‘I saw Freddie bare,’ repeated Ellie.

‘I heard you,’ said James patiently. ‘Is it a new cartoon?’

‘No — Freddie bare. He was on the bed with Mummy. They were struggling.’

James put down his spoon. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I wanted a drink of water, so I went into Mummy’s room. Freddie and Mummy were in bed. Freddie was bare, but Mummy was wearing long socks with her bottom hanging out.’

James went very red in the face.

‘Are you trying to tell me that Mummy was in bed with someone — er — someone who wasn’t Daddy?’

‘Yes,’ beamed Ellie. ‘Freddie with the big tummy. He’s nice, he brings us Smarties.’

‘You’re not to make up wicked fibs,’ said James furiously. ‘Jilly!’ he yelled for the dependable boot. ‘It’s time the children went to school.’

Lizzie had the effrontery to giggle when James confronted her.

‘It’s not funny,’ thundered James.

‘No, it isn’t. Oh dear, I hope the poor darling isn’t totally put off sex for life.’

‘Is that all you can say? What about me?’

‘Nothing would put you off sex for life,’ said Lizzie.

‘Stop being frivolous. I cannot believe you’d cheat on me with that dreadful, overweight, common little man.’

‘Freddie is a very nice man,’ said Lizzie.

‘He’s totally dishonourable and so are you.’

‘What about all your affairs?’

‘They’re finished,’ said James sanctimoniously. ‘And being in the media one is inevitably the target of certain attentions. Anyway, it’s different for men.’

‘Don’t blame Freddie then.’

‘Freddie,’ said James, working himself up into a fury, ‘is a member of the rival consortium. I feel utterly betrayed. It’s like fraternizing in the war.’

‘Well, I’m not having my head shaved,’ screamed Lizzie.

‘And what’s this about wearing long socks and your bottom hanging out?’

Lizzie giggled again. ‘It must have been my fishnet stockings and my corset.’

‘You dress up like a prostitute! Whatever for?’

‘To excite him,’ said Lizzie simply.

‘You never bothered to do that for me,’ said James indignantly.

Lizzie watched James catch sight of himself in the mirror. Smoothing his hair, he composed his features into an expression suitable for a wronged husband. He’s just the wrong husband, she thought.

‘I suppose you realize,’ said James nastily, ‘Freddie’s only been running after you to worm Corinium secrets out of you. I shall have to tell Tony of course. We have to report anything suspicious. He’ll be delighted to have something on Mr Squeaky Clean at last. I shan’t blame you. I’ll say being somewhat unsophisticated and unused to male attention, you fell for it.’

‘I’ve heard enough,’ said Lizzie furiously. ‘Freddie is the most honourable man I’ve ever met. After you junked Sarah, because Tony ordered you to clean up your marital act, she went screaming round to Rupert and told him everything.’

James winced.

‘Rupert was all set to give the story straight to the News of the World. It would have been a goody: “Corinium stud ordered to give up mistress by boss in order to present image of idyllic marriage to viewers and IBA.” There were plenty of Corinium people, including Sarah, who’d have enjoyed shopping you to the press. And the whole thing would have been a lovely black blot on Corinium’s escutcheon. But Freddie wouldn’t let Rupert do it. Unlike Tony, he feels that sort of thing is below the belt. He didn’t want mine, or the children’s names, dragged in; said it wasn’t fair having them branded as the offspring of an adulterer — and a pratt,’ she added as an afterthought.

‘You uncaring bitch,’ spluttered James.

‘And what is more,’ continued Lizzie coldly, ‘if you breathe a word about me and Freddie to anyone, I’m leaving you, and then your silly marriage programme’s going to look even sillier.’

The moment James left the house, Lizzie burst into tears. She was still crying when J illy the dependable boot got back from the school run. In the end Lizzie told her the whole story.

‘I’d no idea poor darling Ellie came into our bedroom that night.’

‘She’d have screamed if she’d been frightened,’ said Jilly comfortingly. ‘She was perfectly happy on the way to school on Monday; only interested in whether the lake would be frozen enough to slide on.’

She picked up a table which James had knocked over as he rushed from the room.

‘If it comes to a split, I’d like to stay with you. You’re the best boss I’ve ever had, and I love the kids. I don’t mind taking a cut in salary if things get hard. There, there, there’s no need to start crying again.’

Freddie was just going into a board meeting when Lizzie rang him.

‘I’ll come and get you.’

‘No, no,’ said Lizzie. ‘We’ve got to lie low. I don’t want to give Tony any ammunition at this stage. Venturer doesn’t need it, and think of Valerie, Sharon and Wayne. We’ll just have to play safe and not see each other till after 15th December.’

‘That’s over a fortnight,’ said Freddie aghast.

‘Well, we must try, anyway.’

Freddie was utterly distracted at the meeting. When an outside director congratulated him on the new billion-pound deal with the Japs, he looked blank. When another informed him that the ex-Chairman, General Walters, had died of a heart attack, Freddie said, ‘Triffic news. Keep up the good work!’

Outside in the beautifully kept company gardens, the sun, like a huge red Christmas bauble, was setting down the side of a large yew tree. Freddie shivered at the thought that the sun might be setting on his relationship with Lizzie. Then one of his secretaries summoned him from the meeting. There was a call, she said, on his very, very, very private line whose number was only known to Lizzie — and now the private detective. It was the latter ringing: he’d seen Tony and Cameron go into the Royal Garden Hotel early that afternoon. They’d spent ninety minutes in the Residents’ Lounge. He’d walked through twice and there’d been no one else there.

Freddie’s heart sank. He told the detective to keep on tailing Tony and immediately rang Declan, who was utterly shattered. They both decided, however, that if Cameron had spilled any more beans, it was too late to muzzle Tony now. If, as was just possible, she hadn’t, she was still too important a trump card with the IBA to be frightened off.

They decided to wait until Rupert returned from Rome tomorrow before tackling her.

Next morning, after a restless night, Declan woke up to more snow, and, not wishing to risk either car, walked down to the village shop to get the papers. Yesterday at The Priory, they’d had a power cut and frozen pipes. Today the washing machine and the tumble dryer were kaput, and it was warmer out than in. Three-foot icicles hung from the faulty gutters. The evergreens lining the drive were bent double by the snow. Every blade of grass edging the road was rimed with frost and burned with a white heat of its own.

The traffic was crawling so slowly that Declan didn’t bother to put the dogs on leads. Gertrude, a bit lame from the hard ground, still rushed into every cottage front garden and barked at the snowmen. Claudius, encountering his first snow this year, was wild with excitement, plunging into drifts, leaping to catch the snowballs Declan hurled for him. As Declan passed the white church, he sent up a prayer that Venturer might win. On such a beautiful day, one couldn’t fail to be optimistic. But as he walked into the village shop Mr Banks, who was a great newspaper reader, waved The Times.

‘Lord Baddingham’s been blowing his own trumpet again.’

Declan felt his throat go dry, his stomach churned.

‘Page five,’ went on Mr Banks, handing the paper to Declan.

‘Baddingham Set for Victory,’ said the headline. There was a very nice picture, taken from above and at a slight angle to reduce the heavy jowl. Tony was smiling and showing excellent teeth. The interview had been written by a well-known financial journalist.

As he was so confident of retaining the franchise, Tony had told him, he was only too happy to reveal Corinium’s plans for next year. They were very happy to welcome three new directors on to the Board, all production people, including Ailie Bristoe, who’d just spent three years in Hollywood and who would be Director of Programmes. They were also very excited about their new networked thirteen-part series on marriage which, Tony predicted, would turn James and Lizzie Vereker into big stars.

It was safe enough stuff. Declan sat down on the snow-covered window-ledge outside the shop, obscuring the postcard advertisements for lost gerbils, daily women and secondhand carrycots in the window.

Corinium, he read on, had also made arrangements with the Royal Shakespeare to televise special productions of whatever Shakespeare plays children in the area would be taking for O-and A-levels each year. Then they would offer the videos for sale. They’d also be filming Johnny Friedlander’s Hamlet, which had been postponed until the summer.

Shit, thought Declan in horror, those were both Cameron’s ideas. But most exciting of all, he read on, was that Corinium had signed up a new play by Stroud-born playwright, Dermot MacBride, with an option on the second. There followed a lot of guff about MacBride’s towering genius, and how happy Tony was to welcome this lost son of Gloucestershire back into the fold.

‘We paid a lot for MacBride,’ Tony had admitted.

But, as the financial journalist pointed out, the publicity value alone would be worth thousands of pounds to Corinium.

‘Please don’t obscure my advertisement,’ said a shrill voice. ‘I’ll never get a cleaner that way.’