Polo by Jilly Cooper Page B

walls.
        `I don't care if the price is rising, keep buying, but spread it around; we should have control by tomorrow lunchtime,' ordered Bart, waving to the waiter to pour Chessie a glass of champagne.
        While half his mind wrestled with the complicated finances of one of the fiercest take-overs Wall Street had ever known, his eyes ran over Chessie. She was as flushed as a peony, that pink dress emphasized every curve like a second skin. As the waiter laid a dark green napkin across her crotch, it was as though he was putting on a fig leaf. Bart wanted to take her upstairs and screw her at once.
        `Sorry about that,' he said as he came off the telephone.
        `Aren't you drinking?' asked Chessie, noticing his glass of Perrier.
        `I'm driving.'
        `Perrier don't make you merrier,' said Chessie idly. `Just looking at you makes me drunk,' said Bart. `Where does Ricky think you are?'
        `At home. I was terrified the match might be cancelled.' `It isn't. I checked it out,' said Bart. `How is he?' `Preoccupied. Mattie's deteriorating; Kinta won't stop.' `Sure he hasn't got a bit on the side?' asked Bart as they
        studied the menu.
        Chessie laughed sourly. `The only bits Ricky's interested in go in horses' mouths.'
        `How was he when you got home after Lady Waterlane's reception?'
        `Asleep in the hay beside Manie.'
        `That figures. He thinks he's Jesus Christ anyway.' The telephone rang.
        `Choose what you want to eat,' said Bart picking up the receiver. `I'd like poached salmon, zucchini and no potatoes,' he told the waiter.
        `Why are you so keen to take over this company?' asked Chessie, as he came off the telephone five minutes later.
        `Chief Executive, Ashley Roberts, blackballed me at the Racquet Club ten years ago.'
        `You are into revenge,' said Chessie, taking a slug of champagne.
        `Never forget a put-down. That all right?' He brandished his fork in the direction of Chessie's fish pâté.
        `Fraction too much fennel,' said Chessie. `OK, OK, that wasn't a put-down. I used to cook for a living before I got married. I'll cook for you one day.'
        Bart massaged her arm. `I sure hope so. I'm sorry about Grace.'
        `Did the Bloody Mary come out of her shirt?'
        `No. She called Ralph. He's making her another one.'
        `I suppose that's what shirty means. How was the wedding? Is Grace still Biddling while Rome burns?'
        Bart tapped her nose with his finger. `You must not take the piss.'
        `How did you two meet?' asked Chessie as the waiter took away her hardly touched pâté.
        `I was a test pilot at NASA. Great life, none of us thought we'd live beyond thirty. You can't imagine the joy of testing an airplane, learning its personality, talking to it, poking and probing, finding new things. I was a little boy from nowhere, but when I flew I felt like a god.'
        He blushed, ashamed of betraying emotion. `Grace came to visit the plant, and that was that. She grounded me but she backed me.'
        Chessie was fascinated: `How come you got so rich?'
        Bart shrugged. `I build the best airplanes and helicopters in the world and I bought land when it was worth $300 an acre. Now it's going for $10,000. All markets go in cycles, the skill is knowing when to get in and when to get out.'
        Chessie breathed in the sweet scent of white freesias and stocks in the centre of the dark green tablecloth.
        `How were your children when you went back?'
        `OK.' Quite unselfconsciously Bart got photographs out of his wallet.
        `That's Luke. He's twenty-two.'
        `Nice face,' said Chessie.
        `Comes from my first marriage. Doesn't live with us. He's been working his way up as a groom in a polo yard. Very proud. Won't accept a cent from me.'
        `Sounds like Ricky.'
        `More sympatico than Ricky,' said Bart flatly. `This is