Pouring himself a strong black coffee, he headed back to his desk in the Great Hall. He wasn’t sure how his father would take the idea of turning his beloved pile of bricks into a luxury hotel, but Jason knew they’d have to have the conversation as soon as Hugo was strong enough. Financially, things were much worse than Jason had thought, and if they were to stand any chance of saving the family home, then it was imperative that the work began as soon as possible. They would need to be up and running before the start of the following summer and his termination date.
Seating himself back at his desk, Jason found his thoughts drifting to Aileen’s niece Nicole. She’d seemed very pleasant, not to mention almost eager to help with his father. Frowning slightly, he remembered the small woman’s quick offer of assistance, and her admission that she needed the tranquility of Bloodstone Tower. He couldn’t help wondering if there was something she was running away from.
~*~
I wake up to the insistent ringing of my mobile phone. Jason. After trying briefly to sit up, I collapse back down against the pillows wincing at the throbbing in my head. Overindulgence of both wine and tears are two things definitely calculated to leave you with a thick head the next morning.
Groaning, I reach out and manage to snag the offending device, holding it in front of my face as I squint, trying to read the name of the caller. Not Jason, but Tory. I glance at the time – it’s only six thirty for goodness sake. Then my heart stutters. If she’s calling this early, there must be something wrong. Headache forgotten, I quickly sit up in bed and answer her call.
‘Hey sweetie, is Isaac okay?’
‘Turn on your TV,’ she states without preamble, her voice edgy and anxious. Feeling an answering tug, I shake my head before realizing she can’t see me. ‘I’m at Aunt Flo’s,’ I say instead, ‘She doesn’t have a TV in the bedroom. Why, what’s wrong?’
To my dismay, her response is a small sob and I grip the phone as fear suddenly swamps me.
‘Is there something wrong with Isaac?’ I all but shout when she doesn’t speak. I can practically feel her gather herself together on the other end of the phone and a loud wail in the background alleviates my fear that something dreadful has happened to her son.
‘No, Isaac’s fine,’ she finally murmurs, boosting my feeling of relief – until her next words.
‘It’s Noah. I think he’s seeing Gaynor again…’
I manage to get to Tory’s within half an hour, and in one piece too – always a bonus. I left a quick note for Aunt Flo and crept out without waking her, then drove like a bat out of hell along the narrow country lanes back to Dartmouth. Once on the ferry, I logged on to Facebook, scrolling down to see if I could find the pictures that Tory was referring to. Unfortunately, it was all too easy and I felt my heart hammer in anger as I examined the grainy photograph. It was definitely Noah and Gaynor, but if truth be told, it was difficult to see whether they were having a full blown episode including tongues, or simply kissing goodbye. Starting up my engine as we arrived at the other side, I really hoped it was the latter at that time in the morning.
So now, I park the car and, using the key they gave me, I push open the door to Tory and Noah’s sumptuous house. Dotty greets me with a welcoming bark on the other side, but there’s no sign of Tory and the baby. After a quick glance in the drawing room and kitchen, I head upstairs, finally tracking my best friend down in the nursery.
Curled up in a chair, she looks up as I enter, her face almost ashen. I run forward and crouch down, leaning forward to give her a hug.
‘You know it’s all a load of bollocks don’t you Tory?’ She nods her head against mine and I lean back to search her face.
‘I felt so sick at first,’ she admits, ‘That’s when I panicked and called you – I couldn’t get hold of Noah.’ She takes a deep breath before continuing, ‘He wouldn’t cheat on me Kit, and especially not with Gaynor. It’s just… I hate all this. It’s almost like people want him to do it. They actually want him to fall off the damn pedestal they put him on in the first place. How long will it be before the vultures start gathering again? I can’t keep running every time the going gets a little rough.’
‘They’ll soon bugger off when they realize there’s no story. You know what the paparazzi are like – if you’re not crying into your vodka or wandering around in a daze looking like a vagrant, they’ll start looking for something or someone more interesting to photograph.
‘Come on, it’s too early to hit the hard stuff, so let’s leave Isaac to his nap and go and grab some caffeine.’
Ten minutes later we’re tucking into coffee and croissants. ‘It’s amazing how averting potential catastrophes makes you hungry,’ Tory mumbles with her mouth full. I nod, bending down to give my last piece of to Dotty who is in imminent danger of doing an impromptu somersault in her efforts to get closer to the food source.
Suddenly Tory’s mobile rings and glancing down, she almost chokes trying to swallow the last piece of her croissant. ‘It’s Noah,’ she manages to wheeze before swiping her finger across the front of the phone and treating her beloved to a coughing fit worthy of someone who’s smoked forty a day for most of their life. Finally, she hands the phone over to me, indicating I should talk.
‘Hi Noah,’ I say drily as my friend continues to sound like a parrot being strangled. ‘Your other half is fine – it’s just a croissant went down the wrong way.’
‘As you’re at the house at seven thirty in the morning, I take it you’ve seen the photo?’ he responds, his voice matter of fact with an undertone of anger. ‘Oh yes,’ I reply, ‘It’s a lovely one of Gaynor. Can’t really see your face, but you’re both certainly looking very wrapped up in each other.’
‘You know it’s a fake Kit,’ is his dry response, ‘So cut the crap and put my wife on.’ I laugh and hand over the phone. After a few more splutters, Tory is able to hold a conversation and I watch her mood visibly lighten as she speaks to her husband.
Leaving her to it, I wander into the drawing room, drawn to the huge bi-fold doors and the magnificent view beyond. The sun is casting early morning shadows over the sloping lawn and dancing on the surface of the river below, causing it to glint with tiny sparkles. The scene is almost too beautiful to be real and I feel a lump come into my throat. How can I leave this?
I feel as though I’m standing on the edge of a cliff where every path down to safety is fraught with potential pain and heartache. Squeezing my eyes shut against the halcyon vision in front of me, I wearily lean my head against the already warm glass.
I just want things to go back to the way they were before Jason decided to up sticks and move to the middle of nowhere, and before I learned that my father is still alive…
~*~
Jimmy couldn’t believe he was actually sitting on a train on his way to Scotland. How the bloody hell had the Admiral managed to convince him that what happened to Hugo was in fact partly his fault? He shook his head in bemusement and wondered what Emily would have to say when she eventually found out he wasn’t just going up for the weekend to see his old friend, but could actually be away for a couple of weeks – or even longer.
His heart stuttered at the thought of the telephone conversation to come. With a bit of luck, Scotty would take one look at the both of them and send them packing. And if it didn’t happen immediately, Jimmy was sure their non-existent nursing skills would ensure that their stay north of the border would be a short one…
Suddenly his mobile phone rang, and pulling it out of his pocket, he groaned internally as the Admiral’s name flashed up. ‘Hello Sir,’ he answered eventually, albeit reluctantly.
‘Where the bloody hell are you Jimmy?’ The Admiral’s voice was loud enough to alert the whole carriage and several other passengers looked over at him witheringly.
‘We’ve just left Birmingham,’ Jimmy responded quietly, hoping his friend would take the hint at his lack of volume. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect. ‘Speak up man, I can’t
hear a bollocking word you’re saying.’
‘I SAID WE’VE JUST LEFT BIRMINGHAM,’ Jimmy yelled, ignoring his fellow passengers in the belief that he was better irritating them now for a short period of time than risk the possibility that this conversation could last for the rest of the journey.
‘I’ve told Hugo’s offspring you’re coming up today,’ the Admiral went on, ‘And if I say so myself, he sounded surprised. Well, speechless more like. I think he was lost for words. I patted his shoulder and told him not to worry, that getting his old man ship shape was all the thanks we needed.’ Jimmy opened his mouth to interrupt, then shut it again after noting that the stares from around him were becoming more interested than irritated.
‘Only one slight problem as I see it Jimmy lad,’ the Admiral continued oblivious, ‘We’re going to have to share a coffin.’ The stares were now becoming a little shocked, although Jimmy didn’t know whether enlightening them to the fact that coffin was the naval slang for ‘bed’ would actually do him any favours…
‘Old Jason’s got this young bit of stuff stashed away up here,’ the Admiral went on, oblivious, ‘So they’re a bit short on bunk space. You wait Jimmy boy, it’ll be just like old times. Remember when we were hot bunking in Crete?’ Jimmy cringed and closed his eyes, refusing to look around him to see what his fellow travellers thought of that little dit.
‘Anyway, I can’t spend all day cackling the fat with you Jimmy, I’m off to have a word with the sawbones, see when he’ll let old Scotty off the hook. I’m sure when he sees how well his patient’s going to be looked after, he’ll be signing him off pronto…’
~*~
Florence sat on the terrace sipping a long iced Pimms. She closed her eyes in blissful enjoyment; nice and strong, just how she liked it. Okay so it wasn’t necessarily the best habit to cultivate on a Tuesday lunchtime, but she’d put plenty of fruit in, so technically it counted as part of her five a day. And anyway, who knew how long she’d be here, so she might as well enjoy the little pleasures while she still had the time.
Sighing, she thought back to last night. She felt drained after her conversation with Kit. She’d put off having the talk for so long, it felt strange no longer having the spectre of it looming over her every action. Taking another long sip at her drink, Flo idly stroked Pepé snoozing happily on her lap.
Had she done the right thing by telling Kit her good for nothing father wasn’t roasting hazelnuts in hell like he should be? She didn’t know. But she did know that she couldn’t leave this world only for Kit to discover that her aunt had lied to her. She might not have much time left, but Florence was determined to ensure that the person she loved most was happy and settled. She liked Jason, liked him a lot, and more importantly she thought he was perfect for Kit.
In fact, maybe a long holiday in the Highlands of Scotland was just what the doctor ordered - after she’d done what was necessary…
~*~
‘My God,’ Tory whispers, ‘I can’t believe it. It’s like something out of East Enders. How do you feel about your dad still being alive? Do you want to see him?’
‘No way.’ I shake my head emphatically and purse my lips just in case she doesn’t get the message. ‘Why on earth would I want to go and see my father, the psychopath?’
Tory shrugs, and I know she’s not buying my adamant response for a second. Thankfully, she chooses to drop the subject, or knowing my best friend, at least put it on the back burner for a minute…
‘Are you going to tell Jason?’
‘I’m not sure. Don’t you think he’s got enough on his plate without me adding my domestic problems to the mix?’
‘He’d want you to tell him, you know he would,’ Tory answers insistently. ‘Damn it Kitty Kat, you’ve got to learn to let people in, let them help you. You don’t have to deal with everything on your own.’
I open my mouth to argue, then shut it again. She’s right, but it’s not really any secret I have trust issues.
‘I have to go,’ I say finally, standing up, ‘I’ve got a client meeting at ten.’ Tory simply raises her eyebrows at me, knowing I’m fudging the issue. Before I can protest, her phone rings and she waves me back down again as she picks it up.
‘Hey Mabel, how’s it going? Have you killed him yet?’ She starts to chuckle at her own joke, then her face turns serious. I sit back down.
‘When did he leave? Has he said how long he intends to be gone?’ There’s a pause as Tory listens to Mabel’s response. ‘Bloody hell, he’s more likely to finish Hugo off than help him get better. Don’t worry I’ll call him now.’ Cutting the call, Tory tut tuts and asks if I’ve heard from Jason.
‘Not since Sunday evening, why?’
‘It seems like my idiotic father has taken it into his head to go up to Bloodstone Tower to, and I quote, Nurse Hugo back to health. Seems he thinks he might be partly responsible for his friend’s stroke.’ I frown in disbelief – not at the fact that the Admiral might be responsible for Hugo potentially popping his clogs, it’s always a surprise to me that more people haven’t exited this mortal coil due to the old bugger’s interfering – but at the possibly that he might actually finally be starting to realize that his meddling can have serious consequences.
That and the fact that Jason hasn’t slung him out on his ear yet.
‘There’s more,’ Tory continues before I get a chance to express my skepticism. ‘Apparently my father somehow convinced Jimmy that he should go up to play nursemaid too. He’s on his way up there as we speak.’
‘Oh my God, poor Jason,’ I lean back into my chair feeling doubly guilty that he’s having so much to deal with on his own. The reason for my beloved’s lack of phone calls over the last twenty four hours is suddenly becoming crystal clear.
‘Here, hold Isaac.’ Tory stands up to hand me the sleeping bundle in her arms. ‘I’m going to call my father now and somehow make him see bloody sense for once in his life.’
To our surprise the Admiral answers Tory’s call on the second ring – not something he would usually do when his daughter’s on the phone given the fact that she only ever calls him to give him a bollocking, and of course today’s no different.
True to form, Tory doesn’t waste any time in niceties. ‘So just when did you decide that you were the reincarnation of Florence Nightingale?’
There’s a pause, then a loud world weary sigh at the other end. ‘A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do Victory.’ The Admiral’s tone of voice indicates an ocean of sadness at being so misunderstood and I have a hard time stopping myself from bursting out laughing. Tory rolls her eyes at me as her father continues, ‘You know me Victory, it’s always been a failing of mine – I’m simply too giving for my own good, always at the ready to lend a helping hand to someone in need.
‘Of course I couldn’t just sit by, Hugo being my friend and all.’ Tory simply snorts in response to her father’s description of his giving nature. ‘You mean you feel bloody guilty that the balls up last summer might have had something to do with Hugo’s sudden health problems.’ She ignores the Admiral’s huff of indignation at her bluntness, and forges on determinedly, ‘So what about Jimmy? Have you dragged him halfway across the country because you think he’s partly responsible for Hugo’s stroke too? Or is it because he’s the only person who does what you want, no questions asked?’
There’s a silence on the other end of the phone and for a second I think maybe Tory’s gone too far this time – not that I disagree with her – but then the Admiral surprises us both.
‘You might just be right Victory,’ he responds with a sigh, ‘But I can’t just let old Hugo fade away without giving him something worthwhile to live for.’
‘And that would be you and Jimmy?’ I can almost see her father nodding at the end of the phone before he answers emphatically, ‘Exactly. I knew you’d understand my girl.’ Tory and I exchange incredulous glances, and obviously realizing that her reasoning is so far falling deaf ears, she changes tack.
‘What about Jason? How does he feel about you and Jimmy volunteering to nurse his father back to health?’
‘Over the moon,’ is his mindboggling answer, rendering us both momentarily speechless, ‘Thought the bugger was going to kiss me at one point.’ I try to imagine Jason on the verge of throwing his arms around the Admiral in an ecstasy of gratitude, but the picture firmly refuses to materialize.
‘Anyway Victory, I’ve got to go, can’t spend all my time swinging the lamp with you, I’ve got a patient to go and fetch.
‘By the way,’ he continues as Tory opens her mouth to protest, ‘You might want to mention to your friend Kit that that man of hers has gone and got himself a bit of stuff stashed away, and if she’s got any sense, she’ll get her arse up here pretty sharpish and kick the strumpet into touch.’
And with that, the phone goes dead.
Chapter Eight
Jimmy’s train finally pulled into Glasgow Central station just as the afternoon rush hour was getting ready to kick off. He was already exhausted and didn’t hold out much hope of being picked up any time soon if the Admiral’s cryptic, ‘Sit tight Jimmy lad until you get the nod,’ was anything to go by.
With a sigh he headed out of the station towards Argyle Street and the nearest pub. Might as well have a pint while he was waiting. The weather was cold, cloudy and overcast, typical of a Scottish summer, and shivering, he buttoned up his jacket as he walked towards Buchannan Street. Unfortunately the kind of old fashioned watering hole that had been so plentiful in Glasgow the last time he was here seemed to have been taken over by trendy bars with names like Velvet Elvis and The Lab, and it took him over half an hour to find something that looked reasonably promising.
Chasing Victory: A Romantic Comedy Page 6