The Captain and the Prime Minister
Page 1
Table of Contents
Books by Catherine Curzon and Eleanor Harkstead
Title Page
Legal Page
Book Description
Dedication
Trademark Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
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Pride Publishing books by Catherine Curzon and Eleanor Harkstead
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THE CAPTAIN AND THE PRIME MINISTER
CATHERINE CURZON & ELEANOR HARKSTEAD
The Captain and the Prime Minister
ISBN # 978-1-83943-015-2
©Copyright Catherine Curzon & Eleanor Harkstead 2020
Cover Art by Cherith Vaughan ©Copyright March 2020
Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz
Pride Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2020 by Pride Publishing, United Kingdom.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.
Pride Publishing is an imprint of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book”.
Book six in the
Captivating Captains series
When a devoted prime minster has a second chance at romance, he discovers that love is love on Downing Street.
Captain Tom Southwell has swapped bullets for babies and works as a manny at one of the world’s most famous addresses. Behind the doors of Downing Street, he cooks dinner, puts the children to bed and is the prime minister’s best friend.
Alex Hart is the prime minister Great Britain’s been dreaming of. He’s dedicated, caring and has a conscience. He’s also a widower with two small children. The last thing he can let himself do is fall in love with the manny who has held his family together.
When an old flame from Tom’s past gets in touch, Tom’s first instinct is to keep him at arm’s length, but hell hath no fury like a yoga teacher scorned. As Alex fights to push a life-changing bill through Parliament, the tabloid vultures are circling. With rumors swirling about the prime minister and his gorgeous manny, every shark in Westminster senses blood.
Will Alex put love ahead of duty, or will the most important man in the country be the loneliest, too?
Dedication
CC—For the Provolone Rangers!
EH—For Frankie, who likes a floppy fringe!
Trademark Acknowledgements
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Mary Poppins: PL Travers
BBC Parliament: BBC
Daily Mail: DMG Media
Real Madrid: Real Madrid Club de Futbol
Oscars: Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences
Twitter: Twitter, Inc.
Chanel Number 5: Chanel
Narnia: C.S. Lewis
Scrooge: Charles Dickens
Coke: The Coca-Cola Company
Darkest Hour: 20th Century Fox
The Iron Lady: 20th Century Fox
Ghostbusters: Columbia Pictures
Newsnight: BBC News
Mirror: Trinity Mirror
Boris bike: Serco
Strictly: BBC Studios
Skype: Skype Corporation
Boy’s Own:
Scarlett O’Hara: Margaret Mitchell
Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle: Beatrix Potter
Lycra: Invista
Mr. Tumble: BBC Two
Peppa Pig: Channel 5, NickJr
Instagram: Instagram, LLC
Guide Leader: Girl Guides Association
Uber: Uber Technologies
Beefeater: Whitbread
Greggs: Greggs
Wikipedia: Wikimedia Foundation
Sun: News UK
Guardian: Guardian Media Group
Today Programme: BBC Radio 4
Hello!: Hello Ltd.
Harvey Nichols: Dickson Concepts
Rolex: Hans Wilsdoff Foundation
Wi-Fi: Wi-Fi Alliance
Big Brother: Endemol Shine Group
Paddington Bear: Michael Bond
TARDIS: BBC
Noddy: BBC Worldwide, NBCUniversal Television Distribution
Bond: Ian Fleming
Grand Prix: Formula One Licensing
Moulin Rouge: Moulin Rouge S.A.
Prologue
“And, of course, Gill Hart’s death comes just a year into her husband’s term as prime minister—it’s no secret he and I have never been friends! Everyone’s thoughts, though, regardless of political affiliation, must surely be with Alex Hart and the couple’s infant twins. A manny might seem unorthodox, but let’s
see how he gets on—stranger things have been seen in Downing Street!”
—Pierce Cowell, The Great British Morning Show, ITV
Chapter One
Three years later
Tom lay sprawled on the beanbag between the two small beds—one shaped like a car, the other shaped like a boat. He’d almost sent himself to sleep with the twins’ bedtime story, but it finally seemed, from the sound of their gentle breathing, that they’d dropped off. He sat in the quiet, dimly lit room, the elephant nightlight casting its gentle glow. And in that glow, he re-read the text from Stuart.
Hey good lookin’, ya miss me? Through with Barca and heading home—you shud SEE my tan lines babe. Get ready Laaahndaaaan! x
Stuart wasn’t high on the list of people who Tom wanted to talk to. Their break-up had been acrimonious, Stuart furious at one too many dates being canceled at the last minute because Tom had to look after the twins. ‘You love that family more than you love me!’ And off Stuart had gone to Barcelona.
Except, apparently, Stuart was back.
And that list of Tom’s was rather brief.
It’d be rude not to reply, wouldn’t it?
Tom lifted his head and glanced at the children. They were both sound asleep, so Tom carefully got up from the beanbag and tapped his reply.
Hey Stuart yeah I’m still in London. Maybe I’ll see you sometime? T.
They’d been through a lot—both ex-army, both gay, although Tom’s career had taken an unusual turn when he’d decided to become a nanny. Or manny, as the press had christened him. But it worked. Captain Southwell had transformed into Tom, but he still dealt with crises before breakfast, and marshaling small children was just as challenging as directing a company in a warzone.
The reply took seconds.
Believe it manny Tom. I’ll be knocking on door of no 10 and sayin’ where’s my man ;) xx
Tom worked on the principle that being hostile to exes wasn’t the mark of a gentleman, but, equally, dealing with someone who thought Tom was his man after all this time wasn’t a task that filled him with joy.
I thought your man’s in Barcelona? T.
And his phone rang, vibrating silently in his hand as Tom heard the flat’s front door opening and closing softly, so as not to disturb the sleeping children. The prime minister was home.
Tom stuffed the phone into his pocket. He wasn’t going to answer it—he had a family to look after.
Before Alex had reached the kitchen doorway, Tom had poured him a glass of wine. It sat there on the worktop when Alex appeared in the doorway, his hand already loosening the knot of his tie.
“All the way from the House I was thinking about diving into a huge glass of red wine.” Alex chuckled, widening his eyes at the sight of it. “And there it is!”
“You look like you could do with one!” Tom said.
“The thought of cuddling Al and Mad and a little sniff of red is what’s kept me going through the last two hours of paperwork,” Alex told him, slapping a matey hand to Tom’s shoulder and letting it linger there. “As soon as I hit the bottom of the despatch box, I made for home. I don’t suppose there happens to be any supper left over, or am I raiding the fridge again?”
Tom passed him the glass across the marble worktop. “There’s a shepherd’s pie waiting for you if you’d like it?”
“If anyone finds out about this, they’ll be tempting you away with a pay rise,” Alex teased. “I already have to tell them you’re like the anti-Mary Poppins to throw them off the scent.”
Tom checked the pie in the oven then turned it on to warm.
“I don’t have a magic carpet bag, and I’m not into chimney sweepers,” he said. “I have no intention of leaving, tempt me all they like!”
“If any chimney sweeps do come along, I want to know about it,” Alex told him. Then he raised his glass to his lips and took a grateful drink. “I can’t lose my shepherd’s pie whisperer.”
“Do you want to eat in here, or in the lounge?” Tom hoped he’d say the lounge, because if Alex put the television on in the kitchen and discovered that the last channel Tom had watched was BBC Parliament, it might be rather awkward.
It’s because the children wanted to see you when they came home from preschool. Honest.
“Lounge, sofa, general couch potato of a night?” He nodded, apparently satisfied with his own suggestion. “Did you eat with the kids?”
“Well, I tried! We had sit-down dinnertime together but Madeleine wanted to draw at the same time, so I had my hands full.” Tom dragged his hand back through his hair. “I think I got all the sweetcorn out of my hair, but I’m not sure!”
“I’m going to nip in and see them before I eat,” Alex decided. “I hate that I missed them tonight and I know they’re asleep, but it’s really for me, not them. But you know that.”
“I know.” Tom patted his arm. “They’ll know you’re there. You’ll suddenly pop up in their dreams.”
“Oh, God help them! Then you have to be off the clock, Tom, you know that. Much as I love coming home to you and your shepherd’s pie, you must be cursing my name?” He assumed a grumbling mutter to say, “Bloody Alex keeping me bloody working all bloody hours.”
“It’s not really work, though,” Tom assured him as he got a tray ready for Alex. “We’re like housemates!”
“I couldn’t ask for a better fellow to share with.” Alex laughed and brushed Tom’s shoulder as he headed for the door. “I’ll be back, Captain!”
Tom leaned against the kitchen cupboard, flicking through a recipe book. He heard Alex’s footsteps through the baby monitor and saw the night-vision version of the prime minister on the screen. Tom should have gone back to his book to give Alex his privacy, but he couldn’t resist a glance at Alex crouched beside his child’s bed. He was such a kind father and it brought a lump to Tom’s throat. Thank God Stuart hadn’t rung again and shattered their peace. He didn’t need it tonight, and Alex certainly didn’t.
Tom heard Alex’s voice, as gentle now as it had been commanding in the Chamber earlier, wishing his sleeping children sweet dreams. Then, as he always did on the rare nights that he didn’t make it home in time for supper and bedtime with the twins he adored, Alex remained in the room for a while. He settled onto the beanbag where Tom had sat just a few minutes earlier and became part of the peaceful scene, soaking up the calm in that sometimes rather busy room that his son and daughter shared. And though the two children slept on, surely they sensed that protective presence watching over them until, with a whisper of, “I love you,” Alex rose to his feet and made his careful way toward the door.
Alex was such a lonely figure sometimes, and during those moments Alex shared with his children, Tom wondered if he was thinking of his late wife.
He shouldn’t ever be lonely. Gill wouldn’t have wanted it, and Tom certainly didn’t. Alex deserved to be loved.
“I see the permanent marker has almost washed off of Alastair’s cheek,” Alex observed cheerfully as he padded back into the kitchen. He returned to the serious business of unknotting his tie and added, “You must have magical skills that I lack!”
The sound of the silk rasping against Alex’s hand very nearly sent a tremor through Tom, but he pushed it down.
You can’t think those things about your straight boss.
“We had a game at bathtime—I made them beards and mustaches out of bubbles, then rubbed them off. Al didn’t notice a thing—he was too busy laughing.”
“See, I learned the hard way that saying don’t scribble on your face is the guaranteed way to get a little monster like my son to scribble on his face.” Alex threw his tie onto the worktop. Then he unfastened his silver cufflinks and tossed them with only a little more care atop his discarded tie. Tom knew what was coming next even before Alex rolled first one immaculate sleeve to his elbow then the other, because he knew Alex’s routine as well as his own. And his arms are to die for. “He’s joining a long line of Hart boys who never did as they we
re told!”
Tom chuckled. “Were you naughty, then?”
You wish he still was naughty, Tom.
“I was a terror.” Alex leaned forward to peer through the glass door of the oven, his hands braced against his knees. “But I went one better—I drew on my sister’s face while she was asleep. Gave her a mustache to be proud of!”
“And having met your sister—!” Tom tried not to notice how the fabric of Alex’s suit trousers strained pleasingly across his bottom as he leaned down. He was a fine figure of a man—Tom would be an idiot not to notice. “Bet she was pleased!”
“Oh, she loved it, you can imagine how thrilled she was!” Alex stood straight again and turned to face Tom. “You don’t have to hang around if you don’t want to, you know. Honestly, I can’t imagine this is how you want to spend your off time.”
“If I worked in an office all day, I’d be chilling at home just like I’m doing now, so… It’s fine, honest.” Tom slipped the recipe book back on the shelf. He liked being part of a family, too. In some ways it made up for the lack of his own. “I should apologize for these jogging bottoms, though. I don’t think I’ve even jogged in them. But then…you wouldn’t want to see me in my pajamas, would you?”
Although I wouldn’t mind seeing Alex in his again.
“This is your home, Captain Southwell. If you have to see me bleary-eyed in my bath towel now and again, I wouldn’t complain if you wanted to wear your pajamas after a long day trying to keep my children in line!”
Alex in a bath towel. That’s a thought to ponder.
“I say pajamas, I actually sleep in—” My boxer shorts. Oh, God, he doesn’t want to know that. “Do you want to see what the twins got up to at preschool today?”
Tom was already delving into the satchels that Alastair and Madeleine carried about as proudly as the chancellor wielded his briefcase on Budget Day. Alex gave an impromptu drumroll, pounding his hands on the worktop, and asked, “Go on, show me.”