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

by Watts, Beverley

  She pauses and I take the opportunity to butt in sarcastically, ‘Didn’t Saint Boris have anything to say about that?’

  My aunt looks over at me, her face carefully blank. ‘He’d already been and gone by that time. We were still in love and in lust when I gaily signed the divorce papers. His second visit was a different matter.’

  ‘So he came over to see you twice?’ It feels as though Flo and I are the only two in this conversation. She nods her head, before continuing, her voice now slightly bitter and self mocking.

  ‘Of course like any good cult, its leader believed himself to be above any kind of moral law, and pretty soon Luke was shagging every young nubile acolyte he could get his hands on. I wanted out, but that was easier said than done. I couldn’t recognize the old Luke in the stupid, trumped up fanatic strutting around his little kingdom, but I just kept believing he was in there somewhere. Stupid, stupid, stupid.’

  She shakes her head, glancing over at Neil who takes her hand in silent support. ‘By the time I realized that the Luke I’d fallen in love with was well and truly gone for good, there were thirty idiots running around to do his bidding, more than happy to undertake a spot of confining and restraining. I think he believed that if I deserted him, it wouldn’t look good to his newest recruits.’ She laughs bitterly, clutching Neil’s hand tightly.

  ‘You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to Florence,’ Noah interrupts softly, and, unable to help myself, I glare at him. Doesn’t he realize that I need to know? Aunt Flo shakes her head, smiling at Noah gratefully.

  ‘Thank you, but I think this story has been stifled for far too long. Then she looks back at me, holding my eyes with hers.

  ‘I wasn’t completely alone. There was one person there who looked out for me. Her name was Sarah, and she was beautiful, inside and out. She took care of me, and I took care of her. We were like soul mates in so many ways.

  ‘There was only one area we didn’t agree – Luke.’ She sighs softly. ‘Sarah was still besotted, still in love with the man she thought he was. I tried, but she was completely blind where he was concerned. And then she became pregnant.

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t the first time he’d knocked up one of his female followers, but this time, for some reason, it was different. He thought this child was special, destined for greatness in some twisted way. As the pregnancy advanced, he seemed to become more and more unbalanced, and when the child was born…’ her voice cracks slightly and I can see her gripping Neil’s hand so forcefully, her knuckles are like bone in the candlelight.

  ‘Sarah died giving birth. She just bled out, right there on the bed because the bastard wouldn’t allow her to go to hospital, or even see a doctor.

  ‘And after that,’ she continues, her voice descending to a whisper, ‘After that, I couldn’t leave, I had to take care of Sarah’s child, I had to protect her from the monster her father had become.’ The tears are now pouring unchecked down her cheeks and still she stares at me, her features contorted into a mask of pleading anguish.

  And suddenly I know. Everything clicks into place.

  ‘It was me wasn’t it,’ I whisper back to my aunt’s tortured face. ‘I was that child. Sarah was my mother.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Well, as evenings go, last night will definitely go down as one of the most memorable. There’s nothing like discovering you’re the bastard of a budding Charles Manson to get a person into the Christmas spirit.

  To be fair, I suppose my father didn’t actually murder anybody before he popped his clogs. Although, finding out that the person I’d always thought of as my favourite aunt was the one to give him a helping hand towards an early meeting with his maker before he actually had the opportunity, was a shock to say the least.

  You might think I’m being a trifle flippant and you’d be right. It’s either that, or I curl up in bed with my head under the duvet for the next six months. And I have a wedding to organize before I fall apart.

  Understandably, my two best friends have been frantically phoning me all morning. Flo’s little revelation has sort of put Tory’s vicar with a flatulence problem on the back burner, and anyway, it looks as though old Boris really is the nearest thing to a saint. He was the one who rescued us when it looked as though daddy dearest had finally lost his tenuous grip on reality.

  Well, him and Tory’s mother.

  Apparently, just after my second birthday, Flo managed to smuggle out a letter addressed to the Admiral pleading for help. Tory’s dad was away at sea so the letter was picked up by Celia.

  By a stroke of good luck, Boris was back on one of his rare visits to the UK, so Tory’s mum was able to enlist his help. Within couple of weeks the saintly padre was hot footing it over to The States to rescue us.

  Unfortunately, my father was of the misguided opinion that I would be better off dead than without him, so Florence had to persuade him otherwise. I think it involved one of the sawn off shotguns.

  I don’t feel anything about that. As far as I can see, he deserved everything he got, and luckily for Florence, the local Sheriff’s office appeared to come to the same conclusion.

  I’m sad that I never got to meet my real mother, not to mention actually relieved that the cold insensitive bitch I thought was my mother is actually no relation at all.

  No, the one thing I can’t understand, the one thing that hurts so f**cking much, is the fact that Flo actually gave me to that pair of morons and let me believe they were my parents. Why, if she loved me so much didn’t she keep me with her? I mean, by the time I finally went to live with her at fifteen, I was practically a woman.

  I have no answer, and my aunt has yet to give me one. As you can imagine, I left rather abruptly last night.

  The pinging of my phone cuts into the endless merry go round that is my thoughts. Looking down, I see Tory has resorted to texting. ‘Freddy and I are coming over. Be in the flat if you value your life.’ I can’t help but smile. It really is true, we can’t choose our relatives, but friends? They’re a different matter.

  My thoughts drift to Jason. What is he exactly, apart from another strand in the tangled web that’s my life? Of course he’s called me too – twice to my knowledge, leaving messages both times. I haven’t listened to them yet.

  I glance down at my watch which reads ten thirty. Is that too early for a drink?

  By the time Tory and Freddy arrive forty five minutes later, I’m well into my second glass of wine. In the way of true friends, they don’t waste their breath berating me about the dangers of early morning drinking, they simply get two more glasses and pour themselves one. Even Tory has half a glass.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ Freddy asks bluntly when they’ve both made themselves comfortable. That’s what I’ve always liked about Freddy. He doesn’t waste time in useless platitudes, simply gets down to business. I shake my head, mumbling, ‘I have no idea,’ before hastily taking another drink.

  ‘I don’t see there’s anything she can do, short of going into a decline, taking to her bed and maybe cutting Flo out of her life completely.’ Tory’s words are matter of fact, but her hand gripping mine tells a different story.

  ‘The decline’s going to have to wait, I’m afraid,’ I say squeezing her fingers, ‘I have a wedding to organize. Once that’s over, don’t worry, I’ll do a Miss Havisham.’ They both laugh, relieved I know. I think they were worried I was going to jump into the river.

  ‘So,’ I continue brightly, ‘What are you going to do about Bible Basher Boris?’

  Tory shakes her head. ‘I’ve absolutely no idea,’ she says exasperatedly, ‘Sometimes I just despair of my father. I swear to God, he thinks he was bloody James Bond in some previous life. He just has to turn everything into some kind of cloak-and-dagger spy thriller. I feel so sorry for Mabel, I really don’t know why she puts up with him. I’d love to have been a fly on the wall when she got him home last night.’

  ‘I think he was trying to protect my aun…Flo, as much a
s anything,’ I murmur.

  ‘Bullshit,’ my best friend returns bluntly. ‘My father hasn’t got a sensitive bone in his body. Like always, he simply got himself into a situation he couldn’t get himself out of. Still, at least we know why our respective grownups avoided each other for twenty odd years. There’s nothing like an illicit marriage and a spot of bigamy to put an end to polite conversation.’ Tory’s voice is light but brittle, and I can tell she’s hurting, despite her glib words.

  ‘No,’ says Freddy unexpectedly, shaking his head decisively. ‘Your dad loves you Tory, and he loved your mum. I believe that’s what made everything so difficult. He didn’t want to let your mum down by reneging on their promise to Boris, but he didn’t want to ruin your wedding either. Hell of a choice when you think about it.’

  ‘So, what about Florence, my so called aunt,’ I say bitterly, ‘Was that a hell of a choice too? Can you come up with one good reason why she abandoned me when she got back to Dartmouth?’

  My friends look at me and in the face of their sympathy, I can’t help myself, I burst into tears. Tory simply folds me into her arms and lets me sob into her ample bosom, while Dotty anxiously licks the salt off my face.

  Twenty minutes later I look horrendous, but I have to say, I feel slightly better. Sometimes, there’s nothing like a good cry to get rid of pent up negativity. Moving away from Tory’s warm embrace, I take a deep breath as Freddy hands me a large tissue. After mopping the snot and tears from my face and her cleavage, I give my nose a good blow before saying resolutely, ‘Enough. Flo and I will have that conversation after your wedding. For now we concentrate on making you the most beautiful bride ever.’

  ‘And darlings, we all know just how much hard work that’s going to involve.

  A couple of hours later both Freddy and I are a little squiffy. I’m about to open a second bottle, when Freddy looks down at his watch, then jumps up with a small cry.

  ‘Shit,’ he moans, ‘I’m supposed to be getting the Flavel Centre ready for story time starting at four. Part of this Candlelit Dartmouth business this weekend.’ With that, he grabs his coat, muttering about sodding little nose miners ruining his nice clean centre, gives me a quick hug and hurries out of the door.

  ‘Somehow, I don’t think he’s going to turn out to be a natural as an uncle,’ I murmur as Tory makes a move to go. She grins at me ruefully before putting Dotty’s leash on. ‘We’ll just have to train him then,’ she says lightly, ‘He’s a quick learner.

  ‘Are you going to be okay Kitty Kat?’ she goes on to say anxiously, shrugging her coat on.

  Smiling, I nod my head. ‘Don’t worry about me Tory, I’ll be fine. I hope Noah will forgive us for ruining his first Thanksgiving dinner this side of the Atlantic.’

  ‘Are you kidding,’ she responds, picking up a reluctant Dotty who definitely prefers staying in the warmth, ‘He’s already writing the script. Says it’s the best plot for a movie he’s ever come across.’

  After Tory leaves, I wander round picking up empty glasses, grimacing as I realize that Freddy and I nearly finished off two bottles of wine. The mid afternoon light is fading fast and I switch on a couple of lamps to dispel the gloom. The flat feels sterile and empty and I can’t seem to settle.

  Glancing down at my phone, I see that Flo has left a couple of messages, both alluding to our need to talk. Sitting back down on the sofa, I stare at the texts.

  Despite everything, I know Florence loves me, but I’m not ready yet to get back to playing happy families. I have to know what happened to make her to abandon me when she arrived back in England. There’s no doubt in my mind that something did – but the woman I thought I knew has turned out to be a different person altogether and I need time to get to know the real Florence Davies.

  Quickly I message back, suggesting we leave any heart to hearts until after the wedding. Within seconds she responds with another text, and I have to force myself to quell a rising anxiety at her hurried agreement.

  Leaning back, I stare into the gathering darkness outside the French window, wishing I’d taken up Tory’s invitation to spend the night at hers. Suddenly I remember Jason’s answer phone messages. Should I listen? With everything else that’s happened, my relationship with the handsome captain seems to have taken a back seat – but maybe that’s a good thing. I’ve got enough uncertainties in my life at the moment without wondering whether Jason’s on the up and up, or whether he’s simply another lying toad. Idly, I tap on the answer phone to listen.

  ‘Hey Kit.’ His deep voice does funny things to my chest, despite my determination to avoid any further complications. ‘I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk again last night, I can imagine you’re feeling a little stunned right now and maybe you don’t want company, but if you do, I’m involved in the Candlelit Dartmouth parade tonight, and I’d love to meet up after my part’s finished.

  ‘I should be done around seven thirtyish – after the BRNC volunteer band have done their thing. Meet me at the Bandstand if you feel up to it, I’ll hang around until eight.’ There’s a pause and then he continues softly, ‘I so want to give you a hug right now.’

  Inexplicably, the tears start forming again at his murmured last words and I swallow convulsively past the sudden lump in my throat. Should I meet up with him? Would I be best to simply end the relationship now, before it goes too far and the possible hurt too deep? God knows I’ve got enough on my plate right now.

  But even as I think it, I know that it’s too late. For good or ill, I’ve fallen in love with Jason Buchannan, and even if the answer casts me into the deepest darkest pit of despair, I have to know once and for all if he loves me back.

  Wrapping up warmly, I decide to leave the flat early intending to soak in a little of the festive atmosphere, and hopefully shake off the feeling of impending doom that’s been with me since last night.

  I wander through the crowds, smiling at the children carrying their lanterns, all of them heading towards the Royal Avenue Gardens. The sky is clear and cold and the procession of flickering lanterns, together with the newly turned on Christmas lights have transformed the old town into a magical place. Slowly I feel the pressure inside me begin to ease.

  So what if my real father was a total nutcase. I’m not the first person to have to rise above a shitty start in life, and I certainly won’t be the last. At the end of the day, it’s how you deal with the shit that counts. I need to take a leaf out of the Admiral’s book and simply look at life as he does - one big self adjusting cock up…

  Smiling to myself, I turn and head towards the bandstand, wishing that Tory and Noah were here. Entering the Gardens, I look around for Jason and finally spot him over near a stall selling crêpes. As I covertly stare at him in his ceremonial uniform, my shiver has nothing to do with the cold.

  He’s having a discussion with somebody and hasn’t seen me yet, but that’s okay because I’m early. I debate whether to join the queue for a chocolate and banana crêpe, just as he steps back and I can see who he’s talking to.

  It’s the same woman. The one from his car.

  I stand stock still and stare. Whatever their conversation is about, it’s obviously something serious, and I feel my heart lurch sickeningly. She’s just as beautiful as I remember and I watch helplessly as she lays her hand on his arm, causing him to look down at her, his shadowed features harsh and intense. The connection between them is so strong, it’s almost palpable, and in the face of such obvious passion, my earlier determination seems ridiculous, almost childlike.

  Shaking, I take a step forward. I have to end this once and for all. Taking a deep breath, I walk slowly towards the two of them, still so wrapped up in their little world that they barely notice me until I stop a couple of feet away. Jason is the first to spot me and his eyes widen in dismay. Seeing his expression, the mystery woman turns her head to stare at me, her gaze unreadable.

  ‘I’m early,’ I whisper at length, more to end the silence than anything else.

 
Jason visibly gathers himself together and makes the introductions. ‘This is Laura,’ he pronounces impassively. ‘She’s …’

  ‘…An old friend,’ Laura interjects smoothly as Jason pauses, uncharacteristically lost for words.

  ‘Hi, I’m Kit,’ I respond harshly, ‘I’m a new friend.’ My voice cracks slightly as my efforts to sound like a hard bitch conflict with my need to sit down and cry. I look back at Jason whose face is now a mask of anguish, and I finally have the answer I was looking for.

  He opens his mouth to speak but I beat him to it. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ I say with false brightness. ‘It’s clear you’re busy. I’ll see you on the twentieth Captain Buchannan. Get David to give me a quick call if there’s anything else you need with regard to security beforehand.’

  Then I turn and walk away.

  ~*~

  Tory’s dress is absolutely beautiful and it fits her like a glove. Okay so they sent three, but as soon as we opened the boxes, there was simply no contest.

  Made out of vintage lace, the dress dips low at the front, and even lower at the back. It’s cut in a mermaid style with long fitted lace sleeves and a skirt that flares dramatically from just above her knees.

  Tory’s mutter of, ‘I don’t know how I’m going to bloody walk,’ falls on deaf ears as both Freddy and I stand and stare wordlessly. I can’t wait for the whole world to see my best friend in this dress. The cruel jibes that Noah Westbrook has settled for second best will be stilled once and for all.

  Freddy even has tears in his eyes as he murmurs seriously, almost reverently, ‘I’ve never seen you look so beautiful Victory Shackleford.’

  ‘Gorgeous,’ I add with a watery smile. Then we look at each other and laugh.