thirty-nine and he seemed so wonderfully forceful and dynamic and experienced. But now I’m twenty-nine and he’s forty-eight, and his body’s going, and he looks all grey and rumpled when he wakes in the morning, and he wears cornplasters and snows scurf on his suits, and he’s always clearing his throat and picking his nose behind the FT and peering at me over his spectacles.’ Sarah’s voice rose to a screech again as she catalogued his crimes. ‘I can’t stand it.’
Mindlessly, Rupert patted her heaving shoulder, as he bleakly worked out that the age gap between him and Taggie was exactly the same, or would be when he was thirty-eight next month. Gradually Sarah stopped crying.
‘The one thing that puts men off is scenes,’ said Rupert. ‘You’ll just have to grin and not bare it until 15th December. Everyone’s going to be behaving in a pretty tense way for the next two months. I honestly can’t see James and Lizzie’s rapprochement lasting very long, and at least if you concentrate on your career at Corinium you’ll be able to support yourself. You won’t be able to afford two hunters, a Lotus and Jasper Conran dresses if Tony kicks you out, which he will do if you don’t leave Vere-karing alone.’
Sarah sat up and rubbed the mascara from under her eyes. ‘I suppose I’d better seduce Tony, but he’s got one cloven hoof in the grave too. You and Cameron are so lucky — being near in age.’
Then her eyes narrowed. ‘And while we’re on that subject, what were you doing rolling up with the Galloping Gormless just now?’
Rupert’s mind raced. He’d got to kill that rumour stone dead. If Sarah told Tony he’d been out with Taggie, Tony’d make sure it went straight back in a wildly exaggerated form to Cameron.
‘I had the children for the weekend,’ he said carefully. ‘Cameron’s away, so Taggie was helping me amuse them. She’s nearer their age.’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Sarah. ‘I thought for one ghastly moment you were after her as well. I mean, she’s simply not up to it. Very sweet and all, but not very bright. A bit loco, James thinks. The last thing she needs is a lascivious old ram like you. You’d crucify her. Anyway you’re far too old. It’d be just like Paul and me in a few years’ time.’
It was like a dentist hitting a raw nerve with a high-speed drill. Rupert never dreamed remarks could hurt him quite so much. Mercifully he was saved by the telephone. Then the dentist seemed to hit another nerve.
‘Christ, I’ve missed you,’ said Cameron’s seductive rasp. ‘Sorry I haven’t called, but we’ve been up to here. Perry O’Donovan’s such an asshole, and he can’t stand Esther McDermott. She’s an asshole too, and they’ve both had such rows with Declan, he’s walked off the set twice.’
‘So it’s all going as planned,’ said Rupert.
As Cameron rattled on about the cock-ups and frustrations of filming, all he could hear was prison doors clanging shut on him.
‘So we’ve managed to finish a day early,’ she said finally.
‘God, what a bore,’ said Rupert who hadn’t been listening.
‘Sweetest, this is a terrible line, I said I’ll be coming home a day early. Declan and I are flying in tomorrow.’
‘Great,’ said Rupert, feeling sick. ‘I’ll come and meet you.’
‘No, I’ve got the car at the airport. I’ll see you late afternoon, and darling,’ her voice dropped huskily, ‘I’ve been celibate for three weeks. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do, so cancel any appointments for the rest of the day. I love you.’
‘Me too,’ said Rupert automatically.
‘Good,’ said Sarah, as Rupert put down the receiver and went and poured himself a large whisky. ‘An absolute bastard like you needs an utter bitch like her to keep you in order.’
After she’d left, Rupert couldn’t face going to bed. He took the dogs into the garden. As they weaved about snuffling and barking after badgers and masochistically lifting their legs on rose bushes, he looked across the valley. The moon had set; black clouds covered the sky; a chill wind was shepherding beech leaves irritably across the lawn; The Priory was in darkness, except for one light in Taggie’s bedroom. Rupert almost wept. He longed to ring her now to explain why he wouldn’t be ringing her tomorrow, or any day after that, but he didn’t dare in case he weakened.
Sarah was right. He was too old, too shop-soiled, too reprobate. He’d only bring her unhappiness. Besides, Cameron was coming home tomorrow and he couldn’t jeopardize the franchise by risking her running back to Tony. It was his fault; he’d gone into the whole thing with his flies open. Not only had the prison door clanged shut, but he could hear a huge key turning for ever in the lock.
One is one, and all alone, and ever more shall be so, he thought despairingly.
43
Across at The Priory, by some lucky chance, a starry-eyed but slightly sheepish Maud swanned in at five to twelve just in time to take a telephone call from Declan saying he was coming home tomorrow. Cameron would drop him off and, bar fogs or airport strikes, he would be with her by twilight.
All next day Taggie waited for Rupert to ring, and by some vicious twist of fate, as she cleaned the house and cautiously dusted and hoovered round the chaos of precious papers in her father’s study and put clean sheets on her parents’ bed, the telephone rang incessantly. But it was only Archie ringing once again to say goodbye to Caitlin, or members of the cast ringing for Maud, or every member of Venturer ringing to ask whether Declan was back. Each time, Taggie pounced on the telephone, and each time, like a stray dog dumped bewildered on the motorway hoping each passing car might be her master returning, when it wasn’t Rupert she slunk back in utter despair. And as the day ebbed, so did her hopes. Once Cameron was home, he wouldn’t ring.
The weather had changed too, and as the grey skies closed in on the October afternoon, the black tracery of ivy fretted against the casement windows and sharp bitter winds swept the leaves from the lime walk and drove them in withered heaps along the dry gravel paths. However many jerseys she put on, however much she raced about the house, Taggie was still cold, while upstairs Maud oiled and scented herself for Declan’s return, no doubt leaving a horrible mess both in the bathroom and bedroom, which Taggie had just cleaned.
In the kitchen, having put some green tomato chutney to cook on the Aga, Taggie was trying to find a place on Caitlin’s incredibly skimpy pants to sew a name tape. Caitlin, having scattered breadcrumbs all over the dresser, dumped papers and magazines on the table, left the orange juice carton out and her scrambled-egg pan unwashed in the sink, was now peeling an orange.
Give me to drink mandragora,
That I might sleep out this great gap of time
‘One day you’ll be sewing the name Caitlin Baddingham and a coronet on my pants. Don’t you think I’ll make a good Lady Baddingham?’ She dropped a deep curtsey. ‘I’m going to bunk out of school next weekend so I can see him.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ said Taggie, breaking off a thread with her teeth. ‘You’ll get expelled and it’s bound to get in the papers. Oh, for God’s sake,’ she snapped, as Caitlin dropped her orange peel on the table, ‘can’t you ever throw anything in the bin?’
‘Don’t nag,’ said Caitlin. ‘When I grow up I’m going to live in a really messy house.’
‘What happens when you meet a fantastic man at a party and want to bring him back for a cup of coffee afterwards?’
‘I’d go to his house,’ said Caitlin. ‘How can I live without Archie till next weekend?’
How can I live without Rupert for ever? thought Taggie, getting up to give the tomato chutney a stir. She jumped as Gertrude and Claudius rushed in and leapt on to the window-seat, bristling furiously. They were followed by Maud in a big fluffy pink towel.
‘What on earth are you cooking?’ she demanded in outraged tones.
