Polo

43

Daisy had always longed to see inside Rupert’s house, which she’d admired so often from the Penscombe-Chalford Road, lying serene and golden against its pillow of beech woods, now thickly counterpaned with snow. Inside Dom Perignon flowed faster than the Frogsmore after a rainstorm as a wildly yelling party spread through the ground floor out into a large marquee where a band was playing ‘You’d be so easy to love’.

The line-up took less time than usual because Rupert was more interested in talking to Taggie than any of the guests, and Rupert’s father, Eddie, was busy chatting up Maud O’Hara and sniping at his first wife, Rupert’s mother.

Daisy wandered from room to beautiful pastel room, absolutely knocked out by the pictures – two Gainsboroughs, a Van Eyck, a Manet, several Stubbs, a Rembrandt and a Cotman for starters – and listening to the comments of Rupert’s army of exes.

‘Hasn’t let go of her hand for one moment, has he?’

‘Terrified of someone telling stories out of school.’

‘Good thing she was too dyslexic to read the memoirs.’

‘She’ll never hold him.’

‘I just cannot believe Rupert’s ability to bounce back. Those memoirs must be the most damaging publicity anyone’s ever had, but now he’s hitched to this sweet young thing all the press and the shadow cabinet are clamouring for him to stay.’

‘He’s told the Leader of the Opposition he’s not even going to stay on as an MP because it involves too many late nights.’

‘Ah well, we’ll all have to find someone else. That Dancer’s dead sexy, isn’t he?’

‘Darling, he’s gay.’

‘I heard he goes both ways, and he is Ricky’s patron, and the way into Ricky, and you know how much we all want that.’

‘I think Ricky’s more attractive than Rupert.’

‘More unobtainable – up until now – you mean.’

Wandering on, Daisy heard desperate weeping. Peering into Rupert’s dark green study, she saw Rupert’s ex-mistress, Cameron Cook, slumped over the desk.

‘I can’t help it. I know Rupert wouldn’t have made me happy, but I’d rather be miserable with him than happy with anyone else,’ she sobbed.

‘No, you wouldn’t,’ said Declan’s son, Patrick, gently stroking the back of her neck. ‘We both knew today would be a nightmare for you, right. You just hang in with me.’ He was so young and handsome and certain.

Lucky Cameron, thought Daisy. She wondered where Drew was. There were so many beautiful women around. She felt a wave of relief that she wasn’t married to Hamish any more. He’d have been belting round, kilt aswirl, attempting to get off with all of them.

The Irish contingent were already dancing. In one corner the twins were having a fight, scuffling like bear cubs.

‘You bloody well could have given me a cut of that five grand,’ Dommie was saying. ‘I gave you half the money from that pony of his I sold back to Victor.’

Sitting under a mournful Landseer bloodhound, Daisy found Tabitha Campbell-Black drinking champagne and feeding profiteroles to Rupert’s pack of slavering dogs.

‘I’ve had eight profiteroles,’ she informed Daisy. ‘D’you think Daddy’s fertilized Taggie yet?’

‘I wouldn’t think so,’ said Daisy. ‘D’you like her?’

‘Yes, but Daddy won’t let me go on the honeymoon.’

‘Shall I draw a picture of you?’ asked Daisy.

‘Yes, please,’ said Tabitha.

Later, having danced with the twins and Bas and several foreign showjumpers, and rocked and rolled for an amazingly sexy, energetic ten minutes with Dancer, Daisy wandered upstairs to repair her face.

Going through a door, she found a bathroom. The wall was covered with photographs of Rupert in his showjumping days. In one he was riding a splendid chestnut mare and being presented with a cup by a famous middle-aged beauty. Underneath she had scrawled: ‘So happy to mount you – Grania.’ How would Taggie cope with that every time she had a pee, wondered Daisy. Hamish had never really coped with her past.

Opening the door on the other side, Daisy found herself in a bedroom with old rose walls, pink-and-yellow silk curtains and a great Jacobean four-poster which was so smothered in fur coats that it seemed to have a slumbering animal life of its own. Perched on a yellow chaise-longue, in an olive green overcoat, was Sukey Benedict talking to Mrs Hughie.

‘Hello, Daisy,’ said Sukey. ‘Love your outfit. So original, don’t you think, Edwina? How are you getting on in Snow Cottage? Not too lonely?’ Then, before Daisy had time to answer, ‘Drew and I were just saying we must find you a super chap. Drew’s brother’s home on leave soon. Perhaps you’ll come and have kitchen sups when he’s staying?

As Daisy sat down at the dressing-room table, Sukey turned back to Mrs Hughie. Having mouthed, ‘Bit of a Bohemian,’ pointing in Daisy’s direction, she continued, ‘We’re off to St Moritz to play snow polo after Christmas. It’s going to be just like a second honeymoon.’

With trembling hands, Daisy got a tube of base foundation out of her bag.

‘I won’t be able to ski, of course. My gynie said it wasn’t wise, as I lost the last one at three months.’ Sukey’s voice was as insistent as Philippa’s burglar alarm. ‘It’s funny we had no difficulty getting Jamie, but we’ve been trying and trying for this one. I had my tubes blown and Drew was about to have a sperm test when I found I was pregnant.’

Is that really Drew’s mistress looking back at me? thought Daisy numbly as she gazed at her ashen face. Drew had never mentioned the miscarriage and swore he never slept with Sukey.

‘Drew’s over the moon, because he’s always wanted a huge family,’ Sukey was off again. ‘He’s being so caring at the moment. He gave me the most gorgeous recording of Cosi Fan Tutte – our favourite opera – as a celebration present. We’ve been playing it all week. He says at least if I’m listening, I’m not scurrying about.’

That’s what I gave Drew for Christmas. It’s our favourite opera, thought Daisy.

Looking down, she saw she’d spilled base all over her new velvet knickerbockers. Frantically rubbing it away with a Kleenex, she fled downstairs, slap into Drew.

‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere,’ he said, putting his hands round her pink cummerbund.

‘Sukey’s leaving,’ said Daisy with a sob. ‘She’s just told me the good news that you’re having another baby, and you’ve both been trying for ages, and you’re going to find me a “super chap” and you gave her Cosi for Christmas.’

‘It was the tape you gave me,’ explained Drew, taking her hands. ‘It was the only way I could get it into the house and play it non-stop. Look, I’ll come and see you tomorrow. Meet me on the north side of Eldercombe woods at ten thirty.’

Daisy glanced into the study which now contained the bride and bridegroom locked in each other’s arms.

‘No, it’s no good. I can’t cope with half measures any more,’ she sobbed.

Fighting her way through a hall full of people eating plates of chicken, she passed Janey Lloyd-Foxe telephoning through her copy: ‘Rupert said: Open quotes: bugger off; close quotes.’

Daisy opened a side door and went out on to the terrace. It was bitterly cold and snowing steadily. The magnolia on the lawn buckled under its weight of whiteness. The valley stretched out through the blizzard, shadowed electric blue and darkly furred with woods. Daisy gave a gasp as a ghostly figure rose up from a bench. His face was deathly pale, his hair, his eyebrows and the shoulders of his morning coat were covered in snowflakes. Only his hollowed eyes were as black as whirlpools. He was like some doomed figure in a black-and-white Russian film.

‘I hate weddings,’ wept Daisy.

‘So do I,’ said Ricky.

‘You must be frozen.’ Daisy dabbed her eyes with the base-smeared Kleenex. ‘What are you doing out here?’

‘Trying not to be a spectre at the feast. Thought I’d try out a wedding to see if I was cured. Now I know I’m not. I should be over her. It’s three and a half years.’

‘Not at times like this,’ comforted Daisy. ‘Weddings are killers. Christmas is a killer, not being able to drink doesn’t help, and seeing people as blissful as Rupert and Taggie is worst of all. You’ve got all four.’

‘Chessie looked like an angel as a bride,’ said Ricky. ‘Her hair was filled with spring flowers. I thought I’d arrived in heaven. I loved her so much, but I couldn’t show it. She found me utterly uncommunicative.’

‘I showed it too much,’ said Daisy sadly. ‘Hamish found me utterly claustrophobic. You can’t win really.’

‘You don’t want me, but you want me to go on wanting you,’ sang the bandleader.

‘I wish I wasn’t so attractive to birds,’ sighed Dancer, seeking refuge in the pantry.

‘You wouldn’t be so rich if you weren’t,’ said Bas, who was already very drunk.

Dancer had seen Ricky go on to the terrace. It broke his heart to see him so miserable. ‘We’ve got to do somefink positive about Ricky.’

‘You’ve done a helluva lot,’ protested Bas. ‘You’ve financed the bugger and put up with his moods. But I tell you he’ll never win his beloved Gold Cup or get to ten with the present team.’

‘You think I ought to stand down and be a non-playing patron?’ said Dancer stoically. ‘You gotta level with me.’

‘Christ, no. It’s me who should,’ said Bas. ‘I’ve got far too many business commitments to play high goal, and next year I’m going to be run off my feet with Venturer. We start transmitting at the beginning of the following year, and Rupert and I are planning to revive the Westchester in the States in September.’

Dancer, who’d been arranging his tangled curls in the reflection of the window, swung round.

‘But the Westchester’s Ricky’s Holy Grail,’ he said excitedly. ‘You’re not having me on? You fink you could?’

‘Sure,’ said Bas, topping up both their glasses. ‘There’s been such a polo explosion, particularly in America. Rupert’s mad about the idea, and he never gets involved with anything that doesn’t mean big bucks.’

Dancer shook his head. ‘We’ll miss you on the team. You give us class.’

‘And a lot of headaches. You need a seriously good defensive back.’

‘Who d’you suggest? Money no object.’

‘Alejandro Mendoza’s the best,’ said Bas, ‘but he’d rip you off and he’s not allowed in. Ben Napier’s a bastard, and wouldn’t even charm you while he ripped you off. Shark Nelligan’s an animal.’

‘You know anything about Luke Alderton?’

‘That’s an idea,’ admitted Bas. ‘You’d like him. He’s playing brilliantly at the moment – scored two penalties from beyond the half-way line in the American Open – and he’s got this amazing grey – Fantasma. He’s rock solid and he’d be brilliant at defusing Perdita and Ricky.’

‘I’ll ring him tomorrow.’ Dancer was really happy now. ‘And I’m knocked out about the Westchester. Is there anyfing I can do for Venturer?’

‘I expect so,’ said Bas. ‘Hullo, Janey darling.’ Slowly he undid the buttons of her bright blue suit and did them up again correctly.

‘Where’s Ricky? I can’t find him anywhere,’ said Janey fretfully. ‘It’s absolutely infuriating. I’ve just filed copy only to find Rupert’s father has suddenly proposed again to Rupert’s mother with nine other wives and husbands to be taken into consideration. I wonder if the Daily Mail diary page has gone to bed. I could flog it to Nigel.’

‘Anyone seen Rupert and Taggie?’ Patrick O’Hara put his head round the door. ‘We must get them to cut the cake or my father’ll be too drunk to make his speech. He’s been rehearsing snatches of Yeats all week.’

‘So many loved Rupert’s moments of glad disgrace,’ said Janey drily. ‘I hope Declan’s not going to quote Yeats at those Philistines. They know far more about snatches.’

‘Not the Irish,’ said Patrick.

Rupert and Taggie, who’d escaped upstairs, gazed over the white valley.

‘It’s all yours now,’ he murmured, removing her veil and her tiara and ruffling her long, dark hair. ‘If I really told you how much I loved you, you’d be still here gathering dust and cobwebs in a hundred years. D’you know, I feel faint.’

‘Oh, darling,’ interrupted Taggie, all concern. ‘I bet you haven’t eaten since yesterday.’

‘Faint with longing,’ went on Rupert. ‘I’m fed up with all these people.’

‘Shall we go?’

‘But we haven’t cut the cake,’ said Rupert, shocked. ‘And I’m supposed to thank your parents.’

‘For letting you pay for the entire wedding?’

‘Declan wants to make his speech.’

‘He’ll make it whether we’re here or not.’

‘We ought to stay,’ said Rupert doubtfully. ‘It’s your big day.’

‘Only because I married you. I’d much rather we were alone.’

‘What is life to me without you?’ said Rupert, dropping a kiss on her forehead. ‘Go and change.’

Declan quite understood their leaving early. Maud, who was pathologically jealous of her daughter, chuntered with disapproval, but was secretly relieved. Only a few guests, realizing they were going, fought their way through the snowstorm like arctic explorers to wave them off.

‘No, you can’t go too,’ Caitlin O’Hara told Gertrude who was whining irritably, ‘or you’d have to spend six months in quarantine on the way home.’

As Rupert, now in a dark suit, did a last-minute check of the helicopter, Taggie came out of a side door. Wearing a scarlet wool coat over shiny black boots, with her long hair lifting in the wind, she made a brilliant splash of colour.

‘Have my bouquet,’ she said shyly, throwing it to Daisy. ‘Rupert’s so thrilled with your painting of Rocky. It’s his best present.’

As Rupert was about to help Taggie into the helicopter, Tabitha hurled herself on her new stepmother.

‘I want to go on the honeymoon,’ she sobbed.

‘She could really,’ said Taggie, looking up at Rupert, ‘You both could,’ she added taking Marcus’s hand.

‘No, they bloody couldn’t,’ said Rupert.

‘Throw some confetti,’ said Billy Lloyd-Foxe, giving Tabitha a huge handful to distract her. But as she flung it, most of the pink-and-blue circles were caught up in the whirling blizzard and swept away.

‘Where are Taggie and Rupert?’ demanded Rupert’s mother, from the warmth of the drawing room.

‘Gorn,’ said Rupert’s father, looking out of the window on what used to be his valley.

‘Strordinary behaviour in the middle of one’s own wedding. Damn rude I call it,’ grumbled Rupert’s mother. ‘Anyway, as I was saying, my darling old cook dropped dead this morning.’

‘Before lunch?’ said Rupert’s father, shocked. ‘How frightfully selfish.’

‘So I’ve no one to cook for me.’

‘Come and live with me in the Ritz.’

‘I don’t think Rudolpho would like it.’

‘Who’s he?’

‘My husband.’

‘Thought you were married to someone called Luigi.’

‘That was the one before.’

Declan waved as the helicopter soared into the white night, lighting up the swirling snowflakes and the igloos that had formed over yew tree and rose bush.

‘And they are gone, ay ages long ago,’ he said huskily, ‘These lovers fled away into the storm. God bless them both.’

As Daisy handed him her last Kleenex, he turned to her, smiling through his tears. ‘And you got the bride’s flowers, darling,’ he touched her cheek. ‘You’re so pretty. You deserve a decent husband.’

‘Thank you,’ said Daisy.

‘Even if he is somebody else’s,’ whispered a voice behind her.

Leaping round, Daisy found Drew with the brown velvet collar of his coat turned up, and his blond eyelashes thick with snow.

‘I thought you’d gone.’

‘I dropped Sukey and came straight back. I’m sorry about what she said, but it is you that I love.’