To add to Tony’s apoplexy, Rupert conducted the entire campaign in a blue Venturer T-shirt and twice appeared similarly clad on ‘Cotswold Round-Up’, and, even worse, with huge ‘Support Venturer’ posters on the Tory party van behind him.

Tony was quoted as saying the Venturer T-shirts had been chosen entirely by Rupert to match his blue eyes, and that no doubt the boy shading his forehead on the front symbolized all those Gloucestershire husbands trying to see where Rupert had hidden their wives. Rupert cracked back that everyone knew who the Corinium Ram was supposed to symbolize.

And so the mudslinging went on, with the local press and radio stations uniformly backing Corinium, but the National and Trade press, having scrutinized the applications and the candidates, universally agreeing that Venturer had the more exciting programme plans. Dame Enid wrote a battle song, sung by Maud, called ‘Everything Venture’, which to Venturer’s relief didn’t get into the charts.

On 24th June Labour won the election by twenty seats, with the SDP holding the balance of power. Paul Stratton lost his seat. Rupert kept his. He had, in fact, fought a brilliant campaign. Taggie’s presence seemed to soothe him, so he was far less acerbic with bores and hecklers, and, as he was one of the only Tories returned with a much increased majority, Central Office had to stop grumbling about him using Tory funds and equipment to promote Venturer.

In an unprecedented move, Owen Davies, the new Labour Prime Minister, asked Rupert whether he would like to stay on as Minister for Sport if the post was made non-political. Rupert was deeply touched, but refused. He was fed up with swimming galas and ping-pong matches, and there was a big row brewing about players taking drugs at Wimbledon, which he was only too happy to hand on to his successor. He was also immediately offered a job by the International Olympics Committee, but refused that too for the moment, knowing it would mean more buzzing round the world.

He wanted a breathing space, to spend the rest of the summer at home concentrating on the yard, seeing something of his children and putting in a lot of spade work with Cameron, who was getting increasingly uptight. Falling more and more in love with Rupert, she found it almost impossible to pander to Tony’s sexual needs and cope with the demanding job of Programme Controller at Corinium. While Rupert was fighting the election, he’d been constantly hounded by the press, baying for franchise gossip and trying to catch him out in some new affair, so he and Cameron had had to be doubly careful.

‘All this secrecy’s just like adultery, darling,’ said Rupert on one of their few meetings. ‘Very good training for when you’re married.’

‘That is the most cynical remark I’ve ever heard,’ stormed Cameron.

‘Not at all. The secret of a happy marriage is not getting found out.’

‘How d’you know? You didn’t have a happy marriage.’ ‘That’s because I was always getting found out.’

As the election was over, and Tony was tied up all day in meetings in London, she and Rupert had arranged to meet at a hotel outside Henley. As they settled down to Bloody Marys and a splendid view of the Thames, a barge came chugging up stream. Two young girls in bikinis were sunbathing on deck. Cameron watched Rupert run an expert eye over them. Now he had free time on his hands, would she find it increasingly difficult to hold him? All the same, she was still not prepared to burn her boats with Corinium until Venturer had safely won the franchise, and, she had to confess, all the secret meetings with Rupert did give the affair a certain edge.

‘Come on,’ he said, draining his Bloody Mary and picking up the keys of their hotel bedroom. ‘I want to indulge in some mole-molesting.’

But she who lives more lives than one, more deaths than one, must die. Next day, in the Corinium canteen, Daysee Butler and Deirdre Kilpatrick took their cottage cheese and kiwi-fruit salads to a corner table and didn’t notice Cameron sitting next door.

At first there were the usual grumbles about bosses and crews, but just as Cameron had abandoned her shepherd’s pie half-eaten and started on her yoghurt, Deirdre said, ‘I don’t usually read the Scorpion but did you see that story that Rupert Campbell-Black’s having an affair with a cook?’

‘Cameron Cook?’ said Daysee in amazement. ‘Lord B won’t like that.’

‘Not Cameron Cook — a cook. Declan O’Hara’s daughter. She does directors’ lunches and things. She’s seriously pretty. Well, according to the Scorpion, she’s been canvassing with Rupert and now they’re absolutely inseparable.’

Looking down, Cameron saw she had squeezed her yoghurt so hard that it had spurted all over the table. Without attempting to clear up the mess, she walked out of the canteen into Cotchester High Street and the nearest telephone box.

Rupert was trying out one of his new, very young horses over a row of fences in the field beyond the stables. When the telephone suddenly rang in his pocket, the horse nearly took off back to Ireland. Even when he’d pressed the answer button to silence the ringing, it took all his strength to pull up the terrified animal. All Cameron could hear was a muffled thunder of hooves and expletives.

‘Hullo,’ Rupert said finally.

‘Have you seen the Scorpion?’

‘Yes. So what?’

‘All about you and Ms O’Hara.’

‘That was yesterday’s Scorpion. They’ve linked me with Mary Whitehouse this morning.’

‘Can’t you be fucking serious?’ screamed Cameron. ‘Everyone’s talking about it.’

‘Good,’ said Rupert. ‘At least it keeps the heat off us.’ Then, as Cameron showed no signs of calming down, he added, ‘Darling, there’s nothing in it, I promise you. As Taggie said in today’s Star, “Rupert’s old enough to be my father. In fact he’s a friend of my father’s”.’

‘Doesn’t mean a thing — Augustus John was old enough to be a lot of girls’ great-grandfather — that didn’t stop him. Oh Christ. .’ she screamed as her money ran out. ‘I’ll call you back in a minute.’

‘Please don’t until you’ve cooled down,’ said Rupert. ‘I don’t want both you and the horse having hysterics at the same time.’

Next time they met, it took a great deal of sweet-talking to win her round.

The next big event in the franchise battle was the public meeting held in Cotchester Town Hall at the beginning of July. Chaired by members of the IBA board, it was supposed to give the general public the chance to air their grievances about existing programme content and quiz the rival applicants about their plans. It also gave the IBA the opportunity to observe the applicants in action and gauge the degree of local support.

In fact, the audience consisted mostly of Corinium, Venturer and Mid-West staff and their local supporters, members of consortiums from other franchise areas who would soon go through the same ordeal, picking up tips, local councillors whose sole object was to persuade Venturer or Mid-West that their borough was the perfect site for the new studios, members of Gay Lib, the Women’s Movement and other pressure groups, and a handful of the public, only interested in gazing at Declan, Rupert and Wesley Emerson.

Much-needed rain had been bucketing down all day, but it stopped just before the meeting was due to start. Venturer arrived first. As Rupert had given them all a pep talk about being properly dressed, Declan had sulkily put on a suit and a tie.

‘And you can get out of jeans,’ he had snapped in turn at Taggie. ‘I’ve hardly seen your legs since you were born.’

Taggie, having rifled through her wardrobe in despair, had rushed into Cheltenham and bought a beautiful violet dress with a scooped neckline, a nipped-in waist and flounced gypsy skirt. Newly washed, her dark hair fluffed down to her shoulder blades as though she’d beaten it with an egg whisk.

Declan, in somewhat unflattering amazement, told her she looked absolutely gorgeous. She was glad she did, when she later found that Sarah Stratton, Cameron, Daysee and Janey had all pulled out the stops. To Taggie’s delight she also found the audience packed with people whose support she had sought in her drives round the area. Local councillors, race relations officers, social workers, ladies from the WI, from as far afield as Southampton, Oxford and Stratford, had turned up and now surged forward to shake her hand.

‘We’ve still got your lovely poster up; we’ve written to the IBA; we’ve been following Venturer’s programme with such interest,’ they all said. ‘We thought we’d come and cheer you on.’

‘Remember me?’ said a gaunt-looking man in a crumpled lightweight suit, which had obviously just been unearthed from a trunk in the attic.

‘Of course,’ said Taggie, quite overwhelmed. ‘How wonderful of you to turn up.’

It was the headmaster with the dyslexic son.

A diversion was caused when Marti Gluckstein, who’d never been to the country before, tried to enter the hall wearing gumboots, a waterproof deerstalker, a riding mac and holding an umbrella over his head.

‘Don’t bring that thing in here. It’s unlucky!’ boomed Dame Edith.

‘Come on, Marti, I’ll buy you a stiff drink before we kick off,’ said Bas, guiding Marti back through the puddles over the road to the Cotchester Arms for a quick de-robing.

Sprinting after them, Rupert handed Bas his hip flask. ‘Can you fill this up with weak rum for Wes? His attention span will never last the course unlaced.’

Wesley, having taken another five wickets that afternoon, and having just been picked for the third test, had been celebrating and was now busy signing autographs.