Sweet Victory: A Romantic Comedy (The Dartmouth Diaries Book 2) Page 3

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Scotland. Chap I served with on Hermes in the seventies. Owes me a favour. His family’s got this pile o’ bricks on the banks of Loch Long, middle of nowhere. Spot on it is – nobody will look for us there.’

  I stare at him in disbelief. ‘Let me get this straight dad. You expect me to just up sticks and drive five hundred miles to some mausoleum out in the sticks based on the advice from some bloke you knew back in the seventies? That’s your plan?’

  He actually nods his head in apparent approval at my succinct summing up of the situation. ‘That’s about the right of it. I’ve already told Mabel and she’s agreed to look after Pickles while we’re away. Thought you’d want to take the mongrel with you.’ He waits for me to say something else, but for once I’m completely lost for words. Taking my silence for agreement, he slaps his hand on the table enthusiastically before saying, ‘Well come on then, show a leg girl, we need to be on the road by tea time.’

  I swear to God he’s actually enjoying this. ‘STOP,’ I shout as he’s about to throw open the kitchen door, causing him to turn round in surprise.

  ‘I am not going to simply climb in a car with you and drive to God knows where without some more information.’ Frowning, he heads back to the kitchen table. ‘What else do you want to know?’ he asks in his “Victory’s being a pain in the arse again” tone of voice.

  I take a deep breath. ‘Well for starters, exactly who is this person whose family owns a mansion in Scotland?’

  ‘Hugo Buchannan. We go back a long way. To be fair, always thought he was a bit of a pickle jar officer…’ He pauses at my look of complete incomprehension before hurriedly clarifying, ‘You know the sort of mamby pamby graduate who could tell you the square root of a pickle jar lid to three decimal places, but can’t get the bloody thing off.

  ‘Anyway, turned out to be a bit of a flyer. Would have gone far too except his dad happened to pop his clogs and old Hugo had to go back home to take over the family estate. He’s on his own now. Think his wife died about the same time as your mother.’

  ‘So what is this favour he owes you exactly?’ I ask suspiciously when it becomes clear my father’s finished his explanation. He raises his eyes to the ceiling and sighs before saying irritably. ‘I can’t tell you that Victory, if I did, he wouldn’t owe me a favour anymore now would he?’

  ‘So that’s it then, you’re not going to tell me. Is it another murder you’re covering up? I mean, how many are there? And what’s to stop good old Mr. Hugo Buchannan from telling the world where we are?’ My voice is getting louder, the sarcasm gradually being replaced by bubbling hysteria.

  ‘Don’t be so bloody melodramatic Victory,’ is my father’s exasperated response, cutting me off in mid rant. ‘Hugo and I have a gentleman’s agreement. That’s all you need to know, and for the last bollocking time, nobody’s murdered anybody. Now, are you coming with me to Scotland, or are you going to sit here and knit while everything goes tits up around you?’

  I open my mouth to protest some more but realize there’s really nothing else to say. I can feel the tears threatening behind my eyes. It’s all so bloody unfair. Swallowing the sudden lump in my throat, I nod my head. ‘I need to tell Kit and Freddy that I’m leaving.’ I climb wearily out of my chair and turn towards the door.

  ‘What about Noah?’ My father’s blunt question stops me in my tracks and without turning round, I answer softly, ‘I haven’t been able to speak to him yet. I’ll try to fill him in before the tabloids get hold of him, but, well, whatever happens, we both know it’s over.’

  It’s nearly midday by the time I get chance to send a quick text to both Kit and Freddy, telling them I need to see them both urgently. To save time I head straight over to the gallery, hoping and praying Kit’s not too busy to talk. Freddy’s response is gratifyingly quick, but I still haven’t heard back from Kit by the time the ferry’s deposited me on the other side, which doesn’t bode well. As I cut through the park and walk past the bandstand, I can’t help but remember the Music Festival here over a year ago now. I smile as I remember my complete and utter amazement at the thought that Noah Westbrook might actually want more from me than a quick bonk…

  Ruthlessly pushing down the memories, I pick Dotty up and hurry out of the park, fighting my way past the hordes of tourists enjoying the summer sunshine. By the time I turn into Foss Street, I’m hot, sweaty and want nothing more than to sit in a darkened room with a bottle of wine and a straw…

  The gallery is thankfully empty as I enter its cool dim interior with relief. Hoping that Kit will understand, I immediately shut the door behind me and hang the closed sign on it. I can hear Kit’s voice in the back office and, putting Dotty back onto the floor, I start to push open the door just as she begins to shout.

  Surprised, I stop dead. Kit never shouts.

  ‘You know what mum? You can do whatever you damn well like with it. I’m done.’ The sound of swearing jerks me out of my sudden trance and I hurriedly open the door, only to duck quickly as the phone comes sailing past my shoulder. As she catches sight of me, my best friend bursts into tears, and I rush forward, all thoughts of my own problems forgotten.

  Enfolding her unresisting body in my arms, I let her cry, finally murmuring, ‘Hey, Kitty Kat, what is it - what’s wrong?’ as she eventually subsides into tearful hiccups. Taking a deep shuddering breath, Kit looks up at me. ‘That was my mum. They’re selling the gallery Tory. What am I going to do…?’

  Shocked, I stare at her speechlessly. The gallery is Kit’s life. It means everything to her. How on earth could her parents sell it out from under her? I really have no idea what to say, so I simply hold her to me until she finally takes a step back and fumbles for a tissue to wipe her eyes. ‘You look terrible,’ I say with a sympathetic smile. ‘Piss off,’ is Kit’s response, telling me she’s done with crying. ‘Wine, I think,’ she continues after blowing her nose. She turns determinedly towards the filing cabinet where everything alcoholic is kept and for a second I’m silent, the thought of a drink oh so appealing when everything seems to be going to rats. Then I think of the drive tonight. There’s no way I’m sitting in the passenger seat for five hundred miles with a man who’s attended so many driver improvement courses, he’s on first name terms with most of the traffic police in Devon.

  ‘Not for me Kit, I’ve got a long drive to do in a few hours.’ Frowning, she turns back towards me. ‘Why, where are you going?’

  And so I tell her.

  Half way through, Freddy arrives, so I’m forced to go over the whole improbable story again as my two best friends knock back a bottle of wine while staring at me as though I’ve suddenly sprouted two heads (or become the daughter of a murderous criminal…)

  ‘So, that’s pretty much it,’ I finish at length. ‘We’ve got to lie low for a week or so until the whole thing sorts itself out.’

  ‘How on earth is it going to do that?’ Kit asks, voicing the same question that’s been rattling around in my head for nearly two days.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ I respond wearily, truthfully. ‘All I know is my father says everything will be okay and I have to believe him. It’s not like he’s never got himself in a difficult position before.’

  ‘Bit different to being pulled over for speeding though,’ is Freddy’s wonderfully helpful comment.’

  ‘What have you told Noah?’ Kit finally asks the question I’ve been dreading and I close my eyes against the sudden prick of tears. ‘Nothing yet. I haven’t managed to speak to him. He’ll be out of contact until the weekend. Who’s taking bets on whether I get to speak to him before the media tracks him down?’ My attempt at a light hearted quip is met with deafening silence and I know exactly what they’re both thinking.

  ‘I know this will finish us,’ I say quietly, ‘I’m not stupid. There’s no way we can stay together after this. The tabloids will have a field day. It will ruin his career.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ Kit argu
es half heartedly as I shake my head. ‘It doesn’t matter. I won’t let him give up everything he’s worked so hard for. I’d just like him to know my side of things before I end it. I’ll keep trying to get hold of him as we head north.’

  ‘So where exactly are you staying?’ Freddy asks, tactfully redirecting the subject.

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ I answer apologetically. ‘Dad’s sworn me to secrecy. And of course, what you don’t know, they can’t torture you to reveal.’ Kit drains her glass and stands up.

  ‘They won’t have to because I’m coming with you.’ I gawp at her. It’s the last thing I expect her to say. ‘What about the gallery?’ I finally manage as a sudden warmth unexpectedly begins to spread from my chest.

  ‘Sod the gallery. I’ll just shut up shop. Haven’t you heard? They’re selling the bloody thing anyway.’ She smiles broadly at me and I can’t help but smile back. Freddy’s face is a picture. He so hates being left in the dark. I expect him to demand an explanation from Kit, but all he says is, ‘Bloody hell, the last time I had this much excitement was when I bumped into Ricky Martin in Harrods. Of course I’m coming too. I’m owed some holiday. Just give me a couple of hours to sort out cover.’

  Before I can open my mouth to protest that there’s no way we’ll all get comfortably in dad’s Volvo, Kit gets there first. ‘We’ll take my seven seater. There’ll be more room.

  ‘Of course you’ll have to drive Tory, at least until I’m legal again. There’s no way I’m letting your old man sit behind the wheel of any vehicle I own.’

  Before I have a chance to protest again, Freddy dashes out of the office shouting ‘So exciting, it’s just like Bonny and Clyde.’ I sit staring after him, finally allowing the tears to spill down my cheeks.

  What on earth did I do to deserve such amazing friends?

  ‘Scotland? We’re going to bloody Scotland? Could you have picked a hiding place a bit further away perchance?’ Freddy’s enthusiasm seems to have waned a bit to be replaced by his usual sarcasm. ‘Why can’t we fly there?’

  ‘Because I might be recognized and we don’t want anyone to know where we’re headed,’ I explain patiently. ‘We’re travelling overnight so we should be there before the morning. You can just sleep in the back of the car.’

  I expect Freddy to put up more objections and ready myself to tell him he really doesn’t have to come, but all he does is sigh and subside into silence.

  It’s now five thirty in the evening and we’re sitting in the kitchen waiting for Kit to arrive with her people carrier. Dad’s still holed up in his study giving Jimmy last minute instructions which I assume are along the lines of, ‘Do nothing and speak to nobody…’ I was expecting him to put up a fight about Kit and Freddy joining us, but all he said was, ‘It’s not a bloody holiday you know.’

  Dotty is sitting on Freddy’s knee looking up at him adoringly. I’ve packed all her doggy stuff, and Pickles is waiting to be dropped off at Mabel’s. Suddenly the little dog launches herself off Freddy’s lap, barking furiously, and I squeeze my eyes shut, wincing in protest. We’re certainly never likely to be burgled as long as she’s around. I can hear Pickles’ answering bark in the study and assume the commotion is due to Kit finally arriving with our ride, so I’m completely blindsided when the kitchen door opens and in struggles Mabel, along with a suitcase that’s bigger than she is. Freddy and I simply stare at her as she drags what looks to be a year’s worth of luggage through the door. Finally collapsing on another chair, she fans her shiny face with her handbag. ‘There’s no way I’m sitting here worrying about you both,’ she pants eventually, ‘I’m coming with you.’ She says the last just as my father throws open the kitchen door and she stares defiantly up at him as if daring him to argue.

  ‘Way to go Mabel,’ I think, looking from her to my father’s face which is rapidly turning a dark purple as he splutters and struggles to find a reason why she should stay in Dartmouth. In the end, Mabel wins, much to my complete surprise, and for the first time I think she may actually be very good for him…

  A half an hour later we’re on the road. I’m taking the first half of the journey while Kit recovers from her earlier half a bottle of wine. She’s sitting in the passenger seat though, and Dotty is quite content to curl up in her lap. My father and Mabel are sitting side by side in the middle seats, with Pickles between them. Both are looking a bit ill at ease – I think their earlier “discussion” might actually have been their first row. The back seat has been commandeered by Freddy who has already made himself comfortable with a pillow and blanket.

  It’s going to be a long journey…

  Chapter Four

  It’s just after three in the morning and we’re sitting at the end of a dirt track looking up at what appears to be a massive ruin. I can see the loch beyond, glinting in the strange twilight that passes for dark this far north during the summer, but any light that might have been cast on the pile of bricks in front of me is blocked by the tangle of trees encroaching the high walls. The wind is causing the leaves to rustle and moan, cementing the whole creepy forbidding impression. I fully expect a blood curdling scream to split the air like a B rated horror movie.

  ‘Are you sure we’re in the right place?’ Freddy asks, voicing the question that we’re all asking inside. My heart lifts a bit as I contemplate the possibility that we’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere, but my father soon crushes any burgeoning hope. ‘Nope, this is definitely it. Hugo emailed me a photo.’ He points to a sign dimly visible over the massive front door. ‘See, it says Bloodstone Tower - that’s the name of Hugo’s family pile.’ We all stare at him silently. ‘Apparently it was featured in Britain’s Most Haunted,’ he goes on defensively when still nobody said anything. ‘That’s where the photo came from.’

  ‘You’ve brought us over five hundred miles to a crumbling relic with a name like Bloodstone Tower, and you never thought to tell us what to expect?’ Mabel’s voice is high, almost shrill and I can’t help but wonder if dad might be having second thoughts about making an honest woman of the merry widow after spending nine hours in the car with her… Mind you, she’s only saying what the rest of us are thinking. My father frowns, but appears to be at a loss for words – something that seems to be happening increasingly often lately. Actually though, I don’t think even he’d been expecting it to be quite this bad. ‘Fact is,’ he blusters eventually, ‘We’re all shagged out. I’m sure everything will look better in the morning.’

  ‘It is the morning,’ is Freddy’s tight lipped response to the strained optimism in my father’s voice. ‘How the bloody hell are we going to get in?’

  Dad opens his mouth to speak, then subsides into silence. None of us have got any answers. I’m tempted to ask if Hugo could have left a key under the pot, but one look around my plucky companions tells me my comment is likely to get me an appropriate plucky response. A loud snore suddenly punctures the silence. Dotty really isn’t a fan of anything getting in the way of her beauty sleep, and that includes a nine hour road trip.

  To be fair, the journey here wasn’t so bad. Freddy only began saying, ‘Are we there yet?’ as we got north of Birmingham, and we had a quick break halfway at a motorway service station for burgers and chips. Mabel, Kit and Freddy stood in the queue, while dad and I sneaked to the loo. When it was Mabel’s turn to spend a penny, she was gone so long we thought she’d been abducted. Turns out she was playing a quick round of bingo on the machine outside the ladies. I’m not entirely sure that she’s come to grips with the gravity of the situation.

  Dusk was falling as we got back on the road, with a perfectly sober Kit now at the wheel. I kept trying to get hold of Noah once she took over and still don’t know if I was glad or sorry when each call went straight to answer phone. By the time we passed Glasgow and entered the foothills of the Scottish Highlands, it was as dark as it was going to get, and the colossal mountains surrounding us were just visible as shadowy monoliths.

  ‘Well, we can’t just sit here f
or the next four bloody hours.’ Even Kit’s legendary even temper is a bit frayed and, coming back to the present, I realize it’s up to me to take charge. ‘Come on guys, buck up. Let’s get out at least. We can stretch our legs and have a quick look round. I’m not tired yet anyway after being cooped up for so long.’ I climb out of the passenger seat without waiting to see if anyone follows. Dotty jumps down reluctantly and stretches daintily before wandering over to christen the nearest patch of grass. Pickle’s soft whine followed by the sound of two more doors opening a few seconds later is the only indication that my suggestion has even been heard.

  ‘Be careful, it’s a bit uneven underfoot,’ I call back softly as I make my way round the side of the house following an overgrown path that I hope leads to the loch shore. ‘You think?’ is the only answer I get. A couple of minutes later I’m standing on a small man made beach staring in awe at the breathtaking, almost ethereal beauty before me. The edge of the loch is only a couple of feet away, its inky black water lapping quietly up onto the shore. Beyond the loch, shrouded in mist, majestic mountains thrust eerily into the pre-dawn sky. I catch my breath, feeling as though I’m in another world, one where modern technology has no place; a world that has been here since the dawn of time, and will still be standing when everything else is dust. One by one the others join me, and we pay silent homage to the ancient grandeur in front of us.

  ‘Bloody hell Charlie, did nay expect you at o’crack-sparrowfart. What time do you call this?’ The voice is shockingly loud in the stillness, instantly breaking the otherworldly spell. For a second, we all turn and stare up at the indistinct shape leaning precariously out of one of the top floor windows of the house, and then Dotty and Pickles destroy what’s left of the tranquility by dashing up the garden and barking frenziedly at the sound of a strange voice.