Rivals (48 page)

Cameron had kicked off her shoes and was lying on the bed drinking white wine when he got back.

‘Good thing you didn’t come,’ she said. ‘There were so many people who’d have recognized you. I picked up a
Sunday Times.
’

‘Thanks.’

Rupert turned immediately to the sports page, she noticed, then the smile was wiped off his face.

‘Fucking hell!’ He turned to the front page.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Riots after both semi-finals of the FA Cup,’ he howled. ‘Petrol bombs thrown at the police, two policemen stabbed, cars overturned and burnt, shop windows smashed, twenty people taken to hospital, forty-five arrests. Fucking, fucking hell! I play hookey for one weekend and this happens.’

In a second he was on to Gerald in London.

‘I’ve been trying to get you since yesterday, Minister.’

There were obviously other people in the room or Gerald would never have been so formal.

‘Is it very serious?’

‘Yes – four people are still in intensive care.’

‘I’ll fly back tonight.’

‘I’m sorry, Minister. After all your hard work, it’s a most tragic setback.’

By one o’clock, Rupert managed to get on to a private jet, arranged by the British Ambassador. He seemed to have forgotten Cameron’s existence until he was leaving.

‘I’m sorry to walk out on you, angel. I’m just so pissed off. I was so certain I’d pegged the violence.’ He took her face in his hands. ‘Look, it’s been great. I won’t ring you in case I get Tony, but promise to ring me. Here’s Gerald’s number; he’ll know where to find me.’

And he was gone.

It’s a beginning, thought Cameron, hanging over the balcony to see if she could catch a glimpse of him getting into his car. It was still warm. Breathing in the scent of the lemon trees rising from the little garden, she had a sudden vision of Rupert’s beautiful house in Gloucestershire and all that wonderful sweep of land, and decided the only status symbol she really wanted was a Cartier wedding-ring with R C-B and CC engraved inside.

RIVALS

Rupert went back to England slap into a political storm. The dramatic drop in football hooliganism had been a high spot of the Tory administration. Now, after a sickening day of violence, their claims were looking very dubious. With an election in the offing, the opposition were roaring for blood and, in an emergency debate on Monday night, tabled a motion of no confidence in the Minister for Sport and howled for Rupert’s resignation. Although Rupert was certain left-wing militants were behind the riots and hinted as much in the House, he couldn’t prove it yet and the Government won the debate by the narrowest majority. Some of his own side were not displeased by events; Rupert had been the PM’s darling for too long. The Cup Final was not until 11th May, but all Rupert’s energies were now channelled into seeing the violence wasn’t repeated.

He spent most of the next week trying not to lose his temper with the pack of reporters snarling at his heels as he visited the two devastated football clubs, and comforted those who’d been hurt in the riots. As a result, he didn’t get down to Penscombe until late Wednesday afternoon, landing the helicopter on the lawn.

He had only been away a week, but already bluebells were flaming like Bunsen burners in his woods, and the crimson glow of the beeches had turned to a rusty terracotta as green leaves burst out of their narrow brown buds. Although brilliant sunshine and blue skies welcomed him, across the valley he could see an April shower tumbling darkly out of a huge purple cloud on to The Priory.

However angry he was, returning to Penscombe always soothed him. He was greeted by messages from Gerald that the two stabbed policemen were now off the danger list and that Cameron Cook had rung three times, leaving a number. Instead of calling her, he had a quick shower and drove over to The Priory where the rain had almost stopped, leaving a heady smell of wet earth and nettles. As he walked through the door, he was greeted by an even headier smell of frying garlic and onions. Taggie must be home, which unconsciously soothed him even more. He’d go and see her when he’d reported in. In the library he found Freddie, Bas and Charles giving a slightly unreceptive Declan tips on how to write the application.

‘What a focking awful week you’re having,’ said Declan. ‘You poor bastard. You must feel like Sisyphus.’

‘I don’t know who he is,’ said Rupert, ‘but I’m sure I do.’

‘Get him a drink, Bas,’ said Declan.

‘Only Perrier,’ said Rupert. ‘I’ve got to fly back and vote after this. How did the first Venturer meeting go?’

The others looked at each other. Was the sun shining through the stained glass window or was Freddie blushing?

‘It was somewhat hazardous,’ said Declan.

‘Did you all fall out?’ asked Rupert, taking the Perrier from Bas, and trying to find an inch on one of the window seats that wasn’t covered with books and tapes to sit on.

‘Charles and Dame Enid did,’ said Bas with a grin.

‘Shut up,’ giggled Charles.

‘You tell him, Freddie,’ said Declan.

‘Well, we all went down to this pub on Salisbury Plain,’ said Freddie sheepishly, ‘which I could’ve sworn was always deserted, and we’d just settled into pre-lunch drinks and managed to stop Wesley Emerson offering the Bishop a joint, and got over the fact that Charles, here, turned up dressed as a woman . . .’

‘Knowing the IBA’s obsession with the fair sex, I thought it fitting,’ interrupted Charles demurely.

‘. . . when the entire nation’s press arrived in three coaches to ’ave a beano before witnessing the launching of a new tank at some army base down the road.’

‘Christ,’ Rupert started to laugh. ‘Did any of them see you?’

‘Billy the Kid couldn’t have emptied a saloon bar faster,’ said Freddie, ‘and Charles and Dame Enid got stuck trying to climb out of the Ladies’.’

‘It was seriously funny,’ said Bas. ‘We all hotfooted it back to The Priory for a Chinese takeaway, and the whole thing seemed to bring us closer together. I must say I’d forgotten how stunningly attractive Janey Lloyd-Foxe is.’

‘And belongs to Billy,’ said Rupert firmly.

Through the window he could see Taggie, who’d gone out into the garden to pick some thyme from the herb garden, gazing in rapture at a rainbow. She had the most adorable bottom, he decided, which became even more adorable when she bent over the flower bed in her jeans.

‘Rupert,’ said Bas, ‘are you still with us?’

‘Looking at the rainbow,’ said Rupert, hastily opening his briefcase.

‘Never knew rainbows were female and five foot ten,’ said Bas slyly.

‘Fuck off,’ said Rupert. ‘Anyway, I’ve got a stunning bit of news to cheer you all up. I’ve brought you an Easter present, Declan.’

Triumphantly he chucked the two tapes and the photostat of the Corinium application down on Declan’s desk.

‘What’s this?’ said Declan, putting on his spectacles.

‘Two extraordinarily informative conversations with Cameron Cook, and a photostat of the corrected final draft of Corinium’s application.’

Freddie, Bas and Charles were so excited, none of them noticed Declan’s look of thunderous disapproval, or that he’d dropped the application as though it was a wasp-infested pear.

‘Where did you get that?’ asked Freddie in awe.

‘I spent the weekend in Madrid and in bed with Cameron.’

Basil’s jaw clanged. ‘Does my brother know?’

‘Tony was due out there,’ said Rupert, ‘but I arranged for a chum to offer Tony an invite for Saturday night he couldn’t refuse.’

Basil started to laugh. ‘To meet HRH at Badminton?’

‘My God, was that your doing?’ said Charles in amazement. ‘Tony was boasting about it to everyone.’

‘So he stood up Ms Cook,’ said Rupert, wandering over to the drinks table and splashing more Perrier into his glass, ‘who was not overly delighted until I suddenly appeared on the adjacent balcony like
Private Lives
and took Tony’s place.’

‘What was she like?’ asked Bas, fascinated.

‘Fucks like a stoat,’ said Rupert. ‘In fact the end-away definitely justified the means. Although I had to endure some hellish sightseeing on Sunday before she went off to collect her prize. That was when I got the application photostated.’

‘Bloody good,’ said Freddie.

‘You ought to join the CIA,’ said Bas.

‘She’ll be after your blood, your untainted AIDS-free blood, when she finds out,’ said Charles delightedly.

‘She won’t,’ said Rupert. ‘She hadn’t a clue. Well?’ He turned to Declan for approval.

But Declan was looking infinitely more thunderous than the cloud that had drenched The Priory earlier.

‘You can’t focking do that,’ he exploded.

‘Why ever not?’

‘Because it’s bloddy dishonest.’

‘I must be dreaming,’ said Rupert incredulously. ‘Declan dear, we’re pitching for a business with a hundred-and-twenty-five-million-pound turnover, not playing fucking tiddlywinks. Have a read. You can find out exactly what Tony’s up to and pre-empt it. It’s the most turgid stuff, much more effective than Mogadon. Tony seems to be promising an unchecked flow of good causes and Elizabethan drama for the next ten years!’

‘I’m not going to read it,’ said Declan roughly. ‘We’re playing this thing straight.’

‘Now come on, Declan,’ protested Freddie. ‘Think of the clout it’ll give us.’

‘Never cast a clout till May is out,’ giggled Charles.

‘Shut up, Charles,’ snapped Declan. Then, turning to Rupert, who was now absolutely shaking with rage, ‘I repeat, we’re playing it straight.’

‘Tony is evil,’ hissed Rupert. ‘Don’t you think he’d do the same thing to you, given the chance? I thought you were out to get him.’

‘Not by sinking to his methods,’ said Declan coldly.

‘Then what are you doing asking the Bishop to lunch, dressing Maud up like a nun and asking him to say Grace?’

‘That’s different.’

‘It is NOT!’ Rupert was furiously pacing up and down the floorboards now. ‘And what are you doing poaching half Tony’s staff? I’m amazed you didn’t ring Tony first and ask his permission.’

‘That’s entirely different,’ yelled Declan. ‘What you’ve done is stolen Corinium’s property. It’s a criminal offence.’

‘Isn’t Charles Corinium’s property?’ yelled back Rupert.

‘Ooo,’ said Charles, looking excited. ‘They’re fighting over me.’

‘Shut up,’ screamed Rupert and Declan, both turning on him.

‘Charles came of his own volition,’ said Declan, ‘but Cameron had no idea what you were up to.’

‘She certainly enjoyed it,’ snarled Rupert. ‘Don’t you go feeling sorry for her, and Jesus, the hassle I went to, getting that thing photostated. I practically had to bang the receptionist.’

‘Never been a hardship for you,’ said Declan icily, and, picking up the application and the two tapes, he chucked them into the wastepaper basket. Bas, Freddie and Charles winced. Rupert went very still.

‘And if any of you try and retrieve them, I’ll put them in the boiler,’ added Declan.

‘All my life I’ve been accused of lacking application,’ drawled Rupert, ‘then when I actually get hold of one . . .’

‘It’s not a joke,’ roared Declan.

‘I’m not laughing,’ said Rupert bleakly. ‘Fuck you, Declan, and screw your bloody franchise.’

‘Now, wite a minute,’ said Freddie, leaping to his feet.

But Rupert had walked out. In the hall he nearly sent Taggie flying. She was carrying a pile of Aertex shirts and green skirts upstairs. Caitlin was going back to school next week.

‘What on earth’s the matter?’ she said in alarm.

‘Your fucking father.’

‘What’s he done? Come into the kitchen.’

‘It’s what he won’t do.’ For a second Rupert debated whether to walk out, but he was so angry with Declan he had to tell someone, so he followed her into the kitchen.

‘I’ll get you a drink.’

‘I’m not drinking. And I’ll never touch a drop of your father’s liquor again.’

‘What’s happened?’ said Taggie, bewildered. Then, realizing the steak and kidney she was frying on the Aga was catching, ran across the kitchen to give it a stir.

‘I’ve just spent all last weekend in Madrid screwing Cameron Cook,’ said Rupert furiously, ‘to get her on our side, and to get information about Corinium’s application, and by Sunday night I not only had her eating out of my hand, but had secretly photostated the entire application.’

He was so angry, he didn’t notice that Taggie’s wooden spoon had stopped moving.

‘What’s Daddy objecting to?’ said Taggie in a strangely high voice.

‘He won’t read it. He thinks it’s taking unfair advantage. Jesus, no wonder he’s broke.’

At that moment Freddie appeared in the doorway. But, seeing Rupert was talking to Taggie, he decided she’d be better at calming him down than any of them and tiptoed back to the library.

‘Let me make you a cup of tea,’ said Taggie.

By the time the kettle had boiled and the tea had brewed for three minutes, and Rupert had told her the whole story, she’d recovered her composure. After all, Rupert was entitled to go to bed with whom he chose, and perhaps he just did it with Cameron because he wanted to get hold of the application document, she thought hopefully, although Cameron was terribly beautiful and Patrick would be absolutely heartbroken if he found out. Oh God, what a terrible muddle.

Rupert leant against the Aga, looking moodily at a huge vase of bluebells.

‘From our wood,’ said Taggie, trying to lift the conversation. ‘Aren’t they lovely?’

Rupert was about to snap that they were from his wood now.

‘Don’t try to placate me,’ he said coldly.

Taggie handed him a cup of tea. Then she took a deep breath. ‘I think Daddy’s right,’ she stammered.

Rupert looked up. ‘You what?’ he said, unbelievingly. ‘Not you, too?’