Sweet Victory: A Romantic Comedy (The Dartmouth Diaries Book 2) Page 4

  ~*~

  At five am, Noah gave up trying to sleep and, climbing out of his sleeping bag, unzipped his tent and ducked silently outside. Even though it was still early, the weather was already warm, giving a hint at the humid temperatures to come once the sun came up. Dressed in only his boxers, Noah sat on a rock and watched the pre-dawn sky turn pink. This far south, daybreak was a quick affair, as though the sun couldn’t wait to get started.

  They had finished filming in the early hours of the morning, and although he felt completely drained, Noah had been unable to sleep, his anxiety a constant gnawing in his gut. Only one more day left in the middle of nowhere, then he’d be able to contact the outside world - or, more specifically, Tory.

  Noah had no idea why he was swamped by such an uncharacteristic sense of foreboding. Maybe because it was so unusual for Tory not to pick up the phone when he called. Resting his head in his hands, he took a deep breath and willed his mind to relax.

  He thought back to their first meeting. That hilarious dinner party. Noah chuckled to himself, remembering Tory’s desperate face as her father committed one social faux pas after another. Although not beautiful in the accepted sense, she had a guilelessness about her that had attracted him right from the start. He’d been immersed in the shallow superficiality of the acting world for so long, with only his mother and sister to keep his feet on the ground. Tory’s forthright openness had been a breath of fresh air, taking a weight off his chest that he hadn’t even realized existed until she came into his life. He loved everything about her with an intensity he hadn’t thought himself capable of - from her voluptuous curves to her self depreciating sense of humour. Tory gave his life a whole new meaning – everything simply made sense when he was with her. With a resolve that helped to still his anxiety, Noah vowed to himself that he’d never let anyone hurt her; that he’d do whatever it took to make her happy and keep her safe…

  ~*~

  Five minutes later, the enormous front door is dragged open with a piercing squeaking sound that has all of us covering our ears and gritting our teeth in protest. The resulting lamplight gives a vague image of a cavernous hallway, but all my attention is on the small man standing in front of me.

  ‘Charlie Shackleford,’ he booms, leading me to wonder first of all, how such a little person could have such a loud voice and, secondly, whether having a voice like a foghorn is a common trait with all officers in the Royal Navy. Then, as he turns towards me and I see him properly for the first time, I blink and my third thought is, how can anybody have that much hair? And in that particular colour – bright shocking red. He looks like a miniature version of Stoick the Vast from How To Train Your Dragon.

  ‘Hugo Buchannan, at your service ma’am,’ he bellows before embracing me in a surprisingly strong grip for such a small man. After a short hesitation, I return his hug, inexplicably feeling tears gather at the back of my eyes. Gallantly, he pretends not to notice as he turns towards the rest of our party and waits for the introductions.

  ‘Can’t say I was expecting quite so many of you,’ he says cheerfully after shaking hands with everyone, ‘But never mind, I’m sure I’ll manage to dig out some more sheets from somewhere. So, who do we have here then?’ He bends down towards Dotty who is shivering next to my feet and holds out his hand for her to sniff. ‘This is Dotty and the Springer is Pickles,’ I say, wondering if dad thought to tell our host that we would be bringing a couple of canine companions. ‘Well hello Dotty,’ he continues as the small dog licks his hand hesitantly. Pickles shows no such restraint and launches himself at Hugo with abandon. I wince as the spaniel deposits sandy mud all over his dressing gown. I really hope our host likes dogs. Luckily he chuckles as he pushes Pickles away and says only, ‘Spike’s going to love you two. Come on in and make yourselves at home.’

  After waving my father and Mabel to follow our host, Freddy, Kit and I go to the car to unload the bags. As they disappear inside, I can just hear Mabel saying, ‘So, Charles, am I right in saying you and Hugo Buchannan served on HMS Herpes together?’ Unfortunately my father’s answer is lost as the two of them are swallowed up by the entrance hall…

  A few minutes later, we discover that what we’d assumed to be a large hallway, is in fact an actual, honest to goodness Great Hall. For a few seconds I stand and gape, the persistent sick feeling in the pit of my stomach briefly replaced by amazement. To my untrained eyes, the floor looks to be flagstone and is covered with brightly coloured rugs to ward off the chill. There are tapestries hanging on the bare stone walls, so faded it’s impossible to tell what they originally depicted, and a huge fireplace at one end. Hugo is busy piling logs into an already blazing fire, despite the fact that it’s essentially still the middle of the night and the middle of summer. ‘Come in and get warm,’ he shouts as he hears us enter. Without turning round, he waves to a couple of sofas and an armchair that have plainly seen better days grouped around an old coffee table in front of the fireplace. I notice my father, Mabel and Pickles have already claimed the sofa to the left, so, after dumping the cases in the corner, the three of us make ourselves comfortable on the remaining one. Unsurprisingly, Dotty commandeers the chair.

  As I sit on the edge of the couch, the whole situation begins to feel almost dreamlike. I’m so tired and want nothing more than to sink into a bed – any bed – and sleep until it’s all over. Unfortunately our small host is displaying no signs of showing us to our rooms, if indeed any of us have one. ‘Right then, tea I think.’ He claps his hands and I half expect Lurch to appear out of a dark cobwebbed corner. However, there don’t appear to be any servants, zombie or otherwise, and Hugo disappears off, presumably to do the honours himself. Too tired to make conversation, I look around the room, taking in the deep set mullioned windows revealing that dawn is not far off. The flickering light is provided by wall sconces that look as though they were put up when electricity was first discovered. Nobody speaks, exhaustion obviously taking its toll. Even my father sits staring into the fire, and I vaguely wonder if he thinks the answer to our bit of a problem might be found in its amber flames.

  ‘Here we are, this’ll perk you all up.’ Hugo reappears with a tray that’s nearly as big as he is. Strangely enough, perk up we do and for the first time I understand the British obsession with tea being the cure for all ills. Mind you, the homemade Scottish shortbread might have something to do with it. Talk about a sugar rush… After about twenty minutes however, it’s plain that none of us are able to keep awake any longer and, after a particularly loud snore from Mabel, our host takes the hint and stands up to show us to our rooms.

  Picking up an already comatose Dotty, I wonder whether he’s going to give us the extra sheets we need, but as he leads us past a large refectory table to a spiral staircase hidden in the corner, he merely warns us to take care on the steep stairs. Hoping against hope that we’re not all bunked in together, I follow the small man, carefully balancing dog and suitcase, round and up to a shadowy long narrow hall. ‘Mother has already made up two beds,’ he comments as he opens the first door, leaving me to wonder where the elusive mother is now. Then deciding I’m just too tired to think about it, I selfishly commandeer the first room, take note of where the bathroom is and collapse fully clothed on to my bed without bothering to turn on the light. My last thought before I drift off, is not about Noah, but to wonder whether my father and Mabel intend to share a room…

  Chapter Five

  I’m woken up the next morning by Dotty pawing at my face indicating her need for the bathroom. Groaning, I attempt to turn over, then suddenly realize I’m lying fully clothed on top of the covers. The events of the previous twenty four hours come rushing back and I sit up in panic.

  Noah…

  Diving into my pocket, I fumble for my mobile phone, only to discover there’s no signal. Almost weeping with fear that he may have tried to call, I jump off the bed and rush over to the small narrow window. Nothing. Looking around frantically, I spy a long moth eaten sett
le at the bottom of the bed and drag it over to the window. Climbing on, I manage to push open the window and hold the phone up and out. Two bars. I stand, awkwardly holding out one hand, to see if I have any missed calls. Ten minutes and a dead arm later, I have to admit defeat. If Noah’s tried to call, he definitely hasn’t left me a message.

  Hurriedly, I climb down and, barely glancing at my room, I open the door and rush back down to the Great Hall, risking life and limb by taking the spiral stairs two at a time. I have time to notice that the fire is still blazing in the hearth before crossing the room at a dead run, Dotty barking happily behind me, obviously thinking this is some new game. Dragging open the front door, I look down again at my phone, only to see the signal come and go. I almost reach the edge of the loch before the indicator steadies at two bars. Sitting down on a large rock, I make an effort to calm myself before calling up Noah’s number on speed dial.

  Taking a deep breath, I tap his name. After a brief pause, it goes straight to answer phone. I sit and listen to the message, simply to hear Noah’s beautiful voice, and longing cuts right down to the very core of me. God, I miss him so much. Hearing the beep, I cut the call, then try again. After five times, I have to presume he’s still out of range. Sighing, I put the phone back in my pocket, knowing it will need charging soon. Resting my chin in my hand, I watch Dotty nosing about at the edge of the water, then, realizing I have no idea what time it is, I glance down at my watch. Just after seven. No wonder there wasn’t anyone around to witness my mad sprint out of the house. Although it’s still only August, the morning is cool, hinting at the autumn to come. Shivering slightly, I tuck my arms under my armpits, grateful for the extra warmth of my old cardigan. All is silent apart from birdsong, and unbidden, I feel the magic of the place sweep me up again. Noah would so love it here, I muse, before remembering I might never get the opportunity to show it to him. Despairingly, I drop my head into my hands, only to jump as my phone suddenly rings. Heart beating, I look down quickly to see a number I don’t recognize.

  Hesitantly, I answer the call. ‘I’m not going to ask where you are,’ comes a matter of fact voice I recognize as Harry’s. ‘I just wanted to let you know the shit’s going to hit the fan tomorrow. The Daily Mail’s got the scoop, but the other buggers will get in on the act soon enough. Glad you’re out of Dartmouth. Don’t bloody come back for the next few days at least.’ Then he hangs up without giving me chance to speak.

  That gives me twenty four hours to break the news to Noah. He said he should be back in signal range by the weekend and today’s Friday. Which of course means he’ll get back to civilization just in time for the party…

  Dusting myself down, I call Dotty and head back to the house. As I pick my way along the uneven path, I take my first good look at our bolt hole in the daylight. Clearly in need of major refurbishment, Bloodstone Tower nevertheless radiates romantic mystery and bloodthirsty history in equal measure. In an effort to take my mind off my problems, I speculate as to why the house has been allowed to get into such disrepair. Plainly money has to be an issue. Staring up at the old stone walls, I wonder if there are any little Buchannans to take up the mantle. After all, Hugo has to be about the same age as my father if they joined up together.

  The huge front door is still open as I reach the house, and after pulling it shut behind me, I go through into the Great Hall, now much less imposing with sunlight streaming in through the windows. It’s still empty, so I don’t stop. I definitely need a shower, and seeing as my vague memories from last night are telling me there’s only one bathroom, I decide to try and get in first. However, once I get to the top of the stairs, I can’t actually remember which door is the bathroom. Frowning, I retreat into to my bedroom which in daylight displays the same spartan furnishings as the rest of the house. Picking Dotty up, I put her onto the high bed. She wastes no time making herself comfortable, so I leave her to it, grabbing my toiletry bag and dressing gown from my case. After discovering a clean towel on the back of a chair, I venture back out onto the landing. All is completely silent. No telltale snores coming from behind any of the doors. Bugger. I stand still and try to remember Hugo’s bathroom directions from last night.

  Tiptoeing down the hall, I endeavour to guess which room my father and Mabel might be in. God forbid I should open their door accidentally. Still, I’m assuming they’ve got Pickles in with them so that should curtail any possible funny business. Though how my father could even think of getting up to anything with all th….

  My thoughts grind to a halt as I hear a noise coming from the second to last door on the right. Hesitantly, I walk towards the door in question and stop. For a second there’s nothing, then I hear it again – a low keening sound as though someone’s in terrible pain. Putting my ear to the wood panel, I hold my breath. The noise stops.

  I don’t think this is the bathroom. But what if someone needs help? Irresolutely, I stand at the door, undecided as to what to do next. Then suddenly the noise comes again. It sounds awful, like someone being tortured. Maybe I should just fetch someone – trouble is, I don’t know where they all are. In the end, I can’t stand the dreadful noise any longer and with my heart in my mouth, I quietly turn the knob and push open the door. The room is completely dark but I can tell immediately that it’s not the bathroom. Someone’s bedroom then. Quietly I turn, intending to go back out into the corridor and close the door behind me, but just as I do, the keening noise comes again, and turning back round, I can vaguely see a large bed. With someone in it. Oh God, what if whoever’s in there is really ill? Cautiously I tiptoe towards the shadowy bed whispering, ‘Hello, are you okay?’ I’m so intent on the indistinct lump under the covers, that I completely miss the chamber pot sitting on the floor next to the side of the bed. ‘Hello,’ I whisper a little more loudly. I take one last hesitant step, only to have my bare foot land directly in the pot. Which is not empty. I give a small stifled scream and try to lift out my foot, inadvertently stubbing my big toe in the process and kicking the pot over which breaks against the edge of the bed with a loud crack, spilling its wet contents onto the floor. Moaning softly, I start to clutch at my toe before remembering what it’s been standing in. Unfortunately, the momentum has me toppling helplessly towards the bed and its occupant. After flailing for a heart stopping couple of seconds, I land with a small woomph directly onto the lump…

  …Which sits up screaming as if all the hounds of hell are after her. Yes, despite the murkiness, I can tell it’s a her. ‘Please – please, it’s okay,’ I moan holding out my hand in a placatory gesture while hopping up and down on one foot (well you try it). ‘I just thought you needed help,’ (it sounded much more plausible when I was lurking outside her door). When she fails to stop screaming, I hurriedly turn and hobble back towards the landing, all the while shouting backwards, ‘It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m so sorry, please forgive me, I’m so so sorry.’

  ‘What the bollocking hell is going on?’ I cringe with further embarrassment as my father throws open the door to my left and shouts loud enough to wake anyone else who by some miracle has so far managed to sleep through the ruckus. (I’m not too embarrassed to make a mental note of which room he’s in though…) Both Pickles and Dotty add to the racket from behind their respective bedroom doors and finally Hugo Buchannan emerges with a look of complete astonishment on his face. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I babble again waving towards what is obviously his mother’s room, ‘I didn’t realize she was just snoring.’ He stares back at me hopping up and down for a second, then, shaking his head, rushes into the darkened room, shouting, ‘It’s alright mother.’

  A couple of seconds later, Kit and Freddy emerge out of their respective rooms and I can’t help but think almost hysterically, ‘Oh goody, now we can have a party.’

  ‘Why are you hopping up and down?’ Freddy gets in just before the door to Hugo’s mother’s room slams shut. I hold out my throbbing foot which Freddy bends down to peer at. ‘I accidently kicked over the chamber pot,’ I
say, causing him to back up sharply as though the liquid contaminating my foot is likely to turn airborne at any second.

  ‘What the bloody hell were you doing in there?’ thunders my father.

  ‘Is that Hugo’s mother making that terrible noise?’ Kit.

  ‘What on earth did you do to her?’ Freddy

  ‘I thought she was having a heart attack.’ Me

  The howling noise coming from my bedroom reaches epic proportions. Dotty.

  Finally, in desperation, I shout, ‘QUIET,’ then in the ensuing silence, I look at each of my friends in turn before saying softly, ‘It’s going to be in the Daily Mail tomorrow.’

  ~*~

  As twilight fell on the stark landscape, the director finally called out, ‘It’s a wrap,’ prompting a smatter of relieved applause. The heat throughout the day had been intense, fraying tempers and fuelling petty irritations. After being helped out of his custom made space suit, Noah pulled on a pair of shorts and headed over to the generated air conditioned bliss of the communal tent for the last time. Tomorrow they would be heading back down to the coast and he’d finally get to speak to Tory. Helping himself to a large glass of water, he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a towel, grateful that he no longer had to avoid messing up the carefully applied make-up. It had been a long exhausting few days, and as he stood at the entrance to the tent and watched the last of the sun’s rays turn the harsh mountains into a fiery orange, Noah didn’t think he’d ever been so happy to finish a location shoot. If he could, he’d leave immediately, but tonight they were having a get together before the cast and crew split up - some moving on to Ireland, the rest heading back to the States. He knew he’d be expected to attend the party, despite his distinct lack of enthusiasm. Sighing, he quickly poured the rest of the water over his head, and made his way towards his own tent, intending to grab a quick shower while the water was still warm. Then, with any luck, he’d manage a short rest before the revelry started.