Score!

For five hours, he and Wolfie had not drawn breath, not chivvying ambassadors but discussing everyone on the unit, and particularly the polo shoot. They had enjoyed a glorious bitch about Isa and Helen, and Rupert was touched by the way Wolfie’s rather solid face lit up whenever Tab’s name was mentioned. Now they had moved on to Tristan and a large bottle of Armagnac.

‘I’m sure he’s not Papa’s son.’ Wolfie decided against a second piece of Camembert. ‘If Papa had fathered such a genius he could not have resisted boasting about it. Also Papa was half German and I don’t think Tristan’s got any German blood. With him one thinks of the shifting subtlety of composers like Ravel and Debussy rather than heavyweights like Brahms, Beethoven and Bruckner.’

‘Does one?’ yawned Rupert. ‘I wouldn’t know. I suppose Rannaldini could have made up the story about Maxim years ago just to crucify Étienne. He was such a manipulative shit.’

‘He could have,’ reflected Wolfie, filling their glasses. It was a relief to talk about his father objectively: people always pussyfooted round the subject.

‘Why are you actually here?’ asked Rupert suddenly.

‘Because I owe Tristan,’ replied Wolfie. ‘My father fucked him up and I’ve got to find out the truth. And because I adore Tab.’ Wolfie’s drunkenly crossed eyes filled with tears. ‘And I can only compete with Tristan when he’s no longer crippled by this awful stigma. It’s like fighting a man with both hands chained behind his back.

‘Anyway,’ Wolfie smiled slightly, ‘Tab told me not to hang around like a stuck pig, and get Tristan out of prison. And also I really love the guy, he’s so great to work for. You feel like a dry leaf suddenly swept up by the warm south-west wind of his enthusiasm. I couldn’t go back to straight law again.’

‘Hum,’ said Rupert. ‘Did you kill your father?’

‘When Tab told me he’d r-r-raped her I wanted to, but it seemed more important to find out if she was safe.’

Wolfie longed to ask if Rupert had killed his father. He felt the man was quite capable of murder but also had enough sense of fair play that, if he had killed Rannaldini and Beattie, not to want Tristan to take the rap.

Was that why Rupert was so sure Tristan wasn’t guilty? On the other hand, had he come down here to check out the Montignys as suitable in-laws for Tab, or was he merely a commercial animal in search of his director?

‘I know Tabitha loves Tristan,’ Wolfie added wistfully, ‘but I’m in that state of love so well described by Stendhal, “utter despair poisoned still further by a shred of hope”.’

He is a clever boy, thought Rupert, probably too clever for Tab.

‘Tab’s not perfect,’ he told Wolfie. ‘She’s got my terrible temper, she can be an appalling drama queen, and she doesn’t have the greatest sense of humour.’

‘Nor do I,’ sighed Wolfie. ‘People always tell me I’m too serious. I’ve heard all those jokes about slim volumes containing two thousand years of German humour.’

‘I like Krauts,’ said Rupert. ‘I knew a lot on the show-jumping circuit — good blokes, feet on the ground but knew how to party.’

Getting up, he wandered unsteadily over to the window, unzipped his flies, peed into the garden, causing scuffling and angry mewings from Madame’s two cats, and only just zipped up in time as a besotted Madame returned with an even more ancient bottle of brandy. If Monsieur Campbell-Black would come into the back room, Tristan’s arrest was on the late-night news.

Clips were being shown of Valhalla, of Rannaldini conducting, of Tristan arriving at the police station and of Étienne in a big straw hat painting in the château gardens. When Hermione appeared, opening her big eyes and saying she had every confidence because her very good friends Chief Constable Swallow, Rupert Campbell-Black and Sexton Kemp were now at the helm, Rupert and Wolfie collapsed with howls of drunken laughter.

‘I’m suffering from Dutch Helm Disease,’ said Rupert, pretending to fall over.

‘Poor old Tristan, but bloody good publicity,’ said Wolfie wiping his eyes.

‘Christ, she’s beautiful,’ sighed Rupert, as Claudine Lauzerte was shown talking to Tristan on the set of The Lily in the Valley.

‘Très jolie, très chic,’ agreed Madame.

‘Oscar’s lighting helped,’ said Wolfie quickly. ‘Tab’s much more beautiful.’

‘So’s Taggie,’ admitted Rupert. ‘Even so, I wouldn’t mind having Madame Lauzerte as my luxury on Desert Island Discs.’

‘Thank you,’ said Wolfie, as Madame filled up his glass. ‘I should like to pick up the tab on this,’ he told Rupert firmly. ‘I should like to pick up Tab any time,’ he added.

Perhaps he did have a sense of humour after all.

‘You have a very charming son,’ Madame told Rupert skittishly. ‘It is rare for fathers and sons to get on so well.’

‘Very,’ agreed Rupert, then turning to Wolfie, ‘If Tristan had really loved Tab, he wouldn’t have backed off after a one-night stand. I don’t believe in that kind of sacrifice.’