Free Rivals by Jilly Cooper

put one beside my husband,’ said Lizzie.
    ‘Who’s he?’
    ‘James Vereker.’
    ‘We were just about to.’ They all collapsed with laughter.
    ‘Have some more fizz,’ yelled Monica Baddingham in her raucous voice, arriving with a jug which contained almost straight orange juice now. ‘I can’t think what’s happened to Rupert. We’ll have to leave in a sec, or we’ll be late for dinner.’ She drifted off.
    ‘Do we dare put an asterisk by Tony’s name?’ said one of the young bloods.
    ‘Of course,’ said the other, seizing the Pentel.
    Giggling, Lizzie glanced across the room to see James beckoning imperiously.
    He’s had enough of Mrs Jones, so he wants to palm her off on me and press the flesh, thought Lizzie.
    Ignoring James, she turned back to the seating plan. Next minute James had crossed the room and seized her wrist.
    ‘May I borrow her?’ he asked coldly.
    ‘Of course,’ said the young bloods, ‘as long as you bring her straight back.’
    James dragged Lizzie away. ‘Do pay attention when I signal.’
    ‘I was having a nice time.’
    ‘This is work,’ hissed James. ‘I want you to meet Valerie Jones. She’s opening a boutique in Cotchester next month. You must go and buy something. ‘
    Never, never, thought Lizzie sulkily, if she sells dresses like that blue thing she’s wearing.
    ‘Lizzie writes novels,’ James told Valerie Jones, as if to explain his wife’s scruffy appearance.
    ‘I’d laike to wraite novels if I had the taime,’ said Valerie Jones, in an incredibly elocuted voice, ‘but Ay’m so busy with the boutique and the kids and moving in and we do have to entertain a lot. People are always saying, You should wraite a book, Mrs Jones, you’ve had such a fascinating laife.’
    She screwed her face up in what she obviously thought was a fascinating smile.
    Close up, Lizzie noticed that Valerie Jones had very clean nails, perfectly shaved armpits and the very white eyeballs of the non-reader and non-drinker. She was tiny and very pretty in a doll-like way, but Lizzie suddenly understood the expression: blue with cold. Valerie’s china-blue eyes were the coldest she’d ever seen. The pink and white skin also concealed the rhinoceros hide of the relentless social climber.
    ‘I’ll leave you girls to get acquainted,’ said James. ‘Better have a word with Paul Stratton, or he’ll think I’m avoiding him. We must have a dance later,’ he added admiringly to Valerie. ‘I bet you’re as light as thistledown.’
    ‘Seven stone on the scales this morning,’ simpered Valerie.
    And six-and-a-half of that’s ego, thought Lizzie. ‘Where d’you live?’ she asked.
    ‘At Whychey,’ said Valerie.
    ‘Quite near us,’ said Lizzie. ‘We’re at Penscombe.’
    But Valerie wasn’t remotely interested in where Lizzie lived.
    ‘And only quarter of an hour from the boutique, so Ay can rush down there, if there’s any craysis, or a special client comes in. They always ask for me.’ Valerie put her head on one side. ‘Ay don’t know why. Ay think Ay tell people the truth. Ay mean, what is the point of selling somebody a gown that doesn’t suit them? It’s such a bad advertisement for the boutique.’
    ‘Which house in Whychey?’ asked Lizzie.
    ‘Oh it’s lovely; Elizabethan,’ said Valerie. ‘We had to do an awful lot though, ripping out all that horrid dark panelling.’ Lizzie winced. ‘And of course we’ve completely re-landscaped the garden, but it’ll be a year or two before Green Lawns is the paradise we want.’
    Lizzie looked puzzled. ‘The only Elizabethan house I know in Whychey is Bottom Hollow Court.’
    ‘We changed the name,’ said Valerie. ‘We thought Green Lawns sounded prettier.’
    ‘Where did you live before?’
    ‘Cheam,’ said Valerie, with the flourish of one saying Windsor Castle. ‘We never thought we’d find anywhere as perfect as Cheam. All our help broke down and crayed when we left. But Gloucestershire has so much to