Polo

52

They got to Yves St Laurent just as they were closing. Grace, Auriel and Chessie had all been excellent customers over the years so the manageress was quite prepared to stay open and even produced a bottle of champagne. Red lounged like some sultan on a white sofa smoking a long cigar, drinking very slowly and totally dominating Perdita’s choice.

With that waterfall of hair and strange unicorn looks and body undulating like an ox-bow river, he wanted her starkly plain, mostly in blacks, navy blues and bottle greens, with the occasional brilliant cyclamen, purple or kingfisher-blue. Everything had to fit perfectly and if it didn’t it was kept back to be taken in or up. Perdita, who always wanted everything at once, grumbled like hell. But she was in a state of frantic excitement and arousal.

Red, used to accompanying Grace and Auriel to fashion shows, was an expert on line and cut. He enjoyed watching Perdita’s voluptuous pleasure as she swayed and preened in front of him. He liked the way she quivered as he slowly ran his hand over her breasts or her belly, testing the smoothness of the fit.

After an hour and a half, when they’d bought almost the entire shop, he told her to put on a pair of black high heels and an ivy-green taffeta dress, clinging and high-necked at the front, plunging to the base of her spine at the back.

As she came out, having piled up her hair with a dark green sequinned comb given her by the manageress, she found Red examining the contents of some little boxes a jeweller had rushed in from next door. From one he drew out a necklace and drop-earrings in huge, very dark sapphires. ‘These’ll do. Come here,’ he ordered Perdita.

Very slowly he put them round her neck and hooked them on to her ears. All trace of her tears had gone now. The sapphires and the ivy-green taffeta heightened her white skin and made her strange eyes so dark that they seemed all pupil.

‘You’ll do,’ he said.

‘You can’t give me all this,’ said Perdita. ‘I hate you.’

Red laughed. ‘With enemies like me, who needs friends? One must sapphire to be beautiful.’ Then, when she tried to protest, murmured: ‘Don’t spoil it.’

He paid for the lot out of his casino winnings. He’d call tomorrow and tell the manageress where the rest had to be sent.

Red had kept Auriel’s driver waiting. As they drove past the casino they could hear shrieks and yells. A carrot flew out of the window followed by several chicken drumsticks. Next moment, Sharon, her ice-cream cone flopping, erupted into the street squealing, followed by a furious dragon, followed by Seb Carlisle laughing uproariously trying to hold back the dragon by its tail.

Red took Perdita to a very dark night-club where they kept on drinking. When he heard she hadn’t eaten all day he ordered some utterly delectable salmon and scallop fishcakes and fed her bite by bite.

‘They’re soft inside, just like you. What did you think the first time you saw me?’

‘That you were the handsomest man I’d ever seen.’

‘Better looking than Rupert Campbell-Black?’

‘Much. I’m not really attracted to blonds.’

‘What about Luke?’

‘Luke’s more red-gold.’

Red ran an idle finger down her spine, making it almost impossible for her to concentrate.

‘He’s going to be mad at us.’

‘He won’t,’ said Perdita, not wanting to think about Luke. ‘He’s such a good loser.’

‘No such thing,’ said Red brutally, ‘There are losers and idiots who pretend they enjoy it.’

‘What did you think when you first saw me?’ asked Perdita.

Red put his head on one side. ‘When was it?’

Christ, it’s tattooed on my memory, thought Perdita. Then she said, ‘When Luke brought me to El Paradiso. You were stick and balling.’

‘Oh yes, I remember,’ said Red. ‘It was the only time I stick and balled in the last two years. Did you arrive that day? Oh, that’s right. I thought you were kinda plain and needed a nose job, and you should lose ten pounds and about two feet of hair.’

‘Bastard!’ Perdita choked on her fishcake.

‘But you had promise.’ He patted her briskly on the back. ‘I always thought you’d be a tiger in the sack.’

‘Better than a Tayger,’ said Perdita.

She longed and longed for him to kiss her again. But whenever he took her to dance he merely let his hands travel over her back, fingering, stroking, caressing, creeping round almost to her breasts, then almost to her bottom, teasing until she was leaping like a salmon with hopeless, hopeless desire.

Dawn had broken as they left the night-club, but a thick mist lay over the sea and the beach like a curtain. There was a clatter as grooms rode past leading ponies through the narrow streets down for exercise on the sands.

‘The Normandie’s only a hundred yards away. Let’s walk.’ Red turned to Auriel’s yawning exhausted driver, who must have been waiting for six hours, and said casually, ‘You can push off now. I’ll call when I need you.’

As they passed the Metropole, Dommie came running out. He was wearing the top half of his Henry V costume above boxer shorts covered in Father Christmases and swinging Victor’s forked dragon’s tail.

‘Crisis, crisis, we’ve just been fired! Rosie got so fed up because we wouldn’t stop fighting that she went home, so we had to resort to Lady Shar and Victor caught us.’ Dommie giggled. ‘I told him he was seeing double after all that drink, and it was just Seb bonking, but he wouldn’t believe me. So it’s just you and Victor playing together now, Red. I wish you luck.’ And he ran off down the street, swinging his dragon’s tail.

Perdita giggled. ‘They are awful.’

Red took her chin and turned her face towards him.

‘Your eyes are the eyes of a woman in love,’ he sang softly, ‘and, oh, how they give you away.’

‘They do not,’ protested Perdita.

Ahead loomed the Normandie rising out of the mists like Mount Blanc, with the drying bathing suits all damp again on the balconies. As they mounted the steps Perdita’s eyes somewhat hazily fell on a pair of brown boots coming down. Slowly, slowly, she looked upwards to jeans with the belt done up on a third extra notch. It was Luke going out to practise. One look at his face told Perdita of his utter crucifixion.

‘I’ll leave you both to it,’ murmured Red, disappearing through the doors.

Desolate but totally unable to give comfort, Perdita gazed at him.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘You put me on a pedestal and I haven’t got a head for heights.’

‘Be careful,’ said Luke wearily. ‘You’ve “fallen among those who are careless with other people’s lives”.’

An American journalist who’d been at the party lurched up to him, not recognizing Perdita.

‘Mr Alderton, we spoke briefly yesterday. I wonder if I could have a few words now.’

Luke shrugged. ‘I suppose.’

‘Have you had any really serious breaks since you began playing polo?’

Luke looked at him steadily. ‘Only my heart,’ he said.

With a sob, Perdita fled into the hotel. How could she have done that to Luke? But what had she done? Just been vile to him, which she’d often been before, and gone out dancing with Red. Red’s door was open. As she went inside all thoughts of Luke were forgotten. Red was packing.

‘What are you doing?’

‘As you’ve knocked out my team and ostensibly my mistress, I’m not hanging around here any more.’

Hearing her gasp of horror, he laughed. ‘You’d better come with me. The press are going to annihilate you, Lady Godiva.’

‘Where to?’ whispered Perdita.

‘How about Singapore? I need a vacation. And then we could go to Thailand and perhaps to Kenya, and then perhaps to Boston to play a few games at the Myopia Club.’

‘But what about Tero and Spotty?’

‘My grooms are flying my ponies home. They can take yours at the same time.’

‘But I can’t just walk out on Ricky and Dancer,’ wailed Perdita. ‘I’m committed to play for them for the rest of the season, and what about Venturer? Omigod, I’m supposed to meet Cameron Cook in the lobby at seven.’

As if on cue the telephone rang. Red picked it up and held it away from his ear for ten seconds.

‘Miss Cook for you,’ he told Perdita with a grin. ‘She heard we came in together and she doesn’t like being kept waiting. Oh, shut up!’ he slammed down the receiver.

Perdita gazed out of the window. The mist had rolled back and the rising sun was polishing the white horses and the glassy depths of the Channel. The energetic were already pounding back and forth in the hotel swimming-pool, early riders were bouncing round a little riding-school ring.

Red crossed the room and kissed her properly for the first time.

‘Are you sure you’ve got your priorities right?’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Perdita helplessly.

The telephone rang. It was Cameron Cook again.

‘Go screw yourself,’ said Red. Then, cutting her off, immediately started to dial out. ‘I’ll call Orly and get us on the afternoon flight. You can get on with my packing.’