Rivals

‘So that’s why you sent Madden tripping out to James Garrett on Christmas Eve to buy us both diamond bracelets. Jesus Christ!’

Starting to laugh, Tony let go of her wrists. ‘You discovered that too, did you? Poor little Cameron, you must have been festering over Christmas. Jealousy is the most destructive of emotions, you know. It hurts only oneself.’

‘I hate you,’ screamed Cameron, wrenching off the bracelet and hurling it at him. Missing him, it hit the window, slithering scratchily down the glass like a fingernail on a blackboard.

‘Get out! I’ll move out tomorrow, but leave me alone now.’ She collapsed, sobbing, on the sofa. Regurgitating her past with Patrick earlier had only underlined how terrifying it was to have no security. She was a panic-stricken sixteen-year-old again, racing through the night away from Mike with nowhere to go.

Tony poured two fingers of brandy into a glass, then moved towards her, until she could feel the solidness of his thigh against hers. She resisted the temptation to cling on to it, as a child might fling its arms around a tree for comfort.

‘You were jealous, really jealous,’ purred Tony. ‘Was that why you led that boy on?’

‘Sure.’

He caught her hair, yanking her head back. ‘Did you sleep with him?’

‘Yes,’ she muttered. Then, terrified he was going to hit her or throw the brandy into her face, ‘But not the way you think, I was so goddam tired. I hadn’t slept for nights worrying about everything. I crashed out on his bed.’

‘And nothing happened?’

‘Nothing, nothing! He’s just a kid.’ Oh please make him believe her.

‘Did Declan know you spent the night there?’

‘No, I never saw him. He never came out of the bedroom.’

With the franchise coming up this year, Tony decided, he didn’t really want to lose her, but he was going to enjoy torturing her a bit more.

‘And you promise never to see the boy again?’

‘I promise,’ said Cameron wearily. ‘But he may try to see me.’

‘We’ll have to put pressure on Declan to stop him then, won’t we?’ said Tony silkily, as he took off Cameron’s jacket.

‘That is a very disturbing dress. I’d rather you didn’t wear it in public again.’

Putting his hand under the skirt, he jabbed two fingers up inside her.

Cameron winced. ‘I can’t, Tony, not tonight. I’m really pooped.’

‘You can,’ said Tony softly, ‘if you want to be Controller of Programmes.’

Three days after Patrick’s party Taggie was gingerly testing her heart and finding that the ache for Ralphie was much less acute than she’d expected it to be when the doorbell rang.

In the doorway stood Rupert. His suntan was already beginning to fade.

‘Hullo,’ he said, soulfully gazing into her eyes. ‘Since your wonderful party, I haven’t been able to eat a thing.’

‘Oh my goodness,’ stammered Taggie, her heart beginning to thump.

Rupert grinned. ‘Could I possibly have my knives and forks and plates back?’

Taggie was used to unrequited love. Patrick, however, was not. Hopelessly spoilt by his mother, accustomed to attracting girls effortlessly, he couldn’t believe Cameron didn’t want to see him any more.

Despite Declan’s tirades and Taggie’s pleading, he continued to pester her with letters and telephone calls. Then, when these were not answered, he hung round the Corinium studios and outside her house.

Cameron, in fact, had hardly had time to think. As well as producing Declan’s programme and coping with her new job as Acting Controller of Programmes, she had to face a virtual palace revolution from a staff outraged by her appointment.

The afternoon before he was due to go back to Trinity, Patrick rang Cameron at the office. Expecting a call from Rupert about coming on Declan’s programme, Cameron unthinkingly picked up the telephone instead of leaving it to her secretary.

‘Can I speak to Cameron?’ said Patrick.

Cameron froze. Putting on a cockney accent, she said, ‘I’m afraid she’s not at her desk at the moment.’

‘Where is she?’ snapped Patrick. ‘Lying with the Managing Director under his desk.’

Cameron hung up.

The telephone was ringing again as she got home that evening. Running into the hall, she snatched up the receiver. It was Rupert answering her call.

‘We were talking about a date for you to come on Declan’s programme,’ she said with a confidence she didn’t feel. ‘I was just hoping to firm you up.’

Rupert laughed. ‘Extraordinary terminology you use in television.’

His diary was ridiculously full, but to her amazement he said he could make a Wednesday in February, which turned out to be St Valentine’s Day. He’d been so adamant he wouldn’t do the programme.

‘And in case I don’t bump into Declan beforehand, can you ask him if he’s free for dinner afterwards?’

Cameron didn’t say that after Declan had taken Rupert to the cleaners she thought it most unlikely.

‘That was a good party on New Year’s Eve,’ said Rupert. ‘I saw you bopping in your suede dress. I hoped you’d jump out of your skin.’

The next moment Cameron nearly did jump out of her skin, as she felt a kiss on the back of her neck. Patrick had walked in through the unlocked door.

‘Get out,’ hissed Cameron, clapping her hand over the receiver.

Shaking his head, Patrick sauntered into the living-room. She caught a blast of whisky as he passed.

Talking gibberish, furious at having to wind up her conversation with Rupert so abruptly, she said goodbye and went into the living-room, where she found Patrick hurling darts at the dart board.

‘Nice place you’ve got here. I can see why you wouldn’t want to give it up in a hurry.’

‘Get out,’ screamed Cameron.

‘Not until you tell me why you didn’t ring back.’

He went up to the board, and pulled out the darts. His hands were shaking, his eyes were black hollows in a deathly pale face. He must have lost pounds; he looked terrible.

‘There was no reason to call back. We had a fun day.’

‘A fun day?’ he asked incredulously. ‘Was that all it meant to you, after the sunrise, and all you told me about your mother and Mike and you falling asleep in my arms?’

‘Shut up,’ hissed Cameron, looking round in terror, expecting Tony to pop up from under the piano.

Patrick picked up a huge bunch of anemones which he’d left on the dentist’s chair.

‘I bought you these. For Christ’s sake, I love you. Can’t you understand that?’

In answer Cameron snatched the flowers from him and hurled them into the fireplace. Patrick winced and turned back to the dart board. The first dart missed, crashing into the wall, the second hit the glass in the frame of one of Cameron’s awards, the third hit a plate.

‘Pack it in,’ said Cameron more calmly. ‘If Tony turns up, he’ll kill us both.’

‘He’s a fiend. I’ve been checking up on him,’ said Patrick, sitting down at the piano. ‘He’s so avaricious,’ he went on between crashing chords, ‘even the bags under his eyes have got gold in them, and he’s corrupting you too, turning you into his pet Rottweiler to savage any of his staff he wants to reduce to jelly. You’ll never get out of the Underworld if you stay with him.’

‘Tony suits me,’ said Cameron over the din. ‘We’ve been together for three years, OK? My career’s the only thing that matters.’

‘So you agreed to drop me if he made you Controller of Programmes?’

‘You flatter yourself. What can you offer me?’

Patrick’s hands came down in a jumble of discords. ‘I, being poor,’ he said bitterly, ‘can only offer you my dreams.’

‘Stop talking like a prime-time soap.’

‘You should know, you make enough of them. Can I have a drink?’