Rivals

18

Tony Baddingham was even happier at dinner sitting between Joanna Lumley and Sarah Stratton.

‘I know by rights you should be on my right,’ Maud had whispered in his ear, ‘but I thought you deserved a treat.’

‘Freddie and Ay’ll be leaving early,’ said Valerie as she went into dinner. ‘The West Cotchester are meeting at Green Lawns tomorrow.’

‘They’re not meeting anywhere,’ said Rupert. ‘It’s frozen solid outside, so we can all get frightfully drunk.’

He wondered what had happened to Taggie. He couldn’t find her name on the seating plan.

‘You’re over here, next to me,’ Maud called to Rupert, patting the seat beside her.

‘And next to me,’ beamed Caitlin, bolting up to the table and whipping away Cameron Cook’s place card which was on his other side.

Maud could have murdered Caitlin, but she didn’t want a scene in public.

‘You better say Grace,’ giggled Caitlin, who’d been at the Malibu, ‘and she’ll come running in singing “This Joyful Eastertide”.’

It was obvious, reflected Tony with satisfaction, that Maud and Declan had had the most frightful row — probably about money. Earlier in the day Declan had very forcibly stressed that it was a tiny party, just a few friends, but there must be at least three hundred people here and by the way the Moët was being splashed about, nothing had been stinted, which was good, because the broker Declan got, the more dependent he’d be on Corinium, and the more Tony could torment and manipulate him.

Then, looking across the room at Maud’s enraptured face turned towards Rupert, her elbows pressed together to deepen her cleavage, her turkey soup untouched, he decided it was more likely that Declan was upset because his wife had a thumping great crush on Rupert. This suited Tony even better, because it meant Declan would crucify Rupert even more when he interviewed him in the New Year.

Sarah Stratton, who’d stopped to say hullo to Rupert on the way in, was looking rather bleak as she sat down beside Tony.

‘I’m glad we’re next to each other,’ he said. ‘I wanted to talk to you.’

‘Have you made any New Year’s resolutions?’ said Sarah, picking up her soup spoon.

‘Yes,’ said Tony, his swarthy pirate’s face suddenly looking as though he was going to fight off a flotilla of rival clipper ships, ‘to keep the franchise.’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Sarah.

‘I wouldn’t mind,’ said Simon Harris across the room, helping himself to a seventh piece of garlic bread, ‘but Tony came roaring in today saying I’m not having fucking language like that on any fucking programme going out from my fucking station.’

‘Sorry to bother you, Mr Harris,’ said Mrs Makepiece, ‘but your baby’s crying.’

It was not surprising the baby was upset, surrounded as it was upstairs by scenes of Petronian debauchery, as teenagers smoked, drank, necked, and screamed with laughter as they opened another packet of Tampax and shot the cotton wool out like cannons.

Archie was sharing a bottle of Moët with Caitlin, who had briefly abandoned Rupert at dinner to smoke an illicit cigarette.

‘What has an Upland House girl in common with a Tampax?’ Archie asked her.

‘Dunno,’ said Caitlin.

‘They’re both stuck-up cunts.’

Caitlin screamed with laughter. ‘Have you got a girlfriend?’

‘I did,’ said Archie, ‘but she went off me because of my zits.’

‘You mustn’t worry about zits,’ said Caitlin kindly. ‘It means you’re producing lots of Testosterone and will make a wonderfully vigorous lover later. Piss off, you snotty little buggers,’ she screamed, as Simon Harris’s monsters raced up and down giggling at the necking teenagers and threatening each other with one of Rupert’s borrowed knives.

‘My father said all your family were weirdos,’ said Archie, ‘but I think you’re cool.’

Declan, whom Maud had put deliberately between Monica and Valerie, so he couldn’t make a scene, was so drunk he was in danger of seriously jeopardizing his career. He didn’t even realize Monica was talking about Otello until she got onto Iago.

‘He’s an even more evil character than Scarpia,’ she was saying.

‘Much more,’ agreed Declan. ‘Very like your husband in fact.’

‘Garlic bread, either of you?’ said Valerie, unable to believe her ears.

‘Your husband is an absolute shit,’ said Declan.

‘I know,’ said Monica calmly, as she tore off a piece of garlic bread. ‘However, I have three children and I don’t believe in divorce.’

‘Nor do I,’ said Declan, filling up both their glasses.

Valerie was absolutely livid when the farmer on her left said, ‘You live at Long Bottom Court, don’t you?’ She didn’t want to talk to him at all. She wanted to listen to what Monica was saying to Declan.

‘You won’t try and wind Tony up too much at work, will you?’ went on Monica. ‘You’re very good for Corinium. They need people with integrity. I’d like you to stay.’

‘I’m not sure your husband would.’

‘I think we’d both better stop discussing Tony, ‘said Monica gently, ‘or we might become very indiscreet. This is a very good party. Maud’s looking so beautiful.’

‘Has anyone ever told you you’re a beautiful woman?’ said Declan.

Monica went pink. ‘That’s jolly well overdoing it. You really ought to eat some of this shepherd’s pie. It’s frightfully good.’

But Declan was looking at Maud who was gazing at Rupert. ‘O heart! O heart!’ he murmured, ‘if she’d but turn her head.’

‘You’d know the folly of being comforted,’ said Monica, finishing the quotation for him. ‘Don’t worry about Rupert,’ she went on briskly. ‘Bertie Berkshire once described him as a “particularly nasty virus, that one’s wife caught sooner or later”, but we all get over it.’

Declan looked back at her, startled. ‘Even you?’

Monica sighed. ‘Even me, although Rupert had no idea. Don Giovanni must have been very like him. He can’t resist the conquest, and I think, although he won’t admit it, he still misses show-jumping desperately, and it’s a question of constantly filling the aching void.’

‘He’s usually filling other people’s wives’ aching voids,’ said Declan bitterly.

At last Maud had to stop monopolizing Rupert and turn to Declan’s old boss at the BBC, Johnny Abrahams, who was sitting on her left.

‘Lovely party, darling,’ he said. ‘Hope you can pay for it. What’s up with Declan? Not working out with Tony Baddingham? I did warn him.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Maud. ‘You know Declan always has rows wherever he is. But look at him now, getting on like a house on fire with Tony’s wife.’

‘You can talk to me now,’ said Caitlin to Rupert.

‘How d’you do? I saw you at Midnight Mass,’ said Rupert.

He liked her merry face and her bright beady eyes.

‘Tell me,’ he went on lowering his voice, ‘is your sister ever going to forgive me?’

‘Ah,’ said Caitlin, ‘well, you haven’t been very nice to her. I heard about the groping at the dinner party, which was pretty crass, and the row over the stubble burning. Taggie probably over-reacted there; she’s so soppy about animals, she spends her time prising frozen worms off the paths in this weather. What really pissed her off was that you were so unkind about Gertrude.’

‘Gertrude?’ said Rupert, bewildered.

‘Our dog. You may think Gertrude is very plain, but we’re all devoted to her. Taggie’s led such a sheltered life, she’s never left home like Patrick and me, and she and Gertrude have never been parted.’

Rupert grinned. ‘Perhaps I should have sent Gertrude a pendant instead.’

‘Oh my God,’ said Caitlin in horror, ‘it was you! Because you signed it R, we all assumed it was from Ralphie. Taggie’s mad about him, you see.’

‘Glad I gave her a happy Christmas,’ said Rupert acidly.

‘But she’s not happy now, because Ralphie’s turned up with another woman.’

‘Which is he?’

‘That blond over there. Taggie likes blonds, so if you give her time. .’

‘Caitlin,’ said Maud very sharply, ‘go and tell Taggie to clear away the fruit salad plates. We must have Patrick’s cake, or we’ll be still sitting here at midnight.’ She turned to Rupert. ‘We’ve managed to get tickets for Starlight Express the week after next. D’you want to come?’

‘Don’t talk about things that happen after I go back,’ grumbled Caitlin, getting up.

‘Taggie, Taggie,’ she squealed, racing into the kitchen, ‘Mummy wants the plates cleared, then we can have Patrick’s cake.’

‘There isn’t anyone to clear them,’ said Taggie in despair. ‘Both the Makepiece children have vanished, and I can’t find Mrs Makepiece or Grace, or Reg, or either of Reg’s friends.’

‘Never mind that now,’ said Caitlin. ‘This is far more exciting. It was Rupert who sent you that pendant, because he was sorry about goosing you at Valerie Jones’s.’

‘There’s no way we’re going to get 300 slices out of this.’ Taggie nearly dropped Patrick’s cake. ‘What did you say?’

‘Rupert sent you the pendant.’

‘He couldn’t have,’ whispered Taggie. ‘I hate him.’

‘No, you don’t. He’s really nice. Go and sit next to him. I’ll try and find Reg and his mates to carry the cake in and people can eat it on their fruit salad plates. Go on, Tag.’

‘Never, never,’ gasped Taggie. She was deathly pale now. ‘I’m going to send it back.’

Maud’s plans had gone seriously awry. She had wanted them all to be dancing and she and Rupert to be standing under one of Caitlin’s hundred bunches of mistletoe at midnight, but they were still sitting at the tables waiting for Patrick to cut his cake. Why on earth couldn’t Taggie be more efficient?

At five minutes to midnight Declan got somewhat unsteadily to his feet, and tapped the table with his knife. ‘I’m very pleased to see you all here tonight,’ he said, ‘and I’d just like to drink my son Patrick’s health. He’s a good boy and he’s given us a lot of pleasure over the years.’

‘And me too,’ piped up Patrick’s girlfriend, Lavinia, and everyone laughed and sang ‘Happy Birthday’ and said ‘Speech! Speech!’ As Reg and his mates staggered in very perilously carrying the cake, Patrick stood up. Speaking in public didn’t rattle him in the least. He had all Declan’s assurance: ‘I’d like to thank my father and mother for having me,’ he said, ‘and giving me such a wonderful party, and for my sister Taggie for doing all the work, and making this wonderful cake.’ For a second Maud looked furious at the loudness of the cheers. ‘Thank you all for coming, and for all your presents, which I’ll open later when I get a moment.’

There were more loud cheers. Then, just as Caitlin finished lighting the candles, like the dark stranger coming over the threshold, Cameron Cook walked in. She was wearing an extremely tight-fitting, strapless, black suede dress, which came eight inches above her knees. Three-inch cross-laced gaps on either side from armpit to hem made it quite plain she was wearing nothing but Fracas and Mantan underneath. There was a heavy metal chain round her neck, and among the heavy silver bangles worn over her long black suede gloves gleamed Tony’s diamond bracelet.

Anyone else would have looked tarty in that dress, but Cameron, with her marvellously lean, sinuous, rapacious beauty, succeeded in looking both menacing and absolutely staggering.

‘Holy shit,’ said Patrick into the microphone.

Everyone screamed with laughter.

‘Blow out your candles,’ said Caitlin.

Still gazing at Cameron, Patrick blew them out with one puff, then turned to Declan. ‘Who the hell’s that?’

‘The biggest bitch in television,’ said Declan bleakly.

‘She may well be your future daughter-in-law,’ said Patrick.

‘Christ, I can just see her with a whip,’ muttered Bas to Rupert.

‘Perhaps that’s what gets your brother going.’

Basil turned to Daysee Butler: ‘Did you know your boss was heavily into SM?’

‘Who’s she?’ said Daysee.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ said Cameron, fighting her way through the crowd to Maud’s side. ‘We’ve had a lot of hassle at work.’

‘Lovely to see you at any time,’ said Maud. ‘Caitlin,’ she added pointedly, terrified that Caitlin might start monopolizing Rupert again, ‘will get you something to eat.’

‘She needs a drink,’ said Patrick.

Goodness, he’s pretty, thought Cameron. Like Declan, but purer-looking, somehow.

‘Aren’t you going to cut your cake?’ she said to him.

‘I’ve got to wish,’ said Patrick. Never taking his eyes off her, he slowly plunged the knife into the cake, right up to the hilt.

‘I didn’t have time to buy you a present,’ said Cameron.

‘You brought yourself,’ said Patrick, slightly mockingly. ‘Just what I wanted.’

Filling up his glass with champagne, he handed it to her.

‘Thanks.’ Taking it, Cameron drained the glass.

Just at that moment, from speakers all round the tent, Big Ben boomed out the twelve strokes of midnight. As everyone started kissing everyone else and cheering, Patrick drew Cameron into his arms and kissed her on and on and on.

At last they broke away.

‘The coup de foudre,’ said Patrick softly. ‘I’ve waited twenty-one years for this to happen.’

‘Look at Tony’s face,’ whispered Lizzie Vereker to Charles Fairburn with a shiver.

As the last notes of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ rang out, Declan could be heard saying, ‘Bloody January again.’

Plates were being cleared away, tables pushed back and the marquee cleared for dancing, as the women drifted upstairs to do their faces. Telling Cameron he wouldn’t be a second, Patrick went off to the kitchen to thank Taggie. Oblivious that Monica might be watching, Tony fought his way over to Cameron and seized her arm: ‘What the hell are you playing at?’

Cameron winced. ‘Celebrating Christmas. It hasn’t been great so far.’

‘I couldn’t get away.’

‘I guess not.’

‘That dress is deliberately provocative,’ snarled Tony.

‘Well, if it deliberately provokes you, it’s doing a great job.’

‘Why are you so fucking late?’

‘Titania’s four months gone.’

‘Shit. How d’you know?’

‘Wardrobe told me,’ said Cameron.

‘And she’s admitted it?’

‘Sure.’

‘Who’s the father?’

‘She’s not sure. It could be Bottom, or Theseus or even Peter Quince.’

‘Jesus — we’ll just have to shoot round her.’

Patrick never made it to the kitchen. Declan dragged him into the library.

‘For Christ’s sake, Cameron’s out of bounds.’

‘Why?’

‘She’s Tony Baddingham’s mistress.’

‘So. Are you frightened of losing your job?’

For a second Patrick thought Declan was going to hit him.

‘It’s not that. You’ve no idea of the evil of both of them.’

‘He may be, she’s not. She just needs someone of her own age to play with for a change.’

‘He’s taught her some very unpleasant habits,’ said Declan heavily.

‘Like arguing with you, I suppose,’ said Patrick.

‘She’s out of your league.’

‘I don’t give a fuck,’ said Patrick, walking out.

‘You don’t have to take your clothes off to have a good time, oh no,’ sang Jermaine Stewart from the disco. ‘You can dance and party all night.’

Still arguing with Tony, seeing both Monica and Patrick bearing purposefully down on her, Cameron escaped to check her face. After Patrick’s kiss, she certainly couldn’t have any lipstick left. Upstairs, in the only bedroom that didn’t seem to be inhabited by necking teenagers, she found Sarah Stratton brushing her hair.

‘Good party,’ said Sarah.

‘It seems so.’

‘I’m glad I bumped into you,’ said Sarah. ‘Tony’s offered me a job at Corinium. Ought I to take it?’

‘Sure,’ said Cameron coolly.

‘You don’t think he’s just after my body?’

‘No way,’ said Cameron, who was having difficulty applying lipstick, her hands were trembling so much.

‘I just wondered.’ Sarah dropped her head, brushing all her hair downwards. ‘Tony and Monica are an awfully weird couple, you know. Paul’s ex-wife, Winifred, used to be Monica’s best chum. I’ve often wondered if they weren’t a bit dykey.’ Sarah tossed her head back, so her hair rose, then cascaded wildly onto her shoulders.

‘Monica evidently told Winifred,’ she went on, ‘that Tony made such incredible sexual demands on her that she had to move into a separate bedroom. He wanted it two or three times every night. Now she restricts him to once a week, like church. Perhaps that’s why he’s so lecherous.’

As if in a dream, Cameron watched Sarah spray Anais Anaïs between her breasts, then behind her kneecaps and finally, pulling out her pants, on her blonde bush.

‘Did Tony make a pass at you?’ Cameron said in a frozen voice.

‘Not exactly — but he was terrifically complimentary,’ said Sarah. ‘And I must say for an older man he’s not unattractive.’

As they came downstairs James Vereker was hovering. Deliberately ignoring Cameron, he asked Sarah to dance. Oh well, thought Sarah, anything to make Rupert jealous.

‘How did you get on with Tony’s mistress?’ asked James.

‘Oh my Christ, is she?’ gasped Sarah, appalled, and she told James what had happened. ‘I’d better not take that job at Corinium after all,’ she said finally.

‘She’d certainly have it in for you,’ said James. ‘She has it in for any beautiful woman.’ (And man for that matter, he nearly added.) ‘If you came to Corinium —’ his arm tightened round her — ‘I’d look after you and show you the ropes.’

‘Isn’t television frightfully difficult?’

‘Not if you’ve got a teacher who really cares,’ said James.

I’ll kill Tony, I’ll absolutely kill him, thought Cameron as, seething with rage, she went into the marquee. Both Tony and Patrick were waiting. Patrick was quicker.

‘Come and dance,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘I’m not going to let you go for the rest of the evening, probably not for the rest of my life.’

‘D’you always move in so fast?’ said Cameron, laughing.

‘No, I wished for you when I cut my cake.’

‘You mustn’t tell wishes; they might not come true.’

‘Mine always do,’ said Patrick calmly.

Taggie was mindlessly washing up in the kitchen when Simon Harris’s little monsters returned and, saying they were hungry, broke through the clingfilm over the kedgeree and started eating it with their hands. Something finally snapped inside Taggie.

‘Bugger off, you little horrors,’ she screamed.

‘Talking to me?’ said a voice.

Rupert was standing in the doorway. He was as brown as he’d been last summer when he’d had no clothes on. Taggie went scarlet.

Rupert grinned. ‘Your mother was only telling me the other day, how much you adore children.’ Then, turning on the monsters, ‘Go on, fuck off, you little sods. Out, OUT!’

Muttering venomously, the monsters sidled out, cramming birthday cake into their mouths as they went.

‘It was the most lovely dinner,’ said Rupert gently, noticing Taggie’s reddened eyes. ‘Will you please stop playing Cinderella and come and dance.’

‘I’ve got too much to do, thank you, and thank you for the pendant. I didn’t realize.’ She stumbled on the words.

At that moment Simon Harris came in with spewed-up rusk all over his dinner jacket, carrying a bawling baby.

‘Could you possibly hold her for me while I heat up a bottle?’ he asked Taggie.

Of two evils, Taggie chose the prettier. ‘There’s a saucepan over there,’ she said and, feeling Rupert’s hand close over hers, she followed him into the marquee.

‘I’m a very, very bad dancer,’ she muttered.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Rupert. ‘We can sway in a dark corner.’

‘Never seen you look so lovely as you do tonight,’ sang Chris de Burgh, ‘Never seen you shine so bright.’

Taggie’s hair smelt of shepherd’s pie. As he drew her to him, Rupert could feel the substantial softness of her breasts, compared with the incredible slenderness of her waist. Her body was rigid with tension and embarrassment. She had absolutely no sense of rhythm at all. It was like a very slim elephant dancing at the circus.

‘Did you have a nice Christmas?’ asked Rupert.

‘Yes.’

‘Did you get nice presents?’

‘Yes.’

‘Come on my angel, relax.’ His hands moved over her back, gentling her as though she was one of his young horses. ‘Look! Gertrude’s followed us. She knows I’m a rotter and she won’t let you out of her sight.’

Catching Gertrude’s disapproving eye, Taggie gave a half laugh, half sob.

Rupert reached down and stroked Gertrude. ‘Good Gertrude, beautiful Gertrude. See, I am trying.’

‘Lady in red, Lady in red,’ sang everyone as they swayed round the floor, which were the only words they knew.

Rupert took Taggie’s face in his hands. She was so tall her eyes were only just below his.

‘Don’t be so sad,’ he murmured. ‘You’ll get over him.’

Taggie started. ‘How d’you know?’

‘Caitlin told me. You thought the pendant was from him. I’m sorry.’

‘It was very kind,’ said Taggie stiffly. ‘I just don’t accept presents from men.’

‘I see. Only from boys.’

As Chris de Burgh finished and Wham started, he gripped her waist, knowing she was about to bolt.

‘Last Christmas, I gave you my heart,’ sang George Michael, ‘But the very next day you gave it away.’

Across the room Taggie could see Ralphie and Georgina dancing together. He was stroking her cheek with his hand. With a low moan, Taggie tugged herself away from Rupert. Cannoning off startled couples, she fled from the marquee upstairs to the loo to cry her eyes out once again.

Patrick danced on and on with Cameron. They didn’t talk much because they were easily the best dancers in the room. Tony, grinding his teeth down to the gums, didn’t dare move in with Monica looking on.

‘That’s the best thing I’ve seen in years,’ said James Vereker, who was dancing on and on with Sarah.

‘What?’ said Sarah.

‘Cameron getting off with Declan’s son. At best it’ll screw up Tony and Cameron. At worst it’ll put Tony even more off Declan.’

Although Paul was hovering, looking thunderous, Sarah carried on dancing with James until she saw Rupert going past. Breaking away, she screamed out to him.

To keep her quiet Rupert bore her off to dance. Paul could see them rowing all the way round the floor, in that rigid-jawed way as though they’d had too many injections at the dentist.

‘Why have you been deliberately ignoring me?’

‘I haven’t. It’s just that Paul has been watching us like a Wimbledon linesman.’

‘Never put you off in the past.’

‘Did you have a good Christmas?’

‘Of course I didn’t. You obviously did, if the Daily Mail’s anything to go by. I don’t require fidelity from my husband,’ said Sarah hysterically, ‘but I do from my lover.’

‘Then you’ve picked the wrong guy, sweetheart. We’ve had a good time.’

Sarah looked up, aghast. ‘Is it over then?’

‘No, not necessarily. I’m just not prepared to offer you an exclusive.’

‘Bastard,’ hissed Sarah. ‘I thought you were serious.’

‘You were wrong, and frankly, angel, I don’t think you make a very good MP’s wife. Paul looks a shambles.’

In the kitchen, surrounded by undergraduates and dirty plates and glasses, Declan was declaiming Yeats:

And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky,

Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may not die.

Cameron stood listening to him, her hand in Patrick’s.

‘He recites best when he’s drunk,’ whispered Patrick. ‘Loses all self-consciousness.’

‘He should do a programme on Yeats,’ marvelled Cameron.

‘Hardly of local interest.’

‘We could do it for Channel Four.’

Upstairs, Maud was arranging her breasts in the green dress, and putting scent on her hair, and applying coral blusher to her pale cheeks. Her freckles were like a sprinkling of nutmeg tonight.

‘I’m not middle-aged,’ she whispered to herself. ‘I’m still young and beautiful.’

‘I get no kick from champagne,’ sang the disco. ‘Pure alcohol doesn’t thrill me at all.’

The message was all in the music, thought Maud. Go forth and multiply and seek love.

Going downstairs, she could hear Declan declaiming in the kitchen. She was safe for half an hour or so. Screams and shouts were coming from the direction of Caitlin’s room.

The berries of the mistletoe gleamed brighter than her pearls under the hall light. It was three in the morning; soon Taggie would be serving kedgeree. As if in answer to her prayer, Maud heard Rupert’s voice, ‘Darling, I was looking for you.’

Taking her hand, he led her into the study where Caitlin, taking no chances, had hung more mistletoe. Rupert’s hand felt so warm and dry, and the ball of his thumb was so pudgy, noticed Maud. That was the fortune-teller’s clue to a passionate highly-sexed nature. It was certainly the only spare flesh on his body. Maud’s heart was pounding. She must try and be distant, a little mysterious. As he turned towards her, her eyes were on a level with his black tie. She longed to caress the lovely line of his jaw. It’s going to happen, she thought in ecstasy, as Rupert shut the door to blot out the screams and raucous laughter, and coming towards her, gazed deeply into her eyes.

‘Angel, I’ve been wanting to ask you something from the moment we met, certainly from the moment I came over here with Bas after hunting. You won’t be cross with me?’

‘No, no,’ whispered Maud. She was having difficulty breathing.

‘You probably think I’m the biggest shit in the world.’

‘I don’t. I don’t. I just think people misunderstand you.’

She could smell the faint lemon tang of his aftershave as he moved nearer.

‘I’m absolutely mad,’ began Rupert.

‘Go on,’ stammered Maud.

‘About little Taggie, and she can’t stand me. Could you possibly put in a good word for me?’

‘Taggie,’ said Maud in outrage, ‘TAGGIE!’

She might have been Lady Bracknell referring to the famous handbag.

‘For Christ’s sake,’ she screamed, ‘Taggie’s eighteen, you’re thirty-seven. She’s dyslexic, which makes her seem even younger. How dare you, you revolting letch, how dare you, how DARE you?’ And, bursting into tears, she fled upstairs and locked herself in her bedroom.

She couldn’t bear it, she, who’d always got anyone she wanted, being spurned under the mistletoe by the biggest rake in Gloucestershire. And for Taggie, of all people, which made it far, far worse. Almost pathologically jealous of Taggie, there was no one in the world Maud would less like to lose a man to. Was that to be her fate, growing older and less attractive, until no one wanted her?

An hour later in the kitchen Declan was still declaiming to an enraptured group.

‘Christ, I wish I wasn’t too tight to make notes,’ said Ralphie.

‘You see why he can’t go on doing crappy interviews with the Bishop of Cotchester,’ said Patrick to Cameron.

Cameron nodded.

A woman of so shining loveliness, [Declan was saying]

That men threshed corn at midnight by a tress,

A little stolen tress.

He looked up and saw Maud. ‘A little stolen tress,’ he repeated slowly.

For a minute they gazed at each other.

There is grey in your hair, [he began very softly]

Young men no longer catch their breath,

When you are passing.

Maud turned away, her face stricken.

Declan dropped his cigarette into the sink and, stepping over the enraptured seated undergraduates, caught up with Maud on the stairs. Not having had anything to drink for a couple of hours, he was sobering up.

‘What’s the matter? Did he turn you down?’

Maud nodded, tears spilling out between her eyelashes.

‘I’ve seen it coming since September. I wanted to warn you.’

‘Why didn’t you then?’

Declan sighed: ‘Has there ever been any point? He’s no good for you. He’s a traveller. It might have lasted a week, a month, then he’d have dumped you.’

He put his huge hands round her neck above the pearl choker.

‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘He’s just so attractive.’

‘I know. Hush, hush.’ He raised his thumbs to still her quivering mouth. ‘Let’s go to bed.’

‘We can’t in the middle of a party.’

‘What better time?’

‘I’ve spent so much money.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Declan as they went up the remaining stairs.

‘I love you,’ he said softly, ‘and I’m the only one of the lot of them who understands you.’

‘I know,’ whispered Maud.

Declan shut the bedroom door behind them.

Caitlin, going past, heard the key turn. Removing the sign outside the loo on which she had earlier written Ladies, Caitlin turned it over, wrote Do Not Disturb, Sex in Progress, and hung it on her parents’ door.

Downstairs, the party showed no signs of winding down.

‘I love yew,’ said Lizzie, looking at a dark clump of greenery in the corner, as she danced round with Freddie.

‘I love you,’ said Freddie, giving her a squeeze. ‘Honestly, on my life and at least a bottle-and-a-half of Moët.’

It was obvious that Tony wasn’t going to be able to prise Cameron away from Patrick for even a second.

‘We must go,’ he said bleakly to Monica.

‘All right,’ said Monica reluctantly. ‘I haven’t seen Archie for hours. Where is he?’

‘Upstairs, I think,’ said Caitlin.

Monica swayed up the stairs, hanging onto the banisters. She hadn’t drunk so much since she was a deb; it was really rather fun.

Finding several rooms heavily occupied by couples, she finally tracked down her elder and beloved son on a chaise-longue on the top floor, absolutely superglued to Tracey Makepiece, his hand burrowing like a ferret inside her white tricel shirt.

‘Archie,’ thundered Monica. ‘Drop!’

Archie dropped.

‘We’re leaving,’ said Monica, ‘at once.’

Downstairs, she told Tony what Archie had been up to.

‘Christ,’ exploded Tony, ‘he might put her in the club. Get him out of this bloody house as fast as possible.’

‘I don’t know where Declan and Maud are. We ought to thank them,’ said Monica, as Archie shuffled sheepishly down the stairs.

Having witnessed the incident, Valerie gave her little laugh: ‘One must learn to be democratic, Ay’m afraid these days, Monica. Sharon, of course, gets on with all classes.’

‘Evidently,’ said Caitlin, sliding down the banisters and beaming at Valerie. ‘She’s been wrapped round Kevin Makepiece for the last two hours.’

Giving a screech close to death, Valerie bolted upstairs.

Caitlin turned to Monica, Tony and Archie with a beatific smile on her face. ‘I bet Kev a pound he wouldn’t neck with Sharon. I suppose I’ll have to pay him now.’

‘Are your parents around?’ said Monica.

‘I’m afraid they’ve gone to bed,’ said Caitlin.

‘Well, if you’d just tell them how very much we all enjoyed it,’ said Monica.

‘You may have enjoyed it,’ hissed Tony, slipping on the icy drive in his haste to get to the Rolls and the frozen chauffeur, ‘but frankly it was the most bloody party I’ve ever been to, and that child Caitlin is a minx.’

‘She’s sweet,’ protested Archie with a hiccup.

‘If you have anything more to do with any of the O’Hara children I’ll disinherit you.’

About five in the morning, having behaved just as badly as everyone else, Rupert came back into the drawing-room looking for the whisky decanter, and saw a black and white tail sticking out from under the piano.

‘Gertrude,’ he said.

The tail quivered. Crouching down, Rupert found both Gertrude and Taggie.

‘What on earth are you doing?’

‘A drunk’s passed out in my bed,’ said Taggie with a sob. ‘Every other bedroom in the house is occupied; a bloody great party, including Ralphie and his blonde are in the kitchen, so I can’t wash up, the disco people haven’t been paid, Mummy and Daddy have gone to bed, and I don’t want to be a wallflower and cramp everyone’s style.’

‘You won’t cramp mine. Come on.’ Rupert dragged her out.

An empty champagne bottle rolled out at the same time.

‘You drink all that?’

‘Nearly.’

Rupert threw a couple of logs on the dying fire and then sat Taggie down on the sofa beside him. Gertrude took up her position between them.

‘It’s been a wonderful party,’ he said.

‘It hasn’t,’ said Taggie despairingly. ‘It’s been a disaster. Patrick’s got off with Lord Baddingham’s m-mistress, which’ll make Lord Baddingham go even more off Daddy. And Mummy’s got a terrific crush on someone.’ She blushed, remembering it was Rupert, and added hastily, ‘I’m not sure who, and poor Daddy’s got to pay for it all. I tried and tried to keep the cost down, but then Mummy went off and ordered all that champagne, and invited hundreds and hundreds of people.’

‘Your father must earn a good screw from Corinium,’ said Rupert reasonably.

‘He does —’ Taggie cuddled Gertrude like a terrified child clutching a teddy bear — ‘but it’s not nearly enough. He’s got a massive overdraft and we still haven’t paid for our leaving party in London, and he got another huge tax bill yesterday, and he hasn’t paid the last one yet, and Mummy and Caitlin and Patrick won’t take it seriously. They think Daddy’s a bottomless pit who’ll always provide.

‘To produce his best work,’ she went on, ‘he’s got to be kept calm. That’s why we moved to the country for some peace and for him to finish his book. And he loathes Lord Baddingham, he thinks he’s dreadfully cor — cor. .’ She blocked on the word.

‘Corrupt,’ said Rupert.

‘That’s right, and shouldn’t be running Corinium at all. Daddy’s so headstrong, I’m sure he’ll walk out if there are any more rows, and he says the BBC won’t have him back.’

Despite being drunk, Rupert appreciated it wasn’t at all an ideal set-up.

‘Of course the BBC would,’ he said. ‘Your father’s a genius. He’s got everything going for him.’

‘Except us,’ said Taggie with a sob. ‘We’re all a drain on him.’

‘You’re not,’ said Rupert.

‘I am. Ralphie doesn’t love me. No one will ever love me.’

Rupert let her cry for a few minutes, then made her laugh by putting his black tie on Gertrude.

‘I’m so sorry,’ stammered Taggie, wiping her eyes on someone’s discarded silk shawl. ‘I’m being horribly s-s-self-indulgent.’

‘You’re not.’ Suddenly Rupert felt very avuncular and protective as he did when one of his dogs cut its paw. He wished a visit to the vet and a few stitches could cure Taggie’s problems.

‘I’m going to get that drunk out of your bed and then you can go to sleep.’

‘I must pay the disco — but no one seems to want them to stop — and the Makepieces. I’ve got the money.’ She got a large wad of tenners out of the George V Coronation tin on the desk.

‘I’ll pay them,’ said Rupert, taking the money. ‘You’re going to bed.’

Up in Taggie’s turret bedroom, with some effort, Rupert lifted Charles Fairburn out of the bed and, lugging him down the winding stairs, put him on the chaise-longue recently vacated by Archie and Tracey Makepiece. As Taggie’s room was like the North Pole, he returned with a duvet he’d whipped off a fornicating couple in the spare room. Taggie had got into a red flannel nightgown and cleaned her teeth. Lady in Red, thought Rupert. She had huge black circles under her eyes. She looked about twelve.

‘Everything’ll work out all right,’ he said, tucking her in.

‘You’ve been so kind,’ stammered Taggie. ‘I’m sorry I was so rude to you before, and thank you for the pendant.’

But as Rupert put out a hand to touch her cheek, Gertrude, still in her black tie, growled fiercely.

‘You may have forgiven me,’ said Rupert, ‘but Gertrude hasn’t.’