An Officer and a Gentleman Wanted: A Romantic Comedy

by Beverley Watts

  I’m half way across the room before he gets to the ‘gs’!

  2215 I feel like a new woman.

  Unsurprisingly, I’m first back to my seat and now I’m able to think clearly again, I feel quite sad that I wasn’t able to appreciate what is actually normally quite a moving toast.

  I sip at what’s left of my drink and wonder how long the speech is likely to be. The Port will definitely go round at least once more, but I’m now eager to get on to the next part of the evening.

  While the dinner has been great fun, I haven’t yet had much opportunity to chat with Rob.

  Still, the night is young…

  2225 The Guest of Honour is an Admiral who is apparently a distant relative of Nelson (not that distant though judging by his age).

  He starts off talking about Nelson’s leadership qualities – quite interesting really.

  2245 Still talking about leadership qualities

  2255 Talking about somebody else’s leadership qualities…

  2305 Talking about the importance of leadership qualities.

  I’m gradually losing the will to live. At this rate we’ll be here til morning…

  I glance around me and notice several cadets (most notably those who have just returned from ABLE) swaying in their seats in an effort to stay awake. I wonder how long it will be before one of them falls off his chair.

  2315 Is this the longest speech on record? I’m beginning to need the toilet again (I’m also beginning to seriously worry that I’ve got a bladder problem…)

  Suddenly everyone starts banging on the table and I realize it’s actually finished.

  The table banging is a tradition in the RN that stems from not being able to clap with 2 hands when on board a ship rolling on the high seas (for obvious reasons).

  On this occasion, it also serves to wake everybody up.

  Finally, without wasting any more time, the Mess President gives everyone permission to retire to the bar…

  My host gallantly pulls back my chair (luckily I was actually getting up from it at the time). I smile at him sweetly and thank him for a lovely evening. Then I leave Rob talking to a couple of cadets and make my way down the table towards Sarah who’s waiting for me at the end.

  “Bloody hell, I thought he was never going to finish.” I roll my eyes in agreement with her blunt assessment as we head down the steps to The Corridor.

  Suddenly a voice murmurs in my ear from close behind me. “What are you having to drink gorgeous?”

  To my delight Rob appears at my elbow and with a grin, Sarah tactfully disappears…

  0120 I am now very pleasantly tipsy. It’s been a wonderful evening. Rob has spent the last couple of hours glued to my side despite numerous attempts to drag him into the boisterous Mess games taking place at the other end of the bar.

  I can tell he likes me – a lot. And I have to say that the feeling is mutual. I feel like I’m floating on cloud nine (although to be fair that could just be the last glass of wine).

  Then he asks if I’d like to go back to his cabin for a night cap…

  And I want to, I really do, but I just know what it will lead to and even as intoxicated as I am, I can’t forget my earlier mental picture of the 2 of us wrestling with my top – I’ve read too many romance novels. (I’m sure my vision is not what they meant when they coined the term ‘bodice ripper’.)

  I can’t help it; it has to be exactly right…

  So I tell him that I need to be in the office bright and early tomorrow to begin working on my presentation for Saudi and he agrees with a rueful smile to walk me to my cabin instead.

  On the way he asks again if I like sailing and I nod my head enthusiastically (probably a bit more squiffy than I thought…)

  He does seem a little surprised at my fervent response (which to be fair was a bit over the top) but undeterred goes on to ask if I fancy the idea of sailing to the picturesque port of Salcombe with him when I get back from the Middle East.

  “We’ll have to stay overnight on the yacht,” He clarifies carefully without looking at me, “But I’d really love to take you”.

  I’m positive my heart actually swells with happiness and turning towards him, I pull his head down to kiss him gently on the lips.

  I look directly into his eyes. “I’d love to,” I whisper with a smile.

  I just know it will be perfect…

  Chapter Eight: Sheiks and Shipwrecks

  Week 8

  Thursday 29 October

  0815 So far the week has gone by in a complete blur. I feel as though the only time I’ve come out of my office is to eat, sleep and visit the toilet.

  Needless to say, as always, Nelson is not happy.

  He keeps looking at me reproachfully with his hang dog, ‘my life is pants’ expression to remind me that he hasn’t had a decent walk in 3 days (actually I’m not sure it’s the walk bit, more like I haven’t been over to the Naafi to keep him supplied with ginger nuts and donuts).

  I am resolutely ignoring him however, his girth is expanding along with mine and now the Commando Challenge is a distant dream (or nightmare) we could both do without the added carbs.

  And anyway, I haven’t got time to eat.

  Still, my determination (I’d like to say enthusiasm but that vanished around Tuesday teatime) has got me through and I now have the first draft of my Saudi English language presentation…

  It should only take me another twenty hours or so to perfect it.

  I’ve got one more day…

  Panicking a bit actually – maybe a donut would help me (quick rush of sugar – give me the extra brain power…)

  Mind you, it’s Shareholders today, so if I hang on, I can in all good conscience take a biscuit break.

  I look down at Nelson who sighs dramatically – sometimes I swear he can hear my thinking…

  10.30 I resolutely take off my glasses and, after promising Nelson I’ll bring him back a biscuit, I head out of my office before I change my mind.

  As I throw open the door, I startle a few of the students who are just starting their stand easy. They look at me for a second as if wondering who I am (I haven’t been holed up in my office for that long… Possibly they thought I was dead – or hoping anyway.)

  They drone out their ‘Good morning Ma’am’ less than enthusiastically as they troop by. I sigh – they don’t seem any more regimented than the day they first walked in.

  Can’t think about that – got too much on my plate at the moment.

  Haven’t even seen Rob all week. Apparently he’s in Portsmouth until tomorrow.

  I know I’ve said it before but it’s true - every time things seem to be hotting up, he promptly disappears.

  Maybe it’s a sign…

  Truth is though, I’m also a bit worried about the whole sailing thing. My enthusiasm was definitely down to 2 things:

  1. Spend time with Rob alone

  2. Possible end of enforced celibacy…

  But I’ve never even been on anything smaller than a frigate (and then it was in the middle of the River Dart).

  And the furthest I’ve been in the English Channel was 20 years ago when I went for a quick paddle on Paignton beach.

  I’d definitely rather spend time alone with him in a 5 star hotel along with a queen sized bed and a hot tub.

  Don’t think that was quite the impression I gave though, if my somewhat hazy recollection of the end of Trafalgar night is correct.

  And what if the weather’s bad? It will be November for God’s sake… I’m now envisioning 10 force gales with me clinging on to the yard arm (what is a yard arm anyway?) dressed in sow ester and gumboots while Rob stands at the helm fighting to keep us afloat…

  I shake off my feelings of impending doom – it’s not the bloody Titanic for pity’s sake; I’ll be singing a rousing chorus of ‘My Heart Will Go On’ next if I’m not careful.

  And anyway, I’m now at the bottom of the stairs and need to concentrate on negotiating The Corridor – br
eaking my leg just before going to Saudi is not likely to enhance my meteoric rise to the highest echelons of the Company (especially if I do it due to my unsuitable footwear…)

  10.35 I grab my coffee and surreptitiously stuff a couple of biscuits in my trouser pocket for Nelson later (that’s how stressed I am – can you believe it? I’m actually wearing trousers…) Then I look around to see who’s here to chat to (mind you, I’ve been closeted in my office for so long, everyone’s probably forgotten who I am)

  I’m just beginning to get to that uncomfortable period –the one a few minutes after you’ve arrived somewhere and realise that you don’t know anyone and you’re wondering whether you should just blend into the wall -when I gratefully spot Sam heading towards me, coffee in hand.

  We chat happily for a few minutes and I wonder briefly whether I might have gone for the wrong officer but then a familiar voice murmurs in my ear. “Hi gorgeous, how’s it going?” And my heart does a little flip…

  I’m just about to ask him why he’s back so early but Sarah joins us and the opportunity is lost. Hopefully we’ll get to chat before the coffee morning’s over.

  10.45 He’s still talking to Sam

  10.50 He’s still talking to Sam

  10.55 He’s STILL talking to Sam

  Now call me self centred, but I’m now figuring that he can’t want to speak to me that badly.

  Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to me at all – could well be a sign…

  11.00 I can’t put it off any longer (and believe it or not, I really do want to knock their proverbial tea towels off in Riyadh) so I swallow my frustration and turn to walk off the Quarterdeck with Sarah.

  “Bev.” Rob calls my name after I’ve gone a few steps and, after pausing for a second, I tell Sarah I’ll catch up with her later and turn back slowly with feigned nonchalance.

  If this guy thinks he can pick me up and put me down whenever he wants, then he’s sadly mistaken…

  (You know, back to the whole I’m Every Woman thing again…)

  I stay where I am and simply raise my eyebrows (hopefully I’m not too far away to ruin the effect) and wait for him to come to me.

  He comes over gratifyingly (one could even say life threateningly) quickly (remember, leather shoes…) and I feel my annoyance dissipate a little.

  Only a little…

  “Sorry about that.” He really does sound contrite.

  “I thought you weren’t back to work until tomorrow,” I respond, my tone still pretty brusque.

  “I wanted to see you before you went off on your Arabian adventure so I came back a day early.”

  And just like that, my earlier irritation melted away. “Are you allowed to do that?” I quip in a much softer tone.

  “I’m back in Portsmouth all next week so it’s no big deal and I wanted to arrange our sailing trip before you got your head turned by some mega rich sheik.

  “I was thinking that maybe we could go next weekend if you’re free?”

  I pause briefly, fear of possible drowning still warring with possible end of enforced celibacy…

  “Of course, that’s subject to the weather,” He goes on hurriedly (is my face that easy to read…?) “We won’t go if it’s bad, but the long range forecast is actually looking pretty good at the moment. We’ll stay overnight in Salcombe and I know a lovely little fish restaurant that I really want to take you to in the evening...”

  Who needs a queen sized bed and a hot tub anyway?

  Definitely a sign!

  Friday 30 October

  1715 Ok that’s it. I shut down my computer, pick up my ‘Saudi’ folder and head home to pack…

  I’m meeting Commander NTE (call me Steve) on Sunday afternoon at Heathrow Airport (did I mention ‘Steve’ and I are flying First Class..?)

  Our ‘First Class’ flight leaves at 1700 which gets us into Riyadh at approximately 0240 in the morning local time (nothing like arriving dewy eyed).

  Still, we’ll have the whole of Monday to get over the jet lag and soak in the sights (well at least ‘Steve’ will, not sure if I’ll be allowed out of my hotel room).

  I don’t think the airport is too far away from the city and we’re being met by someone from the British Embassy (I hope).

  Now all I need to do is to find something to wear which, to be fair, is not really a major problem as I’ll be the only person who sees what I’ve actually got on. Apparently our driver is going to bring me a black ‘abaya’ and head scarf to put on when we land.

  I’ve got blond hair – never thought of it before. Should I have had it dyed?

  Is my hair colour more or less likely to get me carried off into the desert?

  And why am I being so stupid – I’m a professional! And surely I can’t possibly be the first female to address the Saudi Navy…?

  Saturday 31 October

  1920 Finished my packing – everything in there is black with sleeves covering both my elbows and my ankles.

  You never know, I might have to go into hospital and I need to cover all my bases.

  Not sure about my basics though – all my black underwear would definitely not go down well in a Saudi hospital…

  Think I’ll stick with my white sensible Marks and Spencer twin sets.

  Frankie is cooking me dinner tonight – it feels a bit like the last meal of a condemned man; both Rosie, James and my mum are coming…

  Still if anything happens to me, at least I won’t have to clear up the aftermath.

  2250 Have had a lovely evening. Frankie cooked us all a gorgeous meal and as she sensibly chose to do a casserole, there wasn’t too much washing up (however, the casserole dish is likely to be in soak until I get back…) I drank a little too much wine and not just because it’s doubtful I’ll be getting any over the next few days.

  And I’ve had a text from Rob wishing me luck. He’s back from Portsmouth next Friday and I’ve taken the plunge and asked him if he’d like to call in for supper on his way through on Friday evening.

  I was half hoping he’d say no but he seemed very keen and said he’d aim to be here for 1930 (they really do take this 24 hour clock thing seriously in the military…)

  So now I’ve given myself 2 added problems to agonise over:

  1. What should I cook?

  2. Should I make Frankie go out or would it be better to get the meeting over with earlier rather than later?

  Oh and one last thing; need to make sure the flat’s not like a scene out of world war 3 when I get back Thursday evening…

  2355 OMG, just remembered, I need to put my clock back one hour for the end of British Summer time – bloody hell, close call… (Mind you, at least it’s going the right way).

  Sunday 1 November

  1300 Finally on the Paddington to Heathrow shuttle train. I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m meeting Commander NTE – sorry, Steve – at 1400 next to the British Airways check in desk (that’s the First Class one…) so there’s no rush.

  I can finally relax a little.

  1430 Am now sitting in BA’s Premier lounge. Our cases have been checked in and I’m now looking at a (free) glass of champagne. I actually feel a bit like one of the Waltons.

  I take a surreptitious glance at Steve who has his head buried in the newspaper (anybody would think he feels a bit awkward). He certainly doesn’t seem fazed by the actual first class experience at all - think it’s more that he’s having it with me! I notice that he’s already downed his glass of bubbly, so I pick up my glass, determined to keep up…

  1615 3 glasses of champagne and numerous (small) canapés later, we’re ready to board. ‘Steve’ has definitely loosened up a little and although my voice has risen an octave, he doesn’t appear to have noticed, so all in all things are looking up.

  First Class (I know I keep repeating myself but give me a break – this may never happen again) is situated at the front of the aircraft and unbelievably it’s full. We’re shown to our seats which apparently lie down flat should we decide to sleep. (I
resist the urge to test mine.) I do, however, succumb to bouncing up and down a little and stretching my legs out as far as they’ll go (still another couple of feet – it’s amazing).

  There are (more) little canapés situated in a small tray next to our seats and we are handed another glass of champagne before we’ve even left the tarmac.

  I really need to eat something substantial…

  I look around me; everyone just seems to be taking all this in their stride. They probably do it every week.

  It seems that I’m the only one excited about the little goody bags we’re given. Mine’s got a toothbrush, little tube of toothpaste, a grooming set and a silky eye mask just like the one Joan Collins wore in Dynasty (showing my age again).

  Then we begin to move in preparation for takeoff and, stuffing my goodies back into the bag, I notice that the cabin staff are coming round to take back the champagne glasses. I’ve only half finished mine so (I’m such a trooper) I down the rest in one and stuff the remaining canapés into my mouth.

  Result? I’m unable to do anything more than stare dumbly up at the stewardess as she takes my glass and asks me if I’d like any red or white wine once we’re in the air.

  I glance quickly at Steve who is raising his eyebrows encouragingly at me.

  If I open my mouth to say anything half sodden lumps of smoked salmon blinis are likely to be decorating the front of my shirt and hers. I frantically try to chew without moving my mouth (have you ever tried to do that?)

  I daren’t swallow, so resign myself to looking up at her with an attempt at a smile without showing my teeth while nodding vigorously.

  “Would that be red or white?” She looks back at me patiently.

  I try an experimental swallow and eventually I’m able to croak out “Red please,” like a ventriloquist without a dummy.

  “Would you like some water with your wine madam?” Her face is deadpan and politely enquiring.

  My face is now matching the beautiful silk scarf she wears around her neck as I nod my head without looking at Steve who is now (thank God) examining the in flight safety procedures. I want to ask him if there’s anything in there on choking to death while taxiing down the runway…