Rivals

39

After a riotous five days in London, Caitlin rolled up at Paddington Station with just enough money for her half-fare home. Her blue-black hair was coaxed upward at the front into a corkscrew quiff. She was wearing peacock feather earrings, a black and white sleeveless T-shirt, a black Lycra mini which just covered her bottom, laddered black tights, huge black clumpy shoes, all of which belonged to various friends of hers, a great deal of black eye make-up, and messages in Biro all over her arms.

It was hardly surprising, therefore, that the man at the ticket desk refused to believe she was under sixteen. A most unseemly screaming match ensued, which first amused then irritated the growing queue of passengers behind Caitlin, who began to worry they might miss their trains home.

‘My father is a very very famous man,’ screamed Caitlin as a last resort, ‘and he’ll get you.’

‘Don’t threaten me, young lady,’ said the booking clerk.

‘It’s people like you who turn liberals like me into racists,’ screamed Caitlin even louder. ‘You’re just discriminating against me because I’m white. I’ll report you to the Race Relations Board.’

At that moment Archie Baddingham, on his way home from his three weeks’ banishment in Tuscany, reached the top of the neighbouring first-class queue. Hearing the din, and recognizing Caitlin’s shrill Irish accent from New Year’s Eve, he bought her a ticket.

‘Remember me?’ he said, tapping her on the shoulder.

‘No, yes,’ said Caitlin. ‘You’re Archie, aren’t you? Can you lend me my fare, this stupid asshole won’t believe I’m under sixteen.’

‘I’ve got you a ticket,’ said Archie.

‘I can’t accept a ticket from you,’ stormed Caitlin irrationally. ‘Your father’s been absolutely shitty to my father.’

‘My father’s shitty to everyone,’ said Archie, calmly taking her arm. ‘Come on, we’d better move it.’

They only just caught the train on time, but managed to find two single seats opposite each other.

‘I’ve never travelled first class,’ said Caitlin, stretching out on the orange seat and squirming her neck luxuriously against the headrest.

Archie looked wonderful, she thought. Like her, he’d shot up and lost weight. He was wearing black 501s, rolled up above black socks and black brogues with a black polo-neck tucked into a western belt with a silver buckle, black crosses in his ears, and a brown suede jacket. His blond hair, washed with soap to remove any shine, was long at the front and cut short at the back and sides. His still slightly rounded face looked thinner because of a suntan almost as dark as his eyes.

‘Why are you so disgustingly brown?’ asked Caitlin.

‘I’ve just spent three weeks in Tuscany. My parents booted me out there to get over a girl.’

‘Tracey-on-the-Makepiece.’

Archie grinned, making him look even more attractive. ‘How d’you know that?’

‘You were superglued to her at Patrick’s twenty-first.’

‘So I was. Actually, I’m over her, but Dad and Mum thought I wasn’t, so I thought I might as well take advantage of a free holiday. Have you been away?’

‘We never go anywhere. My parents are always broke. No, it’s quite OK. Nothing to do with your father. They’re just hopeless with money.’ There was a pause. Caitlin gazed out of the window, wondering what to say next.

‘What would you like to drink?’ asked Archie.

‘They got any Malibu?’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Well, vodka and tonic, then. Can I come with you?’

The InterCity, belting towards Bristol, swayed like a drunk as they walked towards the buffet car.

‘Have you had any lunch?’ asked Archie, admiring her narrow waist and slim legs which were more ladder than tights.

‘No,’ said Caitlin.

‘I’ll buy you some grub then,’ said Archie.

‘Been to a funeral?’ said the gay barman, running a lascivious eye over Archie’s black clothes.

‘Passengers are reminded that it is an offence to serve intoxicating liquor to persons under the age of eighteen,’ read Caitlin loudly, as Archie paid for everything.

‘Keep your vice down,’ hissed Archie.

The journey back to their seat, with each of them carrying white plastic trays of vodkas and tonics, glasses, bacon sandwiches, Mars bars, and packets of crisps, was much more hazardous. They had no hands to steady themselves against the lurching train.

‘Terribly sorry,’ mumbled Caitlin, going scarlet, as for the third time she cannoned off a commuter back into Archie.

‘Who’s complaining?’ said Archie.

‘Thank you so much,’ said Caitlin as they sped past slow winding rivers, rolling fields, and clumps of yellowing trees. ‘This bacon sandwich is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.’

‘I’m surprised you can say that with Taggie cooking for you,’ said Archie. ‘Every time my father compliments my mother on the food, it turns out Taggie’s made it. How is she?’

‘Bit low. She’s hopelessly hooked on Rupert Campbell-Black.’

‘Won’t do her any good,’ said Archie, pouring out a second vodka and tonic for Caitlin. ‘He strikes women down like lightning bolts. Anyway, he’s bonking my father’s ex.’

‘Cameron Cook,’ said Caitlin dismissively. ‘She’s a crosspatch, isn’t she? I can’t see what men see in her. My brother was crazy about her, and now she’s gone off to make a film in Ireland with Daddy. I hope they don’t end up in bed. People usually do on location, don’t they? I’d loathe her as a stepmother.’

‘Dad was mad about her. I was shit-scared he’d leave Mum and marry her,’ said Archie, breaking a Mars bar and giving half to Caitlin. ‘I dread my parents getting a divorce, in case they marry again and leave all their money to their new children.’

Caitlin giggled. ‘Mine haven’t any to leave.’

‘I hear your mother’s joined the cast of The Merry Widow. Mum told me on the telephone that she’s streets ahead of everyone else.’

‘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 earrings, 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.’

‘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.