An Officer and a Gentleman Wanted: A Romantic Comedy

by Beverley Watts

Some women also had their hands hennaed along with gorgeous nails.

  Maybe there really is something to this whole ‘covering up lark’.

  Particularly, if you’re 5ft7, massively rich and have eyes like Sophia Loren…

  It seems that women the world over are not that different – we all do the best with what we have.

  1815 We’ve checked out of the hotel and are now being driven (could actually get used to this) to the British Embassy for drinks and nibbles…

  1945 Am on my second gin and tonic and wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

  I feel like a new woman.

  The Embassy employees are really lovely and great fun to be around. They’ve also given me another side to the whole living in Saudi thing.

  Such as the benefits of being able to go shopping without actually taking off your pyjamas…

  I think Embassy functions are probably the only times they can really let their hair down.

  2045 Finally on our way to the airport – yey.

  2250 Just about to board. Been frisked 3 times by possible women (no exotic eye make-up here) but think at the end of the day they’re probably glad to get rid of me.

  All things considered, I don’t think ‘Professional Women of the World’ are very popular in Saudi Arabia!

  Thursday 5 November

  1500 Am actually feeling pretty good considering I spent the whole of the night travelling – can’t really remember much of the flight back as I slept through most of it (didn’t even drink much – that’s what going without alcohol for nearly 3 days does to you, you become a complete lightweight).

  Feeling a bit peeved that I didn’t make the most of the return journey though – not sure if the company will cough up again (especially if nothing comes of it…)

  Still I did get to use the British Airways First Class lounge when I arrived back in Heathrow. I had a shower and a full English breakfast before catching the train back to obscurity…

  And now got the day off so I’m making the most of it before reporting back to the PTB tomorrow.

  Means I can also get back to some important stuff…

  Namely, what am I going to ‘cook’ (I use the term loosely) for Rob tomorrow night and of course, more crucially, what am I going to wear?

  I’m trying very hard not to think about my upcoming sailing adventure (apart from the possible adventures of the night of course…)

  Friday 6 November

  1600 It’s official, I was a success in Riyadh – I really was.

  In fact so much so that the Saudi Royal Navy have already indicated that they want us to put together an English Language ‘Summer School’ at BRNC for 60 officer cadets from the King Fahd Naval Academy…

  60 male teenagers from Saudi Arabia – here, all at the same time.

  Can’t wait… (It’s true; sometimes success does come at a price).

  Still, it also means that I can, with good conscience, leave work early to go do some shopping for my culinary masterpiece tonight. (Otherwise known as chilli con carni.)

  Ok, so I know it’s a bit dated, boring etc – but my chilli does taste bloody good. And more importantly I can get it done in advance (which is all good for obvious reasons!)

  1830 Said culinary masterpiece is now sitting on the stove ready. I’ve just got time for a quick shower before Rob arrives at about 1930 (have had a text saying he’s on his way from Portsmouth, which obviously means he’s still coming…)

  Quite nervous actually. And not just because I’ve found out that Frankie’s not going out until later so introductions are inevitable…

  But at least the flat’s tidy.

  1925 Ok I’m all ready. Nice ambience in the living room; a few scented candles scattered around (helps disguise the smell of dog a bit..) and strategically placed lamps. I’ve got a lovely view over the bay from my living room balcony which is sure to impress and I’ve managed to keep Nelson off the sofa so there are no ginger dog hairs likely to end up in Rob’s bowl of chilli). (Ok so maybe I’m a bit paranoid, but it’s not like it hasn’t happened before…) And just in case, that’s why the lamps are placed strategically – not just for romantic reasons. If he does get a ginger dog hair in his food, he won’t be able to see it.

  I’m going for casual yet sophisticated. Heels (of course) teamed with some dark blue skinny jeans (luckily didn’t put any weight on in Saudi – probably due to the lack of alcohol) and fitted sweater with a slight hint of cleavage (in dark red just in case I spill any chilli sauce down my front).

  And the icing on the cake? Frankie’s promised faithfully she’ll be gone by 2030 (and it didn’t even cost me anything).

  Everything is perfect…

  1935 I can see Rob’s headlights in the drive and quickly down my glass of wine in an effort to quell my nerves. (It is my first…)

  I’ve already given Rob instructions to come around the back of the house and up the stairs to my flat so don’t want to look too eager by meeting him at the back door.

  I content myself with looking over the banister to make sure that he doesn’t go into mum’s flat by mistake (I haven’t actually mentioned that I live above my mother yet…)

  I’m aiming to get him into the living room before Frankie comes out of her room opposite so that he doesn’t have chance to glimpse the scene of carnage that is her bedroom through the open door. (To be fair, she has had strict instructions not to come out until we’re ensconced on the sofa).

  I hear the door open downstairs and lean over the railing to attract his attention. Rob glances up and my heart does a little somersault. I have time to notice that he’s changed out of his uniform (somewhere from Portsmouth to here?) and is now wearing a pair of jeans and a polo shirt with the logo ‘Better a bad day on the water than a good day in the office’.

  I’m not convinced.

  I wait for him to reach the top of the stairs and, smiling, he leans forward to give me a light kiss on the lips.

  He smells yummy (a change of clothing and a shower…?)

  Ok, it’s Showtime!

  2000 We sit together on the sofa. Not so close that you’d have to get a crow bar to prize us apart (wouldn’t do to be all over him like a rash) but close enough to touch…

  I feel like an anxious teenager and I can tell Rob’s a bit nervous too. I’ve brought him a glass of wine but as he’s driving it’s not likely to provide him with much in the way of dutch courage.

  Still that’s not too much of a problem; I think I can manage to drink enough liquid courage for both of us…

  He says all the right things about my flat and he makes a nice fuss of Nelson who has now left dog hairs all over his jeans (why did I bother?)

  He doesn’t seem to care though; however, I decide to shoo Nelson out of the room before he ends up with drool all over his shoes (that’s Nelson doing the slobbering obviously – really hoping dribbling is not one of Rob’s bad habits.)

  I hear the door to Frankie’s room open and close and, after a slight pause, she comes into the living room.

  My daughter Frankie is gorgeous – but she towers over me by a good 7 inches. As Rob jumps up while I make the introductions, I can see his eyes glance from me back to her a couple of times in slight disbelief.

  “Don’t worry; I didn’t come out this size.” Frankie offers cheerfully, relishing his discomfort.

  I want to kill her.

  Instead I laugh lightly at her ‘little joke’ and then glare at her as Rob goes to sit down again.

  She simply grins back at me, unrepentant – why did I ever think having children would be so rewarding?

  Luckily she doesn’t linger…

  I can hear her moving about in the kitchen as I quickly glance down at my watch and sit back down. I decide to wait until she’s gone before re-heating the chilli, just in case Rob decides to follow me in to the kitchen (not ready for extended chat between possible new boyfriend and potentially vulgar but definitely loud daughter).

  “ER MUM?” Not only loud but alar
med – even slightly strangled…

  I glance over at Rob with a little ‘What now’ smile (completely contrasting my ‘oh f*ck what’s happened sick feeling inside…) and get up to head to the kitchen.

  Once there, I’m just about to berate my inconsiderate daughter in a loud whisper when I notice what she’s pointing at…

  OMG Nelson’s eaten the chilli.

  Well to be fair, not all of it, just a substantial portion; enough to leave a massive big hole in the middle of the pan…!

  Why oh why did I leave the pan where he could reach it…?

  Why oh why did I shoo him out of the living room…?

  Why oh why did I make the chilli so early? (At least he would have got a burnt nose for his trouble.)

  WHY OH WHY DID I EVEN HAVE A BLOODY DOG IN THE FIRST PLACE………?

  Frankie and I stare at one another in disbelief while Nelson stands wagging his tail uncertainly between us.

  “What am I going to do?” My whisper comes out like a strangled squeak. I know that Frankie can see the escalating hysteria in my eyes (for a second I actually think she’s going to slap me across the face in a pre-emptive effort to snap me out of it and I step back as self preservation takes precedence for a couple of seconds…)

  Instead she contents herself with shaking my arm and telling me to pull myself together. Briskly she plunges the wooden spoon back into what’s left of the chilli mixture and begins stirring it briskly (completely ignoring the fact that Nelson’s snout has been stuck inside it – thankfully I don’t think he actually licked the spoon – still I suppose that’s a moot point really with regards to potential ‘dog poisoning’. Mind you, I read somewhere that a dog’s saliva is actually antiseptic…)

  I hold on to that fact in desperation. If we remove every part of the chilli that Nelson’s sampled, there won’t be enough left to eat.

  On Frankie’s direction, I head to the cupboard to grab another tin of baked beans (not keen on kidney beans!) to bulk it up a bit and pretty soon we can’t even tell that there’s any missing.

  Catastrophe averted.

  Still I’d better reheat it to a sufficient temperature (like nuclear) to ensure any potential dog bacteria is well and truly dead.

  After putting it onto a low heat, I grab another (large) glass of wine and make a concerted effort to stroll nonchalantly back into the living room.

  I don’t even look at Nelson.

  The ginger hellhound wisely decides to retreat with Frankie back into her bedroom.

  “Is everything ok?” Rob looks a little concerned. Obviously my little ‘what now’ smile did not completely hide the panic inside.

  “Everything’s fine. Just a small personal problem with Frankie - daughters you know.” I laugh lightly, hoping against hope that Frankie can’t hear me.

  If she can, I know it will cost me later…

  I sit back down on the sofa and he actually takes my hand (the one without the wine glass in it).

  For one mad moment I want to throw caution to the winds and plonk myself in his lap but his next words throw a dash of cold water on the whole ‘give it to me now’ idea (that and the fact that I’m still holding said glass of wine).

  “The weather’s looking really good for tomorrow.”

  Now this I am well aware of, having checked the weather forecast on an hourly basis since returning from Saudi.

  Latest prediction for the weekend: Cold with sunshine and cloud accompanied by a fairly stiff breeze.

  It’s the last bit that concerns me. What the hell is a ‘fairly stiff breeze? Does that mean it’s going to be ‘blowing a bloody hooley’ in naval speak?

  I’m pretty sure that my trepidation is written all over my face which prompts Rob to frown a little before asking hesitantly, “You do want to go sailing tomorrow don’t you?”

  Ruthlessly forcing down my misgivings, I squeeze his hand and answer firmly, “Off course, I’m really looking forward to it; it’ll be a great adventure…

  The relief on his face makes it all worthwhile and he smiles broadly before leaning forward and kissing me again. This time a little more thoroughly, giving promises of what’s to come.

  And all of a sudden, I am looking forward to it.

  As the kiss finishes, I stare into his eyes and am delighted to note that they are now quite heavy lidded with what I’m hoping is lust and not a need to go to the toilet!

  Shit, the chilli…

  I jump up (wine still in hand and not a drop spilled…) and excusing myself, I hurry back into the kitchen.

  Where the chilli is now bubbling away merrily and developing a nice burnt crust on the bottom.

  Damn it. I gingerly help myself to a small spoonful and breathe a sigh of relief. It tastes ok and as long as I don’t scrape too far down to the bottom, all should be fine.

  Hope he doesn’t want seconds though.

  I’ll make sure I give him plenty of crusty bread…

  I pop back into the living to room to check Rob’s ready to eat and, at his enthusiastic nod, I tell him to stay where he is (might be coming over a bit bossy but obviously don’t want him to spot the burnt bits, especially if I’m going to dazzle him with my, er, ground-breaking cooking skills…)

  And besides, I need to put the ‘Uncle Ben’s’ packet of rice in the microwave first.

  2300 The evening’s been a resounding success though I say so myself. Only one additional little hiccup was when I had to rush to get Rob a drink of water after he took a large mouthful of chilli which I’d forgotten to warn him was boiling hot ….

  However, he assured me that it hadn’t left any blisters!

  He only just left in time to catch the last ferry back to Dartmouth and I could tell he didn’t want to go (I didn’t want him to go either but as we all know, it doesn’t hurt to create a little anticipation…)

  The plan is for me to meet him at Dartmouth Marina at 1000 tomorrow. He’s going to do all the shopping beforehand.

  I’m actually (unbelievably really) beginning to get a little excited about the whole thing.

  Although, as he kissed me goodbye, he did gently suggest that I don’t wear heels…

  Does he think I’ve got a death wish? The stunted gnome look is definitely preferable to falling overboard.

  Saturday 7 November

  0800 Ok, everything is packed in my overnight bag and I’m just putting the finishing touches to my ‘nautical’ ensemble…

  I’m wearing navy combat trousers. (They’re from Next, not Army and Navy Stores, so not only do they actually fit, but they’re quite trendy as well.) I’ve teamed them with a cheerful red sweater, a jaunty red, navy and white scarf around my neck and navy deck shoes. Mind you, looking in the mirror I’m a tad concerned that maybe I’ve overdone it a bit and now look like an extra from ‘The Love Boat’ (or even worse ‘Flipper’…) But then both TV series did air in the early 70s, and Rob (as he’s 10 years younger than me) is not likely to have seen either. (Although I suppose he could have seen the re-runs…)

  I decide to head over to Frankie’s room to ask if I look pathetic.

  0810 Apparently I look fine – or that’s what she said after she’d finished laughing.

  I don’t know why I bothered asking. Of course I refused to react in response to her immature amusement and opted instead for a dignified exit (after letting Nelson into her bedroom with instructions to dive bomb the bed).

  0930 I’m standing at the river’s edge in Dart Marina and I’m seriously beginning to think I really have overdone it. All the yachtie types around me are not only dressed in the scruffiest of kit but also look like they haven’t washed in a week…

  I might as well have ‘I’ve never done this before’ tattooed on my forehead.

  I sigh. Why couldn’t he just have had a gin palace moored in the Med?

  0945 I take it back. Rob’s boat (sorry yacht) is called Compass Rose and she’s lovely. Admittedly, she does have an inordinate number of different coloured ropes that don’t seem t
o be actually attached to anything and appear to have no useful purpose apart from potentially causing all kinds of nasty injuries to anyone attempting to step over them; nevertheless I have made it in one piece down into the ‘saloon’ where I am now cosily ensconced with a cup of coffee and a packet of ginger nuts (apparently they help to ward off sea sickness and although I feel absolutely fine, it’s a great excuse to take another one).

  Dunking my biscuit, I look around me with interest. Both the saloon and small kitchen galley are finished in delightful oak panelling with beautiful wooden carvings decorating each corner; there are colourful cushions scattered on the seats and family pictures on the walls (sorry bulkheads) both adding to the cosy atmosphere. I haven’t seen the bedroom cabins yet but my imagination is conjuring up a nice double bed (don’t mind if it’s only a 4ft one) with lovely fluffy pillows and maybe a couple of those round window thingies so that we can lay in each other’s arms looking up at the stars…

  Can’t we just stay here?

  1015 The main cabin is not quite as expected. First of all the ceiling is so low there is a high risk of me braining myself just in the act of climbing into bed. Secondly, the top of the bed might just pass muster as a double (providing we both lie on our sides) but the bottom tapers to about 18 inches wide, at the end of which there is a ‘porthole’ giving a grand view of 2 pairs of wellies and a spare life buoy.

  On the plus side, it will definitely give us the opportunity to get to know each other a little better; however on the minus side, any sexual gymnastics on my part could well end up giving me an impromptu lobotomy...

  Still, Rob’s enthusiasm is infectious and I do my best to look suitably impressed. Especially when (bless him) he blushingly asks if I would prefer my own cabin (really have to force myself not to ask if he could show it to me before I make a decision…)

  1110 We’re finally underway. Rob is at the helm after making sure I’m comfortably settled in the cockpit with a blanket and a hot toddy. As I snuggle down into my blanket and sip my drink, I really enjoy taking in the picturesque sights on both sides of the river as we head towards the mouth of the Dart. Things are really looking up. I just know this is going to be so much fun…