rabbits and voles and field mice and moles and all the poor birds?’
Rupert shrugged. ‘They’ve got legs; they can run away.’
‘Not that quickly,’ said Taggie furiously. ‘You’re a murderer.’
‘I suppose,’ snapped Rupert, thoroughly nettled, ‘that you want me to stop ploughing my fields because it’s cruel to worms, earwigs, beetles, woodlice and all the poor bugs.’ He was mimicking Taggie now. ‘Do you want me to give them a state funeral?’
The blonde girl giggled. She was very young, only a few years older than Taggie.
‘Oh shut up!’ screamed Taggie, losing her temper. ‘How would you like someone to set fire to you when you were in bed?’
Rupert nodded at the blonde. ‘She frequently does.’
‘Don’t be disgusting. You’re utterly abhorrent, the sort of person who always has to be killing something; hunting, fishing, shooting.’
At that moment, a lot of dogs, back from their walk with one of Rupert’s grooms, swarmed barking on to the court. There were Jack Russells, spaniels, a black labrador, and a beautiful shaggy blue lurcher, which bounded joyfully up to Gertrude, who bridled and curled her tail up even tighter.
Taggie pointed to the lurcher. ‘I bet you use that for coursing,’ she said furiously.
‘Why don’t you take that ugly brute back to its pigsty,’ said Rupert, picking up a green tennis ball and hurling it at Gertrude, ‘and stop interrupting other people’s innocent afternoon pleasures.’
‘Don’t you d-dare be beastly to Gertrude.’
Reaching for his racket, Rupert let his towel drop: ‘Forty love wasn’t it, darling?’
The blonde girl giggled again. But next moment the pussycat smile was wiped off her face as, with a manic jangling of bells, three fire engines roared up the drive.
‘Fucking hell!’ screamed Rupert.
Taggie gave a sob and fled back across the valley, her face flaming as much as her poor torn stung legs. Beastly, horrible, abhorrent man. Looking up in front of her she could see The Priory. Except for Declan’s twelve acres, all the land in the valley belonged to Rupert. Now, thought Taggie with a shudder, it seemed to curl round The Priory like a man trapping a woman at a party, putting his hands on the wall on either side of her, so she couldn’t escape.
Back home she found Maud sitting outside, wearing a big black hat to protect her white skin from the early evening sun, which had just crept round the side of the valley to admire her. She was drinking vodka and tonic and immersed in P. D. James.
‘I’ve just met Rupert Campbell-Black,’ said Taggie.
Maud glanced up and saw Taggie was puce in the face, with her black cloudy hair standing up on end in a tangled mess, her red dress ripped and her long legs and arms scratched and bleeding and covered with white nettle stings.
‘My God,’ said Maud, roused out of her usual languor, ‘I know he’s got a fearful reputation, but surely you didn’t let him get that far?’
11
The following Sunday Monica Baddingham gave a lunch party at The Falconry to welcome Maud and Declan to Gloucestershire and launch the new conservatory built by Corinium’s studio carpenters. Accustomed to going out to lunch in London where people seldom ate before two o’clock or even two-thirty, Maud and Declan didn’t leave home until half past one. Declan tried to persuade Taggie to come too, but she blushingly refused when she heard Rupert might be there.
‘I’m sure Monica said left at The Dog and Trumpet,’ said Maud, applying a second layer of coral gloss to a pouting bottom lip.
Declan was in a vile temper. Not only had Maud made him late yet again by washing her hair at the last moment, but he had spent all morning trying to cut their hayfield of a lawn with a mower that kept choking on Gertrude’s shredded mutton bones. Now they seemed to be driving half way round Gloucestershire.
‘Why the hell can’t you take directions down properly?’ he snarled.
‘He’s your boss. You should have taken down the directions. Anyway it was you who wanted to move to the bloody country. Let’s go home.’
‘They’re giving the focking party for us. Why the hell don’t they put names on their houses in the country?’
‘You don’t.’
‘That’s because I don’t want anyone to come and see me.’
Declan was also aware that, although his wife was looking a billion dollars in a very low-cut black silk dress, a green shawl which matched her eyes, black stockings and black high heels, with her shiny red hair piled under the big black hat, she was quite unsuitably dressed for Sunday lunch.
‘There it is,’ said Declan at last, as he drove through two lichened gate posts topped with rather newer stone rams. ‘Christ, people are leaving already.’
As a dark-green BMW passed them coming the other way, the woman who was driving wound down the window:
‘Love your progamme. Frightfully sorry, we’ve
‘Jesus,’ muttered Declan.
The Baddinghams’ splendid Queen Anne house lay in a hollow surrounded by lush parkland. The stable clock was always kept twenty minutes fast so that people might worry they were late, and be encouraged to leave early.
In huge gold letters against a black background above the second door of the porch was written:
‘My head’ll be up there next,’ muttered Declan as Tony came out of the drawing-room, plainly in a bait.
‘Can’t you ever get the time right, Declan? We’ve been trying to have lunch for three-quarters of an hour.’
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ said Maud in her most caressing tones. ‘Declan and I are used to London hours.’
‘Well, you’d better acquire a few rural habits. The Pimm’s has run out; what d’you want to drink?’
‘Oh, there you are.’ Monica swept in wearing a blue cotton shirtwaister and open-toed sandals on her big bare feet. ‘Taggie said you were on your way; pity you didn’t bring her, I’ve got so many spare men. Have a quick drink, and then we’ll have lunch. It’s probably the last time we’ll be able to eat outside this year,’ she added wistfully, thinking how much she’d prefer to be dividing the regale lilies.
Having given Maud a drink, she led her through the vast tapestried drawing-room out to the new conservatory, which stretched the entire back of the house at ground floor level and was crammed with statues of goddesses, iron seats painted white, lilies, palms, aspidistras and plants still wrapped, which people had brought as conservatory-warming presents.
‘Beautiful,’ murmured Maud, taking a huge slug of whisky.
Everyone, gathered on the lawn, turned round and stared.
‘Come into the garden, Maud,’ bellowed Charles Fairburn, who was already tight. Mistiming his kiss, his round red shiny face cannoned off Maud’s like a billiard ball.
‘Looking beautiful as usual,’ he said, drawing her aside.
‘You’re not to monopolize her, Charles,’ said Monica bossily.
‘I promise I’ll introduce her to everyone,’ said Charles. ‘Your husband’s certainly been stirring things up at Corinium,’ he added, lowering his voice.
‘Really,’ said Maud, only mildly interested.
