Boot Camp Bride

by Lizzie Lamb

  ‘Thanks for reminding me that I’m the pantomime fiancée,’ Charlee wisecracked, but took his hand when he proffered it a second time.

  They walked side by side down the wide staircase and into the hall where guests were having dinner by a roaring fire, with their black labs at their feet. Charlee’s cocktail dress with its net underskirt and Ffinch’s charcoal-grey suit, pale-grey shirt and coordinating dark-pewter tie drew admiring glances. The younger guests gave them looks of fellow feeling, while the older guests, remembering how it had felt to be young and in love, smiled at them. Feeling a complete fraud, Charlee returned their ‘good evenings’ and held onto Ffinch’s hand tightly when she felt her courage was about to desert her.

  They passed through the bar where young families were sitting down to their evening meal and progressed into the formal dining room where tables were laid with white linen, candles, glassware and heavy silver cutlery. A waiter checked their name in the reservations and then escorted them to a table where champagne was chilling in an ice bucket in a stand. He seated Charlee with great ceremony, shook out her napkin and laid it across her lap. Then she was given a large menu which looked like it’d been handwritten by the monks on Lindisfarne.

  She chewed her lip in deliberation and read the list of starters several times.

  ‘Don’t go all girly on me, Montague,’ Ffinch growled over the top of the oversized menu. ‘I won’t have my dinner ruined because you order a lettuce leaf topped by a pea, balanced on a spear of asparagus, and spend half an hour pushing it round your plate. This restaurant has a Michelin star - go for it, have what you want.’ Then he returned to perusing his own menu.

  Usually, Charlee had an appetite that would put a starving horse to shame and she was puzzled that he hadn’t picked up on it, considering the meals they’d shared at the mews.

  ‘I am a little hungry,’ she confessed daintily. Ffinch’s expression demonstrated that he wasn’t buying her ladylike manners for a second.

  ‘Good! Because, in two days you’ll be existing on gruel and rice cakes - which aren’t really cakes at all, by the way. I can see you sneaking off to the loos within an hour of arriving, with a Mars bar taken from the stash hidden under your bed.’ Considering what she thought Ffinch got up to behind closed doors, eating forbidden chocolate seemed pretty tame.

  ‘For your information, Ffinch, the menu at the boot camp is nutritionally balanced and prepared by an award-winning chef.’

  ‘That’ll be two rice cakes, then.’ Ffinch apparently found the whole idea of her on iron rations vastly entertaining. She was just about to make some quip about him surviving on roots and berries in the jungles of Colombia, but stopped herself in time. ‘Eat up our kid, you’re at your auntie’s,’ he said in a cod Mancunian accent.

  ‘Thanks, I will.’

  The sommelier arrived at their table, opened the champagne and went through the ritual of offering Ffinch a thimbleful to check it wasn’t corked. Then he poured out two glasses and walked away after draping a linen napkin over the ice bucket.

  ‘Sam’ll have a fit when he gets the bill for this,’ Charlee said.

  ‘Actually, I’m paying for the meal. And before you offer to pay half -’

  ‘Believe me, I wasn’t,’ Charlee cut in, ‘you’re minted and I’m an impoverished intern. Besides, it’s the very least you can do, to repay me for what I’ve had to suffer.’ She looked at him over the top of her flute, waiting for his reaction. ‘And what’s yet to come.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Ffinch acknowledged, holding his glass next to hers. ‘Partners, Montague.’

  ‘Partners, Ffinch,’ she agreed, pushing to the back of her mind the thought that their partnership was one-sided. She wondered if he’d say more tonight over dinner; maybe share the rest of his story with her. They appeared to have reached a rapprochement and she didn’t want to ruin it by forcing the pace.

  Putting down his glass, Ffinch opened his wallet and brought out a piece of paper.

  ‘You might need this.’ He handed her the cutting of their announcement in The Times. ‘When you’re at the boot camp, I mean. I thought you could put it in the back of the photograph frame which holds the shot we had taken at our “engagement party”. Put it on your bedside table to allay suspicion?’ When she didn’t respond, he appeared to run out of words and settled instead for sitting back in his chair, regarding her intently. Evidently trying to understand her swift mood change.

  ‘Sure.’ Charlee shrugged, determined not to make it easy for him.

  Despite the splendour of their surroundings, the champagne and the delicious meal that was to come, Charlee’s heart was heavy. She was conflicted; excited at the prospect of her first assignment, but provoked by Ffinch’s refusal to divulge more than he thought necessary to ensure the success of the mission. In addition, she couldn’t quite rid herself of the crazy notion that when she eventually met her future husband, this faux engagement would take the shine off her real engagement and ruin the moment.

  It was a quixotic notion, but she felt as if they were deriding something she hadn’t realised until that moment she held dear. Then she reminded herself that this wasn’t real. And as for Ffinch, he was so far removed from the faceless man in her dream who flooded her heart with love, as to be almost a different species. She needed to toughen up if she wanted to be taken seriously. It was time for her to affect the world-weariness which he wore like a badge of honour.

  She reached for the scrap of paper and their fingers touched briefly. Her skin was warm and soft but Ffinch’s felt cold and dry, almost chilblained - reminding her that beneath his fading tropical tan there was a man recovering from dengue. The paper fluttered onto the starched tablecloth and Ffinch picked it up. He looked at her questioningly, apparently trying to figure out what was going through her mind.

  ‘I’ll keep it,’ Charlee said, back in role and hiding her inner tumult. ‘In case I forget what you look like, or why I’m here.’ She’d promised Ffinch that she wouldn’t go all mushy on him, and she’d better stick to her side of the bargain.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll forget for a second why you’re here, Montague. I simply meant as a means of establishing our credentials, our legend. Forget it.’ She detected anger and impatience in his voice, as though he thought her some spoiled twenty-something who sulked when things didn’t go her way. About a million miles removed from his two partners who hadn’t returned to their feather beds at the end of the mission. His expression unfathomable, he picked up the cutting and put one corner to the candle. Charlee snatched it out of his hand, extinguishing the flame by pinching it between finger and thumb.

  ‘Set off the sprinkler system why don’t you? Deny me my dinner as they clear the restaurant and call the fire brigade. Not to mention have everyone in the restaurant thinking we’re a couple of fruitcakes.’

  ‘And aren’t we? Maybe this whole thing is mad.’ For a moment, Ffinch’s guard dropped and Charlee panicked in case he was having second thoughts.

  ‘If I knew what this whole thing entailed, I’d be able to make my own judgment, wouldn’t I?’ She paused, and with a very direct blue stare presented him with the ideal opportunity to fill her in.

  ‘Concentrate on your starter, Montague,’ he said. ‘I hear that the Brancaster mussels are delicious.’

  ‘Do you now?’ Charlee raised her menu and hid behind it, frustrated. He’d been close, very close to letting his guard slip. Damn - maybe she should ply him with champagne and -

  ‘Lower your menu, Montague. The cogs in your brain are whirring so fast I can hear them. I need to see your expression then I’ll know what you’re thinking. Don’t take up the cloak and dagger business for a living, will you? You have one of the most expressive faces I’ve ever seen. You wear your heart on your sleeve.’

  In spite of his earlier terseness it sounded like a compliment.

  ‘You say it like it’s a bad thing,’ she came back with. ‘Whereas you - why, I never know what you’re thinkin
g.’

  ‘Then we complement each other, beautifully. Fire and ice,’ he said, touching the rim of his glass against hers.

  ‘Down the hatch,’ she responded as the waiter came across and hovered with his Wi-Fi notebook ready to take their order and relay it to the kitchen. Then she put down her menu and with a heavy sigh gave Ffinch a loved-up look. ‘You order for me, darling, you know what a Dithering Dora I can be.’

  He gave one of his rare, quick smiles and raised her hand to his lips. ‘Would Dithering Dora like mussels, steak, salad and a bottle of Rioja?’

  ‘Oh, yes - and chips. You can’t have steak without chips.’

  ‘We serve twice-fried garlic hand cut chips rolled in parmesan, madam,’ the waiter said politely.

  ‘Twice-fried and rolled in garlic and parmesan, Pumpkin. How cool is that?’ she asked.

  ‘Garlic, darling?’ Ffinch questioned as his thumb rubbed across the top of Granny’s ring. ‘Won’t that be rather … unromantic?’

  ‘Depends what you’ve got in mind,’ Charlee gushed, batting her lashes at him. ‘And not if we both have it.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, madam.’ The waiter gave Ffinch a fleeting, sympathetic look, as if Ffinch was holding a wildcat by the tail. Then the polite mask was back in place and he walked off to take the order from another table.

  Ffinch let go of Charlee’s hand. ‘If you’re going to behave badly, I’ll have to order room service and confine you to barracks,’ he said, but his lips twitched in amusement.

  ‘You’re one to talk - darling. Besides, aren’t we supposed to be love’s young dream and unable to keep our hands off each other?’ Charlee drained her champagne glass like a thirsty bricklayer and the sommelier was at their side in a flash to refill it. ‘I could get used to this,’ she giggled, altogether more relaxed. ‘I’m starting to feel rather chilled, if you must know.’

  ‘Why does that thought fill me with alarm? Well, enjoy it, tomorrow we take off with a packed lunch to explore the marshes. I need to convince the staff and other birdwatchers that I’m a confirmed twitcher, and that my being on the marshes with my camera and binoculars is nothing out of the ordinary.’

  ‘But, surely I’ll be the one taking photos of Anastasia? Using my digital camera or iPhone?’

  ‘Yes, I’m simply there for backup. In case …’

  Then he did his annoying thing where he cut himself off mid-sentence, as if he’d already said too much. Vanessa had said that since returning from South America Ffinch hadn’t taken another photograph. Clearly that wasn’t the case, so what was the truth? Then she thought, to hell with questions and answers, it was enough to drive one mad. Tonight was about enjoying herself; the real business would start tomorrow.

  ‘In case what? The brides-to-be discover my stash of chocolate under the bed and an unseemly fight ensues?’ But she’d left it too late to press home the advantage and Ffinch had control of himself.

  ‘I’ll station myself on the marshes,’ he continued, as though the conversation was a run-on. ‘Ostensibly, photographing the birds and wildlife while you and the other ladies thunder past.’

  ‘Thunder past! Are you kidding? They weigh no more than a fly.’

  ‘Okay, as you thunder past.’

  ‘Thanks for that!’

  ‘I’ll be able to get some different shots of the group. If they get suspicious about your taking snaps, you can leave your phone at a prearranged spot and I can forward the photos to What’cha!’

  ‘Won’t I need my phone to keep in contact with you?’ Charlee’s brow creased as she considered the logistics of their mission.

  ‘You won’t get a signal on the marshes,’ he replied with such certainty that Charlee knew he’d made it his business to find out. ‘It’s a dead zone for mobile phones. I only just get a signal here, or on the edge of the village. All contact between us will have to be made via a public call box.’

  ‘If there is one,’ Charlee said, pointing out another flaw in the plan.

  ‘There is,’ he said, eating his last mussel.

  ‘You seem very certain.’

  ‘I am.’

  The last was said with such authority that Charlee didn’t pursue the matter further. The waiter removed their plates and brought them lemon scented hot cloths to wipe their fingers. Then their steaks arrived and Ffinch tucked into his with all the relish of a starving man.

  An hour and a half later after dessert, coffee and cognac, Charlee and Ffinch climbed the stairs to their respective bedrooms. Charlee was rather unsteady, a combination of vertiginous heels and the quantity of wine she’d consumed. She pulled a face and groaned, thinking of the hangover she would wake up with and the windswept salt marshes dashing ice-cold rain and sleet into her face. Ffinch walked up the stairs behind her, his hand resting lightly on her waist as if keeping a loving eye on her, whereas in reality he was holding her upright. Bidding the other guests goodnight, he whispered in her ear.

  ‘Smile, for goodness sake. You look as if you’re going to your doom, not a night of passion in The Ship Inn’s best room. Stay in role.’

  ‘I’m concentrating on my balance, if you must know, and,’ Charlee whipped round as his words sank in, almost falling backwards into his arms. ‘A night of passion, now hold it right there, mate. It’d take more than two glasses of champagne -’

  ‘Half a bottle of Rioja, a sticky with your pudding and cognac with coffee - to do what? Floor you? Make the thought of sleeping with me more palatable?’ Although he kept a straight face, Charlee detected banked down humour there.

  ‘You didn’t exactly drink Perrier water all night yourself,’ she said, giving him a pondering look. Then the humour vanished from his eyes and was replaced by the sorrow that never seemed to leave him. It was as if he believed he had no right to happiness because he’d messed up big time and lost two of his team.

  ‘Besides which,’ he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘I haven’t reached such depths of depravity or desperation that I have to get my date drunk before I can have sex with her.’ Date? Have sex with her! The words leapt out at Charlee and she was about to make another cutting remark, but he hadn’t finished. ‘If I’d wanted to ravish you, Montague - don’t you think I could have carried out my dastardly plan at the mews?’

  ‘In Chelsea no one can hear you scream?’ Charlee paraphrased, hiding that she was rather put out at discovering that he found her about as alluring as a wet fish.

  ‘Exactly. Here we are - home.’ They arrived at her door. ‘Key?’ She handed it over and he unlocked her door and put it back in her handbag. ‘Okay, you get into bed, drink a huge amount of water and knock back some painkillers, that way you’ll be fit for what I’ve got planned tomorrow.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘A yomp over the marshes when the tide’s out.’

  ‘Oh, God - I’m a dead woman,’ she moaned, covering her face with her hands. ‘I’ll be sucked down some godforsaken bog and be found thousands of years later, perfectly preserved - like those leathery corpses in the Fens. That’s if the vultures don’t pick my bones dry.’

  ‘Hm, I must consult The Boys’ Own Book of Fenland Birds,’ Ffinch said, now openly laughing. ‘I don’t remember vultures featuring widely in it.’

  ‘Oh, shut up, Mr Smarty Pants,’ Charlee said, giving him a push in his chest and starting to feel rather worse for wear. ‘Goodnight. I won’t be asking you in for coffee.’

  ‘Goodnight, Charlee - you are priceless, know that? Sleep well, but remember - gallons of water and pain killers.’ He leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek as a good fake fiancé should. At that precise moment, Charlee turned her face fractionally to the left and his kiss landed squarely on her lips.

  ‘Oh,’ Charlee said in surprise, leaning back against the door.

  Ffinch didn’t pull away or give an embarrassed cough, despite his earlier covert assertion that she wasn’t his type. Instead, he leaned forward and deepened the kiss, unmistakably relishing the way their lips touc
hed and their breathing became erratic. Then, just as Charlee felt herself floating above the uneven oak floor, two guests walked across the landing and he pulled back.

  ‘Sweet dreams, Bunnikins,’ he said softly, purely for their benefit. Charlee heard a rumble of laughter in his throat as he opened her door and pushed her gently, but firmly across the threshold.

  The door closed. Charlee raised an unsteady hand to her lips, which were tingling. Just as they had done when, as child, she’d made a musical instrument out of a comb and greaseproof paper. Eventually the tingling stopped and Charlee walked into the bathroom to locate her painkillers. She stopped dead in the middle of the tiled floor as his last words penetrated the fug of her brain.

  Bunnikins? Bunnikins!

  She giggled. She’d never figure Ffinch out, not in a million years and felt suddenly sad that, after tonight, she’d have less than a week left in which to try.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Look Out for the Vultures

  Charlee woke in the middle of the night as hailstones hurled themselves at her window aided and abetted by a cutting wind off the marshes. She checked the time on her mobile phone - three a.m. Unable to sleep, she lay in the darkness expecting a hangover to manifest itself. However, apart from a raging thirst she seemed fine. She’d always had the constitution of a particularly energetic ox and it was standing her in good stead. However, deciding it was best not to take any risks, she swung her legs out of bed and headed for the loo for more painkillers and to rehydrate her liver.

  It was then that she heard the other sound above the noise of the wind - a low moaning like someone in distress. It appeared to be coming from Ffinch’s bedroom. What on earth was he doing in there? Conducting a black mass complete with animal sacrifice? Or maybe those Brancaster mussels were exacting their revenge. Wrinkling her nose at the thought, she put her ear to the interconnecting door. She couldn’t just barge in, not after accusing him of engineering a have-it-away-weekend.

  The moaning grew louder and became a muttering - and then she heard a name being called over and over. Taking her courage in both hands, she slipped her mobile into her dressing gown pocket, unlocked the door and peered into the darkness.