Free Polo by Jilly Cooper

the match at the Guards Club there was a message to ring Louisa.
        `Mattie's worse,' she said, trying to hold back the tears. `Her leg smells awful and her eyes are dead. Phil Bagley's out on his rounds, but I got him on his bleeper. He's coming as soon as possible.'
        Mercifully, Major Ferguson, the Deputy Chairman and Polo Manager, understood.
        `Course you must go at once. I'll explain to the sponsors.' `I'm s-s-sorry,' mumbled Ricky. `S-s-suppose I shouldn't have tried to save her.'
        `Done just the same myself,' said Major Ferguson. `Mattie's a legend - give anything for one of her foals. I'll ring you in the morning - love to Chessie.'
        If only Ricky'd had Bart's helicopter. Limited in the horse box to forty miles an hour, going slap into rush-hour traffic, and trapped between returning tractors and hay lorries, he didn't get home until nearly eight. Please God, save her, he prayed over and over again.
        Phil Bagley was already in Mattie's box. The stink of putrefaction was unmistakable, Mattie hung leaden in her
        sling. For the first time since she was a tiny foal, she didn't whicker with delight to see Ricky. Phil Bagley looked up, shaking his head.
        `The leg's completely cold below the plaster,' he said brusquely, to hide his feelings. He loved Manie, having treated her since she was a foal, and had rejoiced in her dazzling career. `I've been sticking needles in and she doesn't feel anything, and her temperature's right up, which indicates secondary infection as well as gangrene.'
        Ricky crouched down beside Phil Bagley, feeling Mattie's skin which had gone hard and crisp like parchment.
        `Is she in pain?'
        `Yup - considerable I'm afraid.'
        `There's no way we can take off the plaster and clean it up?'
        `We can have a look.'
        Ricky held Mattie's head. Although her breath quickened, she made no attempt to fight, as Phil got to work. He only had to saw a few inches - the stink was appalling.
        `I'm sorry, Ricky. It's completely putrid. If she were a dog or a human we could amputate.'
        The fiercely impassive Frances, who was looking over the stable-door, gave a sob.
        `Of course.' Ricky deliberately kept his voice steady. `You must do it at once.' Then, without turning, ` Frances, can you ask Louisa to see that Will's well out of the way?'
        As Phil went off for the humane killer, Ricky put his arms round Mattie's neck, running his hand up the stubble of her mane.
        `Sorry I put you through it, sweetheart,' he muttered. `I only wanted to save you.' His voice broke, as she gently nudged him as if in forgiveness. Shutting his eyes, he scratched her gently behind the ears, putting his lips to the white star between her eyes, where the humane killer would go, until he felt Phil's hand on his shoulder.
        The sun had set but there was still a fiery glow in the West as Chessie stormed up the drive. Dog daisies lit up the verges and the air was heavy with the sweet scent of the lime tree flowers. She had hidden Bart's necklace in the lining of her bag and, buying a Rutshire Echo, had memorized the synopsis of the Robert de Niro film she was supposed to
        have seen. Sober now, her earlier bravado evaporated, she was twitching with nerves. As she drew closer, she heard a muffled explosion and slammed her foot on the accelerator. The house was in darkness. Perhaps Will had got hold of one of Ricky's guns. Then she saw the lorry parked crooked across the yard and panicked. Ricky was home already. Outside Mattie's box, he was holding Frances in his arms.
        `Oh, charming,' said Chessie acidly, `I thought you were wowing sponsors at Guards.'
        Ricky looked round, his face ashen, his eyes huge, black holes. Then Chessie saw that Frances 's normally accusing, disapproving face was a blubbered, disintegrating mass of tears.
        `What on earth's the