The End of Summer Page 5

  James had been banned from riding Rocket for a week, but he was hoping to persuade the doc to shorten the sentence by being as helpful as he possibly could.

  Missing the show didn’t matter in the least, it was exploration time that was ticking away while he was sat doing nothing; the school holidays were much too short. He was annoyed with himself for having been caught out. Next time he was going to have to be better organised. He sat working it all out, minding the lunch and Quaker while everyone else watched Margaret jump. Well, actually, it had stared out with just Quaker. Now he had Samson and Tranquil and Echo as well, though John and Susan had said they would be back in a minute.

  “Hello.”

  James squinted up to see Sebastian looking down at him uncertainly from Idris’ back. “Hello. Are you going in for the gymkhana?”

  Sebastian laughed. “No. I don’t know how! What about you? Where’s Rocket?”

  “I wasn’t allowed to bring him.” James stood up and looked defiantly at Sebastian, daring him to ask why, but Sebastian didn’t. He slithered down from his pony instead.

  “What are you doing then?”

  “Not much. I have to stay here.” James hesitated. Sebastian seemed all right he supposed. “Actually, I was planning an expedition.”

  “So what do you think of him?” Patricia asked.

  Christopher didn’t know what to say. Patricia’s so-called ‘showjumper’ seemed half asleep, almost stumbling over the practice jump the first time, though he managed to clear it the second.

  “He’s all right, isn’t he?” he chose non-commitment, and a grin to go with it that Patricia could interpret any way she wanted.

  “I know he needs to wake up a bit,” she said, “but I’d rather wait for that. He can be sharp if you’re not careful.”

  Christopher maintained his smile. “We wouldn’t want that!”

  He hadn’t really had much in the way of expectations about Patricia’s other horse, but he still found he was disappointed. Patricia had everything it seemed; luxury horsebox, amiable parents, her own all-weather riding school under construction at her new house, she said. And she had no idea how to ride.

  “Your horse is a cracker,” Patricia said. “Though he’s a little small isn’t he? That must limit how high he can jump I’d have thought.”

  “You’d be surprised.” Christopher wondered whether she meant to be so insulting. He thought of Marion, suddenly experiencing a stab of concern he never would have expected. Marion dragged through the mud by crazy Columbine. Had Marion made it home OK? Would she? He realised he’d been thinking about Crusoe as his horse, but of course, he wasn’t.

  “So who do you think our main competition is going to be?” Patricia asked.

  “I don’t know that many people here really. And you never know what might happen in a jumping competition; that’s the fun of it!” Which was almost entirely untrue. There was nobody there at all who stood any chance of beating Crusoe.

  Jean wanted to eat lunch with the Radcliffes and everyone and Gay couldn’t think of any kind of excuse to get out of it. She didn’t want to have to make conversation. But at least in a large group it is possible to sit with your own thoughts and let the rest of them get on with it. The Radcliffes were always loud. Evelyn was talking to John and Susan about her job and what was wrong with it, and Andrew was telling his mother that he didn’t like egg sandwiches. James, Jean and Sebastian were sat together in a secretive kind of way that Gay felt too dispirited even to wonder about. Dr Radcliffe seemed, impossibly, to have fallen asleep.

  Only Margaret was sat quiet, eating an apple and staring into space. Margaret had won both the juvenile jumping classes, but she didn’t seem keen to brag about it. She didn’t even look particularly cheerful. It was more like she had expected to win, so winning was completely ordinary and nothing to get excited about. And Margaret had ridden brilliantly. It was easy to think that the pony was doing the work and all Margaret had to do was sit on him; that was what most people thought. Gay didn’t want to think about her own performance. They had managed to get fourth in the junior class, but in the seniors Sonnet had had no impulsion at all and had knocked almost everything down.

  Gay was not used to feeling miserable. She knew she was going to have to do something about it and the thing she was going to do would involve Margaret. Margaret picked up one of the cups she had won and stared at it, frowning. Gay opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again. She simply couldn’t, not today anyway.

  Christopher was seething. Crusoe had become unbalanced and slipped, clipping a brick off the wall; that was all it had taken. Then Margaret Radcliffe had ruthlessly cleared everything. If only he could go back and ride it again! But that was always the way with jumping competitions. There was always an element of luck involved. He consoled himself by thinking of Margaret Radcliffe’s performance as pure luck, even if he didn’t really believe it.

  “Penny for them?” Patricia asked.

  Christopher smiled. “Oh, I was just wondering whether I ought to have entered the open jumping after all.”

  “You still can can’t you?”

  They were eating lunch in Patricia’s horse lorry which had a living area with seats and a kitchen. Even the lunch was ridiculous luxury with smoked salmon pate and a sophisticated salad.

  “I think I’ll save it for the next show. I intend to reign supreme in the gymkhana events though. How about you?”

  “Oh, I never enter games. They upset well bred horses, I think. We’ll stay to watch the open, but then we’re going home.”

  Christopher bit back his natural response to that. Patricia’s father was sat in the cab of the lorry reading the paper, and he might hear. And besides, Christopher would be an idiot to alienate Patricia with all her facilities and her interesting horse. “Fair enough,” he said.

  Patricia had been right about Cloud needing to ‘wake up’. He was a different horse when he did, and he could certainly jump. But he wasn’t schooled and Patricia was no use to him at all. He had gone round the course alternating leaping out of his skin, crashing and refusing. Christopher itched to ride him.

  “Perhaps we could ride over sometime next week and see your new place?”

  “Yes do! If you come on Wednesday the school will be finished and we can put the jumps in there. You can try Cloud if you like. I’m sure you’ll be able to get him going better than I can!”

  Christopher was sure of that too.

  Susan was enjoying herself even more than she had expected to. The children’s jumping had been absolutely thrilling and it had been such fun sitting with everyone through lunch. It was actually better, she decided, not to be riding. There was plenty of vicarious excitement to be had without all the worry and stress. She leaned against John and sighed. Most of the others had wandered away to look for hot tea and to swing on swings.

  “There’s a dance on tonight in town,” Evelyn announced. “I demand that the two of you come along.”

  John frowned. “You won’t catch me dancing,’ he said.

  “You want Dick for dancing,” Susan said. “He’s absolutely brilliant!”

  “Did I hear my name taken in vain?” Dick asked. Echo had decided he didn’t like standing tied to the fence. Dick didn’t blame him really, and hadn’t minded spending most of the lunch interval walking around the show site finding different places to graze. He had come back to John and Evelyn because it was time to start looking for a practice jump.

  “Susan says you’re a fabulous dancer. Is it true?” asked Evelyn.

  Dick grinned. “I have been known to cut the odd rug,” he said. “Is this some kind of proposition?”

  “Yes. You’re going dancing with me tonight and John and Susan are coming too. You don’t have to dance,” she added to John. “You can just stand around and look handsome if you like, but you’re coming.”

  “Well if that’s settled do you think you could give me a leg up John? I seem to have inherited Noel’s needle or
something, my legs have gone wobbly.”

  “No don’t do that John,” Susan said. “I think the reason your legs are wobbly is probably to do with not having had lunch. You haven’t had any have you?”

  “Well I…” Dick had forgotten about eating what with watching Margaret, looking after Echo and worrying about riding two horses in a jumping competition without falling off. “We need to find a practice jump now though.”

  “There’s plenty of time,” said John. “I’ll take Echo. Come on Susan; let’s spruce these horses up a bit. Evelyn, you’re in charge of making Dick eat.”

  “Right you are,” said Evelyn. She seemed to find the whole thing amusing. “Is this what you do nowadays?” she asked after John and Susan had gone. “Act all pathetic and force everyone else into the role of nanny?”

  “It isn’t an act,” Dick said, smiling. “I am pathetic.”

  “Rubbish! You’re a grown-up aren’t you? If you’re trying to tell me you can’t even manage to feed yourself adequately I’m not having any of it. Here I was being envious of you and all your independence. Perhaps I shouldn’t have bothered.” She’d nevertheless found him some sandwiches from the seemingly endless Radcliffe food supplies. “You’re just a manipulative little so and so, that’s all.”

  Dick found himself startled out of a comfortable place he hadn’t realised he was in. “Oh well, even if I am, I’m going to have to give it up pretty soon,” he said. “I don’t suppose I’ll find too many nannies in the army.”

  “What army?” Evelyn said sharply.

  “I’m off to do National Service at the end of this summer.”

  “Whatever for?” Evelyn seemed incredulous. “I can’t think why anyone would do that if they can help it. Roger’s dreading it. He says he’s going to put it off as long as possible in the hope it’ll have been abolished by then. “

  Dick laughed. “It’s kind of compulsory.”

  “But you could get out of it easily couldn’t you? I mean, you’re hardly the physical specimen they’re looking for. Tell them you have psychological problems, that wouldn’t even be a lie! Or pretend you’re queer for God’s sake.”

  Dick was surprised at how angry he suddenly felt. “It never seems to occur to you people that I might want to go, and even less that I might be any good at it. Perhaps I deserve a reputation for cowardice, but I am actually trying to be better than that believe it or not. My so-called independence isn’t that at all. It’s just a temporary resting place, patronised by rich friends as my father would say. This is a chance to do something purposeful and useful.”

  “But National Service isn’t some kind of honourable endeavour. You can’t possibly be such a romantic as to think that! It’s a scandalous way of wasting half of the young people in this country’s time when there are plenty of other things they ought to be doing. Honestly, all you do is run up and down hills in some field in Essex and polish things. Thank God I was born female is all I can say.”

  “There aren’t any hills in Essex.” Dick’s anger dissipated as quickly as it had arrived. Just because Evelyn could assert her opinion loudly didn’t mean she was right. Different people see things different ways, that’s all it was.

  “But we’re still going dancing tonight?” Evelyn asked.

  “Yes we are. But first we have to find the temerity to actually ride in the open jumping at a show.”

  “What other jumping are we supposed to go in for?” Evelyn said, surprised. “They won’t have us in the seniors any more you know.”

  “What were you talking to James and Sebastian about?” Gay wanted to go home but there was no way she could. She was committed to staying to the end of all the gymkhana games and even riding in them, since Jean would be sure to wonder what was going on if she didn’t. And she had to think of things to say too.

  “Oh I don’t know. I couldn’t understand half of it,” said Jean. The two of them were stood by the rope of the ring with their ponies, waiting for the open jumping to start.

  “What do you mean?” Gay was intrigued. She hadn’t cared at all about the answer to her first question when she asked it. Now she did.

  “They were looking at a map and talking about places I’ve never heard of, about going on an expedition, or something. Miles and miles through the countryside, staying out all night they were saying. I think they’re crackers.”

  Dick was a long way from confident. He wondered how he had managed to get himself into this position; riding someone else’s unruly thoroughbred in a real adult jumping competition. Evelyn might well call him manipulative, but he had been properly blackmailed over this. Riding Tranquil was enough of a thing, and it was Susan’s sad eyes that got him into that one. Then it had all snowballed when Major Holbrooke found out. And the major was watching, damn him.

  Echo wasn’t going very well. He was distracted, snatching at the bit. Dick tried to make him stand still, and then the first jumper rode out of the ring and they had to get going.

  “Good luck!” John called.

  Oh well, Dick thought. Ten minutes from now it will all be over.

  It felt horrible. Echo was excited to be jumping, but he was also anxious about everything around him that was strange and new and he didn’t trust his rider. He lurched over the first fence, clearing it by a hair and then crashed the next two, going too fast with his head up, seemingly in indignation. He was reluctant to turn and came to the double gates completely wrong, slamming on the brakes at the last minute.

  “Christ!” Dick said to him. “You’re going to kill us both!” He turned his horse away from the jump, circling in an unpleasant bounding canter, barely in control. It was worse than usual even. If they carried on this way and Dick survived it he wouldn’t be able to jump Tranquil anyway, since Echo would have destroyed the course. It would be better to retire, except Major Holbrooke was still watching.

  With a sudden strange click of logic, Dick turned Echo away from the jump a second time and slowed him right down. That was better, Echo started to relax and respond, but they could hardly jump those gates from a trot. Dick pushed on into canter and everything held together miraculously. Listening Echo was like a story to ride, flying over the double gates and the oxer that came after them in an easy rhythm and with breath-taking power. It was wonderful for a minute, or perhaps less, but then the other, more familiar Echo took over, carried away by his own speed. They finished the course in the same manner they had started, rushing and crashing, but in one piece, or two, rather, with the right one on top and the right one underneath. Dick laughed as they rode out. It was over and it hadn’t been a complete disaster.

  “Bad luck!” John said as Dick jumped down.

  “Not so very bad,” Dick said. “I didn’t fall off anyway.”

  “Do you think you ought to ride Echo?” John asked, frowning. “He’s always seemed to me to be something of a man’s horse.”

  “Meaning what about me exactly, I wonder?” said Dick with a wry smile.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean…” John trailed off in embarrassment.

  “Echo’s all right,” said Dick. “And anyway, I get to ride Tranquil next and he is most definitely a lady’s horse. I’ll be fine on him.”

  “I’m not bothered about riding in the gymkhana,” said Margaret to her sister. “We can go home if you like.”

  “Really?” asked Evelyn hopefully.

  Margaret had been fascinated to watch the open jumping. This is what happens to people, she told herself, when they grow up and don’t have time to ride any more. While some of the horses and riders were quite good, most were not. And the jumps weren’t much higher than the ones in the seniors. Margaret had heard Christopher muttering something about entering Crusoe and perhaps he should have; he might have won it. Evelyn certainly didn’t. She was hopeless. She hadn’t been able to get Quaker going at first and then he more or less ran away with her, knocking everything flying. And Margaret knew, without it being anything to do with boasting, that she could have got him ro
und easily. John had been better than Evelyn; slow and deliberate on his enormous Samson, but obviously not well practised, and certainly not good enough to win or even get a place.

  Lots of people had gone home by this time; the rest of their family had. John, Susan and Dick were about to depart. Margaret could still see Christopher though, sat up on Crusoe with a look of determined competitive fury on his face. He’d been hanging around all day with that Patricia Powell girl, the one who had a huge lorry and two horses she didn’t know how to ride. Now Christopher was standing with Gay and Jean. Margaret wished Gay would talk to her. It was strange that at a busy horse show with all of her family and everyone, and having won both of the jumping classes she now had no desire to compete further and all she felt was lonely. “Yes, come on, let’s go,” she said.

  “Did you enjoy the show?” Major Holbrooke asked his wife. They were sat in the kitchen eating bread and cheese and drinking wine instead of having a proper supper.

  “Oh, I suppose so,” Mrs Holbrooke said frowning. “I did think I was going to go mad at some points. I’ve never seen so many people! And of course, you always get tiresome idiots amongst crowds. But all in all I’d say it was a good day. Ask me tomorrow if you want a more positive response.”

  Major Holbrooke laughed. “It sounds as if my experience and yours were similar then, though I did enjoy my predictions being proved accurate.”

  “You predicted that Dick would win the jumping? I managed to battle my way out to see that. Wasn’t he good?”

  “He was all right, but that wasn’t contentious. There was no-one much else in it. My best prediction was Margaret Radcliffe in the seniors. There were no takers for that one at all.”

  “Oh I think I’m beginning to understand.” Mrs Holbrooke smiled and poured herself another glass of wine. “When you say prediction what you actually mean is bet, isn’t it? Are we talking about real money changing hands?”