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?’
37
The weekend left Cameron exhausted and with a numb sense of failure. What sort of monster was she to detest an innocent little girl of nine? Desperate for someone to dump on, she was tempted to ask Seb or even Charles Fairburn out to lunch, but decided it was too risky. Tony might easily have bugged their telephones. She longed to talk to Declan. He was so wise and she craved his approval beyond anything, but she didn’t think this was the way to win it. He’d just assume she’d been treating Tab like a Corinium employee. In the end she rang up Janey Lloyd-Foxe who, stuck at home with a new baby and frantically trying to finish a book, was only too happy for any distraction. They met for lunch in London.
Janey rolled up looking stunning and fantastically brown. ‘It’s typing topless in the garden,’ she explained. ‘My bum and legs are as white as blackboard chalk because they’re hidden under the table. I’ve got to finish this bloody book because we’re desperately broke. Billy’s absolutely fed up with the BBC, too. I do hope Venturer get the franchise. D’you think we will?’
‘Hard to tell,’ said Cameron. ‘We ought to on form, but there are so many wild cards in the pack, and Declan and Rupert really aren’t getting on at the moment.’
‘They’re both so tricky and self-willed,’ grumbled Janey. ‘Hello.’ She beamed up at an Italian waiter who was utterly mesmerized by her brown breasts which seemed to squirm in her low-cut pink dress like day-old puppies. ‘Neither of us wants to work this afternoon, so let’s kick off with duo enormo vodkos et tônicos, then we can get wildly drunk and indiscreet. You are lucky not having to worry about schedules and costings any more,’ Janey added, as the waiter floated back to the bar. ‘It must be bliss being supported by Rupert.’
‘He’s not very pleased with me,’ confessed Cameron, pleating the tablecloth. Then she told Janey about the weekend.
‘Darling,’ said Janey, taking a hefty belt of vodka, ‘get one thing straight. It’s not you. I told Helen yonks ago that she never need worry about Rupert marrying again because no one would take on Tab. She’s adorable until she suspects anyone might take Rupert away from her, then she’s Catherine de Medici crossed with all the Borgias! Mind you,’ Janey went on, plunging a cauliflower floret deep into a bowl of mayonnaise, ‘Tab hasn’t had it easy. Helen tries to be fair, but it’s obvious to anyone that Marcus is the Granny Smith of her eye. She’s never got on with Tab.’
‘Marcus is a really nice kid,’ said Cameron. ‘Why’s Rupert so mean to him?’
‘Jealousy. Rupert and Helen were going through one of their many bad patches when Marcus was born. Helen lavished all her affection on Marcus. Rupert started lavishing all his affection on show jumping and other women. It doesn’t help that Marcus looks just like Helen, and Rupert doesn’t want any reminders of her around him any more.’
‘But Marcus just longs for Rupert’s approval.’
‘I know,’ said Janey. ‘It’s really sad. Just as Rupert used to long for Helen’s approval, but she always dismissed him as a handsome hunk and show jumping as a very second-class occupation.’
As the waiter wheeled up the hors d’oeuvres trolley Janey’s eyes fell lasciviously on Mediterranean prawns, stuffed aubergine and oeuf à la Russe.