Boot Camp Bride

by Lizzie Lamb

  ‘I see,’ Ffinch frowned.

  ‘My brothers charmingly explained the lack of photos by telling me I was adopted. Their little joke, everything they could do to confuse me was regarded as fair game.’

  Ffinch nodded, beginning to understand the family dynamic and Charlee’s place in the pecking order. ‘Go on,’ he commanded. Charlee didn’t like being ordered around by anyone, least of all Ffinch, but hoped that if she got her backstory out of the way he would stop bugging her about her brothers.

  ‘Not much to tell, really. My mother had just accepted a post as an adviser on primary education after many years of trying and was devastated to find herself pregnant at forty-one. Promotion was much harder for a woman back then, remember,’ she cut her mother some unaccustomed slack. ‘With the boys away at boarding school I was practically handed over to my grandparents to bring up while mother and father pursued their careers. Mother suffered horrendous postnatal depression and my birth plunged her into an early menopause. She never really took to me, I guess … the unplanned child.’

  She shrugged away the hurt. Ffinch straightened the photo of her with the lacrosse team and when he turned round, the mocking, jibing look was gone from his eyes. He regarded her intently with that ‘I wonder if I can really trust you’ look she was beginning to recognise.

  ‘We should form a club: “Brought Up By Their Grandparents”,’ he said, half-jokingly. ‘I spent most of my life in boarding schools when not staying with my cousins on the family coffee plantation in Brazil. My parents travelled the world, from embassy to embassy, until they hit pay dirt with their posting to Paris. My grandparents had a large hand in my upbringing, too.’ He reached inside his flying jacket and brought out a blue leather box. ‘Hence, Granny’s ring. Great-Granny’s ring to be precise, on my mother’s side - they’re the Ffinches, not the Fonsecas. Here,’ he reached over the desk and opened the box. ‘It’s yours for now; try it on.’

  He removed the ring from its white velvet bed and held it towards her. Holding her breath Charlee extended her left hand, glad she now had a grip on her emotions and had stopped trembling. This was a game, she reminded herself, something she had to do in order to be taken seriously as a journo. Otherwise, she’d spend the rest of her life covering school fetes and guess the name of the prize pig at the county show.

  She leaned forward slightly and Ffinch slipped the ring over her finger. It felt cold to the touch but fitted perfectly. The setting was a little old-fashioned - a large, square-cut diamond, mounted on the shoulders of four of the darkest sapphires she’d ever seen. She suspected it was very, very expensive and looked up at him concernedly.

  But Ffinch was looking down at the ring as if it had a special place in his affections. Perhaps even remembering his great-grandmother wearing it. All the more unusual then, she thought, that he’d chosen that particular ring to make their bogus engagement appear genuine.

  ‘You know, we could order one of those diamonique rings off the shopping channel. I’m going to live in a state of terror in case I lose it,’ Charlee said, genuinely anxious about misplacing a family heirloom.

  ‘I trust you, Montague,’ he said quietly. His fingers closing over her left hand, he pulled her to her feet and round to his side of the desk. He looked serious and more than a little thoughtful. Despite the fact that she was still smarting over the way he’d ended their partnership on Christmas Day, Charlee felt close to him and understood that photographing Anastasia Markova meant everything to him. Why that should be, and what his interest was in a boot camp at the end of the world on the Norfolk marshes, eluded her.

  For several beats, he stood holding her hand and looking down at the ring. Charlee made the most of the opportunity to study him: the strong line of his eyebrows, unfairly long eyelashes, expressive mouth and his sculpted cheekbones that hinted at his Brazilian ancestry. He raised his head and Charlee shivered as the December light streaming through the window reflected in his eyes, making them appear grey-flecked with blue and very appealing.

  He looked back at her quizzically and Charlee wondered what he took with him when his scrutiny of her was over. She had no illusions about herself - she was just about okay. The most remarkable thing about her was her almost white-blonde hair, pale skin that blushed far too readily, bright blue eyes that made her appear younger than she was - and a stubborn mouth that one ignored at one’s peril.

  ‘Diamonique?’ Ffinch questioned, apparently not willing to let go of her hand, just yet. ‘You have to flash that rock under Vanessa and Sally’s noses on the first day back after the holidays. If we can fool them, the rest of the world will be easy. Those two could have a permanent slot on Antiques Roadshow and would spot a fake piece at fifty paces.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Charlee acknowledged. She frowned, wondering how she could free her hand without spoiling this rare moment of détente.

  ‘On which subject,’ Ffinch changed tack and looked suddenly businesslike.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We should get the first kiss out of the way, too. It might make the play-acting a bit easier?’ He pulled a droll face as if he suspected that Charlee was finding the charade hard to deal with and wanted to help her over this next hurdle.

  ‘Really know how to sweep a gal off her feet, don’t cha Ffinch?’ she said archly, pulling her hand free and standing hands on hips, like Calamity Jane. ‘Forget it.’ Shooting him an ‘I don’t think so’ look, she headed for the door, totally unaware that she’d issued a challenge no man could resist. Least of all an alpha male like Ffinch.

  ‘In the interests of research, then?’ Reaching out, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into his arms and dipped her with all the skill of a tango dancer. Charlee’s breath hitched as soft breasts came up against hard ribs and musculature. She tried to wriggle free but that was impossible without her losing her balance and falling flat on her derriere. He straightened up and she felt the gurgle of laughter rise in his chest as he took in her affronted expression. ‘Now stop struggling and take your medicine like a good girl.’

  ‘I will n-nphm,’ her last word was lost as his mouth came down on hers.

  Briefly, she continued to struggle. Then she went limp in his arms, waiting for the moment when she could twist away from him - just as she had done with her brothers when they were play-fighting. But Ffinch’s arm snaked round her waist and his free hand cradled the back of her head, prolonging a kiss that was warm, enticing and - despite the unusual test conditions - very pleasurable.

  Expertly, Ffinch prised her legs apart with his right knee, pressed her back against the desk and drew her closer into his body. The scent of skin, soap and clean linen assailed Charlee and she closed her eyes, forgetting for an instant that she was supposed to leap away from him. Trembling, she gave herself up to the kiss instead; her treacherous right hand tightened on the lapel of his ancient flying jacket, her nails dug into the sheepskin lining and she pulled him closer.

  ‘Charlee …’ Ffinch, evidently feeling the resistance ebb out of her, whispered her name against her lips and prolonged the kiss. Just as his tongue started to explore her mouth and Charlee felt their lovemaking crank up a notch, the study door opened and Henry Montague walked in.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Economical With the Truth

  ‘Charlee - Mr Fonseca-Ffinch - I - Sorry. God - Sorry.’ Henry Montague found himself in the unenviable position of watching his daughter being thoroughly kissed by someone who was, to all intents and purposes, virtually a stranger. ‘Your mother wondered if …’

  Evidently sensing that Charlee was about to spring away from him, Ffinch spun her round and held her in front of him - with his arms crossed over her. ‘Caught red-handed,’ Ffinch said, kissing the top of Charlee’s head. ‘Well, darling, looks like the secret’s out …’ Darling? Charlee squirmed under the look her father sent her, but Ffinch seemingly was just getting into role. Holding Charlee closer, he shuffled them both forward and held out his hand to Henry Montague witho
ut letting Charlee go. ‘I’ve come here to formally ask for Charlee’s hand in marriage, sir.’

  ‘Have you indeed? Looks like Charlotte’s made up her own mind,’ Henry observed dryly, looking first at Charlee’s wedding finger and then searching her face. ‘I rather suspect that what I want doesn’t really come into it.’

  ‘Charlee is a force of nature,’ Ffinch agreed, with an edge that only Charlee detected. She pressed the heel of her left foot down on Ffinch’s toes, but that had no apparent impact as he was wearing leather boots

  ‘I’m of an age to do what I want,’ Charlee declared, pushing out of Ffinch’s arms.

  ‘She’s always done just what she wants,’ Henry observed dryly, sending Ffinch what could only be interpreted as a caveat emptor look. As if concerned that Ffinch, being in the throes of love, hadn’t quite got a handle on how difficult Charlee could be. ‘Well, if it’s what Charlee wants - and you want - then who am I to stand in your way? Congratulations - ahem - Mr Ffinch, and welcome to the family.’ He extended his hand and gave Ffinch’s a vigorous shake.

  ‘No Mister; just Ffinch, or Rafa - if you prefer,’ Ffinch pulled Charlee back into his arms, as though he suspected she was about to do a runner. ‘Think we’d better go and tell the rest of your family the good news, Sweetie. Don’t you?’

  Charlie twisted round in Ffinch’s arms so only he could see her expression. She felt like she was running with a group of lemmings towards the cliff edge and Ffinch was running alongside to make sure that she went over the precipice. He seemed preternaturally keen to make the engagement official despite his aversion to anything rhyming with moon and June.

  Now that she was recovering - slowly - from the experimental kiss, all the old suspicions came winging back.

  ‘We were going to tell you and Mum after the boys left, but … let’s go into the kitchen and get it over with. Ready, Pumpkin?’ Clearly that was an endearment too far, because Ffinch frowned and her father’s expression morphed between disbelief and incredulity. Best not overplay her hand, Charlee decided as she led the way back to the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, Mr Fonseca-Ffinch,’ Miranda greeted Ffinch. He walked over to the Aga and, making himself very much at home, stood with his back turned towards it, warming his cute arse. ‘What a lovely surprise.’ She smoothed her cashmere sweater down over her non-existent breasts and looked between Charlee, Ffinch and Henry uncertainly. Then she caught sight of the engagement ring on Charlee’s finger. ‘Are you two - engaged?’

  ‘Looks like it, doesn’t it?’ Charlee said. She extended her left hand in the time-honoured fashion and the diamond caught the sunlight. Her mother dropped the spatula into the frying pan and came rushing forward. She pulled Charlee’s hand towards her, almost dislocating her arm from her shoulder, and looked at Great-Granny’s ring in astonishment.

  ‘Charlotte! Why didn’t you say? Henry - champagne, now. We must celebrate,’ she clapped her hands.

  ‘It’s all been very sudden,’ Charlee said, going over to stand by Ffinch at the Aga. She put her arm in his and looked up at him with an expression of adoration. ‘Hasn’t it, Pumpkin?’ Her brothers got to their feet and moved towards them in a manner that was more menacing than congratulatory.

  ‘Sudden?’ Jack inquired, giving Ffinch an evil look. ‘Charlee’s not …’ He bunched his hands at his sides and everyone looked down at Charlee’s stomach, which was hidden by her baggy top. Charlee blushed to the roots of her hair and glared back at them.

  ‘Well, of course, the only way I could get a man would be to trap him by becoming pregnant. Thanks a bundle, Jack.’ This time Charlee’s high colour owed nothing to her embarrassment and everything to being humiliated in front of Ffinch. Miranda put a protective hand over her own stomach and looked forlornly at George. Charlee was about to come back with a scathing return when Ffinch intervened.

  ‘Naturally you’re suspicious,’ he said smoothly, putting his arm round Charlee’s shoulders. ‘We haven’t known each other very long, but when a coup de foudre strikes it’s best not to ignore it. Charlee is unlike any woman I’ve ever known.’ Charlee winced, very much aware of the irony behind Ffinch’s words. ‘We’re partners in every sense of the word and will be working closely together in the near future too.’

  Henry Montague opened up the door of the lime-green Smeg fridge in the corner and drew out two bottles of Louis Roederer Cristal. ‘A gift from a grateful patient. I was going to open one to see in the New Year, but this is a much better use for them. Now, out of you boys, who’s driving? Only half a glass for whoever it is, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Thank you, Henry,’ Barbara Montague said as she took her glass of champagne and went over to have another look at the ring. ‘It’s beautiful, Charlee, I hope you’ll look after it.’

  ‘No, Mum, I plan on losing it at the first opportunity when I’m making mud pies over by the potting shed. For God’s sake.’ Ever-present tears threatened to overwhelm her - why did her family always make her feel stupid and insignificant? And in front of Ffinch, too, this time?

  ‘Does the Queen know that the Cullinan Diamond is missing from the crown jewels?’ Wills asked but took the sting out of his words by coming over and shaking Ffinch’s hand and giving Charlee an affectionate hug. ‘Congratulations, Shrimp, I’m sure you’ll be very happy. When’s the wedding?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t …’ began Charlee uncertainly, but Ffinch cut across her.

  ‘Early summer, if everything goes according to plan.’

  ‘That doesn’t give us long,’ Barbara said, consulting her husband with a look.

  ‘It’ll be very low-key. I’ll be off on my travels and Charlee will be accompanying me,’ Ffinch said firmly. His uncompromising look was clearly designed to curb Barbara Montague’s enthusiasm for a BIG FAT HOME COUNTIES WEDDING.

  ‘Oh, but I thought … Charlee would give up all this journalism nonsense and settle down to a nice job in a language school. And George says that lobbyists and MPs are always on the lookout for good translators. She could work from home, too, when the babies arrive.’

  ‘For goodness sake, Mum … Change the record,’ Charlee protested.

  ‘The drudgery of housework would be a waste of Charlee’s many talents. And we’re both far too young to think about starting a family,’ Ffinch stated, his smile taking the sting out of his words. ‘You have no need to worry about any of that. I’ll be taking good care of Charlee from now on.’ He accepted the flute of champagne from Henry and removed his arm from Charlee’s shoulders.

  ‘Not,’ Charlee emphasised the word, ‘that I need anyone to take care of me, Sweetheart.’ She took Ffinch’s hand and gave it a warning squeeze. He squeezed her fingers in return and grey eyes locked with blue as a battle of wills took place, until Ffinch’s straight look reminded her to play her part.

  ‘Your other partners didn’t fare too well, did they?’ Jack asked, accepting a glass of Cristal from his father. ‘From what I read about your trip up the Amazon - two never returned and you barely escaped with your life?’

  ‘You don’t want to believe everything you read in the papers,’ Ffinch said, making plain that his tribulations in Colombia weren’t up for discussion. ‘I’m sure your work with Greenpeace isn’t without risk? Trailing the whaling fleets in small dinghies and so on. And Wills takes a calculated risk every time he examines pathogens under the microscope.’

  ‘Quite. But its Charlee’s safety I’m worried about …’

  ‘Well, don’t be,’ Charlee spoke up. ‘Raise your glasses and be happy for me, this is what I want.’ The fact that she was referring to her chance to work with Ffinch and not their engagement was something she did not intend to share with her family. Ffinch, clearly picking up the vibe, moved closer until they were standing shoulder to shoulder by the Aga.

  It was left for Henry Montague to redeem the moment. ‘Well, I think enough’s been said … Let’s raise our glasses and toast the happy couple. Charlotte and Rafael.’

  ‘Charlotte
and Rafael,’ everyone repeated as they sipped their champagne. There was an awkward pause as the Montagues eyeballed Charlee and Ffinch over the rim of their champagne flutes. There appearing to be nothing else to say, Ffinch gently nudged Charlee forward.

  ‘Time for you to pack, Charlee. I’m sorry Mr and Mrs Montague but we need to return to London tonight - something’s come up.’ Charlee downed her champagne in one and put the flute back on the kitchen table. She’d been wondering how she was going to handle her family once Ffinch returned to the Walkers’. That thought had also occurred to him, apparently. ‘I’m assuming that you will want to post an engagement notice in The Times as soon as possible? Charlotte and I have put a few words together.’ Charlee was relieved, as Ffinch handed the piece of paper he’d shown earlier to her father, that he didn’t use the phrase cobbled together this time. ‘I should just mention that Charlee will be moving in with me, so if you need to contact either of us, ring this number.’ He handed them a business card with his name embossed on it. ‘We’ll be in touch in a couple of days.’

  Barbara Montague looked like she wanted to say more but, stiff-lipped, held her peace. Everyone seemed at a loss for words and Charlee was relieved to scuttle out of the kitchen and run upstairs to pack her bags.

  ‘That was awkward,’ Charlee said with a fine touch of ironic understatement as Ffinch drove them away from her family home. Letting out a long breath, she sank lower in the seat and attempted to make herself as small as possible. She wanted to pull up the drawbridge, sink beneath the parapet and keep below the radar - and every other cliché that sprang to mind. She’d had quite enough emotion for one day - thank you very much - even before she examined her reaction to Ffinch’s kiss in her father’s study.

  Get the first kiss out of the way, he’d said, coolly in control of the situation. And what had she done? Held onto his flying jacket like a drowning woman and returned the kiss for all she was worth. Now he must think her deranged, as though slipping Great-Granny’s carbuncle of a diamond on her finger had unhinged her. Luckily, events had overtaken them in the form of the inquisition in the kitchen and Ffinch appeared to have put the embarrassing episode down to skilled play-acting on her part. Nothing more.