I’ll kill Tony, I’ll absolutely kill him, thought Cameron as, seething with rage, she went into the marquee. Both Tony and Patrick were waiting. Patrick was quicker.
‘Come and dance,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘I’m not going to let you go for the rest of the evening, probably not for the rest of my life.’
‘D’you always move in so fast?’ said Cameron, laughing.
‘No, I wished for you when I cut my cake.’
‘You mustn’t tell wishes; they might not come true.’
‘Mine always do,’ said Patrick calmly.
Taggie was mindlessly washing up in the kitchen when Simon Harris’s little monsters returned and, saying they were hungry, broke through the clingfilm over the kedgeree and started eating it with their hands. Something finally snapped inside Taggie.
‘Bugger off, you little horrors,’ she screamed.
‘Talking to me?’ said a voice.
Rupert was standing in the doorway. He was as brown as he’d been last summer when he’d had no clothes on. Taggie went scarlet.
Rupert grinned. ‘Your mother was only telling me the other day, how much you adore children.’ Then, turning on the monsters, ‘Go on, fuck off, you little sods. Out, OUT!’
Muttering venomously, the monsters sidled out, cramming birthday cake into their mouths as they went.
‘It was the most lovely dinner,’ said Rupert gently, noticing Taggie’s reddened eyes. ‘Will you please stop playing Cinderella and come and dance.’
‘I’ve got too much to do, thank you, and thank you for the pendant. I didn’t realize.’ She stumbled on the words.
At that moment Simon Harris came in with spewed-up rusk all over his dinner jacket, carrying a bawling baby.
‘Could you possibly hold her for me while I heat up a bottle?’ he asked Taggie.
Of two evils, Taggie chose the prettier. ‘There’s a saucepan over there,’ she said and, feeling Rupert’s hand close over hers, she followed him into the marquee.
‘I’m a very, very bad dancer,’ she muttered.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Rupert. ‘We can sway in a dark corner.’
‘Never seen you look so lovely as you do tonight,’ sang Chris de Burgh, ‘Never seen you shine so bright.’
Taggie’s hair smelt of shepherd’s pie. As he drew her to him, Rupert could feel the substantial softness of her breasts, compared with the incredible slenderness of her waist. Her body was rigid with tension and embarrassment. She had absolutely no sense of rhythm at all. It was like a very slim elephant dancing at the circus.
‘Did you have a nice Christmas?’ asked Rupert.
‘Yes.’
‘Did you get nice presents?’
‘Yes.’
‘Come on my angel, relax.’ His hands moved over her back, gentling her as though she was one of his young horses. ‘Look! Gertrude’s followed us. She knows I’m a rotter and she won’t let you out of her sight.’
Catching Gertrude’s disapproving eye, Taggie gave a half laugh, half sob.
Rupert reached down and stroked Gertrude. ‘Good Gertrude, beautiful Gertrude. See, I am trying.’
‘Lady in red, Lady in red,’ sang everyone as they swayed round the floor, which were the only words they knew.
Rupert took Taggie’s face in his hands. She was so tall her eyes were only just below his.
‘Don’t be so sad,’ he murmured. ‘You’ll get over him.’
Taggie started. ‘How d’you know?’
‘Caitlin told me. You thought the pendant was from him. I’m sorry.’
‘It was very kind,’ said Taggie stiffly. ‘I just don’t accept presents from men.’
‘I see. Only from boys.’
As Chris de Burgh finished and Wham started, he gripped her waist, knowing she was about to bolt.
‘Last Christmas, I gave you my heart,’ sang George Michael, ‘But the very next day you gave it away.’
Across the room Taggie could see Ralphie and Georgina dancing together. He was stroking her cheek with his hand. With a low moan, Taggie tugged herself away from Rupert. Cannoning off startled couples, she fled from the marquee upstairs to the loo to cry her eyes out once again.
Patrick danced on and on with Cameron. They didn’t talk much because they were easily the best dancers in the room. Tony, grinding his teeth down to the gums, didn’t dare move in with Monica looking on.
‘That’s the best thing I’ve seen in years,’ said James Vereker, who was dancing on and on with Sarah.
‘What?’ said Sarah.
‘Cameron getting off with Declan’s son. At best it’ll screw up Tony and Cameron. At worst it’ll put Tony even more off Declan.’
Although Paul was hovering, looking thunderous, Sarah carried on dancing with James until she saw Rupert going past. Breaking away, she screamed out to him.
To keep her quiet Rupert bore her off to dance. Paul could see them rowing all the way round the floor, in that rigid-jawed way as though they’d had too many injections at the dentist.
‘Why have you been deliberately ignoring me?’
‘I haven’t. It’s just that Paul has been watching us like a Wimbledon linesman.’
‘Never put you off in the past.’
‘Did you have a good Christmas?’
‘Of course I didn’t. You obviously did, if the Daily Mail’s anything to go by. I don’t require fidelity from my husband,’ said Sarah hysterically, ‘but I do from my lover.’
‘Then you’ve picked the wrong guy, sweetheart. We’ve had a good time.’
Sarah looked up, aghast. ‘Is it over then?’
‘No, not necessarily. I’m just not prepared to offer you an exclusive.’
‘Bastard,’ hissed Sarah. ‘I thought you were serious.’
‘You were wrong, and frankly, angel, I don’t think you make a very good MP’s wife. Paul looks a shambles.’
In the kitchen, surrounded by undergraduates and dirty plates and glasses, Declan was declaiming Yeats:
And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky,
Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may not die.
Cameron stood listening to him, her hand in Patrick’s.
‘He recites best when he’s drunk,’ whispered Patrick. ‘Loses all self-consciousness.’
‘He should do a programme on Yeats,’ marvelled Cameron.
‘Hardly of local interest.’
‘We could do it for Channel Four.’
Upstairs, Maud was arranging her breasts in the green dress, and putting scent on her hair, and applying coral blusher to her pale cheeks. Her freckles were like a sprinkling of nutmeg tonight.
‘I’m not middle-aged,’ she whispered to herself. ‘I’m still young and beautiful.’
‘I get no kick from champagne,’ sang the disco. ‘Pure alcohol doesn’t thrill me at all.’
The message was all in the music, thought Maud. Go forth and multiply and seek love.
Going downstairs, she could hear Declan declaiming in the kitchen. She was safe for half an hour or so. Screams and shouts were coming from the direction of Caitlin’s room.
The berries of the mistletoe gleamed brighter than her pearls under the hall light. It was three in the morning; soon Taggie would be serving kedgeree. As if in answer to her prayer, Maud heard Rupert’s voice, ‘Darling, I was looking for you.’
Taking her hand, he led her into the study where Caitlin, taking no chances, had hung more mistletoe. Rupert’s hand felt so warm and dry, and the ball of his thumb was so pudgy, noticed Maud. That was the fortune-teller’s clue to a passionate highly-sexed nature. It was certainly the only spare flesh on his body. Maud’s heart was pounding. She must try and be distant, a little mysterious. As he turned towards her, her eyes were on a level with his black tie. She longed to caress the lovely line of his jaw. It’s going to happen, she thought in ecstasy, as Rupert shut the door to blot out the screams and raucous laughter, and coming towards her, gazed deeply into her eyes.