Rivals

36

Cameron and Rupert had a disastrous dinner at the White Elephant after that. Rupert was outraged at being thrown out by Patrick. ‘Arrogant little fucker, just like his father.’

‘I thought you adored his father.’

‘Not when he’s playing God, or neglecting his children.’

‘You certainly aren’t neglecting one of them — silver necklaces, Faberge eggs, handicapped puppies — singularly appropriate in a franchise year.’

‘Oh, shut up.’

The row continued until they got to bed, when Rupert maddened Cameron most of all by falling asleep when she was in mid-harangue. She woke next morning, feeling suicidal, to find Rupert gone. Wondering if he were already collecting his children, she went downstairs, found the paella gathering flies on the oven and chucked it out. There was a chicken in the fridge. She supposed she’d better roast it for lunch. Dispiritedly, she peeled some potatoes, put them on to parboil, then started to make a french dressing. There wasn’t any dill. If she sent Rupert off to the village shop he’d come back with nutmeg.

Outside, the sun was shining through the mist like a dog’s identity disk. Cameron longed to go out to the pool and swim off her hangover. Until last night, with the Bodkins away, she had at last been able to enjoy a marvellously sybaritic few days with Rupert, swimming and sunbathing naked, brazenly tantalizing him away from whatever he was doing. She had even galloped bareback down the valley at twilight one night with no clothes on, until Rupert had caught up with her, pulled her off the horse and pulled her in the meadowsweet. Cameron had half-hoped that Taggie, on a late-night walk with Gertrude, might have caught them at it and realized that at last Rupert had found someone with a sex drive equal to his own.

But last night’s row had ruined all that, and now, with the kids around, there’d be no more nude frollicking this weekend. She jumped as the dogs barked and the front door banged.

‘Cameron,’ yelled Rupert.

As he sauntered into the kitchen, blithe as a skylark, as though there’d been no row at all, Cameron frantically stirred the french dressing.

‘We’re out of dill,’ she said.

‘Dildos! Hardly need one of those with me around! I’m sorry I don’t give you presents,’ he went on, kissing the back of her neck. ‘Vainly, I thought my presence was enough. Which hand will you have?’

‘Both,’ said Cameron sulkily.

‘Telepathic,’ said Rupert, uncurling his fingers.

Glittering on each palm was a diamond ear-ring, a two-inch-long chandelier, lit by little diamonds instead of crystals. Cameron was speechless. Incredulously, she ripped out the gold hoops she normally wore and hooked on the diamonds, running to the kitchen mirror, rubbing away the steam with her sleeve to have a look.

The ear-rings hung halfway down her slender neck, throwing rainbows of light on the lean, tense jawline, illuminating and softening the truculent hostile little face. Next minute Rupert’s reflection appeared beside hers.

‘Like them?’

In answer, she turned, kissing him with a fury and passion he’d never known in her. Cupping her face with his hands, he felt the tears sliding into his fingers. Very gently he unhooked the ear-rings.

‘Shame to take them off so soon, but I must have you before I pick up the children.’

By the time they’d finished, the potatoes were too soft to roast, so Cameron mashed them instead.

Groggy with love, she waited to love Rupert’s children. At half past one, trailing barking dogs, Tabitha erupted into the kitchen. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with excitement. She was clutching a huge box of chocolates.

‘Mrs Bodkin! Mrs Bodkin!’ She slithered to a halt in front of Cameron. ‘Where’s Mrs B?’

‘Away for the weekend.’

‘Daddy never told us. Are you the temp?’

‘Well, not too temporary I hope!’ said Cameron, smiling. ‘You must be Tabitha?’

‘Well, I’m not Marcus.’ At nine, Tabitha was as blonde and as effortlessly elegant as Rupert. She stared at Cameron with the wary blue eyes of a stray kitten.

She was followed by Marcus, who at eleven was very thin, with very dark red hair, huge surprised yellow eyes, and pale delicate freckled features. He looked like a fawn liable to bolt at any minute. None of the photographs all over the house had captured their beauty, nor the way their totally different looks complimented each other.

‘You must be Marcus, then,’ said Cameron. ‘I hope you’re both hungry. There’s roast chicken for lunch.’

‘Not yet,’ said Tabitha, grabbing an apple out of the fruit bowl. ‘I’m going down to the stables.’

Marcus smiled shyly and apologetically. ‘I’ve got a letter from my mother for Mrs Bodkin. I’d better give it to you. The chocolates were for her, perhaps you’d like. .’ His voice trailed off.

‘No, no,’ said Cameron, ‘leave them for her.’

Helen’s writing was very Vassar: ‘Dear Mrs B,’ she had written, ‘I hope your arthritis is better and the kids won’t make too much work. Marcus’s medication is in his suitcase. Please see he takes it, if he gets uptight. I enclose a list of their clothes. Could you tick them off before they come home? They lost so much last time, and can you see Tabitha learns her vocabulary, and that both do half an hour’s piano practice, and say their prayers at night? I also enclose stats of their reports. Can you give them to Mr C-B? Yours sincerely, Helen Gordon.’

Christ, she’s formal, and a Born-again too, thought Cameron. Then she smiled at Marcus. ‘Is Daddy on the way?’

‘He’s gone to the yard. Can I do anything?’

‘Tell him and Tabitha lunch’ll be ready in ten minutes.’

Putting on the cabbage and removing the chicken from the baking dish, Cameron started to make the gravy, and at the same time read the kids’ reports. Tab’s was perfectly frightful except for sport. Marcus’s was brilliant. He returned to the kitchen looking apprehensive.

‘They’re trying out some new pony for Tab. Daddy said would half past two be OK?’ Then, quailing at Cameron’s expression of fury, he said quickly, ‘If you don’t mind I’ll go and unpack.’

How, thought Cameron furiously, can I possibly keep up Taggie O’Hara standards when I get fucked about like this? Then she remembered the diamond ear-rings, and the fact that Rupert hadn’t seen the kids for a few weeks, and decided not to make a fuss.

In fact they were back in forty minutes.

‘I’m starving,’ said Tab, heading straight for the larder. ‘I thought you said lunch was ready.’ She came out tearing open a packet of crisps with her teeth.

‘Don’t eat that. It’ll spoil your lunch,’ said Cameron. Ignoring her, Tab sat down at the table with Pony magazine.

Rupert came in with a large vodka and tonic for Cameron. ‘Hullo, darling —’ Cameron noticed how Tabitha looked up, eyes narrowed at the endearment — ‘sorry we’re late. Geoffrey Gardener brought the pony over specially. I wanted Tab to try him.’

‘Any good?’

‘We’re going to keep him over the weekend.’

‘He’s called Biscuit,’ said Tabitha.

‘Here are the kids’ reports and a letter from Helen,’ said Cameron as Rupert started to carve.

‘I only eat breast,’ said Tab, when Rupert handed her a leg.

‘Well, give it to Marcus, then,’ said Rupert, who was reading the reports at the same time.

Cameron opened her mouth and shut it again. She noticed Marcus was very nervous around his father, and that, while Rupert hardly glanced at Marcus’s report, he spent ages reading Tabitha’s.