It just goes to show how alcohol can affect your brain. Of course I’d forgotten what a complete idiot Jason can be when he’s angry.
A sober and contrite Freddy contacted me first thing this morning to say that he’d actually neglected to read right to the bottom of the email Jason had sent him. Apparently he’d panicked after seeing the Admiral’s letter and rushed over to meet me without actually reading to the end of Jason’s email.
It appears that choosing curtains with Tory is a tad premature. In Jason’s words…
‘If Kit wanted to get in touch with me, she should have bloody well done it herself instead of asking a lying, cheating interfering meddlesome old bag of wind to do her dirty work.
I have informed Admiral Shackleford that if he ever contacts me again, I will not be responsible for my actions.
Regards
Jason Buchannan
So that’s pretty much that then…
~*~
It’s the day of little Isaac’s Christening and the weather has completely lived up to its promise with not a cloud in the sky. I’m so grateful to Tory for simply allowing me to get on with it. I know she’s perfectly capable, but she also knows it’s been keeping my mind off the disaster that is my love life.
When I informed her about the fiasco of her father’s letter, she was completely mortified. Apparently she’d actively encouraged her father to interfere. It’s not often that anyone can lay the blame for the Admiral’s cock-ups on someone else, but this was one of those rare occasions.
I couldn’t be cross with her though. I know she loves me and just wanted to help. The sight of her wringing her hands in tears quashed any anger I might have had. Nevertheless, when she offered to try and put things right with Jason, I put my foot down. ‘He’s back to being a complete knob Tory, and quite frankly I don’t want anything more to do with him.
‘Please don’t mention this to your father, I’m sure the put-down that Jason gave him was more than sufficient to prevent him ever going within a hundred miles of Captain Buchannan.’
My voice throughout the whole speech was firm and determined, and if my chin wobbled and my eyes filled with tears, well, neither of us mentioned it.
Anyway, back to the christening. Tory’s wearing her favourite navy and white Sophie Loren dress and I’ve opted for a pale blue halter neck jumpsuit. Little Isaac is sporting a blue sailor suit (what else) and we all blend very aesthetically with my chosen colour scheme…
Before the guests start to arrive, I take a few minutes to stand back and survey the results of all my hard work. A profusion of blue and white bunting surrounds the chairs set up on the lawn. White freesia and deep blue morning glory decorate the makeshift altar and are intertwined through white trellising.
I eye the whole effect critically and frown slightly. Actually it looks a bit like a wedding – I wonder if I might have gone a teensy bit over the top. Maybe I should add some boats and a few teddy bears…
Noah’s sister Kim arrived last night with her husband Ben and their two kids. It’s the first time they’ve met Isaac, and Kim hasn’t actually let the baby go since she arrived. Of course Tory’s more than happy with the additional help, but watching Kim’s dreamy, tender expression unaccountably puts my teeth on edge. I suppose I’ve got used to being the other woman in Isaac’s life, and selfishly I don’t want him to get too attached to anyone else. I shake my head ruefully – he’s not even two months old for goodness sake…
Of course both Freddy and I are Godparents, along with Kim and Ben. There aren’t any Hollywood types here this time, it’s all very low key – probably due to the potential for disaster in having Boris conduct the service.
The old priest was so pleased to have been asked to do the honours, and since he arrived this morning, Tory’s done everything she can to keep him outside and downwind of everybody. I only hope little Isaac doesn’t lose his sense of smell as he’s brought into the family of God.
The trestle tables have been set up ready for drinks and canapés to be handed round after the service, so unfortunately there’s nothing left for me to do. I wonder if it’s not the done thing for one of the Godparents to be seen drinking before the ceremony, then I spy Freddy coming through the bi-fold doors carrying two large glasses of bubbly and I decide that of course it’s perfectly acceptable.
Heading over to him, I take the full one out of his hand gratefully. ‘I assume this is for me,’ I mumble through the bubbles. ‘Who else?’ he responds with shrug and a smile. Grateful for his presence, I look around again at my handy work. ‘What do you think?’ I ask, expecting my gay friend to rhapsodize over my admittedly enthusiastic decorations. Freddy stares round and opens his mouth to answer…
‘Looks like a bloody outdoor brothel.’ The Admiral’s strident tones get there before him and Freddy looks at my thunderous face with a grin. ‘Couldn’t have put it better myself.’
Grimacing, I knock back the rest of my Champagne and head over to make a few changes…
In the end, the baptism ceremony was lovely. Whether Boris’s nether regions behaved themselves, or the wind was blowing in the right direction, there were no obnoxious odours and the elderly priest’s handling of Isaac was a perfect combination of deft and gentle.
Now the religious bit has been dealt with, everybody’s starting to relax and there’s no better place in the world for a garden party than the Westbrook’s back yard. The canapés are delicious and the Champagne is vintage (well at least I think it is – as long as it’s cold, it works for me…)
I’m on my third glass and finally beginning to unwind. Looking at my drink, I make a face. Alcohol is the only thing that seems to stop my mind from working overtime at the moment, and I know I can’t go on like this. I need to get my life in order.
I glance over to see Flo and Neil being congratulated on their engagement. The whole prospect of becoming a bride has taken years off my aunt. I really am genuinely happy for them both, but seeing them together and so exultant just emphasizes my own stupidity.
Sod sobriety, I’ll start again tomorrow. I finish my glass and head over to get another. As I reach the makeshift bar, I glance up towards the house in time to see a figure step through the open bi-fold doors, and freeze. What the bloody hell is Jason doing here?
I have absolutely no idea what to do. My heart is thundering in my chest as though I’ve run a marathon. Turning quickly back to the bar, I mutely hold out my glass for a refill, all the while mumbling, ‘Bugger, bugger, bugger.’
Surely he knew the Admiral would be here? Please, please tell me he’s not going to lamp him one. But then he must have known I’d be here too? Is that why he’s come? Does he want us to be friends? Does he want to tell me he really is shacking up with Aileen’s niece? Should I speak first? Should I pretend not to have seen him? Should I simply hide under the bloody table…?
‘Hello Kit.’ His deep voice over my shoulder makes my knees go weak. I look down to check I haven’t spilled anything unsavoury down my front, place my glass down on the table, then turn slowly to face him.
He looks good. In fact he looks completely yummy. The white linen shirt he’s wearing highlights his light summer tan. I want to throw myself into his arms crying hysterically, ‘I’m sorry…’
‘How are you?’ is what actually comes out of my mouth, and I congratulate myself that my voice sounds half way normal. He smiles back ruefully and, unbelievably says, ‘What do you think?’
I stare at him wordlessly and he steps forward, into my personal space. I stand my ground.
‘I’m going to sell Bloodstone Tower,’ he murmurs watching me intently. I stare back at him confused, then horrified, and shake my head, whispering, ‘No, you can’t Jason. What about your father and your grandmother? What about its history? The Tower has belonged in your family since the year dot, it would be so wrong to give it up now.’
‘I can’t live there without you,’ he says simply, ‘In fact I don’t want to be anywhere without you Ki
t. If Dartmouth’s your home, then it’s mine too.’
He raises his hand and rests it on my cheek, whispering, ‘I’ve come down to Dartmouth for that bit of a chat you mentioned. You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to shack up with and I really don’t care where we do it.’
I stare at him in stunned silence for a second, then, with a small sob, I give in to temptation and launch myself at him. He catches me and wraps his strong arms tight around my waist, burying his head into my neck, and after a few seconds I realize that I’m not the only one crying. The tears are silently tracking down his cheeks and into my collar. I try to pull back but he won’t allow me to, so instead, I lift his face to mine and whisper, ‘Please stop my love.’ Then I lean forward and place my mouth over his and we kiss like it’s the first time ever.
When I finally come up for air, he allows me to step away, still watching me. I realize that he genuinely doesn’t know what my answer is going to be. With a small elated smile, I turn back to the bar, take a full bottle of Champagne, together with two glasses, and say, ‘We need to go have that chat.’
We escape into a secret arbour situated half way down to the private mooring belonging to the house. There’s a two seater swing seat, positioned perfectly to catch the sun as it sets over the river. We sit and for the next few minutes are silent. Then I take his hand and pull it into my lap. Without looking at him, I take a couple of deep breaths, then speak.
‘I don’t want you to give up your family home Jason.’ I feel him tense, ready to interrupt, and I look up, placing my finger over his lips. ‘Please, hear me out,’ I whisper. ‘I don’t want you to give up on your dream Jason. I want to share it with you.’ I take his hand again and hold it tightly
‘It was simply fear that made me back away,’ I continue, ‘I’ve always had trust issues. And I’ve always hated change. Up to now I’ve made sure that I’m the one to walk away before there’s any chance of it all going tits up.’ I sigh and lean forward, gripping his hand like a lifeline. ‘I thought I was walking away from us for Aunt Flo, but the truth is, I was doing what I always do.
‘My aunt doesn’t need me. She never did. You were right Jason. And now she has Neil.’ I turn to face the man I love with all my heart, still staring at me silently. ‘Can we start over Jason? Tell me again that you’re retiring from the Navy and you want to convert the pile of rubble that is currently your ancestral home, into a luxury hotel. Ask me to come with you.’
Jason raises my hand to his lips. ‘You know I want that more than anything,’ he whispers hoarsely, ‘But I won’t lie to you Kitty Kat, it’s going to be tough. Money will be tight – I won’t ask Noah for anything more than we actually need.’
And then I remember that he doesn’t know anything about my father, so he’s not aware that money won’t be quite as tight as he imagines.
Feeling as though I’ve finally come home, I give a joyful smile and tell him…
Epilogue
Nicole sat on the old wooden bench facing out to the loch, listening to the sound of laughter.
Jason had come up to Bloodstone Tower with Kit to meet up with the architect masterminding the renovation work.
While both of them had been warm and friendly, she knew she was beginning to outstay her welcome. But the thought of going back to London to act as a buffer between her eccentric mother and her even more eccentric grandmother, did not appeal in the least.
Of course, neither did returning to Paul with her tail between her legs.
Despite her protestations, Jason had been generous in paying her to look after his father, but her charge was now back on his feet- possibly swayed by the wings of love…
The gales of laughter came again. It felt as though everyone was in love apart from her.
For a moment, loneliness almost overwhelmed her. She’d always known that running away wasn’t a long term solution, but she’d unexpectedly fallen in love with the Highlands and truly didn’t want to leave.
Perhaps Jason would give her a reference? Help her get another job in the area? Sudden hope filled her, then she laughed ruefully, gazing out over the loch. There wasn’t exactly an overabundance of job opportunities in the locality.
Her thoughts returned to Jason. For a few brief moments, she’d hoped there might be something more than a burgeoning friendship between them, but it had very quickly become plain that his heart lay elsewhere.
Jealousy of Kit unexpectedly swamped her, and Nicole closed her eyes against the tears that abruptly threatened to flow.
Why hadn’t she come up to see her aunt earlier? She’d been thinking about escaping for months now. Maybe if she’d not been such a coward, Jason might have fallen in love with her instead of Kit. She had no doubt he was attracted to her.
Nicole was suddenly still. Perhaps that was the answer. She just needed time – and she was sure there’d be lots of visits by Jason on his own while the building work was being done.
All she needed was a valid reason to stay.
Kit and Jason weren’t married yet...
~*~
Watch out for Book One of The Highland Diaries, available on Amazon in 2017.
To receive an email on the day it’s released, simply click on the link below:
http://www.beverleywatts.com/releases-2
Of course, if you happen to have missed the first three books in The Dartmouth Diaries series, Claiming Victory – Book One, Sweet Victory – Book Two, and All For Victory – Book Three, are all available on Amazon.
Final Author’s Note
As I’ve said in my previous books (I know I’m repeating myself), if you ever find yourself in the South West of England, the beautiful yachting haven of Dartmouth in South Devon is well worth a visit. The pubs and restaurants I describe are real, and I’ve spent many a happy lunchtime/evening in each of them.
If you’d like more information about Dartmouth and the surrounding areas, you can go to the following website for the Tourist Information Centre:
http://www.discoverdartmouth.com/things-to-do/shopping/dartmouth-tourist-information-centre-p1509323
In Chasing Victory, I returned to Loch Long in the glorious Scottish Highlands which will be the setting for my new series of romantic comedies.
I hope you’ll enjoy reading about Loch Long and the magnificent Rosneath Peninsula in The Highland Diaries, but in the meantime, if you’d like more information about the area, please visit the link below:
http://www.trossachs.co.uk/lochs.php
For those of you who feel you’ll miss Dartmouth, never fear. In addition to The Highland Diaries, I also intend to work on a series of cosy mysteries involving the Admiral and Jimmy, aptly titled The Dartmouth Mysteries!
So if you want to see more of the Admiral’s meddling in 2017, watch this space…
If you enjoyed Chasing Victory, I’d be really grateful if you would leave a review/star rating on Amazon. This is soo important and helps so much with both sales and of course my self esteem :-)
For any of you who would like to connect, I’d really love to hear from you.
You can contact me via my website at:
http://www.beverleywatts.com
Or my facebook page at: http://www.facebook.com/beverleywattsauthor
And lastly, thanks a million for taking the time to read this story. I really hope we can continue on to the next one together…
Yours aye
Bev
As in Sweet Victory, I have included a list of the Scottish phrases used by Aileen in this book, along with their meanings (just in case you’re interested and/or baffled…)
Ah, guid eenin, hou’s aw wi ye: Hi, good evening, how are you?
Walcome tae Bloodstone, it’s been donkies since a last saw ye: Welcome to Bloodstone, it’s been ages since I last saw you.
Noo whaur’s that wee bairn: Now where’s that baby?
Och ma sweet wean, he’s a bonny lad and nae mistake: Oh, the sweet child, he a gorgeous boy and no mistake.
&nb
sp; Hou’s aw wi ye and that braw man o yours: How are things with you and that handsome man of yours?
Tatties o’wer side and no mistake: It’s all gone wrong/disaster’s struck.
If you haven’t already read Claiming Victory – Book One of the Dartmouth Diaries, turn the page for an exclusive sneak peek…
Claiming Victory
Chapter One
Retired Admiral, Charles Shackleford, entered the dimly lit interior of his favourite watering hole. Once inside, he waited a second for his eyes to adjust, and glanced around to check that his ageing Springer spaniel was already seated beside his stool at the bar. Pickles had disappeared into the undergrowth half a mile back, as they walked along the wooded trail high above the picturesque River Dart. The scent of some poor unfortunate rabbit had caught his still youthful nose. The Admiral was not unduly worried; this was a regular occurrence, and Pickles knew his way to the Ship Inn better than his master.
Satisfied that all was as it should be for a Friday lunchtime, Admiral Shackleford waved to the other regulars, and made his way to his customary seat at the bar where his long standing, and long suffering friend, Jimmy Noon, was already halfway down his first pint.
‘You’re a bit late today Sir,’ observed Jimmy, after saluting his former commanding officer smartly.
Charles Shackleford grunted as he heaved his ample bottom onto the bar stool. ‘Got bloody waylaid by that bossy daughter of mine.’ He sighed dramatically before taking a long draft of his pint of real ale, which was ready and waiting for him. ‘Damn bee in her bonnet since she found out about my relationship with Mabel Pomfrey. Of course, I told her to mind her own bloody business, but it has to be said that the cat’s out of the bag, and no mistake.’
Chasing Victory: A Romantic Comedy Page 18
