Lazlo went into the paddock. Trainers, owners and jockeys stood in isolated islands, discussing last minute tactics, the trainers telling jokes and making reassuring noises to the jockeys, like the bride’s father before the trip up the aisle.
‘Will the jockeys mount please,’ said the loudspeaker.
Chaperone was led in. She dropped her head on Lazlo’s shoulder in a friendly fashion, leaving a large smear of green froth on his suit.
‘I must go and wish him luck,’ said Angora, about to duck under the rails.
‘I wouldn’t,’ said Rupert. ‘He’s busy. Racing’s the only thing he takes really seriously.’
Apart from getting rid of me, thought Bella.
‘That’s Lazlo’s jockey, Charlie Lamas, getting up now,’ Rupert went on. ‘Lazlo brought him over from South America.’
Bella watched the little man with a leathery face and mournful dark eyes being hoisted up on to Chaperone’s back. He swore at her, as she gave two light-hearted bucks, and sent her clattering down the tarmac after the other horses.
‘Just time to place our bets,’ said Rupert, taking Bella’s arm.
They all backed Chaperone, except Bella who, out of sheer cussedness, backed an outsider, Hera’s Pride.
From the members’ stand they could see the heat haze shimmering on the rails, as the horses cantered down to the start.
Down below them, rumour and speculation seethed, cauldron-like round the bookies, with their knowing, magenta faces. The tic-tac men gesticulated frantically.
A minute before the start, Lazlo joined the party, looking louche and piratical, and chewing on his cigar.
‘Good luck,’ said Angora.
‘They’re under starter’s orders,’ said Rupert, raising his binoculars.
‘They’re orf,’ said the loudspeaker.
Bella found herself watching Lazlo, rather than the race.
She had to admire his sang-froid as the field rocketed up the centre of the course, like mercury up a thermometer plunged into boiling water.
His hands clenched slightly on his binoculars. He puffed slightly faster on his cigar as he watched the filly flare promisingly into the lead for an instant, then slip to the back of the field as they streamed past the post.
There were no histrionics, no effing and blinding. He just moved away from the cries of sympathy that showered down on him, unable to speak for a minute from disappointment.
‘Who won?’ asked Bella, a minute later.
‘Hera’s Pride,’ said Steve. ‘I can’t imagine anyone backing it.’
‘I did,’ said Bella. ‘To my mind she was the only one who was walking out,’ and, laughing in his face, she skipped down the steps to collect her winnings.
Her euphoria was short-lived. She lost a fiver on each of the next two races.
The high event of the day was the ladies’ race, sponsored by the Bond Street jewellers who make those diamond brooches with ruby conjunctivitis, which rear up on smart racing women’s lapels.
‘Let’s go and look at the gels,’ leered a whiskery old gentleman with a purple face.
‘Lazlo’s got a horse in this race called Baudelaire,’ said Rupert. ‘It’s a bit green, but Lazlo’s got very high hopes for it. It’s the black colt over there. He bought it in Ireland. They think black horses are unlucky there, so he got it cheap.’
Baudelaire, rolling his eyes wickedly, and snorting, marched round the paddock, snatching at his bit.
‘They’ve had a devil of a problem getting weight on him,’ said Rupert. ‘He won’t sleep; walks his box all night.’
‘Sounds rather like his master,’ said Angora.
Out came the women jockeys, one tall girl with blond hair and very green eyes, the rest small and very slight. Binoculars were immediately focused on the transparent breeches which clung to the girls’ svelte figures in the heat.
Chrissie looked at them enviously.
‘Lazlo says if I lose two stone, he’ll buy me a racehorse,’ she said.
‘Which is Lazlo’s jockey?’ said Steve.
‘The prettiest one, of course,’ said Chrissie. ‘The tall one with green eyes.’
‘Do you think he’s banged her yet?’ said Rupert.
Angora’s eyes narrowed for a second, then she said lightly, ‘If he hasn’t, it won’t be long.’
The start was in a different place this time, but Bella was determined to place her bet with the same bookie on the other side of the track.
‘I’ll meet you in the members’ enclosure,’ she called to Rupert.
‘Bella, wait, you’ll get lost,’ he shouted after her.
She was returning across the course when, just as she reached the white railings, she realized she’d dropped her betting slip.
Turning, she saw it lying in the middle of the course. Without looking to left or right, she ran back to get it.
Suddenly there was a thundering in her ears and the ten runners had come out of a side gate and were galloping towards her down to the start.
Terrified, she stood frozen to the spot, then tried to run back to the rails, but it was too late; they were on top of her. She screamed. They must crush her to death. Then, miraculously, Lazlo’s black horse had swerved frantically to the right to avoid her, depositing his blond rider on the grass, and galloping off down to the start.
The next moment Lazlo was picking her up. She’d never seen him so blazing angry before.
‘What the fucking hell do you think you’re doing? Trying to sabotage my horse?’
‘What the hell are you doing, trying to kill me?’ jibbered Bella. ‘She was riding straight at me, no doubt at your instructions, and if it hadn’t been for that darling horse swerving out of the way, I’d be a dead duck now.’
‘Don’t be bloody fatuous,’ said Lazlo. ‘Get off the course.’
He went over to pick up the blonde, who had staggered to her feet, shocked but unhurt.
Baudelaire, having shed his rider, was now having a high old time. Black tail straight up in the air, reins trailing on the ground, he cantered round the course, using up valuable energy.
To the delight of the crowd, and the shredded nerves of Lazlo, the stable lad and his blond rider, he resolutely refused to be caught.
Rupert fought through the crowd to Bella’s side.
‘Darling, are you all right?’
‘Of course I am. I just dropped my betting slip and your dear cousin’s jockey rode straight at me.’
‘She couldn’t do much else,’ said Rupert. ‘They haven’t got very good brakes, these horses.’
‘He’s doing marvellously now,’ said Bella admiringly, watching Baudelaire scampering away from a couple of stewards and come cantering back down the course. ‘He’s got real star quality.’
‘He’s going to trip over the reins. They’ve got legs of glass, these horses,’ said Rupert in anguish.
At last, after ten minutes cavorting, Baudelaire got bored and came to a violent, slithering halt in front of Lazlo, uttered a long, rolling snort through flared nostrils, and started eating grass.
The blond girl was put up again. Rupert, Lazlo and Bella went back to the stands to watch the race.
‘Hasn’t got a hope in hell now,’ said Lazlo angrily.
They were off, and for Bella it was the same old rat race. Listening to the whisper of ‘Here they come, here they come’ growing into a great roar, not being able to recognize any of the horses in the shifting kaleidoscope of colours.
‘My God,’ said Rupert, ‘she’s going to do it.’
And suddenly the tall blonde, crouched over Baudelaire’s ears like a Valkyrie, by sheer force of personality and leg muscle, seemed to shake off the rest of the field and drive the black horse first past the post.
The stand erupted in excitement.
‘Christ, what a finish. What a turn-up for the books,’ said Rupert.
Back in the winner’s enclosure, a great cheer went up as Baudelaire came in.
The blond girl looked as cool as a cucumber; the other girls dripped with sweat, puce in the face, their mascara running as though they’d just come out of the sauna.
Baudelaire, his coat covered with the kind of subdued lather you get after the first application of shampoo, marched round the enclosure, still rolling his eyes and laughing in his equine way. Congratulations were being showered on Lazlo like confetti.
Chapter Twelve
A great deal of champagne was drunk after that, and Bella got separated from Rupert, and was eventually driven back home by a lot of Lazlo’s racing cronies.
Chrissie, who’d come back with Rupert, had changed for dinner by the time Bella arrived. She looked prettier than Bella had ever seen her, wearing black, with a huge diamond glowing between her breasts.
‘That’s gorgeous,’ said Bella, hoping to conciliate her, and picked up the diamond between finger and thumb.
‘It’s called the Evening Star,’ said Chrissie, ignoring Bella and speaking directly to Angora. ‘It’s one of the most famous diamonds in the world. My mother would have a fit if she knew I was wearing it.’
Dinner finished, everyone discussed what to do next.
‘We could play sardines,’ said Angora. ‘Or why not murder? I haven’t played that since I was a child.’
‘When was that?’ said Steve. ‘Yesterday?’
Angora pulled a face at him.
Lazlo looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got to leave for the airport in an hour,’ he said.
‘Never mind,’ said Chrissie, looking really excited for the first time in days. ‘We can play a couple of rounds before you go.’
Oh no, thought Bella, not another of their horrible tribal games.
Angora dealt out the cards.
‘Good.’ Lazlo waved the King of Spades. ‘I’m the detective. I can stay down here and drink brandy.’
‘Wait till we get upstairs, Lazlo,’ said Chrissie. ‘Then turn the lights off at the main. We must do it properly.’
‘I don’t want to play,’ said Bella quickly.
‘Come on, don’t be a spoilsport,’ said Angora, taking her arm.
‘Well, I’m going to stay with Rupert then.’
‘No, you’re not,’ said Angora relentlessly as they climbed the main staircase. ‘You go along that passage, Bella. Rupert go this way, and the rest of us will fan out towards the West Wing.’
As soon as she was alone, Bella quickened her pace. If she could find some room and lock herself in, she’d be safe.
She started to run, then, suddenly, everything was plunged into suffocating darkness as the lights went out. She fell over a chair, then found a door. It was locked. Whimpering with terror, she crossed the passage and found another door. That was locked, too.
Then she heard footsteps behind her – slow, relentless. She gave a sob. Slimy terror gripped her. She crashed across the passage again, found another door. It was open.
She shot inside and pulled it shut behind her. But there was no lock. Her heart pounding, she leant against it.
The footsteps grew closer, then stopped outside. Panic-stricken, she bolted across the room, crashing into more furniture, trying to find the window. Then she heard someone stealthily opening the door, then, equally stealthily, closing it. Someone was in the room with her.
‘Who is it?’ she croaked in terror.
Then, suddenly, as a waft of scent reached her, she nearly fainted with relief. She’d recognize that smell anywhere. It was Steve’s aftershave.
‘Steve!’ she sobbed. ‘Oh, Steve!’
‘Are you by yourself?’ came the whisper.
‘Yes. I’m so frightened!’
She stumbled forward and, the next moment, she was in his arms and bursting into a flood of tears.
‘I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it! Stop torturing me like this!’
He kissed her as he’d never kissed her before – as though he wanted to devour her and overwhelm her with the force of his passion. He must love her to kiss her like that.
‘Why have you been so horrible to me?’ she moaned, when she could speak.
‘I had to make you come to heel. You can’t marry Rupert. You know that.’
‘Yes! Yes!’
‘Promise you’ll speak to him this evening?’
‘I promise! Anything, anything. Just kiss me again.’
He pulled her down on to the bed. They erupted against each other.
‘I want you,’ he whispered. ‘I want you – now.’
Any moment he’d be raping her and she didn’t care.
It was a few seconds before they realized someone was screaming horribly.
‘Bloody hell! Someone seems to have been murdered,’ he said.
‘Don’t go! Don’t leave me!’
He started to kiss her again, but the screaming went on, echoing unearthily through the house.
‘I’d better go and see what’s going on. I’ll sort you out later, but not until you’ve packed it in with Rupert.’ And he was gone.