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 sat 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 Marcus 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.’

‘Marcus is a bloody sneak,’ said Tabitha, yawning.

‘Have you said your prayers?’

‘OK.’ Tab rolled out of bed. ‘Dear God,’ she prayed loudly, ‘please bless Daddy, Mummy, Marcus, Dollop and Beaver. And please give me Biscuit, if you think that’s right, God.’ Then her fingers opened a fraction. She could see Cameron still hovering on the landing, hopeful of a mention. ‘And please God, make Mummy and Daddy get married again, so I can come and live at Penscombe for always; make me a good girl, Amen.’

Cameron walked back to Rupert’s bedroom, quivering with rage. Rupert thought it was very funny. ‘Isn’t she awful? She asked me earlier why I didn’t sell my double bed as I didn’t need it any more.’

As Marcus predicted, Tab had terrible nightmares and ended up in Rupert’s bed. Turned on by the blue movie, Rupert and Cameron waited until she was asleep and then went downstairs and barricaded themselves into the dining-room.

‘I’ve never screwed anyone in here before,’ said Rupert. ‘Should we put mats down in case we scorch the table?’

In fact, twelve feet of polished mahogany is not the ideal surface on which to make love. Straddling Rupert, her knees aching, Cameron took a long time. She was just capitulating to pleasure when a bright red face, as apoplectic as any Mr Barrett of Wimpole Street, appeared through the hatch.

‘What,’ thundered Tabitha, ‘are you doing to my Daddy?’

‘I’m trying to keep him warm,’ replied Cameron through gritted teeth.

Things went from bad to worse the next day. Rupert went off to see his constituency secretary. Tab vanished to the stables and, despite Cameron sending repeated messages, didn’t return for lunch. Grimly setting out to collect her, Cameron found Tabitha, watched by an idling trio of grooms, jumping the new pony, which ground to a halt each time it came up to a large wall.

‘This pony don’t jump,’ yelled Tabitha.

‘Think of something really nasty before take-off, and then give him a good whack,’ advised one of the grooms.

Tab rode towards the wall with great determination: ‘I’m going to think of CAMERON,’ she howled, bringing her whip down on Biscuit’s quarters. The grooms screamed with laughter, and then cheered as Biscuit cleared the wall by a foot. Tabitha leapt off the pony, cuddling him and stuffing him with pony nuts. ‘Good boy, good boy.’

‘Lunch, Tabitha,’ said Cameron icily.

Even Tabitha looked faintly sheepish and ran on ahead back to the house.

There are a million children in England living with replacement parents, in fact one in seven is a stepchild, thought Cameron furiously, as she stalked back to the house. They can’t all be awful. Just fantasy. You’re doing research for a documentary on the in-coming stepmother, she told herself.

‘Where’s Daddy?’ demanded Tab as Cameron went into the kitchen.

‘Not coming back till later this afternoon.’

‘I don’t want any lunch till he gets back.’

‘Sit down,’ ordered Cameron.

‘I will if you sit down first,’ said Tab with a giggle.

Not looking behind her, Cameron collapsed heavily on to a whoopee cushion which Tab had slipped on to her chair, and which let out a succession of noisy farts. Tab screamed with laughter; even Marcus grinned. For Cameron the noise was too embarrassingly reminiscent of her encounter with their father on the balcony of her Madrid hotel.

‘You bloody children, stop winding me up.’

‘Don’t speak to us like that,’ said Tab coldly. ‘You’re not our mother.’

Cameron walked out of the kitchen and went and swam twenty lengths in the pool to work off her rage. Going upstairs, she discovered Tabitha must have changed at least four times that day and used the carpet of Rupert’s bedroom as a dirty clothes’ basket.

‘Tab,’ she bellowed.

‘Yes.’ Tab appeared from the television room, eating a Mars bar.

‘Pick up your clothes, OK?’

‘Mrs Bodkin picks them up.’

‘Mrs Bodkin is not here. Pick them up.’

‘Bloody shan’t.’

Cameron moved towards her.

‘Don’t you touch me,’ hissed Tab, her little face a mask of spite. ‘Because of child molesters like you, I’m learning karate at school,’ and, clenching her fist in a black-power salute, she shot under Cameron’s arm, downstairs and back to the stables.

A blinding headache nudged Cameron’s skull. What was the name of that silent order Charles Fairburn disappeared to the day the franchise applications went in? She took a Valium and went down to the kitchen where she found Marcus trying to clear up lunch.

He had put the roasting pan undrained in the sink so the grease floated thick and yellow on the top of the water.

‘I’m sorry about Tab,’ he mumbled.

‘You make up for it,’ Cameron said, hugging him.

‘It’s not all her fault,’ said Marcus, fairly. ‘She’s used to Daddy’s total attention when she’s here, and Mrs Bodkin fussing over her. She looked after Tab when she was a baby, you see. When Tab says she wants lunch she’s given it, and if she doesn’t like it when it arrives that doesn’t matter much either. She’s just not used to a stranger saying, “Do this, don’t do that”.’

Cameron gazed at the sea of fat, feeling reproved. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It isn’t your fault,’ said Marcus, busily sloshing water all over the surfaces as he wiped them down with a dripping dishcloth.

‘I’m not around kids that much. How d’you relate to Malise?’

‘OK. He’s strict, but he’s fair. He’s very old. His grandchildren are older than me.’

‘Would you like your parents to get married again?’

Marcus went green. ‘No, absolutely not.’

‘Tab would.’

‘Oh, Tab gets on much better with Daddy than I do,’ said Marcus bitterly. ‘And if she was here she could ride all the time.

As Rupert probably wouldn’t have eaten at lunchtime, Cameron decided to make him a nice dinner. Just the two of them; the kids could go to bed early. Marcus chatted to her while she cooked and, when she’d finished, offered to play the piano for her. He was just playing a Chopin impromptu quite magically when Tab charged in with Wham full blast on the wireless.

‘Turn it off,’ said Cameron sharply.

‘Why should I?’

‘Turn it off,’ yelled Marcus, but he stopped playing and shut the piano.

Immediately Tab grinned and turned off the wireless.

‘I’ve never been so bored in my life,’ she said moodily.

Cameron’s suggestion that she could unload the dishwasher was met once again with the cold blue stare.

‘I’m starving. What’s for supper?’

‘Spaghetti hoops.’

‘Yuk. What’s that cooking in the oven?’

‘Boeuf Provençal.’

‘My favourite thing. And there are kiwi fruits in the larder. That’s also my favourite thing.’

‘As you haven’t eaten anything I’ve cooked for you yet,’ said Cameron coolly, ‘you’re going to have spaghetti hoops cooked by Mr Heinz, and then you’re going to bed early. I want to spend some time with your father — alone.’

Rupert came home around half past seven, and amazed Cameron by backing her up. ‘Go up to bed both of you. Cameron’s looked after you all day and she needs a break. You can watch “Howard’s Way”.’

‘Tab’s been insupportable all day,’ Cameron was appalled to find herself saying as soon as the children went out of the room.

Later Rupert went upstairs and Cameron toured wearily round the house, picking up kids’ clothes. If she put a wash on tonight she could iron them first thing in the morning.

Rupert found Tab curled up in bed in a blue nightie, looking through a photograph album of when Helen and Rupert were married: ‘Wasn’t I a sweet little baby? Look at me riding on Badger’s back.’

Rupert was not to be deflected. ‘Why have you been so bloody to Cameron?’ he said, sitting down on the bed. ‘I told you to be nice to her.’

‘I hate her,’ said Tab calmly, ‘and all the grooms hate her, and they say Mr and Mrs Bodkin hate her because she’s so bossy. Even Beaver and Blue hate her.’

‘Rubbish! Beaver and Blue adore her.’

‘Shows how thick they are, then.’

‘I told you to be nice to her,’ repeated Rupert sternly.

‘It’s all God’s fault,’ said Tab, petulantly pulling the duvet up to her chin. ‘I prayed specially hard to him this morning to make me really nice to Cameron, and he did absolutely nothing about it.’

Rupert thought it so funny he had to go straight off and tell Cameron. He found her in the drawing-room, rigid with anger.

‘What was this doing on my side of the bed?’ She handed Rupert a prayer book bound in ivory. ‘Look inside,’ she said shrilly.

‘To my own darling Rupert,’ read Rupert slowly. ‘All my love, Helen. All other things to their destruction draw, only our love hath no decay.’ He grinned at Cameron. ‘Well, Helen certainly goofed on that one, didn’t she?’

‘Tab must have put it there,’ hissed Cameron.

‘Don’t be fucking stupid. She wouldn’t understand words like decay and destruction.’

‘Bullshit,’ screamed Cameron. ‘She’s the most destructive kid I’ve ever met, and she certainly understands “To my own darling Rupert, All my love, Helen”.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ protested Rupert. ‘Most children do want their mothers and fathers to love each other. Didn’t you?’

‘She’s insanely spoilt.’ Cameron could hear the obsessive rattle in her voice. ‘Can’t you see how she fawns all over you and freezes out everyone else? Your whole relationship with her is overly symbiotic.’

‘I don’t know what symbiotic means.’ Rupert’s voice was suddenly brutally icy. ‘But it’s fuck all to do with you how I handle my children. I suggest you read this prayer book yourself. It might teach you a little Christianity.’

‘Where are you going?’ she said as he went towards the door.

‘To bed. I don’t want any dinner. And you can bloody well sleep in the spare room.’

A minute later she heard the front door open and the dogs barking. Terrified Rupert had stormed out, she ran into the hall to find Mr and Mrs Bodkin blinking in the light, clutching their suitcases and looking sheepish.

‘I hope you didn’t mind us coming home a day early,’ muttered Mrs Bodkin, ‘but we wanted to see the children, and I thought you might need a bit of help with their meals and their washing. Mrs Gordon likes everything back in good order.’

Cameron was never so pleased to see anyone. ‘Sure, it’s OK,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have made you have the weekend off. We’ve all missed you. There’s some supper in the oven if you’re hungry.’

The next moment she was sent flying by Tabitha tearing downstairs and throwing herself into Mrs Bodkin’s arms. ‘Oh, Mrs B,’ she said in a choked voice, ‘I’m so glad you’re home. It’s so horrid when you’re not here.’

The next day passed without incident until the afternoon. Cameron, who knew she should have disarmed Tab by being sweet, or at least outwardly unmoved, spent the day sulking, thawing out, then sulking again. The children were due to go back to Warwickshire after tea. Rupert had bought the pony, Biscuit, for Tab, and would drive pony and two children back in the trailer.

Mrs Bodkin finished the ironing and packed the children’s cases, while Rupert and the children watched High Society on television. Ecstatic about the new pony, Tabitha sprawled on Rupert’s knee, defiantly covering him with kisses. Cameron, determinedly doing the Guardian crossword, sat on the sofa as far away from Rupert as possible. They hadn’t spoken since last night. The sight of Cameron’s long smooth brown thighs in the shortest of khaki shorts, however, was finally too much for Rupert. As the credits came up at the end he stretched out, putting a hand on her leg.

‘Don’t touch her,’ screamed Tab. ‘It’s disgusting,’ and, bursting into tears, she fled upstairs. Rupert followed her to find out what was the matter. He came down shaking his head. ‘It’s the same old story. She wants me and Helen to get together again like Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly, so she can live here all the time.’

The following morning Rupert got a letter from Taggie: Dear Roopurt, she had written, thank you for the luvly puppy. He is sweet we called him Clawdeeus becos patrick says it goes with gurtrude. they love eech other now. thank you for the shampain. Sorry we did not come out to dinner. I hope you understand. Yours sincearly Taggie O’Hara.

Rupert wanted to weep.

‘Is that from one of the children?’ said Cameron, reading over his shoulder. ‘They don’t teach them much spelling in class. Christ, it’s from Taggie. She’s completely illiterate. How could Maud and Declan have produced something quite so dumb?’