Free Rivals by Jilly Cooper Page B

every item. She was now sitting next to Paul Stratton, whose recent speech in the House on the proposed Cotchester by-pass she had learnt almost by heart. But Paul was less flattered by her obvious homework than James. He, like Monica, was surreptitiously watching his wife flirting with Bas, and experiencing a tightness round his heart, a jealousy never felt when he was married to Winifred.
    Lizzie’s and Freddie’s conversation had noisily progressed to hunting.
    ‘It was Rupert who got me going,’ said Freddie. ‘Put me up on a really quiet ’orse last March. I was cubbing by August, and huntin’ by November.’
    ‘Weren’t you terrified?’ asked Lizzie in awe.
    ‘I needed three ports and lemons to get me on to the ’orse for the opening meet, I can tell you. But I reckoned if I fell orf I’d bounce anyway.’ He roared with laughter again. ‘I’m going to take up shootin’ next.’
    Huge oval silver plates of roast beef were now coming round.
    ‘How’s Rupert getting on with Beattie Johnson?’ asked Lizzie, helping herself.
    Freddie shrugged. ‘Not very well. She keeps ’earing wedding bells, and we all know Rupe’s tone-deaf. He said the other day he fort the relationship would last till Cheltenham.’
    Lizzie giggled. ‘What a typically Rupert remark. Has she finished ghosting his memoirs yet?’
    ‘Probably providing material for the last chapter at the moment,’ said Freddie. Digging a serving spoon into a creamy mass of potato dauphinoise, he gave a big helping to Lizzie, and was just helping himself when Valerie called sharply down the table, ‘No tatties, Fred-Fred.’
    ‘It’s Friday,’ said Freddie, the Cockney accent wheedling, as the spoon edged towards his plate.
    ‘No tatties, I said.’ Valerie’s voice was pure steel.
    Freddie put back the potatoes.
    Looking across at Lizzie, Sarah Stratton gave her a ghost of a wink.
    ‘You can have my roll, Fred-Fred,’ she said, lobbing it across the table to him.
    Valerie opened her rosebud mouth and shut it again. She knew one must behave like a lady at all times, and not brawl with one’s hubby in public. Then she suddenly noticed that James, who’d ground to a halt with Monica, was looking very put out.
    ‘What’s your programme about on Monday?’ Valerie asked him across the table.
    Paul Stratton, on Monica’s left, seized his opportunity. Turning to her, he said in a low voice, ‘It’s awfully good of you to take Sarah under your wing this evening. I know how close you were to Winifred.’
    Monica almost choked on her roast beef. She didn’t want to talk about Winifred.
    ‘It meant so much to Sarah,’ went on Paul. ‘She was so worried about coming tonight.’
    She doesn’t look worried now, thought Monica, watching Sarah laughing up at Bas.
    ‘I felt guilty at the time,’ said Paul rather heartily. ‘But we are all sinners, are we not? What happened to Sarah and me was part of a loving relationship. All sides behaved with dignity. I feel I can now walk down Cotchester High Street with my head held high.’
    Do you indeed, thought Monica furiously.
    ‘But one can’t destroy something that’s lasted twenty-five years over-night,’ said Paul, spearing a piece of Yorkshire pudding. ‘I still miss Win and the girls, particularly when I see old friends like you and Tony.’
    He wants my sympathy, thought Monica incredulously. He’s utterly destroyed my best friend, and he wants me to feel sorry for him.
    ‘Do you correspond with Win?’ asked Paul.
    Fortunately deliverance appeared in the form of one of the hall porters, who whispered a message in Monica’s ear.
    ‘Thank you so much,’ she said, and banging the table with her spoon, yelled down to Tony at the other end, ‘That was a message from Rupert. He can’t make it after all. Something urgent has come up.’
    ‘Probably Rupert’s cock,’ said Lizzie idly, earning herself a thunderous look of disapproval from James.
    ‘Pity,’ said Sarah lightly. ‘I