Sweet Victory: A Romantic Comedy (The Dartmouth Diaries Book 2) Page 7

  Jimmy just had time to register a large bed which was definitely occupied, before finding himself fending off small hands that seemed to be everywhere at once. ‘I don’t, I mean I’m not, it’s just, I haven’t got, really you shouldn’t...’ The problem was, he was fast beginning to forget exactly why she shouldn’t, and with a groan muffled by cherry red lips, Jimmy surrendered himself to the nimble expert fingers now busy delving down the front of his trousers. Leaning forward he sought to return the favour and eagerly parted her robe, only to be shocked back to sudden awareness when his roaming fingers found a lot more than he’d bargained for.

  For a second he froze, while his fingers, seemingly with a life of their own, continued their incredulous groping as if they believed he’d somehow been mistaken. However, as the object of his fondling began to rise to the occasion, he finally came to his senses and, snatching the offending digits away, yelled in a voice loud enough to wake the dead, ‘Bloody hell it’s a man.’

  The shadowed lump in the bed bolted upright in response to Jimmy’s panicked shout, and at the same time Charles Shackleford burst into the room behind him. Loud footsteps pounding up the stairs indicated that at least one more person was headed their way, and as Hugo Buchannan erupted into the room, there was a short silence as the three men stared at each other, then looked over to the bed.

  Glancing down at his partner’s equipment, Doris moaned in horrified disbelief and began hurriedly trying to extract himself from the sheets.

  More footsteps running up the stairs galvanized the three men into action. ‘Doris you bloody dickhead,’ muttered Charlie appropriately as he ran over to the bed to help yank off the tangled sheets, ‘How the bloody hell did you get this far without realizing it was a bloke?’ Then, spotting Doris’s abandoned clothing on a chair, he threw them towards the bed. ‘For God sake put some bollocking trousers on.’

  Two seconds later Kulap arrived at the scene, and, after summing up the whole situation with a quick glance, promptly turned to bolt, only to be yanked back as Hugo seized hold of his jacket.

  ‘Not so quick sunshine. You got us into this mess, you can get us out of it.’ Then pushing their hapless guide back into the corridor, he waved at the other three to follow him. ‘I not know this kathoey massage place, I not know, I swear,’ Kulap moaned as Hugo, who had no idea what their terrified guide was on about, simply propelled him towards the staircase.

  The two kathoeys or ladyboys, who’d remained silent up to now, suddenly realized that any possibility of them adding a few “extras” to the sum already handed over were quickly disappearing, and roused themselves to start screeching in rapid ear splitting Thai.

  ‘What a bloody cake and arse party,’ yelled Charlie as they hurried down the passageway heading for the stairs, only to come face to face with a dozen menacing figures half way down, completely blocking their escape. This time there was no mistaking the gender, or the intent, as they brandished nasty looking clubs.

  Charlie and Hugo glanced towards each other, realizing for the first time that they’d be lucky if they escaped with their lives intact, let alone their tackle. Kulap stood shivering and whimpering about kathoeys, while Doris kept muttering, ‘This can’t be happening,’ over and over again. Jimmy simply stood behind the three officers, white faced and silent.

  ‘We’ll just have to charge through them, take them by surprise,’ Charlie murmured softly to Hugo. ‘It’s our only chance.’ The red haired Scot nodded tensely, grasping the back of Kulap’s jacket in a vice as Charlie turned round to the other two. ‘Follow our lead,’ he whispered tersely before turning back to Hugo. ‘On three,’ he said softly without taking his eyes off the mob slowly ascending the stairs. ‘Let’s give ‘em the banshee treatment.’

  ‘One, two, THREE.’ Launching themselves down the stairs screaming like banshees with piles, they charged straight into the astonished rabble, knocking them for six and scoring a strike as they all bounced down the stairs to land in a big heap at the bottom. Without waiting to see if they’d done any damage, Charlie dragged Jimmy and Doris up by their collars and pushed them in the direction of the door. Then, turning back to the melee, he pulled Hugo and Kulap from the now groaning pile of bodies. As the three of them reached the exit, they turned back briefly to watch the disorientated men climb to their feet. Luckily, all the thugs were alive and kicking, so breathing a sigh of relief, Charlie turned back to his companions and shoved them out of the door.

  Chapter Eight

  Noah sat in the back of the taxi as it made its way precariously down the dark winding road. Tim’s words were still echoing in his head, and although he could see his manager looking anxiously sideways at him, he didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

  According to the dubious testimony of a retired Thai prostitute, Admiral Charles Shackleford was a cold blooded murderer. And tomorrow the papers were going to tell the world about it. Tim had spared none of the gory details scheduled for the morning’s editorial, and lost no time in telling his highest earning client that he needed to distance himself from both Victory and her father immediately to avoid any negative impact on his acting career. ‘Fans are notoriously fickle,’ he’d explained earnestly, ploughing on despite Noah’s stony countenance. ‘You can’t afford this kind of negative publicity at such a crucial stage in your career. Women fall over themselves for you, but it won’t take long for your fans to turn against you if they believe you’re covering up for a murderer.’ Noah hadn’t liked the coiled excitement underlying Tim’s apparent sincerity. His agent had never liked Noah’s relationship with Tory, and though he was trying to hide it, it was pretty obvious that this was news made in heaven as far as Tim was concerned.

  To his agent’s frustration however, Noah had refused to be drawn and, after instructing the taxi to wait, he left Tim chewing his fingernails and walked quickly up the hill to find Laurel. Pulling her aside, he briefly explained that an emergency had come up and he needed to contact Tory immediately. She’d know soon enough exactly what the emergency was, but until then, he had no intention of fuelling the inevitable rumours. He asked Laurel if she could wait until he’d left, then inform those who needed to know that he’d be at the next location within the requisite three days. For once the actress didn’t ask any questions, simply nodded and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before pushing him towards his tent.

  Ten minutes later, after packing a few things, he was on the road. All he could thing about was Tory. Had she tried to get hold of him? Damn, he should have been there for her. What the bloody hell had the Admiral been involved in? Try as he might, he simply couldn’t imagine Tory’s bluff outspoken father killing anyone in cold blood. As they got ever closer to the coast and civilization, Noah kept glancing down at his phone. As soon as he had a signal, he ordered the taxi to pull over at the next available parking place. As he got out, he waved Tim to stay inside, although he knew his agent would’ve loved to be party to his conversation with Tory. The only light came from the moon and Noah picked his way carefully until he was far enough from the car that there was no risk of anyone overhearing. To his right was a sheer drop, just a small decrepit wall between him and a hundred feet of nothingness. Once he was sure his voice was unlikely to carry to any unwanted ears, he took a deep breath and dialled Tory’s number.

  ~*~

  As I stare down at the alien thing ringing in my hand, I feel like I’m going to have a seizure. My heart is thudding in synchronized time to the banging in my head, and the hand holding my mobile is shaking uncontrollably. Squeezing my eyes shut, I swipe to answer and put the phone to my ear.

  ‘Tory?’ At the sound of Noah’s voice, the crashing in my skull reaches a crescendo and for a second I can’t speak.

  ‘Tory, is that you?’ The anxiety in Noah’s voice finally penetrates the symphony in my head and I murmur his name with a small sob. ‘Come on sweetheart, talk to me,’ he continues when I fail to respond with anything remotely legible. ‘Are you okay?’

  In that seco
nd I realize he already knows. I can hear the sadness, the pity in his voice and it brings me abruptly back to my senses. In a dull voice, I ask him to hold on a second. Then, sitting down on a large boulder, I place the phone carefully down before fishing a scrap of tissue out of my pocket to wipe my eyes and blow my nose. Then I take a couple of shuddering breaths in an effort to calm down before picking up the phone and putting it back to my ear.

  ‘What have you heard?’ I try hard to keep my voice from wobbling, roughly scrubbing away the tears sliding down my cheeks.

  ‘Hey honey,’ he answers softly, my efforts to sound in control not fooling him at all, ‘Please don’t cry, I promise you I’m gonna be on the next flight to England. You don’t have to worry anymore Tory, we’ll be together soon and I’ll sort everything.’

  ‘How? How can you sort everything Noah?’ I respond, grief making my voice tight. ‘My father’s going to be branded a murderer and there’s not a damn thing you or I or anyone else can do about it.’

  ‘Tell me what’s happened,’ he counters gently, causing the tears to flow harder.

  ‘What have you heard?’ I shove the tissue hard into my running nose as I repeat the question.

  ‘Only that some dodgy old hooker has accused your old man of putting an abrupt end to her pimp of a husband.’ His voice says he doesn’t believe the story for one minute and for a couple of heady seconds, my heart swells at his loyalty and I allow myself a brief vision of us getting through this together. Then reality comes crashing back in. Sighing, I quickly recount my father’s highly abbreviated version of events.

  ‘The problem is, I know there’s more to it than that, but dad just won’t speak to me. He seems determined to take the blame for something I don’t think he did, but I have no idea why.’

  ‘Tory, listen to me sweetheart, just stay inside the Admiralty until I can get there. Don’t speak to anyone and don’t answer the phone to anyone except me. I promise we’ll sort this out. I have people I can contact, people who’ll help.’

  My heart judders sickly at the thought of Noah getting involved in my father’s mess, being pulled down into a web of lies going back nearly half a century. His name will be dragged through the mud until his career is nothing but a bitter memory. I know I can’t let that happen. Taking a deep breath, I plunge ahead before I lose my nerve.

  ‘Noah you can’t come to Dartmouth. The press will be all over the place. They’ll hang, draw and quarter you, you know they will. You can’t be anywhere near me or my father.’

  ‘I don’t give a flying fuck what reporters say about me, you know that Tory. I’m coming home to you. We’ll get through this together.’ His voice is hard and authoritative, attempting to batter down my objections. For a nanosecond, I bask in the knowledge that he believes his home to be where I am, and then I ruthlessly shove it down. How long will he continue to love me when his acting career is in tatters? At what point will he start pointing the finger of blame in my direction? I can’t bear the thought of what we’ve had disintegrating into bitter recriminations and accusations.

  ‘Noah, stop,’ I say quietly as he pauses to draw breath. I can almost feel his frustration, his need to make things right. In the end though, I can’t face telling him it’s over. ‘I’m not in Dartmouth,’ I say instead. ‘Dad and I left yesterday to get ahead of the vultures.’

  ‘Then where are you?’ His voice is still commanding, but now I can hear the anguish underneath it. He knows. He can feel me pulling away.

  I take a deep breath, then, ‘I can’t tell you where we are Noah, you have to stay away, for both our sakes.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ he explodes and my heart contracts sharply at the raw anger in his voice. ‘Don’t shut me out Tory. I need to see you, and even if you won’t tell me where you are, I swear I’ll find you.’

  Against my will, hope surges through me. The prospect of seeing Noah again, even if it’s only for a few minutes is simply too much to resist. ‘I’m in Scotland,’ I say finally, faintly, ‘About an hour and a half from Glasgow.’ There’s a silence and I can almost see Noah’s frowning incredulity on the other end of the line. ‘Ok,’ he says at length, just as I think he’s going to hang up. ‘Text me the post code and I’ll let you know when I’ve landed in Glasgow.’

  ‘If anybody recognizes you…’ I begin, only to be cut off with a curt, ‘Stop fretting Tory. No-one will recognize me from Adam. You know I’ve done this before, right?’

  ‘I know,’ I whisper, ‘I’m so sorry Noah.’ Unbidden the tears begin flowing again and I sniffle miserably down the phone. ‘I’ll be there as quick as I can,’ he says softly, ‘I love you Tory, and as the Admiral would say: This is nothing but a fart in a thunderstorm.’ I laugh tearfully as he repeats my father’s words in the same blunt English accent. ‘I love you too,’ I murmur back before realizing he’s already disconnected the call.

  Burying my head in my hands, I finally allow the tears to come unchecked. Dotty jumps up at me, shivering anxiously and I simply gather her warm body to me and cry harder into her fur. In fact my bawling is so loud there’s a danger I might wake the Mrs. Buchannan’s ghostly Lady as well as her entire extended family, but I can’t seem to stop.

  I so want to believe that seeing Noah again will put everything right. The problem is, deep in my heart, I know that it won’t.’

  I’m not sure but I think it might be morning. Without opening my eyes, I experimentally move my eyeballs towards the source of light before resolving never to move them again. There’s a dull thudding in my head which sounds suspiciously like the theme tune to Jaws, and the inside of my mouth feels as though it’s been used as a toilet by some small nocturnal rodent, before doubling up as its grave. I try to move my arms and legs and wonder if I did a cross country run before bed last night. Suddenly a weird noise comes from above my head and for a second I think I’ve been abducted by aliens, then it comes again and I realize it’s the sound of Dotty’s snoring. Groaning, I turn over to block out the brightness and try to piece together what happened after I finished on the phone to Noah. Then I remember the nearly full bottle of port I consumed as I sat by the dying embers of the Great Hall fire, the star guest at my very own self pity party for one.

  I actually think I might be dying.

  The sudden knock at the door reverberates deep inside my brain like some kind of sonic boom. ‘Go away.’ My voice is cracked and hoarse, causing me to briefly speculate as to whether the rodent in question might actually have been the size of a large guinea pig.

  Despite my less than sparkling welcome, the door opens and I unglue my eyelids to see my best friend, looking disgustingly bright eyed and bushy tailed. ‘How are you feeling,’ she yells, or that’s how it seems to my sensitive ears. ‘Just put me down and be done with it,’ I mumble, figuring that if self pity has got me this far, why change it now. My uncaring, so called BFF laughs at my pain. How come I never realized what a cold, cold heart she has?

  She plonks herself down on the side of the bed causing it to pitch like the Titanic, and my faithless dog adds to the stomach-churning rolling motion as she clambers callously over me to get to her. ‘Here,’ Kit says, holding out some revolting green concoction in a large glass, ‘A present from Aileen. She says it’s the best hangover cure this side of the Erskine Bridge.’

  ‘How does she know I have a hangover?’ I ask, easing myself up and taking the glass from her grudgingly. ‘Are you joking?’ She wiggles her eyebrows at me. ‘Don’t you remember anything from last night?’

  ‘Not a lot.’ I take a small sip of the disgusting mixture and only narrowly avoid projectile vomiting all over Kit’s clean white t-shirt. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and will my traitorous stomach to stop its roiling. After a minute or so, it does seem a little better and I open my eyes again, this time to see my best friend regarding me compassionately. Tears, never very far away, prickle at the back of my eyelids. At the moment cold and callous is what I need if I’m not going to break down again. Tak
ing another hesitant sip, I look down at myself and note I’m still wearing my shirt from yesterday, although my jeans appear to be missing. ‘Who put me to bed?’ I question with a frown. ‘You really don’t remember do you?’ Kit shakes her head before enlightening me. As she speaks, I change my mind; compassion is good – along with ignorance.

  It seems that practically everyone in the Tower heard my wailing and weeping at two in the morning, but unfortunately for me, first on the scene was Jason Buchannan. I wince as Kit describes what happened in full technicolour. I’d like to say my bawling was due to the intense pressure I’ve been under over the last three days, and I suppose it was, in a way, but apparently I was bemoaning, loudly, the fact that the bottle of port was empty as Jason arrived on the scene.

  ‘He totally behaved like a complete prick,’ Kit says before launching into the lurid details. Apparently, my best friend arrived on the scene just as Jason was prizing the empty port bottle out of my hand, and for a couple of seconds she was actually concerned that he intended to hit me over the head with it. ‘Do you know how old this bottle of port is?’ he spat to Kit through gritted teeth when she asked him what the hell he thought he was doing. ‘It’s one hundred and fifty years old.’

  ‘Well it’s about time somebody drank it then,’ was Kit’s unsympathetic response. ‘Can’t you see that my friend is going through a terrible time?’ She was interrupted by my hiccupping echo, ‘izz really, really tebb… terbl… telab… bad.’

  It appears that those memorable words were the sum total of my contribution to the conversation, as once I’d mumbled them, I keeled over and passed out. After hurriedly checking to see I was still breathing, Kit continued her tirade. ‘I don’t think you have a compassionate bone in your body Mr. Buchannan, ‘And what’s more you’ve made it clear from the moment you arrived that you do not want us here. But I can assure you, we are here for a reason, one I’m sure you will understand later on today, but until then, just look at my friend. Can’t you see how much pain she’s in…?’ Evidently at this point she was interrupted in mid flow by my snoring.