Claiming Victory: A Romantic Comedy

by Beverley Watts

  Kit is now blushing prettily again as she murmurs, ‘Thank you,’ and sits herself down in the empty chair. Sighing, I bring over the murky looking liquid that could, in an extremely dark room, pass for tea. She takes a large sip then pulls a face. ‘Oh my God that is truly disgusting.’

  ‘Then fear not fair lady, Dr Freddy is here with the perfect cure for all your ills. Along with a corkscrew.’

  I turn towards the office door to see Freddy leaning nonchalantly against the frame holding a bottle of red wine triumphantly in the air. ‘You can thank me later peeps. Just point me towards three glasses.’ Then, noticing Noah for the first time and without missing a beat, ‘Make that four.’

  My heart sinks just a little at Freddy’s arrival, no doubt because I forgot to call him this morning. It’s not that I don’t love him - he’s my second best friend – but he can be a bit of an acquired taste, and I’ve no idea what Noah will make of him…

  I needn’t have worried, the actor’s manners are, as always, impeccable and he immediately stands up as I make the introductions. Stepping forward to shake Noah’s proffered hand, Freddy lets slip a small nervous laugh, but on the whole, holds it together admirably. I’m the only one who can see his other hand trembling slightly as he hands me the bottle of wine.

  ‘You do have glasses don’t you darling? And a bottle opener?’ He turns towards me and poses prettily with his corkscrew held out towards me, obviously making sure Noah gets to see his best side.

  ‘You know we do Freddy,’ I respond a bit irritably, walking back over to the filing cabinet, which is also home to fifty dusty champagne glasses. ‘You bought them for Kit’s grand opening.’

  ‘So I did,’ he murmurs, sticking the unneeded bottle opener a bit hazardously in his pocket.

  ‘Would you like a glass of wine Noah?’ I ask, fully expecting him to make an excuse to leave. To my surprise he actually acquiesces and, taken aback, I glance round to see if he’s simply being polite. After all, I’m sure he can think of better ways to spend his Sunday afternoon than in a scruffy office with three virtual strangers.

  However, he seems perfectly at ease and his expression is one I’ve seen on him before and can only describe as interested enjoyment. With sudden insight, I realise that he’s not looking down at us, rather he’s actually taking great pleasure in meeting new and different people - completely out of the limelight.

  Tucking two glasses under my arm and grabbing another two, I kick the cupboard door shut and take them back to the table where Freddy is now busy opening the bottle with a flourish.

  ‘God, you’re such a diva,’ I hiss as he pops the cork as though it’s a bottle of twenty five year old Châteauneuf-du-Pape (was that a good year…?)

  ‘Why are you dressed like a bag lady?’ he hisses back. I open my mouth to deliver a stinging retort, then glance down at my old faded cardigan. ‘What’s wrong with my clothes?’ I ask finally in an indignant undertone. ‘Beige cardy, baggy jeans and trainers. Do I need to say more?’ And with that, he takes two of the glasses and turns his back. ‘Bitch,’ I mumble, picking up the remaining two…

  The next couple of hours are actually great fun. Freddy is on top form, playing to the crowd – even if it is only an audience of three - and Noah seems more than happy to join in the banter, even taking some good natured ribbing about his sex symbol status. I’m perched up on my computer table and as I watch the teasing, I can’t help but reflect just how surreal this all is, especially listening to Noah poking fun at himself. The overwhelming impression he gives is that, he might well be a famous movie star, but at the end of the day he’s just so normal…

  Luckily the gallery remains quiet and at five pm Kit goes through into the shop to close up. To my consternation, Noah gets up to follow her through and I’m not sure whether I should tag along too. I jump off the computer table, and feeling the now familiar, not to mention patently ludicrous, stab of jealousy, I hover at the office door uncertainly and watch as Noah wanders around the exquisite sculptures and works of art on display while Kit closes and locks the front door. After throwing the final bolt, she walks over to join him as he finally halts in front of the china clock that caused so much stress earlier.

  After studying it for half a minute, he glances down at Kit and says drily, ‘I think it might be a good idea, especially for your nerves, if I took this clock off your hands?’ Kit stares up at him, her eyes shining and her mouth in a delighted smile. My heart lurches as he grins back. Feeling suddenly cold and a bit sick, I huddle into my cardigan and turn away from the door, only to pause as his voice calls my name.

  ‘What do you think Tory? You’re head of my design team of one. You think this will look good in my house?’

  My heart lurches again, this time for a completely different reason and I all but skip over to them in my eagerness. If I had a tail, I’d be wagging it. Taking a step back, I hear Freddy walk up behind me as I pretend to study the clock from a slight distance. ‘If I throw you a ball, will you run after it?’ he murmurs from just behind my right ear. I resist the urge to step back again, this time directly on his foot, and opt for completely ignoring his bitchy comment.

  ‘Yeah, I think it would. Maybe in the hallway. It’s quirky, just like the spiral staircase.’ And, actually, I really do mean it. Kit turns and gives me a warm grateful look and I feel like some kind of bunny boiler. God I’m a shit friend.

  ‘That’s it then, sold. Do you think you could box it up and store it here until Tory’s ready for it?’ I try for serious at his insinuation that I’m in charge as I look over to wait for Kit’s answer, but fail miserably, and in the end we just stand grinning at each other. ‘No problem,’ Kit manages at length and turns back towards Noah. ‘Thank you so much for your business sir, it really is very much appreciated.’ Noah smiles and waves away her effusive thanks. ‘Do you take American Express?’

  Twenty minutes later, I reluctantly start making a move to go as I promised dad I’d be back for a cosy dinner with him and Mabel. Luckily they’re going to the pics after so the torture is not going to be too prolonged.

  To my delight, Noah offers to walk with me, citing the need for one last look over his lines before filming starts tomorrow.

  ‘What time do you kick off in the morning?’ I ask putting Dotty’s leash on.

  ‘Make up starts at four thirty,’ he answers and all three of us shudder in unison.

  ‘Well don’t make too much noise,’ I say in mock seriousness, ‘I’ve no intention of climbing out of my nice warm bed until at least half past eight.’

  ‘Mmm, think maybe I should crack the whip now you’re working for me and come and give you a shake at six.’ I resist the urge to nod enthusiastically at the thought of any shaking and whipping involving Noah Westbrook and my bedroom, and simply laugh. Unfortunately Freddy has no compunction about dropping me right in it.

  ‘Of course you could always stay over,’ he says cheekily. ‘Then you could wake each other up…’

  I glare at my so called friend, promising dire consequences to come if he doesn’t shut his gob. Now. I daren’t even look at Noah.

  Grabbing Dotty’s leash, I give Freddy one last scowl and head to the door for Kit to let us out. Once outside, I risk a glance at Noah and notice he’s replaced the silly hat. He doesn’t look pissed off. In fact he looks deep in thought.

  ‘Thanks for coming for tea this afternoon.’ I mumble, more to break the silence than anything.

  He looks over at me and smiles. ‘Thanks for inviting me. I’ve had a great time.’ He sounds like he really means it. I smile back and we walk down towards the water front in companionable silence. The wind has died and the sun is trying to peek through the low grey cloud causing streams of sunlight to shine down on the water. Once at the river, we have to part company. We stand in slightly awkward silence for a couple of seconds, then he bends down and fusses Dotty. As he straightens, to my immense surprise, he kisses my cheek. ‘See you tomorrow Tory,’ he murmurs. I nod my hea
d mutely for a couple of seconds until I realise that I probably look like one of those nodding dogs and manage, ‘Yeah, have a nice evening Noah.’

  Then I turn away before I fling my arms around his neck and beg him to take me home with him.

  Desperation is so unattractive…

  Half an hour later I’m doing my usual wheezing act up the garden path (really can’t understand why I don’t lose weight). The patio area next to the house is still buzzing with people, lights and equipment. As predicted, Noah’s trailer is taking up the whole of the drive to the right of the house. It’s absolutely massive and I have nothing but admiration to the driver who managed to get it in without actually knocking one of the walls down. I let Dotty off the leash, and she wastes no time dashing over to make friends with the crew who appear to be mostly standing around. As always, she’s an instant hit and, leaving her to it for a couple of minutes, I go over and peek in one of the trailer windows. It’s difficult to see much, but two things definitely stand out. Firstly, no expense has been spared, and secondly, cream leather appears to be the dominant theme. A completely different world.

  Shaking my head ruefully, I turn back towards the house in time to see Dotty rolling around on her back in delighted abandon, being fussed by half a dozen people. She really is such a tart. Laughing I go over to introduce myself. Jed and Arnold are nowhere to be seen and I wonder if they’re inside.

  In fact, the inside is much, much worse than outside. The hall looks like a war zone. There are wires everywhere and Jed and Arnold seem to be in the thick of it. Giving them both a quick wave, I retreat hurriedly into the kitchen which is blessedly quiet compared to the rest of the house, and, apart from a large pile of used mugs, appears to have escaped relatively unscathed. I head over to the fridge to start preparing dinner, wondering what on earth dad was thinking, inviting Mabel over to this madhouse. I’m guessing, knowing my father, he thought she’d be impressed (that’s if he did anything thinking at all – not usually his strong point). Just hope she hasn’t got a cleaning fetish…

  I check my watch and note it’s four thirty, still a bit too early to stick the pizza in the oven. (When I said preparing dinner, I meant in the very loosest sense of the word…) I wonder where dad is – I know he’s not in the house, because there's no sign of Pickles, and believe me, Dotty would know if her hero was anywhere in the building.

  Think of the devil… all of a sudden there’s the sound of a banging door and my father’s thundering voice.

  ‘What a bollocking mess.’ Then, as he crashes into the kitchen, ‘I can’t bloody well bring Mabel into this shit pit.’ For once we are in complete agreement, although I probably wouldn’t have phrased it quite so quaintly.

  ‘Why don’t you take her out for dinner?’ I suggest calmly. ‘I’ll look after Pickles this evening while you and Mabel have a nice romantic meal followed by the cinema. How does that sound?’

  He eyes me with a slight frown. ‘Bloody suspicious.’

  I sigh loudly and roll my eyes. ‘Just what do you think I’m going to get up to?’

  ‘Well it would be a damn change if you occasionally got up to something.’

  ‘Ha ha,’ I respond sarcastically. ‘I think you get to misbehave often enough for both of us daddy dearest. And speaking of misbehaving – how are you feeling today? Slight headache perchance?’

  ‘Never felt better,’ is his infuriating answer. ‘Anyway ‘nuff about me. You heard from the actor?’ His abrupt change of subject throws me for a second and I cast a mistrustful glance up at him. ‘Why do you want to know? What’s with all this sudden interest in my social life? I’ve told you exactly how things are between Noah and me. That’s not going to change. You know it and I know it.’

  ‘However much I might want it to,’ I resist the temptation to add.

  ‘What about these drawings he’s asked you to do? What’s that all about?’ He’s seated himself at the kitchen table and I can tell he’s not going anywhere without some kind of explanation.

  Sighing again, I put the kettle on. When my father’s in interrogation mode, he’s like a ferret and there really is no putting him off.

  ‘He’s thinking of possibly buying the house he’s renting.’ I hold up my hand as he opens his mouth to butt in. ‘I said he’s thinking about it.’ There’s no way I’m going to tell my father that it’s all done and dusted. He could never keep that little gem to himself. Ever. But I can drip feed information to him, a bit like a carrot to a donkey. He’ll keep quiet as long as he thinks there’s bigger and better gossip to come. And of course, the threat of possible violence if he doesn’t keep shtum, will no doubt help too…

  ‘Bottom line is he’s asked me to come up with a few ideas for possible improvements – to see if it’s worth his time and effort.’

  Handing him a cup of tea, I wait for the barrage of questions. To my surprise, he’s actually silent for a moment which is so out of character I’m tempted to ask who he is and what he’s done with my father…

  Finally he looks up with a suspiciously deadpan expression. ‘So that means he could be living here? In Dartmouth? Permanently?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ I respond, wondering exactly what’s going on in that brain of his. ‘I think he’s just looking at it as a holiday home, or a bolt hole. Something like that anyway.’

  He nods his head slowly at my answer but remains sitting with a pensive look on his face. My heart drops in response. That look never, ever bodes well. ‘So, you pair are going to be thick as thieves while he’s buggering about here then?’ I sigh with exasperation. ‘I’ve told you dad, it’s not like that. He’s asked me to do a job for him and I intend to do it. But – and please listen to this, because it’s the last time I’m going to say it - That. Is. It…

  ‘Now, are you going to take Mabel out or not? If you are, you need to get on the phone pronto.’

  That does the trick. He looks at his watch and swears before clambering up and exiting the kitchen in pretty much the same way as he entered it. As the door slams, I hear him yelling, ‘Who said you could turn my bloody study into a bollocking wardrobe?’ Pickles hasn’t moved. I swear that dog can understand English…

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning I’m woken early by the sound of voices. Loud voices. Glancing at the clock, I let out a small groan. It’s six thirty in the morning for pity’s sake. I try pulling the covers over my head but unfortunately Dotty’s heard the commotion and decides to add to it by barking for England at the bedroom door. Unsure as to whether the din is going to completely scupper any filming going on, I leap out of bed and grab her. This wasn’t something I’d bargained for, although knowing my dog’s penchant for vocalizing every tiny bit of excitement, I really should have done.

  I take her with me into the bathroom and turn on the shower. Hopefully the water will drown out both the commotion in the hall and Dotty’s response to it. Good plan.

  Ten minutes later I’ve thrown on my usual work clothes of shirt and jeans and, after opening the bedroom door a crack, I take a peek onto the upstairs hallway. With a sigh of relief, I note that there are plenty of people around but there doesn’t appear to be any actual filming going on. With more confidence I open the door fully and carry Dotty out on to the landing. Once there, I take advantage of being unnoticed and, sitting on the top step with Dotty on my knee, I look through the banisters at the mayhem in the hall below.

  There are several actors milling about dressed in early nineteenth century costume but I’m unable to recognize any of them from Saturday’s cocktail party. Then, leaning further round, I spot Noah. He’s dressed in classic Regency attire of a double breasted dress coat cutaway at the front and tails at the back over the top of a cream coloured waistcoat cut flat across the bottom. A white linen shirt with a simply tied white cravat complete his upper ensemble while close fitting pants and hessian boots the bottom. His hair has been cropped slightly and is now swept back in a cultivated tousled fashion, complete with discreet sid
eburns.

  I stare at him fascinated. He is the epitome of a Regency Buck and my heart does a quick back flip as I watch him submitting with good grace to one of the make-up artists as she tries unsuccessfully to stop his unruly hair from falling into his eyes.

  I’m not the only one eyeing the scene below however, and, as Dotty spots Noah, she jumps from my lap before I can stop her and dashes down the stairs. By the time I’ve reached the bottom of the staircase, she is happily ensconced in Noah’s arms and is licking his face furiously, much to the chagrin of the two make-up artists still hovering around him. Laughing, Noah holds her away from his perfectly cut tail coat and hands her back to me as I rush up mumbling ‘I’m so sorry , so, so, so sorry.’

  Noah just shakes his head and grins at me, saying cheerfully, ‘Don’t worry Tory, it’s only taken them two hours to get me looking like this.’ As always my heart flips at his use of my name, and I smile back at him, uncertain whether he’s joking or not. One look at the make-up artist’s face however, has me beating a hasty retreat to the kitchen, promising faithfully to keep her on a leash next time.

  Or maybe I should just move in with Kit while they’re here. I think about it as I let Dotty out to do her morning business, and put the kettle on. I know my best friend wouldn’t have a problem with me staying over, but it would mean not seeing Noah and I suddenly realise that I really couldn’t bear that. Taking a deep breath, I finally acknowledge that I could well be in love with Noah Westbrook.

  My heart sinks at this sudden epiphany. This really is not good, not good at all. ‘No, it’s not love,’ I tell myself sternly, ‘It’s just lust, pure and simple. Lust…’ And I slam the teapot down on the table as I repeat the last word out loud.

  ‘Well, there’s a word for seven o’clock in the morning.’ I turn round in disbelief to see Noah leaning casually against the kitchen door. Damn. How the hell hadn’t I heard him come in? Where’s Dotty when I need her?