Rivals

by Jilly Cooper

  ‘You must be Taggie,’ said the girl. ‘You look just like Patrick. Oh, look at the lovely Christmas roses! You shouldn’t have bothered.’

  Taggie, blushing so hard she felt she could fry an egg on her face, said, ‘Actually this is Ralphie’s room.’

  ‘And mine,’ said the girl happily. ‘I’m Georgina Harrison, Ralphie’s girlfriend.’

  Patrick had never seen such grief. Taggie seemed almost deranged, her whole body shuddering and shuddering with sobs.

  ‘I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it, I love him so much.’ ‘Angel, I know you do. But really it’s not on. He’s frightfully shallow, and you’re simply not his type. It’s not anything you’ve done, you’re just too large for him. It’s like expecting a chihuahua to mate with a wolfhound. Well, not quite, but, being small, he feels daunted by tall girls. He said to me last summer, “Your sister’d be absolutely heartbreaking, if only she were tiny.”’

  ‘I can’t shrink.’

  ‘Go off and nibble a mushroom.’

  ‘Don’t make jokes,’ sobbed Taggie.

  ‘Sweetheart, you’ve got to pull yourself together and get dressed. Mum and Dad have stopped rowing, but there’s no way they can organize the grub. Mrs Makepiece has arrived with two frightful teenage children, and Grace and Reg the butler and his friends are all getting stuck into the Moët. You must go down and supervise them. Now be a good girl and dry your eyes. I’m not twenty-one every day.’

  Maud had the ability to make houses look beautiful. There were no curtains on the windows, but huge fires crackled in all the downstairs rooms, which were lit by hundreds of red candles and decorated by huge banks of holly, yew and laurel. She was also totally unfazed by being a hostess, or by the frightful row she’d just had with Declan. She had certainly never looked more beautiful. The Medusa curls had dropped a little after her bath, and framed her pale face to which the heat from the fires had given a touch of colour. She was wearing a very low-cut ivy-green taffeta dress with a bustle, which brought out the witchy green of her eyes and clung to her figure. She’d lost seven pounds, hardly eating a thing over Christmas. Pearls gleamed at her wrists, her ears and her throat. If she couldn’t ensnare Rupert tonight, she never would.

  ‘New dress,’ snarled Declan, tying his black tie in the drawing-room mirror.

  ‘Oh, this old thing,’ said Maud mockingly.

  ‘The old thing’s in the dress,’ said Caitlin sourly.

  Pinching some of her mother’s scent, she had seen the bill for the dress, and really thought her mother had overdone it this time. Why did she need to spend that much money on clothes when she’d already got a man? Caitlin was worried that her father was deliberately setting out to get drunk, and even more worried about poor old Taggie. But at least at a ball with hundreds of people, Taggie might meet someone new.

  ‘Pretend it’s a job, pretend it’s a job,’ Taggie told herself through gritted teeth, as she stirred the great vats of turkey soup.

  ‘Could you possibly ask Caitlin to make sure Aengus is locked in one of the bedrooms? I’m afraid he might get under a car,’ she said to Mrs Makepiece’s daughter, Tracey, who, dressed in the tightest of black skirts and a white tricel shirt and pearls, was upwardly mobilizing her spiky hair in the kitchen mirror. Tracey was plainly avid to have a crack at one of Patrick’s friends.

  Outside, Mrs Makepiece’s punk son Kevin was directing cars into a nearby field, and coming in frequently to fortify himself against the cold with slugs of wine. Reg and his two friends were doing sterling work drinking and circulating drink. Grace was already pissed. ‘Goodness you look tired,’ she said to Taggie. ‘What ’ave you been up to?’

  Gertrude grew hoarse with barking as more and more people poured in. The party was plainly a success. Maud had produced a splendid mix: lots of London friends, who were knocked out by the beauty of the house and how good Maud was looking. Many of them had brought teenage children who were borne off upstairs for Malibu and coke in Caitlin’s bedroom. Then there were Patrick’s glamorous friends from Trinity, a large contingent from Corinium Television, and all Maud and Declan’s new friends from Gloucestershire, who were thoroughly over-excited to see so many London celebs. With two hours’ hard drinking before dinner, most people were soon absolutely plastered.

  Bas Baddingham stunned everyone by turning up with a most beautiful wife – somebody else’s.

  ‘She left Alistair on December 12th, and was out hunting the very next day,’ said Valerie Jones in a shocked voice.

  Valerie could also be heard saying repeatedly that she was simply exhausted after so many parties. ‘Fred-Fred and Ay simply longed for a poached egg in front of TV tonight, but we felt we couldn’t let the O’Haras down,’ she said to Lizzie Vereker. ‘What a crush, I hope we daine soon.’

  ‘Did you have a good Christmas?’ Lizzie asked Freddie.

  ‘Amizing,’ said Freddie. ‘Got some triffic presents. The staff gave me a fireman’s helmet, cos I’m always rushin’ about, and Rupert sent me a loaf of Mother’s Pride.’

  Lizzie giggled.

  ‘Typical,’ said Valerie, her lips tightening.

  ‘And those bantams’ eggs you gave us were triffic, too. You can taste the difference. I ’ad one for my breakfast this morning.’ Freddie beamed at Lizzie.

  ‘Nonsense, Fred-Fred,’ said Valerie with a little laugh, ‘that egg came from Tesco’s.’

  James, who’d skipped lunch because he was having his roots touched up, was drinking more than usual and thinking what a lot of amazingly beautiful women there were around: Joanna Lumley over there, and Patricia Hodge, and Pamela Armstrong, and Selina Scott and Ann Diamond.

  Maud was looking sensational too, and there was Sarah Stratton, not looking as good as usual. There were black rings under her eyes, but she still exuded wantonness.

  Sarah was, in fact, in a foul mood. She hadn’t had any lunch either, because she’d been hunting for a dress to wear this evening. She had missed Rupert horribly over Christmas. He obviously couldn’t ring her, as Paul had been home all the time, but she hadn’t even had a postcard, and then in Nigel Dempster’s column that morning there’d been a picture of Rupert skiing, with his arm round an incredibly glamorous French actress called Nathalie Perrault. She’d kill him when she saw him.

  Where the hell was he, anyway? Who could she flirt with to irritate him? The most attractive men in the room, Sarah decided, were Declan, who was already drunk, and Declan’s son, a raving beauty, who was going to be very formidable in a few years’ time when he filled out. Sarah shimmied out to the marquee and, finding Rupert’s place card, moved it next to hers. How dare the bastard dally with Nathalie Perrault? Bloody Paul had read Dempster too, and made sly little digs about it all day.

  Tony, to his amazement, was thoroughly enjoying the party. Shrewd enough to appreciate his vanity, Maud was treating him as the guest of honour, keeping him constantly plied with celebrities, mostly beautiful women, and introducing him to them as: ‘Declan’s gorgeous boss. You must get him to ask you down to Corinium, darling.’ Tony was soon purring like a great leopard let loose in a goat farm.

  Archie, Tony’s beloved son, was getting plastered upstairs with Caitlin’s friends. Poor fat Sharon Jones was desperately shy. Caitlin had introduced her to boy after boy, ordering them to look after her, but within seconds Sharon had waddled back to her increasingly irritated mother.

  ‘I told you, go and make some friends of your own age,’ hissed Valerie furiously.

  Mrs Makepiece sidled up to Maud. ‘Miss Taggie says we ought to eat; everything’s ready.’

  ‘We can’t till Rupert arrives,’ said Maud firmly. ‘Tell her to wait ten minutes.’

  The doorbell rang. Perhaps this was him. She went into the hall, but Declan got there first, and it was only Simon Harris barging in with the two hyperactive monsters, and the baby in a carrycot.

  ‘Hullo, Declan,’ panted Simon. ‘Sorry we’re late. Nice of you to invite the whole brood.’ Then, seein
g Declan’s look of horror, he explained, ‘I talked to someone called Grace, who said it’d be quite all right.’

  Looking around, deciding that this was the sort of nice messy house that wouldn’t mind children, Simon let go of the two little monsters. ‘Where shall I put the baby?’

  At that moment, Rupert sauntered through the open door with snow on his dinner jacket and in his hair, the dingy grey pallor of Simon Harris throwing his Gstaad suntan into even greater relief.

  ‘Rupert,’ said Maud joyfully, ‘you made it.’

  She looked so beautiful, glowing under the hall mistletoe, that Rupert kissed her on the mouth. ‘You look sensational,’ he said.

  ‘Not nearly as sensational as you,’ whispered Maud. ‘You must have had wonderful weather.’

  ‘I can feel the temperature dropping here,’ said Rupert, as Declan turned on his heel and stalked off towards the kitchen. ‘What’s up with him?’

  ‘Oh he’s just in a bait.’ Maud turned to the passing Reg. ‘Bring Mr Campbell-Black a bucket of whisky.’

  Going back to the kitchen via the marquee, Caitlin put her place card back on Rupert’s right and removed Wandering Aengus who was sitting on Valerie’s plate.

  ‘Wonderful party,’ she said to Taggie who was grimly pouring turkey soup into bowls on trays. ‘Rupert’s arrived looking like a red Indian, so Mummy says we can eat now, and Daddy’s terribly drunk.’

  ‘Daddy’s not the only one,’ said Taggie. ‘You should see Reg and his friends. Both Tracey and Kev have already buggered off upstairs, and good old Grace is singing “This Joyful Eastertide”.’

  RIVALS

  18

  Tony Baddingham was even happier at dinner sitting between Joanna Lumley and Sarah Stratton.

  ‘I know by rights you should be on my right,’ Maud had whispered in his ear, ‘but I thought you deserved a treat.’

  ‘Freddie and Ay’ll be leaving early,’ said Valerie as she went into dinner. ‘The West Cotchester are meeting at Green Lawns tomorrow.’

  ‘They’re not meeting anywhere,’ said Rupert. ‘It’s frozen solid outside, so we can all get frightfully drunk.’

  He wondered what had happened to Taggie. He couldn’t find her name on the seating plan.

  ‘You’re over here, next to me,’ Maud called to Rupert, patting the seat beside her.

  ‘And next to me,’ beamed Caitlin, bolting up to the table and whipping away Cameron Cook’s place card which was on his other side.

  Maud could have murdered Caitlin, but she didn’t want a scene in public.

  ‘You better say Grace,’ giggled Caitlin, who’d been at the Malibu, ‘and she’ll come running in singing “This Joyful Eastertide”.’

  It was obvious, reflected Tony with satisfaction, that Maud and Declan had had the most frightful row – probably about money. Earlier in the day Declan had very forcibly stressed that it was a tiny party, just a few friends, but there must be at least three hundred people here and by the way the Moët was being splashed about, nothing had been stinted, which was good, because the broker Declan got, the more dependent he’d be on Corinium, and the more Tony could torment and manipulate him.

  Then, looking across the room at Maud’s enraptured face turned towards Rupert, her elbows pressed together to deepen her cleavage, her turkey soup untouched, he decided it was more likely that Declan was upset because his wife had a thumping great crush on Rupert. This suited Tony even better, because it meant Declan would crucify Rupert even more when he interviewed him in the New Year.

  Sarah Stratton, who’d stopped to say hullo to Rupert on the way in, was looking rather bleak as she sat down beside Tony.

  ‘I’m glad we’re next to each other,’ he said. ‘I wanted to talk to you.’

  ‘Have you made any New Year’s resolutions?’ said Sarah, picking up her soup spoon.

  ‘Yes,’ said Tony, his swarthy pirate’s face suddenly looking as though he was going to fight off a flotilla of rival clipper ships, ‘to keep the franchise.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Sarah.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind,’ said Simon Harris across the room, helping himself to a seventh piece of garlic bread, ‘but Tony came roaring in today saying I’m not having fucking language like that on any fucking programme going out from my fucking station.’

  ‘Sorry to bother you, Mr Harris,’ said Mrs Makepiece, ‘but your baby’s crying.’

  It was not surprising the baby was upset, surrounded as it was upstairs by scenes of Petronian debauchery, as teenagers smoked, drank, necked, and screamed with laughter as they opened another packet of Tampax and shot the cotton wool out like cannons.

  Archie was sharing a bottle of Moët with Caitlin, who had briefly abandoned Rupert at dinner to smoke an illicit cigarette.

  ‘What has an Upland House girl in common with a Tampax?’ Archie asked her.

  ‘Dunno,’ said Caitlin.

  ‘They’re both stuck-up cunts.’

  Caitlin screamed with laughter. ‘Have you got a girlfriend?’

  ‘I did,’ said Archie, ‘but she went off me because of my zits.’

  ‘You mustn’t worry about zits,’ said Caitlin kindly. ‘It means you’re producing lots of Testosterone and will make a wonderfully vigorous lover later. Piss off, you snotty little buggers,’ she screamed, as Simon Harris’s monsters raced up and down giggling at the necking teenagers and threatening each other with one of Rupert’s borrowed knives.

  ‘My father said all your family were weirdos,’ said Archie, ‘but I think you’re cool.’

  Declan, whom Maud had put deliberately between Monica and Valerie, so he couldn’t make a scene, was so drunk he was in danger of seriously jeopardizing his career. He didn’t even realize Monica was talking about Otello until she got onto Iago.

  ‘He’s an even more evil character than Scarpia,’ she was saying.

  ‘Much more,’ agreed Declan. ‘Very like your husband in fact.’

  ‘Garlic bread, either of you?’ said Valerie, unable to believe her ears.

  ‘Your husband is an absolute shit,’ said Declan.

  ‘I know,’ said Monica calmly, as she tore off a piece of garlic bread. ‘However, I have three children and I don’t believe in divorce.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ said Declan, filling up both their glasses.

  Valerie was absolutely livid when the farmer on her left said, ‘You live at Long Bottom Court, don’t you?’ She didn’t want to talk to him at all. She wanted to listen to what Monica was saying to Declan.

  ‘You won’t try and wind Tony up too much at work, will you?’ went on Monica. ‘You’re very good for Corinium. They need people with integrity. I’d like you to stay.’

  ‘I’m not sure your husband would.’

  ‘I think we’d both better stop discussing Tony, ‘said Monica gently, ‘or we might become very indiscreet. This is a very good party. Maud’s looking so beautiful.’

  ‘Has anyone ever told you you’re a beautiful woman?’ said Declan.

  Monica went pink. ‘That’s jolly well overdoing it. You really ought to eat some of this shepherd’s pie. It’s frightfully good.’

  But Declan was looking at Maud who was gazing at Rupert. ‘O heart! O heart!’ he murmured, ‘if she’d but turn her head.’

  ‘You’d know the folly of being comforted,’ said Monica, finishing the quotation for him. ‘Don’t worry about Rupert,’ she went on briskly. ‘Bertie Berkshire once described him as a “particularly nasty virus, that one’s wife caught sooner or later”, but we all get over it.’

  Declan looked back at her, startled. ‘Even you?’

  Monica sighed. ‘Even me, although Rupert had no idea. Don Giovanni must have been very like him. He can’t resist the conquest, and I think, although he won’t admit it, he still misses show-jumping desperately, and it’s a question of constantly filling the aching void.’

  ‘He’s usually filling other people’s wives’ aching voids,’ said Declan bitterly.


  At last Maud had to stop monopolizing Rupert and turn to Declan’s old boss at the BBC, Johnny Abrahams, who was sitting on her left.

  ‘Lovely party, darling,’ he said. ‘Hope you can pay for it. What’s up with Declan? Not working out with Tony Baddingham? I did warn him.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Maud. ‘You know Declan always has rows wherever he is. But look at him now, getting on like a house on fire with Tony’s wife.’

  ‘You can talk to me now,’ said Caitlin to Rupert.

  ‘How d’you do? I saw you at Midnight Mass,’ said Rupert.

  He liked her merry face and her bright beady eyes.

  ‘Tell me,’ he went on lowering his voice, ‘is your sister ever going to forgive me?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Caitlin, ‘well, you haven’t been very nice to her. I heard about the groping at the dinner party, which was pretty crass, and the row over the stubble burning. Taggie probably over-reacted there; she’s so soppy about animals, she spends her time prising frozen worms off the paths in this weather. What really pissed her off was that you were so unkind about Gertrude.’

  ‘Gertrude?’ said Rupert, bewildered.

  ‘Our dog. You may think Gertrude is very plain, but we’re all devoted to her. Taggie’s led such a sheltered life, she’s never left home like Patrick and me, and she and Gertrude have never been parted.’

  Rupert grinned. ‘Perhaps I should have sent Gertrude a pendant instead.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Caitlin in horror, ‘it was you! Because you signed it R, we all assumed it was from Ralphie. Taggie’s mad about him, you see.’

  ‘Glad I gave her a happy Christmas,’ said Rupert acidly.

  ‘But she’s not happy now, because Ralphie’s turned up with another woman.’

  ‘Which is he?’

  ‘That blond over there. Taggie likes blonds, so if you give her time . . .’

  ‘Caitlin,’ said Maud very sharply, ‘go and tell Taggie to clear away the fruit salad plates. We must have Patrick’s cake, or we’ll be still sitting here at midnight.’ She turned to Rupert. ‘We’ve managed to get tickets for Starlight Express the week after next. D’you want to come?’