Rivals

Cameron suddenly looked the picture of guilt.

‘Sure I saw him. We had tea. I needed advice on, on —’ she flushed scarlet — ‘a personal matter.’

‘You gave him all our programme plans, just as last month you told him the names of all the moles. No doubt he’s got lots of other info about Venturer up his pinstriped sleeve for the meeting tomorrow.’

Cameron looked furious and terrified now — the hawk cornered by her captor about to strike.

‘I didn’t tell him anything.’

‘You bloody liar,’ thundered Declan. ‘How long have you been spying for him? Ever since the beginning, since Rupert got his legover in Madrid?’

‘How could I possibly spy for Tony?’ she screamed. ‘He beat me up, for Chrissake. This —’ she waved The Times piece at Declan — ‘sabotages everything we’ve worked for. Someone else leaked it.’

‘Why did you bother to go to London on the worst day of the winter?’ snarled Declan.

Blue, the lurcher, who’d been hovering nervously, jumped up on the sofa beside Cameron and, glaring at Declan, started to whine querulously at him. The other dogs licked their lips. Beaver slunk out of the room.

‘Blue believes me,’ pleaded Cameron. ‘Why the fuck should I come to Ireland, and work so hard on the programme plans, if I was spying for Tony? He’s given my old job to Ailie Bristoe.’

‘That’s a front.’

‘Bullshit,’ said Cameron furiously. ‘Is this some kind of a nightmare? Are you back at Corinium? Am I your guest tonight? Where’s the fucking thumbscrews and the rack, or do you use electrodes and knee-capping like the fucking IRA?’

Grabbing her arm, Declan yanked her to her feet.

‘No one else knew about Dermot MacBride. How much else have you told him?’

Ignoring the low growl from Blue, he started to shake her like a rat.

‘You arrogant, pig-headed Irish asshole,’ yelled Cameron. ‘Why don’t you believe me?’

Maddened because she’d let him down, violent because he felt guilty about wanting her so much, Declan slapped her very hard across the face. The next minute Blue leapt at him, burying his teeth in Declan’s arm.

‘Leave!’ screamed Cameron. ‘Leave, Blue.’ Grabbing the dog’s collar she tugged him off, then, almost carrying him back onto the sofa beside her, collapsed sobbing into his shaggy coat.

Pulling himself together, Declan lit two cigarettes, but, as he handed one to Cameron, Blue gave another ominous growl.

‘It’s OK, boy,’ gasped Cameron.

She wiped her eyes frantically on her sleeve, then took the lighted cigarette. Inhaling deeply, she felt she was drawing the fires of hell into her lungs. Blue struggled up on his front paws and licked her face.

‘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 curls 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.’