Jilly Cooper - Polo

The drying-up cloth round her hand was soaked with blood now. Looking out of the window, she gave a scream as Gainsborough pounced on the peacock butterfly and gobbled it up. It was no more good at coping with the outside world than she was.

Fifteen years of marriage to Hamish had made Daisy feel a total failure as a wife, but they had equipped her even less for a divorce. Hamish had never let her pay a bill, renew a car licence or an insurance policy or look at a tax document. The first crushing blow on visiting her solicitors was to discover that the Hollywood co-producers had decided to ground Hamish’s movie project and his entire £200,000 investment had gone up in smoke. A visit to the bank manager confirmed that there was not only no money, but massive debts. Hamish was OK. The co-producer of the movie, feeling guilty about Hamish’s losses, offered him work in LA for at least a year and had also taken on Wendy as a PA. This took Hamish outside the jurisdiction of the courts, so it would cost Daisy a fortune in lawyers’ fees to get a penny out of him.

Cruellest of all, now that Hamish had dumped Daisy, Biddy Macleod was quite prepared to subsidize him. For a start she was going to pay Violet’s and Eddie’s school fees and give them a fat allowance, but she refused to fork out anything for Perdita, which meant Perdita would have to leave her current boarding school – who were kindly allowing her to stay on until the end of term in late March.

As the creditors moved in, Daisy’s jewellery, the silver and pictures and the better pieces of furniture all had to be sold. The owner of Brock House, who lived abroad, said Daisy could stay until April, but he must have his rent. Investigating the possibility of a council house, Daisy was told she was at the bottom of the list.

Locals tended to ignore her, not knowing what to say. A few London friends rang for grisly details and gave her more grisly details of the women, usually themselves, that Hamish had tried to get into bed. Then they shrugged their shoulders. Daisy was always losing things; why not her husband as well?

‘Do ring us if you need us,’ they said.

But Daisy didn’t ring. However miserable she was inside, she projected an image of cheerfulness. Like her namesake already dotting the lawn outside, however much you mowed her down, she would pop up the next day.

Just before half-term Fresco’s owner, Tim Jeddings, came to re-possess her because she hadn’t been paid for either. Daisy couldn’t watch as the pony was loaded into the trailer. Merry-eyed, muddy, a little fat from no exercise, she had brought so much happiness.

Daisy’s plan had been to tell Perdita on the drive home, when no eye contact would make it easier. Then Perdita got a lift home with a schoolfriend, and instead of running into the house, headed straight for the stable, extracting a Granny Smith from her school skirt and joyfully screaming for Fresco.

It was a glorious day. The sun was lighting up the crimson buds on the beech trees; snowdrops spread like the Milky Way across the lawn.

‘Fresco, Fresco,’ Perdita’s cries rang round the valley, bouncing off stone walls and trees. By now, greedy and loving, Fresco should have been belting up the field. A minute later, Perdita had burst into the kitchen, her breath coming in great gasps, shuddering and shaking from head to foot.

‘Fresco must have jumped out of her field. We must get her a friend. Ring the police at once.’

‘Darling, I’m afraid she’s gone.’

‘What d’you mean, gone?’

‘Tim Jeddings took her back. The cheque bounced. We haven’t got enough money to pay for her.’

For a second Perdita stared at her, her face changing from alabaster to putty. ‘I don’t believe you. There must be money from selling this house.’

‘It’s only rented.’

‘You could have taken me away from school, I’d have got the money from somewhere. What about your jewels?’

Daisy held out her ringless hands. ‘They’ve all gone.’

Then Perdita screamed and screamed.

‘She’s gone to a wonderful home up North,’ babbled Daisy. ‘I didn’t want to tell you while you were at school.’

‘But I never said goodbye,’ screamed Perdita. ‘I don’t believe Tim’s sold her yet.’

Rushing into the hall, she found the telephone book. She was shaking so badly, she mis-dialled three times. ‘Mr Jeddings, Mummy’s lying. You haven’t sold Fresco on yet.’

There was a long pause. Perdita slumped against the wall.

‘You rotten bastard,’ she screeched and crashed down the receiver.

Hearing the din, Ethel came rushing in with a muddy nose and a dug-up dahlia root in her mouth, and threw herself delightedly on Perdita.

‘Go away,’ yelled Perdita, shoving Ethel violently away. ‘Why haven’t you sold her as well? Because she’s darling Violet’s dog, I suppose. Why the fuck can’t you go out to work and earn some money like everyone else’s mother, instead of producing crappy, awful paintings no-one wants?’

For half an hour she was so hysterical that Daisy was about to ring the doctor. Then she went silent, and wouldn’t talk to Daisy or the other children when they came home. Nor would she eat. After she’d taken all three children back to school on Tuesday night, Daisy went into Perdita’s room. Every cutting of Ricky France-Lynch, every photograph of Fresco, was ripped into tiny pieces all over the floor.

‘Oh God, what have I done,’ moaned Daisy, bursting into tears. She was interrupted half an hour later by the door bell. Imagining it was some creditor, she was just sidling downstairs intending to bolt the door when it opened and Basil Baddingham walked in. He looked so opulent with his patent leather hair and his even suntan and his wide, wolfish smile showing his perfect teeth, that he seemed to have come from another planet.

‘Please go away,’ said Daisy, clapping her hands over her blubbered, swollen face. ‘It’s not a good time.’

‘Always a good time for a drink,’ said Bas. Brandishing a bottle of Dom Perignon, he set off purposefully towards the kitchen where lunch still lay on the table and Gainsborough was thoughtfully licking up Perdita’s untouched shepherd’s pie.

‘I’m really not up to it,’ mumbled Daisy.

‘Get some glasses,’ said Bas, removing the gold paper from the bottle. ‘I am your knight in shining armour.’

‘I had one of those,’ said Daisy, ‘but he walked out because I didn’t keep it shining enough.’

‘I know. You’ve had a rotten time. But you’re well shot of him. I’d have been round sooner, but I’ve been in Palm Beach. Have you found somewhere to live?’

‘There’s a flat on the Bledisloe Estate.’

‘Won’t do, far too rough,’ said Bas. ‘You and Perdita’d be sitting ducks for all the yobbos.’

At the pop of the champagne cork, Gainsborough shot out of the room, sending the remains of the shepherd’s pie crashing to the floor.

‘Let’s go and sit somewhere slightly more comfortable,’ said Bas, filling up their glasses. There was still a sofa in the drawing room, but it was bitterly cold.

‘Bailiffs do this?’ asked Bas, then, as Daisy nodded: ‘You poor old thing.’

Under his gentle questioning, Daisy told him about the selling of Fresco and Hamish’s departure.

‘I know it seems like the end of the world,’ said Bas, ‘but you’re an extremely pretty lady, and scores of men are going to come running after you once you’ve got your confidence back, including me.’

Daisy giggled, feeling slightly happier.

‘I’ve got a much better idea,’ Bas went on. ‘You can’t move into the Bledisloe Estate. One of Ricky’s tenants finally kicked the bucket during the big freeze. He lived in a lovely little house, Snow Cottage, on the edge of Ricky’s land. Been there for thirty years. Only paid ten pounds a week. Ricky was too soft to put up the rent. Now he wants me to sell the house to some rich weekenders. It’s a bit tumbledown, but there are three bedrooms and an orchard, and the same stream that runs through Rupert’s land, so you’ll have condoms flowing past your door. The only problem is you’ll also have Philippa and Lionel Mannering – I met you at their party – gazing down at you from their awful house. But come the summer they won’t be able to see through the trees. Anyway, she’ll be far too interested in Ricky when he comes out of prison to waste much time on you.’