Jimmy stared at his former commanding officer with something akin to horror. In all the time they’d known each other, he’d never seen the Admiral this worried. Not even when he’d gone to London to confront Noah. And since when had it ever bothered the old reprobate about breaking a promise? Jimmy smelled a big bloody rodent.
Oh God, not more bollocking secrets.
~*~
Tory and I are sitting in the Cherub for a celebration. Which for me consists of a bowl of chips washed down with Prosecco, and for Tory, ditto bowl of chips washed down with her usual sparkling water. It’s just after six and Freddy’s going to join us as soon as the preliminary rehearsals for the Flavel Centre’s Christmas panto are finished. They’re doing Cinderella this year which I whimsically thought was very appropriate in light of the fact that we have our very own Cinderella set to marry her prince.
Taking a sip of my sparkling wine, I glance over at our Cinders who might be about to tie the knot with her Prince Charming, but right now is looking very much as though she’s not been invited to the ball. She’s picking at the chips listlessly, handing most of them to Dotty who thinks it’s her birthday.
We’re supposed to be celebrating having organized the flowers, photographer, and - massive achievement if I say so myself - the catering. Not only that, but we’ve managed to use all local suppliers which Tory insisted on. All of them have had to sign a secrecy document (which Freddy thought they should sign in blood, but I thought was a bit excessive), although the rumours are inevitably beginning to circulate. And with the band being sorted out by Noah, which let’s be honest is pretty exciting, Tory should be over the moon.
‘What’s wrong sweet?’ I ask her, wondering if she’s pining after said prince who’s had to go back to Ireland again for a few days filming.
Tory glances over at me and smiles wanly. My heart goes out to her. I know she doesn’t feel well. The morning sickness is really beginning to take its toll. She’s actually started carrying extra large doggy poo bags in case she needs to put her head in one (obviously unused of course). There’s no way she’s going to be able to keep the happy event secret for much longer.
I put my arm around her and she rests her head on my shoulders. ‘What am I going to do if I’m still like this on the day?’ she whispers eventually.
For a second I don’t answer. The truth is I have no idea. It’s going to look pretty bloody strange if she carries a sick bucket down the aisle – even if we decorate it with ribbons and flowers. I know that the thought of throwing up in front of Hollywood’s glitterati is really worrying her.
‘Have you spoken to Noah about your fears?’ I ask, stroking her slightly damp forehead with concern. Tory shakes her head.
‘I know he’ll postpone the ceremony if I say I can’t go through with it, but I don’t want to disappoint him.’ She pauses, then continues with a sigh. ‘And I don’t want him to think I’m getting cold feet. I did a lot of damage with my stupidity in the summer Kitty Kat.’
‘Look, we’ve got six weeks yet – ages to go. You’ll be much better by then Tory, I’m sure. And look on the bright side. You’ve not put on any weight – in fact I think you might have lost some.’
‘That’s six weeks and I haven’t even got my wedding dress yet,’ she snaps and I’m actually relieved to hear her grouchy response. But still, I have no answer for her. We’ve not been able to go dress shopping at all. The prospect of vomiting all over a designer wedding gown is just too awful for words. Even if it is only a sample…
‘OH NO I DIDN’T!’ signals the arrival of Freddy, still very obviously in pantomime mode, posing at the pub door.
‘I’m pretty bloody sure you did actually – pervert,’ counters Tory with the first smile I’ve seen her give since we got here.
Chuckling, Freddy allows the door to shut behind him and, grabbing another glass from the barman, heads over to our table.
‘Hello you greedy, dirty little madam. If only they were all like you sweetie.’ He’s obviously not talking to either me or Tory as he bends down to stroke an ecstatic Dotty who wastes no time rolling excitedly onto her back.
‘So, bring it on my lovelies.’ He sits down and holds out his glass before glancing over at Tory’s sparkling water and sighing. ‘So when are you going drop the charade and come clean Victory Shackleford, soon to become Westbrook, not to mention mother to be of the first of the Westbrook dynasty?’
We stare at him in surprised silence. ‘Oh come on peeps, surely you didn’t expect to keep something so momentous from little old me did you?’ His response is scornful, but underneath I can see he’s actually quite hurt, although he covers it up well with a small cough and a large gulp of sparkling wine.
I share a quick look with Tory. We both know it’s useless to deny it and anyway, who’d have guessed that our mocking sarcastic friend has a sensitive side. I can only say he’s always kept it well hidden…
‘I’m sorry Freddy,’ responds Tory, putting her hand on his arm. ‘We haven’t told anybody. Only Noah outside of this room knows about it. I just didn’t want my father to find out. You know what a stickler he is for doing things in the right order.’
‘Unless he’s the one doing the doing,’ is Freddy’s wounded retort, not yet ready to forgive.
‘Oh come on,’ I can’t help but interrupt. I can see where this is going. Any minute now, he’ll be applying for sainthood. ‘You can’t keep a secret if your life depends on it. The last time you were told to keep something hush-hush, we had a call from the Daily Mail within forty eight hours.
Freddy sniffs before sighing in acceptance. ‘I’m just not made to keep things in the closet sweetie. In the words of Andy Warhol, ‘I’m a deeply superficial person.’
‘You will try to keep this to yourself though won’t you?’ Tory stares at him earnestly. ‘This is so important to me Freddy. I don’t want my father to find out from anyone other than me.’
‘I’m afraid it’s pretty bloody obvious to anyone capable of looking further than the end of their nose with you rushing to the bog every two minutes. It’s a good job your old man’s nose generally never gets any further than his feet.’ Freddy’s response is typically caustic, but I can see that Tory’s entreaty has hit home. ‘Mind you, I think old Jason what’s his face might have twigged during dinner.’
‘Shit, do you think so?’
‘Pretty bloody difficult to miss. It’s where I would have cottoned on – if I hadn’t realized long before then of course.’
‘Look it’s no good worrying about things we can’t control Tory. Nobody will tell the Admiral, and it’s not like your social calendar is full to bursting is it?’
‘And that’s another thing. With Noah in toe, our Victory has become the numero uno in Dartmouth. Everyone and his dog wants her to be at their shindigs. She can’t keep turning everyone down.’
‘I do have some personality of my own you know,’ Tory retorts indignantly, her sudden huffiness doing wonders in taking her mind off her stomach.
‘Of course you do sweetheart, and we love you. But it has to be said that before The Bridegroom circus arrived and Noah decided that you were the one key to fit his lock, your average invitation was to speak about soft furnishings at the Women’s Institute.’
I can’t help it, I snort into my drink as Tory turns to look over at me crossly. ‘Some friends you two are,’ she grumbles, although I notice she doesn’t argue.
‘Have you been to the docs sweetie?’
‘Of course, but he just said that feeling like shit is normal for the first trimester. Actually said it far too cheerfully if you ask me. Naturally he has no idea I’m walking up the bloody aisle on the twentieth of December.’
‘What’s a trimester?’ We both look at him in astonishment.
‘Don’t look at me as though I’m a complete plank. It’s not like babies have ever been my thing is it?’
‘Clue’s in the tri,’ Tory responds sarcastically. Yep she’s back to nasty. Yippee
. ‘It’s the first three months of pregnancy, which for me ends just before the big day…’
‘Well there you go then. That’s good isn’t it?’
‘Absolutely,’ I respond quickly before Tory manages to slip in more doom and gloom. I’m definitely going for an extended holiday when she announces the conception of baby number two.
‘All we need is to catch you on a day you’re feeling pretty good and go find your dress. Easy peasy.’
Freddy looks at me in horror. ‘You haven’t bought the dress yet?’
I glare at him, mouthing, ‘You’re not helping,’ as Tory puts her head in her hands. Freddy gives a sigh of one long suffering, and puts his arm around the bride to be.
‘Come on sweetie, buck up. Have you seen anything you like on the internet?’ I wince as Tory looks up, her face stricken. Way to go dumbbell.
‘Lots. But everything has to be ordered months in advance.’
‘Oh come on, get with the programme people. You’re marrying the world’s most famous actor. Any designer worth their salt would knock you up a dress overnight to bag a commission like that. Have you mentioned this little problem to your husband to be perchance?’ Tory’s face lights up as she grasps what he’s saying.
I want to kiss him and kill him at the same time. Why the hell didn’t I think of that?
‘It’ll be easy,’ he continues, on a roll now. ‘Once you’ve chosen the dress you want, we’ll measure your bits. Then you can tell Noah – without giving him the details of course – and he’ll make sure you get it. I mean, come on, you could order half a dozen while you’re at it and choose the best one.’ Excitedly, he shares the remainder of the Prosecco and downs his in one.
‘Come on ladies, finish your chips so we can go and shop.’
~*~
Florence put down the phone with a feeling of satisfaction. Although it hadn’t yet been confirmed that the shadow on her lung was cancer, she wanted to make sure she had all her ducks in a row regarding her will.
Of course, everything was to go to Kit and she needed to make sure there were no loopholes that might allow her money grabbing brother to get his greedy hands on her money. But now she’d been assured that there was no chance of that, she could relax. Leaning back, she looked out onto the terrace feeling melancholy. What she’d told Kit was true. She did always get overemotional and weepy when she’d completed a book, because she inevitably followed it with a trip down memory lane. Of course, waiting for her hospital appointment wasn’t helping either.
What she needed was a distraction. Idly leaning forward to pluck Pepé off her leg, she snuggled him on her lap and kissed the top of his head. The rain was beating against the window making it all but impossible to see anything past the edge of the terrace. She hoped the weather didn’t stay like this. It would be nice if Tory had a dry day at least, and all this rain wasn’t very Christmassy at all. Certainly wouldn’t help people get into the spirit of the season.
Then she had a sudden idea. That’s it, something to get everyone into the Christmas spirit
A murder mystery night to celebrate the release of her latest book. It would be perfect, as her latest was a suspense, and a bit of a departure from her usual hot romance. She’d hold it at the end of November, far enough away from the wedding that it wouldn’t interfere with any plans, but close enough to the holiday season to get everyone into the right spirit. Maybe she could do it the weekend before Thanksgiving in honour of Noah.
Full of excitement now, she mentally counted off guests she’d invite. She’d even send an invitation to Charlie Shackleford, even though they hadn’t seen or spoken to one another for years. Perhaps it really was time to stop harking back to the past.
Hopefully by the end of November, her brother and his wife would be too far away to come.
Just let the bastard attempt to find a loophole in her will. She didn’t doubt for a second that he’d try, and the knowledge that Kit was to inherit everything would in no way deter him. After all said and done, she wasn’t really his daughter.
Chapter Six
It has to be said that Tory’s been significantly happier since the dress problem has been sorted out. I had no idea that it was bothering her so much. Some friend I am…
In the end it took us two days to come up with three designs we could all agree on. We measured every available inch of Tory’s body - even her squidgy bits (Freddy’s words – I used cuddly, but then I’m her BFF, and even if I don’t cotton on to her innermost feelings, it’s got to be good for something). Of course in the next few weeks the cuddly bits will start to disappear, along hopefully with her morning sickness and bad temper…
Anyway, Noah simply instructed his new agent to get in touch, and hey presto, we’ve got three gorgeous choices, plus a couple of (stretchy) “going away” outfits winging their way to us by the end of next week. God I love what money and influence can do.
We’re now down to five weeks before the big day, and this afternoon we’ve been invited up to BRNC to have a look round the Chapel for the ceremony, and the Senior Gunroom where the wedding breakfast will be held. We’ve got to be a bit circumspect obviously as the College population are still very much in residence. Mind you, it is a Sunday which means that most of the cadets and a large number of the officers will be away doing the weekend thing, and if we do bump into anyone, I can do cloak and dagger – I love a good whodunit. And we mustn’t forget after all that the queen of crime, Agatha Christie was born in this neck of the woods, so it’s got to have rubbed off somewhere.
Of course the only fly in the ointment is the Admiral who’s also coming along, and obviously doesn’t do circumspect – or if he does, I’ve never seen it.
So, after we’ve had a good old snoop, we’re having a late lunch with Captain Buchannan at his house. See, I’ve graduated to calling him Captain instead of knob. I daren’t let myself use Jason. It’s far too intimate and, although I haven’t admitted it to anyone, I’m actually having a lot of intimacy issues with regard to the gorgeous Captain. Well, my body is – especially those bits that haven’t seen the light of day in far too long.
Unfortunately our efforts at incognito are not as polished as they could be as our cavalcade arrives up at the Captain’s House. We might as well have had a fanfare and ceremonial fly past by the Red Arrows to announce our arrival. By the time we’ve all managed to extract ourselves from Noah’s Mercedes, the guys on the Main Gate have obviously sent a signal to the rest of the College that we’re here.
I sigh as I glance up at the main façade, spying the curtains twitching and faces pressed to the windows. So much for keeping a low profile. There might only be a fraction of the College population in residence, but that won’t stop the pictures appearing on Facebook. Maybe I was a little naïve thinking we could do this without anyone knowing. Still, they might think we’re just having lunch with the Captain.
I slam the car door a little more loudly than I intended, my irritation getting the better of me. Noah glances over at me, eyebrows raised. ‘Sorry,’ I mumble, watching as he helps Tory out of the passenger side.
‘Something wrong Kit?’ he asks calmly, and I sigh in response.
‘Just a bit frustrated. I thought we’d managed to arrange this visit without anyone finding out, but, well, look?’ I give an exasperated wave towards the windows high above the Parade Ground.
To my amazement, Noah chuckles. ‘In my line of work, nothing is ever done without someone finding out honey. You get used to it. Sometimes it’s actually better to give the gossipmongers something to talk about - kinda like a false trail – while you get on with the real job.’
‘Mmm, a red herring,’ I respond – obviously still got my sleuthing head on. Giving one last speculative glance up to the faces pressed against the windows, I follow the other three towards Captain Buchannan’s front door, already open and waiting with good old Dave, the PO Steward, at the door.
As we go through into the large reception hall, I see Tory take
hold of her father’s arm with a smile. I’d forgotten that she’d spent three years of her childhood within these walls. The Admiral is strangely silent as he pauses, glancing around, no doubt looking for possible changes. Then he exhales noisily and pats Tory’s hand before laboriously making his way towards the drawing room where Dave is waiting respectfully in the doorway.
‘Good to see you again Sir,’ the tall man murmurs with a slight dip of his head. The Admiral shrugs off his sombre mood and somehow seems all of a sudden taller and more imposing. Letting go of Tory’s arm, he nods back, and holds out his hand. ‘Good to see you again David, it’s been too long.’ His voice is crisp and authoritative and I have to do a double take to check it’s actually our Admiral speaking. I feel like everyone is holding their breath, wondering if some alien has somehow inhabited Charles Shackleford’s body.
Fortunately, before we get chance to insist on a full body scan, he reverts back to his usual tone of voice, saying ‘Well, I have to say you’re definitely smelling a bit sweeter nowadays. Last time we were together, I remember your armpits being about as sweet smelling as the inside of a sumo wrestler’s jock strap.’
We all gasp at the Admiral’s rudeness while being somehow reassured that, yes, this is definitely Tory’s father, and his unique charm is still very much evident.
There’s a small silence as everyone wracks their brains for something polite to say about Dave’s obviously new found personal hygiene habits, but, to the surprise of all and sundry, the tall man throws back his head and laughs. Then, without enlightening the rest of us, he shakes his head, and still chuckling, indicates we should follow him in to the drawing room. As we step forward, Noah and I glance over at Tory, and she shrugs, obviously as much in the dark as we are. I can tell Noah is definitely filing this one away for later – probably over a glass of Port, with no delicate females present...
Tea and stickies are already laid out on the table. After instructing us to help ourselves, Dave announces that the Captain will be with us shortly, before withdrawing discreetly.
All For Victory: A Romantic Comedy (The Dartmouth Diaries Book 3) Page 5
