I move the sweet forget-me-nots that grow for happy lovers, thought Daisy despairingly. thought Daisy despairingly.

A vast, black cloud ma.s.sed threateningly along the horizon like a tidal wave about to engulf her. What worse things could happen in her life? But as she wandered home through the buddleia-scented evening, she saw a dark-green Mini draw up outside her front door with a jerk. Not more more press? Then she froze - worse than press. Sukey Benedict had got out and was waving like a restrained goal judge. press? Then she froze - worse than press. Sukey Benedict had got out and was waving like a restrained goal judge.

'I was in the area and thought I'd pop in and say h.e.l.lair. What a darling cottage, and how charming you've made the garden.'

This was untrue. The lawn, like a hayfield, towered higher than the flower beds, which were a holiday-let to weeds. Even worse the coat rack had collapsed in the hall, so Sukey and Daisy had to mountaineer over a hillock of Barbours and bomber jackets into the kitchen where two days' washing-up jammed the sink.

'I'm sorry,' muttered Daisy. 'I've been finishing a painting.' If Sukey insisted on seeing round, she thought nervously, she might unearth the nude of Drew in the potting shed.

'Would you like a drink?'

Sukey hesitated. 'I'm driving. I'd love a cup of tea.'

Daisy, desperate for vodka, had to winkle two cups out of the sink and wash them in the upstairs bathroom. But Sukey didn't seem to notice anything. She sat down at the kitchen table, playing with one of the yellow roses in a blue vase which promptly collapsed in a shower of petals. She'd always worn her trousers loose to de-emphasize her bottom, but now they were so loose they were almost hipsters, and too loose to contain her striped shirt which was done up on the wrong b.u.t.tons. A long lock of mousey hair escaped from a most inappropriate Alice band of red velvet dotted with seed pearls. It was like seeing Mrs Thatcher with a punk rocker hairstyle chewing gum, thought Daisy. Despite the muggy warmth of the day, Sukey was shivering uncontrollably.

'Thank you so much.' As she took the cup and saucer it was difficult to tell where Daisy's rattle ended and hers began.

There was a dreadful silence.

'I'm not very good at confiding in people.' Sukey looked down at her big, rubber-glove-cherished hands. 'Daddy was in the Foreign Office and we never talked about feelings. I came to you, Daisy, because you always seem such a sweet person. It's about Drew actually.'

The room darkened. Daisy knew the tidal wave was going to drown her. Never admit to anything, Drew had always insisted, but she was such a dreadful liar.

'I knew Drew married me for my money.' Sukey was busy dismembering another yellow rose. 'He's so frite-fly attractive it couldn't be for any other reason.' Then, when Daisy murmured in protest, 'I've been awfully happy really - even though he's always had other women.'

Drew, the solid, the utterly dependable, thought Daisy aghast. She felt like the conjuror's blonde-haired a.s.sistant who hears sawing and realizes she's got into the wrong box.

'Are you sure?'

'Oh, one knows. He's away so much - claiming to stay at his club when I later discovered it was closed down for the summer, meetings he said he'd been to, then finding apologies for his absence in the minutes a month later. Beautiful girls seeking me out at parties, then being particularly nice out of relief that I wasn't pretty. Girl grooms suddenly getting cheeky.'

Daisy could definitely feel the teeth of the magician's saw grazing her side now.

'Didn't you mind?' she asked in a strangled voice.

'Of course, I love him. The worst bit was one au pair, au pair, very pretty, who left in a hurry to work as a chalet girl. Drew must have met up with her again when he was playing snow polo last Christmas. Afterwards she wrote and gave me all the details of all the other girls he'd slept with. He got eight valentines this year.' very pretty, who left in a hurry to work as a chalet girl. Drew must have met up with her again when he was playing snow polo last Christmas. Afterwards she wrote and gave me all the details of all the other girls he'd slept with. He got eight valentines this year.'

How many times had Drew sworn she was the only other woman he'd ever slept with since he'd been married?

'How horrible!' she moaned, suddenly nauseated by a waft of cat food. Bending down to pick up the plate, she saw it was crawling with maggots. Gagging, she threw it in the bin. Suddenly she remembered Sukey shaking and shaking, the tears pouring down her face, when Angel had knocked Drew off Malteser in the Queen's Cup.

'Did you confront him?' she whispered.

'He denied it,' said Sukey sadly. 'Said the girl was a bit potty, and obsessive, and he adored me and the children and would never leave us. I know it's vulgar to talk about it,' Sukey was frenziedly pleating the tablecloth, 'but he still makes love to me three or four times a week. I never say no to him.'

And Drew had sworn that once the children were born they had had a manage blanc. manage blanc. The tidal wave had pa.s.sed over, leaving an aeroplane trail across a vermilion sky like a newly st.i.tched scar. Seeing skin had formed on Sukey's tea, Daisy s.n.a.t.c.hed it away. The tidal wave had pa.s.sed over, leaving an aeroplane trail across a vermilion sky like a newly st.i.tched scar. Seeing skin had formed on Sukey's tea, Daisy s.n.a.t.c.hed it away.

'Let's have a drink, I'm afraid there's only vodka.' She added diet c.o.ke and ice.

'I could cope with casual flings,' said Sukey, 'but this time I think he's really serious about someone. I was doing his VAT this afternoon. He's gone to America for a couple of days to fix up playing in the US Open and some other tour before the Westchester. I know it's utterly despicable, but I went through his Amex and his cheque stubs. He's been spending a fortune on flowers and hotel bills and restaurants this month, and there's a bill back in May for a diamond and topaz brooch for five thousand pounds.'

That's my daisy brooch, thought Daisy, appalled.

'Perhaps it was for you,' she said quickly.

'I'm Capricorn like Drew,' said Sukey tonelessly.

Daisy suddenly felt bitterly ashamed and utterly suicidal at the same time.

'One doesn't mean to be mean,' continued Sukey. 'I've got a private income, but it's always been a bit of a struggle to make ends meet. Polo's awfully expensive, and the children'll be starting school soon. I never minded going without things, but when I find all his earnings being blued on other women and I'm paying for his ponies and everything else, even his subscription to Boodles, it makes one a bit bitter.'

The magician's saw was definitely deep in Daisy's flesh now, tearing away bone and muscle.

'Who is she?'

'Bibi Alderton. Drew hid some letters under his mattress. They weren't that pa.s.sionate, just pa.s.sionately grateful for Drew being so kind to her. And there's been a lot of dropped telephone calls, and he keeps urging me to go out and walk the dogs, and although he claims no-one's rung the telephone reeks of his aftershave when I get home.'

'I had that with Hamish,' said Daisy. She shivered, too, at how often she'd breathed in the tangy, lemony smell on Drew's beautiful strong brown neck and jaw, and felt faint with longing.

'It's awfully easy to imagine these things,' she added helplessly.

Sukey shook her head. 'I was staying with Mummy last week. Drew'd been invited to dinner with Rupert and Taggie. You know what a wonderful cook she is. Drew described every course when I got back. Unfortunately I met Taggie in Sainsbury's the day Drew'd left for America and she said she was so sorry Drew'd only stayed for a quick drink and she hoped the pony with colic was OK. Well, I checked with the grooms, very casually. They said none of the horses had been sick. It's so revolting. One gets just like Miss Marple. There's this ghastly sick exultation in the detective work, then when you stumble on the truth it's the gates of h.e.l.l. But I always felt Drew wouldn't leave me,' she raised streaming eyes to Daisy, 'because he needs my money to play polo, but Bibi Alderton could buy me out a hundred times over.' Putting her face in her hands, she burst into tears.

Rushing round the table, Daisy put her arms round her. 'Please, please don't cry. He's a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He's not worth it.'

'Why, you're crying too,' said Sukey, as she dried her eyes a couple of minutes later. 'You're so kind, Daisy. You really mind for me, don't you? I shouldn't have dumped on you. All this must remind you of your own marriage breaking up so much. What d'you think I ought to do? I love him so, so, much.'

'I'd sit tight,' said Daisy, then thought what a stupid expression. She'd been tight for days after Hamish left her. 'From what I gather Angel and Bibi are still very snarled up about each other. Angel's gorgeous, but he's been playing Bibi up dreadfully because she's such a workaholic, and she probably wants to make him jealous, and Drew's probably only flirting with Bibi because he wants to get his own back on Angel for jabbing pelhams into his kidneys and trying to break his jaw.'

'It'd be so lovely if you were right,' said Sukey.

'Have another drink.' Daisy felt a ghastly, sick, m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic craving for more detail.

'No, I must go.' Sukey got to her feet, rubbing her eyes like a child. She had no mascara to smear. 'Our Nanny's got a first date with our local bobby: so romantic. He's awfully good-looking with lovely blue eyes - rather like Drew's.' Her voice broke again. 'I love him so much, Daisy.'

With Sukey gone, Daisy wandered distraught into the garden. The sweet tobacco scent of buddleia was cloying, almost overpowering now. She knew she would hate the smell for ever as a reminder of paradise lost.

The owls were hooting from the woods. She had never seen that much of Drew because of the children and because he'd been away so much, but it had been such a heavenly affair; and with his apparent, utter integrity and strength, he had restored her faith in men. In anguish, she realized that dreaming about him and looking forward to seeing him again had been the one thing that had made her life bearable. How stupid not to realize that if a man's capable of being unfaithful to his wife, he's bound to be unfaithful to you. As she sobbed in the darkness, there was no-one to hear her except the hooting owls and the swooping bats.

If anyone was more miserable than Daisy that night it was Perdita, wandering barefoot two hundred miles away through an infinitely more beautiful Suss.e.x garden, where totally weedless, herbaceous borders towered above shaven lawns and stone nymphs blanched by the moonlight frolicked at the end of rides battlemented with yews. Floodlighting cast a golden glow on the splendid Georgian house Bart had acquired as his English base. Chessie and Bart inhabited the heart of the house. Angel, without Bibi, smouldered in the West Wing. Perdita and Red appropriately waged cold war in the East Wing. Feeling mossy, stone steps cool beneath her feet, Perdita could see into Bart's and Chessie's jade-green drawing room where the Chippendale table acquired specially to display the Gold Cup had, on Bart's insistence, been left bare to remind and punish Perdita.

Red's definition of a great player was one who raised his game when the chips were down. Luke's, slightly different, was someone who could pick himself off the floor and rise above mistakes that had brought a whole team down.

But Perdita wasn't given the chance because Bart had dropped her from the team after the Gold Cup and, without her, the Flyers had already notched up two dazzling victories in the Cowdray Challenge Cup. She was suffering a total loss of confidence. She was still reeling from Rupert's total rejection, and now at the time of year when patrons were making up their teams for next year, the telephone only rang for Red and Angel. For the first time people were whispering that she was committing that deadliest sin in polo - playing below her handicap.

Even worse, she couldn't stop crying, which drove Red crazy when he was awake. The moment his head hit the pillow he fell asleep, leaving Perdita to toss and turn, tormented by visions of him and Chessie, but not daring to crossquestion him, crawling with frustration, praying that, forgetting the impa.s.se, he would reach out for her when he was half-asleep. But he didn't. They hadn't made love since the marathon at the Savoy.

By day he was frantically busy, playing for Bart, making up his mind whether to play in Saratoga, Deauville, Hawaii or Sotogrande in August, and revving up for the Cartier International on Sunday.

Special tension had been added to this occasion because the first match of the afternoon between England and America would be a trial for the Westchester. An American team consisting of Red, the newly naturalized Angel, Bobby Ferraro and Bart, standing in for Shark who'd been sidelined by a shoulder injury, were to play Ricky, Drew and the repulsive Napiers, which was the squad England planned to field in the Westchester in October.

As the Americans wouldn't have unlimited access to ponies, as they would in a home match, and they weren't fielding their first team, it would bode ill for the Westchester, Venturer and the sponsors if England didn't walk it. Bart, Red and Angel, thirsting to avenge their defeat in the Gold Cup, were determined to rattle the Brits.

Perdita had earlier returned from London, where she'd been seeing a specialist about a sprained wrist, to find the house empty except for servants. Chessie was out somewhere. At least she couldn't be with Red, as he'd gone with Angel and Bart to a dinner and team meeting.

She could no longer read or listen to records or even concentrate on television, Red having rendered her utterly deficient in resources. Antic.i.p.ating a long wait, she had poured herself a second vodka and tonic and wandered off into the garden. She was wearing the silk pyjamas Red had given her in Singapore. The stars littered the sky like confetti. Oh G.o.d, would Red ever marry her now? But to her amazement he was home in tearing spirits just before ten.

'Hi, baby!' He held out his arms.

Perdita bolted into them, frantically covering his face with kisses before finding his mouth.

'I've been so unhappy,' she wailed when he finally let her go. 'I thought you'd never forgive me. I love you. I love you.'

'Good.' Red patted her cheek. 'And I'll love you back if you'll stop throwing wobblier. You know how scenes bore me. Fix me a drink, sweetheart. I've been on diet c.o.ke all evening to impress Brad Dillon.'

Brad Dillon, the American team manager, formerly a Brigadier in the US Marines, a hero both in Korea and Vietnam, was, despite his macho exterior, a strict teetotaller and expected similar temperance from his team.

'How was the team meeting?' Joyously Perdita kissed the whisky bottle before splashing it into a gla.s.s.

'Acrimonious. Dad's flown in Juan O'Brien to advise the team. He had a row with Angel. The Brits are in a panic. They don't want Angel at Number Three in case he murders Drew Benedict at Number Two so there was talk of him playing Number Two and me going to Number One. Christ, the humiliation. I threatened to quit, so I'm playing Three and Angel One. The Brits have been absolute d.i.c.kheads and lent us some seriously good ponies. Americans would never do that. It's crazy, like giving the Viet Cong a lot of B52s. I've been trying them out all afternoon.' He half-emptied his gla.s.s in one gulp. 'That's better.'

For a second he appraised Perdita's back view as she poured herself a third vodka.

'You're losing too much weight.'

Moving forward, feeling for her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, he nuzzled the back of her neck. Perdita felt her stomach curling and missed the gla.s.s with the vodka bottle, wiping it off the polished table with her sleeve.

'Your game may be off,' murmured Red into her hair, 'but you're ace at making ponies.'

'What d'you mean?'

'Here's the good news. Brad Dillon and Juan want me to play Tero tomorrow afternoon.'

'Tero!' Utterly outraged, Perdita tried to swing round, but, unwilling to meet her eyes, Red held on to her.

'She's hardly had a man on her back since Argentina. You know how f.u.c.ked up she was when I went off to Singapore. She'll be terrified.'

'Terofied,' mocked Red. 'She went like a dream. I played a chukka on her this afternoon. Juan reckons she'll do two chukkas. We saw a video of the Gold Cup this afternoon,' he went on, trying to railroad her into submission. 'Juan said I don't mark closely enough. So, I'm not going to let you out of my sight in future.' His hand slid down to her groin. 'Let's go to bed.'

'Don't get off the subject and don't soft-soap me,' stormed Perdita. 'You're not not riding Tero. I've spent nearlya year getting her confidence back. I'm not letting you f.u.c.k her up just for one match.' riding Tero. I've spent nearlya year getting her confidence back. I'm not letting you f.u.c.k her up just for one match.'

'Don't be so unBritish,' teased Red, who was fast losing his conciliatory manner.

'I am not letting you ride her in the parade, parade, let alone a single chukka.' let alone a single chukka.'

Letting her go, he reached for his drink, then picked up her left hand and examined the huge sapphire.

'After all I've done for you,' he said softly. 'And you deny me seven or at most fifteen minutes, when I'm playing for my country.'

'Tero's different,' stammered Perdita.

'You bet she is. With me on her back she's a good pony.' 'You b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' yelled Perdita, drink fuelling her aggres- sion, then jumped at the baying of Bart's Rottweilers. 'Oh, f.u.c.king h.e.l.l, Chessie's back.'

'Look what I've got for your father's big five O,' said Chessie, sauntering into the room. Pulling the portrait out of its wrapping paper, she propped it up on a green and white striped sofa.

Red whistled. 'Talk about a glow job. You look angelic, but kinda overdressed. Why didn't you take off my father's wedding ring while you were about it?'

'Oh, shut up,' said Chessie, but not unamiably. Perdita's hostility, however, could have frozen bread straight from the oven.

'My mother painted that,' she hissed. 'That's our sitting-room sofa.'

'Needs re-upholstering, like your mother,' said Chessie. 'My cheque should help.'

'It's a b.l.o.o.d.y conspiracy. How did you get on to her? I bet she wrote smarming to you. What's she been saying about me?'

Chessie looked at her meditatively.

'She misses you,' she said. 'I thought she was rather a nice old thing. Quite charming really.'

'Good at charming snakes like you.'

'Ay, yay, yay.' Chessie's eyes widened. 'What's got into her?' she said, turning to Red. 'Obviously not you, or she wouldn't be so bad-tempered.'

'Red wants to ride Tero in the International. My My pony,' she added scornfully, when Chessie looked blank. she added scornfully, when Chessie looked blank.

'That's great,' said Chessie. 'People fall over themselves to lend ponies for the International. You'll sell her for three times as much afterwards, particularly with Red on her back, and, just think, the whole world will be watching her.'

68.

The whole polo world - or rather 27,000 of them -gathered at the Guards Club next day for the Cartier International, the ritziest event in the polo calendar. The bl.u.s.tery weather seemed to be reflecting the tensions of the two teams. Clouds raced across the sky as a warm but frenzied south-west wind whipped off panamas, murdered hairstyles, stripped the petals from the red roses clambering up the clubhouse and fretted the fleet of hospitality tents that lined the pitch like yachts in a regatta. All morning, so their employers could get plastered, chauffeurs, driving everything from Minis to Rollers, edged into the parking lot where picnickers consumed vast quant.i.ties of quiche, smoked salmon and chicken drumsticks and drank Pimm's out of paper cups.

Only the jade-green statue of Prince Albert on his splendid charger gazed bleakly northwards, away from such manic guzzling and later from the play, as if he were blocking some distant shot.

Angel escaped into one of the lavatories in the players' changing rooms, so no-one could muddle him with more advice. He was outraged that Guards Club officials, themselves outraged that the Yanks had put him in their team, had insisted on frisking him on arrival. He was livid he was playing Number One. What chance would he have of scoring with the ground drying unevenly and the wind whisking the ball in every direction? His heart blackened in hatred against Drew, the enemy, whom he now suspected of cuckolding him. How could he not kill him? He was about to play for a country belonging to a wife who had deserted him, against a country he loathed. He had spent last night painting a white banner with the words 'The Falklands Belong to Argentina', which he hadsmuggled in with the tack and intended to brandish during the presentation.

Perdita, even more miserable and isolated, huddled in the stands next to the Royal Box. She wore dark gla.s.ses to hide her reddened eyes and the fact that there was no sun in the sky or in her life. After rowing with Red all night, terrified of losing him, she'd let him ride Tero. Now he'd banished her from the pony lines.

'You screwed my sleep. I don't want you hanging around dispensing gratuitous advice.'

The wind was taking everyone's skirts over their heads. Girls with good legs seemed less embarra.s.sed, reflected Perdita. She tipped Angel's sombrero further over her nose for there, arriving with Bas, were Rupert and Taggie. Taggie seemed to have solved the force ten problem by wearing a sand-coloured suit with shorts instead of a skirt, showing off her long, beautiful legs. Over her shoulders was thrown a huge crimson cashmere shawl. From her ears hung long silver earrings, both birthday presents from Rupert. He could give her everything in the world except a baby. With her dark hair lifting and her bright crimson lips as smooth as a tulip, she looked absolutely gorgeous. As usual Rupert never took his arm off her shoulders from the moment they sat down. Perdita's heart twisted with envy and loneliness. Would he never recognize her?