by Jilly Cooper
‘Don’t talk about things that happen after I go back,’ grumbled Caitlin, getting up.
‘Taggie, Taggie,’ she squealed, racing into the kitchen, ‘Mummy wants the plates cleared, then we can have Patrick’s cake.’
‘There isn’t anyone to clear them,’ said Taggie in despair. ‘Both the Makepiece children have vanished, and I can’t find Mrs Makepiece or Grace, or Reg, or either of Reg’s friends.’
‘Never mind that now,’ said Caitlin. ‘This is far more exciting. It was Rupert who sent you that pendant, because he was sorry about goosing you at Valerie Jones’s.’
‘There’s no way we’re going to get 300 slices out of this.’ Taggie nearly dropped Patrick’s cake. ‘What did you say?’
‘Rupert sent you the pendant.’
‘He couldn’t have,’ whispered Taggie. ‘I hate him.’
‘No, you don’t. He’s really nice. Go and sit next to him. I’ll try and find Reg and his mates to carry the cake in and people can eat it on their fruit salad plates. Go on, Tag.’
‘Never, never,’ gasped Taggie. She was deathly pale now. ‘I’m going to send it back.’
Maud’s plans had gone seriously awry. She had wanted them all to be dancing and she and Rupert to be standing under one of Caitlin’s hundred bunches of mistletoe at midnight, but they were still sitting at the tables waiting for Patrick to cut his cake. Why on earth couldn’t Taggie be more efficient?
At five minutes to midnight Declan got somewhat unsteadily to his feet, and tapped the table with his knife. ‘I’m very pleased to see you all here tonight,’ he said, ‘and I’d just like to drink my son Patrick’s health. He’s a good boy and he’s given us a lot of pleasure over the years.’
‘And me too,’ piped up Patrick’s girlfriend, Lavinia, and everyone laughed and sang ‘Happy Birthday’ and said ‘Speech! Speech!’ As Reg and his mates staggered in very perilously carrying the cake, Patrick stood up. Speaking in public didn’t rattle him in the least. He had all Declan’s assurance:
‘I’d like to thank my father and mother for having me,’ he said, ‘and giving me such a wonderful party, and for my sister Taggie for doing all the work, and making this wonderful cake.’ For a second Maud looked furious at the loudness of the cheers. ‘Thank you all for coming, and for all your presents, which I’ll open later when I get a moment.’
There were more loud cheers. Then, just as Caitlin finished lighting the candles, like the dark stranger coming over the threshold, Cameron Cook walked in. She was wearing an extremely tight-fitting, strapless, black suede dress, which came eight inches above her knees. Three-inch cross-laced gaps on either side from armpit to hem made it quite plain she was wearing nothing but Fracas and Mantan underneath. There was a heavy metal chain round her neck, and among the heavy silver bangles worn over her long black suede gloves gleamed Tony’s diamond bracelet.
Anyone else would have looked tarty in that dress, but Cameron, with her marvellously lean, sinuous, rapacious beauty, succeeded in looking both menacing and absolutely staggering.
‘Holy shit,’ said Patrick into the microphone.
Everyone screamed with laughter.
‘Blow out your candles,’ said Caitlin.
Still gazing at Cameron, Patrick blew them out with one puff, then turned to Declan. ‘Who the hell’s that?’
‘The biggest bitch in television,’ said Declan bleakly.
‘She may well be your future daughter-in-law,’ said Patrick.
‘Christ, I can just see her with a whip,’ muttered Bas to Rupert.
‘Perhaps that’s what gets your brother going.’
Basil turned to Daysee Butler: ‘Did you know your boss was heavily into SM?’
‘Who’s she?’ said Daysee.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ said Cameron, fighting her way through the crowd to Maud’s side. ‘We’ve had a lot of hassle at work.’
‘Lovely to see you at any time,’ said Maud. ‘Caitlin,’ she added pointedly, terrified that Caitlin might start monopolizing Rupert again, ‘will get you something to eat.’
‘She needs a drink,’ said Patrick.
Goodness, he’s pretty, thought Cameron. Like Declan, but purer-looking, somehow.
‘Aren’t you going to cut your cake?’ she said to him.
‘I’ve got to wish,’ said Patrick. Never taking his eyes off her, he slowly plunged the knife into the cake, right up to the hilt.
‘I didn’t have time to buy you a present,’ said Cameron.
‘You brought yourself,’ said Patrick, slightly mockingly. ‘Just what I wanted.’
Filling up his glass with champagne, he handed it to her.
‘Thanks.’ Taking it, Cameron drained the glass.
Just at that moment, from speakers all round the tent, Big Ben boomed out the twelve strokes of midnight. As everyone started kissing everyone else and cheering, Patrick drew Cameron into his arms and kissed her on and on and on.
At last they broke away.
‘The coup de foudre,’ said Patrick softly. ‘I’ve waited twenty-one years for this to happen.’
‘Look at Tony’s face,’ whispered Lizzie Vereker to Charles Fairburn with a shiver.
As the last notes of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ rang out, Declan could be heard saying, ‘Bloody January again.’
Plates were being cleared away, tables pushed back and the marquee cleared for dancing, as the women drifted upstairs to do their faces. Telling Cameron he wouldn’t be a second, Patrick went off to the kitchen to thank Taggie. Oblivious that Monica might be watching, Tony fought his way over to Cameron and seized her arm: ‘What the hell are you playing at?’
Cameron winced. ‘Celebrating Christmas. It hasn’t been great so far.’
‘I couldn’t get away.’
‘I guess not.’
‘That dress is deliberately provocative,’ snarled Tony.
‘Well, if it deliberately provokes you, it’s doing a great job.’
‘Why are you so fucking late?’
‘Titania’s four months gone.’
‘Shit. How d’you know?’
‘Wardrobe told me,’ said Cameron.
‘And she’s admitted it?’
‘Sure.’
‘Who’s the father?’
‘She’s not sure. It could be Bottom, or Theseus or even Peter Quince.’
‘Jesus – we’ll just have to shoot round her.’
Patrick never made it to the kitchen. Declan dragged him into the library.
‘For Christ’s sake, Cameron’s out of bounds.’
‘Why?’
‘She’s Tony Baddingham’s mistress.’
‘So. Are you frightened of losing your job?’
For a second Patrick thought Declan was going to hit him.
‘It’s not that. You’ve no idea of the evil of both of them.’
‘He may be, she’s not. She just needs someone of her own age to play with for a change.’
‘He’s taught her some very unpleasant habits,’ said Declan heavily.
‘Like arguing with you, I suppose,’ said Patrick.
‘She’s out of your league.’
‘I don’t give a fuck,’ said Patrick, walking out.
‘You don’t have to take your clothes off to have a good time, oh no,’ sang Jermaine Stewart from the disco. ‘You can dance and party all night.’
Still arguing with Tony, seeing both Monica and Patrick bearing purposefully down on her, Cameron escaped to check her face. After Patrick’s kiss, she certainly couldn’t have any lipstick left. Upstairs, in the only bedroom that didn’t seem to be inhabited by necking teenagers, she found Sarah Stratton brushing her hair.
‘Good party,’ said Sarah.
‘It seems so.’
‘I’m glad I bumped into you,’ said Sarah. ‘Tony’s offered me a job at Corinium. Ought I to take it?’
‘Sure,’ said Cameron coolly.
‘You don’t think he’s just after my body?’
‘No
way,’ said Cameron, who was having difficulty applying lipstick, her hands were trembling so much.
‘I just wondered.’ Sarah dropped her head, brushing all her hair downwards. ‘Tony and Monica are an awfully weird couple, you know. Paul’s ex-wife, Winifred, used to be Monica’s best chum. I’ve often wondered if they weren’t a bit dykey.’ Sarah tossed her head back, so her hair rose, then cascaded wildly onto her shoulders.
‘Monica evidently told Winifred,’ she went on, ‘that Tony made such incredible sexual demands on her that she had to move into a separate bedroom. He wanted it two or three times every night. Now she restricts him to once a week, like church. Perhaps that’s why he’s so lecherous.’
As if in a dream, Cameron watched Sarah spray Anais Anaïs between her breasts, then behind her kneecaps and finally, pulling out her pants, on her blonde bush.
‘Did Tony make a pass at you?’ Cameron said in a frozen voice.
‘Not exactly – but he was terrifically complimentary,’ said Sarah. ‘And I must say for an older man he’s not unattractive.’
As they came downstairs James Vereker was hovering. Deliberately ignoring Cameron, he asked Sarah to dance. Oh well, thought Sarah, anything to make Rupert jealous.
‘How did you get on with Tony’s mistress?’ asked James.
‘Oh my Christ, is she?’ gasped Sarah, appalled, and she told James what had happened. ‘I’d better not take that job at Corinium after all,’ she said finally.
‘She’d certainly have it in for you,’ said James. ‘She has it in for any beautiful woman.’ (And man for that matter, he nearly added.) ‘If you came to Corinium —’ his arm tightened round her – ‘I’d look after you and show you the ropes.’
‘Isn’t television frightfully difficult?’
‘Not if you’ve got a teacher who really cares,’ said James.
I’ll kill Tony, I’ll absolutely kill him, thought Cameron as, seething with rage, she went into the marquee. Both Tony and Patrick were waiting. Patrick was quicker.
‘Come and dance,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘I’m not going to let you go for the rest of the evening, probably not for the rest of my life.’
‘D’you always move in so fast?’ said Cameron, laughing.
‘No, I wished for you when I cut my cake.’
‘You mustn’t tell wishes; they might not come true.’
‘Mine always do,’ said Patrick calmly.
Taggie was mindlessly washing up in the kitchen when Simon Harris’s little monsters returned and, saying they were hungry, broke through the clingfilm over the kedgeree and started eating it with their hands. Something finally snapped inside Taggie.
‘Bugger off, you little horrors,’ she screamed.
‘Talking to me?’ said a voice.
Rupert was standing in the doorway. He was as brown as he’d been last summer when he’d had no clothes on. Taggie went scarlet.
Rupert grinned. ‘Your mother was only telling me the other day, how much you adore children.’ Then, turning on the monsters, ‘Go on, fuck off, you little sods. Out, OUT!’
Muttering venomously, the monsters sidled out, cramming birthday cake into their mouths as they went.
‘It was the most lovely dinner,’ said Rupert gently, noticing Taggie’s reddened eyes. ‘Will you please stop playing Cinderella and come and dance.’
‘I’ve got too much to do, thank you, and thank you for the pendant. I didn’t realize.’ She stumbled on the words.
At that moment Simon Harris came in with spewed-up rusk all over his dinner jacket, carrying a bawling baby.
‘Could you possibly hold her for me while I heat up a bottle?’ he asked Taggie.
Of two evils, Taggie chose the prettier. ‘There’s a saucepan over there,’ she said and, feeling Rupert’s hand close over hers, she followed him into the marquee.
‘I’m a very, very bad dancer,’ she muttered.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Rupert. ‘We can sway in a dark corner.’
‘Never seen you look so lovely as you do tonight,’ sang Chris de Burgh, ‘Never seen you shine so bright.’
Taggie’s hair smelt of shepherd’s pie. As he drew her to him, Rupert could feel the substantial softness of her breasts, compared with the incredible slenderness of her waist. Her body was rigid with tension and embarrassment. She had absolutely no sense of rhythm at all. It was like a very slim elephant dancing at the circus.
‘Did you have a nice Christmas?’ asked Rupert.
‘Yes.’
‘Did you get nice presents?’
‘Yes.’
‘Come on my angel, relax.’ His hands moved over her back, gentling her as though she was one of his young horses. ‘Look! Gertrude’s followed us. She knows I’m a rotter and she won’t let you out of her sight.’
Catching Gertrude’s disapproving eye, Taggie gave a half laugh, half sob.
Rupert reached down and stroked Gertrude. ‘Good Gertrude, beautiful Gertrude. See, I am trying.’
‘Lady in red, Lady in red,’ sang everyone as they swayed round the floor, which were the only words they knew.
Rupert took Taggie’s face in his hands. She was so tall her eyes were only just below his.
‘Don’t be so sad,’ he murmured. ‘You’ll get over him.’
Taggie started. ‘How d’you know?’
‘Caitlin told me. You thought the pendant was from him. I’m sorry.’
‘It was very kind,’ said Taggie stiffly. ‘I just don’t accept presents from men.’
‘I see. Only from boys.’
As Chris de Burgh finished and Wham started, he gripped her waist, knowing she was about to bolt.
‘Last Christmas, I gave you my heart,’ sang George Michael, ‘But the very next day you gave it away.’
Across the room Taggie could see Ralphie and Georgina dancing together. He was stroking her cheek with his hand. With a low moan, Taggie tugged herself away from Rupert. Cannoning off startled couples, she fled from the marquee upstairs to the loo to cry her eyes out once again.
Patrick danced on and on with Cameron. They didn’t talk much because they were easily the best dancers in the room. Tony, grinding his teeth down to the gums, didn’t dare move in with Monica looking on.
‘That’s the best thing I’ve seen in years,’ said James Vereker, who was dancing on and on with Sarah.
‘What?’ said Sarah.
‘Cameron getting off with Declan’s son. At best it’ll screw up Tony and Cameron. At worst it’ll put Tony even more off Declan.’
Although Paul was hovering, looking thunderous, Sarah carried on dancing with James until she saw Rupert going past. Breaking away, she screamed out to him.
To keep her quiet Rupert bore her off to dance. Paul could see them rowing all the way round the floor, in that rigid-jawed way as though they’d had too many injections at the dentist.
‘Why have you been deliberately ignoring me?’
‘I haven’t. It’s just that Paul has been watching us like a Wimbledon linesman.’
‘Never put you off in the past.’
‘Did you have a good Christmas?’
‘Of course I didn’t. You obviously did, if the Daily Mail’s anything to go by. I don’t require fidelity from my husband,’ said Sarah hysterically, ‘but I do from my lover.’
‘Then you’ve picked the wrong guy, sweetheart. We’ve had a good time.’
Sarah looked up, aghast. ‘Is it over then?’
‘No, not necessarily. I’m just not prepared to offer you an exclusive.’
‘Bastard,’ hissed Sarah. ‘I thought you were serious.’
‘You were wrong, and frankly, angel, I don’t think you make a very good MP’s wife. Paul looks a shambles.’
In the kitchen, surrounded by undergraduates and dirty plates and glasses, Declan was declaiming Yeats:
And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky,
Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness
that may not die.
Cameron stood listening to him, her hand in Patrick’s.
‘He recites best when he’s drunk,’ whispered Patrick. ‘Loses all self-consciousness.’
‘He should do a programme on Yeats,’ marvelled Cameron.
‘Hardly of local interest.’
‘We could do it for Channel Four.’
Upstairs, Maud was arranging her breasts in the green dress, and putting scent on her hair, and applying coral blusher to her pale cheeks. Her freckles were like a sprinkling of nutmeg tonight.
‘I’m not middle-aged,’ she whispered to herself. ‘I’m still young and beautiful.’
‘I get no kick from champagne,’ sang the disco. ‘Pure alcohol doesn’t thrill me at all.’
The message was all in the music, thought Maud. Go forth and multiply and seek love.
Going downstairs, she could hear Declan declaiming in the kitchen. She was safe for half an hour or so. Screams and shouts were coming from the direction of Caitlin’s room.
The berries of the mistletoe gleamed brighter than her pearls under the hall light. It was three in the morning; soon Taggie would be serving kedgeree. As if in answer to her prayer, Maud heard Rupert’s voice, ‘Darling, I was looking for you.’
Taking her hand, he led her into the study where Caitlin, taking no chances, had hung more mistletoe. Rupert’s hand felt so warm and dry, and the ball of his thumb was so pudgy, noticed Maud. That was the fortune-teller’s clue to a passionate highly-sexed nature. It was certainly the only spare flesh on his body. Maud’s heart was pounding. She must try and be distant, a little mysterious. As he turned towards her, her eyes were on a level with his black tie. She longed to caress the lovely line of his jaw. It’s going to happen, she thought in ecstasy, as Rupert shut the door to blot out the screams and raucous laughter, and coming towards her, gazed deeply into her eyes.
‘Angel, I’ve been wanting to ask you something from the moment we met, certainly from the moment I came over here with Bas after hunting. You won’t be cross with me?’
‘No, no,’ whispered Maud. She was having difficulty breathing.
‘You probably think I’m the biggest shit in the world.’
‘I don’t. I don’t. I just think people misunderstand you.’