‘I can’t walk off in the middle of a take, it’s totally unprofessional,’ she screamed. ‘It’s only a grope, you bloody Victorian prude.’
‘Pack your stooff, we’re going,’ yelled back George.
‘We are not.’
Flanked by bodyguards, Rannaldini went on the offensive.
‘Didn’t you ’ear the lady?’
As George swung around the hatred so distorted his face that Flora thought he was going to kill Rannaldini.
‘I’ll get you, you wop bastard!’ he bellowed. Then, without a backward glance, he stumbled off in the direction of his helicopter.
‘And you’re not having custody of Trevor,’ Flora screamed after him.
‘Why don’t you go into the diplomatic service, Rannaldini?’ sighed Baby.
‘Who do I have to sleep with to get off this movie?’ wailed a shaking Flora.
Tristan laughed, then told her how sorry he was.
‘I’m going to London tonight, I’ll take you somewhere fantastic tomorrow evening.’
After that Flora completed the scene in one take.
Baby, not unpleased by the turn of events, also comforted Flora. He would buy her dinner tonight and then, if she still needed to drown her sorrows, they would go on to Ogborne’s birthday party.
29
Rolling up at Magpie Cottage to take Tabitha to Ogborne’s party, Wolfie was horrified to go slap into Isa, unexpectedly returned from Australia. The odds on Peppy Koala for the Derby had been shortening alarmingly. Rannaldini was furious at losing the colt and, not wanting to lose him as an owner or Tab as a wife, in no particular order, Isa had decided to stay awake and attend the party to protect his property.
He had missed Tab’s birthday at the beginning of June, but had brought her back more Quercus, the sweet, lemony scent he loved. It smelled wonderful on her just bathed body, but it didn’t match up to Wolfie’s present: a short, sleeveless, pale blue suede dress from Hermès, held up on one slender shoulder by a silver chain. It was also a reward: Tab hadn’t had a drink for three weeks.
She looked so beautiful, Wolfie could hardly breathe, particularly when she flung her scented arms round his neck, whispering it was the loveliest dress she’d ever had. Isa was looking extremely wintry.
Over at Ogborne’s party, which was taking place around Rannaldini’s swimming-pool, a relay race, crew against cast, was in deafening progress. The crew was tipped to win, because Rannaldini, a powerful swimmer who wanted to show off his rippling muscles and flashy crawl, had graciously joined their side.
‘Bernard looks more like a walrus than ever,’ Chloe whispered to Simone, as the crew were held back by the first assistant director’s ponderous breast-stroke.
Lucy, due to take over from Bernard, quivered on the edge of the pool, dying to hide her white body under the water. Having spent so much time on location in hot countries, however, she swam very well. Spurred on by the sight of Rannaldini, the crew’s last swimmer, poised to plunge into ferocious action, she streaked up the pool to roars of applause.
‘Bravo, Lucy.’ As she lurched forward to touch the brass rail, Rannaldini’s mahogany body flew over her head. Alas, Alpheus, the cast’s last swimmer, had had an Olympic trial and emerged like an otter at the other end, beating an enraged Rannaldini by yards. Vowing to take both Pushy and Cheryl off Alpheus, Rannaldini stormed off to change.
There was a chorus of wolf whistles as Lucy climbed panting out of the pool. ‘Pity you’re always hiding that gorgeous body under a shirt and jeans, Miss Latimer,’ yelled Ogborne, who was now wearing Hermione’s rose-trimmed sunhat on his shaved head. Already drunk, he was doing very well for presents.
Tab gave him a purple and white striped shirt from Harvie & Hudson, confessing that in her drinking days she had bought it four sizes too big for Isa.
‘Thank you,’ said Ogborne, kissing her. ‘Pity you’re off the booze. I was hoping to get a job carrying you home after parties.’
Tab giggled. All the men had gasped when she’d rolled up in Wolfie’s blue suede dress, then sighed in disappointment to see a lowering Isa in her wake. Chloe, however, spotting fresh talent, sidled up to Isa.
Alpheus, the hero of the evening after his winning swim, was having a wonderful time. Pushy, who he’d pleasured earlier in the long grass, was looking very lovely and so was Serena. But no-one outshone Tabitha. He was just edging towards her when he choked on a shrimp vol-au-vent. His wife, Cheryl, had swept in, a vision in cream lace, showing even more boob than Pushy.
‘You never told me you were coming,’ he hissed.
‘You never asked,’ hissed back Cheryl.
‘Meesus Shaw, you ’ave never look more enticing.’ Rannaldini, equally radiant in pale beige linen, clicked his fingers for Clive to bring Cheryl a glass of Krug. ‘Let me show you my garden.’ Then, seeing Serena moving in on him, desperate for a showdown, he grabbed a swaying hunk with fretted black Charles II hair. ‘Serena, my dear, you must remember Granny’s partner, Giuseppe,’ and shoving them together he whisked Cheryl into the shrubbery.
‘Where’s Tristan?’ asked Tab, who wanted him to see her in her beautiful new French dress.
‘Gone to London,’ said Simone. ‘In a way it’s easier when my uncle is not here — the women don’t compete for him, the men with him.’
Tab didn’t think so at all and was very disappointed. ‘That Giuseppe,’ she stormed, turning to Wolfie with all the disapproval of the reformed drinker, ‘has just thrown up in Rannaldini’s delphinium bed and blamed Maria’s paella.’
The party roared on. Ogborne, Sylvestre and even newly married Valentin were trying to get off with Jessica, Sexton’s ravishing new production secretary. Chloe was finding Isa desperately heavy-going.
‘Why are you known as the Black Cobra?’ she asked.
‘Because I’m lethal.’ Isa yawned and looked at his watch: he still hadn’t made his number with Rannaldini.
Neither had Serena. Desperate to win back Rannaldini, she flirted more and more outrageously with Giuseppe, until Granny, knitting quietly away under a walnut tree, wanted to plunge his needles into Rannaldini’s heart for setting the whole thing up.
The evening’s main topic of conversation, however, was George Hungerford’s flying visit, and whether Flora should have entered into the spirit of her part. Most of the crew said they would have been only too happy to grope Pushy. Soon Hermione was loudly putting her oar in.
‘I cannot understand why Flora Seymour made such a fuss. I have often made love to young women on stage.’
‘Can you get me some comps in the front row next time you’re at it?’ called out an excited Sexton, to guffaws all round.
Hermione flounced off. Trust such a common little man to lower the tone.
Emerging stars reflected milkily in the silken green water. The party was growing more raucous. Those with good bodies had started skinny-dipping.
‘Those roses need watering,’ said Valentin, emptying a bottle of red over Hermione’s sunhat, which was still on Ogborne’s head.
‘Where’s Flora?’ asked Simone.
‘Having dinner with Baby at the Pearly Gates,’ said Lucy.
‘No, she isn’t, they’ve just arrived,’ crowed Griselda, as, followed by Trevor the terrier, Flora and Baby drifted hand in hand through the buttercups. ‘I always said those two were an item.’
‘Oh, Grizel, when will you learn?’ sighed Meredith.
Ogborne, dripping red wine, and more delighted to have a stale Pearly Gates Scotch egg from Trevor than a magnum of Moët from Baby and Flora, patted the bemused little dog over and over again.
‘It’s the fort wot counts, Trevor, my lad.’
A snake in the water caused shrieks of horror, particularly when Baby fished it out by its tail and killed it with one crack on the side of the pool. It turned out to be an adder.