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

by Watts, Beverley

  ‘Tory should not be forced into an impossible situation due to your old cock-ups.’ Jimmy paused for breath and the Admiral opened his mouth, intending to object to the word cock-up, but before he could speak, this new confident Jimmy continued, ‘As for your… err… first marriage. You need to speak to Florence before you do anything. See if you can both come up with some kind of game plan. Sir’

  The Admiral was silent for a moment and Jimmy took the opportunity to stop Abigail from attempting to share the contents of her nose with a more than willing Pickles.

  ‘The thing is Jimmy lad, it’s not just the bloody marriage. It’s what happened after.’

  Jimmy looked up in alarm. The Admiral’s voice sounded dead tired – something he hadn’t seen in his friend before, even when he was facing a possible stint in the Bangkok Hilton.

  ‘When Florence came back to Dartmouth, she had an ankle biter in tow. A little girl.’

  Jimmy felt his heart sink as he stared up at the Admiral in dismay, simply waiting in silence for his friend to continue.

  ‘It was Kit. When she came back from The States, she had Kit with her. I don’t know who the girl’s parents are, but they’re definitely not Flo’s brother and his wife.’

  ~*~

  It’s six o’clock in the morning when I finally give up all possibility of sleeping and decide to crawl out of bed. Dotty simply lifts her head to look at me incredulously before burrowing back into the duvet. By the time I’ve thrown on my dressing gown, she’s already snoring again.

  Shivering, I head into the kitchen to put the kettle on. It’s still dark outside and the central heating hasn’t kicked in yet.

  I’ve spent the whole night going over an incident that lasted a little less than a minute. Ridiculous right? My imagination has done a sterling job of working overtime - I’ve jumped to so many conclusions I could write a book, and I still have no idea what to do.

  Cradling my tea, I wander back into the living room and perch on the edge of the sofa. It’s a good job I never succumbed to the temptation to confide in my friends about my so called burgeoning romance. I’d seriously look like an idiot now.

  I take a sip of my tea and fight back the tears. But then, I’d so love to have Tory shoulder to cry on right this minute, I don’t care if it makes me look pathetic. Damn it, I need something to take my mind off my disastrous love life.

  Putting my tea aside, I grab the wedding folder and begin scanning it frantically. The problem is that everything that can be taken care of has been. I can’t make any telephone calls at seven in the morning and the one person I really want to speak to could well be cuddling up to the bloody face stroking brunette I’d like to speak to him about.

  I glance out at the pre-dawn darkness, now slightly greyer than before. An early morning walk, that will shake off the cobwebs. Then I have a brainwave. I need to talk to aunt Flo. Solving the mystery of her and the Admiral will definitely take my mind off my possibly cheating almost boyfriend.

  AND, I’ll walk there. It’s only about five miles along the coast. If I get my skates on, I’ll be there in time for breakfast. I hurriedly swallow the last of my tea and head into the bathroom for a quick shower. All of a sudden I’m looking forward to a decent bit of exercise. As I shut the bathroom door, I can still hear Dotty’s snores. I’m not sure my canine companion is going to be quite so enthusiastic

  I think I was actually underestimating Dotty’s lack of enthusiasm for an early morning hike. I’ve been carrying her for the last mile and a half. This is bloody ridiculous. I know she likes her bed, but come on – she’s a dog for pities sake. Don’t all dogs love to walk any time of the day or night? Okay so it’s raining, but it’s only a light drizzle, and it’s not that windy.

  Sighing, I tuck her under my other arm, determined that once we get to the top of this hill, she’s damn well going to have to walk.

  She wasn’t too bad during the first part of the walk as we followed the winding coast path through the woods, lots of nice smells obviously. But after Blackstone Point, the landscape is much wilder and emptier, and most definitely not to Dotty’s taste at all.

  At the top of the hill, I put the little dog back onto the ground and turn inland to follow the path towards the village of Stoke Fleming.

  ‘Come on Dotspot, not too far now.’

  Okay, so that might be a slight exaggeration, but we’re definitely half way.

  I look behind me to see her standing where I’d plonked her, a complete picture of misery. She looks behind her as if trying to decide whether it might be better to go back the way we came, then, obviously deciding that sticking with her mad Aunty Kit is the lesser of two evils, she begins plodding along reluctantly. I can’t help but laugh.

  My mood has definitely improved since I set out. There’s something about physical exercise that puts things into perspective.

  As we reach the village, I put Dotty’s leash back on and in no time at all we’re heading along the narrow footpath leading towards Blackpool Sands.

  Glancing down at my watch I note that it’s just after eight thirty. I didn’t telephone ahead to say I was coming, hoping the unexpectedness of my visit might prompt her to be a little more indiscrete. However, now it occurs to me to wonder that might have been a slight error of judgement. What if she’s not actually home? I’m not sure Dotty’s up to the hike back without so much as a biscuit. Come to think of it, I’m not sure I am either.

  As we emerge onto the access road leading to the beach and the car park, I pick the little dog up and scan the cliffs up to my aunt’s cottage, just visible above the early morning mist. There’s a steep flight of steps cut into the rock at the other end of the beach which lead up to her garden. God, I hope she’s in. I could murder a cup of tea right now.

  Ten wheezing minutes later I finally push open the gate into aunt Flo’s garden, and figuring that I’m most likely to find her in the kitchen, I make my way round to the terrace.

  Dotty has completely regained her enthusiasm, and is now fairly skipping ahead with her usual trademark barking - definitely sensing the possibility of a treat or two (she has no qualms at all about my aunt’s cooking). I can hear Pepé’s answering yap and I smile ruefully. So much for my surprise arrival.

  Dotty’s jumping up at the door as I catch her up, but I’m unable to see through the glass as the sun’s finally decided to come out and the reflection is actually quite dazzling. Shielding my eyes, I push open the door.

  ‘Hi Flo, sorry I didn’t ca…’

  Then I stop as my eyes become accustomed to the gloom. My Aunt Flo is sitting at the kitchen table, and opposite her is the Admiral.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Oh my God, you don’t think they’re having an affair do you? I mean, that could be why they’ve always avoided each other in public. It could have been going on for donkey’s years.’ Tory sinks down onto the sofa, lengths of tinsel dangling forgotten onto the floor.

  ‘Of course not,’ I respond vehemently, perhaps a little too vehemently. Taking the discarded tinsel out of my friend’s hands, I place it on the huge Christmas tree in front of me.

  ‘That doesn’t fit at all does it? I can’t imagine your father ever cheating on your mother – she was a lovely lady, and obviously doted on your dad. I mean come on, who else would have put up with your old man for as long as she did?’ I pause, glancing down at Tory, wondering if I’ve gone a little too far, but she just nods silently.

  ‘Anyway,’ I continue, ‘If my aunt and your father had been having a long standing thing, why didn’t they go public after your mum died? And why on earth would he bother with Mabel?’ I shake my head, selecting a bauble out of the box Tory and Noah had brought back from London. ‘There’s definitely something going on, but the whole affair idea just doesn’t fit.’

  Tory looks up at me gratefully. ‘No, you’re right, of course you are. It’s just that it’s all so strange.’ She gets back to her feet and digs into the box, pulling out another exquisite de
coration for the tree.

  ‘So what happened when you burst in on their little tête-à-tête?’

  ‘Well, I can’t deny they both looked a bit shocked at first, but I have to say they recovered pretty damn quickly. Flo said the Admiral had popped in for a cup of tea on his way to Kingsbridge.’

  ‘Bloody long winded way to get to Kingsbridge.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I said, but, quick as a flash, the Admiral replied that he often came this way to avoid the work traffic in Totnes.’

  ‘Did he happen to mention exactly why he was going to Kingsbridge?’ Tory’s tone indicated that she didn’t hold out much hope, but I nodded my head. ‘He said he was going to pick up a couple of lobsters from a friend.’

  ‘Well that at least I can check out,’ Tory retorts, stepping back from the tree to admire her handy work. ‘I really don’t know how we’re going to get them to come clean Kitty Kat – if indeed there’s anything to come clean about.’

  ‘Oh there’s something alright,’ I answer drily. ‘You should have seen their faces before they got their act together. Like two naughty school children caught by the teacher.’ I select another length of tinsel before continuing more thoughtfully, ‘I can’t help but think it has something to do with your wedding.’

  Tory glances at me with a slight frown. ‘What on earth could my wedding have to do with anything?’ I reach for the nagging something that’s been hovering in the back of my mind, then, when no blinding revelation hits me, I sigh irritably.

  ‘I feel as though somehow I should know. The answer’s in my head somewhere – I just can’t get at it.’

  ‘Perhaps some of your moose milk will help?’ Noah’s voice floats down from the top of the ladder where he’s decorating the chandelier. I jump slightly. For a moment I’d forgotten he was here.

  That’s the thing about Noah. He doesn’t talk just for the sake of hearing his own voice – unlike most actors I’m told. He generally speaks when he has something valuable to offer.

  ‘That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.’

  ‘It’s only two o’clock in the afternoon,’ Tory retorts a little caustically.

  ‘You’re just jealous you can’t have any,’ I respond airily, ‘But don’t worry, I’ll get you some ice cream instead.’

  Slightly mollified, Tory shouts, ‘Chocolate chip,’ at my back as I head into the kitchen.

  As I take the bowl of milky liquid out of the fridge, the mellow tones Nat King Cole singing, Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, drift from the drawing room, and humming along, I pour two generous glasses, topping each off with a scoop of ice cream, chocolate flakes and a straw. Putting them onto a tray, I scoop out a large helping of chocolate chip ice cream for my expectant best friend, then carry the tray back into the drawing room.

  ‘Come and get it,’ I call, putting the tray onto the coffee table. ‘I don’t mean you little lady,’ I add as Dotty forgoes her spot by the fire to investigate. ‘You’ll have to ask your mum to give you some ice cream.’

  ‘So this is moose milk,’ Noah murmurs, holding his glass up to the light. What’s in it exactly?’ He sits down on the sofa and takes a small sip through the straw. Watching him expectantly, I pause before answering, ‘Rum, kahlua, vodka, milk, ice cream and chocolate chips.’

  ‘Wow,’ is his response after second, longer sip. ‘It’s delicious Kit. How come you never made it for me before now?’

  ‘It’s kind of a Christmas tradition,’ I answer, ridiculously pleased that he likes it. Anybody would think I actually invented the recipe. ‘You weren’t around last Christmas so…’

  ‘You’re gonna have to give me the recipe,’ he enthuses, ‘Is it okay if I mix the ice cream in?’ I grin at him, nodding my head.

  This is what makes Noah Westbrook so unique. His boyish enthusiasm for anything new, never ever diminishes. I glance over at Tory who is looking at him with a smile, and the warm love in her eyes takes my breath away.

  I’ve been trying so hard to avoid thinking about Jason, and up to now I’ve managed to file him away in the “things to think about tomorrow” folder, but seeing the adoration in Tory’s eyes as she looks at Noah, brings it all back in a mixture of longing and heartache.

  I still haven’t said anything to Tory, and she’s obviously forgotten her intention to pump me for information in the wake of my earlier revelations, which is the one good thing to come out of the mystery surrounding the Admiral and my aunt.

  In fact I haven’t even decided if I’m going to say anything to Jason.

  I take a large gulp of moose milk. I’m determined not to go down that road today. Today is for fun and friends and solving mysteries that don’t include potentially cheating almost boyfriends…

  ‘Hey, why don’t we have this for the welcome drink at the wedding?’ Noah suggests, looking over at me, then at Tory. ‘Come on honey, it’ll be great.’

  After a second, Tory shakes her head and gives in. ‘Why not,’ she murmurs wryly, ‘I mean vintage Champagne is just so last year…’

  Three hours later we’ve finished decorating. The gloom of the early evening has been pushed back by multitudes of twinkling lights, mistletoe and tinsel, with the piece de resistance being the beautiful fir Christmas tree in the drawing room. As we all stand back to admire our handiwork, it has to be said that Noah and I are distinctly merry.

  We all give George Michael a run for his money with a boisterous rendition of Last Christmas, then Noah waltzes Tory around to All I want for Christmas is you. Of course I have to make do with Dotty, but she doesn’t mind – she’ll do anything for an ice cream wafer. Then, after finishing the impromptu concert with Bing Crosby’s White Christmas, we collapse laughing onto the sofa.

  ‘You know, I think we should sit my father and your aunt next to each other tomorrow night,’ Tory muses when our laughter’s subsided. ‘What do you think? It’s an ideal opportunity to find out once and for all if there is any funny business going on.’

  ‘I don’t want our Thanksgiving dinner turned into an Agatha Christie movie set, thank you very much,’ protests Noah. ‘We had enough of that at Flo’s murder mystery bash.’

  Tory pulls a face, then sighs. ‘You’re right of course sweetheart, it’s not the time or the place.’ Giving Noah a quick kiss, she pushes herself up off the sofa. ‘Who’s for some chilli?’

  Noah and I both nod hungrily. ‘Is there anymore moose milk left?’ Noah calls as I follow Tory into the kitchen to give her a hand.

  There is – just enough for a small glass each. I’d made sure to bring over a fairly small amount, assuming that Tory wouldn’t take kindly to having her husband to be with a hangover on his first Thanksgiving dinner in Dartmouth. I really am such an amazing friend.

  We eat our chilli by the fire listening to Silent Night. Tory is sitting in Noah’s lap and Dotty is sitting in mine…

  All in all, a perfect day.

  ~*~

  Of course Thanksgiving is not a traditional holiday in the UK, so everything is carrying on as normal in Dartmouth. Sitting at my coffee table which doubles as a makeshift office, I make a few telephone calls while sipping my first coffee of the day. After finishing the last call, I glance down as my phone pings - it’s a text from Tory. Apparently our dresses will be arriving early next week. The smiley face and party poppers at the end of the text echo my feelings exactly. I feel a tremor of excitement inside.

  We’ve only got just over three weeks until the wedding. I know Tory’s not really that hard to please, but I so want everything to be perfect. Selfishly, not just for my best friend, but for me too.

  Losing the gallery was a blow I’m still privately reeling from, and I really need to prove I can do this. I don’t want to keep relying on my friends; it’s time I stood on my own two feet.

  Resisting the urge to break into the chorus of I Will Survive, I turn my thoughts to tonight. It will be the first time I’ve seen Jason since the face stroking incident, and I still have no idea how to r
eact. But the one thing I do know is, whatever happens, I have to look fabulous.

  So now my wedding commitments are over for the day, I can focus on me, and I’ve decided to go the whole hog and have a facial, a manicure and a pedicure. So what if it means I can’t eat for the next few days. At least I’ll get a good dinner tonight…

  The mud pack on my face is starting to get itchy. There’s simply no other word for it. I know it’s supposed to be relaxing, but right at this moment it’s actually driving me nuts. The background music is sounds of the sea crashing against the shore which is probably supposed to help get rid of tension, but right now it’s making me want to go to the toilet.

  I’m not sure where the beauty therapist is as my eyes are covered with two cotton wool pads. I wonder if she’ll notice if I give my nose a discreet scratch.

  Raising my right arm, I cautiously lift the right cotton wool pad. She’s not in my line of vision, but unfortunately I’m facing the large picture window and there’s a grinning Freddy with his nose pressed up against it. Aren’t they supposed to surround customers with a curtain, like in hospital?

  It’s too much to hope that Freddy will simply go on his merry way. Why would he when he has the perfect opportunity to get me at his mercy. Sighing, I give my nose a quick scratch with the end of my nail and replace the cotton wool pad. Seconds later the door opens and the sea crashing against the shore is drowned out (pardon the pun) by my friend’s nasally tones.

  ‘Sweetie, is there a particular reason why you’re lying on a bed with your face covered in something that looks like dog poo?’ I sense him bending down to give my face an experimental sniff. ‘It smells more like moth balls which I suppose is a good thing given the alternative.’

  ‘What do you want Freddy?’ I ask bluntly, trying not to crack the mask around my lips.