Perfectly in tune once more, Jimmy stared back at the Admiral, cocked his head slightly towards the newcomers and shrugged his shoulders.
The next hour and a half might not be so bad after all.
~*~
Without saying anything more, Jason pushes open the door to The Ship, and ever the gentleman, stands aside to let me go through first. The inside of the pub is blessedly warm, and all the tables are empty apart from one. I glance over at the two couples, whose conversation stopped the second we entered, to find four pairs of eyes staring at us, then my heart sinks faster than you can say, ‘Bollocking bugger.’
‘Oohoo,’ Mabel gets in first, punctuating her call with a frantic waving motion just in case we haven’t seen her at six feet away.
‘Hi Mabel.’ My response is definitely luke warm, which of course is water off a duck’s back to anyone who sleeps in the same bed as the Admiral. She follows her waving with a rabid patting motion on the bench beside her – there’s probably all of six inches between her and the end of the settle. I glance back at Jason who has a very interesting fixed smile on his face – he actually looks as though he needs the toilet.
‘Come and join us, do.’ Mabel continues with the manic patting. You know Jimmy and Emily don’t you?’ I nod towards the other couple and step back to introduce them to Jason whose smile now looks as though he’s chewing broken glass. With a broad wink, Jimmy jumps up and hurries to fetch another chair. ‘Here you go, looks like we’re all going to the same place.’
‘What a lovely opportunity to get to know one another before the festivities start,’ trills Emily.
‘Oh we don’t want to intrude,’ I say desperately.
‘Nonsense,’ Mabel pipes up, ‘You’re not intruding at all. We’d love you to join us, wouldn’t we Charles?’ I turn my attention to the Admiral’s face, hoping against hope for a last ditch reprieve, but Tory’s father has that look on his face. The meddlesome one that’s got him into so much trouble in the past.
‘Sit your arse down Kit,’ he bellows, pointing to the six inches next to Mabel. ‘Jason, park yourself next to Jimmy.’
I can see out of the corner of my eye that Jason is about to be rude – clearly intending to go in to knob mode – so I hastily grip his arm and stare up at him anxiously. ‘That’ll be lovely won’t it Jason?’
The last thing I want is to cause offence to Tory’s father, even if the devious old reprobate is only being bloody nosy. Jason looks down at me and raises his eyebrows before accepting the inevitable. ‘What would you like to drink?’ he asks resignedly.
‘Red wine, large one,’ I whisper, conveying my thanks by squeezing his arm. As he heads over to the bar, I smile brightly at the two couples and squeeze myself into the miniscule space next to Mabel, only to be immediately accosted by Pickles who seems to think he can sit on my knee.
‘So, what are you and old Captain Buchannan doing here together?’ The Admiral booms, wasting no time getting to the nitty gritty.
‘Err, we just thought it would be a good opportunity to, err, well, that is, to err, chat about the wedding.’ I spit out the last part of the sentence in a rush and all four look at me in varying degrees of pity, obviously not impressed by my lying skills.
‘How nice,’ says Emily politely. ‘Would you like a crisp?’
‘He’s very handsome isn’t he?’ confides Mabel in a whisper loud enough for the whole room to hear. I smile at the elderly widow whose face is mere inches from mine. There is an overwhelming aroma of cheese and onion crisps as she speaks.
‘Err, yes he is,’ I answer softly, my face reddening at the thought that Jason might hear my response.
‘I once had a handsome fellow like Captain Buchannan on my arm,’ Mabel continues with complete disregard to the feelings of her current beau. ‘Tall, dark and handsome he was. Looked just like Kernu Reeves.’
‘Keanu,’ I insert automatically.
Mabel frowns, ‘Can I what?’ she continues, confused.
I open my mouth to respond, but the Admiral gets there first. ‘Bloody hell Mabel, give it a rest, you could talk a glass eye to sleep.’
Luckily at the moment Jason arrives back with our drinks and I take a long grateful swig of wine. Gingerly he seats himself on the chair next to Jimmy who beams at him.
‘Chief Petty Officer Noon, at your service Sir,’ the small man says with obvious pride.
Jason blinks for a second, then relaxes and gives his first proper smile since entering the pub. ‘Very pleased to make your acquaintance CPO Noon, and that of your lovely wife of course.’
Emily blushes and simpers, then, shoving her husband unceremoniously out of the way, leans across him to say, ‘Charmed I’m sure.’
Catching Jason’s eye, I suppress a sudden hysterical desire to giggle. I feel like I’m in a Noel Coward farce.
‘So how long have you been up at the College Sir,’ Jimmy asks respectfully.
‘Only a few weeks,’ Jason replies, ‘I’m still finding my feet I’m afraid. Were you ever stationed at BRNC Mr Noon?’
‘Call me Jimmy if you please Sir, and yes, I had my last draft up at the College. Looked after the cadets in Hawk Division. Think it might have been before your time Sir.’
‘Course it bloody was Jimmy,’ the Admiral interjects irritably, ‘Don’t forget Jason here’s old Hugo’s boy.’
‘Are you married?’ Emily cuts in, all but sitting in her husband’s lap in her eagerness to speak.
‘Err, no I’m not,’ Jason responds, taken aback slightly by the sudden change in the conversation.
‘So, divorced?’ I have to hand it to Jimmy’s wife, she’s nothing if not dogged.
‘No, I haven’t yet had the pleasure.’ Jason’s smile has definitely slipped a bit. Emily narrows her eyes and nods slowly as though trying to gauge if he’s telling the truth.
‘Captain Buchannan’s family home is in Scotland,’ Mabel throws in sagely, as if that has something to do with his marital state.
‘Unusual for a man to get to your age without having at least one wife.’
‘Not even a small one,’ Jason responds with an admirably straight face.
‘But of course, that must be why you and Kit get on so well.’
‘Why, because she hasn’t had a small one either?’ I can tell he’s beginning to lose his temper and I lean forward to intervene.
‘It’s quite usual nowadays for people to get into their mid thirties without having married.’
‘Absolutely dear, we didn’t mean to imply otherwise did we Mabel.’
‘Of course not Emily. Why I have lots of friends left on the mantelpiece. I think they call them coyotes now.’
There’s a small silence, then the Admiral sighs. ‘I swear to God Mabel, sometimes I think when you open your mouth, it’s only to exchange whichever foot was already in there.’
‘Anyone for another drink?’ Jimmy offers brightly. I look down at my glass, it’s already empty. ‘A Shiraz for me please,’ I say equally cheerfully. Jason’s expression looks as though he’s been chewing a wasp.
‘I’m sure Captain Buchannan’s ready for a top up, aren’t you dear?’ Emily pats his hand. ‘That’s not a tonic water is it?’ she continues pointing at his empty glass. ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for a tonic water kind of man.’
Jason takes a deep breath. ‘I’ll have a gin and tonic please Jimmy – a double if that’s okay.?’
‘Certainly Sir,’ Jimmy responds undaunted.
‘Does he look like the kind of nancy who drinks tonic water?’ the Admiral offers in his usual dulcet tones. ‘He’s a bloody naval officer. We have gin in our veins instead of blood - what do you say Scotty?’ I can see a slight tick start up in Jason’s jaw as the Admiral uses his father’s old nickname, and I stare hurriedly down at my lap to stop myself from laughing.
‘Any naval man worth his salt can drink a half a pint of whisky before breakfast,’ the Admiral goes on, as if that’s actually something to be proud of.
<
br /> ‘I’m afraid I’ve never tried,’ Jason responds in clipped, even tones, ‘I’m more of a coffee man myself.’
Looking at Jason’s thunderous features, I decide a change of subject is in order. ‘So, are you looking forward to the wedding Mabel?’ I ask loudly.
‘Oh yes, I can’t wait,’ the elderly matron responds, clapping her hands enthusiastically. ‘Charles is taking me in to Torquay to buy a new frock next week, aren’t you dear?’ The Admiral’s expression clearly indicates that this wasn’t his idea.
‘Don’t know what’s wrong with the shops on this side of the bloody river,’ he grouches, taking a sip of his pint. Mabel tut tuts and actually chucks him under the chin. We all watch fascinated.
‘Don’t be such a grumpy grouchy old man dear,’ she goes on, ‘You know you want me to look nice.’
All eyes swing to the Admiral. You could have heard a pin drop.
‘I’m wearing puce,’ announces Emily with satisfaction.
‘Oh Emily,’ frowns Mabel, turning back to her friend. ‘Is that wise? I mean I’m really not sure you’d look your best in a dress the colour of vomit.’
‘It’s time we were off,’ Jason nearly yells in a strangled voice, hastily getting to his feet, ‘It’s going to take us a good half an hour to walk.’
‘Walk? What on earth are you doing walking up there in the dark?’ All four look at us as though we’ve sprouted two heads.
‘You could end up in France if you fall off the cliff.’
‘I should think ending up in France would be the least of our worries,’ Jason retorts drily.
‘We’ll give you a lift up,’ Jimmy offers, ‘I’m sure we can fit you in.’
‘You’ve got a bloody Mini you dipstick, how do you propose to do that?’ The Admiral’s voice is scornful, but before the argument has a chance to escalate, I prise myself out of my seat, saying, ‘Please don’t worry, we want to walk, really – it will do us good.’
The Admiral stares at us for a second, his opinion of what’s good for us clearly doesn’t include a two mile hike round a headland in the dark. For a second I think he’s going to protest again, but then he narrows his eyes calculatingly and says, ‘I don’t suppose you fancy taking Pickles along do you? He enjoys a good walk…’
Contrary to the Admiral’s assertion, Pickles does not in fact appear to enjoy a good walk, the evidence of which is his constant refusal to move, accompanied by longing glances back the way we’ve come. ‘It’s going to take us all night at this rate,’ I puff, dragging the reluctant spaniel.
Jason’s face is thunderous. He takes the leash out of my hand and marches up the road hauling the unwilling Pickles, all the while muttering about, ‘Bloody people taking bloody responsibility for their bloody dogs.’ I hurry after him stifling a slightly hysterical desire to laugh. This is so not the romantic walk either of us had envisaged, and it’s definitely not the time for a heart to heart.
He’s about fifty yards away when he finally stops to wait for me. ‘Sorry,’ he murmurs contritely when I finally catch him up, puffing and panting. Too winded to speak, I wave away his apology and stand still in an effort to get my breath back. Looking up, the moon is almost full and the sky is crystal clear and full of stars – an absolutely perfect setting for romance.
‘I’m just happy to be here with you,’ I say softly after a couple of minutes.
At my words, Jason relaxes and starts to step towards me. When he comes to the end of the leash, he gives a hard tug to get Pickles moving, only to look behind him and see the Springer busy having a large dump.
‘Oh my God, did you bring any poo bags?’ I ask in a panic.
‘No,’ Jason ground out, all amorous thoughts disappearing along with the aroma of eau de dog doo. ‘Because I haven’t got a bloody dog.’
‘I think you’re overacting a little,’ I say a little crossly, rummaging around my handbag to see if I’ve got a stray bag from Dotty’s sleep over - nothing.
‘Go and find a stick,’ I instruct looking up.
‘Are you always this bossy?’ he snaps, his expression now back to stony.
‘Only when faced with cantankerous people,’ I retort, ‘Anyone would think you’ve never been out in the field and had to improvise before.’
‘I don’t usually do that in a shirt and tie,’ he replies angrily, stomping off to the side of the verge to look for a stick.
‘Careful you don’t fall over the cliff, I might have to send Pickles to look for you.’ I shout after him sarcastically.
Five minutes later he reappears with a stick the size of a small tree. I step back slightly, wondering for a second exactly what he’s going to do with it. Then I hear a noise. ‘Hurry up, there’s a car coming,’ I mutter, ‘We’ll get run over at this rate.’
‘Nag, nag, nag,’ he mumbles, searching for the lump of dog doo in the dark. After a couple of seconds, he locates it and lifts the stick back, almost over his shoulder like a golf club. I’m assuming he has it in mind to get it as far down the cliff as possible.
‘Get on with it,’ I grumble, now thoroughly chilled and completely pissed off, ‘You’re not bloody Tiger Woods.’
‘Why don’t you just SHUT UP.’ He shouts the last bit at the same time as swinging the stick, which connects with the lump of poo with a loud smack. The offending pile sails through the air like a missile and lands splat, straight on the windscreen of the oncoming car.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Oh my God, stop, please, I can’t breathe.’ My best friend doesn’t seem quite as sympathetic as I feel the situation warrants.
‘The only good thing,’ I continue caustically, ‘Was the fact that the oncoming car had your father in it. That’s karma.’
‘Apart from the fact that the car is Jimmy’s of course.’
I acknowledge her point with a small sigh, then break into a reluctant grin. ‘You should have seen the Admiral’s face. The poo hit the windscreen exactly where he was sitting. I’m sure he thought he’d been shot.’ We both burst into gales of laughter.
‘Come on, give me a hand with these drinks,’ she murmurs once our hilarity finally dies down. ‘I think Jason definitely needs one.’
‘Humph,’ is my only comment about the bad tempered Captain.
We head back into the drawing room, leaving the outside caterers to finish up in the kitchen. ‘The dinner smells heavenly,’ I murmur appreciatively as we set the drinks down.
‘Much better than it would if I were cooking it,’ Tory responds with a wry grin.
‘I’m just grateful it’s not my aunt,’ I return with a slight grimace, ‘I’m not sure I could stomach two of her festive dinners in one season.’
I glance round the room. Everyone has arrived. Pickles seems to be undaunted by his impromptu moonlit stroll, and is busy chasing Dotty and Pepé in and out of the hall. Stopping to avoid falling over them, I can’t help but note that the Admiral and Flo are closeted in the corner, talking in low tones – and whatever they’re talking about, it looks as though they don’t agree at all.
I look back at Tory to see if she’s noticed, but she’s busy handing out drinks to Jacques and Neil. Frowning, I look round for Freddy – I’d expected him to be cemented to the editor’s side, but when I finally locate him, he’s standing on his own by the Christmas tree, staring at my aunt and the Admiral with a haunted look on his face.
Sudden alarm bells start ringing in my head. Something must have happened earlier when I sent him off to spy on Tory’s father – that’s why he wasn’t answering his phone.
Filled with foreboding, I make my way towards him, only to be unexpectedly intercepted by Jason. I look up at his unsmiling face with surprise. I was expecting him to ignore me for the rest of the evening.
‘Would you like a drink?’ I say politely holding up a glass of Champagne.
‘Would it be rude to take two?’ he questions back with a rueful grin. I stare up at him for a second, then laugh softly. ‘Be careful, I might pour one o
f them over your head,’ I murmur, unwilling to completely forgive his boorish behaviour just yet.
‘That would be a waste of good Champagne,’ he smiles, ‘You might be better to simply dunk my dim-witted head in Dotty’s dog bowl.’
‘Don’t tempt me,’ I retort, only half joking as I hand him a full glass.
He takes a large appreciative sip. ‘God, that’s good,’ he whispers, closing his eyes briefly in pleasure and I’m suddenly filled with an image of his head in other places…
‘Have you spoken to Freddy yet this evening?’ I ask a little breathlessly, trying to look over his shoulder. He opens his eyes and frowns at the sudden change of subject.
‘Only to say hello. Why?’
‘Oh nothing really, he seems a little quiet that’s all.’
‘Well he looks in fine form to me.’ I follow Jason’s outstretched arm to where Freddy is now in animated conversation with Jacques, and sag with relief at the sight. Whatever is bothering Freddy, it can’t be that bad can it?
A half an hour later, we’re all sitting down for dinner. There are twelve of us all together, with Noah presiding at one end of the large dining table and Tory at the other. Then there’s the Admiral, Mabel, me, Jason, Freddy, Flo, Neil, Jacques, Jimmy and Emily.
The flickering candlelight casts a warm intimate glow over the room, and, as I look at the people around me, most of whom I’ve known all my life, I feel a comfortable sense of belonging, and wonder how it can get any better than this.
Before we begin dinner, Noah leads the table in giving thanks to God for all his blessings and mercies towards us throughout the year. His words are simple but poignant and unexpectedly I feel tears pricking my eyelids.
Then it’s down to the nitty gritty. The food is amazing. Turkey with cranberry sauce and all the traditional trimmings along with some not so usual festive ingredients – to us Brits anyway - sweet potatoes, corn on the cob and to follow, a pumpkin pie.
‘Is this how you spend Thanksgiving when you’re home in The States?’ Jimmy asks with obvious approval.
All For Victory: A Romantic Comedy (The Dartmouth Diaries Book 3) Page 16
