by Jilly Cooper
‘That’s right,’ said Tony. ‘We could perhaps even introduce children and the pressures they put on a marriage. But basically the whole series will be aimed at couples who are getting behind marriage again, who want to avoid AIDS by staying with the same person for the rest of their lives. We’ll call it “How to Stay Married”.’
‘With the AIDS panic, it’ll be a real franchise-grabber,’ said James excitedly.
‘Exactly,’ said Tony urbanely. ‘And I want you and a very charming lady not far from your heart to front it.’
‘I don’t even have to guess, Tony,’ said James warmly, ‘but d’you realty feel she’s experienced enough?’
‘More important,’ said Tony, who was enjoying himself, ‘she’s a natural. She’s not too obviously glamorous, but she’s got just the right kind of lovely warm bubbly personality that’ll make couples talk and trigger off a really good audience reaction.’
James bowed his head. ‘I know Sarah will appreciate the very great honour you’re bestowing on her, Tony, both to combat AIDS and to help Corinium retain the franchise.’
‘I’m not talking about Sarah, you berk,’ said Tony icily. ‘I mean your wife, Lizzie, and if you value your job, the less you see of Mrs Stratton over the next three months the better.’
Taggie spent the next week dreaming of Rupert. She knew he loved and lived with Cameron, who would be back in a week or so, but she couldn’t help herself. On Thursday she watched him on television at the Party Conference making a brilliant speech saying that the Tories must get off their fat backsides and start thinking positively about unemployment and the way it directly affected hooliganism and rioting in the inner cities. Taggie, detecting Declan’s influence, felt very proud.
On Friday night a slight distraction was provided by Caitlin coming home for a long weekend, with her black hair dyed white at the front, still utterly besotted with Archie.
‘He went into the town and brought eighty cans of beer back in a taxi and smuggled them in and sold them to the other boys on the black market in order to buy me this gorgeous jersey. I haven’t taken it off since he sent it me, so please can you wash it tonight, and my black jeans so I can wear them tomorrow? Archie’s taking me out to lunch. What’s Mummy doing for the rest of the day?’
‘Rehearsing, I think,’ said Taggie.
Exactly on cue, Maud wandered in, looking radiant. ‘Hullo, darling, how’s school?’
‘Ghastly. Anyone with layered hair is being sent home, so I’m going to get mine layered on Monday.’
‘I’ve bought some apples,’ said Maud, waving a large paper bag at Taggie. ‘They’re so cheap in the market.’
And they cost nothing in the orchard, thudding on to the grass every two minutes, Taggie wanted to scream. She wanted to murder her mother sometimes.
‘That’s a nice jersey,’ said Maud, looking at Caitlin. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘It was a present,’ said Caitlin noncommittally. ‘You will wash it carefully, won’t you, Tag? How’s The Merry Widow?’ she asked her mother.
‘Oh, exhausting, but fun,’ said Maud, pouring herself a large whisky. ‘I – er – thought I might go to the cinema with some of the cast tomorrow night,’ she added casually. ‘Taggie’s cooking. Will you be all right on your own, Caitlin?’
‘Brilliant,’ beamed Caitlin. ‘Stay out as long as you like. I’ve got masses of work. Have dinner and make a night of it. I’ve got to read Antony and Cleopatra and write an essay on Streetcar Named Desire. I think it’s extraordinary that they shut us up in single-sex schools and then give us these amazingly erotic set books.’
By the time Taggie had cleared up supper and washed and ironed Caitlin’s jersey and jeans and put them in the hot cupboard it was two o’clock in the morning. Admittedly her progress had been slowed up by constantly looking out of the window to watch for Rupert’s helicopter landing on the lawn, or his car coming up the drive. But there was nothing. Perhaps he’d gone to Ireland to see Cameron after all.
It seemed she’d hardly fallen asleep when she was roused by an hysterical Caitlin. ‘That bugger Mummy used all the water, so I can’t wash my hair or have a bath, and even worse she’s gone off in my new jersey and jeans. And now I can’t wear it for Archie, and he’ll never believe I haven’t lost it, like Desdemona’s handkerchief. I hate, hate, hate her, bloody old cow, and she’s bound to split my jeans.’
‘I’ll run you into Cotchester and buy you something else,’ said Taggie. ‘I got paid in cash yesterday.’
‘It’s no good,’ screamed Caitlin. ‘I wanted Archie to see me in his jersey. I’ll kill her, I’ll absolutely kill her.’
Nothing Taggie could say would calm her down.
‘I’ll ring up Rupert and see if you can have a bath there,’ said Taggie in the end.
Throat dry, heart thumping, hands drenched in sweat and trembling, Taggie misdialled the number three times in her nervousness. When Rupert didn’t answer immediately, she nearly put the telephone down.
‘Hullo.’ He sounded irritable and very sleepy.
‘It’s Taggie.’
‘My darling.’ His voice softened.
‘I’m desperately sorry,’ she began. Then, stammering worse than ever, she explained what had happened, but didn’t mention Archie’s name. ‘Could I possibly rush Caitlin over to wash her hair and have a bath?’
‘Of course,’ said Rupert, ‘as long as we can all have it together.’
Rupert hadn’t shaved when they arrived. He was wandering around in bare feet, having obviously just put on the white shirt and the black dinner-jacket trousers he’d been wearing last night. He looked bugeyed.
‘I won’t stop,’ mumbled Taggie, desperate not to impose on him. ‘I’ll pick Caitlin up in an hour, OK?’
Rupert pulled her into the house. ‘Don’t be boring. As I’m such a notorious reprobate, you ought to stay and chaperone Caitlin.’
Caitlin promptly started raging on about Maud. ‘Bloody old cow, nicking all the water, and my seducing kit. What does she want with it? I bet she’s up to someone, the old tart. It’s high time my father came home.’
‘Cait-lin,’ remonstrated Taggie, going pink. ‘Rupert hasn’t got all day. I thought you wanted to be ready by twelve. Go and have a bath.’
Grinning, Rupert took Caitlin upstairs and showed her where everything was. Taggie glanced at some photographs of Tabitha at Wembley which were lying on the kitchen table.
‘Aren’t these gorgeous?’ she said, as Rupert came back. ‘I saw a bit of it on television at Sarah Stratton’s, but I missed the final. Did her team win?’
‘No, but they came third, and she did well. Horse and Hound described her as a “chip off the old Campbell-Black”; which was nice.’
‘Marvellous,’ said Taggie. ‘Am I in your way?’ she asked as Rupert paused on his way to the fridge.
‘No, I just like standing behind you. I know you’ll spring to her defence, but your mother is an absolute disgrace. Swanning off with all Caitlin’s clothes at her age. Maud’s trouble is that she wants to have her cake and eat it, and make trifle out of it as well.’
Taggie giggled, but she said, ‘I know, but it’s such a relief that she’s happy and working again. She might even start doing it professionally, and she’s so beautiful,’ Taggie sighed. ‘It’s hardly surprising all the cast’s in love with her.’
Rupert privately deduced that Maud must be in love with one of the cast to have lost enough weight to get into Caitlin’s jeans, but merely said, ‘I’ve got a hangover. Let’s have a drink.’
‘I mustn’t,’ said Taggie, ‘or I’ll make another cock-up of cooking tonight.’
‘Don’t say you’re working again?’ said Rupert, appalled. Taggie nodded dolefully.
‘Jesus,’ said Rupert. ‘I’d better make a date with you for next October.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ stammered Taggie, hanging her head, ‘It’s n-not that I wouldn’t love to.’
‘I’ve got an idea,’
said Rupert. ‘My children are coming over this afternoon. Why don’t you come out with us for the day tomorrow, and help me entertain them?’
‘I’ll make a picnic,’ said Taggie, suddenly excited.
‘No, you won’t. For once you’re not going to cook a thing.’
With both Maud and Caitlin plundering her wardrobe, Taggie was at her wit’s end as to what to wear. Feeling desperately guilty, with the Electricity Board, the television hire firm, the village shop, and God knows who else baying to be paid, she blued, or rather greyed, Friday lunchtime’s cash wages on a pale-grey cashmere polo-neck which brought out the silver-grey in her eyes and clung to her in all the right places. There was no more money, so she’d have to wear her old black cords.
Next morning Maud whizzed off very early to yet another rehearsal. Caitlin, who nobly said she’d dogs it and read Antony and Cleopatra, hustled Taggie out of the house.
‘You look delectable. Randy Rupe won’t be able to keep his hands off you. Don’t hurry back. I’m quite OK on my own -’ she smirked wickedly – ‘or, almost on my own. The Hon Arch will be dropping by plus tard. Or Marble Arch, as I call him, now he’s lost his suntan.’
Tabitha, amid the swirling pack of dogs, answered the door looking belligerent. She was wearing a pink sweater embroidered with blue flowers and a blue puff-ball skirt.
‘Hullo,’ said Taggie in delight. ‘I recognize you; you were on television last Saturday. You were wonderful, and what a beautiful clever pony. He was much the fastest. What’s his name?’
‘Biscuit,’ said Tabitha coldly.
‘Can I see him?’
‘He’s at my other house.’
‘Oh, what a shame. I’ve brought him some carrots.’ Taggie rummaged round in a carrier bag, ‘and I’ve made you some fudge.’
‘Thank you,’ said Tab, looking slightly mollified. ‘Can I have a bit now?’
‘I don’t see why not. I like your puff-ball skirt. I wanted to get one, but my knees are far too knobbly.’
‘Mummy says hers are, too,’ said Tab. ‘Perhaps they’re not suitable for grown-ups.’
Stroking the dogs, Taggie sat down on one of the stone seats inside the porch.
‘What’s your name again?’ said Tabitha.
‘Taggie. It’s really Agatha, isn’t that awful? Tabitha’s so much nicer. My parents call me Tag, sometimes, which sounds just like Tab, doesn’t it? I expect when Marcus shouts Tab we’ll both go charging into the kitchen to see what he wants and bump into each other in the doorway.’
Tabitha stared at her consideringly, and suddenly she smiled.
‘And you’re nine and a quarter?’ said Taggie.
‘Yes,’ sighed Tab, pushing her blonde hair out of her eyes. ‘Can’t you see my wrinkles?’
Taggie giggled. ‘Still, it’s awfully young to be in the Mounted Games. Were you the youngest?’
‘Yes,’ said Tab. ‘If you come back to Warwickshire with us tonight you can see Biscuit. We’ve got a foal here. Would you like to come and see it?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Taggie.
The front door opened; it was Marcus. ‘Hullo,’ he said. ‘Daddy wants to know where you’ve got to.’
‘She’s talking to me, stupid,’ said Tab. ‘She’s brought you some fudge.’
‘Tag,’ bellowed Rupert from the kitchen, ‘where are you?’
‘Here,’ said Tab and Tag in unison. Then they both looked at each other and burst out laughing.
Taking Taggie’s hand, Tabitha dragged her into the kitchen. ‘Can she come back to Warwickshire with us this evening and see Biscuit?’ said Tabitha.
Rupert, who was drinking black coffee and reading the racing pages of the Sunday Times, looked surprised.
‘Of course she can. I thought you’d kidnapped her.’
‘She’s brought us fudge, and carrots for Biscuit, and a big bottle of cough mixture,’ said Tabitha, unpacking the carrier bag.
‘It’s sloe gin,’ said Taggie, blushing. ‘I made it yesterday. You mustn’t drink it for three months.’
‘Thank you, angel,’ said Rupert, kissing her on the cheek. ‘I hope I don’t have to wait that long for you,’ he murmured in an undertone.
‘Come on, Taggie,’ said Tabitha impatiently. ‘I thought you wanted to see the foal. This fudge is smashing.’
They had lunch in Cheltenham in an up-market hamburger bar. The children, who insisted on sitting on either side of Taggie, had huge milkshakes. Rupert, who complained he had alcohol shakes, ordered a carafe of red.
‘That jersey suits you,’ he said approvingly to Taggie. ‘How d’you manage to keep it out of Maud’s clutches?’
Taggie blushed. ‘I slept with it under my pillow.’
‘We’re doing a “Messiah” at the end of term,’ announced Tabitha, sucking air noisily from the bottom of her milkshake. ‘There are going to be two trumpets and a drum, and real fathers in the chorus. I’m in the altos. They’re much naughtier because they’re mostly boys, silly twits.’
‘D’you like singing?’ asked Taggie.
‘No. Mrs Brown takes us. She’s just got married. She takes us for history too. She was reading a book called Improving your Home in class this week.’
‘She was reading a book about drains in our class,’ said Marcus.
‘And that’s what I pay your school fees for,’ grumbled Rupert. ‘I wish they’d organize a sponsored walk to Save the Parents.’
Having ordered, he looked across at Taggie, who was talking to Marcus about conkers.
‘We used to roast them slowly in the oven to harden them up.’
‘We soak them in vinegar,’ said Marcus.
‘My sister Caitlin used to put them in the hot cupboard and they always fell down behind the boiler and went mouldy. We’ve got masses at The Priory if you want any more, but I expect you’ve got hundreds already.’
Christ, she’s sweet, thought Rupert, noticing the way the grey cashmere moulded the full breasts.
‘Mary had a little lamb and surprised the midwife,’ said Tabitha to her father.
‘Really,’ said Rupert absent-mindedly.
‘Mary had a little lamb and surprised the midwife. It’s a joke.’
‘Ha, ha,’ said Rupert, filling up Taggie’s glass.
‘Why d’you always say ha ha and not mean it? Can I have a packet of Frazzles?’
‘No,’ said Rupert. ‘Here’s your lunch.’
‘Can I have punk hair like Cameron?’ said Tabitha, picking bits of mushroom out of her salad and putting them round the edge of her plate.
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t like short hair.’
‘You’ve got very nice hair,’ said Marcus to Taggie, blushing scarlet as he bit into his hamburger.
‘Yes,’ agreed Rupert. ‘She has.’
Tabitha gazed dreamily into space. ‘Mrs Bodkin must have slept with Mr Bodkin an awful lot of times.’
‘What on earth makes you think that?’ asked Rupert in amazement.
‘She told me she’d had four miscarriages,’ said Tab.
Taggie didn’t dare look at Rupert. She thought she had never been happier in her life. Suddenly the most ordinary things – a hamburger smothered in tomato ketchup, the mural of the village street round the wall, with its milk cart and postman – were illuminated because she was with Rupert and these adorable children.
‘Everything all right, Meester Campbell-Black?’ asked the Manager.
‘Perfect,’ said Rupert. ‘Could we have another carafe of red?’
‘I would like to congratulate you,’ went on the Manager, looking round rapturously at Marcus, Tab and Taggie. ‘I never knew you haff three such beautiful children.’
RIVALS
42
After lunch, they went for a walk in Rupert’s woods. It was ridiculously mild. Insects moved leisurely in the rays slanting through the thinning beech trees, like specks of dust caught in the light from a projector. Birds san
g drowsily, orange leaves drifted down on to already orange paths. The squirrels, stupefied by the sun, were fooling around on the ground instead of gathering nuts.
‘What are you singing at school?’ asked Taggie.
‘“Green grow the rushes-oh,”’ said Tab.
‘I’ll sing you three-oh,’ sang Marcus.
‘What is your three-oh?’ sang back Tab.
‘Three for the rivals, Two, two the lily-white boys, Clothed all in green-o,’ replied Marcus, his pure treble echoing through the soaring cathedral of beech trunks. Then both children took up the chant:
‘One is one and all alone, And ever more shall be so.’
‘Lovely,’ sighed Taggie.
‘Three for the rivals sounds like Corinium, Venturer and Mid-West,’ said Rupert.
He used up a couple of reels of film, then, exhausted after a strenuous week at Blackpool, fell asleep under a chestnut tree, while Taggie played games with the children.
‘D’you know,’ she said, drawing them away down the ride so they wouldn’t wake Rupert, ‘that every time you catch a falling leaf, you get a happy day? Let’s see if we can catch thirty, so we can give Daddy a really happy November when he wakes up.’
‘Easy peasy,’ said Tabitha, leaping forward as a yellow sycamore leaf pirouetted through the air towards her, then, caught by a puff of wind, dummied round her and fluttered to the ground.
‘It’s harder than it looks,’ panted Marcus, reaching out as a twig of ash leaves floated tantalizingly out of his grasp. ‘Would those have counted as seven?’
‘Not really,’ said Taggie.
‘Bugger,’ screamed Tab, as she just missed a beech leaf.
‘Hush,’ said Taggie. ‘We mustn’t wake Daddy.’
Silently they raced round the wood trying to suppress their screams of joy whenever they managed to catch a leaf. After a particularly piercing yell, when Tab tripped over a bramble cable but managed to hang on to a wand of chestnut leaves, Rupert woke up; but he pretended to be asleep. Watching Taggie, gambolling long-legged over the beech leaves, pony-tail flying, looking, as the Manager had thought, not a day over fourteen, he was suddenly kneed in the groin with longing.
