All For Victory: A Romantic Comedy (The Dartmouth Diaries Book 3)

by Watts, Beverley

  Mind you, Tory looks pretty damn good too – her curls are piled high on her head, and her curves are shown off to maximum advantage in plum velvet.

  ‘What does a man have to do to get a bloody drink around here? I’m dryer than a popcorn fart.’ The Admiral’s loud complaint precedes him onto the terrace, and I notice my aunt Flo grimacing slightly before disentangling herself from Jacques and turning to face Tory’s father. I watch carefully as they face each other for possibly the first time in… well, I don’t really know how many years.

  ‘Hello Charles,’ Flo murmurs drily as she steps forward to look him in the eye. ‘I see your manners haven’t improved any.’

  It feels to me as though everything is in slow motion as I watch them stare silently at each other for what seems like ages, but is actually only a few seconds. I glance over at Tory to see her watching them with the same intensity. Then she looks over at me with her eyebrows raised, mouthing, ‘What the hell?’

  I shake my head slightly and give a small shrug as the spell is broken by the Admiral saying gruffly, ‘Hello Florence. You’ve met my intended Mabel?’ The small matron steps forward, luckily completely oblivious to the undercurrents, saying enthusiastically, ‘Thank you so much for inviting us Florence, it’s very kind of you. I’ve never been to a murder mystery evening before.’ I notice for the first time that she’s actually dressed in a very tight fitting, frilly evening dress.

  ‘You look great Mabel, who’s your character?’ I ask in an effort to get the light hearted party atmosphere back. Surprisingly she chuckles, strikes a pose and fluffs her hair.

  ‘Ingrid Pith, Danish art dealer. I have a special gift for finding the most beautiful paintings from all over occupied Europe,’ she murmurs in just the right flirtatious teasing tone, resulting in an impromptu applause. There are so many hidden depths to Mabel Pomfrey.

  ‘And this is Otto von Pinkelwurst, a fanatical, slightly mad officer of the Gestapo.’

  She takes the Admiral’s arm before continuing, ‘You don't understand why you're here in Africa instead of in a senior staff post in Berlin, do you dear?’ The last is said with underlying steel as she shakes his arm slightly. The Admiral looks so uncomfortable that I have to take a sip of my drink in an effort to stave off the need to laugh - it’s not often you get to see Charles Shackleford so ill at ease.

  Mind you, he definitely looks the part, dressed in a long black overcoat, complete with boots and a monocle – although the overcoat does smell a bit strongly of mothballs.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see my aunt Flo relaxing slightly with a small smile. She points to the tray of drinks and nibbles, instructing them to help themselves. Suddenly I realize that someone’s missing. ‘Where’s Freddy? I ask, directing my question to Tory.

  ‘He’s gone to the bathroom,’ Tory responds, taking a tiny sip of her Champagne and closing her eyes in ecstasy, before thrusting away temptation by putting the glass down hastily. ‘He could be anything up to an hour. Said he needed to get into character - apparently he’s a starving poet.’

  ‘Well, I hope he doesn’t take too long,’ I say quietly moving closer to her, ‘Aunt Flo’s got someone lined up for him to meet.’ I nod towards Jacques, now in animated conversation with Noah. ‘Jacques is her editor,’ I continue as Tory looks over. ‘Apparently he came out fairly recently and my aunt thinks they’d hit it off.’

  ‘Well it’s about time someone took Dartmouth’s answer to Rupert Everett off our hands,’ she says lightly after giving the unfortunate agent a thorough once over. ‘And talking of wanna be’s, who are you supposed to be?’

  I suddenly realize that I haven’t actually got around to introducing my character. ‘Countess Bogov, glamorous, mysterious Russian aristocrat in exile. I am so pleased to make your acquaintance, even if you are a filthy bourgeoisie.’

  My Russian accent is nowhere near as good as her French one and she smirks at me, whispering, ‘Don’t give up the day job,’ before turning towards the terrace doors where Freddy is now posing.

  Our friend is dressed in a shabby velvet jacket, a plain cloth cap and trousers that looked like their previous owner had been about fifteen stone. He completes the picture by leaning limply on a cane as though he simply can’t go on any longer.

  ‘Madam Edith Le Grandbutte,’ he breathes as though there’s a good chance it will be his last, ‘I beg you, hand me a glass of your finest, ere I collapse on the spot for want of alcoholic sustenance.’ Laughing, aunt Flo hands him a glass of Champagne which he takes with a sigh, nodding his head weakly.

  ‘Starving writer and poet Pierre Paysanski, of mixed Russian and French parentage, with a bad leg, at your service madam.’ Then he limps dramatically onto the terrace. Unfortunately, the effect is slightly marred as Pepé enthusiastically tries to hump the leg he’s hobbling on.

  Aunt Flo wastes no time in introducing him to her editor Jacques, and I can’t help but smile as both the limp and his starving writer affectation instantly disappear. Unobtrusively Tory pours most of her bubbly into my glass with a wink, before wandering over to speak with Noah who’s now chatting with Neil and her father. For the moment I’m content simply to people watch.

  The Admiral seems to have gotten over his initial discomfort and is busy regaling Flo’s agent with his tried and tested story about the Commodore and the parrot. I wonder exactly what is between him and my aunt. There was a definite something when he arrived earlier. I have no idea how I’m going to get to the bottom of it, but I’m determined to do so somehow.

  ‘So, you’re a Russian countess?’ I start as a warm voice sounds in my ear and turn around to see Jason behind me.

  ‘In exile,’ I clarify with a dramatic sigh. ‘Zese diamonds around my neck are not real. I had to sell ze real ones to escape from Russia.’ He grins at me before repeating Tory’s advice earlier. It appears that acting is not my forte.

  ‘Good job I’m talented at other things then,’ I quip. He raises his eyebrows and smiles slightly, causing my heart to miss a beat.

  ‘Well, I’d certainly be interested in learning where your other talents lie Countess; perhaps you’ll consider inviting me up to have a look at your etchings when I take you home.’ His voice is light and flippant but his beautiful silver eyes tell a different story as he stares down at me intently. I feel an answering tightening in the pit of my stomach, and I’m embarrassed to say that my response is a little hoarse.

  ‘I’m sure I could dig out a couple of my more interesting efforts.’ I briefly wonder if that sounds too forward when Aunt Flo claps her hands, effectively putting an end to what could have been an interesting, though potentially dangerous, conversation.

  ‘Okay everybody, time to get into character.’ She takes Neil’s arm as she continues, ‘I’m Edith Le Grandebutte and this is my husband Hughes. We both bid you a warm welcome to our evening of murder, mystery and mayhem.

  ‘However, before we go in for dinner, I’d like to set the scene for… drum roll…

  ‘A Murder In Casablanca in The Brie, The Bullet and The Black Cat.’

  She pauses dramatically, then, putting on her glasses, continues to read from a script.

  ‘The date is October, nineteen forty two. Across Europe and Africa, the war is beginning to turn against Hitler. At Stalingrad, despite suffering months of the most terrible fighting ever seen, Russia is beginning to push the German army back. In North Africa, Montgomery has just launched his assault on Rommel's troops at El Alamein; and in East Africa, British forces have seized control of the strategically vital port of Madagascar. In the words of Winston Churchill: “It is not the end; it is not even the beginning of the end; but it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”

  ‘Meanwhile France has been divided in two - Paris and the north is occupied by the Germans, whilst the south and the colonies are nominally independent under the puppet government in Vichy.

  ‘Casablanca falls under Vichy control. Despite the presence of German troops, it is still govern
ed by the French civilian authorities. It too has seen fighting, but nothing much worse than the kind of bar-room brawl that helps soldiers of all nations relax when off-duty.

  ‘America has entered the War, but is still officially at peace with Vichy, France. Diplomatic relations between the two governments are tense and will be broken off next month, shortly before US forces land at Casablanca to take the city for the Allies. For now, however, American civilians are safe in Casablanca. The British, on the other hand, are very clearly the enemy.

  ‘You are here this evening at the official residence of the Deputy Mayor of Casablanca, Monsieur Le Grandbutte, for a dinner, where the guest of honour was to have been France's greatest living mime artist, The Black Cat.

  ‘But France's greatest living mime artist is no longer living. He has been murdered. And you are all a suspect…’

  The evening has been a resounding success. We didn’t actually manage to solve the murder but we had a great time trying. Everyone hammed it up to the nines – even the Admiral threw himself into the role of a fanatical, slightly batty Gestapo Officer, giving the whole “Ve haf vays of making you talk” a completely new slant.

  So we’re now on coffee and liquors – apart from Jason who’s driving – and everyone is feeling mellow and relaxed. Throughout the evening I’ve been watching the Admiral and my aunt carefully to see whether there has been much interaction between them, and I know Tory’s been observing too.

  Strangely enough they shared a lot of banter while they were in character, but now we’re all back to our boring selves, the chill has returned. I keep wondering if I’m imagining it, and I’ve spent the last half an hour trying to catch Tory’s eye so we can compare notes in the bathroom. Unfortunately, the one time I could do with her feeling sick, she appears disgustingly healthy.

  ‘So what is your latest book about?’ Mabel asks as we let go of our fictitious personas.

  ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ Flo retorts with a laugh. ‘This time I’ve gone for more of a mystery and suspense. Of course there’s the usual romance as well as some naughty bits, but I’m hoping this time to broaden my reach a little.’

  ‘I don’t know about your reach, but you’re definitely broadening something,’ I pipe up.

  My aunt got around to giving me a draft copy, and although I’m only a third of the way through, there already appears to be an inordinate amount of bondage involved…

  Aunt Flo laughs again. ‘I always like to challenge my readers.’

  ‘When did you start writing?’ Freddy questions, clearly fascinated. I’m looking directly at my aunt as he speaks, and notice her glance at Tory’s father before responding. The plot thickens…

  ‘I lived in The States for a while,’ she answers after a short pause, ‘And when I came back, I needed to find a way of supporting myself and…’ She stops with a slight frown, before giving a small shrug and going on, ‘I needed to earn some money.’

  ‘Hey, I didn’t know you lived in the US,’ Noah interjects with obvious interest.

  This is news to me too…

  ‘Whereabouts did you live?’ he goes on to ask curiously.

  I’m still staring at Flo and it’s now quite clear to anyone who knows her well that she’s uncomfortable with the direction the conversation is going. I had no idea my aunt used to live in The States, and I suddenly realize just how little she talks about her early life.

  ‘I lived in South Carolina for a while, quite near Charleston.’

  ‘I thought you went to Savannah.’

  You could have heard a pin drop after the Admiral’s interruption, and every eye swivels towards him.

  ‘I mean, that’s what the rumour was anyway,’ he continues with a visible bluster, ‘You know what this bloody town’s like, you can never keep anything to yourself.’

  All eyes go back to Flo. I think everyone senses that there’s much more to this story than meets the eye.

  ‘Savannah’s only a few hours away from Charleston,’ Neil cuts in smoothly, just as the silence starts to become uncomfortable, ‘You were somewhere in between weren’t you Flo?’

  My aunt bites her bottom lip, giving a quick glare towards the Admiral, before relaxing slightly and nodding her head. ‘I lived just over the Georgia border.’

  ‘Why did you go to The States?’ I can’t stop myself from asking, even though I know full well my aunt would prefer to change the subject. Again, that quick slant towards Tory’s father. Anyone who doesn’t know aunt Flo well would have missed it. Anyone other than me.

  Without realizing it, I’m holding my breath as I wait for her answer. In the end, she gives a small grimace. ‘I followed a man I thought I was in love with.’ Then she stands quickly. ‘Anyone for more coffee?’

  I open my mouth, reluctant to let the subject go, but before I get chance to say anything, Tory jumps in with a warning glance towards me. ‘I’d love one before we go if that’s okay Florence. It’s been the most amazing evening, I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun.’

  ‘I’m obviously doing something wrong then,’ growls Noah in a wounded voice.

  His words effectively divert attention from my aunt’s past and I’m forced to let it go. For now.

  By eleven o’clock we’re all beginning to flag, especially Tory who is in danger of giving herself lock jaw if she yawns any wider.

  Noah, ever attuned to his fiancée’s moods, smiles tenderly at her, saying, ‘Honey, I think it’s time we got you home. Thanks a bunch for a phenomenal evening Florence.’

  Then climbing to his feet, he pushes back his chair. ‘I don’t know what you guys are doing next Thursday,’ he continues as he walks round the table towards Tory, ‘But if you’re free, I’d love you to come to our Thanksgiving dinner.’

  It’s clear that Noah is including everyone around the table in his invitation, and I glance quickly at Jason to check out his response, ridiculously pleased as I see him nod his head in smiling acceptance. And I’m not the only one.

  Freddy, although feigning disinterest by fiddling with his napkin, is surreptitiously watching Jacques’ reaction to the invitation. My heart warms slightly. It really is about time our third wheel had someone special in his life.

  In the end, only Elaine is otherwise engaged on Thanksgiving. The Admiral looks as though he wants to make an excuse initially, but Mabel quickly puts paid to that, although her acceptance, while enthusiastic, is definitely a trifle unorthodox. ‘I’ve never been to a Thanksgiving dinner before. Do you have to sacrifice a turkey?’

  It’s not often I see Noah lost for words…

  Chapter Twelve

  We spend most of the journey back to Dartmouth in silence, but strangely enough, it doesn’t feel particularly awkward. My mind plays back my aunt’s revelations about her time in The States.

  Although we were the last to leave the cottage, there was no opportunity to get her alone, as Neil, Jacques and Elaine are all spending the night.

  Tory and I did get a brief opportunity to chat while she was giving Dotty a last wee before getting into the very posh limousine Noah had hired.

  ‘I had no idea your aunt spent time in America,’ Tory murmured putting the little dog on the ground to do her business.

  ‘Me neither,’ I answered drily watching Pepé run up to join Dotty in a sniffing extravaganza. ‘Somehow I think your father’s aware of it though. Did you see the glance they exchanged when the subject first came up?’ I could just about see Tory nod her head as we ventured a little way along a small crazy paved path.

  ‘There’s definitely some skulduggery afoot,’ she agreed in full Pirates of the Caribbean mode. ‘I intend to find out exactly what dad knows, even if I have to tie him to his study chair. You going to have a word with Flo?’

  ‘I was hoping to speak with her tonight but I think she’s avoiding me. I’ll try again when she’s on her own. I’ll find out what I can before Thursday and we can compare notes.’ Tory nods her head again before changing the subject.<
br />
  ‘Did you see Freddy’s reaction when Jacques accepted Noah’s invitation,’ she asked in between hissing, ‘Wee wee,’ to Dotty who was more interested in following Pepé into the bushes.

  ‘Mmm,’ I responded softly, just in case the object of our conversation should suddenly pop up like a jack in a box - a regular stunt of our highly strung third wheel. ‘I thought for a second he was going to jump up and throw his arms around Noah in excitement. I had no idea he could be so sweet.’

  ‘I hope he doesn’t get hurt though,’ Tory countered, picking up the little dog after she finally relented and did her business (Dotty that is, Tory generally prefers a toilet…)

  I picked up Pepé who was in grave danger of throwing himself off the edge of the cliff in his excited efforts to pee in the same place, then we walked slowly back to where the cars were waiting.

  ‘Do you think Jacques will keep our wedding a secret?’ she asked before we rejoined the others. ‘There’s no way it won’t get mentioned over Thanksgiving.’

  ‘I’ll get him to sign a non disclosure contract,’ I quipped, ‘If he violates it, we’ll simply lock him up and give the key to Freddy.’

  Tory grinned and leaned forward to give me a quick peck on the cheek, murmuring, ‘I want to know every last gory detail,’ as she did so.

  I frowned, feigning incomprehension, but she merely sniffed and tapped the end of my nose. ‘I’ll call you in the morning. Not too early though…’

  I looked over at Jason to check he hadn’t heard, then managed to catch hold of my friend’s arm as a sudden thought took hold.

  ‘Has your dad given you any idea who this naval chaplain is that he’s got to conduct the service? I need to give the security people his name, and to be honest, I thought you’d probably like to get acquainted with him a little seeing as he’s going to be officiating on the biggest day of your life.’

  Tory dipped her head pensively. ‘I keep meaning to ask him, but something always seems to come up. Don’t worry, that’s another question I’ll ask him when he’s tied to the chair…’