‘So, what do you have in mind?’ said Rupert softly, his long fingers curling round his glass of whisky, eyes narrowed, every trace of friendliness gone from his face. Lysander was suddenly aware of the explosive menace of the man.
‘Arthur’s been staying here ten days,’ went on Rupert, ‘which is almost more expensive than the Hotel Versailles, not to mention that man-eating Shetland. The vet’s bills alone have been astronomical. This isn’t Donkey Rescue,’ he added bitchily.
‘I can see that.’ Lysander put up a placating hand. ‘But I have won point to points, and my uncle Alastair—’
‘That drunken lech.’
Lysander winced. ‘He knew about horses. He said I could ride anything.’
‘And take anyone for a ride.’
Rupert’s cold, dead face and icy, bullying voice reminded Lysander of his father and made him stammer worse than ever.
‘B-b-basically if you give me a job riding your horses at work and in races, I’ll do it for free. I’ll even clean tack although I’m not very g-g-good at it. I always put on too much saddle soap, and if we get Arthur sound, and I win the Rutminster on him, Kitty would realize I wasn’t just a playboy, and I could afford to marry her.’
It took a lot to silence Rupert. The clock ticked, the fax machine squeaked and regurgitated. His secretary rattled away next door. There was a faint whirr from the kitchen as Taggie turned on the mixer. A ginger tom crashed through the cat door. A car drew up outside, and a door banged, before Rupert said: ‘This is the top yard in the country and you expect me to train some clapped-out dinosaur for nothing and pay its entry fees?’
‘I thought you might.’ Lysander stared at his bitten-off toes. ‘A big win would be good for your yard. People will be impressed that you’ve got Arthur. He still gets Christmas Cards and he got a jar of humbugs only last week. I can ride, I promise you.’
‘You’ve got to be joking. There’s no way I’ll let an airhead like you loose on my horses. We’re busy,’ he added with unusual sharpness as Taggie popped her head round the door.
‘I’m sorry,’ she blushed, ‘but Tab’s home.’
‘Let me get my hands on her.’ Rupert drained his whisky. ‘No, you don’t,’ he howled, as a blue streak topped by ruffled blond curls hurtled past the door.
Catching his daughter as she reached the bottom of the stairs, Rupert dragged her snarling like a Jack Russell into the office.
‘I’m not going back to Bagley Hall,’ screamed Tabitha. ‘I hate you.’
‘How dare you sneak off with that bloody leftie?’
‘If Ashley was the son of a duke you wouldn’t give a stuff,’ yelled back Tabitha. ‘You’re such a snob. When you were young you pulled everything: Dizzy, Podge, Marion, there wasn’t a groom unbonked in the South of England, and what about Perdita? The world must be strewn with your illegits.’
Tabitha had erupted into the room like a Catherine wheel, eyes narrower and bluer than Rupert’s, skin the thick creaminess of elderflowers, blond curls bouncing off the same smooth forehead, her face delicately modelled despite the huge screaming mouth. Lysander had never witnessed such rage, such bristling antagonism, such passion between two people. Any moment, they’d set fire to each other. Jack, allergic to rows, started yapping.
‘You ought to write your autobiography and call it The Stud Book,’ taunted Tabitha.
‘Shut up,’ yelled Rupert, ‘and don’t you start laughing.’ He turned on Lysander. ‘Get out, and shut that fucking dog up.’
As Lysander and Jack slid out into the hall, they found Taggie clutching her head.
‘Oh dear, oh dear.’
‘Hi.’ Lysander kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Oh wow, I don’t blame the tractor-driver.’
‘Rupert’s under a lot of pressure,’ said Taggie defensively. ‘He’s worried about the war. Having been in the Army, he feels he ought to be out there, and he’s worried about business; the Saudis and Kuwaitis own a lot of his horses.’
‘Lovely house,’ said Lysander, admiring the yellow flagstones, the tapestries and the huge oil of a rotund black Labrador.
‘When it’s quiet,’ said Taggie.
The screaming was escalating.
‘Don’t you touch me. I’ll ring Esther Rantzen and get you for child battering. I’ve had to live through one lousy newspaper scandal after another. No wonder I’m disturbed. Ashley says I ought to be in therapy.’
‘You ought to be in a chastity belt,’ yelled Rupert. ‘You’ve always had everything you wanted.’
‘So’ve you — mostly women.’
‘Not since Taggie, and you know it.’
‘She doesn’t trust you an inch. That’s why she tags (ha, bloody ha) along to everything. Never lets you out of her sight. I used to see something of you before you married her.’
Putting her hands over her ears, Taggie ran back to the kitchen.
‘Shut up!’ Rupert was shaking Tabitha like a rat. ‘You’ve gone too far this time. You can go and live with your mother. And I’ll sell Frankié, Sorrel and Biscuit.’
This was the red-hot poker on Tabitha’s back.
‘You wouldn’t dare,’ she sobbed hysterically. ‘I’ll report you to the RSPCA and the NS what’s it. You promised Biscuit could end her days here! You promised!’ She was banging her fists frantically against Rupert’s chest.
‘If you ever see that hairy little wimp again, and you don’t go back to Bagley Hall tonight, Biscuit’ll be in a can, or shipped abroad for horse meat.’
Rupert had always insisted on an office with two doors, so he could escape from importuning women in the old days and now from tiresome owners.
‘Bastard!’ Tabitha ran screaming through the door leading upstairs.
Lysander jumped guiltily and fell into the office as Rupert opened the second door. His face was expressionless, but there was a glint in his eyes.
‘Where were we?’ he said amiably. ‘Oh yes, you wanted to race ride for me.’
Picking up the telephone, he dialled the yard.
‘Dizzy darling, can you tack up Meutrier?’
Lysander could hear Dizzy’s squawk of disapproval down the telephone, but he was too excited about proving himself to notice.
Horses, their blazes and stars gleaming in the dusk, hung out of their boxes whickering in delight as the grooms put scoops of oats and nuts in each manger. Meutrier, a beautiful chestnut, showing a crescent of white below both eyes, came out with a clatter, not amused at having to postpone his supper.
‘Hang on, he’s as quick as lightning,’ muttered Dizzy in defiance of her boss, ‘and his mouth’s gone, and he’s got a horrific stop.’
‘No-one asked your opinion,’ snapped Rupert, as he gave Lysander a leg up.
‘I ride long,’ said Lysander, gathering up his reins.
‘Not on my horses, you don’t.’ Rupert tugged up the stirrups until Lysander’s long thighs were level with Meutrier’s back.
‘Goodbye, world,’ giggled Lysander.
Like a jewelled hairnet he could see the lights of Penscombe tangling with the bare trees.
‘This is a beautiful horse, Rupert,’ he said as he rode off.
‘Why d’you put him on Meutrier?’ asked Dizzy furiously. ‘He’s a sweet boy.’
‘And needs hacking down to size.’
Having bawled her head off in her room, incensed that not even Taggie, whom she really adored, had come up to comfort her, Tabitha stopped crying. She couldn’t go back to Bagley Hall. She’d never see Ashley again and feel the tickle of his beard. She wished he washed more, but he despised deodorants, thinking the skin ought to be allowed to breathe.
Looking out of the window, she saw her father and Dizzy walking towards the all-weather track that ran for a mile and a half over Rupert’s rolling fields. They were following a rider on — Christ, it was Meutrier. No other horse walked with that fluid grace or that innocence. Tab picked up her binoculars. She couldn’t identify who was on his back, but he rode wonderfully. She’d never seen anyone move so naturally with a horse. For Meutrier, it must have been like dancing with Fred Astaire.