An Officer and a Gentleman Wanted: A Romantic Comedy

by Beverley Watts

  The downside to their enthusiasm is their eagerness to keep my glass filled up.

  “Can I get you another drink ma’am?” Is coming from all directions and in short order the canapés have been whisked away and each hand is now holding an alcoholic beverage.

  I must remember not to overindulge this evening...

  The trouble is I’m beginning to forget why I mustn’t overindulge this evening.

  All of a sudden the junior officers melt away and after wondering for a second if I’d said something unfortunate (you know like I’m feeling a bit pre-menstrual at the moment) I’m suddenly faced with the broad (in the sense of corpulent) chest of the ship’s Commanding Officer.

  My eyes travel upwards in the hope that the head on the top of the rotund torso inches away from my nose is an improvement.

  It’s not. And what’s more, it’s leering at me in a very un-officer like manner (more of a smirk really).

  My heart sinks and I instantly begin to sober up. I glance around frantically looking for a way out but everyone is occupied and aside from a couple of sympathetic glances, I am being roundly ignored by everyone thinking to themselves “Thank God it’s not me...”

  Berating myself for being so unkind, I take a deep breath to introduce myself politely. However, before I can open my mouth a large fleshy finger comes up to chuck me under the chin before saying, “What pretty little morsel do we have here then?”

  My mouth snaps shut as I stare up at the dinosaur in front of me.

  Nobody told me that the ship’s Captain was a knob – why didn’t anybody tell me?

  And why didn’t anybody tell the idiot that this kind of behaviour went out with press gangs and scurvy!

  Having no other choice I smile up at him while taking a step backwards to put a little space between us.

  Which he immediately steps into...

  I’m beginning to feel a bit panicky – there are only another couple of paces back to the ship’s railings. If I’m not careful I’ll end up overboard (a bit like being made to walk the plank).

  Completely oblivious to my discomfort, my tormentor actually winks at me and all of a sudden I’m actually fighting the urge to jump overboard voluntarily…

  Then my knight in shining armour (or in this case mess undress) comes to the rescue in the form of Rob, trailed unenthusiastically by one of my earlier admirers who looks as if he’d rather be anywhere but here.

  Without ceremony Rob politely asks if he can speak with the Captain for a moment; then he turns to me and asks if I’ll excuse them both, before directing the cadet to escort me to the bar.

  I fight the urge to kiss him (Rob that is, not the Captain) and hurry after my reluctant cadet who’s already beating a hasty retreat.

  Phew, that was a close call.

  Must remember to thank Rob later…

  I spend the rest of the evening avoiding the Captain who luckily decides he has bigger fish to fry (in every sense of the word) in the form of Lt Commander Kate Donohue who appears to be hanging on his every word (not to mention his cummerbund which incidentally has slid down off his waist to very near the top of his trousers!)

  I don’t think I can look anymore…

  2100 Time to go. Unfortunately the wind’s gotten up during the evening and I’m seriously worried that I won’t be able to climb in to the waiting motor whaler. (I’d probably have been even more scared if I’d been sober and actually able to see how much it was rocking.)

  However, just as I’m unsteadily trying to find the bottom of the boat with my flailing left foot (and nearly braining a few people in the process!) a pair of warm hands come around my waist and expertly lift me off the ladder and into the waiting vessel.

  My scream is cut off just before it erupts as I find my rescuer is none other than Rob, coming to my aid for the second time (my hero).

  With his hands still on my waist, he grins at me and I go all gooey inside...

  ...I can’t remember the last time that happened.

  Then he unceremoniously deposits me onto a bench before helping down the next person (definitely not as intimately as he did me – though that could have been because it was the Commodore’s wife).

  Sarah plonks herself next to me to let me know that the party is continuing up at the Wardroom and asks if I’m coming.

  I nod my head enthusiastically and try to ignore the little voice in my head telling me that I really should be heading to bed for some reason or another...

  2330 4 more gin and tonics later and I know I’ve had enough. The voice in my head is now using a loudspeaker to get my attention and the room is seriously beginning to spin.

  Think I’d better quit while I’m ahead (even if only slightly...)

  Friday 2 October

  0800 Why isn’t there a lock on my office door so I can die in peace?

  I have vague memories of flirting with Rob (completely without any subtlety unfortunately). My only hope is that he was as trollied as I was and so doesn’t remember my embarrassing indiscretions.

  Apart from one that is...

  My mind is taken briefly off my wish for a peaceful demise as I recall the conclusion to the evening (even if it is a little blurred around the edges).

  I remember making my excuses to all and sundry and then (as if by magic...) suddenly finding Rob at my side as I walked (or rather weaved my way) along the Corridor to my cabin.

  Taking my arm, he informed me with a smile that he wanted to make sure I arrived at my destination safely (not sure if he meant minus a broken ankle or without any undue interference from other inebriated parties).

  Still who cared? We arrived at my cabin far too quickly and I was soo tempted to invite him in for a night cap (despite the fact that I hadn’t got any alcohol in my room).

  However, before I could say anything, he bent his head and kissed me briefly on the lips.

  Then, after wishing me good luck for Saturday, he turned on his heel and left...

  Does a kiss mean he likes me? I ponder for a second before realising that my head is in no fit state to join in my usual dissecting session.

  I’ll think about it later if I survive that long.

  0835 I’ve just finishing interviewing our runaway cadet who arrived back in the college late last night. To put it mildly, he’s not a happy bunny.

  He has apparently been hauled over the coals by his Embassy which he thought extremely unfair given the circumstances – the real circumstances – which he took great pains (and an inordinate length of time – did I say I wasn’t feeling well?) to earnestly explain to me.

  It seems that his disappearance from the College (although obviously not to visit his dead grandfather) was, at the end of the day, driven by a completely altruistic motive! It appears that he has a friend who is studying in London and who’s gotten himself into serious financial difficulties (in itself pretty farfetched given that he’s from Qatar and can afford to study in the UK and London to boot...) but, apparently this friend had saved up the money himself. He is also evidently very proud, and (this was the crux of the matter) had refused to accept a gift of money wired to him electronically.

  Now, I have to say our fugitive’s continued sincerity was beginning to win me over (and I really wanted a lie down) so I tried butting in (you know – don’t worry about it, we’ll put it behind us, you won’t get 100 lashes, that sort of thing...)

  But his next words took to wind out of my sails really...

  “I had to make sure he was OK ma’am – you see the problem is, my friend believes I know f*ck nothing about being without money.”

  I blinked at this revelation and was about to berate him for using the ‘f’ word to someone who’s essentially his commanding officer (that’s me...) but then he went on to say with even more passion…

  “But he’s wrong ma’am, he’s wrong. I’m sure you will believe me when I say I know f*ck all”

  Yep, that about sums it up!

  I just didn’t have the heart (or the energy)
to either berate him or correct him, so I let him go with the usual punishment of a weekend remaining on board (not really much of a punishment as he’d only just got back from London – really not feeling well).

  1030 Decide against Stand Easy – don’t think it’s a good idea to leave my office, at least until the shaking’s stopped.

  1230 Decide against lunch – don’t think it’s a good idea to leave my office, at least until the cold sweats have stopped...

  1415 I’m forced to leave the office due to the fact that I need another passport photograph to send to the Saudi Embassy in support of my Visa application. Unfortunately in the resulting picture, I look like a 7 day old corpse that’s been dug up!

  And, even more unfortunately, it has to go off today.

  Oh well, at least the real me will be an improvement on the photo (not likely to be hung-over in Riyadh).

  1600 Have spent the rest of the afternoon holed up in my office until I can legitimately go home (in other words until I’m under the legal limit).

  Which is now...

  2100 I’m only just beginning to feel human again – really beginning to worry that my overindulgence may have an effect on my performance in the Challenge tomorrow...

  Saturday 3 October

  0700 It’s raining.

  0800 It’s still raining.

  0900 Just leaving for Lympstone and the Commando Challenge – it’s still raining.

  What are the chances of me drowning on this assault course?

  If so, my boots are very likely to play a large part in my demise – visions of me sinking to the bottom of 10 foot deep flooded pond never to be seen again are beginning to haunt me.

  I get no sympathy from my offspring who decide that I look hilarious in my combat gear (they did begrudgingly sponsor me though I don’t know why I bothered, I’ll only have to give them the money back later...)

  However, I am able to ignore their less than respectful hoots of laughter as I’ve received a text of support and encouragement from Rob.

  Will get back to him later (if I’m not in hospital).

  Our nominated starting time is 1100 which means we have to register by 1000 – we’ll apparently have a briefing, then be taken (in a military truck...) to the course start for a 10 minute warm up (what makes them think 10 minutes will be enough...?)

  At least we’re not insane and doing the 10km challenge (which involves a 3km run either side of the obstacle course – puleease!)

  There are 6 of us all together: 2 lecturers from the Navigation Department (not sure how easy it is to get lost on this course); 1 lecturer of strategic studies (I don’t think Naval history is likely to help any, but you never know); the College Chaplain (in case we need to pray) and, (our ace in the hole) a PTI.

  Then of course there’s me – I like to think of myself as the team’s wild card! (Or, more accurately, the idiot who stepped in at the last minute...)

  The PTI is the only other female in our team, but that’s where the similarity ends as she’s about 6 foot tall, does a passable imitation as an Amazon Warrior and looks like she should be doing mud wrestling in her spare time (which would stand her in very good stead for today).

  Our Royal Marine training instructor is driving us there in the College mini bus. He can’t take part, but he’s coming along to give us moral support, (or possibly have a good laugh...)

  1035 Our brief has just finished – what the hell am I doing here...?????

  No time to back out now, we’re being herded on to the truck to be taken to the start of the obstacle course. (I need a leg up to get in – not a good start really, hope it’s not a forerunner of things to come.)

  I’m feeling really sick (but that could just be the bacon sandwich I had when we arrived).

  1045 We arrive at the start of the obstacle course. The 1st thing I notice are the hoards of spectators (nothing like making a tit of yourself in public). The 2nd thing is the very yummy Royal Marine doctor standing near to the starting line.

  Suddenly the prospect of resuscitation doesn’t seem so daunting – he can put me in the recovery position any time!

  My imaginings are rudely interrupted by Paula (did I mention that our PTI is the leader of our little band) and we begin our warm up.

  10 minutes later I’m already sweaty, knackered and want nothing more than to throw myself at the feet of the gorgeous doctor and beg him to take me away from all this...)

  No such luck.

  1055 We take our place in the queue of idiots (sorry participants) waiting to start, and our trusty leader takes us through a couple of last minute instructions. I resist the urge to make eye contact with said gorgeous doctor because I don’t want him to see me trailing behind the rest of my team.

  Then we’re off...

  Is it a bit late to consider the fact that I’m claustrophobic, swim like a brick and really really hate the idea of being underwater...?

  Still, at least it’s stopped raining.

  The first part of the course isn’t too bad. A nice track, newly clear blue skies and the sun is making it actually quite pleasant – feels like I’m out on a jaunt with Nelson. I’m beginning to wonder what all the fuss is about.

  Then the track turns and starts leading us down hill and we start to get wetter and wetter...

  We get to the bottom of the hill and another really nice helpful Marine tells us to lay face down in some thick gloopy mud and crawl on our bellies through it into a nearby stream.

  Do they have leeches in England? God I think I might have kissed a worm.

  It’s bloody freezing.

  What am I doing here...?

  Next up a waist deep stream (for most people, for me it was more like chest deep) and into the ‘Crocodile Pit’

  I can’t feel my feet anymore. How long does it take to get foot rot?

  Paula yanks me out of the Dip (is it my imagination or does she seem to be pulling a little harder than necessary...?)

  Next up we tackle the ‘Track Wade’. Another mud bath but this time it’s serious. I can hardly force one foot in front of the other...

  What am I doing here?

  Once out of the Track Wade, we jog (yeah right...) along a short track to what the Marine’s jokingly call ‘The Smartie Tube’.

  I stand staring at the two underground sewer pipes half full of water

  Did I say I suffer from claustrophobia?

  I’m not sure I can do this.

  The last of my team mates disappears into the black maw as I hesitate. Then fear of being left behind (plus the comment of ‘get a move on Shorty’ coming from the queue developing behind me) releases me from my immobility (did I say I suffer from claustrophobia?)

  Then I’m crawling through inky blackness, pulling myself along by my arms.

  I can’t see a thing and 10 metres in the muscles in my arms decide to go on strike.

  I have a bright idea to turn on my back thinking that I can always wriggle out backwards...

  Not a good idea (as I realize very quickly that I can’t move at all) especially when someone crawling up behind me touches my ankle – hope my resulting boot in the head doesn’t give him a concussion.

  Think I could well be having ‘coffin dreams’ for the rest of my life.

  I exit the tube just as I’m beginning to hyper ventilate, only to be pulled onwards again straight into a tunnel they call the ‘Knee Crunch’.

  And then onto another tunnel – they’re beginning to blur now.

  We must be near the end surely?

  No such luck.

  ‘Peter’s Pool’ comes next.

  I don’t know who the hell Peter is but if I did, he’d be crossed off my Christmas card list for starters.

  More chest deep freezing cold water with a grinning photographer waiting at the other end.

  I am now wet right down to my birthday suit, am approximately 30 pounds heavier than I was at the start and can definitely feel something wriggling down my back!

  I’m being urg
ed onwards by my intrepid team members and I resist the urge to commit physical violence (too knackered anyway).

  I am then dragged down the ‘Steep Gully’ and into another thigh deep boggy pond.

  WHAT AM I DOING HERE?

  Then it’s the ‘Sheep Dip’…

  I stand in the queue waiting to negotiate through the totally submerged underwater sewer pipe

  Did I say I’m claustrophobic?

  It is absolutely no consolation that there is a Royal Marine at each end of the tunnel pushing and pulling hapless participants through what is essentially an underwater drain pipe.

  What if I get stuck?

  I’m rooted to the spot, lost in visions of myself drowning (in full colour with added stereo). I get as far as planning my funeral elegy before being beckoned forward by an impatient Marine who pulls me into a crouch at the tunnel entrance.

  I feel like Marie Antoinette crouching before the guillotine.

  I realise that the soldier is giving me a quick brief as to what to do and I can’t help it, I pull back in panic.

  My breathless attempts to ask if I can go around it are met with an unsympathetic “You’re going through.”

  I think the bastard’s enjoying this.

  Then he’s counting down from 3 to give me a chance to take a (last) breath before he ruthlessly pushes me under.

  Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God I’m going to die.........

  Then my collar is grabbed and I’m being dragged out the other side – right on cue for another official photographer.

  I stagger to my feet, wiping the muddy water out of my eyes and blink up at my team mates who are standing at the edge of the Dip laughing.

  I wonder how long a prison sentence I’d get for bumping off my 5 insensitive colleagues (horribly of course) and make an effort to clamber out of the pond.

  Unfortunately my ‘get up and go’ has now completely ‘got up and gone’ and I’m shamefully forced to accept a helping hand from one of my soon to be horribly murdered team mates.

  “Come on old girl,” Trills Paula as she jogs off in the lead. “Only one more obstacle to go.”

  Old girl! I grit my teeth and stagger in the same direction while narrowing my imaginary fiendish scheme down to one person...