Party Games (36 page)

Spencer looked up from the fridge, a bottle of beer in his hand.

Fleur stopped dead. ‘I didn’t know you were here.’

‘Well, you do now.’ His eyes roamed horribly over her near-naked body. ‘Nice bikini.’

At that moment Beau walked in through the other door. ‘Angel, you look fantastic! Scrubs up all right, doesn’t she?’ he asked Spencer.

He looked lasciviously at her chest. ‘Yes, mate.’

‘Spence is going to stay the night,’ Beau told her. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

‘I just drove up from London,’ Spencer said. ‘Seriously heavy night.’

Fleur joined them by the pool, where there was already a bottle of Moët on the go. Beau looked at her shirt-dress. ‘I thought you were going for a swim?’

‘I changed my mind,’ she said. ‘I’ll go another time.’

‘Come and sit by me.’ He put his arm round her as she sat down. ‘Spence and I were just having a catch-up.’

Spencer smiled at her in that horrible, sly way of his. ‘Farm going well?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ she replied stiffly.

He turned to Beau. ‘I bumped into Valentina at the Groucho the other night. She asked after you.’

‘Oh?’ Beau said. ‘Do send her my best.’

Tinie Tempah’s latest track started blasting out on someone’s mobile. Spencer jumped up. ‘Mate!’ he said to someone, walking off down the side of the pool.

Fleur turned to Beau. ‘Has Valentina been in contact with you?’

‘Of course not. Why would she?’

‘Did you know Spencer was coming?’

‘No. Turning up unannounced is just his thing.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘You don’t like him, do you?’

‘He just seems a bit sneaky. Like there’s some private joke I’m not in on.’

He leant across and kissed her on the mouth. ‘I know he’s a bit much sometimes, but give him a chance.’

Unfortunately Spencer was extremely hard to give a chance to. An unappealing mix of arrogance and not being very bright, he barely spoke to Fleur all evening, hanging off Beau’s every word instead. It was only when Beau had gone to get another bottle of champagne that he gave her his full attention.

‘So, are you and Beau serious?’

‘You’d have to ask him,’ she said defensively.

‘You’re not his usual type.’

She knew she shouldn’t rise. ‘What’s his usual type?’

He gave a smirk. ‘Oh, you know.’

Mercifully Beau came back at that point. ‘I’m just going to the toilet,’ Fleur said, leaving before she ducked Spencer’s fat head in the pool.

Fuming, she hung round the house for a while,
putting off going back out. When she did both men were deep in conversation.

‘You’re putting in the groundwork with this one,’ she heard Spencer say. ‘I hope it’s worth it.’

Fleur could only see the back of Beau’s blond head. ‘It is, don’t worry.’

Spencer saw her then and shut up. ‘Fleur!’ he said, just a little too loudly. ‘How’s it going?’

Beau jumped up. ‘I was wondering where you’d got to. Sit down.’ He made a big fuss of her, plumping up the cushions and refilling Fleur’s drink. ‘We should think about ordering some food soon. How does curry sound?’

It had been four days since John had left. He hadn’t been convinced by Catherine’s excuse for not being there to see him off, and they’d parted via the telephone on even worse terms. Due to the time difference and her crazy schedule, they’d only had a few brief conversations since. A cowardly part of her was relieved. If they didn’t speak, she didn’t have to face up to the fact that her marriage was falling apart.

It was a dispirited atmosphere that Monday at Tory HQ. The day before, the
Cotswolds on Sunday
had run a disastrous piece on Catherine. Instead of focusing on her policies, the reporter had conjured up lurid tales of the Crimson Killer case. ‘Catherine Connor is a woman on the run from her past,’ he’d written. ‘Considering her blood-soaked history, it’s little surprise she’s entered the cut-throat world of local politics.’

‘It’s not ideal,’ Felix admitted. ‘You’ll have to go out today and work extra hard to win them over.’

‘Why don’t you start wearing mini-skirts?’ Charles Knatchbull boomed.

‘Charles,’ Felix reprimanded mildly.

‘What? Worked for Angela Fairbottom in the 87 election. By Jove, she had a pair of pins on her!’

‘Thanks, Charles, but I’m not quite desperate enough to start taking my clothes off yet,’ Catherine snapped.

A cloying scent of Lily of the Valley entered the room. ‘Not interrupting, am I?’

Catherine rolled her eyes. This was all she needed. Viola Taunton-Brown, in pearls and a check Aquascutum two-piece.

‘Morning, boys.’ Viola ignored Catherine. ‘How are we all?’

Felix’s mobile went off. ‘Morning, Viola. Would you excuse me while I take this?’

He left the room. Viola turned to Catherine. ‘I hear you were condoning underage sex the other day!’ She gave her husband a scandalized look. ‘Patricia Hornwell told me, she heard it from Pamela Linley, who saw Catherine campaigning in the market square.’

‘I wasn’t condoning underage sex, Viola. I was asked a perfectly legitimate question about making the morning-after pill free over the counter.’

‘The morning after what?’ Charles bellowed.

‘That contraceptive pill,’ Viola told him. ‘For girls who sleep around. Really, the moral compass of the younger generation these days.’

‘Would you prefer unwanted pregnancies, then?’ Catherine enquired icily.

Viola looked at her nastily. ‘Whatever does your husband make of you, running all over the countryside delivering your pornographic manifesto?’

‘I really wouldn’t know,’ Catherine snapped. ‘He’s in Costa Rica.’

‘He’s gone away? During your
campaign?
It must make you wonder if he really approves of what you’re doing!’

It scored a direct hit. ‘Why don’t you fuck off,’ Catherine shouted. ‘And stick that beak in someone else’s business?’

Viola gasped. ‘Of all the …’

‘What on earth is going on?’ Felix was standing in the doorway.

‘She started it!’ Catherine howled.

‘I most certainly did not!’

‘Felix, Catherine has just abused my wife! I demand an apology!’

‘Really!’ Viola was purple. ‘I’ve never heard such language in all my life!’

‘STOP IT, ALL OF YOU!’

Everyone turned round in shock. ‘Thank you,’ he said more evenly. ‘I’ve just had some news. The Prime Minister is coming to Beeversham tomorrow.’

They all gaped at him. ‘Tomorrow?’ Catherine echoed.

‘I’m hosting my bridge lunch,’ Viola fretted.

‘I’m sure we’ll survive without you,’ Catherine said acidly, earning herself another look from Aubrey.

‘It’s action stations from now on,’ Felix told them. ‘The PM’s ETA is ten o’clock tomorrow. He’s got a morning of photo ops, starting at Blaize Castle, then he’s got a meet-and-greet round town. Catherine, we need to work out your new schedule. I suggest we all stop squabbling and use our time to plan tomorrow.’

Catherine found Felix in the office afterwards, looking out of the window. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I was out of order.’

He gave her a rueful smile. ‘Tensions are running high.’ He went back to the window. She followed his gaze. The ruins of Blaize Castle huddled on the hill like an old man who knew his time was up.

‘Think I might go and stretch my legs, and then we’ll get on with planning tomorrow.’

Giving her a brief smile, he picked up his Panama hat and walked out. She was left cursing her insensitivity. Felix must be worried sick about the outcome of the council meeting on Ye Olde Worlde the following week.

She watched his solitary figure walk off down the street. She thought about how Ginny wasn’t herself at the moment, and the phone calls Felix kept going off to make in private. Maybe she and John weren’t the only ones having problems. No matter how happy people seemed, you never knew what really went on behind closed doors.

The hype for the Silver Box Awards had started. Vanessa and Conrad were back and forth from London in a whirl of dress-fittings, interviews and rehearsals. Moaning about all the time they were spending on the M40, Conrad had booked a permanent room at the Dorchester.

It was a blessed relief. Vanessa could no longer stand to be in the same room as him. Mercifully he hadn’t touched her since forcing himself on her. The thought of ever being intimate with him again made her feel sick. The nights they were together were a ritual of face-masks and eye creams, his feet resting on a pillow under the duvet to stave off fluid retention. She would lie awake listening to her husband making that irritating ‘pop’ sound in his sleep and dream of the day she could finally be rid of him. She was just thinking this when she became aware that Conrad had asked her a question.

‘I mean, do they want to suck all the integrity out of me?’

‘They only want to take one “and” out, Conrad,’ Vanessa said. ‘It’s hardly going to make a difference.’

The Powells were at the renowned Wolseley restaurant on Piccadilly, having lunch with Marty. Conrad’s ‘artistic vision’ was starting to send them all crazy.

He stabbed at a scallop. ‘That “and” – my clueless darling of a fuckwit – is essential for providing that moment of drama. Not that I’d expect you to understand; you haven’t got one creative bone in that ridiculously over-ripe body of yours.’

Vanessa jumped up. Rushing through the opulent dining room, she ran down the stairs to the toilets. Heading straight for the nearest cubicle, she sank down on the seat.

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him
. She wasn’t sure if she could keep the pretence up for much longer.

The door opened and she was surprised to hear two male voices. There was the sound of zips being undone and liquid splashing against ceramic. It suddenly dawned on her that they weren’t the ones in the wrong place. She’d come into the Gents.
I’m losing my mind
, she thought.

One of the men spoke. ‘Did you see Conrad Powell on the way in?’ Vanessa held her breath.

‘Yeah, smug bastard. ITV1 are pulling their hair out; apparently he’s being a fucking nightmare.’

‘Tell me something I didn’t know. You know he’s, like, their fifth choice to present the Silver Box Awards? The organizers have had a nightmare this year with
people’s filming schedules. I heard Hugh Grant and Benedict Cumberbatch both turned it down.’

‘Really? Vanessa Powell is pretty hot, though.’
Zip
. ‘I’d give her one.’

‘Someone needs to, while her husband is busy cock-sucking his way round the industry.’

‘Christ, he’s deluded. We wouldn’t touch him at the Beeb, and Sky think he’s a talentless cunt as well. He can’t even act on the packet for Valiant Hair Colour For Men.’

The other man laughed. ‘Not the big comeback he’s hoping for, then.’

That evening Dominique walked into Vanessa’s dressing room to find her emptying her jewellery tray. ‘What are you doing?’ she said curiously.

‘I’m having a clear-out,’ Vanessa lied. ‘I’ve been thinking of auctioning some of my things off.’

Her mother peered at the dressing table. ‘The De Beers drops? Are you sure?’

Vanessa swiftly closed the leather case. She’d been stockpiling valuables to go in her deposit box at Coutts. When she told Conrad she was leaving him for Dylan he would try and screw her for everything.

Dominique stood in the doorway. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You’re lying to me.’

Vanessa got up slowly. ‘If you really want to know, I’m leaving Conrad.’

There was a long pause. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ Dominique said. ‘Put your jewellery back in the safe and come downstairs.’

‘Do you hear what I’m saying, Mother? I’m leaving Conrad!’

‘And I just said you’re being ridiculous,’ Dominique hissed. ‘Now
put the jewellery back
.’

Vanessa gazed at the woman who’d given birth to her. The woman who should love her unconditionally, no matter what she did. Vanessa had told her she was leaving her husband, and still Dominique did nothing.

‘Why have you always hated me so much?’

‘I don’t hate you. How can you say such a thing?’

Vanessa scrutinized her mother’s face. The once-vibrant complexion had gradually been deadened by Botox, and a permanent look of displeasure had settled around the lipsticked mouth. She was no longer beautiful, Vanessa realized.

‘You may think I’m hard on you, but it’s only because I love you,’ Dominique told her.

‘Bullshit! You’re incapable of love.’

‘My life is difficult! You have no idea what you’re talking about!’

‘My life is difficult too, Mother! Not that you’ve ever taken the trouble to notice!’ Vanessa stormed over to her dressing table. ‘I’m leaving Conrad, and there is nothing you can do about it!’

‘I forbid you! I’m going downstairs right now to tell him.’

Vanessa turned round. ‘I will never, ever speak to you again,’ she said softly. ‘You’re either with me, or against me. It’s your decision.’

The Prime Minister arrived in Beeversham with his beautiful wife on his arm and a fleet of security cars. First stop was a photo-shoot up at Blaize Castle, where the PM’s wife’s yellow Christopher Kane dress perfectly complemented the surrounding fields of oilseed rape. The Prime Minister expertly batted away questions about Ye Olde Worlde. ‘I’m here to see the beautiful town of Beeversham,’ he told BBC South West charmingly. ‘And lend my support to Catherine.’

Next up was a local school, and then tea and cake with a mother and children’s group. The PM’s wife enchanted the kids by getting down on the floor to play, while the PM enchanted the mothers with his caring bedside manner and soft brown eyes.

Their charisma started to melt even the hardened anti-capitalists. By the time the fleet of cars hit the High Street, huge crowds of people had gathered. Everyone wanted to see if the PM’s wife really was so beautiful in the flesh and if the PM was as dashing as everyone said.

Catherine was waiting outside the entrance to Tory HQ. The brief had been short and sweet. The PM would turn up and make a brief speech, before going inside with Catherine. Then there would be a thirty-second turnaround and then out the back door, back to London.