Rivals (69 page)

    'My only friend,' she said tonelessly. 'You'd better have a tetanus jab," she added to Declan.

    Massaging his arm, Declan retreated to a respectable distance in front of the empty fireplace.

    'OK, what was the personal problem? And why Tony?'

    'I know he's a shit, but sometimes I figure he's the only person in the world who truly cares for me.'

    'After beating you up?'

    Cameron fingered her reddened cheek and shrugged. 'Seems to be catching.'

    'I'm sorry.'

    Cameron took a deep breath. 'I saw Tony because Rupert doesn't love me any more, and I can't handle it.'

    'Just because he was bloody-minded at the ball,' said Declan scornfully. 'We're all uptight at the moment.'

    Cameron's lip was trembling again. 'Rupert doesn't give a shit about the franchise. All he cares about is Taggie.'

    Taggie?' said Declan, flabbergasted. 'My Taggie? Are you out of your mind?'

    'He saw her when we were in Ireland. In his bottom desk drawer, under the lining paper, he's hidden pictures of her with his kids.' Cameron gave a sob. 'And he's also kept some totally illiterate thank-you letter she sent him.'

    Declan was utterly appalled.

    'Rupert and Taggie,' he growled so furiously that Blue started rumbling back at him, like rival storms across a valley. 'I'm not having that profligate bastard laying a finger on Taggie.'

    'But it's OK for him to finger me,' hissed Cameron, 'I'm only a mole.'

    Earlier that afternoon Rupert had flown in from Rome and gone straight to his office in Whitehall. Ignoring a long list of telephone messages, he signed his letters, gathered up the rest of the post, made sure he was paired for the Finance debate that evening and set out for Gloucestershire. Slumped in the corner of a first-class carriage with his hand round a large Bell's, he looked at the snowy landscape turned electric blue in the twilight. Even in London it wasn't thawing. It had been a wasted visit to Rome. He'd made no contribution to the International Olympics Conference. He hadn't been able to sleep, or eat, or think straight, he was so haunted by the image of Taggie and Basil on the Bar Sinister balcony, or of Taggie's gasping with pleasure in Basil's expert embrace. He tried to concentrate on the Standard, but beyond the

    fact that Corinium shares had unaccountably rocketed, and Patric Walker forecast a stormy day for him tomorrow, and warned Cancers, which was Taggie's sign, to ignore all outside influences, he couldn't take anything in. Sitting opposite, an enchanting blonde was eyeing him with discreet but definite interest. Glancing at her slim knees above very shiny black boots, Rupert reflected that by now, in the old days, he would have bought her a large vodka and tonic and been investigating the prospect of a quick bang at the Station Hotel, Cotchester if

    not at Penscombe. What the hell was happening to him? His secretary in London had given him a carrier bag of Christmas cards to sign for constituents and party workers. Wearily he scribbled Rupert Campbell-Black in a few, but not love, not for anyone in the world except that feckless Taggie.

    Unknown to him, Taggie was slumped, shivering and equally miserable, in a second-class carriage down the train. She'd been doing an early Christmas lunch for some overseas sales reps in Swindon which had seemed to go on for ever. She always found train journeys unnerving, having to read all the strange station names and the platform directions and the train times. Today by mistake she'd got on a train going back to London and had to get off and wait in quite inadequate clothing on Didcot station for half an hour.

    As Declan had taken the new Mini, Maud had borrowed Taggie's car to buy a new dress for her audition for A Doll's House tomorrow. She'd promised to meet Taggie at Cotchester if Taggie rang and told her what train she was coming on. But when Taggie had tried to ring her at Didcot there was no answer.

    Rupert thought he was dreaming when he saw Taggie ahead of him on the platform at Cotchester. The snakey curb had dropped; she was back to her old ponytail. As she walked up the steps of the bridge, he noticed a man behind admiring her long black-stockinged legs. Fucking letch; Rupert wanted to kill him. As she turned to hand in her ticket, under the overhead light bulb he noticed the black shadows under her eyes. Too much sex, he thought savagely.

    No one was there to meet her; there were no taxis; the telephone box didn't work. Peering out through the square glass panes, Taggie's legs nearly gave way beneath her as she saw Rupert getting into his car. Rushing out into the street, she waved at him. There was a moment of blind hope as she thought he waved back as he stormed past spraying snow all over her, but he was only adjusting his driving mirror.

    The only answer was to walk into Cotchester and find another telephone box, or perhaps ask Bas to run her home. Why the hell hadn't she worn boots? She wasn't thinking straight at the moment. The icicles glittered from the station roof as she went past. Ahead she could see the white spire of Cotchester cathedral glinting in the moonlight with all the coloured windows lit up by a service inside. The next minute a car skidded to a halt beside her.

    'What the hell are you doing?'

    Trying to find a telephone box to ring Mummy,' she muttered through furiously chattering teeth. Her lips were a livid green, her nose bluey-brown in the orange street light.

    'Get in,' said Rupert. Viciously he punched out the number he knew so well. He let the telephone ring for two minutes. There was no answer.

    'Mummy's on the toot as usual,' he said. 'I'll run you home.'

    'Oh please don't bother.'

    'It's not exactly out of my way,' he said sarcastically.

    The frozen snow twinkled like rhinestones in the moonlight. Once they'd got out of Cotchester on to the country lanes there was only room for single-line traffic between the huge polar drifts. They didn't speak for a few miles, then, glancing sideways, Rupert saw the tears pouring down her face.

    'What the fuck's the matter now?'

    "I thought we were friends.'

    'Then why did you go to bed with Bas?'

    'I didn't. I meant to, because I was so miserable about you. I thought if I got some really good experience, you might fancy me a bit, but when it came to the crunch, I couldn't do it. I love you too much.'

    Rupert stopped the car, pulling it into a gateway.

    'I'm desperately sorry,' sobbed Taggie, groping in her bag for a paper handkerchief. 'I know it must be boring having every woman you meet in love with you. I didn't want to be one of them. I've tried so hard to get over you. Work doesn't help at all. It's just that you've been so kind looking after us, sorting Mummy out the other night and getting all that food when I made an up-cock at Sarah Stratton's dinner party, and giving me all those lovely things, and buying the wood for far more than it's worth.'

    'Who told you that?' said Rupert, appalled.

    'Ursula did. She saw Daddy's bank statement. It was the only good thing in it. I'm sorry for being such a drip.'

    Rupert raised clenched fists to his temples in a superhuman effort not to reach out for her. Taggie mistook the gesture for sheer horror at being propositioned by yet another girl.

    'I'm sorry.'

    'For Christ's sake stop apologizing.' Rupert started speaking very slowly and deliberately as if he was addressing some loopy foreigner. 'Look, it wouldn't work. I'm terribly fond of you, Tag, but I'm far too old. Remember that hamburger bar manager who thought you were my daughter? I've never been faithful to anyone for more than a few weeks, and I'm not going to ruin your life by having a brief fling with you.'

    'My life's ruined already,' sobbed Taggie, who'd soaked one paper handkerchief and was desperately searching in her pockets for another.

    'You'll get over me,' said Rupert, handing her his.

    'Like that five-bar gate in front of us,' said Taggie helplessly.

    What made it worse was that the car got stuck and they had to push it out and Taggie slipped over and Rupert picked her up, then almost shoved her away, as though she was white hot, so desperate was his longing to take her in his arms.

    The Priory was in darkness when they got back.

    'Tell your father I'll ring him later,' said Rupert, cannoning off a low wall in his haste to get away.

    Across the valley he could see lights on in his house. He couldn't face Cameron at the moment. If only he could dump on Billy, but it was Wednesday and Billy would be at the television centre presenting the sports programme. Mindlessly le drove back to Cotchester and parked outside Basil's flat.

    One look at Rupert's set white face was enough. Bas poured him a large whisky.

    Taggie said there wasn't a leg-over situation.'

    There wasn't,' said Bas. 'Not through lack of trying on my part. She is utterly adorable, but she utterly adores someone else, you lucky sod.'

    Rupert drained his whisky.

    'I'm not going to do anything about her.'

    Why ever not?' said Bas incredulously. 'It's on a plate.'

    'I'm too old, shopsoiled, evil…"

    'Oh, don't be so fucking self-indulgent. All these histrionics and tantrums are just the last frantic struggles of the lassooed bronco. You've never been in love before. It's really very nice, if you stop fighting it. Everyone's got to hang up their condom sometime. Taggie'd be worth it.'

    'I don't want to talk about it.'

    'OK,' said Bas, filling up their glasses.

    'Am I interrupting you?'

    'Not excessively. I was just looking at the books. The Bar's had a staggering year, thanks to all those malcontents from Corinium drowning their sorrows and plotting my big brother's downfall. Won't be so good next year, with you and Freddie and Declan running things. They'll all be working so hard, they won't have time for a lunch hour. D'you really think we'll get it?'

    "Course we will,' said Rupert, thinking he really didn't give a fuck any more.

    Bas shook his head. 'Tony gave a bloody good interview to The Times this morning. Came across as Mr Caring.' He threw the paper in Rupert's direction.

    Rupert ignored it. 'Did she really say she loved me?'

    'Yes, she did, which I find extraordinary, knowing you as I do.'

    Rupert shook his head in bewilderment. 'It's never, never hit me like this before either. I'm still not going to do anything about it.'

49

    Up in London that night the fourteen directors and senior staff of Corinium Television had an extremely successful final dry run before their meeting at the IBA the next afternoon. Tony, in a new dark-blue pin-stripe suit paid for by Corinium, was in coruscating form.

    They can have one drink,' he told Ginger Johnson beforehand, 'and then not one drop until we've been round the course and

    I'm going to grill them.'

    No one at the meeting tomorrow, he said, was to speak until he'd introduced them. There was now, as a result of recent hiring and firing, a most satisfactory preponderance of ex-production people on the Board who would do most of the talking. The money-men, like Ginger and Georgie Baines, who brought in the vast advertising revenue, would keep a low profile. In fact it would be better if the word 'profit' were not mentioned at all. All the men had had hair cuts.

    'No doubt,' muttered Sarah Stratton to James Vereker, 'there will be a nail inspection in the morning.'

    Afterwards they all dined wisely but not too well at the Carlton Tower, where they were staying overnight. No shellfish was allowed, nor liqueurs after dinner. Everyone was very impressed with Ailie Bristoe, the new Programme Controller, who'd flown over from Hollywood for the occasion, and seemed as beautiful as she was bright. James Vereker, in particular, thought she looked very caring.

    'I'm surprised Tony hasn't put the women in separate hotels,' grumbled Sarah, as they were all sent up to bed early.

    'Be sure to order a Scorpion for tomorrow,' was Tony's parting shot. 'You'll all find it very interesting reading.'

    Back in Gloucestershire, Declan finally stormed out of The Priory around ten o'clock, having failed to get a confession out of Cameron. Utterly devastated that he and Freddie could possibly think she was the mole, Cameron was slumped on the sofa, still cuddling Blue when the telephone rang. It was some girl, saying Rupert wouldn't be back until the morning, but he sent his love. There was a terrific din in the background and the girl sounded as though she was ringing from a bar. Bastard, thought Cameron, but she was too proud to ask where he was. As she put the telephone down it rang again.

    'Can I speak to Rupert Campbell-Black?'

    'He's not here.'

    'Is that Cameron Cook?'

    'This is she.'

    The voice thickened and became oily as though it was asking for extended credit.

    'This is the Messenger here. Wondered what you feel about Rupert's memoirs in the Scorpion.'

    "I don't know what you're talking about.'

    'Rupert's really done it this time. Bloody bad timing on the day before your IBA meeting.'

    Cameron had had a long day and was not connecting well but gradually it sank in that Beattie Johnson had finally got her revenge on Rupert by telling all to the Scorpion. Not only, according to the Messenger reporter, had she produced every kind of salacious detail about her two years with Rupert and the unbelievably kinky things they'd got up to, but, even worse, revealed intimate details of his sex life with other women, including Helen.

    'Oh my God!' whispered Cameron. 'Does he mention me!'

    'Not yet, sweetheart,' said the reporter, who'd already seen and admired Cameron's photograph, 'but you may be in Saturday's instalment. They're trailing the spread that's going out on Friday, the morning you go to the IBA. It's all about Rupert's affair with Amanda Hamilton, wife of the shadow Foreign Secretary. Very pretty lady, evidently she liked being spanked.'

    Cameron groaned.

    'And there's a particularly damaging bit tomorrow,' said the reporter, who was beginning to enjoy himself. 'I'll read it. Beattie writes: "I always felt Rupert was unnaturally close to fellow show jumper Billy Lloyd-Foxe. Rupert admitted that when they were in Kenya, he, Helen and Billy and his journalist wife Jane (who left Bill} for nine months soon after they were married) had a naught} foursome. Did Helen (who started an affair with Jake Lovell shortly after this incident) discover the true nature of Rupert's sexual preference that night?'"

    'I don't want to hear any more,' screamed Cameron, slamming down the receiver. It rang again. It was the Sun.

    'Go away,' she screamed.

    Immediately she'd put down the receiver, she dialled out.

    'Fuck off, all of you,' snarled a voice.

    'Declan, it's Cameron. Have you heard about Rupert's memoirs?'

    'Yes,' said Declan, 'and I don't know where the fuck to get hold of him.'

    'Nor do I,' sobbed Cameron.

    The juggernauts rumbling along Cotchester High Street woke Rupert next morning to the worst hangover in recorded history. Moaning, he pulled the blankets over his head. There was a knock on the door.

    'Bugger off. I feel terrible.'

    'You're not going to feel any better when you read this,' said Bas, handing him a Fernet Branca and the Scorpion, which Rupert read in silence.

    The dirty bitch,' he said softly. 'She said she'd get me in the end.'

    It was as though some terrible monster from his past had put a hand up from a manhole and dragged him down into

    the mire and slime below. He went straight to the lavatory and threw up.

    'Lend me a toothbrush, and then a telephone,' he said to Bas. He was put straight through to Freddie.

    'Look, I've only just seen the Scorpion. I'm ringing up to resign.'

    'Don't be daft,' said Freddie.

    'I've got to. There are two more days to go, and it's bound to get worse. Unless I pull out, there's no way you'll get the franchise.'

    'Don't be rash, mate. We won't be much good at running a TV station if we can't ride out somefink like this. Got to stick togevver. Come over 'ere and we'll sort out the best plan of action, but you're not resigning.'

    'Up to me really,' said Rupert. 'I must see Cameron, and then I'll be over.'

    Arriving at Penscombe, he found cars parked all the way up his drive, and the gravel in front of the house completely hidden by journalists, photographers and television crews. Corinium had even had the temerity to send a mobile canteen. Stony-faced, greyer than the trampled snow, Rupert got out of his car.

    'Fuck off, the lot of you,' he snarled as they all surged forward. 'I've got to talk to my lawyer.'

    'What about the franchise?' asked the Mail on Sunday.

    'Come on, Rupe,' said the Star. 'Give us a quote. We've waited all fucking night.'

    'I've got nothing to say. I'll put my dogs on you if you don't beat it.' Fighting his way into the house, he slammed the door behind him.

    'Well, well, well,' said Cameron from halfway up the stairs.

    She wore no make-up, and her hair was sleeked back from her face which was deathly white.

    'I'm sorry,' began Rupert.

    'Fuck off,' screamed Cameron, as a photographer appeared at a side window. Racing downstairs, she drew the curtains.

    'Come upstairs,' said Rupert.

    They went into his bedroom, the set for so much of the action in the first instalment of the memoirs. Almost as though the great four-poster would contaminate her, Cameron gave it a wide berth and went over to the fireplace. 'How could you?' she whispered. 'Have you told people

    those sort of things about me?'

    'Never, never,' said Rupert. Suddenly dizzy, he slumped on the flowered chintz-covered chair in front of Helen's old dressing table. 'Beattie was a special case. The thing that turned her on was stories of my screwing other women. She must have had a tape recorder running under the bed the

    whole time.'

    'Then you did say those things. They're disgusting, insupportable.' She shuddered. 'You realize your career's finished? You'll be kicked out of the party. I hope you've already resigned from Venturer. And I suppose Saturday's instalment will be all about your touching designs on Taggie O'Hara. How the great rake was reformed and approached his waiting bride with a tenderness which was all the more careful, the more considerate because he knew the depths of her apprehension -Kerrist!'

    Her voice rose to a screech.

    Rupert looked at her incredulously. Expecting the exocet from the front, he was suddenly being torpedoed from underneath.

    'You're in love with her, aren't you?' said Cameron. Rupert looked, across the valley at his white fields. He'd always seen them as arms protecting Taggie. Now they seemed like a great predatory polar bear, crushing The Priory to

    death.

    He turned back to Cameron.

    'OK,' he said flatly, 'I do love her. If I'm honest, I've loved her ever since New Year's Eve, probably long before that. I'm desperately sorry, I know I've dealt you a marked card. I'm much too fond of you to kid you along any longer, just for the sake of the franchise, that you and I are going to end

    up together.' Cameron opened her mouth to yell at him, but Rupert

    raised his hand for a second's more silence.

    'I didn't know a thing about these memoirs coming out -not that you'd want me anyway after reading them -but

    I want you to know that I was intending to level with you today about Taggie.'

    For a second Cameron seemed to sway with frenzy, like a viper about to strike, then she screamed: 'You won't get her. Declan knows about it too, and there's no way he'll let you ever get your filthy depraved hands on his darling daughter.'

    'I know there isn't,' said Rupert. 'This -' he picked up the Scorpion and wearily dropped it in the wastepaper basket -'has finally done for us.'

    'Serve you fucking right,' yelled Cameron. 'I'm getting out of here, and I never want to see you again.'

    She rushed downstairs out of the front door, then kicked and punched her way through the waiting journalists, sending several of them leaping for safety as the Lotus stormed down the drive.

    'Nice quiet girl,' said the Mail on Sunday, picking himself out of the snow.

    Arriving at Green Lawns, Rupert found Freddie and Declan desperately trying to salvage the IBA meeting. As a result of Rupert's memoirs, two of the major financial backers had pulled out and Professor Graystock had resigned. As Rupert went into Freddie's study, the Bishop rang up:

    'I'm afraid in the light of Rupert Campbell-Black's quite appalling revelations, I shall have to withdraw my support for the Venturer bid.'

    'You can't,' said Freddie, aghast. 'The meeting's tomorrow morning. Your not being there will really tip the scales. I fort the Church of England were supposed to forgive sinners.'

    'I have to set a good example to my flock,' said the Bishop and rang off.

    'Lily-livered bastard,' said Freddie furiously. 'We're well shot of'im.'

    'He'd have impressed the IBA,' said Declan bleakly, who couldn't look Rupert in the eye. Was it because of Taggie or the memoirs?

    'Then I must resign,' said Rupert. 'It's the only honourable

    thing to do.'

    'No, you won't,' said Freddie. 'It don't add up. Beattie Johnson was a slut, but she 'ad a good 'eart. I don't fink she'd 'ave written those fings wivout considerable financial inducement. Seb Burrows has got nuffink to do at the moment. I'm going to put him on to the story and see what he can dig up. And can't we slap an injunction on the

    Scorpion?'

    Rupert shook his head wearily. 'I wish we could, but I'm afraid it's all true. Although, it's appallingly slanted. The only wrong thing is that Billy and I aren't gay. Seven-eighths of it was never, never meant for publication, but she was such a fucking good listener, and you know I can never resist making people laugh. We were together for two years, for

    Christ's sake.'

    'How's Cameron taken it?' asked Declan harshly. 'She was in a terrible state last night. Thinks you and she are kaput.'

    Rupert slumped on the sofa, putting his head in his hands.

    'We are. I've just told her.'

    Declan lost his temper. It was like an earthquake and a volcano erupting at the same time.

    'Can't you ever keep your fucking trap shut? First you tell everything to Beattie Johnson, then you have to give Cameron the boot. Don't you realize this'll screw up any final chance we have of getting the franchise? No Bishop, no professor, no financial backing, no Cameron she'll

    bolt straight back to Tony and tell him everything she hasn't told him already.'

    'What d'you mean?' Rupert looked up, the bloodshot eyes

    suddenly alert.

    'Haven't you read The Times yet?' 'Bas muttered something about it last night, but I forgot

    to read it.'

    'Cameron leaked all our plans to Tony on Tuesday.'

    'Don't be ridiculous.'

    'We put a private detective on to Tony. They spent an hour and a half together in the Royal Garden.'