Rivals by Jilly Cooper Page B

Lord-Lieutenant now. For someone so mad about opera, she had no sense of rhythm. Gyrating three feet apart, they looked like two ostriches on hot bricks.
        'Red red wine,' sang the Lord-Lieutenant over and over again, which were the only words he knew.
        As the tempo speeded up, Valerie took the floor with Freddie, showing off her 'Come Dancing' skills, fishtailing, telemarquing, reversing, correcting Freddie sharply whenever he made a mistake. Freddie, his little black shoes twinkling, laughed and took it in good part.
        'What on earth did you find to say to James Vereker's wife?' asked Valerie, as the band paused for a moment. 'What a mess, can't have combed her hair for weeks, and that fraightful gown.'
        'Nice lady,' said Freddie firmly. 'I liked her a lot.'
        Valerie gazed at Freddie as uncomprehendingly as Lizzie had gazed at James when, earlier, he'd called Valerie 'a poppet'.
        'And that new wife of Paul Stratton's looks a handful,' she went on.
        Freddie refrained from saying he'd love to have his hands full of Sarah Stratton.
        Paul and Sarah were dancing together now. He was holding her close, his hands moving over her flawless gold back, as if testing she were real. Perhaps she'd made a special effort to look particularly stunning tonight, thought Lizzie, knowing Winifred was such a chum of Monica's.
        Tony devoted the rest of the evening to wooing Freddie, but he allowed himself the treat of a dance with Sarah. She was really gorgeous, he decided. One could understand exactly why Paul let his heart rule his very swollen head and ditched Winifred, but would he ever hold Sarah? She had obviously fallen in love with Paul because he was powerful and unobtainable. Now his career had taken a nose dive in the party and he'd been sacked from the Cabinet, he was neither of these things. Nervous of losing his seat at the next election, he kept angling for Tony to offer him an executive directorship on the Corinium Board.
        But Paul shouldn't have patronized Tony in the past. How much more amusing, thought Tony, to employ Paul's new wife instead. Holding her dazzlingly full and exciting body, breathing in the scent of her thickly piled-up blonde hair, trying not to gaze too openly at the beautiful gold breasts, Tony felt the stirrings of lust. If she was any good, she'd be perfect to present the new late night show. That would really put Paul in a tizz.
        'It's terribly exciting about Declan,' said Sarah. 'I'm such a fan. Those programmes are like Rembrandts. Did you see the one on Placido Domingo?'
        'You must come and meet him as soon as they move in,' said Tony. 'You're going to be a distinct asset to Gloucestershire.' Suddenly Sarah looked terribly young. Even in the dim light Tony could see she was blushing.
        'It was angelic of you to ask us tonight, knowing what friends you were, particularly your wife, of Winifred's. Paul's friends haven't been exactly friendly. They think I've screwed up Paul's career.'
        Tony gave a piratical smile. All he needs between his teeth is a cutlass, thought Sarah.
        'You've given Paul a cast-iron excuse not to be Prime Minister,' he said. 'He'd never have made it. He has neither the bottle nor the conviction.'
        'You're speaking of the man I love,' said Sarah. 'I'm sorry.' Tony didn't sound it. 'I'm going to tell James Vereker to interview you for our new "Behind Every Famous
        Man" series.'
        Sarah smiled, showing very small, white, even teeth.
        'You'd do better to interview Valerie. She drives poor Fred-Fred on with a pitchfork.'
        'Probably spent half the day reading etiquette books on the correct way to hold your pitchfork,' said Tony.
        Back at the table, the waiter poured more Krug, but Tony put a hand over his glass.
        'I'm driving to London after this,' he said. 'We're announcing Declan's appointment tomorrow, so all hell's