As she drove through Green Lawns’s electric gates, she noticed a large ‘Support Venturer’ sticker on the huge sign announcing that James and Corinium Television would be present that afternoon. Lizzie felt so off James that she couldn’t even be bothered to peel the sticker off. In the car park she found Rupert unashamedly sticking more Venturer stickers on everyone’s windscreens.
‘Darling.’ He kissed her. ‘Divided as we are by our rival consortiums, we shouldn’t consort, but do let’s go round together. I need a good laugh. Mrs Jones’s new rockery is like the polar bear pit at the zoo; she’s been training blow lamps on her roses all night and twenty-four-hour fluorescent lighting in the greenhouse is forcing out the Christmas roses.’
Lizzie laughed. ‘You can’t bring that dog,’ she said as Rupert let Beaver out of his car. ‘Particularly if he’s not on a lead. Mrs Jones will have a coronary.’
‘Good,’ said Rupert, locking the car. ‘Look how well he’s trained,’ he went on as Beaver lifted his leg on a cohort of salmon-pink petunias. ‘Do you think Valerie drills her flowers every morning?’
‘It’s just like a park,’ said Lizzie as they walked towards the house.
‘Unfair to parks,’ said Rupert.
On the edge of the lawn a stall was selling clothes from Valerie’s boutique, with the mark-up going to the Red Cross. Models, sweating in Valerie’s Autumn Range, wandered aimlessly round, fanning themselves with price tags. There was not a Venturer plug in sight.
‘What a lot of people,’ said Rupert. ‘Judging by the mob on the lawn, your husband’s holding court. Let’s go the other way. Isn’t that hell!’ He pointed to a crescent-shaped flower bed crammed with fuchsias and French marigolds that looked as if it had been dug out by a pastry cutter. ‘Lady Valerie of Vulgaria’s gift for self-publicity is only equalled by her appalling taste.’
As they proceeded giggling down the crazy pavement, they could hear Valerie graciously dispensing advice on the other side of the yellow conifer hedge.
‘How d’you manage to grow such whopping glads?’ asked a neighbour admiringly.
‘I feed them with Grow-More,’ said Valerie.
‘She’s obviously been feeding her children the same thing,’ muttered Rupert as poor fat Sharon, blushing at the sight of Rupert, waddled past them.
‘Hullo, Bishop,’ they could now hear Valerie screaming. ‘How good of you to look in. I’m about to be interviewed on TV, but you’ll find Fred-Fred in the grounds.’
‘It’d be grounds for divorce if I was married to her; the only person not allowed into Valerie’s opening is Fred-Fred. The frigid bitch,’ said Rupert, grabbing Lizzie’s arm. ‘Come on, buck up, let’s look at the pond. I don’t want to get trapped with the Bishop.’
‘I thought the Bishop was on your side,’ said Lizzie, panting after him.
‘He is, and a god-awful bore too. He’s mad about Taggie, so he keeps dropping in at The Priory unannounced, and finding Maud and Declan having a bonk, or hurling plates at one another, which, bearing in mind the Bishop’s views on sex and violence, doesn’t go down very well.’
‘I thought it was you having a walk-out with Taggie,’ said Lizzie slyly as they passed Hybrid Teas, massed in clashing colours above totally weedless beds.
Rupert raised his eyes to heaven. ‘Would that I were! She’s so sweet.’
‘Why aren’t you then?’
‘Declan would do his nut, and she’s too young.’
‘Never deterred you in the past.’
‘Ah, but it’s franchise year.’ Rupert bent down to press a Venturer sticker on the bare belly of a plastic Venus de Milo. ‘And we’re all having to behave ourselves, as I’m sure your husband knows. Why have you got that rash on your hands?’ he asked more gently as Lizzie whipped off the same sticker.
‘The doctor says it’s stress-related,’ said Lizzie bitterly. ‘Mistress-related, more likely.’ Suddenly she could bear it no longer. ‘James is having an affair with Sarah Stratton. I shouldn’t have told you that. You’ll leak it to Private Eye and discredit Corinium even further.’
‘Why don’t you leave him? He’s such a cunt,’ said Rupert, putting another sticker as a figleaf over a cherub, and dragging Lizzie on before she could remove it.
‘Helen didn’t leave you.’ Lizzie paused to examine the pond which was a mass of scarlet and yellow water lilies. ‘God, isn’t this hell?’
‘She did in the end,’ said Rupert. ‘Besides, I’m not a cunt.’
They had reached the end of the garden now; cornfields the colour of French mustard and bluey-green woods stretched to the horizon. On the right, a red tractor chugged back and forth, anxious to get the hay baled and away before tonight’s promised rain.
‘Heaven to see some decent country,’ said Rupert. ‘Do you think “cunt-ricide” means murdering one’s mistress?’
Lizzie laughed. ‘You do cheer me up. I wish someone would murder Sarah.’
Leaving the pond, they wandered back to the house and walking under a weeping willow went slap into Freddie.
He looked very tired, and only nodded at them politely until he realized who they were. Then he jumped up and down with pleasure, giving Lizzie a big hug.
‘’Ullo, Rupe, ’ullo Lizzie. ’Ow are you, love? You look grite. Better not let Valerie see Beaver, Rupe, she’s a bit uptight. Been dead-’eading petunias in her sleep all night; fink she’s abart to dead-’ead me. I’ve had this bleedin’ lot up to ’ere. Let’s go inside and ’ave a drink. Val’s doing her TV interview. Finks the sun shines out of James Vereker’s arse. Oh, sorry, love —’ he squeezed Lizzie’s arm — ‘I quite forgot he was your ’usband!’
‘James thinks the same,’ said Rupert, spiking another sticker on a garden gnome’s fishing rod. ‘I’m sure he’s only here because he wants to worm secrets out of your wife, Freddie.’
Although, watching the way Freddie and Lizzie were looking at each other, Rupert reflected that Lizzie, with all her warmth and sympathy, would be far more skilled at getting Venturer’s secrets out of Freddie.
Cameron had expected to spend Friday night with Tony, but he’d decided to fly to France a day early, leaving her with an unexpected free evening. Unable to get in touch with Rupert, she’d taken two Mogadon, slept alone and very well for the first time in months and woke feeling rested and happy. As she wasn’t due to meet Rupert until the evening, she decided to wander along and see how James was getting on filming gardens. She didn’t stay long at The Falconry. The garden was too wonderful, and she didn’t like such tangible proof of Monica’s skills. She was surprised Tony hadn’t stayed at home to crow.
By comparison Valerie’s garden was utterly dreadful, but had certainly attracted large crowds, particularly round the television crew. Fighting her way through until she was blocked by a large bed of purple and salmon-pink gladioli, Cameron saw James up the other end interviewing Valerie and quickly stifled a scream of laughter. Valerie was dressed for Ascot in a yellow and white shirt-waister and a huge buttercup-yellow hat trimmed with yellow roses, but was totally unaware that someone had stuck a ‘Support Venturer’ sticker on her bottom.