'I wouldn't,' said Red icily, 'if you want him to get better.'

It was a good thing Perdita was only marking the O'Brien's new patron, who had a one handicap and only that because he'd bunged the APA so heavily, because in the next three chukkas he went virtually unmarked. Perdita hardly connected with the ball and missed several easy shots at goal. It was purely Red's and Angel's flamboyant courage and Bart's Exocet penalties that kept the Flyers just ahead.

'Are you still in love with Luke?' hissed Red, as they lined up for the presentation.

'Course I'm b.l.o.o.d.y not. You're the only person I'm crazy about. But Luke's been a really good friend to me, and I don't know how you could play so well after what's happened,' Perdita hissed back.

'It's the mark of the great player to rise above adversity,' said Red. 'The second-rate go to pieces in a crisis.'

'He's your brother, and Bart's son,' whispered Perdita furiously. 'Thank you very much,' she smiled briefly as the President of Cadillac gave her a silver ashtray in the shape of a car.

'Thank you very much, sir.' Red accepted his silver ashtray. Then, out of the corner of his mouth, 'Never noticed blood was thicker than water in your family.' 'We must go and see him,' said Perdita hysterically. Perdita,' said Red softly, 'he needs to be kept quiet.' 'If Luke's sidelined for the summer we might be able to get our hands on Fantasma and take her to England,' chipped in Bart.

'I don't understand any of you,' screamed Perdita. 'Luke may have been put out of polo for ever, and all you can think about is your own f.u.c.king game.'

Four days later Perdita disobeyed everyone's advice and, cutting a Ferranti's promotional lunch for all their buyers, flew up to see Luke. She didn't tell Red she was going. He'd been determined to punish her since they'd heard the news, even insisting on her watching a video of him and Auriel making love, which revolted her, particularly when she saw how skilled and beautiful Auriel was and how she and Red seemed to be enjoying themselves. She needed Luke's advice on how to handle Red and about her fast-deteriorating game.

After Palm Beach in the nineties, New York was freezing. Perdita, hopelessly under-dressed in white jeans and a black sleeveless T-shirt, shivered as much from nerves as the cold. The hospital, which had Impressionist reproductions on the walls and banks of flowers and floodlit fountains on every floor, was more plush than most hotels and must have been costing Hal Peters a fortune.

'Luke Alderton?' said the nurse on the fourth floor reception desk excitedly. 'Third on the right. I hope you'll be able to get in for the flowers. Dancer Maitland dropped by this morning and Auriel Kingham last night.'

'How is he?' snapped Perdita, who didn't want to hear about Auriel.

'Well, he's still in some discomfort,' (b.l.o.o.d.y silly word, thought Perdita) 'but he's a very brave guy.'

'I know that. Will he be able to play again?'

'Early days,' said the nurse. 'Don't stay long. Aren't you the Ferranti girl?'

But Perdita had gone, amazed how much her heart was hammering as she threw open the door.

'It's the prodigal,' she announced. 'Darling Luke, have you forgiven me?'

Then she dropped her parcels all over the floor, for, sitting on Luke's bed, holding his hand, was an incredibly attractive girl. Her second, almost more agonizing, impression was how desperately ill Luke looked. His brown,freckled face was tinged lurid green, and darkly shadowed, the bottle-brush hair dank with sweat, the big generous mouth practically disappearing in the attempt not to cry out, the honey-coloured eyes no longer amused and sleepy. His shoulders were still huge, but everywhere else the weight had dropped off. He reminded Perdita of a Great Dane who'd fallen into the hands of the vivisectionists and was bewildered why it should undergo such horrific pain without an anaesthetic.

She wanted to rush over and hug him, but there was the impediment of this girl in the wonderfully understated coral-pink suit, with a pale clever face and shiny dark hair and wonderful long legs. Her grey eyes were looking at Luke with tenderness and her coral-tipped fingers were gently stroking his forehead.

Bristling with hostility, Perdita picked up her parcels. Relinquishing Luke's hand, the girl rose to her feet.

'You must be Perdita,' she said coolly. 'I recognize you from the posters. Luke's told me a lot about you.'

'Funny, he's told me absolutely nothing about you,' said Perdita furiously. She turned to Luke: 'Christ, I'm sorry! You poor thing! What the h.e.l.l happened? b.l.o.o.d.y Bobby.'

'Wasn't his fault.' Even the deep, slow, husky drawl was weakened. 'It was an airshot. I blocked it.'

'The blow knocked Luke off his horse,' said the girl. 'When he didn't get up the players formed a circle round him, but I could see he wasn't moving. I was shaking and shaking. Alejandro, who was watching with me, put his arm round me. I sat beside Luke in the ambulance crying all the way, because I figured he was unconscious, but in fact he was in such agony he couldn't talk. Then we had to wait three hours in casualty, because they had to look after some people who'd been in a car crash.'

Perdita looked at this cool girl, who'd suddenly gone as white as Luke's sheets. What right had she got to cry over Luke and be comforted by Alejandro?

'Who's she?' she asked Luke, nodding rudely in the girl's direction.

'Margie Bridgwater.' Luke made no attempt at explanation. His hand swathed in bandages strapped up in the air didn't seem part of him.

'D'you want a drink? Vodka, white wine?' he asked. 'Margie'll get it.'

Perdita shook her head. 'Is it absolute agony?'

Luke shrugged. 'The first night was the worst, all night on the hour, I was woken by a vast black lady, saying, "Roll over, Mr Alderton", and then shoving a thermometer up my a.s.s.'

Just for a second, he grinned and was the old Luke again.

'I've bought you a biography of Robert Lowell.' Perdita put it on the bed. 'The one you were always quoting about the woods being snowy, dark and deep.'

'Lovely, dark and deep,' corrected Margie. 'And corrected Margie. 'And I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep. I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep. That's Robert Frost not Robert Lowell.' Then, catching a warning look from Luke, added more gently, 'But That's Robert Frost not Robert Lowell.' Then, catching a warning look from Luke, added more gently, 'But The New York Times The New York Times said the Lowell biography was terrific.' said the Lowell biography was terrific.'

'I wouldn't know, I'm not an intellectual,' spat back Perdita. 'And some freesias and a tape of Crocodile Dundee.' Crocodile Dundee.'

'Thanks,' said Luke. 'That's really neat. How's Spotty?'

'Feeling his feet. Bute doesn't seem to be working.'

'Give him some stuff called Arkell,' said Luke. 'Makes the blood flow. And Tero?'

'b.l.o.o.d.y Miguel gave her such a b.u.mp last week, she's lost her nerve. She won't b.u.mp any more. She still gets the runs twenty-four hours before a big match and won't -at for days afterwards. I can't afford to let her lose weight. j ought to turn her away for the summer, but if I don't take her to England she'll pine, and so will I, I love her so much.'

She was so shocked by Luke's appearance that she hardly listened to his answers. It was as though Big Ben or Westminster Abbey had suddenly been bombed. And, to cap it all, here was this b.l.o.o.d.y girl guarding him like a lioness.

Interrupting him, she said, 'For the first time I can see how like Red you are.'

Luke smiled ruefully. 'I guess there must be some plusses about getting sidelined. My brother's an Adonis,' he added to Margie.

'I've seen pictures.' Margie put her hand over his. 'I like my guys more rugged.'

'Red is the handsomest man in the world,' exploded Perdita.

'Not as good-looking as Rupert Campbell-Black,' said Margie. 'Wow! He came to see Luke this morning.' Perdita felt sick. 'Did he mention me?'

'Only to say Venturer weren't making a movie about you any more,' said Luke. 'He was over to finalize American sponsors for the Westchester.'

'And you're going to play in it,' said Margie warmly. Perdita clenched her fists.

'Shame they lost the baby,' went on Margie. 'He and Taggie are going to adopt one, but they're having problems in England. Rupert's forty in the fall and the adoption societies don't see him as ideal father material, so they're putting feelers out in the States.'

'He's rich,' rich,' said Perdita, who didn't want to talk about Rupert. 'If you're rich you can buy anything. Who's playing for Hal now?' said Perdita, who didn't want to talk about Rupert. 'If you're rich you can buy anything. Who's playing for Hal now?'

'Alejandro.'

'For ten times more than Luke was getting,' said Margie bitterly.

'The receptionist told me Dancer was here,' said Perdita.

'He is so charming,' said Margie. 'He wants Luke to see Seth Newcombe, the guy who sorted out Ricky's hand.'

'I know,' snapped Perdita. 'I was at the hospital when Seth operated. Of course Luke should see him.'

Seeing Luke absolutely wiped out, Perdita added to Margie, 'Look, Luke and I go back a long way. Would you like to p.i.s.s off and leave us alone for five minutes?'

Margie raised a thick dark eyebrow at Luke, who nodded.

'Well, only five minutes. I'll be outside if you need me.'

b.l.o.o.d.y cow, thought Perdita, but she did have wonderful legs. She moved round to see the framed photographs on Luke's bedside table, disappointed to see they were of Leroy and Fantasma and not of herself.

'It was nice of you to come,' he said.

'I would have come sooner. The others were convinced I'd do more harm than good.'

Luke gazed at her steadily for a second. There was exhaustion but no reproach in his eyes, but he didn't contradict her.

Lowering herself gingerly on to the bed, so as not to jolt him, she started pleating the white counterpane.

'I'm sorry I b.u.g.g.e.red off at Deauville. I didn't know how you felt.'

'That's OK.'

'You all right?'

'Yeah, I'm fine now.'

'I just fell madly in love with Red. I couldn't help myself.'

'Sure. How is he?'

'Doesn't know I'm here. I hope it might make him a bit jealous. He's wildly jealous of you, because everyone loves you so much, I guess. They fancy Red, but they don't seem to like him, but then they don't know him. Tell me, what's the best way to hold him?'

'Don't get heavy,' said Luke, then, on reflection, 'He who bends to himself a joy doth the winged life destroy.' 'He who bends to himself a joy doth the winged life destroy.'

'I miss your poems,' said Perdita. 'Red's almost illiterate. You should be nicknamed Well-Read and Ill-Red. Why are you staring at me?'

'Because I've just twigged.'

'W-what?'

They were interrupted by Margie the Martinet coming back with a doctor and a nurse, who asked Perdita to leave as they wanted to look at Luke's hand. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead at the prospect of more debilitating pain.

'But I've only been here a few minutes,' stormed Perdita. 'Visitation's being restricted to quarter of an hour,' said the doctor.

'Oh, for Christ's sake.'

Once more the doctor, the nurse and Margie were confronting her as though she was a dangerous lunatic.

'All right, I'm going.' Perdita was fighting back the tears. 'I hope you get better soon.'

Margie followed her out into the pa.s.sage. Forcing her hands furiously into her trouser pocket, Perdita pulled out a bottle.

'Give it to Luke,' she said. 'Morphine from Bart's medicine cupboard in case the pain gets too bad.'

'He needed that in August,' said Margie, 'when you shoved off with Red. Smashing up his hand and probablyterminating his career was a day in the country compared with what you put him through last summer.'

As she went back into the room to grip Luke's other hand as the doctor started to undo his bandages, he said through gritted teeth, 'I've just realized who Perdita's father is.'

59.

Red's temper was blazing like a forest fire when Perdita got home.

'Where the f.u.c.k have you been? You were supposed to be at a Ferranti promotional lunch.'

'I went to see Luke. I rang Dino's secretary and said I couldn't make it.'

'Bulls.h.i.t. You're under contract. Buyers flew in from all over the world to meet you. Dino went apes.h.i.t. What in h.e.l.l are you playing at? How was Luke anyway?'

'Awful, simply terrible.'

'You can't have helped. I'll go and see him tomorrow and you better call Dino and crawl or they'll slap Winston Chalmers on you.'

Dino Ferranti was icy with rage. 'You step out of line once more, right, and you're fired, and and we'll sue you for breach of contract.' we'll sue you for breach of contract.'

All in all Perdita wasn't in a very chipper mood to go to a barbecue that evening, particularly when Red was immediately collared by a comely female feature writer in a groin-level, blue suede skirt from Vanity Fair. Vanity Fair.

The party was held in a copse near one of the polo barns. Coloured lights hung from the trunks of the pine trees, which soared upwards like pillars blotting out the stars. The still air was heavy with the smell of charcoal, pine needles, long-marinaded hunks of lamb, pork and chickens which sizzled and spat as they turned on the barbecue. Rather like me, thought Perdita as she looked across at Red working his magic on the s.e.xy journalist. He'd given up his yellow blazer because all the young bloods in Palm Beach had slavishly copied him. Now he had reverted to his pale blue one braided with emerald green. A lock of hair had fallen over his forehead; his eyes were dreamy; he looked like Rupert Brooke.

'I prefer to ride mares, in and out of bed,' he was saying. 'They're more compet.i.tive.'

The girl smiled and arched her lean and hungry blue suede pelvis towards him.

There's no point being jealous, thought Perdita echoing one of Red's commandments, it hurts only yourself.

Away from the fire was a large wheelbarrow, stacked with drink people had brought. Perdita was mixing herself a Green Devil when Angel came up.

'You saw Luke. 'Ow was he?'