'D'you want your eyes gouged out, you f.u.c.king s.a.d.i.s.t? Untie that pony.'

Raimundo's sallow face had turned a dark red.

'La puta que te te pario,' pario,' he spat at her, but backed away as the evil-looking p.r.o.ngs stroked his eyelashes. he spat at her, but backed away as the evil-looking p.r.o.ngs stroked his eyelashes.

'Get her off me,' he bellowed at the other grooms. But, enjoying the sport too much, they continued to barrack and laugh.

'Ole,' shouted Umberto.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, Perdita saw Angel approaching. There was murder in his eyes; the beautiful pouting mouth had disappeared completely.

'Don't you come near me,' hissed Perdita, rage driving out all fear, flickering the pitchfork like an adder's tongue between him and Raimundo. 'No wonder you lost the Falklands War. Bullies are always cowards. You run away from real men, so you take it out on horses, you lousy Latin creeps.'

Clenching his fists, rigid with rage, Angel advanced on her, translating what she had said for the others. Perhaps she had better make a bolt for it.

'I keel you, English beetch.' Angel's grey shirt was touching the pitchfork now.

Perdita had drawn it back to ram it into him when suddenly she found her arms gripped from behind. 'Drop,' thundered Luke.

'f.u.c.k off,' screamed Perdita. 'Don't b.l.o.o.d.y interfere.' 'Drop!' Luke tightened his grip on her and the pitchfork clattered to the ground.

'That hurt,' shouted Perdita. 'Are you on those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds' side?'

Just as Angel was about to leap on her, Luke picked her up and carried her yelling into the house. Desperately she kicked backwards like a buck rabbit, trying to get him in the groin.

'Let me go, put me down,' and when he wouldn't, she tried to plunge her teeth into his arms which were clamped round her like steel bands. The next second he had put her under the shower and turned on the cold tap. For once it decided not to have cyst.i.tis and gushed out like the Victoria Falls funnelled through a hose pipe.

'Had enough?' he said fifteen seconds later.

Gasping, choking, spluttering, she struggled to escape. 'Are you going to behave yourself?' He pulled her away from the driving jet of water.

'No,' screamed Perdita, aiming a kick at his shins. 'Now I know how Enid Coley felt.'

'Well, go back under again.'

Her drenched hair stranded her face, her pale lilac dress clung to her body, her eyelashes divided like a starfish as he pulled her out a second time. As she opened her mouth to shriek, he grabbed a green towel hanging over the shower rail and slapped it over her mouth.

'Pack it in,' he said sharply. 'D'you want to get sent home?'

'I don't care,' mumbled Perdita, trying to bite him through the towel. 'b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, how can you stand there and not mind?'

'Of course I mind, but we're here to learn, Miss McEnroe.'

'Don't call me that, you great jerk,' said Perdita, hammering her fists against his chest, which was as hard as the ground outside. 'They're going to break that pony's leg.'

'Or teach it to rein back,' said Luke. He drew back the dingy plastic curtains covering the small window overlooking the yard.

'Angel's on her back now, and she's reining back pretty good. Their methods are cruel, but they get results.' 'I hate this b.l.o.o.d.y country,' hissed Perdita.

Luke made an attempt at levity. 'There are good things about it. Polo boots are three times cheaper than they are in the UK.'

'Oh, shut up.' Out of the window, she could see a huge pink moon, like the inside of a guava, climbing out of the gum trees.

'Even the moon's blushing at the horrible way they treat ponies,' she snarled. 'Why's it that stupid colour anyway?'

'Catching the last of the sun's rays,' said Luke. 'Sun's rising in the East now; gone to shine on your Mom.'

Suddenly Perdita had a vision of Daisy, kind, scatty, busty, in her awful clothes, constantly making concessions, whom she hadn't written to since she'd arrived. Glaring at Luke, she burst into tears.

'Hush, honey, hush, I hate it toc,' he murmured, enfolding her in his arms and stroking her sopping hair. 'I know it's awful. I guess I wanta play polo better so I can beat the s.h.i.t out of them on the field.'

One moment she was sobbing her heart out, then, lulled by the bearlike warmth of his chest and the comforting shelter of his great arms and shoulders, she had fallen asleep like a child. Gazing down, Luke thought how beautiful she was despite the tear-stains and the swollen eyelids. She hardly stirred as he pulled off her lilac dress and carried her in her bra and pants into her bedroom. Laying her gently on the bed, he removed the dark red blanket from his bed and put it over her.

Perdita woke at two in in the morning. Slowly the events of the previous evening re-a.s.sembled themselves. Had it been a nightmare? No, her bra and pants were still wet. Luke must have put her to bed. the morning. Slowly the events of the previous evening re-a.s.sembled themselves. Had it been a nightmare? No, her bra and pants were still wet. Luke must have put her to bed.

Oblivious of any guards, she stole downstairs. Outside, huge stars blazed like s.h.a.ggy white chrysanthemums; the moon had stopped blushing and was now flooding the pampas with ghostly silver light. A warm breeze ruffled the leaves of the gum trees, which cast a thousand ebony shadows on the burnt dusty yard, which was now palest grey instead of brown. She could hear the occasional snort and stamp of a pony, then jumped out of her skin, as something cold and snakelike was thrust into her hand. It was the wet nose of one of Raimundo's s.h.a.ggy lurchers, who was frantically waving her long crooked tail.

'Sweet thing,' Perdita crouched beside her, stroking her rough fur, as the b.i.t.c.h writhed against her in delight. Both jumped as a great snore rent the air. Umberto, tonight's guard, was slumped against the bottom of a tree, an empty bottle at his feet.

Now was her chance. Out in the corral, tied so tight to the big stake in the centre that the Argentines call a palemque palemque that she couldn't even move her head, was the little grey pony. that she couldn't even move her head, was the little grey pony.

'You poor little duck,' said Perdita gently.

Nearly breaking her neck, the pony pulled away in panic, the whites of her eyes glinting in the moonlight, coat curled with dried sweat like an Irish Water Spaniel.

At first, when Perdita held out the bucket, she was too frozen with fear to drink. But when her muzzle was dunked in the water almost over her nostrils, the temptation became too much. Sucking in great drafts, she drained one bucket and then half another.

Watching her fondly, Perdita was reminded of Fresco. If only she could jump on her back and not stop galloping until she got to Ricky and Palm Springs. As she laid her hand on the little mare's neck, she quivered violently, but didn't move away.

'I'm going to call you Tero,' she whispered, 'because you and I are going to fly away from this h.e.l.lhole.'

Loosening the rope so the mare's nose could reach the ground, she left her with a pile of hay.

Next morning the post strike ended, bringing five letters from Daisy, none of which Perdita opened. She was in a black gloom because not even a postcard had arrived from Ricky.

Alejandro, having been out on the bat the night before, returned at breakfast time with the pallor and red eyes of a white rat. He was then thrown into a frenzy by a letter announcing the impending arrival of Lando Medici, therichest of American patrons who always paid for ponies in readies out of a Gladstone bag.

Soon Alejandro was venting his hangover on all the staff, yelling at them to tidy up the place and all the ponies.

'Where's Raimundo?' he shouted at a wincing Umberto. 'He sick,' said Umberto.

'Well, get him up.'

'What's the matter with him?' demanded Perdita, who was busy tr.i.m.m.i.n.g the hairy fetlocks of a gelding that resembled a Clydesdale more than a polo pony.

Just for a second Umberto forgot his own hangover. 'Senor Gracias give heem the eye black.'

'He what?' gasped Perdita.

'Raimundo was in the bar with his friends last night. Senor Gracias come in and talk to eem very quietly, then he heet him across the room. Everyone cheer. They no like Raimundo - very hard man.'

'What did Raimundo do?' asked Perdita in awe.

'He run away,' said Umberto with a grin. 'He leave very quick. Senor Gracias - how you say? - too beeg to tango with. Angel was in the bar too. Upchatting girl from the gas station. Senor Gracias turned towards him and Angel ran away too - all down the road like Carl Lewis. He was very frightened. He not drive car tied to pony again in an 'urry.'

Later Perdita cornered Luke. He looked tired and his eyes were bloodshot from the dust.

'I thought we were here to learn not to criticize,' she said sternly. Then that wonderful once-a-year smile split her face in two. 'You have definitely won the Man of the Macho Award.'

Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him on the cheek. Luke blushed beneath his freckles and his heart jumped several beats. It's only because there's a dearth of available women out here, he told himself sternly.

Alejandro, fed up with Raimundo's laziness and his exorbitant whining demands, was put in such a good mood when he saw the black eye that he agreed that Perdita could take over the breaking of little Tero.

'She no good for polo, too cheeken, but eef you want to waste your time.'

26.

Luke had temporarily routed Raimundo and Angel, but their animosity towards Perdita, if less overt, was in no way abated. To give Perdita a break, Luke took her away the following Sat.u.r.day to see a high goal match at the famous Hurlingham Club which left her speechless with wonder, then on to Buenos Aires to an English production of The Merchant of Venice The Merchant of Venice throughout most of which she slept. throughout most of which she slept.

Her only comments at dinner afterwards as she gorged herself on tournedos, raspberries and cream and St Emilion were that Shylock was almost as beady about money as Alejandro and that Ba.s.sanio was a wimp.

Portia'd have done much better with that suitor who talked about his horse all the time. At least he'd have given her some decent ponies.'

Luke, who knew the play backwards, had been moved to tears by the moonlit love scene between Lorenzo and Jessica. A lemon-yellow half-moon was hanging overhead as he and Perdita left the restaurant. But any hope he might have had of sliding his arm round her and trying a tentative first kiss on the drive home was scotched when she fell asleep the moment she got into the car.

Her white dress had fallen off the shoulder nearest him, her skirt was nicked up to mid-thigh, her hair rippled silver. With her scornful mouth softened by sleep and pale eyelids hiding her furious eyes, she looked as vulnerable as she did desirable. Wracked with longing, Luke drove through the grey lunar landscape, only broken by occasional white towns or ebony clumps of trees.

Up at five and sleeping badly of late, Luke kept his mind off Perdita and himself awake on the long straight roads, as he had done so often in the past, by concentrating on a particular horse. This time it was Maldita, a grey mare who had slipped into the yard already broken as part of a job lot a few weeks ago.

Alejandro was allergic to greys, particularly the whiter ones. His father had been paralysed by a fall from a white stallion. On the one recent occasion when the Mendoza family had got near winning the Argentine Open, it hadbeen on a grey mare that Alejandro had missed the clinching penalty. His phobia had spread to his grooms when Raimundo's even crueller predecessor had broken the leg of a grey filly, hurling it to the ground for branding, and the following day he had died of snake bite. Whenever they pa.s.sed a grey on the road, the grooms crossed themselves.

The iron grey, Tero, got by because her coat was almost black, but Maldita was so dazzlingly white, except for a sprinkling of rust-brown freckles on her belly, that she p poked as though she'd been through the car wash. At fourteen hands she was on the small side for polo, with a lovely intelligent head, wide-apart dark eyes, clean legs and a smooth, effortless stride. Unfortunately she was as b.i.t.c.hy as she was beautiful, lashing out with teeth and hooves at any human who came near her, and bucking them off if they tried to get on her back. Even when Raimundo strapped one of her back legs to her belly to stop her kicking, she struck out with the other leg and, crashing to the ground, laid about her with her front legs and teeth.

Alejandro was all for putting a bullet through this she-devil's head and dispatching her to the nearest abattoir. Luke, however, who was a genius with difficult horses, begged to be allowed to have a crack at her.

He had begun by putting Maldita in a stable with no straw and taking water and feed to her every eight hours, then, when she went for him, immediately removing them. After twenty-four hours she was so hungry that she dived her pale pink nose into the bucket instead of at him. Two days later she allowed him to stand in her stable while she ate. Starving her until the next evening, he coaxed her with pony nuts into a stall which Raimundo used for branding and saddling bigger horses, which was so narrow she couldn't turn round. Tying her lead rope so tightly she couldn't move her head, Luke had climbed up and approached her from above. Talking softly the whole time, he slowly ran his hands over her, caressing, gentling and scratching up and down her mane where once her mother would have lovingly nibbled her, then progressing to her back and flanks. After the first minutes of trembling outrage, Maldita had stopped behaving as though his fingers were red-hot pokers and reacted almost voluptuously to his touch. Luke wished Perdita were as responsive. At the end of half an hour, back in her box, he rewarded her with hay and water.

After a week of such treatment, he mounted her, sending her into the same orgy of bucking that had dislodged the grooms and all the Mendoza boys. Finding she couldn't unseat him, she paused for breath, antic.i.p.ating her next devilry. She was so small, and Luke so long in the leg, he looked like some father riding a seaside donkey to amuse his children.

'You won't need a mallet on that one,' shouted Alejandro. 'You can kick the ball with your feet, or if you miss, that beetch will kick it for you.'

Unnerved by Alejandro's great roar of laughter, Maldita had taken off into the pampas, somehow miraculously missing rabbit holes and fallen logs as she hurtled along. Luke sat still and gave her her head, amazed that the more she warmed up, the faster she went, staggered by the distance she could carry his 190-pound bulk in the burning sun.

After nearly four miles she ran into the river that bordered Alejandro's land, which was so deep she was forced to swim. On the opposite bank, Luke rolled off her back and lay on the gra.s.s. The heaving mare glared back at him, too exhausted to move. Afterwards he hacked her quietly home and was further amazed that she responded to his legs and hands and had the perfect mouth and balance of a made polo pony. It didn't stop her lashing out at him with her teeth and back legs as he unsaddled her, but he felt he was making progress and, the next day, stick and balling her he found she was a natural. In her dark-eyed pallor and arrogant b.l.o.o.d.y-mindedness, she reminded him of Perdita. If she could trust one human, he felt, she could achieve anything. Driving home from the theatre he pondered his next move. Seeing General Piran ahead, he decided to try her in practice chukkas tomorrow.

It was past three o'clock, but the tack room light, besieged with huge crashing moths, was still on. Raimundo's s.h.a.ggy lurchers swarmed round Perdita as she staggered groggily out of the car.

'I've never been so exhausted in my life. Christ, what's that?' she shrieked, as fat Umberto, clearly drunk andabsolutely terrified, lurched out of the shadows brandishing a gun.

'What in h.e.l.l's the matter?' said Luke, taking the gun from him.

'Maldita, she is dead,' gabbled Umberto in Spanish. 'What!' howled Luke.

Raising his hands in panic, begging Senor Gracias not to shoot him, Umberto whimpered that Maldita had developed colic that morning.

'We fight all day to save her.'

'What did you try?' demanded Luke furiously.

'Everything, enemas, catheters, fluids to hydrate her. All impossible, she more busy fight us than the colic. She get up, she get down, she roll, she kick the stomach, like crazy woman. We try real hard.' Then, seeing the expression on Luke's face, Umberto indignantly lifted his loose trousers up above his boots to display two huge purple bruises: 'What you think these are, love bites?'

'What did the vet say?'

'A lump of sand block her gut.'

'When did he last come?'

'This afternoon. He no come back. His daughter getting married this evening.'

'Then where the f.u.c.k's Alejandro? Humping in BA, I suppose.' BA, I suppose.'

'He didn't even went,' explained Umberto, who couldn't ever have imagined Senor Gracias being so angry about anything. 'He go to wedding of vet's daughter.' didn't even went,' explained Umberto, who couldn't ever have imagined Senor Gracias being so angry about anything. 'He go to wedding of vet's daughter.'

'Along with everyone else, I guess,' said Luke. 'Why didn't anyone take her to the veterinary hospital? They could have operated.'

'Alejandro say she too weak,' said Umberto, leaving unspoken the truth that Alejandro would be too mean to fork out the equivalent of $5,000 for a green and vicious mare.

'Where is she?' asked Luke.

'In the first paddock under the gum trees. Alejandro tell me shoot her if pain get too bad. He say best stable for that mare is a coffin.' Umberto crossed himself. 'But bad luck to kill white horse. Anyway she already die, she not move for twenty minutes.'

Followed by Perdita, who only half understood what was going on, Luke sprinted out to the paddock. Although the moon had set, they could see Maldita's ghostly white body slumped in the corner like a cast-off shroud.

'Poor little b.i.t.c.h.' Luke was shaking with rage. But as he put his hand beneath her nearside elbow, he felt the faintest heartbeat and, to his joy, the mare struck feebly out at him with her off-fore and gave a half-whicker of recognition which turned into a groan. Her white coat was drenched with sweat, her belly horribly distended.

'Put some rugs on her,' he ordered Perdita, as he raced back into the house. Under his bed he had a complete medicine chest, full of stuff given him by a veterinary friend in Palm Beach. There was one thing that might save the mare, and that was only a 10,000 to 1 chance.

Back in the paddock he was greeted by a stream of expletives. Even in her hopelessly weakened condition, Maldita had lashed out when Perdita tried to put a rug on her.

'What are you giving her?' asked Perdita as Luke plunged the needle into the mare's neck.