Next time a huge horse box drew up, a groom got out, unfastened the ramp, and led out a beautifully plaited-up gray, sweating in a crimson rug with dark blue binding. A girl wearing a white shirt, a black coat, skintight breeches, and long black boots walked over and looked the horse over critically. She had a haughty pink and white face. Jake thought how attractive some women looked in riding clothes, the austerity and severity of the uniform contrasting with the wild wantonness beneath. He imagined her long thighs threshing in ecstasy, while the hat, tie, and haughty pink and white face remained primly in place. He imagined laying her on a bed of straw, as tempting as a newly made bed.

As if aware of Jake’s scrutiny, she turned around. Jake looked away quickly, determined not to give her the satisfaction of knowing she was being fancied.

“Lavinia!” A handsome dark boy, white teeth gleaming in his suntanned face, pulled up his huge chestnut horse beside her.

“Christopher. Hello. I thought you were in Marbella.”

“Just got back.”

“Come and have a dwink.” She couldn’t say her Rs. “Mummy’s parked the car by the collecting wing.”

“Love to.” He rode on.

Bloody upper classes, thought Jake, all making so much bloody noise. He was fed up with wearing a cheap riding coat and thirdhand boots that were already killing him. He wanted a horse box, and a groom whisking out different horses like a conjurer producing colored handkerchiefs, and a tackroom wall papered with red rosettes, and a beautiful pink and white girl asking him respectfully how many strides there were between the gate and the rustic poles.

A shrill piping voice brought him back to earth.

“I’ve bought you an ice cream,” said Fenella Maxwell. “You ought to keep up your strength. Oh, look, they’re bringing out the jumps for the junior jumping. I know I’m going to let Dandelion down. Mummy and Tory’ll miss it if they don’t stop stuffing themselves.”