Claiming Victory: A Romantic Comedy

by Beverley Watts

  I’m just beginning to wonder whether I may have picked the wrong conversation to begin my loosening up efforts when I suddenly realize that I have become the object of their discussion. The elderly actress is staring at me expectantly while mutton chops is leering down the front of my dress very unattractively (I’m going to kill Kit). I glance from one to the other wondering if I’ve just been propositioned by someone old enough to be my grandfather and whether there are any normal people here I can talk to. Stalling for time, ‘Don’t even go there you disgusting old lecher,’ is not likely to cut the mustard, no matter which way you look at it.

  ‘Hey Tory, so good to meet you,’ comes a pleasant male voice at my back. ‘I really can’t wait to start filming in your fabulous house.’ I swing round gratefully and come face to face with a youngish sandy haired man holding out his hand towards me. ‘David Bollinger, I’m the director of The Bridegroom for my sins.’ His smile is boyish and mischievous, telling me clearly that he has overheard the conversation. ‘Have these two old reprobates introduced themselves to you yet?’ he continues, waving towards the two fossils behind me.

  His smile is definitely infectious and I relax and grin back as I shake my head. ‘How insufferably rude and un-English like – Patsy, I thought better of you at least.’ His tone is light and slightly mocking but there is steel underneath that makes clear his dislike of boorish behaviour.

  ‘Tory, this is Patsy Mallon and Donald Peterson. They are both veterans of stage and screen and we’re all very grateful to have them amongst the cast in The Bridegroom. Patsy is pure delight as Lady Eva Trentham and Donald is perfectly cast as the evil, scheming Marquis of Rutland.’

  I smile and nod towards the two actors like I know exactly what he’s talking about. Why haven’t I made an effort to find out exactly what the bloody movie’s about? I know it’s a romantic comedy but that’s about the sum of my knowledge. Sometimes I totally despair of myself. The thing is, nobody’s actually asked me. All I know is rom coms are not usually my thing. I resolve to do some research the minute I get home.

  ‘How long are you going to be filming in Dartmouth?’ I ask to forestall any more discussion about the movie’s plot.

  ‘We’re booked in to the Dart Marina hotel for three and a half weeks and your father has very kindly given us carte blanche with the Admiralty for four. Obviously I’m hoping to wrap filming up as soon as possible. You know the old adage time is money? Well in this case it’s most definitely true.’ He pauses to take a sip of Champagne. ‘Having said that, it takes as long as it takes. You never know, we might even be joining you for Thanksgiving.’ He smiles and, unbidden, the image of Noah Westbrook joining us for Christmas dinner pops into my head, surprising me with its intensity.

  ‘Have you got the whole cast staying in Dartmouth?’ I ask, shoving the school girl fantasy firmly back where it belongs.

  ‘No, only those needed for the scenes being filmed on location here. Let’s see, there’s Noah who, as you know, is the Bridegroom of the title and Gaynor Andrews who plays an American heiress and his love interest; Patsy and Donald are the villains of the piece and over near the patio doors are Luke Smitherd, Gina Sheridan, Amy Winters, Jack Taylor and Scott Davies, all playing members of the Collingwood family who are staying in Devon for a weekend house party, which of course is performed beautifully by your house’

  I look over at the small group who seem vaguely familiar and nod my head, feeling the excitement rise at being surrounded by so many household names (well, stands to reason they must be names in some people’s houses.) I take a sip of my wine. ‘It’s really very thrilling’ (thrilling, where did that come from…?) But the thing is, I actually mean it. ‘Will it be okay to watch you filming?’ I ask hopefully.

  ‘Outside, no problem at all. Inside might be a little trickier. You’re gonna have to live in your kitchen for the next two weeks while we commandeer your hall and living room.’ He smiles again, taking the sting out of the command.

  ‘No worries,’ I quip back, ‘I can sleep on a mattress near the stove – I’ve been told I make a good Cinderella.’

  ‘A little on the fat side for a convincing Cinders aren’t you darling?’ Gaynor Andrews appears in a cloud of Chanel at my shoulder and raises her eyebrows to Patsy and Donald who chuckle into their drinks at her comment.

  I feel my face flame at her spitefulness while my mind tries to come up with something witty and cutting to say back. Unfortunately I’m not in the same league as my father at snide comebacks and I stay humiliatingly silent. David doesn’t say anything but his look towards the actress is anything but friendly, which makes me feel a bit better.

  ‘Not everyone spends their whole life eating celery and laxative chocolate, Gay.’ Noah’s voice as he appears at my other shoulder, is equally cutting, and his face, when I look up at him, is hard and closed.

  I glance between him and Gaynor Andrews, sensing old undercurrents. There is a brief silence, then the actress lets out a tinkling laugh, ‘Don’t be such an old grouch sweetie,’ she admonishes Noah. ‘Tory knows I was only funning, don’t you darling?’ The last is directed to me and I have no idea how to answer. ‘Come on baby, don’t be cross.’ Her voice continues in a soft, intimate southern drawl and I feel her hand reaching out behind my back to stroke Noah’s arm in a reconciliatory gesture. This is the big league and I’m so not equipped to deal with it.

  ‘Well now, I’d hazard a guess that everything you know about the subject of my daughter could be written on the outside of a gnat’s bollock bag…’

  My father’s loud rebuke creates an instant of incredulous silence followed by a few furtive chuckles, hurriedly turned into coughs. Gaynor Andrews glances round as if she can’t believe anyone could possibly speak to her that way. The geriatric twosome titter into their glasses again and I just want to give the pair of them a sharp slap.

  Taking a deep breath, the actress glares back at my father with icy hauteur, which of course, is absolutely water off a duck’s back to the Admiral. I can tell she’s gearing herself up for a biting comeback and I actually feel sorry for her. The last time anyone bested my father in a slanging match was when he was a sub-lieutenant over forty years ago. Wincing, I shut my eyes, waiting for the inevitable…

  …Which thankfully never arrives. Noah, possibly after looking at my panic stricken face, diffuses the situation by saying in an amused dry voice, ‘The Admiral’s only funning Gay; you know that don’t you sweetheart?’ Despite his tongue in cheek repetition of Gaynor’s earlier comment, my gut clenches in jealousy at his use of the endearment. His words are soft and intimate, in marked contrast to his earlier cutting tone, and are enough to diffuse the tension. Glancing up at the actress, I intercept a hungry, almost desperate look towards Noah and I realize in that instant that the rumours about the two of them are obviously true, and, if they are no longer together, then it’s not of Gaynor Andrews’ doing.

  If Noah’s aware of Gaynor’s feelings, he gives no sign and appears to be oblivious to her look of longing as he directs the hired staff to bring round more Champagne and canapés. As the waiter approaches, he turns towards me, takes my now empty glass and replaces it with a full one from the tray before taking one for himself. Then, to my amazement, he suggests we take our drinks into the study to have a look at my drawings.

  Noah excuses us both with the joke that he’s taking me to look at his etchings. I avoid looking at Gaynor as I pick up my drawings and we weave our way across the room, but as Noah opens the door to the study, I glance back to see her watching us with a blank expression.

  As I turn back to the door, I catch sight of my father who is also watching us. But instead of an unsmiling poker face, he offers a lewd wink and the thumbs up sign.

  I don’t know which scares me most…

  Once in the study, Noah closes the door to shut out the noise of conversation. ‘Won’t your guests think you’re rude abandoning them like this?’ I can’t help but ask.

  Without look
ing up, Noah places his Champagne glass on to a small side table. ‘They won’t even notice we’ve gone,’ is all he says dismissively as he takes the folder out of my hand. I don’t know what else to say and resort to sipping my drink in silence as he opens the folder and spreads the drawings on a large mahogany desk. The silence lengthens and I can’t help but fiddle with my glass as anxiety sets in. Dipping my finger in the liquid, I idly run its wet tip around the rim of the glass, creating a loud whining sound after a few seconds.

  ‘Didn’t your parents ever tell you it’s rude to fidget?’ Noah says eventually without lifting his head from the drawings in front of him.

  ‘Sorry,’ I mumble, taking a large gulp of my drink instead.

  After what feels like ten hours but is actually only ten minutes, Noah finally looks up. His face is unreadable and my heart sinks, expecting him to say that my ideas are not what he’s looking for. Then, leaning back against the edge of the table, he folds his arms and half closes his eyes. After a couple of minutes he straightens up. ‘I’ve made an offer on the house which has been accepted, he says without preamble. ‘You can start the work as soon as there’s a suitable gap in your calendar.’

  I gape at him momentarily. It is so not what I was expecting him to say. Then my heart begins to pound and I want to rush over and hug him. ‘Thank you so much,’ I breathe finally with a big smile. ‘You won’t regret this Noah, I promise you. Of course we’ll have to get an architect in for the outside alterations, and a reputable builder; that’s before we even think about the inside.’ Feverishly I take out my notebook and start scribbling, completely lost in another world.

  ‘I’ll leave all the finer details to you,’ he continues while I’m writing. ‘You can contact me on the cell number I gave you – at least while I’m still in Dartmouth. Once filming’s finished, I’ll give you another number. In the meantime, if you’ll give me your bank account details, I’ll have some money transferred into your account. How much do you want? Will a hundred grand be enough to start you off?’

  Once again I look at him with my mouth open. He grins at me before saying, ‘That really isn’t your most attractive look Tory, which causes me to shut my mouth again with a snap, and him to laugh. ‘When do you think you’ll be starting the project?’ he continues, still smiling. ‘It’d be good if we can at least make a start while I’m still here, but no pressure.’

  ‘That shouldn’t be a problem.’ My voice comes out in a high squeak and I cough self consciously. ‘I have about three properties on the go at the moment but they’re all nearing completion, so I’ll begin checking to see which architects and builders are available as soon as I get home.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s necessary for you to start tonight.’ His voice is now teasing and warm and I have absolutely no idea what to say back. No witty response comes to mind at all. My mind is a complete blank.

  ‘No, of course not, I just want… I mean I would just like… I mean, I really will do a good job – I promise.’ Hurriedly I look back down at my notes, very aware I’m now babbling - again.

  ‘I know you will Tory. I trust you completely.’ The way he says my name does weird things to my groin area and I look up uncertainly to find him lounging against the desk, hands in his pockets, regarding me intently. The smile is gone, replaced by a serious searching expression, as if he can’t quite fathom me out. Which is ridiculous – I’m about as transparent as they come.

  ‘I err, I, well I err, umm, I think that’s about it for tonight then.’ I stammer finally when he doesn’t say anything. I can feel the excitement bubbling up inside me - so strong that I want to punch the air and shout woo hoo at the top of my voice. Instead, apart from a broad smile which I couldn’t suppress if my life depended on, I try for dignified and professional and, stepping forward, I hold out my hand to shake his.

  After a split second, he pushes himself off the desk, the intense look replaced with an answering smile. Just as we’re about to shake hands on the deal, my oh so ridiculous heels finally let me down and I stumble forward with a shriek, my outstretched hand now flailing in the air as I try to keep my balance. In the end, gravity wins and I fall into Noah’s arms with an awkward oomph, causing him to grunt slightly as he takes my full weight and falls back against the edge of the desk.

  My face ends up in the crook of his neck and for a second I breathe in his wonderful scent before pure humiliation sets in. Damn it, every time we’re together, I seem to end up in some kind of embarrassing position. Face flaming, I push myself away from his chest and look up to his face, expecting to see irritation if not downright annoyance. Instead, astonishingly, as I stare up into his incredible eyes, all I can see is hunger.

  My heart begins to beat in a quick staccato rhythm in response to their midnight intensity, then all thought flees and pure sensation takes over as he bends his head and kisses me. I know I should pull away, no good can possibly come from this, but, instead and purely instinctively, I part my lips under his onslaught and immediately his tongue darts in to tangle with mine in a way that turns my insides to liquid fire.

  Time seems to stand still as I force down the small voice of reason and surrender totally to the heat coursing around my body. Somehow my hands find their way around the back of his neck to tangle in his hair and Noah groans in response, deepening his kiss.

  His hands are moulding me to him, pressing me against the hard length of him and I feel the last of my control slipping away. I don’t care where this goes; I want this, I want him, now…

  Then suddenly, shockingly, there’s a loud knock on the door. Panting, I pull away from Noah’s arms, the cold light of reality swamping me like a bucket of cold water being dashed over my head. Stumbling back, I tear my eyes away from his glittering gaze and look towards the door which is now being pushed open hesitantly.

  ‘Hope I’m not disturbing anything,’ come the mild tones of David Bollinger as his head appears around the slowly opening door.

  I don’t trust myself to speak. My heart is still thumping erratically in my chest and all I can think is ‘Oh my God, what have I done?’

  I look back over to Noah. His face is completely expressionless and his body language relaxed, giving no indication at all that two minutes ago, he was kissing me like he wanted to fit me inside of his skin.

  ‘You’re not interrupting anything David. We were just finishing up here.’ Then glancing towards me, he continues, ‘You got everything Tory? Just give me a call if you need me – although I guess we’ll almost be living together over the next couple of weeks.’ His smile is friendly, but nothing more.

  The kiss didn’t mean anything to him. I was just a distraction. And why on earth would I possibly think it meant anything more…?

  Taking a deep breath, I smile brightly back, trying to ignore my still unsteady pulse. ‘I don’t need anything else for now. You can keep the drawings; I have copies.’ Then, fighting the urge to cry, I lift my head, square my shoulders and walk over to the door. David is still hovering in the doorway; he smiles at me without speaking, and moves aside to let me pass.

  Glancing around the drawing room, I immediately notice two things: firstly, that Gaynor Andrews is not there, and secondly, my father is completely surrounded by the on screen members of the Collingwood family. Breathing a sigh of relief, I walk straight over to the buffet table and load up my plate with as many delicious canapés as it will hold, then, turning to an opened bottle of Champagne nestling in a bucket of ice, I pick up the bucket…

  Saturday 10th May

  TO: kim@kimberleyharris.com

  Hey Kimmy

  Sitting with a Scotch before turning in and thought I’d just send you a quick update. You’ll be glad to know that my little soiree went without a hitch. All the usual suspects were there and it was pretty much same old, same old – not being around them for a while, I forgot how much bullshit they all talk! Gaynor unfortunately decided to grace us with her presence and was a royal pain in the ass as usual. For some re
ason she seemed to take an instant dislike to Tory (you remember, the Admiral’s daughter – told you I was inviting them right?) Anyway, she made some snipey comments about Tory being fat. God, she was so bloody rude sis. But you know the funny thing is, until Gaynor said that, I’d not really paid much attention. But when you really look at her, Tory’s actually kinda pretty – especially when she smiles, and you have no idea just how refreshing it is to see a woman who does not look like a stick insect :-) Anyhow, I managed to smooth everything before Gaynor drew blood and think she left pretty soon after.

  And as for the Admiral - the old man really is absolutely nuts; I gave him a vintage bottle of port as a gift for having us all mess up his back yard and he actually drank most of it before he left last night– but not before he treated us all to half a dozen sea shanties which he insisted we all sing along to, even had David joining in. I could still hear him singing as Tory helped him out to the car at one am. What a guy…

  Anyhow, think you might well get to meet him seeing as the offer I made for the house was accepted, so I’m gonna be round and about. I know you’ll all love it here. I’ve asked Tory to project manage the alterations. Hoping she can make a start while I’m still here filming.

  So that’s my news sis. Give my love to Ben and the kids, speak soon

  Noah

  xxx

  Chapter Twelve

  Sunday was cloudy and windy which suited Admiral Shackleford’s mood entirely. His head felt like the inside of a Viking’s leather truss after consuming almost an entire bottle of top notch ten year old port at the end of the evening. He didn’t really remember Tory getting him home but assumed Jimmy had a hand in it somewhere. Still, hair of the dog and all that – a pint of the Ship Inn’s Special Bitter would do the business.