‘Nothing’s final,’ said Dame Enid briskly.
Taggie went white. ‘You don’t think Daddy will do something silly?’
‘Of course not,’ snapped Cameron, because she had thought the same thing and was frightened too.
Lizzie took Freddie’s hand. ‘I’m so sorry, darling.’
Freddie shook his head, near to tears too, unable to speak.
Next minute Freddie’s chauffeur rang from the car: ‘I ’eard the bad news on the radio, Mr J. I’ve picked up Mr O’Hara at South Ken.’
‘Is he OK?’ said Freddie.
‘Well, he’s not making much sense, but I’ll bring him back to Holland Park.’
Ten minutes later Declan walked into the drawing-room. For a second he looked like a thundercloud, so they all knew finally there was absolutely no hope. Then for the first time in weeks, he gave his wicked schoolboy grin: ‘It’s all right, my darlings. We got it.’
There was a stunned silence, followed by an explosion of cheering; everyone was hugging each other. Janey burst into tears, so did Charles. Dame Enid and Billy were wiping their eyes.
‘Fuckin’ ’ell,’ yelled Freddie, jumping up and down.
‘Good Lord,’ said Henry.
Taggie suddenly found herself hugging Cameron. ‘We got it,’ they both screamed simultaneously.
‘Are you quite, quite sure?’ said Bas incredulously. ‘Can we see the proof?’
Grinning broadly, Declan got the torn white letter out of his pocket. Everyone crowded round to have a look.
‘Bloody hell, it’s true,’ said Janey, giving a whoop of joy and hugging Billy. ‘We can move back to Penscombe.’
‘I’m going to be the next Trevor MacDonald,’ shouted Wesley.
‘I might even keep my cottage after all,’ said Marti.
‘What decided them finally to give it to us?’ Cameron asked Declan over the Tarzan howls and the deafening fusillade of champagne corks.
‘Mostly you,’ said Declan, putting an arm round her shoulders. ‘They thought you were marvellous, and they adored Freddie, but it was everyone,’ he went on, raising his hand for silence. ‘It was all of you turning up at the IBA that finally swung it. A case of everyone ventured, everything won. In the end, none but the brave deserved the franchise.’ He wiped his eyes. ‘I’m so proud and happy for us all.’
‘So am I,’ said Henry, who’d been laboriously doing sums on the back of an envelope, ‘I had one thousand pounds on us at 2–1.’
‘Christ,’ said Bas. ‘You can almost buy Joanna Lumley for that.’
Everyone screamed with laughter and started hugging everyone else all over again.
Over at Rutland Gate, Caitlin lay in Archie’s arms.
‘Are you sure that was all right,’ he asked her for the hundredth time, as he stroked her flat white belly.
‘Of course it was.’
‘I thought guys were supposed to go off girls the moment they’d had them, but I love you more than ever. You’re so beautiful. Did it hurt very much?’
Caitlin giggled: ‘One has to suffer to be beautiful. And we’ve got the whole holidays ahead of us. Have you got masses of work to do?’
‘Yes,’ said Archie.
‘So have I. We can do it together.’
‘Are you hungry? I am. I’ll see if there’s anything in the larder.’ Archie got up. Naked, still slightly plump, but to Caitlin entirely beautiful, he peered through the curtains. At three-thirty, it was getting dark.
‘Holy shit,’ said Archie. ‘My mother’s just getting out of a taxi.’
Frantically Caitlin kicked the bottle under the bed, put the two glasses in the bedside cupboard, dragged on her jeans, her black cardigan and her boots, and shoved her shirt, bra, pants and socks into her carrier bag. Archie turned off the bedroom lights.
Going into the drawing-room a minute later, Monica found Archie and Caitlin sitting on either side of an empty fireplace. Caitlin was reading
Country Life
upside-down.
‘Hullo, Mummy,’ said Archie heartily, getting up and kissing her. ‘I thought you’d be at Dad’s celebration piss-up. I was about to join you.’
‘It’s been cancelled,’ said Monica numbly. ‘We’ve lost the franchise.’
‘What!’ exploded Archie. ‘We couldn’t have. All the papers said it was in the bag.’
‘They were wrong. For security, the IBA leave MI5 standing.’
‘My God, I’m sorry.’
Caitlin couldn’t take it in. ‘D’you mean Daddy’s got it?’ she said slowly.
‘I don’t know.’ Monica looked at Caitlin dazedly. ‘I suppose so.’
Still in her fur coat and headscarf, she sat down very suddenly on the sofa, stared at her rough gardening hands, with their huge diamonds, and burst into tears. Archie, who’d only seen his mother cry once years ago when one of her labradors had to be put down, was utterly helpless. It was like watching the
Titanic
sink.
‘I just feel so sorry for him,’ sobbed Monica. ‘I know he’s done dreadful, dreadful things, left no stone unturned to try and win the franchise, but he wanted to beat Rupert and Declan so very badly.’
Rushing across the room, Caitlin put her arms round Monica.
‘I’m so sorry. I’m delighted for Daddy of course, but it’s like the Boat Race. Someone’s got to win, but it doesn’t stop it being horribly, desperately, publicly humiliating for the crew who don’t. There, please don’t cry. Get her some brandy,’ she ordered Archie. ‘Will you be terribly poor?’
‘No,’ gulped Monica, ‘I don’t think so. Tony’s got all his other companies. It’s just that he minded so much, and it’s such a shock. He was so certain.’
Struggling to her feet, desperately wiping her eyes, saying she must find a handkerchief, she stumbled off to her bedroom.
Thinking of the unmade bed, Archie and Caitlin looked at each other in horror.
‘I must be going senile,’ gulped Monica when she returned, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose. ‘I could have sworn I made my bed this morning.’
‘You’ve been under a terrific strain,’ said Caitlin sympathetically. ‘My father topped up a whisky and soda with milk the other day. ‘
‘But I never leave it unmade,’ whispered Monica. ‘I can’t afford to go to pieces. Tony’s going to need so much support.’
She made a face like a little girl drinking medicine as she took a gulp of the brandy.
‘I’ll go and make it for you,’ said Caitlin. ‘That’ll make you feel better. Then Archie and I are going to get you some lunch.’
In the middle of Venturer’s amazed and joyful celebrations, the telephone rang. Dame Enid picked it up. Not bothering to put her hand over the receiver, she yelled: ‘It’s the boring old fart for you, Declan.’
‘Congratulations, Declan,’ said the Bishop of Cotchester heartily. ‘Delighted you’ve finally got the franchise. With the festive season nearly upon us, I’ve been pondering much on the nature of forgiveness. I think, on balance, my flock will understand if I overlook Rupert Campbell-Black’s lamentable behaviour. I would like to reconsider my position
vis-à-vis
Venturer.’
A beatific smile spread over Declan’s face: ‘Flock off,’ he said, and hung up.
Cameron sat on the sofa cuddling Blue.
‘A penny for your thoughts,’ said Patrick, sitting down beside her. ‘Although, now you’ve won the franchise, I suppose they’re much more expensive than that.’
Cameron grinned: ‘I was thinking how odd it is to feel so wildly happy when one’s heart is breaking.’
‘It’s relief,’ said Patrick, filling up her glass, ‘to discover you’re going to survive after all.’
He glanced across at Taggie who, with a fixed smile on her face, was gathering up glasses like a zombie.
‘I’m not sure my sister is.’
‘What’s she got to complain about?’ said Cameron bitterly. ‘Rupert loves her.’
‘She hasn’t got a clue he does,’ said Patrick, ‘and he’s not going to do anything about it. He’s probably out on the tiles at some Hollywood orgy at this moment, busy forgetting her. Freddie and Pa have been trying to get through to him all evening, but there’s no answer.’
Cameron looked at her watch.
‘It must be breakfast time in LA,’ she said.
RIVALS
52
Over in California Rupert was slowly going out of his mind with misery. Leaving England had made everything far, far worse. He couldn’t eat or sleep. He must be dying if he didn’t even want to drink. All he could do was long for Taggie. He’d never dreamed anything could hurt so much.
‘Rupert,’ said Suzy Erikson, his beautiful hostess, as they breakfasted by the pool, having just come in after an all-night party, ‘I’ve been talking to you for twenty minutes, and you haven’t heard a single word.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’
‘I’ve also trailed all the most glamorous women in Hollywood in front of you for the past fortnight and you’ve paid no attention to any of them.’
‘I know. I’m sorry about that too.’
‘Still brooding about your Irish teenager?’ said Suzy, plunging a spoon into her melon. ‘Go home and screw her. It’s the only way you’ll get her out of your system. ‘
Rupert looked at his cooling cup of coffee. ‘I can’t, I mustn’t fuck her up,’ he repeated dully. ‘Apart from Billy, she’s the only genuinely good person I’ve ever met.’
‘That seems rather a good omen,’ said Suzy. ‘Billy’s the only person you’ve ever been faithful to, and the only one you haven’t fucked up either.’
As Rupert got up to prowl up and down the terrace, Suzy thought how much weight he’d lost and how really ill he looked. Having some years ago been desperately in love with him, she’d always longed to see him brought to his knees. But now, so abject was his despair, she could only feel sorry for him.
‘I want to look after her,’ he was saying. ‘She’s the only person who’s ever made me want to find a dragon and slay it for her sake, although,’ he added with a half-smile, ‘she wouldn’t appreciate it. She doesn’t like cruelty to animals at all.’
‘Good thing she didn’t know you in the old days,’ said Suzy. ‘Have you got a picture?’
Rupert walked back to his chair and extracted a creased snapshot from the inside pocket of his boating jacket, which was hanging over the back of the chair. It was one he’d taken in the woods. Taggie was pink-faced from catching leaves with the children.
‘Not a great beauty, is she?’ said Suzy with a certain satisfaction. Rupert snatched back the photograph.
‘She is,’ he said icily. ‘She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.’
‘Hum,’ said Suzy. ‘Well, if you think that, you have got her badly.’
An extremely tense silence was broken by the telephone.
‘Someone called Declan O’Hara for you,’ said Suzy. ‘He seems kinda drunk.’
Rupert steeled himself for abuse.
‘We’ve got it, we’ve focking got it,’ yelled Declan.
‘You what?’
‘Not just us – you as well. We’ve focking got the franchise.’
Judging from the shrieks and whoops, there was the most terrific party going on in the background. Rupert wished, after the initial passionate relief, he could feel more excited and respond appropriately to Declan’s almost incoherent ecstasy. Then he talked to Freddie, who was calmer but equally euphoric, and briefly to Cameron who sounded pretty overexcited as well. Then Declan snatched back the telephone.
‘Isn’t it focking marvellous? You’d better come back soon, and we can find out if we know how to run a television company – what’s that? Oh Taggie says to wish you a Happy Christmas.’
Switching off the telephone, Rupert walked to the edge of the shimmering pale-blue pool and looked up at the snowy peaks of the Santa Monica mountains that rose like one of Taggie’s puddings. He wondered if the snow had thawed at Penscombe.
‘I’m going home,’ he said.
‘To propose to your pink-faced Amazon?’
Rupert shook his head violently. ‘No, no. I just think if I was in the same country as her, it might hurt less.’
The journey home was hell. All the air hostesses fluttered round him, plying him with champagne and delicious things to eat, which he left untouched. By some ghastly irony, the film was the Woody Allen which he’d seen with the children and Taggie. He took in as little of it as he had the first time. He tried to sleep, but it was as though he was destined to watch eternal television with Taggie’s face on all four channels. He dropped off for a few minutes as the plane flew over Ireland, but dreamed of her and woke in utter desolation to find she wasn’t there.
Heathrow at seven-thirty on a raw December morning was still dark.
‘Good morning, Mr Campbell-Black,’ said the passport man, who didn’t even get a nod.
As he waited for his luggage, Rupert watched the carousel going round. It was the last circle of hell, he reflected, for people who never got the person they wanted in life. His heart was so heavy, he’d have to pay excess baggage on it. As he went through the green door at Customs, he thought of all the times in the old days when he’d sauntered through carrying dope or illegal currency in the bottom of his boots. Now he had nothing forbidden to declare but his hopeless love for Taggie.
Once through the barrier, he looked wearily round for his driver, but no one came forward. Christ, that was all he needed. He set off towards the telephones, passing a fleet of people brandishing cards with names on. Suddenly a particularly large placard caught his eye. On it was painted in huge letters: Roopurt Cambel-Blak. Only one person could spell that badly! He must be going mad. Then, below the placard, he saw a pair of very long, very slim legs in familiar faded jeans. The legs were shaking frantically, so was the placard. Rupert, finding too that his legs would hardly hold him up, walked towards it. Very gently he pushed it down, seeing first the mane of black hair, then two silver-grey eyes, then the deathly white face, and the desperately trembling mouth he’d dreamed of kissing for months now.
‘Oh Tag,’ he said despairingly.
‘I can’t help it,’ she sobbed. ‘I’ll do anything. I’ll drive you around. I’ll look after your children. I’ll cook, clean your house, muck out your horses, weed your garden. I just want to be near you. I can’t bear it any longer.’