by Jilly Cooper
‘At least it’s got her off my back,’ said Caitlin. ‘She drives me crackers: “Where are you going? Who with? Why were you so long on the telephone? Who was that on the telephone? Was it a good party? Did you meet anyone nice?” Christ! Not that she’s interested.’
‘My mother over-reacts,’ said Archie. ‘She thinks the world will end if she finds a half-eaten tin of baked beans under the sofa. And she’s so embarrassing! Christ, we were at a party earlier these holidays and she suddenly asked me in a loud voice if I needed a Kirby grip.’
He raked his blond locks back from his bronzed forehead.
‘It looks great,’ said Caitlin, ‘particularly now the sun’s bleached it.’
A lot of passengers got out at Didcot, so they practically had the carriage to themselves. As the cooling towers of Didcot power station belched out unearthly white steam against a darkening charcoal grey sky, the gay barman came by with a black plastic bag, gathering up rubbish.
‘I want to keep my tonic tin,’ said Caitlin, grabbing it back.
As she put it in her bag, Archie examined the heart-shaped face, the pointed chin, echoed by the widow’s peak, the small, beautifully shaped green eyes, the snub nose, the coral-pink mouth, sweet now it was no longer set in a sulky petulant line, the blue-black mane parted on the left, which she kept lifting with her fingers and tossing over to the right.
Glancing up, she caught him staring at her and smiled.
‘That’s it,’ said Archie wonderingly. ‘Your brace has gone.’
‘So have your zits,’ said Caitlin.
Archie went pink: ‘I fancied you the moment I saw you.’
‘What about Tracey?’
‘She was just a net,’ said Archie.
They were nearing Cotchester now, dense woods clinging to steep hills on each side of the line giving way to lighted houses.
Archie removed his ear-rings, putting them in his pocket, because he said his father would only make a fuss. Then blushing again, he forced a tenner into the pocket of Caitlin’s clinging Lycra skirt.
‘What’s this for?’ asked Caitlin in amazement. ‘I owe you money.’
‘For a taxi,’ said Archie. ‘Percy, my father’s chauffeur, is meeting me, and if we give you a lift he’s bound to sneak to Dad.’
‘It’s just like the Montagues and the Capulets,’ sighed Caitlin. ‘I hope we don’t end up like Romeo and Juliet.’
‘I’ll ring you tomorrow,’ said Archie, ‘and hopefully we can fix an evening when all our parents are away.’
Opening his bank statement next morning, Archie nearly fainted. To make matters worse, it was his mother’s birthday on Friday and he’d promised to buy her the latest recording of The Flying Dutchman. Normally he’d have tapped his father, who was a far easier touch than Monica, but Tony was still in Edinburgh for the International Television Festival. Besides, if Tony discovered he was financing a date with Caitlin, Archie would be crated straight back to Tuscany.
He’d been stupid to show off and buy them both first-class tickets and all that booze. If only he’d been back at school, he could have raised the cash smuggling in some booze and fags, or even porn mags, and selling them to other boys on the black market.
Nor was Caitlin the kind of girl who could be fobbed off with hamburgers and a video; she needed something special.
Grimly aware that he hadn’t touched any of the ridiculous amount of holiday work he’d been set, Archie gazed gloomily at the same page of Aristophanes for twenty minutes, then threw the book across the room. If he hurried he might reach the Bar Sinister before lunch and catch his Uncle Basil before he rushed off to polo or some amorous jaunt.
He found Bas humming the Vilja song from The Merry Widow and taking fifty pounds out of his own till.
‘Can I have a quiet word?’ said Archie.
‘You can have several noisy ones if you like,’ said Bas. ‘I thought your father had forbidden you to talk to me. Where is Rambo, anyway?’
‘In Edinburgh,’ said Archie. ‘And please don’t pump me.’
He admired his uncle, who always had the loudest tweed jackets and the prettiest girls of anyone he knew.
‘Have a drink?’ said Bas, taking down a bottle of Chambery and two glasses.
‘Yes, please. If I work really hard in the kitchens for three days, will you let me sign the bill for dinner for two on Saturday night?’
‘Are you bringing Tracey Makepiece?’
‘No.’
‘Good. There are limits. I really was on Tony’s side for once on that score. Yes, you can, then.’
On Saturday night Taggie’s violet dress paid its second visit to the Bar Sinister in ten days – this time with Caitlin inside it. But, with the waist jacked into nothing by a black corset belt, and the skirt turned up from mid-calf to mid-thigh by Taggie, it was almost unrecognizable. Archie, having scrubbed mussels for three days in the kitchen, and suffered agonies of doubt, like Mr Toad, that his hands would ever be unwrinkled again, felt he had really earned his date. Basil was out that evening, but all the waiters were in on the secret and gave Archie and Caitlin a table in an alcove where no one else would see them. Determined to get his wages’ worth, Archie ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon and they started off with a wine race, seeing who could drink a half-pint of champagne fastest to get things warmed up. But after that they found that they were so excited by each other’s company they weren’t very hungry.
‘This is the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten,’ said Caitlin as she toyed with foie gras on radicchio. ‘I can’t think why I can’t eat more of it.’
Archie slowly undressed a giant prawn and dipped it in dill sauce. ‘Try this.’
‘Gosh, it’s yummy. I wish school food was like this. Nellie Newstead found a used Band-Aid in her shepherd’s pie last term. Aren’t you dreading going back?’
‘Not if you promise to write to me.’
Caitlin looked up. God, she’s sweet when she smiles, thought Archie.
‘Every day, if you like,’ said Caitlin.
‘I’ve looked up the distance between Rugborough and Upland House,’ said Archie. ‘It’s only about forty miles. A mate of mine’s passed his test, so we’ll drive over and take you out one Sunday; and it’ll be half-term soon.’
Archie was wearing a dinner jacket over black baggy trousers and a grey and white shirt over a Sisters of Mercy T-shirt. He looks incredibly cool, thought Caitlin lovingly.
As if in a dream, she watched his sunburnt hand closing over her white one; his palm felt so warm and dry that suddenly she longed for him to touch her all over.
Archie ordered another bottle of champagne.
‘You really shouldn’t,’ protested Caitlin. ‘It’s frightfully expensive in restaurants, and I already owe you for my ticket and my taxi.’
‘You can pay me in kind,’ said Archie, gently stroking the inside of her wrist. ‘A pound a kiss. No, I won’t be able to afford it, a penny a kiss.’
‘Da mi basia milk,’ sighed Caitlin.
‘What’s that?’
‘Catullus. Give me a thousand kisses.’
‘Are you frightfully clever?’
‘Of course, that’s why I chose you.’
They screamed with laughter; suddenly the stupidest things seemed funny. Archie thought he should try and be poetic too.
‘Your eyes are the same colour as beech leaves in spring,’ he said, gazing into them. ‘You’re like a little wood nymph.’
‘A dry-ad,’ said Caitlin, taking a swig of her champagne. ‘Nothing very dry about me.’
‘What are we going to do after this?’ said Archie, getting out a packet of Sobranie. ‘Did you say your parents are both away?’
‘Daddy’s in Edinburgh, probably killing your father, but Mummy might be back from her rehearsal, although she seems to be getting later and later.’
‘There’s no one at home,’ said Archie. ‘I’ll get them to get us a taxi.’
It was only when she got up to
walk out of the restaurant that Caitlin realized how drunk she was. It’s like InterCity all over again, she told Archie. Only by grabbing her arm did he prevent her cannoning off every table.
He kissed her all the way back to The Falconry. Caitlin, who’d spent three days practising kissing the palm of her hand, found Archie’s mouth a great deal more exciting.
And when they were ensconced on Monica’s huge flowered chintz sofa, having both carefully removed each other’s earrings, Archie discovered that Caitlin’s small, incredibly springy white breasts were far more thrilling than Tracey Makepiece’s. It was just a question of preferring nectarines to melons. And her waist was so tiny, once he’d removed the black corset belt, that he was terrified he might snap her in two. But nothing could exceed her enthusiasm.
‘I do hope I’m not too pissed to remember every minute of this tomorrow,’ she said.
‘Have you ever been to bed with anyone before?’ Archie mumbled into the gel-stiffened straw of her hair.
‘Never. Have you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Lots?’
‘About two and three-quarters.’
‘A man of experience,’ sighed Caitlin in ecstasy.
Undoing a few more buttons, Archie, who was down to his Sisters of Mercy T-shirt now, kissed his way down her shoulder until he was sucking her right nipple. He was also wrestling with his conscience as to whether he ought to take her to bed. He wanted to like mad, but he was pissed enough to botch it, and she was certainly so pissed she might easily regret it in the morning. He had a condom in the breast pocket of his dinner jacket, which was hanging over the chair. But if he got up to get it, it might destroy the mood. But again it was unlikely they’d have an empty house to themselves for months.
As her little hands slid inside his T-shirt, he found his hand, as if magnetized, creeping up her legs.
‘I’m climbing your ladders to paradise,’ he whispered.
The next minute he jumped out of his skin as a great white light shone in at the window.
‘Holy shit,’ said Archie.
‘Ooh,’ squeaked Caitlin in excitement, ‘it’s a close encounter.’
‘Bloody sight too close!’ said Archie. ‘It’s my father flying in from Edinburgh.’
It was too late to make a bolt for it. With lightning presence of mind, Archie turned on a side light, plugged a tape in the video, pressed twelve on the remote control and did up Caitlin’s buttons.
‘I’ll ring for a taxi as soon as I can and take you home. We’ll just have to try and bluff it out.’
The next minute James Vereker’s new pilot on ‘Keeping Fit for the Elderly’ burst on to the screen.
Tony, fortunately, had been hosting a very successful dinner for the IBA and, after several belts of brandy on the way home, was in a mellow mood. It soon became even mellower when he found his favourite son in the drawing-room with an enchantingly pretty little brunette. She looked vaguely familiar, but Tony was too vain to put on his spectacles, and by no stretch of the imagination could she be called Tracey Makepiece.
‘This is Caitie,’ said Archie heartily. ‘I was just going to ring for a taxi to take her home.’
‘Where does she live?’ said Tony.
‘Chalford,’ lied Archie.
‘I’ll take her,’ said Tony expansively. ‘No distance at all.
Let’s all have a drink.’
‘Caitie’s tired,’ said Archie desperately.
‘She doesn’t look it,’ said Tony, admiring Caitlin’s flushed cheeks and glittering green eyes. ‘There’s a bottle of Moët in the fridge.’
Shoving Caitlin’s corset belt under a pink-and-white-striped cushion, Archie reluctantly left the room.
‘Why are you watching this tape?’ asked Tony as a lot of geriatrics with purple faces started doing press-ups.
‘I love Corinium’s programmes,’ said Caitlin dreamily. ‘I adore “Master Dog”. We’ve got two dogs, one’s very thick, one’s brilliant. I’m sure she’d win.’
‘You’d better give me a ring in the office next week,’ said Tony. ‘We’re always looking for bright dogs.’
‘I’m going back to school.’
‘Where d’you go?’
‘Upland House.’
Better and better, thought Tony in delight; the girl was a lady.
‘D’you know my niece, Tonia Martin?’
‘Frightful slag,’ said Caitlin. ‘She nearly got sacked last term for having boys in her room. She’s got a terrible reputation at Stowe, too.’
Tony was enchanted. His sister’s daughter was always being held up as a paragon of virtue.
‘And d’you by any chance know Caro McKay? Teaches Biology, I think.’
‘Of course. She teaches me.’ Caitlin beamed. ‘Ghastly old dyke. She and Miss Reading live in a two-bedroom house with a spare room.’ She screamed with laughter. Tony joined in.
Once Caitlin got an audience, there was no stopping her. Archie was torn between hysterical laughter and total panic as she regaled Tony with one scurrilous story after another about the daughters of his friends and colleagues.
After the bottle was finished, Tony insisted on driving her home. The only way Tracey would have got out of the house, reflected Archie, would have been in a hearse. Bitterly ashamed of himself, he funked going with them; he couldn’t face the return journey.
It was a lovely night. A butter-coloured moon was gliding in and out of threatening blue-black clouds, gilding their edges. Mist was rising. There was a smell of dying bonfires and wet leaves.
‘What a heavenly car,’ said Caitlin, playing with the electric windows.
‘How long have you known Archie?’ asked Tony.
‘About nine months. I don’t mean to suck up, but I do think you’ve brought him up well. He’s so considerate.’
Tony purred. ‘He is a nice boy. Wish he’d work a bit harder. Have you taken your O-levels yet?’
‘Last term.’
‘Get a few?’
‘Eleven,’ said Caitlin simply. ‘You seem more pleased than my mother,’ she added bitterly a minute later.
Archie’s father, she decided, was really, really nice. Extraordinary how her father and Tag got everything wrong. He was soon saying she might like to come to the Hunt Ball if she could get off school, and even suggested skiing in the Christmas holidays.
‘Oh, I’d love to,’ said Caitlin.
As they neared Penscombe, she noticed the car telephone. ‘Oh, how lovely, you are lucky. Can I use it?’
‘Of course,’ said Tony.
The length of Caitlin’s slender white thighs on the black leather seat reminded him almost unbearably of Cameron. He’d been hoping he’d bump into her at Edinburgh, but she hadn’t shown up. Without thinking, Caitlin rang The Priory. It was two o’clock in the morning and no one answered for ages.
‘Hullo,’ murmured a sleepy voice.
‘Taggie, darling,’ said Caitlin, ‘did I wake you?’
Tony nearly ran into a wild rose bush. Suddenly the temperature in the car dropped below zero.
‘What did you say your surname was?’ said Tony as Caitlin put back the receiver.
‘O’Hara,’ said Caitlin in a small voice.
‘Declan’s daughter?’
‘Yes.’
‘What the fuck are you playing at? Did your father put you up to this?’
‘Oh, please don’t tell him,’ gasped Caitlin. ‘He’d be furious.’
‘Not any more furious than I bloody am,’ roared Tony. ‘The little snake! I’ll murder Archie when I get home.’
‘Oh, please don’t!’ Caitlin, who’d had a great deal too much to drink, burst into tears.
‘For Christ’s sake,’ exploded Tony.
‘I like you so much,’ sobbed Caitlin, ‘and I thought you liked me.’
‘I do,’ said Tony in exasperation, handing her his blue spotted handkerchief, reeking of the inevitable Paco Rabanne. ‘I just can’t stand your father.’
&n
bsp; ‘The fathers have eaten sour grapes,’ sniffed Caitlin dolefully, ‘and the children’s teeth are set on edge.’
‘And you’re not going to tell Declan that you’re going out with Archie?’
‘Christ, no,’ said Caitlin. ‘I don’t want to get butchered in my prime.’
Tony did a lot of thinking as he drove home. When he turned on the light in Archie’s room, he found him huddled under the duvet, with his pyjamas buttoned up to the neck, desperately pretending to be asleep. Not for the first time, however, Tony astounded his son.
‘You can go on seeing that girl as long as you try and find out as much as you can about Venturer.’
‘That’s immoral,’ said Archie, shocked.
‘Don’t be bloody wet,’ said Tony brutally. ‘D’you want Corinium to lose the franchise?’
‘No.’
‘Or for me to forfeit four hundred thousand minimum a year?’
‘No,’ said Archie.
If he was rich, he reflected, he wouldn’t have to scrub mussels for three days every time he wanted to take Caitlin out to dinner. One day she would live in The Falconry with him. His father was right, he decided, blood was thicker than water. If Declan didn’t get the franchise, he, Archie, would look after Caitlin.
RIVALS
40
Taggie had a very wearing September. Getting a besotted and reelingly untogether Caitlin packed up and back to Upland House was bad enough, but dispatching Declan to Ireland was even worse.
As the departure date drew nearer, he grew increasingly reluctant to leave Maud or his precious franchise, which was just coming up to the boil.
Maud was plainly revelling in The Merry Widow. Declan was glad, but was her euphoria slightly over the top? And was it really necessary for her to have a bath, wash her hair and pinch yet more of Taggie’s clothes before every rehearsal? And when she carolled the words ‘All the world’s in love with love, and I love you,’ over and over again from the Southern Turret, who were they really aimed at? As the yellow woods turned gold and the swallows seemed to postpone their departure, and even the huge red suns sunk more slowly into Rupert’s woods in order to hear Maud’s exquisite notes floating down the valley, Declan prayed she wasn’t leading her leading man on too much.
