decorated by blue candles and crackers, with a centrepiece of gentians, forget-me-nots, scabious, dyed-blue carnations and Father Christmas in a blue polo shirt and white breeches driving a sledge pulled by four model polo ponies. The whole effect was gloriously vulgar.

Bart, who’d spent the day working and stick and balling, absolutely adored it, principally because of the tremendous effort the chronically lazy Chessie had made to please him.

She was wearing a duck-egg-blue watered-silk dress, very clinging to emphasize the fragility of her body and leaving one arm and shoulder bare to show off the flawless tawny-gold skin. The colour, which exquisitely enhanced her bruised-blue eyes and her greenish-gold curls, had never suited any of his players, even Red, so well.

‘Christ, you look miraculous.’ Bart put his hands under the diagonal of duck-egg-blue silk to stroke a small pointed breast which seemed to leap upward at his touch. He noticed that the scheming minx had left her neck and wrists bare in anticipation of his present and he loved her for it.

‘Open it before the others arrive,’ he said roughly, taking a blue velvet box out of his white dinner-jacket pocket.

Even Chessie gasped. It contained a pendant, bracelet and earrings of emeralds as big as wrens’ eggs.

‘Oh, Bartholomew,’ breathed Chessie. ‘They will make everyone green-eyed!’

‘Very old,’ Bart couldn’t resist boasting. ‘The stone of the pendant comes from Louis XIV’s sword.’

They had drinks outside. Now that the blazing heat of the day had given way to a suavely cool, beautiful evening, Christmas didn’t seem so impossible. A pale, luminous, prairie sky arched overhead, the palm trees rattled and on the velvet air drifted a heady scent of orange blossom, Chessie’s Diorissimo and merrily roasting goose stuffed with truffles, which was driving the lean, stable cat crazy as he weaved himself around Chessie’s bare brown legs. The frogs and crickets croaked to a counterpoint of contented snorts from Bart’s ponies who’d had an extra Christmas helping of carrots and molasses.

Chessie put a hand, cold from clutching her vodka and tonic, in Bart’s.

‘I love you,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve started my New Year’s resolution a week early. I won’t bitch all evening.’

Bibi arrived first and dropped a pile of presents unceremoniously under the tree to stress the insignificance of the occasion. With her frumpy black dress which bypassed every curve, her lack of jewellery and make-up, and her hair scraped back, she looked like a minor character in a sixth-form production of Lorca. What was the point of dressing up for her father and two brothers, when Skipper, her boyfriend, had stood her up yet again? Getting into the office at 4.30 a.m. every day for the last year so that she could handle the 7.30 a.m. calls coming from New York had drained her emotionally and physically. Even the knowledge that, against all the odds as a woman, she’d managed to settle a strike of 650 mechanics this week didn’t lift her spirits.

She made no comment on Chessie’s decorations beyond remarking acidly there had certainly been some changes, and why didn’t they stick up the blue Argentine flag to match. Then, as she kissed her father, she caught sight of Chessie’s emeralds.

‘Emptying Cartiers again, Daddy?’ she said even more acidly. Then, still speaking directly to Bart: ‘One thing to cheer you up. Red and Auriel are definitely off. It was on the car radio. Auriel is quoted as making no comment, which must be unique for her; Red as saying it wasn’t the difference in age that screwed them up, but Auriel being such a famous woman that the press wouldn’t leave them alone.’

‘That’s the best Christmas present I’m gonna get,’ said Bart delightedly. Then, as Bibi asked for a Perrier: ‘This is a celebration, for Chrissake,’ and he filled her glass with champagne.

Again to exclude Chessie, Bibi started discussing a fax that had just come in from Hong Kong. She would reserve the heavy sniping for later when Red arrived. The growing tension was broken by the arrival of Perdita, Luke and Leroy, who had a red bow round his thick neck and who promptly chased the stable cat up a palm tree and collapsed panting on the floor. Luke, as black as his dinner jacket under the eyes, still had his arm in a sling.

‘Just a formality,’ he explained as he kissed Chessie. ‘Stops people clutching it.’

His bottle-brush hair, slicked back in the shower, was beginning to stick up. Spiky hair, unspiky personality, thought Chessie. ‘Those are lovely cufflinks,’ she added.

‘Perdita bought them for me – and a shirt,’ said Luke, not adding that he’d given her money to buy them, and all the other presents she was happily putting under the tree.

Having made no comment about Chessie’s duck-egg-blue dress, Bibi went into ecstasies over Perdita’s cream silk trouser suit.

‘You look sensational. You must have been jet lagged last time we met. And you have terrific dress sense.’

‘Not me – Chessie,’ said Perdita simply. ‘She took me to Worth Avenue and pointed me at the right shops. I’m sorry about wearing trousers, but my legs are so bruised from practice chukkas.’

‘You’ve heard Red and Auriel are officially kaput?’ Bibi asked Luke.

‘Can’t say I’m not pleased,’ admitted Bart, ‘and Grace was going bananas.’

‘Shall we call and tell her?’ Bibi picked up one of the portable telephones.

Chessie bit her lip.

‘I think you’re a shade premature,’ said Luke, trying not to laugh as Leroy went into a frenzy of barking as the most stretched limo in the world drew up and out jumped an Indian chauffeur in a turban to open the doors for Auriel, Red and two Yorkshire terriers. Luke only just grabbed Leroy’s collar in time.

‘I am not ready for this. I am truly not ready for this,’ screeched Auriel. ‘Don’t forget to get all those gifts out of the car, Raschid. This must be the most glorious barn ever, and the perfume of the orange blossom is just like my own fragrance.’

Orange blossom! Glancing at Auriel’s left hand, Bart was at least relieved to see no engagement ring, despite jewellery everywhere else, including a diamond bracelet on her perfect ankle.

Grinning insolently, Red dropped the Yorkshire terriers in front of Luke.

‘I told you I’d bring a Christmas take-out for Leroy. Merry Christmas, Dad,’ he added to Bart.

‘Merry Christmas, my ass,’ snapped Bart.

‘So glad to know you, Mr Alderton,’ said Auriel, taking Bart’s hand. Then, turning to Bibi in her frumpy black dress, ‘And you, Mrs Alderton.’

Chessie gave a gasp of laughter.

‘I’m afraid I’m Mrs Alderton.’

‘But you look sixteen.’

‘For that you may call me Chessie.’

‘I prefer Francesca,’ said Auriel. ‘It’s more gracious and I can see, Francesca, you are a very gracious lady.’

‘Gee, thanks,’ said Chessie.

‘I hope you don’t mind my gatecrashing your Christmas festivities,’ went on Auriel. ‘Red assured me you wouldn’t mind.’

‘Red is so generous,’ murmured Chessie, wondering how the hell she was going to divide seven smoked salmon fishes between eight. She supposed it was better than five thousand.

‘And I’ve brought you all gifts from my new range,’ went on Auriel. ‘It’s called “Auriel” and it is glorious. Fragrance for you, Francesca. Fragrance for you, Bibi. Antiseptic cream for you,’ she couldn’t bring herself to use Perdita’s name, ‘and aftershave and cologne for you, Bart, and you must be Luke. If you like it, I know you’ll tell all your friends.’

‘I’d better organize another place,’ said Chessie, pressing a bell.

Bart was absolutely furious.

‘What the fuck d’you think you’re doing?’ he hissed, taking Red aside.

‘Following yonder star,’ said Red, nodding in Auriel’s direction. ‘Oh, star of wonder, star of light, Star of World Class Bank account.’

‘Shut up,’ snarled Bart. ‘How dare you barge in here with her! It’s goddam rude to Chessie and she’s too goddam old for you.’

‘You can give Chessie a good twenty-two years,’ said Red coolly. ‘Perhaps we ought to swap. Christ!’ He looked round the living room. ‘What have we he-ah – Conchita’s blue period, or blue collar period? Why are you kicking my ankle, Luke? Chessie did it all? Oh, right. That explains it.’

‘Mom liked things simple,’ said Bibi. ‘She always had red roses, and she always wore her rubies at Christmas dinner. D’you remember, Red?’

‘I’m starving,’ said Luke evenly, smiling at Chessie. ‘It smells incredible.’

‘I thought we’d dine in half an hour, after we’ve opened our presents,’ Chessie told him gratefully.

‘Mom believed in self-control,’ taunted Bibi. ‘She always made us wait to open our presents till after dinner. Have you heard from her, Red?’

‘We called her this evening,’ said Auriel, accepting a glass of champagne from Conchita. ‘What a gracious lady. Now Grace truly is a gracious lady.’

‘Crack!’ murmured Chessie to Bart. ‘Can you hear the breaking of New Year’s Resolutions? You were at school with Grace, weren’t you, Auriel? Why don’t you have a Very Old Girl’s Reunion.’

But Auriel had drawn Bart down beside her on the sofa.

‘Red’s been showing me videos,’ she purred. ‘My, you’re a fine player. I hope to join Red in England this summer when he plays on your team.’

Auriel and Red, Luke reflected five minutes later, got away with murder because people were so anxious to go to bed with them – Red in terms of behaviour, Auriel in terms of conversation.

‘I never have time to practise,’ she was now telling a glazed Bart. ‘That’s why my handicap’s only minus one.’

‘I wish we were minus her,’ Luke murmured to Chessie. ‘Her ego’s even bigger than her boobs.’

‘Not a lot,’ said Chessie drily. ‘Bart’s going to fall down her cleavage if she gets any nearer. It’s so embarrassing we haven’t got her any presents.’

‘Just giftwrap Red. That’s all she wants, judging by the number she’s doing on Dad.’

Red turned to Perdita, who’d been increasingly edgy all evening about seeing him again.

‘Hi, Judas,’ he said coldly; then, grinning and lowering his voice, ‘You did me a good turn tipping Auriel off about Lucy Chalmers. After a lot of foot-stamping she admitted she really cares,’ he dropped his voice an octave, aping sincerity, ‘which means I get all my bills picked up.’

‘Red bought me a Sheraton sideboard from Christie’s for Christmas. Isn’t that darling?’ Auriel was now telling a blanching Bart.

‘She paid for it,’ Red murmured to Perdita.

‘Didn’t you give her anything?’

Red smiled. He had a trick of letting those amazing, kholed eyes suddenly gaze deep into yours, so for a second you thought he was being serious.

‘She’s had her labia pierced, so I gave her a couple of diamond studs. Makes it hard, eating her out. Like getting bits of grit in one’s oyster.’

Perdita gave a scream of shocked amusement.

‘I want you personally to design me my own airplane. The Alderton Auriel, I can just picture it – flamingo pink,’ Auriel was now saying as though she was bestowing a great favour on Bart, who was desperately trying to prevent a Yorkshire terrier fornicating with his left leg without actually kicking it.

‘I think we’d better open our presents,’ said Chessie.

‘Good idea,’ said Luke. ‘I’m sorry about Angel. He’s not usually as late as this.’

‘Who?’ said Bibi sharply.

‘Your father’s new ringer,’ said Chessie. ‘Luke thought he might be lonely away from home.’

‘For Chrissake,’ snapped Bibi.

‘He’s lovely,’ chipped in Perdita. ‘Luke rang to ask the name of his street. He said: “I look out of the weendow,” then came back and said it is called “One Way”.’

‘Christmas is for the family,’ Bibi glared at Luke. ‘Why d’you want to ask some hick Argy who’ll be completely out of his depth?’

‘Lame ducks are better than lame dicks,’ said Red, draining and refilling his glass.

On cue Leroy barked, the Rottweilers bayed, the Yorkshire terriers yapped and Bibi’s heavy jaw dropped as Angel came through the door. For the last fortnight he’d been enjoying the sun and the girls of Palm Beach. He was tanned a smooth milk-chocolate brown, his bronzed curls were bleached and streaked. White jeans and a blue, sleeveless T-shirt covered with car oil and black, rubber tyre marks clung to his wonderfully elongated, elegant body. He looked a hundred million dollars and was carrying a rose pink poinsettia. Going up to Chessie, he said, ‘For you. I am very unwise man bearing gifts. I am sorry I am late. I ’ad flat tyre and got ’opelessly lost.’

‘How lovely, thank you,’ said Chessie taking the plant, then, adding to Luke, ‘you were quite right, he’s so beautiful I think we’ll keep him just for stud purposes. Now, let me introduce everyone. You know Bart,’ Bart and Angel nodded at each other without friendliness. ‘And Bart’s beloved son, Red, by whom he has been well fleeced.’

‘Very funny,’ said Red, shooting his stepmother a look of pure hatred.

‘I watch the match against the Kaputnik Tigers,’ Angel told Red. ‘Zat last chukka, you play like an Argentine. I nevair realize you zat good.’

‘Well, thank you,’ said Red, mollified. ‘Luke says you’re pretty sharp too. How are those bastards Juan and Miguel treating you?’

‘Terrible,’ began Angel, then seeing Bart’s look of disapproval, ‘terribly nicely.’

‘And this is Bart’s daughter, Bibi,’ went on Chessie.

‘Hi,’ said Angel, thinking what a pity Bibi didn’t have Red’s looks.

‘And Auriel, who needs no introduction.’

Angel kissed Auriel’s hand.

‘How darling,’ sighed Auriel, ‘and what a glorious poinsettia.’

‘We’ve got an English setta at home,’ said Perdita idly.

‘I am sorry I’m not properly dressed,’ said Angel, who was utterly unfazed. ‘Luke say dinner at the barn, I thought we would be ’aving pony nuts. It smell wonderful.’ He smiled at Bibi, who didn’t smile back. Inside she was seething. How could she possibly keep Angel in order and at a distance if Luke included him on a social footing? Now he’d never get up in the morning.

She was even crosser because Angel was so utterly devastating and she hadn’t bothered to tart up, and everyone else looked so stunning. She loathed her black dress, which was one of Grace’s cast-offs. Tomorrow she’d go out and buy a new wardrobe.

Just as they were about to open their presents Grace rang to wish Red and Bibi a prolonged Merry Christmas.

Listening to Bibi’s cries of ‘I miss you, Mom, nothing’s the same without you,’ Angel thought how beautiful, fragile and vulnerable Chessie looked and decided which side he was on.

The second telephone rang – it was Tokyo for Bart.

‘The Japs obviously don’t know it’s Christmas either,’ said Chessie savagely, sloshing two inches of vodka into her glass.