‘I’ve got something even stronger next door,’ said Rupert hastily. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
Back in his suite, he nearly died. He’d never had nerves like this in the old days when he was show jumping, and screwing everyone else’s wives. With shaking, sweating hands, he stuffed the photostated application in the secret compartment of his briefcase.
Cameron had kicked off her shoes and was lying on the bed drinking white wine when he got back.
‘Good thing you didn’t come,’ she said. ‘There were so many people who’d have recognized you. I picked up a
‘Thanks.’
Rupert turned immediately to the sports page, she noticed, then the smile was wiped off his face.
‘Fucking hell!’ He turned to the front page.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Riots after both semi-finals of the FA Cup,’ he howled. ‘Petrol bombs thrown at the police, two policemen stabbed, cars overturned and burnt, shop windows smashed, twenty people taken to hospital, forty-five arrests. Fucking, fucking hell! I play hookey for one weekend and this happens.’
In a second he was on to Gerald in London.
‘I’ve been trying to get you since yesterday, Minister.’
There were obviously other people in the room or Gerald would never have been so formal.
‘Is it very serious?’
‘Yes — four people are still in intensive care.’
‘I’ll fly back tonight.’
‘I’m sorry, Minister. After all your hard work, it’s a most tragic setback.’
By one o’clock, Rupert managed to get on to a private jet, arranged by the British Ambassador. He seemed to have forgotten Cameron’s existence until he was leaving.
‘I’m sorry to walk out on you, angel. I’m just so pissed off. I was so certain I’d pegged the violence.’ He took her face in his hands. ‘Look, it’s been great. I won’t ring you in case I get Tony, but promise to ring me. Here’s Gerald’s number; he’ll know where to find me.’
And he was gone.
It’s a beginning, thought Cameron, hanging over the balcony to see if she could catch a glimpse of him getting into his car. It was still warm. Breathing in the scent of the lemon trees rising from the little garden, she had a sudden vision of Rupert’s beautiful house in Gloucestershire and all that wonderful sweep of land, and decided the only status symbol she really wanted was a Cartier wedding-ring with R C-B and CC engraved inside.
28
Rupert went back to England slap into a political storm. The dramatic drop in football hooliganism had been a high spot of the Tory administration. Now, after a sickening day of violence, their claims were looking very dubious. With an election in the offing, the opposition were roaring for blood and, in an emergency debate on Monday night, tabled a motion of no confidence in the Minister for Sport and howled for Rupert’s resignation. Although Rupert was certain left-wing militants were behind the riots and hinted as much in the House, he couldn’t prove it yet and the Government won the debate by the narrowest majority. Some of his own side were not displeased by events; Rupert had been the PM’s darling for too long. The Cup Final was not until 11th May, but all Rupert’s energies were now channelled into seeing the violence wasn’t repeated.
He spent most of the next week trying not to lose his temper with the pack of reporters snarling at his heels as he visited the two devastated football clubs, and comforted those who’d been hurt in the riots. As a result, he didn’t get down to Penscombe until late Wednesday afternoon, landing the helicopter on the lawn.
He had only been away a week, but already bluebells were flaming like Bunsen burners in his woods, and the crimson glow of the beeches had turned to a rusty terracotta as green leaves burst out of their narrow brown buds. Although brilliant sunshine and blue skies welcomed him, across the valley he could see an April shower tumbling darkly out of a huge purple cloud on to The Priory.
However angry he was, returning to Penscombe always soothed him. He was greeted by messages from Gerald that the two stabbed policemen were now off the danger list and that Cameron Cook had rung three times, leaving a number. Instead of calling her, he had a quick shower and drove over to The Priory where the rain had almost stopped, leaving a heady smell of wet earth and nettles. As he walked through the door, he was greeted by an even headier smell of frying garlic and onions. Taggie must be home, which unconsciously soothed him even more. He’d go and see her when he’d reported in. In the library he found Freddie, Bas and Charles giving a slightly unreceptive Declan tips on how to write the application.
‘What a focking awful week you’re having,’ said Declan. ‘You poor bastard. You must feel like Sisyphus.’
‘I don’t know who he is,’ said Rupert, ‘but I’m sure I do.’
‘Get him a drink, Bas,’ said Declan.
‘Only Perrier,’ said Rupert. ‘I’ve got to fly back and vote after this. How did the first Venturer meeting go?’
The others looked at each other. Was the sun shining through the stained glass window or was Freddie blushing?
‘It was somewhat hazardous,’ said Declan.
‘Did you all fall out?’ asked Rupert, taking the Perrier from Bas, and trying to find an inch on one of the window seats that wasn’t covered with books and tapes to sit on.
‘Charles and Dame Enid did,’ said Bas with a grin.
‘Shut up,’ giggled Charles.
‘You tell him, Freddie,’ said Declan.
‘Well, we all went down to this pub on Salisbury Plain,’ said Freddie sheepishly, ‘which I could’ve sworn was always deserted, and we’d just settled into pre-lunch drinks and managed to stop Wesley Emerson offering the Bishop a joint, and got over the fact that Charles, here, turned up dressed as a woman. .’
‘Knowing the IBA’s obsession with the fair sex, I thought it fitting,’ interrupted Charles demurely.
‘. . when the entire nation’s press arrived in three coaches to ’ave a beano before witnessing the launching of a new tank at some army base down the road.’
‘Christ,’ Rupert started to laugh. ‘Did any of them see you?’
‘Billy the Kid couldn’t have emptied a saloon bar faster,’ said Freddie, ‘and Charles and Dame Enid got stuck trying to climb out of the Ladies’.’
‘It was seriously funny,’ said Bas. ‘We all hotfooted it back to The Priory for a Chinese takeaway, and the whole thing seemed to bring us closer together. I must say I’d forgotten how stunningly attractive Janey Lloyd-Foxe is.’
‘And belongs to Billy,’ said Rupert firmly.
Through the window he could see Taggie, who’d gone out into the garden to pick some thyme from the herb garden, gazing in rapture at a rainbow. She had the most adorable bottom, he decided, which became even more adorable when she bent over the flower bed in her jeans.
‘Rupert,’ said Bas, ‘are you still with us?’
‘Looking at the rainbow,’ said Rupert, hastily opening his briefcase.
‘Never knew rainbows were female and five foot ten,’ said Bas slyly.
‘Fuck off,’ said Rupert. ‘Anyway, I’ve got a stunning bit of news to cheer you all up. I’ve brought you an Easter present, Declan.’
Triumphantly he chucked the two tapes and the photostat of the Corinium application down on Declan’s desk.
‘What’s this?’ said Declan, putting on his spectacles.
‘Two extraordinarily informative conversations with Cameron Cook, and a photostat of the corrected final draft of Corinium’s application.’
