Rivals by Jilly Cooper

boiling bath. Pretty little thing too. He'd always been nervous Archie might turn out a bit AC/DC. Having a very dominant but adoring mother didn't help, but he was pleased to see Archie following in his father's footsteps. Tony was extremely fond of his elder son. He was frying eggs and bacon when Archie returned very sheepishly.
        Having bawled him out for his disgraceful behaviour, Tony said, 'Where the hell does your housemaster think you are?"
        'In bed, I suppose.'
        'But not whose. How old is she?'
        'Sixteen.'
        'Over age, thank Christ. If you ever use Mummy's bed again, I'll disinherit you. I hope you took precautions.'
        'We did,' mumbled Archie. 'I'm really sorry. We were going to change the sheets.'
        Think how upset Mummy would have been.'
        'We don't have to tell her, do we?' Archie's round face turned pale.
        Thinking he would also have some very fast explaining to do if Monica discovered he hadn't reached the flat until eight o'clock, Tony agreed that they didn't.
        'But don't let it happen again. You've bloody well got to pass your O-levels. You know how important qualifications are. Now I suppose you expect me to give you breakfast?'

8
        
        Six months later, on the wettest August day for fifty years, Declan O'Hara moved into Penscombe Priory to the feverish excitement of the entire county. It rained so hard that on 'Cotswold Round-Up' James Vereker caringly warned his viewers about flooding on the Cotchester-Penscombe road. But perhaps, being Irish, reflected Lizzie Vereker the next morning, the rain made Declan and his family feel more at home.
        Lizzie's children had gone out to friends for the day; her daily Mrs Makepiece was due later; Ortrud, the nanny who had replaced Birgitta in April, was upstairs no doubt writing about James in her diary. Lizzie had a rare clear day to work. But she was halfway through and very bored with her novel. Outside the downpour had given way to brilliant sunshine and delphinium-blue skies. From her study Lizzie could see the keys on the sycamore already turning coral and yellow leaves flecking the huge weeping willow which blocked her view of the lake. There wouldn't be many more beautiful days this year, reflected Lizzie. Overcome by restlessness and curiosity, she decided to walk up the valley and drop in on the O'Haras. As a moving-in present she would take them some bantams' eggs and the bottle of champagne an adoring fan had given James yesterday.
        The trees in the wood that marked the beginning of Rupert's land were so blackly bowed down with rain that it
        was like walking through a dripping tunnel. Emerging, Lizzie wandered up the meadows closely cropped by Rupert's horses. In the opposite direction thundered the Frogsmore stream, which ran along the bottom of the valley, hurtling over mossy stones, twisting round fallen logs, shrugging off the caress of hanging forget-me-nots and pink campion, and occasionally disappearing altogether into a cavern of bramble and briar.
        Coming in the other direction was Mrs Makepiece, who worked mornings for the unspeakable Valerie Jones and who was bursting with gossip. The four Pickfords" vans bearing the O'Haras' belongings had nearly got stuck on Chalford Hill, she told Lizzie, and Declan's son well,
        the image of Declan, anyway had
        been sighted in the village shop, asking for whisky, chocolate biscuits, toilet paper and lightbulbs, and was quite the handsomest young man anyone had seen in Penscombe since Rupert Campbell-Black was a lad.
        'Will they be bringing their own staff from London?' asked Mrs Makepiece wistfully, thinking it would be much more fun working for Mrs O'Hara, who probably paid London prices and wouldn't slave-drive like Valerie Jones. Lizzie said she didn't know. Mrs Makepiece was an ace cleaner, a 'treasure'. Even the exacting Valerie Jones admitted it. Annexing