by Jilly Cooper
‘Taggie,’ Geraldine tugged her sleeve, demanding that Taggie rescue her boyfriend Denzil, ‘he’s been stuck with that rather dull woman for ages.’
‘That’s Kitty Rannaldini,’ exploded Dora. ‘She’s a darling, and unlike you, looks as though she’s enjoying herself.’
78
Gala had retreated to Lime Tree Cottage, psyching herself up to join the party. Putting on her leopardskin dress, she noticed how her nipples stuck out directly behind the leopard’s eyes. As she reached the lawn, Rupert’s randy friends Drew and Bas wolf-whistled. ‘That is an incredibly sexy dress,’ said Drew.
‘And the eyes are perfectly positioned,’ grinned Bas.
Next moment, Geraldine had grabbed Gala’s arm.
‘That dress is completely OTT – you’re supposed to be working. Go and put on a Happy Birthday Rupert sweatshirt at once, or people will think you’re a guest.’
‘She looks stunning,’ snapped Louise, handing Gala a huge glass of champagne.
‘I wonder how Rupert will react,’ muttered Bas to Drew. ‘Poor sod, after a twenty-four-hour flight, probably been celebrating all the way back, he’ll be hopelessly hungover and jet-lagged.’
‘He did bloody well,’ said Drew.
‘Sure, but he didn’t get a winner. Rupert thinks second sucks.’
‘Oh God, here comes the cabaret.’
It was Old Eddie, in a morning coat with his Old Men Make Better Lovers badge on the lapel, and striped trousers held up by an Old Harrovian tie. He was getting away with much goosing and bottom-pinching because many of the beautiful women he attacked assumed he was one of Rupert’s dogs.
‘Eddie’s on the loose,’ Taggie beseeched Jan.
‘I’ll sort it. That carer’s not fit for purpose.’
He found Local Janet on her fourth glass of champagne in the kitchen.
‘You’re supposed to be looking after Eddie,’ he said, removing it and handing her Cindy Bolton’s latest porn DVD, Cardinal Cindy. ‘Give him this to watch.’
‘My great-grandfather’s got Alka Seltzer,’ Timon was informing Etta and Helen, ten minutes later. ‘He’s watching porn in the sitting room. I’m going to join him. We’re having sex education at school – it’s gross, all those hairy fannies. Porn’s much nicer.’
Helen choked on her drink.
‘Rupert’s over Lambourn,’ said the loudspeaker, and a great roar went up.
Safety Car had also joined the party, thrilled to see Lysander, nudging old friends and socializing.
‘He’s a much better host than Taggie,’ observed Tabitha. ‘Who’s that divine man who’s just walked in?’
‘My brother Jonathan,’ said Dora, who was rushing round photographing everyone. ‘He’s a brilliant painter, he’s done a gorgeous portrait of Taggie for Rupert, and his wife Emerald (she’s a piece of work but they adore each other), has done Rupert a lovely bronze of Banquo.’
Cries of ‘Do you remember?’ ‘Wasn’t that hysterical?’ ‘Who won that year?’ ‘Who painted that?’ ‘Who sang that?’ hung on the air, all inextricably linked.
‘Here’s another gorgeous man,’ sighed Marketa.
‘That’s Taggie’s brother, Patrick O’Hara. He’s a scriptwriter,’ said Louise. ‘That cross-looking brunette is his partner, Cameron Cook. She makes very good films.’
All the O’Haras, who included Declan, and Taggie’s sister Caitlin, her husband Archie and their children, looked very cross on arrival, because they’d been held up by Taggie’s mother Maud, one-time actress, addicted to making an entrance.
Now she swept in, her piled-up paprika-red hair set off by a sea-green satin dress.
‘She’s even more jealous of Taggie than Helen is,’ Bas murmured to Gala.
‘You look sensational, Mum,’ said Taggie dutifully.
‘I’d look even more sensational,’ Maud took Taggie aside, ‘in that emerald pendant of yours. Can you run upstairs and get it?’
And Taggie went as green as the necklace, because she’d sold it to pay for the party. Then even greener because the hunt had arrived, galloping out of the wood, across the fields, jumping fences; forty riders and twenty couple of hounds, stopping to drink out of the lake, sending Rupert’s turned-out horses into a frenzy of excitement. Next moment, Quickly had leapt out of his box and joined in.
Hounds, all without collars, as though they were not wearing ties, catching divine wafts of roast venison, charged round relieving guests of filo-pastry baskets, chicken and mayo, goats’-cheese tartlets, eyes watering as they encountered hot sausages, wolfing up whole platefuls, until at Jan’s roar of rage, the kennel huntsman called them more or less to order.
‘He knows all their names,’ said an awed Etta.
The field, mostly in black or in tweed coats, known as ratcatchers, were getting stuck into both food and drink.
‘Why are hardly any of them wearing red coats?’ asked Gala.
‘Don’t want to attract the antis,’ said Dora, ‘although the antis will be like a day in the country,’ she burst out laughing, ‘compared with Rupert when he sees who’s rolled up.’
It was Dame Hermione, on a buckling dapple grey, her vast bottom, which Gala had last seen whipped crimson by Young Eddie, forced into white breeches.
‘Where’s Rupert?’ she called out, grabbing a glass of champagne. ‘My invitation still hasn’t arrived. Must come and wish my favourite poster boy a happy sixtieth. Those look delicious.’ She scooped up a fistful of goats’-cheese tartlets.
‘Oh hell,’ cried an utterly appalled Taggie as Hermione was followed by Damsire in ratcatchers on a bay mare: ‘Come to wish my ex many happies,’ and she also grabbed a large glass.
Taggie gazed imploringly at Jan who went off and had a word with the Master about pushing off the moment they’d said a quick hello to Rupert.
‘Course, old boy, thanks – just a top-up. Just saying, we were hunting near Rutminster woods at dusk the other day. Such a creepy place – hounds wouldn’t go in there. Probably heard the ghost of Seeker howling.’
As Caitlin’s children and Timon and Sapphire crowded round the hounds, hugging them, Dame Hermione had discovered the opera clique.
‘Oh look, there’s Tristan de Montigny, who directed me in the Oscar-winning film of Don Carlos, and Lucy Latimer who did my make-up and – coo-ee, coo-ee – there’s my leading man, Baby Spinosissimo.’ And she launched into their first duet: ‘Di qual amor, di quant’ardor’ which was so deafening that her horse bolted, and at first people couldn’t distinguish the chug, chug rattle of a dark-blue helicopter. Over the loudspeaker, the showjumping music boomed out.
Let him be pleased, prayed Taggie, as Banquo, Forester, Cuthbert and Gilchrist, recognizing the helicopter, barking in hysterical delight, hurtled off to welcome Master, followed by Bianca, screaming: ‘Daddy, Daddy!’
Looking down, Rupert saw Penscombe church spire and his beechwoods, a red fire flickering to welcome him. He noticed an inordinate amount of turned-out horses racing about to keep warm. After Melbourne, Heathrow had seemed bitterly cold. Suddenly he stiffened to see the large field to the right of the lake hidden by cars and at least ten helicopters, and the lawn, covered by a huge marquee and ‘Happy Sixtieth Birthday Rupert’ in green and blue, otherwise crowded with cheering people, the hunt milling around and hundreds of balloons bobbing up to meet him like a bright-blue bubble bath.
‘What the fuck?’ he howled to a terrified, trembling Bao. ‘How bloody dare you not warn me?’
‘It’s a surprise party.’
‘Well, I’m not going to any fucking party. Turn the chopper round now.’
‘We haven’t got a flight-path. Lots of guests arriving by helicopter, we might crash with them. I promise Mrs Campbell-Black, I deliver you safe.’
‘Don’t be fatuous – don’t you dare land.’
‘Please, Mr Campbell-Black, please.’ Bao was in tears. ‘Mrs Campbell-Black, she work so hard for party, night and day for weeks and weeks. No one lo
ves anything as much as she loves you. She make wonderful food and wonderful cake. You friends come from whole world, they bring wonderful presents.’
The chopper was hovering above the house and the yelling cheering multitude.
‘I don’t bloody care. Why are my horses out in the fields? What the fuck’s the hunt doing? I expressly forbade Mrs Campbell-Black to have a party. She knew it was the last thing I wanted.’
‘She want to please you,’ beseeched Bao. ‘Your dog miss you so much, see them barking.’
Rupert was relenting fractionally – perhaps bullets should be bitten – when Bao added, ‘And Mr Jan too, he work night and day with Mrs Black Taggie, making wonderful lunch with whole reindeers, no one work as hard as Mr Jan.’
It was the final straw. ‘Fucking Yansy Pansy. Turn the chopper round.’
‘We might have no fuel.’
‘Bollocks, we’ve got buckets. Tell flight control we’re heading north. If we hurry, we’ll catch Beijing Bertie and Jemmy at Nottingham.’
‘We have to give Nottingham week notice.’
‘Then we’ll park nearby.’
It was terrifying, being in a small aircraft with a Sabre-toothed Tiger. London control were ringing through. ‘What’s going on?’
‘We’re re-routing to Nottingham,’ Rupert told them.
At first everyone thought Rupert was just hovering to have a look. Then it became obvious the helicopter was heading north, and cheers turned to horrified screams.
‘Come back, Daddy, come back,’ sobbed Bianca. Back slunk the bewildered dogs.
‘Bastard, bastard,’ rose a great groundswell of rage. ‘How could he do that to Taggie?’
‘I’ve come fifty thousand miles for this party,’ grumbled Baby.
Simmy looked at his phone. ‘The helicopter’s heading north.’
Jan discovered Taggie alone sobbing in the drawing room, oblivious of a porn DVD of Cindy Bolton romping with a goat, which was still playing and which he switched off.
‘I should never have gone ahead with it,’ she said. ‘Rupert made it quite clear he didn’t want a party.’
Jan took her in his arms, Lucy’s make-up smearing his new jacket.
‘Simmy’s keeping track of the helicopter. We’ll find him.’
‘Oh God, how could he do that? All the children were so excited and all the people making an effort, coming all that way, all the presents, everyone here working so hard.’
‘Hush, hush,’ he stroked her hair. ‘We’ve got all the guests here, lunch is ready. Let’s get on with the party,’ then dropping a kiss on her trembling lips, ‘and show the bastard we can have a bloody good time without him. He’s the one who’ll be sorry.’ Getting out a handkerchief, he wiped her eyes.
Quivering with mortification, Jan’s arm around her, Taggie went out on to the lawn, as a gust of wind unleashed a shower of gold leaves. The roar of rage and speculation subsided as Jan clapped his hands.
‘Mrs Campbell-Black wants to say how sorry she is to disappoint you all.’
An enraged Declan O’Hara was poised to take over: ‘My daughter Taggie has done nothing wrong,’ he roared. But Jan cut across him.
‘I’m afraid the birthday boy’s scarpered, but lunch is ready, and Mrs Campbell-Black hopes you’ll all stay on for a great party.’
A huge cheer went up and carried on as everyone crowded round Taggie, patting her shoulder and comforting her.
‘Why’s he pushed orf?’ asked Old Eddie.
‘I’m afraid he can’t handle being sixty,’ sighed Helen.
‘Naughty Grandpa,’ said Sapphire.
‘I don’t like surprise parties either,’ confessed Georgie Maguire. ‘Guy gave one for me at midday on a Saturday; everyone rolled up to find me in trackie bottoms, with no make-up and dirty hair. Perhaps Rupert was worried his roots needed doing.’
People were starting to giggle. Gossip rose and fell as everyone swarmed into the marquee, exclaiming over the beauty of the displays and the flowers. The irony was the thousands of galloping horses in the videos: Rupert’s horses winning Derbies, Grand Nationals, polo and showjumping championships.
‘There’s quite enough of your brother in this tent already,’ said Baby to Adrian. ‘Must say Taggie’s found herself a beaut new man.’
Bianca, in floods, was being comforted by Feral.
‘I wanted to see Daddy. I missed him in Australia, I haven’t seen him for months.’
Gala was also devastated. She’d been so thrilled with her new dress. How could Rupert have done that to poor, poor Taggie?
But at least everyone was sorry for Taggie. No one’s sorry for me, thought Gala, gulping down another vat of champagne and going off to waitress, only to be waylaid by Drew and Bas, insisting she sat between them with Gropius lying beneath her feet. How would Gav react to Rupert’s defection, she wondered. He was due home today.
There was a moment of hope when the dark-blue helicopter returned, but only Bao jumped out. Traumatized and tearful, he sought out Taggie.
‘I am so sorry, Mrs Taggie. I told him great party, but he was very, very angry. He ask me to drop him above village. I am so sorry.’
‘Poor Bao.’ Taggie hugged him. ‘I’m sorry too. Did he say where he was going?’
‘Perhaps Nottingham, but he have no coat.’
‘Come and sit with us,’ called out Etta. ‘Valent can practise his Mandarin on you.’
Meanwhile, Rupert’s son-in-law Wolfie and his sons, Marcus and Xavier, were having a council of war.
‘Shall we fan out and look for him?’ said Xav grimly.
‘You’ve had too much champagne to drive,’ said Wolfie. ‘I’ll go.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Marcus.
‘I haven’t had that much,’ protested Xav. ‘I’m coming too.’
A rip-roaring party ensued, with guests well oiled from the long wait, as they helped themselves to Beef Wellington, venison and lamb, carved on a side table, roast potatoes, red cabbage, sweetcorn and asparagus, with a vast beetroot tart to each table.
Indignation meetings everywhere over Rupert’s appalling behaviour soon gave way to wonder at the food.
‘Who are your caterers?’ asked everyone.
‘Jan is,’ said Geraldine. ‘He’s given everything a wonderful South African flavour.’
‘And Taggie too,’ reproved Dora, who was photographing the beetroot tart, ‘they did it together. Hope the red’s all right,’ she whispered to Etta. ‘Taggie gave me and Paris some bottles to try, but by the time we’d tested them all we were so plastered, we couldn’t remember which one we liked best. Oh God, Dame Hermione and Damsire have sat down to lunch.’
‘Ought to have your own programme, Jan,’ called out Dame Hermione, taking a second huge helping of beetroot tart. ‘You’re just as good-looking as Paul Hollywood.’
Jan, worried that Taggie hadn’t eaten anything, insisted she sat with her parents and a large plate of food.
‘Please see she finishes it,’ he said, adding, ‘I’m just going to check things in the kitchen.’
Guests, having enjoyed second – even third – helpings were soon tucking into the puddings: cheesecake, sticky toffee pudding and a magnificent fruit salad steeped in sloe gin.
‘What’s this?’ asked Dame Hermione, plunging her spoon into a lush cream concoction.
‘Harrow Mess,’ said Damsire, consulting the menu. ‘Presumably because Rupert went to Harrow.’
‘And made a mess of things as usual,’ said his brother Adrian scathingly.
Adrian’s father, Old Eddie, was talking to Helen, who he had forgotten had once been his daughter-in-law.
‘I find a whole Viagra lasts too long, so I break each one into four.’
79
What had actually happened to Rupert was that flying northward, realizing he’d cut himself off from the yard and the stud, he had called Bas Baddingham to suggest lunch, only to be told Mr Baddingham had gone to a surprise birthday party. When he r
ang Ricky France-Lynch and then Drew Benedict, he was told the same story – bloody hell, all getting pissed at his expense. So he asked Bao to drop him off in a field on the north side of Penscombe.
‘I’ll be perfectly all right. You go to the party. I’ll make my own way back, and I don’t need an overcoat,’ he’d told a distraught Bao.
It was actually so arctic after Melbourne and Santa Anita, Rupert bought a half bottle of whisky at the local off-licence and wandered down to Penscombe churchyard, where on Billy’s grave he found a big bunch of white freesias, shuddering in the icy wind.
Darling Daddy, Best Father in the World. Missing you always. All love, Amber.
Rupert took a swig from his bottle; he ought to give the rest to Billy, who’d loved whisky – often rather too much.
The flowers looked new – Amber must have come over for the party. He wondered if that bitch Janey had crashed it; she had led Billy such a merry dance. Then suddenly he thought how horrified Billy, who’d endured all Janey’s appalling behaviour, would have been at him boycotting the party. Billy was like darling sweet Taggie. With a shiver, Rupert realized what he’d done to her. How could he have humiliated her so? And cheated on her.
Taking another swig of whisky, hearing the distant roar of a party, he wandered into the church to find Constance Sprightly, who was always bullying Taggie and whose cat was always being treed by Forester, ramming bronze chrysanthemums into a large vase.
‘Hello, Mr Campbell-Black, I thought you’d be up at the house. There’s a big do going on.’
A bald man was strumming away on the organ: ‘Dear Lord and Father of mankind, Forgive our foolish ways’.
Take a lot for God to forgive me, reflected Rupert, putting a tenner in the collection box. The next moment Constance gave a squawk of horror as an iron fist hoisted Rupert across the nave into a huge arrangement of yellow lilies, so that falling, he cracked his head on the corner of a pew.
‘You ungrateful bastard,’ said a voice. ‘How dare you treat Taggie like that?’
Had he passed out? All Rupert vaguely remembered was being grabbed by his jersey and shirt and dragged to his feet.