with me one day?’
‘I know I shouldn’t accept,’ said Lizzie, ‘but yes, please.’
Dropping in at The Priory on the way home, Freddie found Declan and Rupert in the library surrounded by tapes. Declan was busy writing the section of the application which would tear Corinium’s programmes to shreds.
He and Rupert were now watching a tape of ‘Cotswold Round-Up’. Sarah was interviewing some old lady who couldn’t pay her gas bill and James was sitting on the pink sofa looking caring.
‘Christ, she’s pretty,’ said Declan. ‘She’d be dazzling if she were properly produced. We do need some more women.’
‘No, no, no, no,’ said Rupert. ‘She really is lightweight.’
‘What would you feel about Lizzie Vereker?’ said Freddie, his voice thickening.
‘Good idea,’ said Declan. ‘She writes very well.’
‘And she’s so sweet,’ said Rupert, ‘and it would infuriate James.’
‘And she lives in the area,’ they all chorused.
‘Let’s recruit her later in the year,’ said Declan. ‘She’s too near to Tony and I really don’t want him to know what we’re up to before the applications go in.’
26
On the second Monday in April, Ursula, who was still working for Declan, although he could ill afford her salary, was due to lunch with her old friend Joyce Madden.
‘See if you can find out Tony’s whereabouts next weekend,’ Rupert had asked her on the telephone beforehand.
Ursula, who loved conspiracy, came back from lunch and half a bottle of Sauternes bustling with excitement, and rang Rupert.
‘Joyce told me in the strictest confidence that Tony and Cameron are off on a naughty to Madrid this weekend. Cameron’s flying out on Friday afternoon. Evidently she wants some peace to polish Corinium’s application before it goes off to the IBA. Tony’s giving a party at The Falconry on Friday night because it’s Badminton weekend and a nice excuse to ask all his posh friends paid for by Corinium. Then he’s flying to Madrid on Saturday lunchtime. They’re staying in the same hotel and on Sunday night Cameron’s picking up some award for “Four Men went to Mow”. They’re both flying home on separate planes on Monday.’
‘Well done, thou good and faithful servant,’ said Rupert. ‘Could you bear at this stage not to mention this to Declan?’
Later in the day Rupert went to a reception to welcome some visiting Russian gymnasts, during which they gave a demonstration of their skills. Watching them go into incredibly graceful contortions on parallel bar and rug, Rupert wondered whether Cameron Cook was as supple and agile as that in bed. How the hell was he to get her on her own to launch his attack? Then inspiration struck. The moment the party was over he beetled out to his Government car and rang his friend the handsome Duke, who lived at Badminton.
‘Could you do me a great favour?’
‘Depends how great,’ said the Duke.
‘You’ve got the Princess staying next weekend, haven’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Could you possibly ask Tony and Monica Baddingham to dinner on Saturday night?’
‘Do I have to? I don’t mind Monica, but he’s such a ghastly snob.’
‘I’ll knock half a grand off that Irish mare.’
‘Oh, all right then.’
‘I’m going away this weekend,’ Rupert told Gerald Middleton next morning as they went through the diary. ‘I bumped into the Secretary of State for Scotland last night, who reminded me that Hearts are playing Madrid on Saturday, and it seemed wrong that no one from our department was going.’
Gerald raised his eyebrow.
‘They’re the only British team in the semi-final,’ said Rupert blandly.
‘You’re meant to be chairing a meeting opposing the Swindon/Gloucester motorway in Gloucester on Friday night,’ said Gerald, who didn’t approve of dates being broken.
‘I know. Ring them and say I’m terribly sorry. They have my full support, but they’ll have to get someone else. And can you get me a couple of presents for the wives of the British Ambassador and the Spanish Minister for Sport?’
‘I hope you’re not overdoing things,’ said Gerald reprovingly. ‘You’ve lost an awful lot of weight recently. Don’t forget you’ve got a second appointment with Doctor Benson tomorrow.’
Gerald was very worried. Rupert had been edgy for the last month, which could at first be put down to his not drinking, but this weekend he’d been really bad-tempered and two trips to the doctor in three days seemed ominous, particularly when you had screwed around as much as Rupert.
Rupert, however, rolled up at The Priory in the highest spirits the following evening to find Declan still surrounded by tapes and Basil Baddingham sitting on the edge of his desk drinking a Bloody Mary and discussing tactics.
‘I was just telling Declan that I’ve found you a possible building in case Tony won’t let us buy the existing Corinium studios,’ said Bas. ‘Cotchester Hall’s coming on to the market in November. Why are you looking so bloody pleased with yourself?’
Rupert waved a piece of paper in front of them.
‘I had an AIDS test this week and I’m clear.’
‘Christ,’ said Bas, examining it. ‘Is there no justice in the world?’
‘How long did it take you to get the results?’ asked Declan.
‘Forty-eight hours,’ said Rupert, ‘but I had to bung them.’
‘I’d be far too frightened to go,’ said Bas.
‘I came to tell you,’ said Rupert, retrieving his piece of paper, ‘that I’m going away for the weekend.’
‘But we’ve got our first Venturer meeting on Sunday,’ protested Declan. ‘Everyone’s coming — even Harold White and Marti Gluckstein.’
‘Christ, he’s never been to the country in his life,’ said Rupert. Then, hurriedly remembering the cottage he was supposed to be buying for Marti, asked, ‘Where are you having it, at the Bar Sinister?’
‘Too close to Tone,’ said Bas. ‘Freddie’s earmarked a fantastic little pub in the middle of Salisbury Plain which no one knows and which has amazing food. The landlord just runs it for fun.’
Declan was still looking disapproving. ‘You ought to be there. Meetings are essential at this stage to establish some kind of
‘You know I never have any,’ said Rupert.
‘I thought you were chairing the motorway meeting,’ said Bas.
‘Had to cancel it,’ said Rupert. ‘If I don’t spend more time in my constituency other than on Venturer business, they’re going to drop me.’
‘Burke only visited his constituency once in six years,’ said Declan.
Rupert laughed. ‘He wasn’t such a berk then.’
‘Where
‘To Madrid to watch some soccer.’
‘Balls,’ said Bas. ‘You’re up to something.’
‘I need a break,’ said Rupert. ‘Man cannot live by bread alone; he needs crumpet.’
There is a moment every Spring when even the most dedicated workaholic is overwhelmed by restlessness and longs to cast clouts and wander hand in hand with a new love through the burgeoning countryside. Cameron Cook was no exception. The weather had suddenly turned so warm as she packed for Madrid on Friday morning that
