‘Can you remember when you were determined to get me a new dress for Noah’s cocktail party?’ Tory giggles, ‘How I complained that I couldn’t breathe? Well this is worse. God help me if I bend down too far when we sit down to sign the register - my boobs are likely to end up on the table.’
‘And I’ll say now exactly the same as I said then,’ I answer with a grin, ‘Stop bloody whinging.’
‘Anyway, if your assets make an unexpected appearance, it will take everybody’s mind off the awful smell.’ Freddy’s caustic remark effectively puts an end to the light-hearted banter.
‘When are you going to meet up with Boris?’ I ask, carefully unlacing her dress. Tory breathes deeply with relief as the fabric slides down past her hips.
‘Tomorrow,’ she responds finally. ‘Noah’s collecting his sister and her brood from Heathrow tonight but they won’t get back here until late.’
‘How come he doesn’t just have them collected in a limousine?’ Freddy asks handing me the dress hanger. Tory looks at him in exasperation.
‘I think sometimes he just likes to do normal stuff, you know, like the rest of us?’
Freddy raises his eyebrows and shrugs. ‘Normal’s definitely overrated in my opinion,’ he quips, taking the dress from me and carefully hanging it on the wardrobe door.
We’re in Tory’s old bedroom at the Admiralty where she’ll sleep on the night before her wedding. Freddy and I are going to stay too, along with copious amounts of bubbly and chocolate – both of which the bride will be unfortunately unable to indulge in. However, Freddy has assured her that, being the stalwart friends that we are, the two of us will make up for it. Tory’s response is an emotional announcement that she fully intends to have one bollocking glass of Champagne before she ties the knot.
‘Are you going to tell him that he can’t conduct the ceremony?’ I ask, going back to the problem at hand.
‘I don’t know,’ Tory answers with a sigh, sitting down on the bed. ‘Noah says we’ll assess the situation when we meet him.’
‘You have no idea what you’re letting yourself in for,’ Freddy shudders dramatically, ‘I just hope you’re intending to stock up on gas masks to issue to the guests as they come in.’
Tory grimaces. ‘If it really is that bad Freddy, there’s no way we can let him take the wedding, but after everything dad said, I really don’t want to upset the poor chap.’
‘What is it with everyone not wanting to upset him?’ Freddy interrupts heatedly, ‘The man’s got an arse that could be used as a lethal weapon.’
‘Have you got anyone else in mind? I ask hurriedly to prevent an argument. Tory’s face is thunderous as she glares at Freddy.
‘Yes, Jason’s got the local vicar on standby,’ she responds, giving our insensitive friend one last scowl, ‘But how come you don’t know this Kitty Kat – haven’t you spoken to Jason?’
My face freezes at the mention of Jason’s name. ‘We’ve err, both been busy,’ I stammer finally, bending down to pick Dotty up for a cuddle in an effort to deflect any questions. I catch a glimpse of Tory’s frown as I bury my head into the little dog’s fur, but thankfully she doesn’t pursue the subject.
Instead she sits down on the bed, saying, ‘Okay, it’s your turn now. Come on maid of honour, open the box with the bridesmaids’ dresses in.’
More than happy to change the subject, I place Dotty on her lap, and with a welcome tremor of excitement, tear open the box in question. The first dress is obviously Madison’s, so I carefully put it aside and reach back into the tissue paper. The red velvet is soft and slightly decadent to the touch, and the white fur looks all too real. ‘It’s definitely faux, isn’t it? I ask, suddenly anxious that I might be inadvertently wearing real fur – something I’d never do in a million years.
‘Of course,’ Tory responds scornfully, ‘You know me better than that. Now, try it on, let’s see if it fits.’
Worry abated, I hastily I pull off my jeans and top and step into the dress, pulling it up and sliding my arms into the sleeves. Tory remains on the bed with Dotty on her knee, eying me critically.
‘Give me a hand Freddy,’ I puff, doing up the cuffs on each sleeve. Stepping behind me, Freddy patiently does up each velvet covered button, stepping away finally to view me analytically through the full length mirror. The dress is completely off the shoulder, with both the neckline and cuffs lined with the white fur. It flares from the hips like something Guinevere might have worn in Camelot. It’s totally stunning. And too big.
‘You’ve lost weight,’ Tory accuses, staring at me, her eyes narrowed. ‘Are you sure you’re okay Kitty Kat?’
For a second I can’t speak, then taking a deep breath, I pull myself together and give a little laugh, causing both friends to look at me suspiciously.
Bloody hell I’ve got to do better than this. I can’t tell the pregnant bride to be that even the thought of food makes me feel ill. She’s got enough on her plate.
‘I’m absolutely fine,’ I say cheerily after a small cough, ‘I’ve just been so busy with the wedding preparations, I don’t seem to have time to eat.’
‘Well, I know it’s not every day you find out you’re an orphan,’ Freddy mutters bluntly, ‘But if you lose much more weight you’ll begin to look like Oliver Twist.’
‘Oh stop it Freddy,’ you can be so bloody insensitive sometimes,’ Tory snaps, putting Dotty on the floor and standing up.
Freddy looks round at her in surprise. ‘If you can’t trust me to tell you both the truth darling, you can’t trust anybody. It’s what I’m here for.’ He actually sounds a little hurt that he could have been so misunderstood.
Sighing, I put my arm through his. ‘I know you’re only trying to help Freddy,’ I murmur as Tory begins sticking pins in my side. ‘I promise I won’t lose any more weight.’
‘Well if you do, they’ll probably be playing tunes on your ribs,’ Tory adds, obviously deciding that on this occasion, our less than diplomatic friend might actually have a point.
‘Ouch,’ I mutter as her pin goes clear through the fabric and sticks viciously into my hip bone. But before I get the chance to respond, her mobile phone rings. Frowning, she puts down the pin cushion and looks at the caller.
‘It’s dad,’ she says softly, reluctantly swiping the screen with her finger to answer.
‘I think we’ve had a reprieve Victory,’ her father’s deafening voice reverberates around the room. Tory frowns, before looking over at us and giving a perplexed shrug.
‘What’s happened,’ she responds finally and I can tell she’s not actually sure she wants to know.
‘Old Boris has gone and had a stroke,’ the Admiral continues, ‘He’s in Torbay Hospital as we speak.’
‘For God sake dad, you don’t have to seem so happy about it’, Tory retorts irritably, ‘You didn’t do anything to him did you?’
‘Of course I bloody well didn’t. What do you bollocking well take me for?’ Tory sighs, obviously not deigning to answer.
‘Is Boris going to be okay,’ she asks instead.
‘Don’t know yet. I went over to his flat to tell him you and Noah were coming over to see him tomorrow and I found him still in bed, so I called the ambulance. I’m waiting for the sawbone’s verdict now.’
‘Oh dear, poor man,’ Tory murmurs, ‘How awful.’
‘He seemed pretty happy to me,’ the Admiral disagrees, ‘Had a proper smile on his face. And come on, the old bugger’s ninety three and we’ve all got to go sometime.’
Tory shakes her head in despair at her father’s insensitivity, but says only, ‘Can you find out where Boris is in the hospital and we’ll go over to see him as soon as Noah gets back from Heathrow.’
‘Will do,’ the Admiral booms, ‘Keep an eye on Pickles for me.’ Then he cuts the call and we sit looking at each other in relieved guilty silence.
‘It’s true,’ Freddy mutters at length, ‘God most definitely does work in mysterious ways.’
C
hapter Nineteen
It’s two days before the wedding and everyone playing a part in the ceremony has finally arrived.
Noah’s sister and her family are awesome. Kim looks so like her brother, it’s uncanny, and her husband Ben is an easygoing affable man who just seems to smile all the time. They have two kids, and both are amazingly well behaved. Eight year old Madison is a clone of her mum and ten year old Joseph has obviously inherited his father’s genes. He is so freaking polite it’s actually scary – calling everyone sir and ma’am.
The Admiral’s currently teaching him how to salute and stand to attention, which seems to involve quite a few interesting expletives which Joseph is no doubt storing up for later.
Ethan Sullivan, Noah’s best man, arrived late last night and is still sleeping off his jet lag in one of the guest bedrooms, while Freddy, dressed in his best Armani jeans and shirt, is bouncing around like an excited three year old, hardly able to contain himself at the thought of being in the same room as the singer. He’s trying to explain to Mabel exactly who Ethan Sullivan is by showing her YouTube clips – most of which seem to be pretty x-rated.
The only person missing is Jason and I feel a familiar pang. It feels so wrong not to have him here. I sigh and take a sip of my coffee, at a loss as to how the prickly, difficult man managed to get under my skin so damn quickly. I think back to his tormented face at our last meeting and feel a lump in my throat. Maybe Laura can make him happy.
Determinedly I force my thoughts onto happier things. There’ll be more than enough time for tears in three days.
‘Did you speak to Boris earlier?’ Tory calls to her father.
Yep, it looks as though Saint Boris is going to live to fart another day.
Once the old priest was out of intensive care, Tory and Noah contacted the hospital to ask them if it would be possible to turn the padre’s room into a makeshift chapel. Of course the nurses were more than happy to oblige – positively foaming at the mouth at the opportunity to meet and speak with Noah Westbrook, not to mention Ethan Sullivan… Of course, the generous donation that Noah’s made to the stroke unit has helped too.
So we’re all going off this afternoon en masse to witness Bible Basher Boris giving Tory and Noah a Blessing for their union. Everyone involved has been sworn to secrecy and Freddy has stocked up on scented tissues, commenting darkly that we’ll all be thanking him later…
Just as I get to my feet, intending to give Tory a hand with lunch, my phone rings. It’s a number I don’t recognize, so I send it to the answer phone and make my way through to the kitchen where Tory’s busy making hotdogs.
‘How’s your morning sickness,’ I question drily, watching her pop a sausage into her mouth. She grins back at me. ‘Gone thank goodness, but you already know that, now I’m back to my normal, endearing, adorable self.’
‘You forgot enchanting and delightful,’ I quip back, ‘Not to mention plump if you keep eating those bloody sausages.’
‘I’ve got to make up for lost time,’ she answers lightly, ‘And anyway, Noah loves my curves.
I laugh, giving in. ‘Well don’t overdo it or you won’t get into your dress.’
‘Talking about getting into things,’ she mutters sticking a fork into the pan, here, have a sausage yourself - your bridesmaid dress is still a bit baggy.’
‘No it’s not,’ I retort heatedly, nevertheless taking the sausage from her, ‘You’re going to have to practically pour me into it at this rate.’ My phone starts to ring again, the same unknown number as before.
‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ Tory asks as I push it back into my pocket.
‘Don’t know who it is,’ I mumble taking a large bite of sausage. ‘Bloody hell this is hot.’
‘It could be something important,’ she insists, just as my answer phone pings to indicate a message. Raising her eyebrows in a told you so manner, she turns back to the fried onions as I grudgingly listen to the message.
‘Kit, this is Laura, Jason’s friend. I was wondering if we could meet for a coffee this afternoon. I have something important to say to you before I head back to London this evening.’ I stare in bewildered confusion at the phone, then I listen to the message again. Her voice is melodious and confident and I feel sick at the thought of having to see her again. Why on earth does she want to meet with me? She doesn’t seem like the type of woman to gloat.
‘Who is it?’ Tory asks curiously as I listen to the message for the third time.
I swallow an unwelcome lump in my throat for the second time today. I have no idea what to do. This is just too much to deal with on my own, it’s time I damn well confided in my best friend. So I take a deep breath and tell her.
~*~
I’m sitting in the Royal Castle Hotel nursing a large glass of wine. Tory’s reaction to my tale of woe was predictable. First of all she called me an imbecile for not confiding in her earlier, then she gave me tight hug while assuring me that everything would be okay.
‘What do you think she wants?’ I asked weakly.
‘Well I can’t imagine she wants to compare favourite positions,’ was her caustic response. ‘Call her back and suggest meeting at the Castle. If I were you, I’d be going for wine, sod the bloody coffee.’
‘But what about your Blessing?’ I stammered, stalling for time.
‘You know we’re doing this for Boris,’ she responded briskly, finally putting the finished hotdogs together, ‘You really don’t need to be there Kitty Kat. One less person in a room only ten feet square will be a bonus rather than a tragedy. And anyway, I’m sure one of the nurses will record the whole thing. Whoever does it could earn themselves a packet selling the recording after the wedding.’
‘You don’t mind?’ I questioned carefully.
About what? The fact that you won’t be there, or the possibility of someone making a lot of money from my happiness?’ I shake my head helplessly as she laughs. ‘No I don’t mind. Go and sort this out sweetheart.’
So, this is me sorting it out, feeling slightly sick and wondering what the hell I’m doing here.
‘Kit?’ I look up at the sound of my name to see Laura looking like someone out of Dynasty (I watched the re-runs) She’s wearing a full length fur coat and matching hat. I gaze at her mutely and all I can think is, ‘Bet that fur’s not bloody faux.’ She takes my silence as an invitation to sit down and we stare at each other for a few seconds.
‘What are you drinking?’ she asks at length. I glance down at my glass of wine, slightly surprised to see there’s still some in there. ‘Dry rose,’ I murmur, taking a nervous gulp.
‘Sounds good,’ is her only response. ‘I think I’ll have the same.’ She stands up and heads over to the bar and for five minutes I sit and rack my brain for something witty and clever to say.
Scratch that. As she sits back down, I’ll take anything, just as long as it involves opening my mouth.
‘I’m sure you’re wondering why I wanted to see you,’ she gets in first, and I nod my head like the dog off the Churchill advert. She goes on to take a deep breath before continuing (this is working out really well - I’m not actually sure I’m required to say anything).
‘Has Jason ever spoken to you about me.’ This time I shake my head and take another drink. She looks down at her glass and makes a strange noise. After a second, I realize that she’s actually crying, and somehow it makes her so much more human. Frowning I put out my hand and lay it gently over hers.
‘Please don’t cry,’ I murmur, not knowing what else to say. She looks back at me, her lashes spiky with tears. For God’s sake, she even bloody cries gorgeously.
‘Jason and I were engaged back when we were both cadets at Dartmouth.’ She pauses and looks over at me. I’ve no idea what she expects me to say, so I pat her hand, make soothing noises and wait for her to continue.
‘We broke up just before we both graduated. It was my fault – I’d been sleeping with one of the lecturers and I mistook infatuation for lov
e.’ She hesitates and takes a large gulp of her wine.
‘I saw Jason a few weeks ago. We bumped into one another in Paddington Station. It was the first time we’d spoken in nearly twenty years, and I just couldn’t let him walk away without telling him the truth.’
The tears are pouring down her face openly now and I hand her a tissue feeling as though I’m in some kind of weird dream.
‘What truth is that?’ I finally ask softly.
‘That I still love him – I never stopped.’
‘Oh,’ is all I come up with. She blows her nose and takes another long gulp of her drink, before laughing bitterly.
‘He loved me sooo much Kit, and when I ended our engagement, he was completely devastated. I broke his heart.’
Of course, that’s why the knob like behaviour - I actually want to slap her.
‘Okay I get it,’ I snap instead, ‘You’ve got a lot of sucking up to do. What’s that got to do with me?’
‘I said he was in love with me,’ she retorts heatedly, ‘He isn’t anymore. When I finally begged him the other night to give me another chance, he looked at me with pity – pity.’
She shakes her head as she spits out the last word, and looks at me with so much loathing, I lean back hastily.
Finishing the last of her drink, she places her empty glass back on the table and gets to her feet. ‘You can do what you like with what I’ve told you,’ she says harshly, ‘But if you really want him, don’t leave it as long as I did.’
Then she turns and walks away.
~*~
‘How did it go? We both ask the question at the same time. ‘You first,’ I say, lying back on the sofa.
There’s an exasperated sigh on the other end of the phone, then, ‘It was fine. Actually more than fine, it was lovely – apart from a slightly sticky moment when Madison asked whether the man in the bed was dead. I’m not sure if she was referring to the way he looked, or the smell that was permeating the room.
‘Bloody hell Kit, I’m so glad Boris’s not going to be in the chapel the day after tomorrow – the smell was truly ghastly. At one point, I thought Freddy was going to start charging for his scented tissues – you know how money motivated he is.
All For Victory: A Romantic Comedy (The Dartmouth Diaries Book 3) Page 19
