Polo

36

Perdita had never seen such presents, and was amazed how everyone took them for granted. Bibi, however, was delighted to open an envelope containing a set of keys for an Alderton Skylark.

‘Oh, Daddy, thank you,’ she gasped, kissing him.

‘Reckon if you’re going to be my new polo manager you’d need a helicopter.’

‘What!’ exploded Red and Angel.

Bart smiled malevolently. ‘Bibi’s worked her ass off this year. I’m fed up with having her so far from home, so I’ve put her on the board, and made her my new polo manager. She’ll operate out of Florida and New York from now on.’

‘Sheet,’ whispered Angel to Perdita. ‘Think of working for zat ugly cow.’

Red wasn’t even remotely appeased when Bart gave him a Stubbs.

‘If you hock it,’ said Bart, ‘I’ll disinherit you.’

And what about Luke? thought Perdita in outrage. Bart had only given him a disgusting, monogrammed gold pen-and-pencil set.

Luke, however, was knocked out when Chessie gave him a signed first edition of his bible: Marco on Polo, and also first editions of Longfellow and Emerson.

‘My wicked stepmother,’ he said, hugging her.

Chessie flushed, but made no comment when she tore open some red paper containing a cushion embroidered with the words: ‘Eat, drink and re-marry’ which was a joint present from Bibi and Red.

Perdita felt a bit despondent. Chessie had given her a Gucci bag and Bibi a very pretty white-and-yellow dressing gown, but she had had nothing from Red, Bart or Luke. Luke had buggered off in fact. She took a slug of champagne. God, she wanted to be rich.

Then, suddenly clattering along the floodlit rose-festooned colonnade and through the french windows came little Tero. Her dark eyes darting with panic, she was all done up in a scarlet headcollar, scarlet bandages and with pieces of holly and mistletoe braided into her tail and still unhogged mane.

‘Tero,’ gasped Perdita so loudly that only Luke’s strength stopped the pony bolting. Then she recognized Perdita and gave a deep, throaty whicker of joy.

‘Sure knows her new mistress,’ said Luke, putting the lead rope in Perdita’s hand.

‘I don’t believe it,’ whispered Perdita. Bursting into tears, she flung her arms round Luke’s and Tero’s necks. ‘Oh, you’re so kind, I so dreaded leaving her. Oh, darling, darling Luke, thank you,’ and she kissed Luke just under the left jaw bone, breathing in his strength and goodness.

For a second Luke felt dizzy with relief. Perdita would have to stay in Palm Beach another three weeks while Tero went through quarantine.

No-one, however, upstaged Bart Alderton. Two minutes later he returned from the stables leading Spotty, the skewbald Perdita had ridden in the first chukka of the Fathers and Sons. Spotty’s wall eye gave him a very old-fashioned look and his skewbald markings included white quarters and brown back legs, so he looked as though he was wearing stockings kept up by garters. A brilliant, wilful, merry, courageous pony who could keep going for ever and who refused to be intimidated even by Juan or Miguel, he caused cheers and yells of laughter whenever he played.

‘Here’s a good old boy,’ said Bart, handing a second lead rope to Perdita. ‘Merry Christmas, and thanks for clinching the Fathers and Sons. Spotty and you should get along.’

‘Oh,’ breathed Perdita, handing Tero’s rope to Luke, ‘I love this pony. He’s a dream to ride. You are so, so kind,’ and, flinging her arms round Bart, she covered his face with kisses like a child.

Red was seething. First Bibi on the board and Bart’s polo manager, and now Spotty.

‘That’s a good horse, Dad,’ he and Bibi said simultaneously.

‘Who was only saying last week that Spotty looked as though the milkman’s horse got his mother?’ said Bart smugly.

‘That sort of horse is only conceived,’ said Auriel dreamily, ‘when the stallion jumps over the fence and couples with a mare at the moment of the eclipse.’

Well, he’s certainly eclipsed Tero, thought Chessie furiously. ‘Why didn’t you give Spotty to Luke?’ she hissed, drawing Bart aside. ‘He’s the one who needs him.’

Bart smiled chillingly. ‘I want Luke so short of dough he has to come to me and beg.’

‘Stupid idiot,’ said Chessie. ‘Don’t you realize when that horse goes to England Ricky’ll be playing it in matches against you all summer?’

Looking at the enraged faces, Perdita didn’t care. She was used to being the centre of a family row. Two really good ponies could turn her career around. It never entered her head, as she left Luke to take both ponies back to their stables, how she would pay for flying them back to England.

‘You’d better come and play on my team, and bring Spotty with you,’ Bart told her, thinking how amusing it would be to take Perdita off Ricky as he picked up one of the telephones to take a call from Australia.

‘Dinner is served,’ announced Conchita.

Almost on cue, the second telephone rang. Bibi picked it up. Suddenly her eyes gleamed and her sallow face lit up. She looked almost pretty.

‘Ricky,’ she cried joyfully. ‘How are you? Who’d you want to talk to? Oh, right. I am flattered. I’ll take it next door. I’ve been missing you too, darling.’

Perdita turned grey as reality reasserted itself like a stubbed toe. Here she was in Palm Beach, spending Christmas with the sworn enemy of the man she loved, taking his ponies and accepting his hospitality and money. Bibi had probably told Ricky everything, rubbing it in like washing-up machine powder into a cut. No wonder he hadn’t answered her calls. Seeing her look of utter desolation, a returning Luke put his good arm round her shoulders. Somehow Chessie managed to stay cool.

‘Let’s go and dine,’ she said to Auriel, adding maliciously, ‘I know Bart will enjoy having you on his right.’

‘May I be allowed to say Grace?’ asked Auriel, dropping her voice dramatically.

‘I wouldn’t,’ said Chessie. ‘It’s not an awfully popular word round here.’

Dinner was out of this world. Chessie had retained all her old skills. Not feeling hungry herself, she was only too happy to give up her smoked salmon to Auriel, but incensed that Red took one bite, and, dropping his fork, promptly lit a yellow Sobranie.

Bibi was still on the telephone, the bitch. If she was trying to get off with Ricky, there was no way Chessie was going to allow her to get off with Angel too. Turning her languorous, blue eyes towards him, she asked if he’d telephoned his family today.

‘I did,’ said Angel, who had finished his smoked salmon and was looking at Red’s discarded helping as longingly as the orange stable cat who had jumped on to the table.

‘That cat’s been trying to get at the goose all day,’ said Chessie, putting it back on the floor.

‘Cat?’ said Angel, clutching his smooth brown forehead. ‘That is “cat” in American?’ Then he started to laugh. ‘Zat is why I am so late. Of course it is gatto too. In Argentina we have the same word gatto for a jack. I ’ave my flat tyre on the freeway, I look up gatto in the dictionary, it say “cat”. I keep stopping drivers, and ask them if they have a cat in their car. They drive on as eef I am crazy man. My English is not very well, but I am learning it more better by Phoney-Lingus.’

‘That’s my husband’s perversion,’ said Chessie.

She is beautiful, thought Angel, and so sweet.

‘What part of America you come from?’ he asked.

‘I’m English.’

Suddenly wild-eyed and distraught, Angel rose to his feet: ‘Luke didn’t tell me.’

Chessie put a hand on his arm. ‘You’ve forgiven Perdita. Can’t you forgive me? I’m sorry about your brother. You must miss him dreadfully, particularly at Christmas. It was a horrible war.’

She was so beautiful, thought Angel, sitting down again, he could forgive her anything.

‘This is wonderful food,’ he said as Bibi floated back into the room, oblivious of black glances from Perdita and Chessie.

‘Who she talking to?’ asked Angel.

‘My ex,’ said Chessie bitterly.

‘El Orgulloso?’ said Angel in disbelief. ‘He not interested in ugly cow like that. She look like an ’orse, and not a very pretty one.’

‘Ricky likes horses better than anything else. Perhaps that’s the attraction.’

Looking down the table, seeing his dramatically under-handicapped ringer mauling his wife, Bart toyed with the idea of sacking Angel on the spot, but, having played practice chukkas with him yesterday, decided he was too good to kick out so early in the season. Used to calling the conversational shots, he had to confess himself beaten by Auriel as she regaled him with stories of famous movie stars she knew – namely, herself.

Bibi, having also left her mousse, was bitching to Red in French about the dishonesty of Miguel and Juan. ‘They’d installed four boarders at the barn and were charging them $800 each a month – straight into their own pockets.’

‘And the reason Juan came back for the Geldof match was to charge Dad expenses for screwing Sharon Kaputnik,’ answered Red, also in French.

‘This one doesn’t seem much better,’ added Bibi dismissively. ‘The way he’s mauling Chessie, he’s just another jumped-up gigolo.’

Whereupon Angel butted in perfect French.

‘I have never asked money for my sexual services,’ he told Bibi coldly and turned back to Chessie.

Red was highly amused; Bibi went scarlet. Angel needed putting down, but not like that.

The goose was even better than the smoked salmon.

‘This turkey is simply delicious, Francesca,’ said Auriel, feeding large slices to the slavering Yorkshire terriers. ‘The white meat is so subtly flavoured.’

‘I used truffles under the skin,’ said Chessie, grateful for any praise. ‘Ricky’s father used to pronounce it Truefles,’ she added idly.

‘True was the one thing you weren’t to Ricky,’ said Red nastily.

‘It’s all awesome, Chessie,’ said Luke, who was eating a lot, despite not being hungry.

Bart was off the telephone to Sydney at last.

‘To my beautiful and gifted wife,’ he said raising his glass.

‘To the second Mrs Alderton,’ said Red, draining his glass.

‘Yes – to Mom,’ agreed Bibi.

They had a pause before pudding.

‘I’m gonna make a full-scale assault on American Airlines,’ Bart told Auriel.

‘My agent says I’m his favourite client,’ said Auriel. ‘He’s closing a deal with a really good author to write a book on the Auriel Kingham Phenomenon.’

‘Seeking control of the company,’ went on Bart.

‘I’d like to write my own autobiography, but I don’t have the time,’ went on Auriel.

‘By November I’d purchased nearly five per cent of American Airplanes. Do I hold on to the stock as investment, do I go for control of the company?’ went on Bart.

‘Dustin says he can’t wait to make a movie with me,’ confided Auriel, ‘about a beautiful sophisticated woman whose son’s college friend falls madly in love with her.’

‘Or do I sell out for a nice profit?’ asked Bart.

‘Traditionally, older men have always married younger women, right, like you and Francesca. But getting it on with younger guys is definitely a thing of the future,’ said Auriel.

Bart forgot about American Airplanes. ‘Red needs sons,’ he said brusquely.

Auriel smiled warmly into Bart’s eyes. ‘That’s ungallant, Mr Alderton. What makes you think I couldn’t give them to him? Why, the bellboy in the elevator this very morning was saying, “You don’t look a day over twenty-five, Miss Kingham.”’

‘I wonder if I ought to get my face elevated,’ said Chessie, examining herself in her spoon.

Angel, who normally hardly drank, got very giggly. ‘Just looking at you geeves me zee duck bumps,’ he told Chessie.

How dare he flirt so blatantly in front of Dad, thought Bibi. Looking at her stepmother, luminous skin like ivory in the candlelight, one beautiful bare shoulder so close to Angel’s lips, her hatred bubbled over. Look at those emeralds glittering like drops of crème de menthe. The new dinner service must have cost a fortune not to mention the blue silk dress. She was sure it was Ungaro. Chessie was fleecing Bart as she had fleeced Ricky. She was like bindweed that delicately but lethally winds itself round a delphinium until it snaps.

‘This Barsac is truly amazing,’ said Auriel, assuming Bart had chosen it. ‘You have as much a taste for fine wines as fine pictures.’

‘It is good,’ said Bart. ‘Ninety-four years old in fact.’

‘Older than both your ages put together, fancy that,’ said Chessie from the other end of the table.

Red’s eyes slid towards Perdita. ‘Nice, isn’t she?’

Perdita shrugged. ‘Auriel’s jolly boring. What d’you see in her?’

‘Very good in bed,’ said Red, picking up one of the polo ponies pulling Father Christmas’s sleigh and mounting it on the pony in front. ‘I’m learning a lot. You can never be too good in bed.’ He let his eyes run over her body. ‘The better you are the more you can manipulate people and I’m very expensive.’

‘But you’re rich,’ said Perdita, admiring his flawless cheekbones.

‘Ten million? That’s just a piece of chicken shit.’

Perdita giggled in disbelief.

‘To exist here you need at least a hundred million,’ said Red.

‘You’re quite different from Luke.’

‘Sure,’ said Red. ‘I have no principles at all.’

Bart came off the telephone from Tokyo again.

‘Now we can have pudding,’ said Chessie coldly.

‘Sorry, honey. You can keep the phone.’ Bart put the receiver down on the table beside her. Immediately the other telephone rang.

‘Sydney again, Dad,’ said Bibi.

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Chessie. ‘Shut up, you utterly bloody thing,’ she added hysterically as the first telephone started to ring again. Furiously she snatched it up.

‘Go away!’ Then, suddenly, in the candlelight her face lost all its expression.

‘Hi,’ she drawled. ‘Did you ring here about two hours ago?’ It was as though a huge thorn had been tugged out of her side. ‘I thought not,’ she smiled luxuriously at Bibi who had turned an ugly maroon.

Ricky, having mindlessly sat through Down and Out in Beverly Hills three times surrounded by other lonely people, was now at a party in Beverly Hills surrounded by blondes, but lonely as one can only be at Christmas. Ringing on the flimsy pretext of finding out how Perdita was getting on, ready to hang up if he got Bart, he had come through to the only blonde he had ever loved.

‘How are you?’ asked Chessie.

‘OK,’ said Ricky flatly. Then he was almost sobbing, ‘No, I’m f-f-f-ucking not. I m-miss you.’

‘Me too.’

‘Are you coming to England this summer?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can I see you?’

‘Of course, whenever.’

Then, aware Luke and Bibi were listening: ‘She’s fine. I’ll pass you on to her. Perdita – it’s Ricky.’

Perdita turned away from Red like a dog who hears the crunch of his master’s car on the drive. ‘He’s rung to talk to me?’ she stammered.

‘No-one but you,’ lied Chessie.

Shooting round the table, Perdita picked up the cordless telephone like a baton in a relay race and hurtled into the night.

Outside the frogs stepped up their croaking.

‘What a pity you can’t kiss one of those frogs and turn it into a prince, Bibi,’ drawled Chessie. ‘It might make you less bad-tempered. Ricky said he definitely didn’t ring earlier.’

Perdita came back ten minutes later so insulated with happiness she put the glittering blue Christmas tree in the shade.

‘Ricky was on terrific form, really, really cheerful. Palm Springs must have done him so much good, he can’t wait till next season, nor can I. I can’t wait to get Spotty and Tero home.’

Luke suddenly looked grey and exhausted.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Chessie softly, running a hand down his cheek. ‘You’re much nicer than any of them. Perdita’ll realize it one day.’

With everyone on diets for the polo season, Chessie had decided against Christmas pudding or hard sauce or pecan pie, and then irrationally settled for something far more fattening: sweetened whipped cream shaped like a polo ball, rolled in melted chocolate, and then coated in coconut.

‘Oh, how darling,’ said Auriel. ‘Chessie must have known it was your favourite dessert, Red. They always make it for him at the club.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ snapped Red. ‘Suddenly I feel sick.’

‘Oh, poor baby,’ Auriel was all concern. ‘I better take you home.’

The smaller of the Yorkshire terriers was sick.

Chessie flushed. ‘I should have forgotten you weren’t on solid foods yet, Red, and provided you with a bottle of Cow and Gate.’ Then turning, spitting with rage, to Auriel: ‘It must be such a drag picking him up from play-group every day. Don’t forget to put the baby alarm on when he goes to sleep tonight. Revolting little toyboy.’

Auriel, however, oblivious of the sniping and able to forgive a potential customer, was telling a deliriously happy Perdita about her new range.

‘You were saying you couldn’t wear a dress because of the bruises. In my range we’ve invented a cream which completely disguises them. I’ll mail you some.’

‘You ought to send some to Chessie,’ drawled Red. ‘Then she could use it on her ass – Mrs Regularly Beaten.’ There was a shocked pause.

‘Pack it in,’ snapped Luke.

‘What are you talking about?’ stammered Chessie.

‘Your little hang-up,’ said Red, ‘about having pain before pleasure. We’ve all heard smacks and screams coming from your bedroom.’

He got no further. Seizing him by the collar, Bart had hauled him to his feet.

‘Don’t you speak to Chessie like that,’ he bellowed. ‘I won’t KO you, I’d probably kill you. But you get out of my house – now.’

The glasses jangled, the rafters shook. Leroy shot trembling under the table. The second Yorkshire terrier was sick.

‘Don’t touch him,’ screamed Auriel.

‘I’m only stating facts,’ said Red laughing as he drifted towards the door. ‘Truth shouldn’t hurt – anyway I thought that was what turned Chessie on.’

‘Get out,’ yelled Bart, ‘and you can forget about playing on my team in England this summer until you learn some manners.’