In the end, it’s another twenty minutes before said Captain shows and I really hope he’s not hungry. The forlorn looking Jaffa cake left in the middle of the plate is not likely to appease all but the slightest hunger pangs. As he strides into the room, I can’t help but draw in my breath. Still in uniform, although it’s technically his day off, Jason Buchannan oozes authority and sex appeal in equal measure. I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite so intimidated by anybody.
I glance over at Noah rising from his chair with a genuine smile of welcome on his face. He doesn’t appear to feel threatened at all, but then he’s a Hollywood A lister and pretty hard to intimidate. Mind you, Tory gives no indication of being overawed either, remaining in her seat with slightly pursed lips, indicating that the verdict on the good Captain is still out as far as she’s concerned.
And the Admiral? Well I don’t think he’s ever been intimidated by anyone in his life. His only comment when asked his opinion of Jason Buchannan was to huff and say, ‘He’s got more bollocks than his old man, but I don’t think I could warm to the chap if we were cremated together.’
So it’s just me then.
I become aware that the object of my night-time fantasies and daytime anxiety has finished speaking and is now looking at me enquiringly. I have no idea what he’s just said and feel myself colouring up. Tory looks over at my face and gets it in one. With a frown that promises an in depth conversation for later, she jumps to my rescue. ‘I’m sure Kit is more than happy to go over the initial VTM with you before catching up with us.’
I look from her back to Jason Buchannan before whispering sheepishly, ‘Err, what’s a VTM?’
The Captain sighs loudly before saying in impatient, clipped tones, ‘Visitors Temporary Memorandum. At this stage it’s basically an initial outline of the events of the day.’
The look on his face is doing nothing for my self-confidence, and suddenly, for no earthly reason I can fathom, my backbone chooses this precise moment to stiffen.
‘Captain Buchannan, it really isn’t necessary to talk to me in quite that tone. You’re beginning to sound like a possible descendent of Attila The Hun. You’re not are you?’ I finish sweetly.
There’s a small silence while everyone looks at me as though I’ve grown another head, and I wonder if I’ve taken it a tad too far. That’s what comes with being the confrontation avoiding type. When I snap, it usually involves bad manners. He’s actually lucky I didn’t use a few more choice words.
I can see Tory mouthing, ‘WTF?’ at me in the corner of my eye, but just as it looks as though she intends to jump in with some kind of damage limitation exercise, Jason nods his head and gives a slight smile.
‘Touché,’ he murmurs softly before continuing in a much milder voice, ‘I apologize Ms Davies. You’re absolutely correct. I don’t suffer fools gladly, but sometimes I forget that not every person I speak to is one. Would you mind stopping behind to go through the initial VTM with me?’
We stare at one another, and for a few heart stopping seconds everyone disappears except for the two of us. His eyes are intent, unfathomable and I feel the breath hitch in my throat.
Then a discreet cough brings me back to my surroundings, and glancing over at Noah’s amused face, I clear my throat and stare down at my lap before saying gruffly, ‘Of course I’ll stay behind, and please, call me Kit.’
The other three have left in the company of a young officer who was so obviously excited to meet a Hollywood idol, he was like a large puppy. The awesome red herring we’ve come up with is that the Admiral has a great nephew who is interested in joining the Royal Navy and Noah simply wanted to come along for the tour. Okay, so maybe it’s not so amazing, but it was spur of the moment and it might actually keep the masses from putting two and two together – at least for a little while.
Jason (see I’m using Jason now we’re best buds…) has popped out to do whatever it is Captains do when they pop out, and left me with a ten page VTM to have a look at. God knows how long the final version’s going to be.
Apparently, his Personal Assistant put it together, but when I queried her discretion, he drily responded that if she could keep a private visit by the Queen under her hat, then she should have no problem doing the same for a simple wedding.
In the spirit of our new found camaraderie I gamely resisted the urge to point out that while a visit by Her Majesty might well cause a stir with the locals, the marriage ceremony of global superstar Noah Westbrook is more likely to cause a complete uproar. And not just with those living in the vicinity. Oh well, it’s his call…
I’m sitting with my back to the door but know the instant he walks through it. Not by sound - his footsteps are silent - but by the something inside me that tingles every time he’s near me. I know, ridiculous, but there we are. My heart starts beating faster as he approaches, and the words in front of me smudge and blur. He places a hand on the back of the sofa to the right of my shoulder and leans forward. I can smell his cologne – the subtle spicy scent that’s uniquely Jason Buchannan. Heart hammering, I sit completely still and wait for him to speak.
He doesn’t say anything, just bends his head towards me so I can feel his breath, warm on my neck. Unable to help myself I lean my body to the left and look up, over my shoulder. He’s closer than I thought, and as I turn my head, his eyes lock on mine. I can feel the pull of attraction, so sharp it almost hurts.
He watches me unsmiling and it suddenly dawns on me that he doesn’t like whatever it is that’s between us. Doesn’t like it one bit. I wait for him to make some kind of scathing comment – anything to put an end to this weird draw.
‘Would you like some more tea?’ When he finally speaks, his voice is low and distracted, as though the words that came out of his mouth were not what he really wanted to say.
I blink and shake my head, no. Then, still trapped in the strange otherworld where only the two of us exist, I bite my bottom lip, succumbing to a question that I’ve wanted, needed to ask since our first meeting.
‘Why do you dislike me so much?’
Without answering, he frowns and straightens up sharply, pushing himself away from the sofa. For a few seconds, I think he’s not actually going to respond to my question. I watch him walk around the coffee table and seat himself opposite me. Then, with a sigh, he leans back and raises his eyes to look at me.
‘I don’t dislike you Kit.’ His voice when he speaks is mild and impersonal. ‘I must apologize if I gave you that impression.’ He pauses, and thinking that’s as much as he’s going to say, I can’t help but sag back in disappointment. Until this second, I had no idea how important his answer was to me.
However, to my surprise, he continues, his tone no longer cold and aloof, but filled with an almost dark humour. ‘I’m not a patient man Kit. I take my duties and responsibilities seriously and I hate things I can’t control…’
He stops abruptly, leaving the impression in the air that I am one of those things, then his voice deepens, all humour gone from it. ‘You are not…’
But I have no idea what he thinks I’m not, because we’re interrupted by a discreet cough, causing him to look up, sudden surprise etched on his face, giving me the fleeting impression that Jason Buchannan is not a man used to being caught unawares.
‘Yes?’ he says over my head. His voice has changed back to politely distant and I swallow my disappointment.
‘I’m sorry to bother you Sir, but you asked me to give you a half an hour warning for lunch. Would you like me to serve the pre-dinner drinks in here?’
‘Thanks David, I’m sure the others will be back shortly. We’ll give them ten minutes, then yes, aperitifs in here will be good.’ He turns back to me, asking in the same bland tone, ‘Are you happy to wait for ten minutes Kit, or would you like a glass of wine now?’
I’m torn between concern that he thinks I’ve got a drink problem, and frustration that I might never get to know what he thinks I’m not. Any intimacy has vanished. I coul
d actually do with a drink, but not wanting to further any belief that I’m a closet alcoholic, I laugh lightly and say that of course I’m happy to wait.
After David withdraws, equally discreetly, I say nothing, hoping that Jason will continue where he left off. But his next words quickly make it obvious that that particular ship has well and truly sailed.
‘So what are your initial thoughts about the VTM?’
I glance back down at the forgotten document in my hand. ‘I think you’ve pretty much covered everything but the kitchen sink,’ I say drily. ‘I take it you’ve been briefed fully by Noah about the, err, entertainment for the evening?’ To my surprise he grins slightly, making him look much younger. ‘Absolutely. I only hope I get an invitation.’
‘Well then, as I see it, the only question still outstanding is the name of the padre who the Admiral intends to ask to conduct the ceremony, and I’m afraid I have no idea what…’ We’re interrupted again, this time by the loud voice of the subject of our conversation.
‘…Speak of the devil, we can ask him.’
‘Well it’s all looking ship-shape and Bristol fashion.’ The Admiral’s booming voice precedes him into the room. ‘Good to see you’re looking after the place Captain Buchannan.’
‘Thank you Admiral Shackleford, I’m very glad you approve.’ Jason’s tone is completely free of sarcasm, but nevertheless manages to convey just the right amount of irony to leave the Admiral frowning slightly and the rest of us looking at him admiringly. I glance over at Tory who’s trying hard not to grin. I can tell she’s thinking that maybe our good Captain is not such a stuck up, unapproachable knob after all…
‘How come you didn’t get to catch us up?’ Tory asks, her voice deceptively nonchalant as she seats herself next to me.
‘I wanted to make sure that both Kit and I are singing from the same hymn sheet,’ Jason cuts in smoothly. ‘I’ll be more than happy to show her around the areas to be used for the wedding if she feels it’s necessary.’ Somehow his voice manages to convey both willingness and reluctance, all in the same sentence.
Tory raises her eyebrows at me as I answer stiffly, ‘I don’t think that will be necessary at the moment. I’ve been to the College before.’ I turn back to my best friend who’s now smirking at my awkward tone. ‘What about flowers, decorations etc Tory?’
‘I think I’d like flowers in the chapel and in the Senior Gunroom if that’s where we’re holding the wedding breakfast. Also, perhaps along the main corridor?’ She says the last bit as a question, turning towards Jason as she speaks.
‘It’s all very spectacular Captain Buchannan, but could possibly be a little, err, dark on a winter’s day.’
Jason waves off her apologetic tone. ‘The place is a bloody mausoleum, no need to beat around the bush. There will be lots of Christmas decorations around the place though, which should cheer it up a bit if the day’s overcast.’
‘Hogwarts,’ I announce suddenly, only to be interrupted by David bringing in the aperitifs. My mind starts racing as the pre-dinner drinks are distributed, and I absently note Tory frowning at her glass before reluctantly taking a small sip. I know she doesn’t want to add any more fuel to the fire while her father’s sitting there, but personally I think she’s over thinking things. The Admiral is so thick skinned, she could be nine months pregnant and he’d probably just comment that she’s put on a bit of weight…
After informing us that lunch will be in fifteen minutes, David withdraws and everyone turns back to me.
‘We should deck the whole place out like Christmas at Hogwarts in the Harry Potter movies,’ I continue excitedly, ‘You know, lots of Christmas trees, festoons of lights and holly and mistletoe. It will look amazing.’ Tory is nodding her head in enthusiasm.
‘Can we do that?’ she asks Jason eagerly.
The Captain frowns in response, and for a second I think he’s going to refuse, but in the end he just nods his head slightly.
‘I don’t see why not, providing you can get a security approved company to do the decorating. It will have to wait until the College is closed and the staff and cadets have left for the holidays. That will only give you a couple of days, but if you think it can be done…’
He allows his voice to peter out, looking towards Noah who simply grins back, saying, ‘Kit and I are on to it. We’ll keep you in the loop.’
Lunch is a very animated, light-hearted affair with everyone putting in their two pennies worth. I make copious notes in between the roast beef and apple crumble, and suddenly trepidation is replaced by excitement. I can’t wait to tell Freddy. My best friend’s wedding is going to be simply amazing, I just know it is. This day will be talked about for years to come.
It’s only as we’re leaving that I remember we haven’t asked the Admiral about his choice of padre. Too weary to tackle the question in the car, I make a mental note to give Tory’s father a call over the next couple of days. I mean, the guy’s a naval chaplain after all, so it’s not like it’s going to be a problem is it?
Chapter Seven
Admiral Shackleford squeezed himself at the small table right at the very back of the coffee shop he’d deliberately picked for his first meeting with Bible Basher Boris. Directly on the tourist trail in the middle of Dartmouth, it was less likely to be frequented by anyone who knew him. Obviously he’d have preferred this meeting to have taken place well away from Dartmouth – The Outer Hebrides actually sprang to mind. However, at this stage he didn’t want to give old Boris the idea that he was keeping their meeting under wraps.
Once seated, he looked furtively round at the coffee shop’s other customers to see if he recognized anybody. After a second, he relaxed. His was definitely the only cup of tea in a sea of bloody lattes, and no doubt after Boris had finished doing his party piece, neither of them were likely to be invited back.
Taking a large bite out of his cheese scone, the Admiral reflected that this would be the first time he’d seen his old friend since Celia’s funeral, and God knows the old padre had looked as though he’d just been dug up even back then.
‘Charles, how are you, you old rascal?’ The Admiral winced as he turned in horrified disbelief towards the doddering bag of bones heading his way.
~*~
It’s been three days since we had lunch up at the College, and for some reason Tory’s father seems reluctant to give out the details of the chaplain he’s got stashed away. I’m sitting at the balcony window idly people watching while eating toast and marmite – my go to breakfast when I’m pondering a problem. The problem here is, while I’m not sure there is an actual problem, I have enough experience with the Admiral to know when there’s something fishy going on. And therein lies the problem…
I can’t call him up on it. He’s had decades of experience in the art of being slippery and evasive – I’m a mere babe in arms when it comes to the kind of cloak and dagger stuff the Admiral thrives on.
I don’t want to worry Tory, for obvious reasons, and Noah’s up in London meeting with his agent. Anyway, what if I’m completely wrong?
Sighing, I pop the last piece of crust in my mouth. Everything else is going so well. We have a special effects company coming down the day after tomorrow to do a recce up at the College, and I just know that the whole place really is going to look completely amazing when they’ve done their stuff.
Glancing down at street below, I spy the postman dropping something into my letter box, so deciding to let the whole chaplain thing go for now, I pop down to grab my mail instead.
Most of it’s the usual junk, but as I walk slowly back upstairs, I spy an envelope with Aunt Flo’s writing. Frowning slightly, I prize open the seal and pull out the contents.
It’s an invitation to a murder mystery evening at her cottage. Surprise stops me in my tracks. This is so not like her. While my aunt loves informal gatherings, staged parties – especially in her private sanctuary – are something she’s never really indulged in. I glance down at the date and noti
ce it’s scheduled for the end of November. Curiouser and curiouser…
Putting aside my concerns about Tory’s scheming old man, I run up the rest of the stairs, determined to give her a call.
Five minutes later, I’m juggling a cup of coffee, another slice of toast and the phone.
‘Okay, you scheming old witch, what’s all this about? You planning to murder somebody for real while trying to cover your tracks, or is this a publicity stunt for your latest literary masterpiece?’ I question without preamble. The ribald chuckle at the other end of the line does a lot to alleviate my disquiet.
‘Why, you think I’m too old to host a party?’ is her caustic comeback.
I snort inelegantly into the phone before responding, ‘Of course not, it’s just that your usual idea of having a good time is to let someone else do all the hard work. Who have you invited?’
‘Well, there’s you of course, and Neil. Then there’s Tory, Noah, and Freddy. I’ve even invited Charles and Mabel.’ I suck my breath in surprise. There’s never been any love lost between Tory’s dad and my aunt – I have no idea why. I’ve always assumed they’ve just never seen eye to eye. ‘Blimey, that’s a turn up for the books. What’s it all in aid of?’
‘It’s to celebrate the release of my new book of course. This one has much more mystery in it than my usual offering.’
‘Ah, lots of bonking in cupboards then.’
She chuckles again, before going on to say, ‘My editor’s coming too. As you know, he came out of the wardrobe recently, so I thought it was about time he met Freddy.’
‘You mean he came out of the closet,’ I say with a grin. For all that my aunt writes pretty racy stuff, she’s actually not very clued up with a lot of modern slang.
‘I’ve arranged it specifically for the weekend before Thanksgiving in case Noah’s missing his family.’
All For Victory: A Romantic Comedy (The Dartmouth Diaries Book 3) Page 6
