Rivals

by Jilly Cooper

  ‘Oh Christ,’ said Patrick. ‘Not content with disrupting humans, Rupert has to disrupt animals as well.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake open one of those bottles,’ said Cameron.

  ‘I don’t want a drink,’ said Patrick sulkily.

  ‘You’ll need it. We’ve come to take you out to dinner.’

  ‘Well, we’re not coming. We don’t want any of your fucking charity. Poor little O’Hara kids, eating their hearts out. Let’s throw them a few crumbs of comfort.’

  A black lock of hair had fallen over his forehead, a muscle was going in the beautiful pale right cheek. His eyes were as dark and forbidding as the depths of the huge cedar outside the window.

  ‘Please don’t hate me so much,’ Cameron was amazed to find herself pleading. ‘I really need a friend to talk to.’

  They both jumped as the telephone rang. It was Caitlin who was staying with a friend in Newbury, ringing to wish Taggie many happy returns. By the time they had finished talking, Rupert and Cameron had left.

  ‘How did you get rid of them?’ asked Taggie.

  ‘I told them both to fuck off and that we didn’t need their charity,’ said Patrick, opening one of Rupert’s bottles. ‘At least we can now get drunk at their expense!’

  RIVALS

  36

  Cameron and Rupert had a disastrous dinner at the White Elephant after that. Rupert was outraged at being thrown out by Patrick. ‘Arrogant little fucker, just like his father.’

  ‘I thought you adored his father.’

  ‘Not when he’s playing God, or neglecting his children.’

  ‘You certainly aren’t neglecting one of them – silver necklaces, Fabergé eggs, handicapped puppies – singularly appropriate in a franchise year.’

  ‘Oh, shut up.’

  The row continued until they got to bed, when Rupert maddened Cameron most of all by falling asleep when she was in mid-harangue. She woke next morning, feeling suicidal, to find Rupert gone. Wondering if he were already collecting his children, she went downstairs, found the paella gathering flies on the oven and chucked it out. There was a chicken in the fridge. She supposed she’d better roast it for lunch. Dispiritedly, she peeled some potatoes, put them on to parboil, then started to make a french dressing. There wasn’t any dill. If she sent Rupert off to the village shop he’d come back with nutmeg.

  Outside, the sun was shining through the mist like a dog’s identity disk. Cameron longed to go out to the pool and swim off her hangover. Until last night, with the Bodkins away, she had at last been able to enjoy a marvellously sybaritic few days with Rupert, swimming and sunbathing naked, brazenly tantalizing him away from whatever he was doing. She had even galloped bareback down the valley at twilight one night with no clothes on, until Rupert had caught up with her, pulled her off the horse and pulled her in the meadowsweet. Cameron had half-hoped that Taggie, on a late-night walk with Gertrude, might have caught them at it and realized that at last Rupert had found someone with a sex drive equal to his own.

  But last night’s row had ruined all that, and now, with the kids around, there’d be no more nude frollicking this weekend. She jumped as the dogs barked and the front door banged.

  ‘Cameron,’ yelled Rupert.

  As he sauntered into the kitchen, blithe as a skylark, as though there’d been no row at all, Cameron frantically stirred the french dressing.

  ‘We’re out of dill,’ she said.

  ‘Dildos! Hardly need one of those with me around! I’m sorry I don’t give you presents,’ he went on, kissing the back of her neck. ‘Vainly, I thought my presence was enough. Which hand will you have?’

  ‘Both,’ said Cameron sulkily.

  ‘Telepathic,’ said Rupert, uncurling his fingers.

  Glittering on each palm was a diamond ear-ring, a two-inch-long chandelier, lit by little diamonds instead of crystals. Cameron was speechless. Incredulously, she ripped out the gold hoops she normally wore and hooked on the diamonds, running to the kitchen mirror, rubbing away the steam with her sleeve to have a look.

  The ear-rings hung halfway down her slender neck, throwing rainbows of light on the lean, tense jawline, illuminating and softening the truculent hostile little face. Next minute Rupert’s reflection appeared beside hers.

  ‘Like them?’

  In answer, she turned, kissing him with a fury and passion he’d never known in her. Cupping her face with his hands, he felt the tears sliding into his fingers. Very gently he unhooked the ear-rings.

  ‘Shame to take them off so soon, but I must have you before I pick up the children.’

  By the time they’d finished, the potatoes were too soft to roast, so Cameron mashed them instead.

  Groggy with love, she waited to love Rupert’s children. At half past one, trailing barking dogs, Tabitha erupted into the kitchen. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with excitement. She was clutching a huge box of chocolates.

  ‘Mrs Bodkin! Mrs Bodkin!’ She slithered to a halt in front of Cameron. ‘Where’s Mrs B?’

  ‘Away for the weekend.’

  ‘Daddy never told us. Are you the temp?’

  ‘Well, not too temporary I hope!’ said Cameron, smiling. ‘You must be Tabitha?’

  ‘Well, I’m not Marcus.’ At nine, Tabitha was as blonde and as effortlessly elegant as Rupert. She stared at Cameron with the wary blue eyes of a stray kitten.

  She was followed by Marcus, who at eleven was very thin, with very dark red hair, huge surprised yellow eyes, and pale delicate freckled features. He looked like a fawn liable to bolt at any minute. None of the photographs all over the house had captured their beauty, nor the way their totally different looks complimented each other.

  ‘You must be Marcus, then,’ said Cameron. ‘I hope you’re both hungry. There’s roast chicken for lunch.’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Tabitha, grabbing an apple out of the fruit bowl. ‘I’m going down to the stables.’

  Marcus smiled shyly and apologetically. ‘I’ve got a letter from my mother for Mrs Bodkin. I’d better give it to you. The chocolates were for her, perhaps you’d like . . .’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘No, no,’ said Cameron, ‘leave them for her.’

  Helen’s writing was very Vassar: ‘Dear Mrs B,’ she had written, ‘I hope your arthritis is better and the kids won’t make too much work. Marcus’s medication is in his suitcase. Please see he takes it, if he gets uptight. I enclose a list of their clothes. Could you tick them off before they come home? They lost so much last time, and can you see Tabitha learns her vocabulary, and that both do half an hour’s piano practice, and say their prayers at night? I also enclose stats of their reports. Can you give them to Mr C-B? Yours sincerely, Helen Gordon.’

  Christ, she’s formal, and a Born-again too, thought Cameron. Then she smiled at Marcus. ‘Is Daddy on the way?’

  ‘He’s gone to the yard. Can I do anything?’

  ‘Tell him and Tabitha lunch’ll be ready in ten minutes.’

  Putting on the cabbage and removing the chicken from the baking dish, Cameron started to make the gravy, and at the same time read the kids’ reports. Tab’s was perfectly frightful except for sport. Marcus’s was brilliant. He returned to the kitchen looking apprehensive.

  ‘They’re trying out some new pony for Tab. Daddy said would half past two be OK?’ Then, quailing at Cameron’s expression of fury, he said quickly, ‘If you don’t mind I’ll go and unpack.’

  How, thought Cameron furiously, can I possibly keep up Taggie O’Hara standards when I get fucked about like this? Then she remembered the diamond ear-rings, and the fact that Rupert hadn’t seen the kids for a few weeks, and decided not to make a fuss.

  In fact they were back in forty minutes.

  ‘I’m starving,’ said Tab, heading straight for the larder. ‘I thought you said lunch was ready.’ She came out tearing open a packet of crisps with her teeth.

  ‘Don’t eat that. It’ll spoil your lunch,’ said Cameron. Ignoring her, Tab sa
t down at the table with Pony magazine.

  Rupert came in with a large vodka and tonic for Cameron. ‘Hullo, darling —’ Cameron noticed how Tabitha looked up, eyes narrowed at the endearment – ‘sorry we’re late. Geoffrey Gardener brought the pony over specially. I wanted Tab to try him.’

  ‘Any good?’

  ‘We’re going to keep him over the weekend.’

  ‘He’s called Biscuit,’ said Tabitha.

  ‘Here are the kids’ reports and a letter from Helen,’ said Cameron as Rupert started to carve.

  ‘I only eat breast,’ said Tab, when Rupert handed her a leg.

  ‘Well, give it to Marcus, then,’ said Rupert, who was reading the reports at the same time.

  Cameron opened her mouth and shut it again. She noticed Marcus was very nervous around his father, and that, while Rupert hardly glanced at Marcus’s report, he spent ages reading Tabitha’s.

  ‘“Tabitha must learn not to be so competitive at netball.” What the fuck do they mean by that?’ he said furiously. ‘You can’t be too competitive at games.’

  ‘I should be in the netball team next term,’ boasted Tab, ‘and I’m easily the youngest. I don’t want any,’ she added to Cameron, snatching her plate away, so a large dollop of mashed potato fell on the table. Cameron’s lips tightened as she scooped it up and put it on Rupert’s plate.

  ‘Or any cabbage or salad.’

  ‘You must have veggies. I’m sure you do at home.’

  ‘This is home.’ Tabitha’s blue-eyed stare was as arrogant as Rupert’s. ‘Isn’t it, Daddy? This is home,’ she repeated to Rupert, who was still reading the headmistress’s report.

  ‘Of course it is, angel,’ he said, kissing her.

  ‘Marcus’s report is excellent,’ said Cameron warmly.

  ‘Ninety-five per cent for Latin, that’s almost indecent,’ said Rupert with an edge to his voice. Then he read on: ’ “Marcus has made very good progress in Geography as he has only attended half the classes”. What were you doing during the other half? Going to strip clubs?’

  Marcus flushed. ‘The pollen count was very high. I was off sick quite a lot of days.’

  ‘I wish I had asthma and could bunk-off school,’ said Tab, feeding the rest of her chicken to a slavering Beaver.

  Rupert, having finished the reports, was now immersed in the racing pages of The Times.

  ‘There’s a horse called Venturer in the three-thirty,’ he said to Cameron. ‘We must have a bet.’

  ‘Put a pound on each way for me,’ said Tab. ‘We’re doing a project on snakes next term.’

  ‘You could start off by interviewing Tony Baddingham,’ said Rupert, picking up the telephone.

  Now here’s a chance to help Tabitha and win her confidence, thought Cameron.

  ‘You could start off with Adam and Eve,’ she said, helping herself to salad.

  ‘The project’s about snakes, not sex,’ said Tab rudely.

  ‘Eve got tempted by the snake, stupid,’ said Marcus. ‘That’s why they left the Garden of Eden. It’s a jolly good idea,’ he added, kindly, to Cameron.

  ‘My project’s about real snakes,’ snapped Tab.

  Getting up from the table and rummaging in her squashy bag, she produced a photograph which she handed to Rupert as he came off the telephone.

  ‘This is the pony Malise bought me. She’s brilliant at cross-country because she won’t stop.’

  ‘D’you mean you’ve already got a pony?’ asked Cameron, shocked.

  ‘Yes, she’s called Dollop the Trollop, and she shakes hooves for a polo.’

  ‘Then why is Daddy buying you another one?’

  Tabitha looked at Cameron as though she were crackers.

  ‘Because I need at least two if I’m going on the junior circuit next summer. I can, can’t I, Daddy?’

  ‘Your mother’s not crazy about the idea unless your school work picks up,’ said Rupert, who was still frowning at the photograph. ‘That pony’s too short in front.’

  Tabitha had learned to be manipulative, to play off the rivalry between her father and stepfather.

  ‘Malise and Mummy don’t want me to enter for the Pony Club Mounted Games at Wembley even if I’m picked,’ she announced slyly. ‘Because I’ll miss a week of school.’

  ‘Don’t be bloody silly,’ said Rupert angrily. ‘I’ll have a few sharp words with your mother.’

  ‘Who’d like fruit salad?’ said Cameron, as she cleared away the first course.

  ‘Not me,’ said Tab. ‘Is there any ice cream in the freezer?’

  Cameron had spent a long time that morning peeling grapes. ‘If you don’t like fruit salad, I’m afraid you’ll have to go without,’ she said sharply.

  ‘Then I’ll have another packet of crisps,’ said Tab. ‘I can come over every weekend this summer, Daddy, except the last week in August which is Pony Club camp.’

  ‘Good,’ said Rupert.

  Oh, please no, thought Cameron. She was sure it was only out of kindness that Marcus had a second helping of fruit salad.

  Fortunately, spirits were raised when Venturer won by three lengths, which meant that Rupert and Tabitha were richer by three hundred pounds and eight pounds respectively.

  ‘Can we go into Stroud and spend it?’ Tabitha climbed on to Rupert’s knee, the kitten again, but this time tactile and adoring.

  ‘Christ, no, not on a Saturday afternoon.’

  ‘Can we watch Amityville I tonight?’

  ‘No way,’ said Cameron. ‘It doesn’t start until ten and it’ll give you nightmares for months.’

  ‘When we don’t have to get up next morning Mummy always lets us watch late-night films,’ lied Tab.

  ‘Balls,’ said Rupert. ‘If it’s that frightening, you’re not watching it.’

  ‘Can we go into Stroud and get a James Bond video then?’ persisted Tab. ‘And I need some pink hair spray for a punk party next week.’

  ‘I’ll take you, if you like,’ conceded Cameron.

  The journey to Stroud was the most successful part of the weekend. The roof of the Lotus was down and, although Marcus went white, Tab thoroughly approved of Cameron’s driving.

  ‘This is a nice car, and you go much faster than Mummy. Can I have an ice cream?’

  ‘May I. You may if you promise to eat your supper.’

  On the way back, however, Tabitha smiled sweetly at Cameron. ‘You haven’t got a husband, have you? Why don’t you get one?’

  ‘I’d like to,’ said Cameron, thinking longingly of Rupert.

  ‘But not my Daddy,’ hissed Tabitha.

  ‘It is absolutely ludicrous,’ said Cameron to Rupert as, later, they listened to Tabitha sulkily crucifying Beethoven’s Minuet in G on the drawing-room baby grand. ‘This is a Saturday during the vacation and she’s got to learn her vocabulary.’

  ‘Helen is petrified the children will inherit my lack of brains.’

  ‘Marcus is clearly superbright,’ said Cameron. ‘He’s such a sweet, sensitive kid.’

  ‘Takes after his mother,’ snapped Rupert. ‘Tab takes after me. My reports were much worse than hers.’

  ‘She doesn’t strike me as being dumb,’ said Cameron, ‘just unmotivated.’

  ‘She looks OK,’ said Rupert coldly. ‘And she rides like a dream. What else matters?’

  Supper was decidedly scratchy. Tab ostentatiously gave all her shepherd’s pie to Beaver. Afterwards Rupert packed both children off upstairs to watch James Bond. Cameron was reading the Guardian in the drawing-room and feeling absolutely shattered. How the hell did mothers cope day in and day out, when piercing screams rent the air? The next minute Marcus had run into the room, waving the remote control. He had difficulty breathing.

  ‘I don’t think Tab should watch this video. It’s called For Your Eyes Only, but it’s not James Bond.’

  ‘You got it, didn’t you?’ said Rupert unhelpfully.

  A second later Tab came storming in and tried to grab the remote control. When Marc
us held it above his head she went for him, kicking his shins and giving him a karate chop in the stomach which doubled him up.

  ‘Stop it,’ shouted Rupert, pulling her off.

  ‘It’s a lovely film,’ screamed Tabitha. ‘It’s all about ladies licking each other.’

  ‘I’d better come and have a look,’ said Rupert.

  He returned, grinning. ‘Marcus was right. It’s a blue film about Lesbians.’ He threw the video on the sofa beside Cameron. ‘We must have a watch later.’

  She was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt, and he slid his hands inside caressing her armpits, then feeling for her breasts. It was ridiculous the way he could turn her to jello.

  ‘I don’t fancy your bedroom without a lock on it,’ she said. ‘The only safe place with this mob around is the john.’

  More shrieks issued from upstairs, followed by a crash on the terrace outside. Going out through the french windows, Rupert found the remote control with all its entrails spilling out.

  Cameron stormed upstairs. She’d been looking forward to watching Dido and Aeneas on Channel Four later, and now they’d be stuck with BBC 1.

  ‘Why did you chuck that out of the window?’ she yelled at Tab. ‘I know it was you.’

  ‘Marcus won’t let me watch Amityville,’ sobbed Tab. ‘I hate him! I hate him!’

  Rupert put her to bed screaming. Cameron was relieved at only having to deal with Marcus’s asthma attack.

  ‘I’m sorry about Tab,’ he murmured as she finally tucked him in.

  ‘Surely she doesn’t behave like this at home?’

  ‘Of course she doesn’t. Both Malise and Mum are quite strict, so when she comes here she sort of runs wild. And she and Daddy love each other so much,’ he added wistfully.

  ‘He loves you too,’ said Cameron, giving him a kiss.

  Down the passage Cameron found Rupert talking to Tab, who was tucked up in bed with Paddington Bear, gloomily transvestite in the family christening robes.

  ‘You really ought to be asleep, Tab,’ she said. ‘Marcus says Mummy puts your lights out at nine.’