The appalling Deirdre Kill-Programme (as everyone called her now) had visited her at home earlier in the week and worked out lots of questions that James could ask Sarah to promote discussion and bring in James’s caring nature.
Paul, furious that Sarah had been asked on, and not him, went on and on about how her high profile wouldn’t help his career at the moment. He was also furious that she’d spent a fortune for the occasion on a new black mohair dress with daisies embroidered on the front and huge padded shoulders, which she was not sure suited her. Thank God Rupert was at some Tory fund-raising bash at the moment, and wouldn’t watch the programme. Earlier, James had paid a fleeting visit to Hospitality to say hullo, rather like a famous surgeon in an expensive hospital, popping in before he removes half your intestine.
Ushered into the studio during the commercial break, Sarah was now sitting on the famous pale-pink sofa beside him. Catching sight of herself on the monitor, she wished she hadn’t worn the mohair; it was much too hot and the padded shoulders made her look like an American footballer. On rushed the make-up girl to tone down her flushed face.
‘Collar up, James,’ said Wardrobe.
‘I did it deliberately, Tessa,’ said James. ‘Thought it looked more casual. Remember to look at me, not the camera, Sarah.’ She was desperately nervous, which didn’t help. Glancing round at the idiot board to find out what question he was supposed to ask her first, he saw chalked in large letters: ‘James Vereker can’t do his programme without having a bonk first’.
‘Turn it over,’ hissed James, as a burst of ‘Cotswold Round-Up’ theme music signified the end of the commercial break.
Sarah, who had also seen the idiot board, screamed with laughter, and it was thus that the viewers had their first glimpse of her.
‘Sarah Stratton,’ said James, reading from the turned-over board, ‘you’ve been married to Paul Stratton, our member for Cotchester for nearly nine months now. How do you see your role as the wife of an MP, Sarah?’
Sarah straightened her face: ‘To support my husband in every possible way,’ she said, gazing straight at the camera.
In the O’Haras’ kitchen, Rupert turned up the sound.
‘Isn’t that Lizzie Vereker’s husband?’ said Maud. ‘I like Lizzie.’
‘She’s lovely,’ said Rupert. ‘If she lost three stone, I’d marry her.’
‘James is hell,’ said Basil. ‘Put him in front of a camera, you can’t get him down with a gun.’
‘Some viewers may find the following scenes disturbing,’ said Rupert. ‘Sarah’s nervous. Look at the way her eyes are darting and she’s licking her lips. Looks bloody good, though.’
Whatever she thought to the contrary, Sarah looked stunning on camera. She was now saying how hard it was falling in love with a married man.
‘I put no pressure on Paul to leave his first wife,’ she said demurely.
‘Bollocks,’ howled Bas. ‘She carried a chisel round in her bag for years, trying to chip Paul off like a barnacle.’
‘But because he did eventually leave her for me,’ went on Sarah, ‘and he made the decision, I’m branded a scarlet woman.’
‘With some justification,’ said Rupert. ‘And her husband is as mean as the grave. It’s so hard to get a drink in his house, the PM ought to make him the Minister for Drought. Which is not something anyone could accuse you of, Maud darling,’ he added, as Maud splashed the last of the whisky into his glass.
Taggie, who was ironing sheets, was as perplexed as Rupert had been earlier. ‘I’m sure I’ve seen her somewhere before,’ she muttered, then once again went absolutely scarlet as she realized that Sarah was the beautiful blonde who’d been playing nude tennis with Rupert.
‘She’s quite excellent at ball play,’ said Rupert, reading Taggie’s thoughts. ‘And you’re going to burn that sheet.’
Furiously, Taggie went on ironing. Fortunately a diversion was created with Valerie asking how Caitlin was getting on at Upland House.
‘It seems more like St Trinian’s than Enid Blyton,’ said Maud. ‘Caitlin says they all smoke like chimneys and have bottles of Malibu under the floorboards. But I had a nice half-term report from her house mistress, saying Caitlin was a dear girl who’d settled in well, but was too easily satisfied.’
‘Not something her future husband is going to grumble about,’ said Rupert, who was watching Taggie. He liked making her blush.
‘Caitlin’s like Taggie,’ said Maud. ‘Watches too much television.’
‘Sharon’s only allowed to watch occasionally at weekends,’ said Valerie smugly. ‘When I was young, my sister and I made our own amusements.’
‘So did I,’ agreed Rupert, ‘until Nanny told me it would make me go blind.’
Ignoring him, Valerie thought how much more attractive was James, with his charming boyish smile, than Rupert, who was always leading Freddie astray and making risqué remarks.
James, winding up Sarah’s interview, asked her if she had any plans for a career.
‘You must know — as a very famous man yourself,’ Sarah answered admiringly, ‘that wives of famous men have to take second place.’
‘It is possible to be famous and caring, Sarah,’ said James huskily.
‘Of course,’ said Sarah. ‘I’m just saying if you marry someone who’s been married before, you’re just that little bit more anxious to make the marriage work, to not put your own career first — to prove everyone wrong who said it wouldn’t last. So you just try harder.’
Taggie was shocked. How could Sarah say that, when she was busy having an affair with Rupert? It was only after a few minutes Taggie realized that Valerie was telling her all about the boutique.
‘You must pop in some time,’ said Valerie. ‘I know it’s difficult, dressing when you’re so tall, but I’m sure I could find something lovely for you.’
‘That’s really kind,’ said Taggie gratefully.
Rupert, watching Taggie, decided she really was very beautiful. It was as though someone had taken a fine black pen and drawn lines along her lashes and round the irises of those amazing silver-grey eyes. Her nose was too large, but the curve of the soft pink mouth emphasized by the very short upper lip was adorable, and he’d like to see all that lustrous black hair spilling over a pillow. She must be nearly five foot ten, he reckoned, and most of it legs, and she had the gentle, apologetic clumsiness of an Irish wolfhound, who can’t help knocking off teacups with its tail.
Noticing Rupert observing Taggie with such lazy, almost lustful affection, Maud felt a stab of jealousy.
‘Go and get another bottle of whisky from the larder, Tag,’ she said sharply, ‘and clear away all these plates.’
‘But it’s Daddy’s last bottle,’ protested Taggie.
Furious, Maud turned on her. ‘As if your father would deny a guest a drink in his own house.’
Trembling, Taggie switched off the iron, fetched the bottle from the larder and dumped it on the table with a crash. Gertrude was whining by the back door.
‘I’ll take you out, darling,’ said Taggie, pulling on a pair of black gumboots.
‘Do wrap up warm,’ said Valerie. ‘And if you want to get on in the country, you should wear green wellies,’ she added kindly.
‘If you really want to get on in the country,’ drawled Rupert, ‘you should get that dog’s tail straightened.’
It was the final straw. Giving him a filthy look, Taggie went out, slamming the back door behind her.
‘What’s up with her?’ asked Bas.
‘In love,’ said Maud, unscrewing the bottle of whisky. ‘Some friend of Patrick’s who hardly knows she exists. You know how moody teenagers are.’