Sweet Victory: A Romantic Comedy (The Dartmouth Diaries Book 2) Read online

  It was fully dark by the time Noah came out of his tent. Although the festivities had started a couple of hours ago, he’d avoided joining the party too early, knowing it was likely to go on until the early hours of the morning. Wearing shorts and a simple white t-shirt, Noah was completely unaware of the hungry looks directed towards him from both men and women alike as he walked over to the makeshift bar to grab a beer. Taking a long swig, he strolled over to Laurel standing near to the large barbeque. The delicious smell of roasting meat coming from the grill made his stomach clench in anticipation as he suddenly realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  ‘God, I could eat a horse,’ she groaned, echoing his thoughts exactly. ‘I’m not moving from here until the first burger’s ready – and trust me, it has my name on it.’

  The sound of laughter echoed from a large group standing a few yards away, obviously more interested in drinking than eating, which suited Noah just fine.

  ‘You hoping to get a bit of quality time with Tory before we kick off again? Especially given the fact that we’ve got all of three days before we need to show up.’ Laurel’s smile softened the sarcasm and her voice held a slightly sympathetic tone. Noah grimaced in response. ‘I’m hoping so,’ he said with a sigh, ‘But I’ve not managed to speak with her since we arrived in Tenerife, so I’ve no idea what her plans are.’

  ‘I don’t think you have to worry about any plans she’s made,’ the actress responded as she helped herself to a burger. ‘She’ll drop whatever she’s doing to see you I’m sure.’

  Noah nodded absently, taking the next beef pate from the tray. A queue was beginning to form behind him as people realized the food was ready, and he didn’t want to discuss his love life in front of the people he worked with. His nagging worry about Tory was still there. This was probably the longest they’d gone without speaking since they started dating. Moving away from the barbeque with his spoils, he looked around for somewhere a little less noisy, eventually spotting an abandoned deckchair positioned to make the most of the spectacular views of the valley and mountains beyond. Seating himself with a sigh, Noah took another long draught of his beer before placing the bottle on the stony ground next to him. There was just enough light cast by the camp to see by, and the loud raucous laughter was pleasantly muted. He knew he’d have to go back and mingle eventually, but for a little while, he determined to enjoy the peace and quiet. The valley and mountains in front of him were simply dark outlines, and as he dug into his burger, he absently tried to make out the shapes in the blackness. If he closed his eyes slightly, he could just make out sections of the potholed road winding round the valley and up the mountains. He definitely wasn’t looking forward to the ride back to the coast. Suddenly he saw two lights flashing, quickly, then gone. For a couple of seconds he thought he might be seeing things, then he saw them again. Frowning he studied their intermittent blinking, wondering what the hell they were. Then he realized. They were the headlights of a car. Someone was coming up the mountain. Bloody hell, they were taking a bit of a risk in the dark, it had to be important.

  As Noah sat and watched the lights get larger, he felt his gut clench. The burger felt like a lump of lead in his stomach, and suddenly feeling slightly sick, he put the half empty plate on the ground. After another five minutes or so, he could finally hear the car engine, slowly getting louder as the vehicle approached their camp. Others were beginning to realize they had company and some were wandering curiously down to the large flat area that served as a makeshift car park. Noah stayed where he was, watching the scene from the shadows. He could just see the side of the car park behind the communal tent, and, in the light shed from the large marquee, he finally glimpsed the car approach. It was battered and dirty with faint writing on the side. Obviously a taxi. Heart hammering, he finally stood up just as the back door opened. Then he was running.

  A few minutes later he rounded the tent and skidded to a halt in front of the rumpled portly form of his agent. Staring at Tim’s tense sombre features, Noah turned towards the interested onlookers and took a deep breath, trying to relax his racing heart.

  ‘Tim,’ he finally said mildly as though he’d been expecting to see his agent in the middle of nowhere at such a late hour. ‘Great to see you, come and have a drink.’ He put his arm companionably around the corpulent man’s shoulders and made as if to guide him towards the festivities. It had the desired effect. Seeing nothing of interest happening, their spectators waved a casual greeting and turned to head back up the hill. Once they were out of earshot, Noah stopped and turned to face his agent.

  ‘What?’ he said tersely, his worry making his voice clipped and abrupt. ‘Has something happened to Tory?’

  Tim took a deep breath before answering. Underneath his anxious exterior, there seemed to be an almost edgy, nervous excitement to his body language. ‘We’ve got a problem, Noah and it’s a whopper.’

  Chapter Six

  Breakfast is a fairly subdued affair. Mrs. Buchannan has sent her apologies, with Hugo saying hastily that his mother has suffered no ill effects from my early morning visit, but prefers to keep herself to herself and avoid polite company whenever possible.

  ‘Especially when supposed polite company starts off by scaring the living daylights out of her,’ murmurs Freddy behind his teacup. I take the moral high ground by refusing to rise to the bait. However, privately I can’t help but think that if this house has been featured on Britain’s Most Haunted, it was likely old Mrs. Buchannan who was doing the honours.

  We are seated at the refectory table in the Great Hall, and our breakfast orders are taken by a plump lady of indeterminate age called Aileen who is evidently Hugo’s “woman who does” as he jokingly referred to her. I’m reluctant to ask exactly what she “does” aside from breakfasts, partly because I’m not actually sure I want to know, but mostly because I can’t understand a word she says. Her greeting when we first arrived for breakfast sounded something like, ‘Awrite, guid mornin, nice tae meit ye.’ After she took our order, she cheerily announced, ‘A hae tae gang, a'll be reit back,’ and on returning with the breakfast tray, ‘Haur ye gae.’ Fortunately, she didn’t appear to be expecting a response at any time during the whole procedure.

  My father doesn’t appear to have lost his appetite due to our bit of a problem and as I watch him take his third potato scone and fourth helping of black pudding, I really wish I have his resilience. I look down at my porridge and give it an experimental stir. My stomach feels as though it’s in knots and I’m not sure I can eat anything. Forcing down a small spoonful out of politeness, I look around the table to see that everybody else’s appetite seems to be holding up just fine. Kit is busy tucking into yoghurt, fruit, tea and toast, while Mabel’s plate is piled nearly as high as my father’s. Freddy’s the only one picking listlessly at his plate of sausage, bacon and eggs which is why Dotty has chosen to do her begging routine next to his seat. She can spot the weakest link from twenty paces.

  Suddenly the phone rings. Sadly, we all actually go to check our mobiles, only to realize it’s a land line. Hugo excuses himself quickly and, picking up the handset, takes it into what I’m assuming is the kitchen, although I haven’t had chance to explore yet. A few minutes later he comes back into the Great Hall and his face is serious. Everyone else is busy eating, so I think I’m the only one who sees him shake his head slightly at my father. Looking between the two of them, I can sense the slight tension. What the hell is going on? I’m about to open my mouth to demand some kind of explanation, when suddenly Mabel decides to speak.

  ‘Do you have balls, Mr. Buchannan?’ she says loudly as Hugo sits back down to the table. We all stare at her in silence as our host responds hesitantly,’ Call me Hugo, please.’ He’s clearly unsure what to say next, which makes six of us. ‘I mean to say, have you held any here in Bloodstone Tower?’ Mabel’s idea of small talk definitely leaves a lot to be desired, I’m beginning to think she and my father make the perfect couple. Looking at our sl
ightly bemused faces, she hurriedly continues, clearly flustered but determined to make polite conversation. ‘Or perhaps you’ve attended them elsewhere. Charles has told me so many wonderful stories about the balls he’s attended over the years, along with so many wonderful people, but strangely he’s never mentioned you.’ All our eyes turn towards Hugo to see what his response is likely to be in light of the fact that my father’s lady friend has just indicated that the Admiral has never deemed our host worth mentioning.

  ‘Bloody hell Mabel,’ my father jumps in tetchily before Hugo can respond, causing everyone’s eyes to swing to him. ‘Give it a rest. You can be such a gatling gob at times.’ Then he stands up, pushes back his chair, and stomps off outside, calling to Pickles as he goes. I look towards Mabel and can see her chin wobbling slightly. ‘Don’t pay any attention to him,’ I tell her softly as she gets up to leave the table. ‘He’s just worried and you know how rude he gets when he’s worried.’ I ignore Freddy mouthing, ‘What’s a gatling gob?’ from behind Mabel’s back and look towards Hugo to see if he’s taken offence. To my relief, he doesn’t look as though he’s planning to throw us out on our ears. I really want to ask him what the head shaking was all about, but before I can say anything further, he excuses himself and hurries after my father. Sighing, I take another mouthful of my now stone cold porridge which is starting to resemble wall paper paste.

  ‘So peeps, what shall we do today?’ Freddy trills in a strained attempt to turn our enforced isolation into something out of a Famous Five adventure. ‘Well I don’t know about you two, but I’m intending to spend the next twenty four hours wherever I can get a signal for my phone.’ As Freddy begins to frown, I add quietly, ‘I have to keep trying Noah.’

  ‘Well, the weather’s lovely,’ Kit says, her voice muffled as she pops the last slice of melon into her mouth. ‘We can take a picnic, you know, with hard boiled eggs and lashings of ginger beer…’ She says the last bit with a wink towards Freddy, and I have to smile. ‘You shouldn’t be on your own,’ she continues more seriously. ‘That’s why we’re here.’ Giving in, I smile gratefully at them both.

  ‘I wonder if they’ve got any potted meat?’ muses Freddy, enthusiastically pushing his chair back and heading towards the kitchen. ‘I’ll go and ask Aileen.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ I say to his retreating back. Still hoping for leftovers, Dotty immediately trots after him and I shake my head ruefully. I could call her back, but she’s likely to throw a deaf ear if I do. Where food’s concerned, obedience doesn’t come in to it, and the greedy madam will do anything for a sausage. As she follows him into the kitchen, barking happily, I hear Aileen say, ‘Haud yer wheesht.’ No idea if she’s talking to Freddy or my canine opportunist.

  Leaving Kit and Freddy to keep an eye on her and sort out our very own fifties inspired, retro Famous Five picnic, I grab my phone off its charge and head out in search of my father and Hugo.

  Following the sound of voices, I walk towards the loch and continue down a path running alongside it. As the voices get louder, I slow down instinctively.

  ‘It’s no good Scotty, if they won’t get involved, I’m just going to have to face the music.’ It takes me a couple of seconds to realize that my father’s talking to Hugo and not the balding engineer from the Starship Enterprise, although I’m assuming the nickname similarly refers to his heritage. I can’t quite make out Hugo’s response and in my effort to get closer, I give away the fact that I’m lurking in the bushes as Pickles catches my scent and begins wagging his tail in welcome.

  ‘Stop arsing about Victory.’ My father’s voice sounds frighteningly weary and, suddenly scared, I swallow a sharp retort and continue the last few yards to a small wooden landing poking out into the loch. The two men are seated side by side on a rickety bench.

  ‘What’s going on dad?’ I ask flatly, positioning myself squarely in front of them. ‘There’s so much more to this than you’re letting on. Why have we come all the way up here – no offence Hugo – when we could have hidden out equally well somewhere like Dartmoor, just a few bloody miles away from home?’

  ‘That’s exactly what they’d be expecting.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ I snap, finally at the end of my tether with all the lying and subterfuge. ‘This is my life dad. Tell me what this is all about – really all about.’ My father blinks as my voice reaches a crescendo. ‘Would you like to tell the rest of bollocking Scotland too?’ he returns irritably.

  ‘She’s definitely your daughter,’ butts in Hugo with a slight chuckle. ‘Did she ever think of joining up?’ I glare back at him. If he’s attempting to diffuse the situation, he’s not doing a very good job.

  My father evidently thinks so too. ‘She’d have done a better bloody job than you Scotty, you were always all fart and no shit.’

  ‘You may well be right Charlie, but if you’d have been more fart and less shit, we might not be in this mess.’

  ‘Dad, you out on the landing?’ A loud unidentified male voice abruptly interrupts the rapidly escalating argument and for a second I’m relieved, until I look down at Hugo’s horrified face and realize whoever the voice belongs to, he’s definitely not part of the plan.

  The owner of the voice appears a few seconds later and I stare at him with my mouth open.

  ‘This is my son Jason,’ Hugo says, making a concerted effort not to show that his offspring is the very last person he expected to see. ‘Jason, I don’t believe you’ve met my old friend Charles Shackleford and his daughter Victory.’

  ‘Call me Tory,’ I interject a little faintly. It has to be said that Jason looks absolutely nothing like his father. Dressed in a t-shirt and jeans that do little to hide what is obviously six feet of solid muscle, he is absolutely gorgeous. His hair is perhaps the only thing he’s inherited from his father, but instead of a bright ginger it’s a thick burnished chestnut. His skin is bronzed, speaking of too much time spent in the sun, contrasting with eyes the colour of polished silver. And right now those eyes are looking at me as though he has a bad smell under his nose.

  ‘Admiral Charles Shackleford?’ is all he says as his eyes dismiss me and settle back on his father.

  ‘Yes, well, of course you’ve heard of him.’ Hugo is visibly flustered and I frown, but before I can speak, Hugo turns to us and continues, ‘Jason’s in the Royal Navy too. He’s just been promoted after spending the last three years in Hawaii.’ Then back to his son. ‘I wasn’t expecting you to be back so soon.’

  ‘Clearly,’ is the flat answer. I’m beginning to think Mr. Gorgeous may well turn out to be a complete and utter knob.

  ‘Dad, I think you and I need to talk privately,’ he continues in the same flat monotone voice before turning away and striding back down the path without waiting to see if his father is following. Hugo shakes his head glumly at both of us as he gets up. ‘Bollocks. I wasn’t expecting Jason to be back before next week. Might cause a bit of a problem.’ As I watch his small figure hasten up the path, I sit down in his vacated seat with a small defeated sigh. I get the feeling he and my father might well refer to the outbreak of World War Three as a bit of a problem...

  For the next few minutes we sit silently, staring out over the loch. The breeze has turned the previously calm water into small choppy waves splashing noisily up against the small landing. I glance down at my mobile phone to check it has a signal. ‘Are you ever going to tell me what happened dad?’ I ask in a small voice. ‘You’ve told me practically nothing so far, and what you have said is a complete cock and bull story, don’t even bother to deny it. Just tell me if you killed that man. Are you truly a murderer or are you some kind of scapegoat?’

  After a small silence, he exhales noisily. ‘I’ve killed men in my time Victory,’ he says after a moment, ‘But never in cold blooded murder. I can’t tell you what happened. You’ll just have to trust me.’

  ‘Even if it loses me the man I love?’ I ask quietly. He closes his eyes to avoid looking at me. ‘Noah’s a good chap,’
he mumbles finally. ‘If he truly loves you, he won’t walk away.’

  I jump up and stalk to the edge of the loch in an effort to stem the frustrated anger mounting inside me that my father could spout such meaningless drivel to me of all people. Does he think me completely stupid - even he doesn’t believe that twaddle for one bloody second. ‘I won’t let him choose me over his career,’ I say finally through gritted teeth. ‘You know that. Stop treating me like a child.’ Then, without looking back at him, ‘I have to stay outside dad. I can’t get a signal inside the house.’ He doesn’t respond, and neither does he move, so I take a deep breath and continue in a whisper, ‘I need some time on my own, please can you just go away?’

  The day has crawled by. It’s now nearly six o’clock and I’ve been sitting on the landing for nearly eight hours, trying Noah’s mobile phone every twenty minutes. Kit and Freddy have finally left me to it, and Dotty, whose loyalty in the face of potential starvation is sketchy at best, has abandoned me in favour of her new best friend Aileen. Both Kit and Freddy have done their best throughout the day to keep me cheerful, putting together a banquet worthy of Enid Blyton at her most ravenous. To be fair, it’s actually been quite nice, but as the hours have worn on, my anxiety has become harder and harder to ignore. Neither of my friends got to bump into the gorgeous knob before exiting the house, so I didn’t enlighten them, preferring to witness first hand their impressions over dinner. I haven’t seen my father again since this morning either, but that’s okay. I think we’re better off ignoring each other at the moment.

  The wind’s beginning to get up and the summer sun, never that warm in Scotland, is giving way to an early evening autumnesque chill. I know I can’t sit here much longer. My back’s aching and my bottom’s gone completely numb. I try Noah’s mobile one last time, then get to my feet to go inside and wash up before dinner.