by Fiona Walker
She longed to watch the round from the comfort of the TV tent surrounded by friends who would hold her hand and understand her current free-fall adrenaline rush, but as her family contingent was far too big to be smuggled in, she rushed them and Beetroot to watch from the large stand by the Lake which, for the first time in years, had spaces in it because of the awful weather.
‘You and Hugo seem to be getting on jolly well,’ panted Alexandra excitedly as they climbed up to a suitable vantage point.
‘We are,’ said Tash, listening as the commentator announced that Snob was clear over the enormous Zig Zag. She sat down between her mother and Ben, who were the only two to have kept up with her.
‘And Niall?’
‘What about Niall?’ Tash pulled Beetroot on to her knee and watched the rest of her family clamber up to join them, faces red with effort.
‘Is he having an affair with Zoe Goldsmith?’ Alexandra didn’t waste time with platitudes. Settling in beside Ben, Henrietta was agog that she was being so direct. ‘Sophia says he is.’
Sophia, furious at finding herself trapped at the far end of the family line, was leaning across her father, step-mother and husband in an attempt to listen in.
‘Yes, he is. They’re in love,’ Tash said simply. ‘Shut up a sec, Hugo’s getting a mention.’
The public address declared Hugo and Snob were clear through the first Luckington Lane crossing and going great guns. Tash was about the only person taking in every word – everyone else around her was listening in on her family’s extraordinary conversation.
‘Are you seriously saying Niall is in love with someone else?’ Henrietta stammered, pale eyes huge and disbelieving. ‘But you’re engaged to him, dammit!’ James was joining in now.
Tash ignored them. The commentary switched back to Hugo again: ‘. . . flying over centre walk and . . . clear over the second crossing, taking the direct route. Hugo Beauchamp really attacking this course on Foxy Snob now . . .’
She heaved a sigh of relief. They were almost a third of the way around already, with some of the nastiest fences already tackled. She was drenched in nervous sweat. The Three Scythes was in just a couple of fences’ time.
Alexandra and Sophia were both squawking excitedly about Niall, but their voices were drowned by an enormous cheer, and prop-forward-faced Brian Sedgewick, the country’s favourite, thundered into view on his second ride, Foreign Agent. Within seconds they had splashed through the Lake in copy-book fashion, leaping out over the upturned boat and pounding towards the Pick-ups, drips flying. There was tremendous support for him at the event now that people had found out his younger horse had lost an eye. Such was the fickle nature of public sentiment, Tash realised, it had more or less eclipsed the greater loss Hugo had suffered earlier that week.
‘You don’t seem that bothered, Tash,’ Alexandra wailed as the cheering died down.
‘I’m not,’ she said simply. ‘Now keep quiet, I want to hear this bit.’
‘. . . Hugo Beauchamp and Foxy Snob clear over the Vicarage Vee now, with a tremendous bold jump over the direct route – this combination really flying. Coming up to the Three Scythes – no one’s successfully tackled the direct route on this fence so far, but Hugo seems to be going for it . . .’
Tash held her breath in horror, digging her elbow hard into her mother’s side as she opened her mouth to speak again. Furious, Alexandra shut up.
‘. . . but no, Hugo’s tackling the fence to the left . . . first time we’ve seen this today . . . and he’s through and clear – very clever bit of riding there. These two very much in contention despite their overnight dressage score . . . Lucinda Chucklesworth and Ravish A Radish, a refusal at the Sunken Road . . .’
Tash was grinning from ear to ear. He’d taken her advice and ridden the route she suggested. She wanted to hug him to bits, she was so proud.
‘I must say, Tash,’ Henrietta was talking again, her voice high and emotional, ‘you’re not reacting at all as we imagined.’
‘Am I not?’ She beamed at her step-mother.
‘No – we thought you’d be terribly upset!’
‘I couldn’t be happier.’ Tash listened as the Tannoy declared Hugo and Snob over the Leap of Luxury and heading down the long gallop to the Lake.
As whistles blew to warn of his impending arrival, Tash clutched on to Beetroot and blocked out the jabbering of her family all around her, instead craning around to catch her first sight of him. As soon as the galloping red streak was in sight, her only thoughts were for the horse she loved and the man she adored.
The Lake this year consisted of a huge leap into deep water over a fence that had been built to resemble a storm-wrecked jetty. Then one had to turn sharply right in the water to jump out over a ‘ship-wrecked’ rowing boat which had been hollowed out so that one jumped on to a platform then into the arrow-head of its bow, finally bounding out over the rear of its hull.
Tash could see that Hugo was having to use every last ounce of his considerable strength and skill to keep control – his face was gritted with determination and coated with mud, his steel-strong legs barely moving as he channelled all Snob’s furious energy into his great, spring-like hind quarters. She suddenly knew for certain that had she been on board, she would have never been able to hold him like that. Snob was absolutely fearsome in his desperation to get going and get at it, as though terrified that the fences would walk away without him to tackle them. But, thundering towards the complex, he seemed to take in the crowd for the first time, and panic, utterly fazed by the great, gawping mass of faces, bustling bodies, bright hats and waggy-tailed dogs. Suddenly all over the place, he careered sideways and lunged into a series of terrifying, panic-stricken, nose-diving bucks that threw Hugo entirely off balance and dragged the reins from his rain-wetted gloves. The next moment, Snob was accelerating towards the Lake at full throttle, head between his knees. As they got within strides of the fence, he threw up his neck and surged forwards.
Oblivious of all around her, Tash screamed.
Battling to get Snob’s head down, Hugo barely had time to check him or see a stride before the fence was upon them. They plunged into the water at a racketing pace and seemed to be leaping deeper and deeper into the Lake in great dolphin-arcs of splashing water. Tash was amazed that Hugo stayed on board amidst so much see-saw lunging and kicked-up spray. She’d almost certainly have been doggy-paddling to shore by now.
‘Oh God, he’s going for a swim!’ Ben groaned, covering his eyes.
The crowd was starting to cheer rather uncharitably as they saw another fall coming, but at the last minute, Hugo managed to gather up the unravelling knitting of reins in front of him and pull Snob around to the right on an accurate enough line to get him clambering out over the boat in an inelegant but effective fashion before pelting towards the Pick-ups.
On the stands Tash and Ben clutched each other for support and screamed with delight.
Ben was the first to recover.
‘Er – yup, jolly good that, huh? Sorry to grab you like that, Tash.’ He backed off and turned pink.
Puffing loudly, the Merediths’ au pair had clambered up on to the stands with a freshly changed Henry. Both Lotty and Josh, on Sophia’s far side, were wailing loudly now.
‘They both need the lavatory, Bernadette,’ Sophia announced before the poor girl had a chance to sit down. ‘Can you take them?’
‘But, Madame, there is ver’ long queues.’
‘Now!’ Sophia snapped.
‘Oui, Madame.’ Handing Henry over, she grabbed the kids and panted off again.
‘Good way for her to lose weight,’ Sophia said smugly, turning to Tash. ‘So are you marrying Niall or not?’
‘The truth is,’ Tash stood up, pausing to listen as the commentary announced that Hugo was safely up the Beaufort Staircase, ‘I haven’t seen him lately to ask – excuse me, I’m going to run across and see Snob finish.’
Leaving them all gaping, Tash raced across the ca
r parks and just caught Snob pounding the fastest route through the Quarry as though the mud wasn’t there. As he streaked off into the distance with Hugo huddled over his neck, Tash did a little rain-dance of happiness and pelted off to wait at the finish, where Jenny, Penny and India were already installed beneath the tall copper beech, listening eagerly to the public address as it estimated that Hugo was the closest to the time yet.
‘If he goes inside he could take the lead.’ India jumped up and down excitedly.
Consulting her scribbled-over programme, Penny scrunched up her face as she did some hasty mental arithmetic. ‘I think he would, you know. But only if he makes the time.’
‘I shouldn’t think there’s much chance of that,’ Tash laughed. ‘But he should be in with the chance of an overnight place.’
Behind them, Julia Ditton had at last got Gus in a talkative mood and was asking him about his round.
‘Fucking awful going, to say the least – we were bloody swimming out there. Thank God he had great big buggery studs in or we’d’ve been shafted by this eff-awful weather.’
Julia waved at the camera-man to stop.
‘Could you not swear, Gus?’ she asked politely. ‘Thankfully this isn’t going out live as they’re broadcasting the three-fortyfive from Doncaster at the moment.’
‘Oh – right.’ Gus grinned. ‘Well, Julia,’ he nodded feverishly as they shot again, ‘it was a great round – just great. The horse was simply great.’
‘And how did it feel to triumph over the weather?’
‘Great, basically.’
‘Any sticky moments?’
‘Gratefully no – he did a great job.’
‘Thank you, Gus Moncrieff. Now back to Mike and Lorna in the commentary box.’ She turned to give Gus a kiss. ‘That was crap, but thanks.’ Winking at Penny, she wandered off to interview Brian Sedgewick, who had just weighed in, his prop-forward’s face red with an endorphin high, and currently lying in third place on Foreign Agent – one behind Gus. The fast New Zealander was still in the lead.
Tash bounced around in an agitated state as she listened to the public address describing Hugo and Snob’s rather reckless jumps over the Huntsman’s Hangover complex and the windfalls in the coppice that preceded their appearing in view.
‘There they are!’ Penny shrieked as they came pelting out of the wood and galloped towards the Lamb’s Creek, demolishing most of the top of it.
‘Jesus, they’re going fast.’ Gus held his breath.
‘That horse is so bloody fit.’ Jenny stood beside Tash. ‘What d’you feed him on – kerosene?’
‘And sex.’ Tash watched them pelting towards the last, with Snob at last seeming to ease off a little as he allowed Hugo to change his legs and balance him.
Tash felt her heart puff with pride as she watched them work together like a couple of slick old pros, pounding up to the finish – Snob with his ears pricked and eyes shining, Hugo with his stopwatch held in front of his nose and his legs urging to the line.
As ever, Snob took ages to pull up, almost flattening the finishing steward who welcomed them home with his bowler hat aloft.
‘Was I inside?’ Hugo panted as he finally walked Snob back to his support team.
‘Think so,’ Penny told him, peering at the timing clock. ‘Maybe a couple of seconds over.’
Hardly seeming to take this in, Hugo was staring down at Tash as she took Snob’s head and loosened his crossed noseband, her hands shaking.
‘That,’ he told her, laughing delightedly, ‘was one of the most exciting quarter of an hour’s of my life – and I’m including the three minutes before the start.’
Heart hammering, Tash buried an unstoppable smile in Snob’s cheek.
As he jumped off and started to ungirth, the course vets rushed in once again to take Snob’s heartbeat and temperature, and Hugo was instantly cornered by the finishing steward who went through the usual routine of asking him whether he’d incurred any penalties out on the course, waiting for him to gather up the saddle so that he could lead him off to the weighing-in tent.
Moving to Snob’s off-side to help, Tash unbuckled the second breast-plate strap, catching her fingers against Hugo’s gloved ones across Snob’s withers as she helped heave off the saddle. For a moment he gripped them tight, but he was almost instantly swept away to the weighing-in tent, his progress being filmed eagerly by the scurfy roaming camera-man.
In the finishing area, congratulations rained down on Hugo and he was pounced upon by Julia and her TV team as soon as he emerged from the weighing-in tent, still completely breathless from his round and clutching Snob’s saddle to his number-bibbed chest.
‘We make you in the lead right now by one tenth of a penalty, Hugo.’ Julia blocked his path before he could head back to his team. ‘How d’you feel about that?’
‘Well, pretty pleased, obviously, although my arms ache like an Oxford rower’s after the boat race.’ His eyes searched the crowd of faces around him.
He suddenly reached out and pulled a horrified Tash into shot, rival jacket label flashing madly.
‘Here’s the girl you should be congratulating,’ he said with startling generosity. ‘She put in all the hard work on him.’
‘Are you pleased, Tash?’ Julia asked as the furry microphone loomed large.
‘We’re both puffed to chieces – I mean, chuffed to pieces,’ she managed to gulp.
‘And is this the wedding present you wanted?’ Julia winked.
Tash looked momentarily lost, glancing from Hugo to Snob, already being sponged down by India and Penny.
‘We’ll have to wait for tomorrow to see about that,’ Hugo said firmly.
Thirty-Nine
* * *
WATCHING THE LIVE BADMINTON transmission on the huge, high-tech television which the film crew had rigged up in the temporary Haydown green room, Lisette chewed her lip anxiously.
‘Did I miss much?’ Sally asked as she wandered back in with a fresh jug of water to refill the coffee filter.
‘Nothing important.’ Lisette watched her as she poured, slopping most of it over one of Hugo’s very grand, very ring-marked side dressers. She’d really let herself go that week, and was suddenly reverting back to the scruffy hair and old leggings look Lisette despised. She also kept talking boringly about her children and sloping off to telephone them at her parents’ house just as Lisette wanted her to do something.
‘Who’s in the lead at the moment?’
Lisette gritted her teeth. ‘Hugo.’
‘But that’s wonderful!’ Sally spilled the rest of the water as she spun round.
‘Isn’t it?’ Lisette stared fixedly at the screen where Julia Ditton had cornered a mud-splattered Lucy Field.
‘It’s a shame my idea didn’t work out, really,’ Sally sighed. ‘Just think of the publicity you’d be getting now if Tash’s horse was called Four Poster Bed.’
‘Your sister-in-law isn’t even riding the horse, Sally,’ Lisette snapped. ‘It was a hopeless idea in the first place. There was never any publicity mileage in it.’
Sally looked at her in alarm, her usually merry eyes wide with hurt. ‘That’s what Matty said,’ she whispered.
‘Well, I’m afraid he was right.’ Lisette’s voice softened as she realised how harsh she had sounded. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I was so angry with him when he told me that, I sprinkled a beef stock cube on his pizza when he wasn’t looking,’ Sally remembered in horror.
‘Well, I’d think long and hard before you force-feed him the fatted calf after last Friday’s fiasco,’ Lisette muttered.
Sally closed her eyes and turned back to the filter machine.
‘So have you decided whether you’re going to divorce him yet?’ Lisette asked bluntly.
‘I haven’t made up my mind.’
‘But he humiliated you in front of everyone last Friday night,’ Lisette pointed out. ‘I couldn’t believe my ears when he asked Zoe Goldsmith whether she reme
mbered the night they got off together in the larder. I thought he was talking about some teenage necking session in a cheap Russian motorcar for a moment, and then I realised that he meant right there at the fucking farm, while you were in London, barefoot and pregnant with Linus.’
‘That’s hardly grounds for divorce,’ Sally muttered, her face colouring with humiliation. She was terrified someone would overhear. They were working with a skeleton crew that day to save on money, but Flavia Watson – Lisette’s super-efficient production manager – was only in the next room chatting on the phone, and several of the cast were milling around the house, awaiting the start of the last scene of the day which was delayed because Niall had not yet returned from lunch.
‘Maybe not.’ Lisette muted the television as the coverage moved on to golf and turned to face her. ‘If you think you can forgive him the infidelity, that is.’
‘He only kissed her!’ Sally banged down the jug. ‘I seem to recall you did a hell of a lot more than just kiss someone at a party before Niall divorced you. You went to parties back then where you’d slept with practically every man in the room more recently than you’d slept with Niall.’
‘I’m a good mixer,’ said Lisette smoothly. ‘And we’re not talking about Niall here, besides which I was the one who divorced him. We’re talking about Matty. He deliberately made a fool of you at that dinner party.’
‘Perhaps I deserved it.’ Sally searched through cardboard boxes for a fresh packet of filter papers. ‘I was behaving really childishly – I only invited him to come so that I could show him how well I was getting on without him, how easy it would be for me to start a new life. He genuinely wanted to tell me the truth. And I know it was an awful way to do it, but I think he was at his wits’ end. It was Zoe Goldsmith I really felt sorry for. Her children were there.’
‘They seemed to find it highly amusing.’ Lisette’s eyes flickered at the mention of Zoe Goldsmith.
‘They’re great kids,’ Sally sighed. ‘I hope my lot grow up to be as level-headed and open about everything.’