‘Oh please don’t bother.’
‘It’s not exactly out of my way,’ he said sarcastically.
The frozen snow twinkled like rhinestones in the moonlight. Once they’d got out of Cotchester on to the country lanes there was only room for single-line traffic between the huge polar drifts. They didn’t speak for a few miles, then, glancing sideways, Rupert saw the tears pouring down her face.
‘What the fuck’s the matter now?’
‘I thought we were friends.’
‘Then why did you go to bed with Bas?’
‘I didn’t. I meant to, because I was so miserable about you. I thought if I got some really good experience, you might fancy me a bit, but when it came to the crunch, I couldn’t do it. I love you too much.’
Rupert stopped the car, pulling it into a gateway.
‘I’m desperately sorry,’ sobbed Taggie, groping in her bag for a paper handkerchief. ‘I know it must be boring having every woman you meet in love with you. I didn’t want to be one of them. I’ve tried so hard to get over you. Work doesn’t help at all. It’s just that you’ve been so kind looking after us, sorting Mummy out the other night and getting all that food when I made an up-cock at Sarah Stratton’s dinner party, and giving me all those lovely things, and buying the wood for far more than it’s worth.’
‘Who told you that?’ said Rupert, appalled.
‘Ursula did. She saw Daddy’s bank statement. It was the only good thing in it. I’m sorry for being such a drip.’
Rupert raised clenched fists to his temples in a superhuman effort not to reach out for her. Taggie mistook the gesture for sheer horror at being propositioned by yet another girl.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘For Christ’s sake stop apologizing.’ Rupert started speaking very slowly and deliberately as if he was addressing some loopy foreigner. ‘Look, it wouldn’t work. I’m terribly fond of you, Tag, but I’m far too old. Remember that hamburger bar manager who thought you were my daughter? I’ve never been faithful to anyone for more than a few weeks, and I’m not going to ruin your life by having a brief fling with you.’
‘My life’s ruined already,’ sobbed Taggie, who’d soaked one paper handkerchief and was desperately searching in her pockets for another.
‘You’ll get over me,’ said Rupert, handing her his.
‘Like that five-bar gate in front of us,’ said Taggie helplessly.
What made it worse was that the car got stuck and they had to push it out and Taggie slipped over and Rupert picked her up, then almost shoved her away, as though she was white hot, so desperate was his longing to take her in his arms.
The Priory was in darkness when they got back.
‘Tell your father I’ll ring him later,’ said Rupert, cannoning off a low wall in his haste to get away.
Across the valley he could see lights on in his house. He couldn’t face Cameron at the moment. If only he could dump on Billy, but it was Wednesday and Billy would be at the television centre presenting the sports programme. Mindlessly he drove back to Cotchester and parked outside Basil’s flat.
One look at Rupert’s set white face was enough. Bas poured him a large whisky.
‘Taggie said there wasn’t a legover situation.’
‘There wasn’t,’ said Bas. ‘Not through lack of trying on my part. She is utterly adorable, but she utterly adores someone else, you lucky sod.’
Rupert drained his whisky.
‘I’m not going to do anything about her.’
‘Why ever not?’ said Bas incredulously. ‘It’s on a plate.’
‘I’m too old, shopsoiled, evil. .’
‘Oh, don’t be so fucking self-indulgent. All these histrionics and tantrums are just the last frantic struggles of the lassooed bronco. You’ve never been in love before. It’s really very nice, if you stop fighting it. Everyone’s got to hang up their condom sometime. Taggie’d be worth it.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘OK,’ said Bas, filling up their glasses.
‘Am I interrupting you?’
‘Not excessively. I was just looking at the books. The Bar’s had a staggering year, thanks to all those malcontents from Corinium drowning their sorrows and plotting my big brother’s downfall. Won’t be so good next year, with you and Freddie and Declan running things. They’ll all be working so hard, they won’t have time for a lunch hour. D’you really think we’ll get it?’
‘’Course we will,’ said Rupert, thinking he really didn’t give a fuck any more.
Bas shook his head. ‘Tony gave a bloody good interview to
Rupert ignored it. ‘Did she really say she loved me?’
‘Yes, she did, which I find extraordinary, knowing you as I do.’
Rupert shook his head in bewilderment.
‘It’s never, never hit me like this before either. I’m still not going to do anything about it.’
49
Up in London that night the fourteen directors and senior staff of Corinium Television had an extremely successful final dry run before their meeting at the IBA the next afternoon. Tony, in a new dark-blue pin-stripe suit paid for by Corinium, was in coruscating form.
‘They can have one drink,’ he told Ginger Johnson beforehand, ‘and then not one drop until we’ve been round the course — and I’m going to grill them.’
No one at the meeting tomorrow, he said, was to speak until he’d introduced them. There was now, as a result of recent hiring and firing, a most satisfactory preponderance of ex-production people on the Board who would do most of the talking. The money-men, like Ginger and Georgie Baines, who brought in the vast advertising revenue, would keep a low profile. In fact it would be better if the word ‘profit’ were not mentioned at all. All the men had had hair cuts.
‘No doubt,’ muttered Sarah Stratton to James Vereker, ‘there will be a nail inspection in the morning.’
Afterwards they all dined wisely but not too well at the Carlton Tower, where they were staying overnight. No shellfish was allowed, nor liqueurs after dinner. Everyone was very impressed with Ailie Bristoe, the new Programme Controller, who’d flown over from Hollywood for the occasion, and seemed as beautiful as she was bright. James Vereker, in particular, thought she looked very caring.
‘I’m surprised Tony hasn’t put the women in separate hotels,’ grumbled Sarah, as they were all sent up to bed early.
‘Be sure to order a
Back in Gloucestershire, Declan finally stormed out of The Priory around ten o’clock, having failed to get a confession out of Cameron. Utterly devastated that he and Freddie could possibly think she was the mole, Cameron was slumped on the sofa, still cuddling Blue when the telephone rang. It was some girl, saying Rupert wouldn’t be back until the morning, but he sent his love. There was a terrific din in the background and the girl sounded as though she was ringing from a bar. Bastard, thought Cameron, but she was too proud to ask where he was. As she put the telephone down it rang again.
‘Can I speak to Rupert Campbell-Black?’
‘He’s not here.’
‘Is that Cameron Cook?’
‘This is she.’
