Although Tory wanted to come with me this morning, I persuaded her not to with the excuse that she needs to badger Noah to order the bridesmaids dresses. But that’s not the main reason. This, out of everything in the whole day, is my idea. I really want to make it spectacular for her, and of course, that includes giving her a wonderful surprise. I hope…
Keeping a low profile, I follow the two guys from Planet Gold as they wander from the Chapel, along the Main Corridor, onto the Quarterdeck and down to the Senior Gunroom. They are making copious notes and exude restrained excitement which is most definitely rubbing off on me. After about an hour, we retreat back to the Captain’s house for coffee and planning.
I was told when we first arrived that Jason Buchannan was in London. I stifled the disappointment, telling myself that his absence was good. Much, much better to keep everything on a professional footing.
Of course, he’s going to want to see exactly what kind of special effects we’re intending to use in his College – obviously gold snitches, real live fairies, and fire breathing dragons are unfortunately out of the question.
The two men from Planet Gold are called Richard and Rupert – I know, sounds like a comedy duo. They’ve not actually been told about the wedding, just that a large private party is going to be held while the College is closed for the Christmas leave. I’ve gaily informed them that money is no object (haven’t you always wanted to do that?) and by the time we’ve finished, I know that Hogwarts is going to have nothing on Britannia Royal Naval College on the twentieth of December.
They propose that the evening be finished off with a spectacular firework display – suggesting some fire breathing dragons might be possible after all. I nod my head excitedly, completely forgetting that permission has to be obtained for large scale displays of fireworks. I think the “money is no object” bit is going to my head. I’m not sure Noah had bribing local officials in mind when he said it.
After about an hour and a half, they depart, leaving me with a stack of sketches and leaflets, promising to come back with a firm price tomorrow.
Obviously there’s no time to lose seeing as we’ve only got just over four weeks to go, so I stay behind in Jason Buchannan’s drawing room to make some notes. I’ve asked Dave if he can get the sketches photocopied while I wait, so I can leave copies for the Captain. All in all, I’m feeling pretty good about myself.
Five minutes later he comes back into the room with a tray. ‘Oh don’t worry about more coffee,’ I say looking up, ‘I’m leaving as soon as the sketches have been copied.’
‘Captain Buchannan has just returned from London ma’am,’ the steward responds, putting down the tray. ‘He’s requested that you give him a few moments of your time before you depart.’
My heart thumps uncomfortably at the thought of meeting Jason so soon. I’m torn by wanting to see him again and hoping to avoid any possibility of him putting a kibosh on things – at least until he’s had some time to actually go over Planet Gold’s proposals.
I look down at my clothes – jeans, sweater and trainers. Not exactly hotty material, but then again, in the interests of keeping things purely professional, I’m spot on.
Nevertheless, I hurriedly I run my fingers through my hair and purse my lips together in an effort to get a bit of colour in them. I’m just in the process of adjusting my Wonderbra to try and give anyone looking at least the illusion of a cleavage, when the object of my thoughts strides in. He has the original sketches as well as the copies in his hand, but I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing.
‘Kit,’ he says in his usual clipped tones, and I have to fight the urge to stand up and salute. ‘Would you like some coffee?’
I shake my head, murmuring, ‘No thank you,’ and nervously watch as he sits down and helps himself to a cup. Without speaking, he hands the original sketches over to me, then leans back to look at the copies.
In the ensuing minutes you could have heard a pin drop, and I mentally began to put together counter arguments for when he dismisses the whole idea. However, when he finally puts the drawings down beside him, all he says is, ‘It’s certainly going to look… spectacular.’
‘Does that mean you’ll allow it?’ I ask the question quickly, wondering if I should have brought a tape recorder.
‘I don’t see that the decorations will be a problem,’ he answers, shaking his head, ‘Although I’m not so sure about the fireworks’
‘I’ll contact the local council and see what they have to say,’ I respond eagerly. He frowns slightly, taking a sip of his coffee, and I try very hard not to focus on his oh so kissable mouth.
‘Let me deal with the council,’ he says eventually, to my complete surprise. ‘I think you’ve probably got enough on your plate.’ The last is spoken drily, but I don’t detect any hint of sarcasm. In fact, if anything, he seems a little distracted, and I can’t help feeling ridiculously peeved that I’m not the sole object of his attention. How silly is that?
‘Thank you, that would be very much appreciated.’ I resort to distant politeness, wishing, not for the first time, that I could read his mind. Then, briskly gathering up the drawings, I stand, murmuring, ‘I’ll be off then. I’ll keep you informed of any further developments.’
He simply nods his head in answer, and with an inward sigh, I take that as my cue to leave. I’m almost at the door when he speaks my name, this time hesitantly, almost unwillingly. Turning round, I raise my eyebrows enquiringly.
‘I was wondering whether you’d like to go out for lunch on Saturday.’ His voice is uncertain and I stare at him for a couple of seconds, wondering if I’ve heard him correctly. ‘With me,’ he finishes lamely and to my utter amazement his face actually suffuses with colour as he speaks the last two words.
Wondering just when I fell down the rabbit hole, my answer is equally hesitant as a corresponding blush stains my cheeks. ‘Err, yes, thank you, that would be nice.’ Then I stand awkwardly, not knowing how to continue. Bloody hell, anyone would think I’d never been asked to lunch before.
‘I thought perhaps if the weather’s good enough we could take one of the College motor whalers and go up to the Ferryboat Inn at Dittisham – if that works for you.’ His voice is back to its usual brusqueness, and it’s almost as if I imagined his earlier awkwardness.
Swallowing, I nod my head. ‘What time?’
‘I’ll pick you up at the boat float at noon. I’ll bring a life jacket for you.’ How can he make an arrangement also sound like a dismissal? In answer, I simply bob my head again, and this time I find myself incongruously fighting the impulse to curtsy.
Sighing inwardly, I hurry through the door, shutting it firmly behind me as I go. There’s no sign of Dave as I let myself out and start down the hill towards the main gates.
Well what do you know, I’ve got a date with the knob – wait until I tell Tory…
~*~
Jason Buchannan leaned back against the sofa with a sigh. What the bloody hell had possessed him to actually go ahead and ask Kit out for lunch? Despite his earlier desire to have her get to know him, he knew in his heart that getting close to her would simply complicate matters. Especially since the chance meeting yesterday with Laura.
He sat forward again to pour himself another coffee, glancing over at the drinks cabinet with a small grimace. God, he could murder a shot of brandy now. He recalled that moment in the taxi queue, when the voice that had haunted him for years called his name.
Laura Williamson, the woman he’d met and fallen in love with while under officer training here at Dartmouth, and the person he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with – until he walked in on her making love with one of the lecturers.
He’d walked out of the room that day, and out of Laura’s life after they passed out two days later, filled with the firm conviction that if someone he believed to be his soul mate was capable of such deceit, then women in general were not to be trusted. He’d been vaguely aware when she left the navy, sti
fled the hurt at the knowledge she was to be married, but he’d never uttered another word to her – until yesterday.
He still wasn’t sure how he felt. When he’d first heard her voice calling his name in Paddington Station, his primary feeling was one of surprise. She hadn’t changed much at all. Still tall, willowy, and impossibly lovely. Her chestnut hair cascaded around her shoulders, unlike her navy days when she’d wear it in a severe bun.
Her delight at seeing him was evident as she walked towards him, her face illuminated by the warm smile he remembered so clearly. Undeterred by his non committal stance, she stepped into his personal space and hugged him close, murmuring how good it was to see him again. Then she asked him if he had time for a coffee. His meeting wasn’t for another hour, so against his better judgement, he found himself nodding his head and following her back into the station.
‘So how are you Jase? God it’s been so long.’ Her voice said it had been too long, and as she reached over the table to take his hand, he found himself completely on the back foot – something that hadn’t happened in a very long time.
‘I’m good,’ he finally responded, giving her fingers a quick squeeze before gently relinquishing them. ‘How are things with you?’ His voice was polite, reserved and he registered her brief frown at his lack of warmth.
‘I’m working for the MOD now,’ she shrugged, giving an indication that she regarded it as a job, nothing more. ‘David and I spent a few years in Italy, but when we split up, I came back to the UK.’
Jason raised his eyebrows at the revelation of her marriage break up. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured, not really knowing what else to say, drawing an answering brittle laugh from her.
‘I’m sure you are Jase, but enough about me. I hear on the grapevine that your career is on the up and up – I think the powers that be could have you earmarked for First Sea Lord.’
Jason gave a small shrug of his own. ‘You know the RN,’ he said caustically, ‘One fuck up and you can be relegated to stacking files for the rest of your career. So far, I’ve simply avoided making any fuck ups.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Which reminds me, I have a meeting to attend in Main Building.’
He stood up, looking down at the woman he’d loved with all his heart. She still made his pulse race, but beyond that, he couldn’t say. With slight surprise, he noted unshed tears shimmering in her eyes as she rose gracefully from her chair and took hold of his hand again, closing her eyes for a second, as though gathering courage. Her next words re-enforced it, and he felt his heart slam into his ribs as she spoke, her voice low and intense.
‘Jason, I’ve so wanted to get in touch. You have no idea how many times I’ve nearly written to you. I made a mistake, all those years ago.’ Her words were hurried as though she’d rehearsed them countless times, but perhaps she had.
‘Please Jase, can we see each other again? I know I’m asking a lot, but I’ve never stopped thinking about you, and… and, I’m not asking you to give me another chance, I understand it’s far too late for that. But maybe, just maybe, we could spend some time getting to know each other again, now we’re both older and wiser?’
Jason Buchannan was not often lost for words, but as he stared at Laura’s anguished face, he had no idea what to say. In the early years, he’d conjured up so many scenarios in which she’d said exactly those words. But now? Unexpectedly his thoughts travelled to Kit and the uncharacteristic feelings she provoked in him.
Shaking his head, he sighed. ‘I don’t know Laura,’ he finally answered truthfully, his words coming out more harshly than he intended. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you, and I’ve got no time now to start examining something I thought dead long ago.’
‘Can we at least talk again then?’ Laura held onto his hand as he tried to step back. Her voice was anxious, almost desperate, recognizing that he was about to walk out of her life – again.
Jason stopped and closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, he freed his hand, and reaching into his brief case, he pulled out his card. ‘This has my mobile number on it. If you want to, you can give me a call.’ His offer was less than gracious as were his next words. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.’
Then he strode away without looking back, his business like pace completely concealing the turmoil inside.
David’s discreet cough brought Jason back to the present. ‘Admiral Thorpe is on the telephone Sir, shall I put the call through to your office?’
Frowning slightly, Jason dragged his mind back to the matters at hand. As he nodded his head and downed the rest of his now cold coffee, he reflected that his policy on women over the last decade had most definitely stood him in good stead, and, no matter what the temptation, he had no intention getting back involved the machinations of the fairer sex.
~*~
Admiral Shackleford glanced down at his watch as he sat himself at the bar. Damn, he was early. He knew that Jimmy was unlikely to turn up even a second earlier than their arranged time – the bloody dragon would see to that. Maybe a few chips wouldn’t go a miss while he was waiting. He resolutely turned his mind away from Mabel’s insistence that he cut down on his carbohydrates, reasoning that he could share half the chips with Pickles, so they really didn’t count.
It wasn’t like him to be adrift for an appointment, but the truth was that he couldn’t sit still a moment longer. Mabel likened his fidgeting to a hamster on steroids and finally shooed him out of the kitchen, telling him to go for a walk or something. He didn’t actually tell her his walk would take him to the Ship – she complained that the beer was another thing adding to his waistline.
He sighed. Why did bloody women have to nag so. Of course Mabel had no idea of the stress he was under currently, but the problem was, he couldn’t share the whole sorry story – not even with Jimmy. He took a long sip of his pint and followed it up with a well salted chip, liberally dipped in mayonnaise. What Mabel would no doubt describe as coronary fodder. Piously throwing the next chip down to Pickles sitting eagerly at his feet, the Admiral thought back to his clandestine meeting with Boris.
He’d been hoping that he’d be able to dissuade the doddering reprobate from insisting he take the ceremony, but no such luck. It might take the old codger three times as long to finish a bloody sentence, but he’d definitely still got all his marbles. And his bowel issues.
The Admiral cringed as he thought back to the glares coming from the tables surrounding them. Boris was completely oblivious – his nose had long since given up the ghost. His enthusiasm for what he repeatedly called, ‘the most important role of my life,’ was bloody ridiculous; the Admiral doubted the God walloper had even heard of Noah Westbrook before he read about Victory’s relationship in the newspapers.
In fact the old bugger probably hadn’t even officiated at a wedding for years – he’d been “unofficially” retired since the incident at Greenwich. The Admiral groaned inside. What the buggering hell was he going to do?
Pickles sudden excited barking brought his panicked thoughts to an end, and looking up, he was relieved to see Jimmy coming through the door. His small friend frowned as he climbed up onto the stool next the Admiral.
‘Are you supposed to be eating those Sir?’ he asked, nodding towards the half eaten portion of chips, ‘I thought you said Mabel had put you on a diet.’ The Admiral sighed and pushed the rest of the chips away. His appetite had completely gone anyway. He didn’t even flinch as Jimmy helped himself.
‘Are you okay Sir?’ Jimmy asked after they’d been sitting in silence for five minutes. ‘Is there, err… something you’d like to get off your chest, so to speak?’
The Admiral looked over at the smaller man with a slight scowl. ‘Can’t a man have a quiet drink with his oppo without being bloody interrogated?’
Jimmy raised his eyebrows, but didn’t apologize, and at length, Charles Shackleford exhaled noisily. ‘Truth is Jimmy lad that I’m in a bit of a tight corner,’ he muttered.
Jimmy didn’t re
spond, just sat silently, waiting for the Admiral to continue. As he waited, he couldn’t help but sigh inwardly. Being the confidante of a man who got himself involved in more tight spots than bloody Houdini was not for the faint hearted.
Finally the Admiral spoke. ‘You remember when I got together with Celia – Victory’s mother?’ Jimmy nodded, wondering where all this was going.
‘We met and married within a couple of months – a proper whirlwind courtship. I’d never met anyone like her before. She took my breath away Jimmy. I’d have done anything for her. We had the ceremony up in London – a quiet affair with just a few close friends. You can’t imagine my relief when she said she didn’t want a big bash. You see Jimmy lad, the problem was, I was already married.’
‘Who to?’ Jimmy’s voice was a whisper of disbelief.
‘To Florence Davies. Kit’s aunt.’
Chapter Nine
Saturday is cold and sunny and I don’t know whether to be glad or sorry. I haven’t actually gotten around to telling either Tory or Freddy about my lunch date with Jason. I’m not sure why – maybe because I don’t want any negative feedback that might make me change my mind about going. Jason Buchannan may be a difficult person to get to know, but it has to be said he’s the first man I’ve been attracted to in far too long.
After lacing up my deck shoes, I glance at the clock. Eleven fifty. That gives me plenty of time to get to the boat float which is only a few yards away from my flat. Shrugging a wax jacket on, I give my hair a quick flick and I’m good to go. As I lock up, I wonder if I should have made a bit more of an effort. But then, if I did that, it would mean that I care. And I don’t. Really I don’t…
All For Victory: A Romantic Comedy (The Dartmouth Diaries Book 3) Page 8
