Jump! (91 page)

‘Please go,’ she screamed.

‘Silly girlie, this time I’ll make it really worthwhile. In the sack and out,’ purred Shade. ‘I’ll make you come until you scream.’

‘What about Olivia?’ gasped Amber.

‘Olivia’s skiing. You and I are special. A ride for a ride, remember? You loved it last time, even if you’re pretending you didn’t.’

He thrust his huge, ringed hand into the neck of her dress, backs of his fingers digging into her breasts, before tearing the silk, sending buttons flying, as he tore it off her. Jack the bodice ripper.

‘Bloody don’t,’ howled Amber. ‘That’s my favourite dress. Mariska Kay made it specially for me.’

‘Relax, I’ll buy you half a dozen more. Let me loosen your girths.’ Undoing her leather belt, Shade slapped her with it before dropping it on the floor.

‘Beautiful breasts,’ he gloated. Hot breath scorched her forehead as he greedily grabbed, squeezed and tweaked, then, sliding his hands round her back, pulled her against him.

‘Let me go, you bastard,’ spat Amber, but as her knee came up, it encountered his towering cock.

‘Don’t try that silly little game.’ As Shade plunged a great sluglike tongue into her mouth, she was tempted to bite it off.

‘Let me go,’ she mumbled, tugging her head free. ‘It’s not fair to Olivia.’

‘Olivia won’t know a thing about it.’

‘Yes she will,’ said a chilling voice, ‘because I’ll tell her, and these horrid little things,’ Marius was clicking away with Amber’s oblong silver camera, ‘have their uses.’

‘What the fuck?’ Rigid with shock and fury for a second, Shade hurled Amber across the room so she hit the table, and crashed to the floor sending the champagne flying.

‘Gimme that camera.’

‘Not content with stealing my wife and wasting champagne at two hundred and seventy-five euros a bottle,’ drawled Marius,
cool as the fallen ice bucket despite Shade giving him three stone, ‘you’re now trying to steal my stable jockey, you fat bastard.’

Next moment, Shade had grabbed the champagne bottle, smashed it and was brandishing the jagged edge in Marius’s face.

‘Fancy some surgery?’ he hissed.

In reply Marius gathered up a large pale blue lamp. ‘Drop that bottle or I’ll brain you.’

‘You wouldn’t dare.’

‘Oh yes I would, and call the police and have you up on a rape charge, you fucking letch.’

Marius was so unafraid that, to Amber’s amazement, Shade suddenly dropped the bottle and, growling like a huge grizzly, lumbered out of the suite.

‘I’ll tell Olivia her ex is back fucking the stable staff and I’ll bury you,’ he shouted as he slammed the door behind him.

Struggling up off the carpet, Amber tiptoed over the broken glass, collapsing on the sofa, trembling uncontrollably, burning face in her hands.

‘Horrible, horrible man.’

‘It’s all right, darling.’ Marius dropped a hand on her piled-up hair, which was also collapsing.

‘I’m so sorry,’ sobbed Amber. ‘It was all my fault. I slept with him in exchange for a ride because I was so cross with you for not putting me up on History after Stratford.’

‘Was he good in bed?’

‘No, vile, crude, brutal, totally lacking in finesse. “Pleased hisself,” as Joey would say.’ Amber gave a choked half-laugh.

Glancing up, she was amazed to find Marius smiling in delight.

‘He’s right.’ He pulled her up into his arms, caressing her breasts with a flattened palm as if he were gentling a terrified horse. ‘They are lovely and so are you. I’ve been an absolute shit to you, particularly over History.’ Looking down at her face, he ran a bitten-nailed finger along her quivering lower lip. ‘Don’t cry, let’s go to bed.’

‘It’s no good,’ sobbed Amber, jumping away from him. ‘I want clean sheets, not a fling to anaesthetize the pain. You’re still crazy about Olivia. If we go to bed, you’ll still be crazy about her in the morning. I’ve got too many other things to be sad about.’

‘Hush,’ whispered Marius, and kissed her until she stopped struggling. ‘Well?’

‘Oh fuck, let’s have a fuck, you are so goddamed sexy and an excellent kisser, but only just this once.’ Then she paused. ‘Did you say “stable jockey”?’

‘Yes,’ said Marius, pushing her into the bedroom.

*

When her early call woke her, Marius had gone. Staggering replete, bow-legged into the bathroom, she found he had broken her lipstick scrawling, ‘Definitely ride of the century,’ on the mirror.

Rafiq had been so gutted he had retired to his bedroom and refused to go out with the other jockeys. He sat on his bed staring at the white telephone with its white pad and sharpened pencil, desperate to ring Tommy and tell her how much he loved her and why he had been so cruelly pushing her away. But he was frightened to do so in case, even here, calls were being tapped.

Hearing a thud, he jumped out of his shivering skin, then found an envelope had been shoved under his door. By the time, unfamiliar with hotel bedrooms, he’d managed to unlock and open the door, the landing outside was deserted.

His name had been typed on the envelope. His hands were shaking so much he tore the letter inside, which was wrapped round a thousand-rupee note. This in turn was wrapped round a big needle threaded with black twine. Rafiq swore as he pricked his finger, scattering drops of blood, smearing the letter which in Urdu and black capitals advised him to buy himself a shroud as he would be needing one very soon.

Jibbering a prayer to Allah under his breath, Rafiq fell to the floor. Similar love notes had been sent to victims by the warlord alleged to have murdered Mrs Bhutto. This meant the side he had once supported so passionately would turn against him unless he kept on pulling horses.

Despite all the terrorist camp had taught him about life being but a trifle, it had become very precious since he had fallen in love with Tommy. She would be devastated about Bullydozer.

Oh Bullydozer! For a moment the sense of loss wiped out all feelings of terror. Then the telephone went. What dread threats awaited him? But it was only Tresa.

‘We’re having a party in Awesome’s jacuzzi. Why don’t you join us?’

Rafiq replied that he didn’t feel like partying after what had happened that afternoon.

‘Oh, don’t mention Bullydozer,’ said Tresa, ‘or you’ll set me off. I’m so upset.’

Valent was devastated by Bullydozer’s death. Could he have saved him if he’d been there on the day? A horse of David Nicholson’s had recovered from a broken neck and foreleg to win the Scottish Grand National. He had been so proud of rescuing Bully from H-H and had identified with the big, shy, affectionate, bumbling horse. He had already set in motion plans to run him in a Pauline Edwards Memorial Race at Worcester on Pauline’s birthday and to invite Ryan, his wife Diane and the grandchildren down for the day as a way of making amends.

With Bullydozer’s death, his plans were in smithereens. Wilkie was too highly handicapped for the race and Furious would bite everyone, so Valent instead invited the family to lunch in London, with a trip to see a marvellous play called
Warhorse
afterwards. When he originally planned Pauline’s race, Valent had hoped Bonny would come along and get to know Ryan and Diane, but now he was rather relieved when she told him it would be ‘inappropriate’ if she were present.

‘It’s yours and Ryan’s special day, stay as long as you like, I’ve got lines to learn. I need to engage with
The Journey of Bonny
.’ This was a dramatized documentary in which she would play herself.

Lunch and the theatre were a huge success. Valent and Ryan talked their heads off, made plans for the future, and the grandchildren were very well behaved and sweet.

Ringing the office as he was tucking into profiteroles, Valent got a message that a Trixie Macbeth had rung. She was in London. Could he spare twenty minutes to see her some time? Ringing straight back, Valent told her to come round to his house in St John’s Wood in the early evening, after Ryan and the family had left for Yorkshire and before he left for China.

Trixie was shivering outside when he got home, terribly pale, her hair hidden by a black wool hat.

‘Granny’s hyacinths, that’s nice,’ she said listlessly as he showed her into the drawing room. Having sat down on one of Bonny’s pure white sofas, legs in red tights sprawling like a colt’s, before he could even offer her a drink she burst into tears.

‘Please don’t tell Mum, she won’t understand,’ she begged. ‘I can’t talk to her and Dad’s so obsessed with Tilda Flood, and Romy and Martin will be so smug and judgemental. I’m pregnant. I loved him so much. I don’t want Granny to be hurt, but it’s Seth. He was so kind and loving at the beginning, then he backed off. It was all stop-go, stop-go. Then on the night of
Ant and Cleo,
before I realized it, I was in a bedroom. Bonny and Rogue were in there. Seth made me go to bed with them. I’m sorry, Valent, I don’t mean to hurt you, it probably didn’t mean anything to them. But it was gross.’

She was crying so much Valent often couldn’t catch what she was saying. He just sat patting her shoulder as the story of Stratford unrolled, so angry he couldn’t speak. Then he got up and poured her a brandy.

‘Afterwards,’ Trixie took a gulp and choked, ‘I refused to see him any more, but I couldn’t stop missing him. And when I bumped into him on the weekend of the floods, stupidly I forgave him and we started up again, and now I’m pregnant.’

‘How long?’

‘Only two months. Please don’t tell Granny, she’s away this weekend. She adores Seth so much. Perhaps I got pregnant to get attention. Mum and Dad just aren’t interested in me.’

‘You poor little luv.’ Valent took her hand. ‘What d’you want to do?’

‘I don’t know. Half of me wants an abortion, I don’t want anything of Seth’s. But part of me wants the baby, though teenage mums are such a cliché, more of us than in any other country, a fuck to get a flat.’ The words were ugly, falling from her woebegone mouth. ‘I don’t want to be just another statistic. And I don’t know if I could support a baby.’

‘I’ll help you. You’re a very bright and very beautiful young woman,’ said Valent. ‘What you need is a job.’

Valent had been planning to fly straight back to China, where he was having problems in the toy factory over his latest brainchild. Instead he flew to Staverton airport, where a car brought him back to Willowwood. There were no stars or moon, snow was idling down, whitening the fields. There were new blondes on the block, however, hazels with their cascades
of yellow catkins competing with the dark gold willows.

Valent hadn’t bothered to warn Bonny he was coming. Going upstairs, he found her at her dressing table in a grey silk dressing gown, beautiful and scented. She was brushing her ash-blonde hair, like an actress in an old film, like Sir Francis Framlingham’s Gwendolyn.

The bed was rumpled.

‘I’ve been studying for so long I had to have a nap’ were her first words. ‘How did it go?’

‘Good.’ Valent sat down on a mauve chaise longue so delicate he always felt it might buckle under him, and got out his chequebook.

‘How were Ryan and Diane?’

‘Fine.’ Valent was writing a cheque with lots of 0s. Bonny wriggled her toes in excitement in the thick blond carpet. She had seen a divine cream coat at Lindka Cierach’s last week.

‘I hope you’ve invited Ryan and Diane down here, I am so looking forward to meeting them.’

As Valent handed Bonny the cheque for £300,000 she didn’t notice his hand was shaking.

‘Ooooo, lovely,’ she cried. ‘Is this a birthday present?’

‘No, it’s a leaving present,’ said Valent harshly. ‘Get out.’

Bonny was remonstrating noisily when Valent opened the wardrobe and Seth fell out, wearing nothing but a pale pink negligee as a loincloth. He was flabbergasted when Valent shook him by the hand.

‘Thanks, mate, you’ve done me a very good turn. Now hop it, both of you.’

‘You can’t end it like this,’ screamed Bonny.

‘Oh yes I can.’ Valent’s voice was as rattling thunder. ‘If either of you act up, I’ve just been talking to Trixie. She hadn’t reached sixteen when you took her to bed at Stratford, you could both go to prison.’

‘She’s a lying little tramp,’ shrieked Bonny. ‘Nothing happened at Stratford.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Valent. ‘She knew you had a diamond in your labia, and for someone who’s always making such a fuss about being abused, you don’t practise what you preach.
The Journey of Bonny
’s going to look pretty damn hypocritical. Now beat it. Give me a forwarding address and I’ll send all your stooff on.’

‘I’ll be living with Seth.’

‘Good, I’ll send everything round to the Old Rectory,’ said Valent, noticing Seth had gone green.

*

‘“And out of Eden took their solitary way,”’ sighed Seth, as most ignominiously they set off through the snow.

‘At least we can be together,’ said Bonny, who had at least managed to grab a full-length mink.

‘It’s a bit more complicated than that,’ said Seth. ‘Corinna and I go back a long way and I couldn’t possibly support you in the way you’ve been accustomed. Valent’ll cool down. Come back tonight, but tomorrow Corinna’s coming back from America.’