Score!

‘I ought to fill you in on my movements on Sunday night, Tim. Frankly it was Sunday, Bloody Sunday. I ’ad a hellish day trying to drum up money. Rannaldini had fucked us with his delaying tactics, refusing to release any dosh until Tristan gave in to his demands.

‘I left London after midnight, shattered. But I wanted to be there on Monday morning in case fings turned nasty after Rannaldini playing that evil tape on Friday night. Anyway, Wally and I was about to come off the motorway wiv only the hard shoulder to cry on, when Bernard rang and said Rannaldini’d copped it.’

‘What time was that, sir?’

‘One fifteen. I called Rupert Campbell-Black. Luckily he’d just got back, and agreed to come in and save the movie.’

‘Just like that?’ asked Karen.

‘He’s that sort of bloke. Then we belted down to Valhalla, as Bernard and I agreed’, there was pride in Sexton’s voice now, ‘I should be the one to break the sad news to Dame Hermione.’

‘Look after her,’ Gablecross was amazed to hear himself saying.

‘The fat cow’s lying through her teeth,’ fumed Karen, as they walked back to the car. ‘Imagine thinking Emma Woodhouse was the heroine of Pride and Prejudice. The only thing the silly bitch reads is rave reviews and the directions on the Prozac bottle.’

‘And Sexton had a lot to lose if the film went belly-up,’ mused Gablecross.

‘And Rupert Campbell-Black had only just come in at one fifteen,’ said Karen. ‘What was he doing in the meanwhile?’ She wished Gablecross would loosen up. As a cop you often had to laugh to stop yourself crying. She wasn’t looking forward to him wincing over her driving all the way to Abingdon to see Miss Bussage.

50

Rupert arrived at his first night’s filming in a murderous mood. If he hadn’t spurned Tab and let her fall among thieves, she would never have married so disastrously. And Rannaldini would never have been reduced to kidnapping Gertrude. He felt directly responsible both for the rape and Gertrude’s death, and his brain filled with blood whenever he thought of it.

He had agreed to save Don Carlos because he wanted to make a not-so-quick buck and amends to Tab. But talking to her the following day, he learnt of Tristan’s treachery and only hung in because of her pleading.

‘But the fucker blew you out.’

‘I know,’ sobbed Tab. ‘But I still love him and maybe with Rannaldini out of the way…’

She was so near the edge, raging one moment, sobbing wildly the next, or just gazing into space, he didn’t want to push her into the abyss.

Over at Valhalla, excitement at his impending arrival had reached fever pitch. Chloe, already buoyed up by fifty thousand from the Daily Mail, calls from La Scala and the Opera Bastille, and the press yelling, ‘Chloe, Chloe, Chloe,’ whenever she passed, was now squirming lasciviously in front of the mirror in Make Up.

‘I want an ace face for Rupert, Lucy Lockett.’

‘That would be an Everest for you,’ said Baby irritably, as he pored over accounts of the murder in all the papers.

‘The prospect of having Tab as a stepdaughter would deter even me,’ sighed Chloe, ‘but one could always dally.’

‘Rupert’s mad about his wife,’ said Lucy crossly, as she clipped Chloe’s fringe to one side.

‘That’s a nice picture of moi.’ Chloe glanced sideways. ‘What paper’s that?’

‘The Scorpion. They list you as a prime suspect, alongside most of the cast, plus Helen, Wolfie and Tristan.’

‘Ouch, careful,’ squeaked Chloe, as Lucy knocked over a bottle of base, narrowly missing three thousand pounds’ worth of crimson taffeta. ‘Don’t mention that name in our make-up artist’s presence.’

One flare-up was averted by Lucy’s mobile ringing, which triggered off another. ‘No, I cannot do your roots, Meredith,’ shouted Lucy. ‘I don’t care if Rupert is due later, the cast has priority.’

From an upstairs window, Helen watched the press go berserk at the bottom of the drive as her ex-husband’s dark blue helicopter landed.

It was absolutely typical. Not only had Rupert won Tab back, he was now swanning in like a prince, stalking towards the maze, with fat Sexton running to keep up, passing Jessica and Simone, who swung round in wonder. When would Rupert bloody well lose his looks?

‘You wouldn’t have a moment to pop in and see Dime Hermione?’ panted Sexton.

‘Not unless you provide guards and a chastity-belt,’ replied Rupert.

‘Here comes Beauty-with-Cruelty,’ sighed Meredith, adjusting the baseball cap now hiding his roots.

The setting sun had lent a warmth to Rupert’s sleek blond hair and added a touch of colour to his unusually pale face, but his mouth was set in an ugly line, and the glare he gave Tristan could have halted global warming for several decades.

‘It’s very good of you to help us out.’ Nervously, Tristan extended a hand, which Rupert ignored. This was the bastard who’d broken Tab’s heart.

Having nodded curtly at Wolfie, and Lucy, who he knew slightly as a friend of Tab’s, and kissed Griselda, who he remembered from deb dances in the early seventies, he said:

‘OK, let’s get on with it.’

Rupert had never taken on anything he couldn’t do. Brilliant at show-jumping, he had been a highly successful, if unorthodox, MP and Minister for Sport, a hot-shot financial director of Venturer Television and now, because he’d learnt patience at last and refused to push horses that needed more time, he was one of the leading owner-trainers in the world. But the snail’s pace of filming defeated him. How could you spend a hundred and fifty thousand a day on something quite so ridiculous? The caterwauling from the speakers gave him a headache. The only time that number of people had stood around at Penscombe in the last twenty years had been at Gertrude’s funeral.

‘What the hell’s going on?’ he asked Tristan.

‘Carlos receive letter summoning him to a rendezvous. He think it is from his stepmother, who he adores. But it is from his father’s mistress, who adores him. So if you imagine your mistress…’

‘I don’t have a mistress,’ said Rupert icily.

‘Dommage,’ chorused Chloe and Simone.

The crew grinned.

‘Well, imagine your son being madly in love with your wife.’

‘Impossible,’ said Rupert, even more icily. ‘Marcus is a homosexual.’

‘Well,’ Tristan struggled on, ‘Carlos is so carried away with excitement, he declares passionate love to wrong woman.’

‘Is he pissed? Then how could he possibly mistake Clare—?’

‘Chloe!’ interrupted Chloe in outrage.

‘Sorry, Chloe for Hermione. Hermione’s three times her size.’

Chloe blew Rupert a kiss.

‘Why didn’t you choose singers the same size?’ persisted Rupert.

‘They were chosen for their voices.’ Tristan was just managing to keep his temper. ‘In the dark it is easy to mistake people.’

‘It isn’t dark.’ Rupert glared round at Oscar’s lights. ‘We could be in Blackpool at the height of the season.’

Later they’d moved on to the trio.