Rivals (65 page)

    'Unfortunately he takes the franchise as seriously as you,'

    said Maud bitterly.

    'Ah,' said Tony with an evil smile. 'But the difference is, he's not going to win.'

    'Maud, my dear,' said Monica, bringing forward a distinguished-looking man in a leather jacket with greying hair. 'I didn't tell you before, but this is Pascoe Rawlings.'

    Maud's jaw dropped. Pascoe Rawlings was simply the most powerful theatrical agent in London.

    'Were you in the audience?' said Maud.

    'And in total raptures,' said Pascoe, drawing her out of the shadowy corner and under the naked light bulb hanging in the wings and examining her face carefully. 'Yes, close-up you're even better. Look, Jonathan Miller's casting A Doll's House. Can you have lunch with me very early next week?'

    The party was, in fact, a great success. James spent the evening holding Lizzie in front of him like a riot shield to ward off the advances of Sarah Stratton, and only let her go because he wanted to be introduced to Pascoe Rawlings. The next moment Freddie had whipped Lizzie behind one of the huge cardboard pillars which had stood in the Pontevedrian ballroom.

    'This is a pillar of unrespectability,' said Lizzie.

    'I love you,' said Freddie desperately.

    'And I love you. James is going to London tomorrow night.'

    'What time will the children be asleep?'

    'By nine,' said Lizzie, 'even if I have to drug them.'

    'I'll be there at nine-firty,' said Freddie.

    In her mother's dressing-room, on a floor of wilting petals, Caitlin lay in Archie's arms and had no need of words.

    Taggie spent the evening removing plates, keeping out of Rupert's way and sticking up for her father. It was not just Tony who thought he'd behaved appallingly.

    'So unsupportive,' snapped Cameron.

    'He ought to have his knuckles rapped,' said Monica, 'but in a way that storm of grief seemed to enhance her performance.'

    'I always said you can never trust the Irish,' said Valerie

    Jones.

    'D'you think Declan's coming back tonight?' whispered Bas in Maud's ear at midnight, 'because if he isn't…'

    Everyone stopped talking as Tony tapped his glass with a

    spoon.

    'On behalf of Corinium Television,' he said suavely, 'I'd like to thank our Mayor and Mayoress and, of course, you, Prebendary, for being here this evening. I want to congratulate Barton and all the cast of The Merry Widow for a truly splendid performance, but most of all I think we should praise Maud O'Hara, who, under the most difficult circumstances - he smiled at Maud 'was

    without doubt the star of the

    evening.'

    Exactly on cue, Declan walked in. He was deathly pale and still wearing yesterday's jeans and dark-blue jersey. But such was his presence that, as usual he made everyone else seem like pygmies.

    Charles Fairburn, who was pissed, gave a very theatrical hiss. 'Hullo, Declan dear, I'm surprised you haven't popped up through a trap door in a great puff of sulphur and

    brimstone.'

    'Good morning, Declan,' drawled Tony, ostentatiously looking at his watch, 'you're late. Four and a half hours late to be exact. What kept you? I do hope you're not as late as this when you go to the IBA on Friday week, or there's even less chance of Venturer winning the franchise.' Declan ignored him and walked up to Maud. 'I'm desperately sorry, darling,' he said. 'I hear you were sensational. I knew you would be.'

    Indignation overcame Monica's normal good manners: 'You knew nothing of the sort, you beastly man, you ought to be hung, drawn and quartered. She was absolutely super, but no thanks to you. You wait till you see the video.'

    'There was a good reason,' said Declan, not taking his eyes off Maud, 'but as I don't like some of the company you're keeping this evening, I'll tell you later. Let's go.'

    'But she's the guest of honour,' said Monica furiously.

    Just for a second everyone expected Maud to slap Declan's face. Instead she reached up and hugged him.

    'Poor darling,' she said, 'you must be tired. Thank you all -' marvellously theatrically, the big star now, she turned slowly round, smiling at everyone in the room 'for

    a lovely, lovely party.'

    Then, taking Declan's arm, she dutifully followed him off the stage.

    Caitlin, who'd just emerged from Maud's dressing-room with Archie, shook her head. 'I'll never understand that couple,' she said.

    On the way out Maud and Declan passed Rupert and Cameron. 'Rupert saved me,' said Maud, ignoring Cameron, whom she had not forgiven for her abuse earlier.

    'I know,' said Declan, 'Taggie told me on the way in.'

    Briefly he took Rupert aside. 'Look, I'm sorry I focked everything up, but Dermot MacBride insisted I sat down and read the whole play. I didn't realize his mother was from Gloucestershire and the play's all about his childhood just outside Stroud. He's giving it to us, with an option on the next play. I'm going to fix a price with his agent tomorrow. It's a focking good play.'

    'It better be,' said Rupert icily. 'You nearly paid for it with a far higher price than money.'

47

    Six days later the Gatherum, which was the neighbouring hunt to the West Cotchester, held their hunt ball in Henry Hampshire's beautiful mouldering Elizabethan house. This was the last time the two consortiums would meet before their encounters with the IBA next week, and once again the whole place seemed to divide like the Dreyfus case. At one table sat Freddie and Valerie, Henry Hampshire, very much on his best behaviour as host and in the presence of his wife Hermione, Declan and Maud and Rupert and Cameron. Bas was turning up later with some ex-mistress, whose husband was conveniently in America.

    Two tables away sat the Baddinghams, Ginger Johnson and his wife, Georgie Baines, with his long eyelashes cast down, and his wife, Paul and Sarah Stratton, and James and Lizzie Vereker. Although some of the women in both parties exchanged occasional banter and smiles, the men of one side studiously ignored those of the other side.

    Maud appeared to be the only member of the Venturer party in tearing spirits. The two subsequent performances of The Merry Widow on Tuesday and Wednesday had been just as successful. She had had hundreds of letters and telephone calls of congratulation, and yesterday she had lunched with Pascoe Rawlings, who was arranging for her to audition as soon as possible for A Doll's House. Tonight she looked stunning with her red-gold hair piled up, and an old-gold

    taffeta dress which looked suspiciously new, turning her green eyes a tigerish yellow. No doubt when Bas arrived, after the success of The Merry Widow, the band could be prevailed upon to play a quick waltz, and Bas would sweep her on to the floor.

    Cameron, who'd been editing the Yeats rushes all week, and working hard with Declan on additional programme plans to present to the IBA next Friday, looked thin and drawn. She was worried Declan seemed suddenly distant. There was none of the intimacy they'd achieved in Ireland. Tonight, obviously hating being so near Tony, he was pale and edgy. As the only member of the party in a dinner jacket rather than a red coat, his black lowering presence seemed to accentuate Venturer's gloom and tension.

    Cameron was even more worried about Rupert, who had gone increasingly into his shell since she'd come back from Ireland. He also looked desperately tired. The new Socialist majority was so tiny that the Tories were determined to contest it to the full on every vote, which meant endless late night sittings. The interminable IBA rehearsals, even though both Henry and Wesley were word perfect now, were also taking their toll. Even Freddie didn't seem his usual bouncy self. Only Valerie was appallingly unchanged.

    'What are you doing, Fred-Fred?' she screeched, as Freddie started crawling around under the priceless Jacobean table.

    'Lookin' for bugs.'

    'You're more laikely to find woodworm,' said Valerie disapprovingly. 'I can't think why Henry and Hermione don't junk all this nasty dark stuff and invest in some decent Repro. And have you seen the state of the place?' Valerie had already had a prowl round some of the bedrooms, the long gallery and the grand staircase with its heraldic leopards. 'All the plaster's peeling. There's so much damp, and you should have seen the moths flutter out when I touched the drapes in Hermione's bedroom.'

    'Didn't you realize this is a moth sanctuary?' said Rupert gravely. 'You know Henry is Venturer's conservation expert.'

    Valerie looked at Rupert sharply. She was never sure if he wasn't mobbing her up.

    'Actually I wanted to pick your brains,' she said, lowering her voice, 'about Fred-Fred's birthday. There was an article in The Times yesterday saying the latest thing in the hunting field is to have a brass flask of sherry attached to your saddle.'

    'Sounds hell,' said Rupert with a yawn. The only thing I want attached to my saddle is my bum.'

    At that moment Tony paused in front of the Venturer table surveying

    them with amusement.

    'I see the devil has cast his net,' he said loudly.

    'If the holes in his net were as big as your mouth, we'd all escape,' drawled Rupert.

    Everyone at the surrounding tables howled with laughter and Tony retreated discomforted.

    'And Ladbroke's has us at 2-1 on today,' Rupert yelled after him.

    Valerie turned to Cameron, 'You're looking a bit washed out. I don't think black's really your colour too

    deadening. Why don't you pop into the boutique and buy something naice for all the Christmas functions coming up?"

    'What's the difference between a shop and a boutique?' asked Henry, who'd got bored of welcoming people.

    They sell exactly the same stuff, but a boutique is about five times as expensive,' said Rupert.

    Valerie looked very boutique-faced as Rupert turned his back on both of them.

    People were sitting down at their tables now and the waitresses were beginning to carry plates of smoked trout down the aisles. Looking round, Rupert noticed the place was absolutely crawling with beautiful, only-too-available women. It was just the sort of evening he once would have revelled in, getting drunk and off" with half of them, behaving atrociously, not a cordoned-off four-poster untested. What the hell was the matter with him? He didn't even want to sleep with Cameron any more.

    'Where's Taggie?' asked Valerie, picking up her fork. 'No, leave your bread roll, Fred-Fred.'

    'Dog-sitting,' said Maud, holding up her glass for more Muscadet. 'I don't know what's got into her at the moment, she's so lethargic. I tried to persuade her to come this evening, but she wouldn't. She hadn't got a partner. When I was her age I had hordes of boys chasing after me.'

    'When all this franchise business is sorted out, we must all put our heads together and find her a decent guy,' said Cameron.

    'Don't be fucking silly,' snapped Rupert. 'You can't find people for other people. Taggie's perfectly capable of finding someone herself.' He put his fork down, his trout hardly touched, and, refusing wine, asked the waiter to bring him a bottle of whisky.

    Across at the Corinium table, Sarah Stratton plonked herself down beside James.

    'You shouldn't be here,' he hissed, giving her the sort of look delphinium growers reserve for slugs. 'The High Sheriffs wife is supposed to be sitting there.'

    'I shifted the place cards,' hissed back Sarah. 'You don't want to sit next to that old bag.'

    'But you've totally ruined Monica's placement,' said James in outrage. 'And that means Tony's got to sit next to the High Sheriffs wife, which he won't like one bit.'

    'Serve him right for trying to split us up. I love you.'

    'Keep your voice down.' James looked furtively round.

    'I'll talk even louder if you don't let me stay. Surely you must have a programme in your marriage series on coping with temptation? Well, you can bloody well research it tonight.'

    Home at The Priory, Taggie, having dispatched her parents to the ball, was wondering forlornly what to do for the rest of the evening. The only decent film on television was Italian, and she wouldn't be able to read the subtitles fast enough to get the gist of it. It was a vicious night. The wind was howling round the windows, trying to get in out of the cold. The snow was falling steadily, already lining the window-ledge and bowing down the evergreens. At least there was a nice fire in the little sitting-room. Gertrude, Aengus and Claudius were all stretched out in front of the blaze. The logs came from their wood, or rather it was Rupert's wood now; everything seemed to come back to him.

    How will I ever get through my life without him, she thought hopelessly, when I can't even face a much-longed-for free evening?

    She jumped at a sudden pounding on the door. The bell was still blocked up with loo paper to discourage creditors. Outside was Hazel, one of the make-up girls from the BBC, who'd once worked on Declan's programme and become a great family friend. Flakes of snow like brilliants in her hair gave her an added glamour. She'd been doing a job in Bristol and was on her way home.

    'Everyone's out except me,' apologized Taggie, 'but come in and have a drink.'

    'What a lovely house, really Gothic,' said Hazel in awe as they went into the sitting-room.

    'Not too large,' she squawked, as Taggie poured her a vodka and tonic. 'I've got to drive back to London.'

    'You must stay the night,' urged Taggie. 'You can't drive in this weather and Daddy'll be d-devastated to have missed

    you.'

    'I can't believe Caitlin's taking O-levels. She was such a wee little thing,' said Hazel twenty minutes later. 'And Patrick got a first, and he's as tall as your Dad. I do hope your Dad gets the franchise. We're all rooting for him at the Beeb. Tony Baddingham's such a shit.'

    The telephone rang. It was Bas. 'Taggie, babe, you're coming to the ball.'

    'I can't,' squeaked Taggie. 'I've got someone here.'

    'Well get rid of them. Annabel, my date, has been out all day with the Belvoir, and the snow's too bad for her to drive down, and anyway, she's bushed. So I've got no one to go with and I can't think of anyone more delicious than you.'

    'I haven't got anything to wear.'

    'Fret not, I'll be over in an hour with some frocks."

    'I've been asked to the Hunt Ball,' said Taggie in awe.

    'Wonderful,' said Hazel excitedly. 'I'll dog-sit. Go and wash your hair and have a bath. I'll make you up. You'll come up beautifully.'

    Bas, naughty as his word, arrived an hour later with a back seat loaded up with ball dresses.

    'Where did you get them?' asked Taggie incredulously.

    'Corinium's wardrobe department,' said Bas. 'Their security is atrocious.'

    'What a gorgeous man,' murmured Hazel enviously, 'and I've had some heart-throbs through my fingers in my time.'

    'This dress is made by B-A-L-Main,' spelt out Taggie slowly. 'What happens if I put my foot through it?'

    'Try the crimson one,' said Bas. 'It's much the best colour for you and at least it won't show up the red wine that's bound to get poured over you.'

    'It's awfully low-cut,' said Taggie dubiously.

    'All the better,' said Hazel, checking the Carmen rollers. 'Hurry up and decide. I want to do your hair.'

    Back at the ball, dinner was over and dancing had begun. It was a measure of Monica's niceness that no one else but she knew that Valerie had auditioned and been turned down for both Maud and Monica's parts in The Merry Widow. Still smarting from the rejection (she would have been so much better than Maud), Valerie was now determined to demonstrate her dancing skills and had dragged a reluctant Freddie on to the floor. She was soon bawling him out.

    'Can't you concentrate for one minute, Fred-Fred? I said fish-tail not telemarque.'

    Through a swirling herbaceous border of red coats and brilliantly coloured dresses, Freddie could see Lizzie in fuchsia pink being humped round the floor by James, who'd at last managed to shake off Sarah.

    As they passed Tony sitting at the Corinium table, James deliberately pressed his cheek and his body against Lizzie's.

    I can't stand it, thought Lizzie wretchedly. She'd imagined it would be better seeing Freddie tonight, than not seeing him at all, but it made everything much, much worse.

    Watching across the room, Freddie wanted to punch James on his perfectly straight nose, and then whisk Lizzie upstairs on to a moth-infested four-poster and tear off her fuchsia dress and kiss her all over.

    'Fred-Fred,' screeched Valerie in his ear, 'are you tipsy? This is a foxtrot.'

    Declan danced with Maud, who was well away. Over his shoulder she glanced at her gold watch. Bas was very late. At the Venturer table it was plain to Cameron, watching Rupert pour another large whisky, that he was deliberately setting out to get drunk. People kept pausing to say hullo, but, seeing the set expression on his face and the sinister glitter in his eyes, they didn't stay long. Cameron, acutely conscious of Tony two tables away talking in lowered tones to Ginger Johnson and watching her every move, tried to talk to Rupert. A slow anger rose in her when he only answered in monosyllables.

    Why make it so obvious that you've absolutely no interest in me, she wanted to scream. Was he deliberately goading her to go back to Tony?

    The next dance is definitely mine,' said Henry to

    Cameron. 'Oh, good. Here's Bas at last,' said Maud, pinning up a

    tendril of hair at the back.

    'Good Lord,' said Henry in wonder, his glass of wine poised halfway to his lips. 'What a stunning girl!'

    'Annabel Kemble-Taylor's hardly a girl,' said Rupert, who had his back to the floor. 'Half Leicestershire's been up her.'

    'She is pretty. Most dramatical,' said Freddie, putting on his spectacles. 'Blimey, it's Taggie.'

    Rupert swung round and caught his breath. There, undulating across the floor, rouged, lipsticked, her eyes vast and black-lined with kohl, black hair a mass of snakey ringlets, her shoulders, far creamier and lusher than Maud's, rising out of a niched crimson dress with a bustle, was indeed Taggie. Everyone was turning round to gawp at her. Basil, who'd been slowly stalking her for fourteen months, looked beside himself with pride.