Party Games (30 page)

‘Did you have to talk to her that way?’ she asked.

‘Who?’

‘Valentina. You really humiliated her.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t have you down as a fan.’

‘I’m not.’ She looked out of the window. ‘I just thought you could have handled it better.’

Fleur heard him sigh. ‘Valentina’s big enough to look after herself. I only told her the truth. If she doesn’t get a handle on her drugs consumption, her modelling career is going down the pan. She’s pissed off enough people already.’

‘Wow,’ she said softly. ‘I wouldn’t want to be one of your enemies.’

They continued back towards Beeversham. Beau put an album on that she didn’t recognize and turned it up, loud. She sat beside him, feeling drunk and confused. He hadn’t touched her all night, but she was sure there was chemistry. The image she suddenly had of Beau’s big, bronzed body pressing down on hers made her stomach lurch.

The car zoomed through a deserted Beeversham and up into the valley. She glanced at his face again, but his eyes were still fixed ahead on the road.

The entrance gates for Ridings were coming up. She was crushed with disappointment as the car drove past. He was going to take her straight home, but she didn’t want that. She wanted him to take her in his arms and have his way with her …

‘Stop the car!’ she cried. ‘Stop now!’

The Mustang screeched to a halt in the middle of the road. ‘What the hell?’ Beau exclaimed. ‘Are you OK?’

She lunged clumsily at him. ‘Take me back to yours and make love to me!’

‘Woah!’ He held Fleur back with iron wrists.

‘Don’t you want me?’ she asked breathlessly.

‘Sweetheart.’ Very gently, he placed her hands back in her lap.

‘But isn’t this what you want?’ she stammered. ‘The clothes, the helicopter, I thought that was you seducing me.’

‘Fleur. Jesus.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I just thought you needed a nice night out.’

‘You felt sorry for me?’ she said in horror.

‘Of course not!’

Mortified, she shrank against the window. ‘Take me home please,’ she said tightly.

The rest of the journey passed in excruciating silence. Fleur couldn’t even look at him. She had the door open before the car had even stopped.

‘Thank you for a nice evening,’ she said stiffly.

‘Fleur, wait,’ he said, but she was already sprinting across the yard towards the house.

Catherine’s masterclass in political PR was not a great success. Victoria Henley-Coddington from Conservative Party Central Campaign Headquarters rocked up at the Crescent in an ancient old Saab. Refusing offers of drink and food, she’d chain-smoked out of the patio door whilst laying down the law.

‘You’re one of us now,’ she told Catherine. ‘The press are out to destroy you, no matter what. Your worst nightmare is being misquoted; don’t even take a breath without having a tape recorder on you. It’s the best defence against them that you have.’

‘You make it sound like I’m going into battle,’ Catherine joked.

Victoria didn’t smile. ‘What else do you think this is?’

They moved on to something called ‘opposition research’.

‘It’s basically a nice way of describing the dirt people can dig up about you, yah?’ Victoria said. ‘Of course, we’re at an advantage in that everyone knows your
past, but are there any more skeletons lurking in your closet?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Catherine said, desperately thinking. Parking tickets didn’t count, did they?

‘You kiss goodbye to any dignity or privacy when you enter politics,’ Victoria barked. ‘What you love, who you hate, how you take your coffee, where you shop, even what position you have sex in the morning; it’s all up for grabs.’ She plucked at a split fingernail for the tenth time in as many minutes. ‘You think you can handle that, Catherine, yah?’

Catherine gulped. ‘Yah. I mean, yeah.’

Her trepidation increased when she phoned Nadia Cohen that evening, the straight-talking Tory MP for West Icklesford. It was hard to hear Nadia over the crying in the background.

‘I’ve had to miss parents’ evening for the third time this year. My kids’ teachers are on the verge of calling social services.’ She broke off to screech at someone. ‘No, Theo! The RED one!’

‘Sorry about that,’ she said, coming back on the phone. ‘Where were we?’

‘Your workload.’ Catherine was starting to feel dizzy.

‘Yup, it’s full-on. I’m on call twenty-four seven and my constituents are pretty demanding.’ Nadia laughed. ‘Westminster is like a holiday camp in comparison!’

Catherine didn’t say anything.

‘You married?’ Nadia asked.

‘Er, yes.’

‘Uh-oh, that won’t last long! Most don’t.’

‘I’m hoping mine will,’ Catherine said weakly.

‘That’s what I said, ha ha! Mind you, it’s not as if I miss it. I haven’t got time to go to the loo these days, let alone have a love life.’

That won’t last long
. Nadia’s words were chiming through Catherine’s head as she climbed up the steps of Beeversham’s Conservative Association the next morning. Pausing at the top, Catherine had a strong desire to flee to Bar 47 and seek solace in a large glass of wine. There was no such escape. Taking a deep breath, she went in.

The entrance hall had a faded grandeur and the musty air of a place not used very often. A large board was on one wall, tacked up with old election posters and memos from as far back as 2003. On the other wall was a grim portrait of a stern man in black with white whiskers. His expression was thunderous, as if to say,
You’ve got no right to be here
.

There were no signs of life around the place. She was getting out her phone to call Felix when a door opened at the end of the corridor and he stuck his head out. ‘Ah, there you are, Catherine.’

‘Hi, Felix. Sorry if I’m late.’

‘Not at all, we’re early.’ He came to guide her back down the corridor. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Pretty nervous,’ she confessed.

‘Nothing to be nervous about,’ he reassured. ‘Come in, everyone’s looking forward to meeting you.’

His smile was slightly strained. Her nerves went into overdrive.

The meeting room had the same stale air as the entrance, fused with the woody scent of cigar smoke.
Catherine looked at the group of men sitting round the leather-topped table.

‘Gentlemen, I have the great pleasure of introducing Catherine Connor,’ Felix told them.

‘Hello, everyone,’ she said brightly. Two of the faces were vaguely familiar, but it was common knowledge that most members of Beeversham’s Conservative Association liked to spend more time on the golf course than anywhere else.

Felix gestured to the stiff, upright man on his right. ‘This is Charles Knatchbull, our long-standing secretary and one-time RAF wing commander.’

‘Three Squadron,’ Charles boomed, crushing Catherine’s hand in his grip. He had the kind of whiskers not seen since Lord Cardigan had led the Charge of the Light Brigade at the Battle of Balaclava.

‘And this is Aubrey Taunton-Brown, our very efficient treasurer.’

Aubrey was younger than the others, the pink Pringle sweater clashing horribly with his ginger comb-over. ‘Delighted,’ he said silkily. ‘I was wondering when we’d be meeting the great saviour of the Conservative Party.’

She looked at his small eyes and mean mouth and knew instantly they’d be enemies.

Felix pulled out a chair for her before carrying on with the introductions. ‘Our deputy chairman is recovering from a stroke, so this is pretty much it. Aside from our legion of gallant helpers, of course. Some of them are coming down to meet you here afterwards.’

Charles Knatchbull was staring at her as if she’d just fallen off a passing spacecraft. ‘You really are a woman?’

‘Last time I looked in the mirror,’ she said dryly.

‘As you know, I’m electing Catherine to run as our candidate,’ Felix said. ‘We’ve got two weeks to get her ready and nail our campaign. The PM has pledged us his support, and will be following with close interest.’

‘Extraordinary,’ Aubrey Taunton-Brown murmured.

Felix shot him a look. ‘Of course, Catherine can count on our full support here.’

‘Our full support,’ Aubrey said. ‘I’m extremely keen to hear your policies.’

This was her chance to win them over. She cleared her throat. ‘Obviously I’ll be going big on planning laws and Ye Olde Worlde.’

‘As will everyone,’ Aubrey told her. ‘You can’t risk getting stuck on a single issue.’

‘That’s a fair point,’ she said. ‘I know the Conservatives are big on stuff like law and order, but I want to appeal to a wider spectrum. I guess you already know my history with domestic violence charities.’

From the looks she was getting she might as well have been talking in Mandarin. ‘I also want to go big on youth unemployment,’ she said, ploughing on. ‘I don’t know if you’ve heard of Soirée Sponsors, the charity I started up for kids in inner cities.’

‘I can’t imagine you’ll find many of those ASBO hoodies round here.’ Aubrey smiled nastily at her.

‘Young people can be unemployed anywhere,’ she smiled back. ‘Then there’re the issues facing women in the workplace. Under this current government the pay gap between the sexes is nearly 20 per cent and men still dominate at boardroom level. It’s crazy we’re putting up with such sexism in this day and age.’ We also
need to introduce more flexi-hours, decent maternity packages and affordable childcare.’

‘Oh God.’ Charles groaned. ‘We’ve got ourselves a bloody feminist.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ she asked nicely.

‘You’ll be chuntering on about women’s rights the whole time! What about the rights of us men?’

Felix stepped in. ‘I think what Catherine is trying to say is that as well as promoting our core policies she’s keen to expand on certain areas of society that, historically, we haven’t had the strongest rapport with. Isn’t that right, Catherine?’

She gave him a relieved smile.

‘You’ll be laughed out of town,’ Aubrey sniffed. ‘People don’t care about that kind of stuff round here. You need to be hot on council tax and inheritance tax; the farmers will expect you to know the price of a tonne of wheat. Not whether some yobbo is rewarded for throwing a brick through someone else’s window.’

‘I think that’s a little unfair,’ she said icily.

Aubrey examined a polished fingernail. ‘Not to me.’

‘I thought that went very well,’ Felix said afterwards.

‘It was a disaster,’ Catherine wailed. ‘Aubrey hates me.’
He’s a disgusting chauvanistic dinosaur
, she wanted to add.

‘Aubrey just takes a bit of time to come round. He was big chums with Jonty, believes things should be done a certain way.’ Felix looked doubtful. ‘Although to be honest with you, I’m not sure he’s capable of accepting a female candidate.’

She sighed. ‘Remind me again. What the hell am I doing here?’

‘Don’t give up at the first hurdle,’ he told her. ‘Now come along. There’re some people I want you to meet.’

Catherine followed him through another door into a long, rather gloomy office. There was a dusty computer in the corner and piles of paperwork everywhere.

‘Catherine, this is Clive and Kitty Anderson.’

Neither of them could have been more than five foot tall. Despite the heat of the day, they were both wearing matching windbreakers and round Harry Potter-style glasses. They could have been anything between thirty and seventy; it was impossible to tell.

‘Delighted to meet you,’ Clive squeaked.

Kitty shook her hand enthusiastically. ‘I loved
Cathy: My Story
. I cried all the way through.’

Clive nodded. ‘Kept me up past half past nine every night for a week.’

‘Clive and Kitty will be your eyes and ears,’ Felix told Catherine. ‘I’ll be keeping the home fires burning, but the campaigners are the ones who are with you every day, when you’re out tramping the streets. They’re up at five a.m. with you, and out until eleven p.m., even later sometimes. They’re an integral part of your team.’

‘We love a by-election!’ Clive piped up.

‘For the council elections we delivered over twenty thousand leaflets!’ Kitty said.

‘Hand-delivered,’ Clive said proudly.

Catherine looked at this funny bespectacled pair who barely reached her shoulder. After the horror of Audrey and co., her saviours had come in the most unlikely of forms.

Fleur was still utterly mortified. Her botched seduction of Beau was on a torturous loop in her mind. He had tried ringing a few times, but she hadn’t picked up. How could she have misjudged the situation so badly?
I offered myself on a plate to Beau Rainford and he didn’t want me
. Fleur froze with horror every time she thought about it. She never wanted to see him ever again.

A black mood hung over the house. Robert Blackwater had shut himself away in his study and wouldn’t even come out for meals, let alone to help her with the farm. She was at the end of her tether. Briefly, she’d pondered ringing Felix, but he had enough going on with the election. She didn’t feel like she could go to her sister – Claire had her own life. And Fleur was still too proud to accept Beau’s offer of rehab, especially now. Besides, she knew there was no way her dad would ever go along with it.

I’m at the helm of a sinking ship
, she thought desperately. The rocks – the repercussions if they didn’t meet the bank-loan deadline – were looming in the distance.

The clock told her it was dinner time. She wandered listlessly over to the fridge. A tub of Flora and some dehydrated cheddar looked back at her. She didn’t have much of an appetite, anyway.

A bat swooped across the window. She looked up, the dogs were quiet tonight. Normally she’d hear them snuffling round, and pulling at their chains.

Oh shit
. Had she remembered to put their chains on? She was losing it. She shut the fridge and rushed outside.

‘Dogs?’ She whistled. ‘Tinker? Bess?’

Tinker came trotting out of one of the sheds. ‘There you are, boy,’ she said. ‘Where’s your sister?’

The dog sat on its haunches as if to say,
Don’t ask me
.

The track outside the yard was empty. ‘Bollocks,’ she muttered. Bess was a terror when it came to going off.