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

  ‘Not nearly as much as she’s likely to be in when she wakes up,’ was Jason’s thick-skinned response. ‘Are you going to help me get her to bed or just stand there nagging?’ Luckily, before Kit could respond to that insensitive retort, my father appeared with Pickles in tow, having been woken up by Freddy, who’d sensibly opted for waking up the Admiral rather than joining in the mudslinging going on below.

  Dotty, who until that point had been curled up next to me (she obviously didn’t care whether I was sober or not), jumped up with a loud bark to greet Pickles. At the noise, I apparently leapt up and promptly fell over her, straight into Jason’s arms.

  ‘What the bloody hell are you up to Victory?’ My father hurried downstairs and non too gently yanked me out of Jason’s arms. ‘I’ll take it from here,’ he puffed, trying vainly to support me while endeavouring to wind my arm around his shoulders. ‘Bollocking hell, have you put weight on girl?’ he gasped as I leaned against him, a dead weight. It didn’t help that both Pickles and Dotty were dancing around him thinking this was a new kind of game. ‘Get out of the bloody way,’ he roared in the end. Just as Kit tried to take my other arm, Jason, sighed irritably and shoved his body in the way. ‘Let me take her other arm,’ he said crossly, ‘There’s no way you’re going to get her up the stairs on your own.’

  By this point I am cringing internally and wave Kit to please stop, I’ve heard enough.

  ‘Just tell me I didn’t give away why we’re here,’ I groan, head in my hands.

  ‘No you didn’t Tory, but it doesn’t really matter anymore because you’re now headline news as predicted.’ I look up quickly, only to shut my eyes as a wave of nausea hits me along with a shooting pain like someone is sticking a skewer in each eyeball. ‘Oh God, I’m such a prat. Why on earth did I get hammered with this hanging over my head?’

  ‘This hanging over your head is precisely why you did get hammered,’ Kit retorts, standing up and placing a reluctant Dotty onto the floor.

  ‘I really don’t think I’ll be able to look Jason Buchannan in the eyes again,’ I moan to her back as she straightens up again. ‘Yeah, well that shouldn’t be a problem, we’re waiting for the eviction notice as we speak.’ Unbelievably I sense slight disappointment in her tone and I want to explore it further but just as I open my mouth, I glance down at my watch.

  ‘OMG, it’s nearly lunchtime. Why didn’t you tell me? Noah might have tried to call.’ I stagger out of bed and grab my things. ‘Where’s dad, have you seen him?’

  ‘Not yet, I’ll go and tell him his daughter’s finally awake and relatively sober.’

  My head has moved on from Jaws to the theme tune from Ghostbusters as I hop around the bedroom trying to pull on my jeans.

  ‘I take it you managed to speak with Noah last night then?’ Kit’s voice is casual which doesn’t fool me at all. I sink to a chair, giving up on trying to put my clothes on standing. ‘Yeah we talked, for all the good it did. He’s determined to see me. Wants us to ride it out together.’ I laugh mirthlessly. ‘He might have changed his mind after he’s seen the headlines this morning though.’

  ‘You should listen to him Tory,’ Kit says earnestly, placing her hand on my shoulder to help me pull on my blouse. ‘He’s a good guy. He won’t leave you just because the shit’s hit the fan.’

  ‘I know he won’t Kitty Kat, that’s the problem. I’ve got to do it for him. You know what this will do to his career. I won’t be responsible for ruining his life.’

  ‘Don’t you think that’s his decision to make?’ Kit returns softly, although I can’t help but note that she doesn’t argue about the ruination of his life bit.

  Sighing, I stand up, more or less dressed. ‘We won’t survive it Kit. You know what the press are like. Once they get hold of a story, they’re like a pack of wolves; they’ll keep sniffing and sniffing until they manage to dig up every bit of dirt.’

  ‘But you said your father’s innocent. Surely that counts for something.’

  ‘Not as far as all the bloodthirsty newshounds are concerned. They don’t care whether someone’s innocent or guilty. They just want a juicy story – and let’s be honest, they don’t get much juicier than this.’ I pick up the glass containing Aileen’s hideous concoction, and shuddering, I down it in one go.

  ‘Time to face the music.’

  In the end, the only two people around when we get down to the Great Hall are Freddy and Mabel. So engrossed in the events unfolding on the TV screen, they fail to notice us at first until Dotty runs up to Freddy and jumps into his lap, for once completely ignored by a very subdued Pickles seated on the floor between them. As I approach, they both look up and I can’t help but notice how pale they both are.

  ‘Where’s dad?’ I ask again quietly, sitting on the sofa opposite. There’ll be plenty of time to watch the horror show later.

  ‘Oh Victory,’ Mabel raises red rimmed eyes, ‘They left in the early hours. He’s written you a note.’ She pushes an envelope towards me before sniffing back into a tissue. Looking down, I recognize my father’s handwriting and my heart clenches painfully as I tear it open.

  I’m just about to start reading when Aileen bustles in with a welcome pot of coffee. As she puts the tray down, she nods towards the TV screen with the cryptic comment, ‘Tatties o’wer the side and no mistake hen.’ Then, with a quick squeeze of my shoulder, she heads back towards the kitchen. Reluctantly I turn back to the note in my hand.

  Dear Victory

  Hugo and I have gone to see what’s to be done. You can stay at Bloodstone Tower for as long as you like, pay no attention to young Buchannan – he might be all teeth, tits and toenails, but he won’t give you any trouble. Make sure Mabel gets home safely, she’s looking after Pickles while I’m gone – thought you’d probably have enough on your plate.

  I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. Until then, keep your head down girl, it’s all a load of bollocks and I promise I’ll get it sorted somehow.

  And don’t give up on the Yank. He’s a good bloke Victory and he’ll come through for you if you let him.

  Your loving father

  xxx

  Chapter Nine

  Forty Years Ago…

  HMS Hermes rested quietly at anchor. It was three o’clock in the morning and all was silent apart from the occasional murmur of conversation between the officer of the watch and the lookout. Lieutenants Charles Shackleford and Hugo Buchannan were sound asleep in their cabin. Both considered themselves extremely lucky that their adventure into the seedier side of Thai life the evening before hadn’t found its way up to their Captain and they intended it to stay that way. Their guide Kulap, had been paid off handsomely on return to the ship and Doris had been sent off with a flee in his ear. ‘I don’t care who the bloody hell you are, but you breathe a word of tonight’s bollocking fiasco and I’ll string you up the yard arm myself.’ Charles Shackleford hadn’t minced his words to the sub lieutenant who’d given a subdued nod, his earlier cockiness replaced by white faced anxiety. Jimmy hadn’t needed telling at all – he’d simply saluted smartly then scarpered.

  Suddenly the door to the cabin creaked open slightly. ‘Psst, Sir, are you awake? I need to speak with you urgently.’ There was a brief silence while the speaker waited to see if his urgent whisper had jolted either lieutenant awake, but as the sound of snoring continued unabated, the door was pushed open further and the strained face of Doris peered around it into the darkened cabin. After waiting another couple of seconds, the sub lieutenant slipped into the room and crept towards the shadowed bunks where he hovered uncertainly between the two, trying to decide which of the lumpy outlines was which officer. Not that it mattered he supposed - he was going to get hauled over the coals whoever he woke. In the end he tiptoed to the bunk on the right and bent over the still form until his face was in the lieutenant’s ear. ‘Sir,’ he whispered as loudly as he dared.

  Charles Shackleford opened his eyes to see a phantom no more than six inches away from his face.
Yelling, ‘Bloody hell it’s a ghost,’ his fist shot out catching the would be ghoul directly on his surprisingly solid nose. The force of the punch sent the apparition stumbling backwards into the other bunk where it landed with a loud thud.

  At the impact, Hugo Buchannan shot up in bed shouting, ‘We’re under attack Char…’ before almost braining himself on the shelf above him which wobbled ominously before cashing in its chips and crashing, books and all onto the lieutenant’s head.

  Both officers stared wildly at Doris, now sitting on the floor holding his nose. ‘I dink it bite be bwoken,’ he mumbled trying to stem the steady flow of blood using the tail of his shirt.

  ‘Well if it isn’t, it bloody soon will be.’ Charles was the first to recover his wits and climbed out of bed, resisting the urge to give the young sub lieutenant a black eye to match. Turning on the light, he grabbed a towel, and shoved it unceremoniously towards Doris before helping to free Hugo’s bunk from the littered debris. ‘What the bollocking hell were you thinking man?’ he asked, sweeping the fallen books onto the floor, ‘Have you got cotton wool for brains between your bloody ears?’

  ‘I deeded to dalk do you,’ Doris muttered behind the towel. ‘I dink I bite be in big dwubble.’ Charles frowned and looked over towards Hugo who was still sitting nursing his head. ‘Och, ye numpty, ah pure wallaped ma heid aff that bloody shelf,’ was his only response, the trauma obviously bringing out the Scottish in him.

  ‘What sort of trouble?’ Charles turned back to Doris who still had his head buried in the towel. Frowning, he sighed unsympathetically. ‘Here you donkey, let me have a look.’ Yanking the cloth away, he non too gently felt around Doris’ nose, ignoring the subsequent squeak of pain, and pronounced, ‘Not broken, just bruised.’ Then he thrust a cluster of tissues at Doris before continuing, ‘Shove some of this up your hooter then tell us what this is all about so we can all get some bloody shut eye.’

  There was a short silence punctuated by Hugo moaning about possible concussion while Doris wadded as much tissue as possible up each nostril. By the time he finally looked up, both officers were much more alert, seated on the edge of their respective bunks, waiting impatiently for him to elaborate.

  Doris swallowed nervously as he wiped his bloody hands on the rest of the tissue, stalling for time. ‘They stole my wallet,’ he muttered sullenly eventually. ‘And you woke us up for that?’ is Charles’ unsympathetic response, ‘You’ve got as much chance of getting the bloody thing back as I have of becoming king of England.’

  Doris could see that irritation was fast overcoming any slight compassion the two officers might have had, so he took a deep breath, knowing he had to cut to the chase pretty sharpish. ‘I left my passport at that place,’ he rushed at length. Charles and Hugo stared at him silently, their identical disbelieving expressions speaking volumes. Without giving the officers time to give voice to their incredulity, which Doris had no doubt would be loud and even more painful, the young sub lieutenant stammered on, ‘I took it in case I got into trouble, sort of a failsafe if you know what I mean…’ He stumbled to a halt in the face of their continued stillness, then, taking a deep breath, he delivered the punch line. ‘The thing is, it’s got my real name on it.’

  Chapter Ten

  As I sit staring at the note, my mind is a complete blank. I have absolutely no idea what to do next. I know what I want to do, and that’s to crawl back into my bed with the curtains tightly closed and shut out the world. I look over at the TV screen, now busy showing “the rest of today’s news” and notice that along the bottom of the screen in a continuous loop are the words…

  Breaking News… Victory Shackleford, unlikely girlfriend of Hollywood heartthrob Noah Westbrook is today facing the possibility that her father Charles Shackleford will, in all likelihood, be charged with first degree murder. The shocking allegations could well see the end of her fairytale relationship with the actor, which developed while he was filming on location in her father’s house. Neither Mr. Westbrook nor Ms. Shackleford have so far been available to comment... Stay tuned for the full story…

  With a horrible sense of déjà vu, I climb wearily off the sofa and turn off the TV. ‘I’m going outside to see if Noah’s tried to call me, I won’t be long.’ As I pass, Mabel catches hold of my hand, holding me still briefly. ‘Your father didn’t do this horrible thing they’re accusing him of my dear, just remember that, and have faith.’ I smile tremulously down at her kind earnest face, wondering how I could ever have thought she wasn’t suitable step-mother material, then, I squeeze her hand in thanks and gently pull myself free. ‘Come on Dotspot, Pickles, let’s go for a walk.’

  Ten minutes later, I’m throwing stones for the two dogs while waiting for my phone to ring. Noah left an answer phone message in the early hours to let me know he’d be landing in Glasgow around twelve forty five pm. The time’s now twelve thirty and I still can’t decide what to say to him when he calls. Suggesting he comes here would be the easiest thing to do, although we won’t exactly be alone – but then maybe that’s a good thing. My mind keeps replaying everything over and over again in a continuous loop of thoughts much like the words along the bottom of the TV screen. When the phone finally rings, I’m no further forward, and answer the phone simply to hear his voice.

  ‘Where are you Tory?’ His voice is tender but brusque, giving me no time to back out of seeing him by wasting time in small talk. In the end, it’s easier to stop fighting and just give him the address and post code. ‘Why am I not surprised that your old man hightails it up to somewhere with a name like Bloodstone Tower,’ is his only dry response. I have no idea how he intends to get here, or how he’s going to find it – it’s not exactly on any tourist route.

  It’s enough that he’s coming.

  As I make my way back to the house, I hear raised voices coming from inside the Great Hall and my heart sinks. Jason Buchannan. I’d forgotten about our boorish host. Maybe if I hover out here for long enough, he’ll get over the fact that he’s harbouring the daughter of a potential fugitive and bugger off. Picking Dotty up, I peep around the half open door to see Kit, Freddy and Jason clustered around the dining table. Mabel is nowhere to be seen. Standing quietly with my ear to the small opening, I unashamedly eavesdrop on the conversation.

  ‘I don’t care if they’ve been friends since nappies, I don’t want my father mixed up in whatever bloody mischief Charles Shackleford has got himself involved in.’

  ‘Have you ever thought your father could be involved in all this so called bloody mischief too?’ Strangely it’s Freddy’s voice that answers, sounding tight lipped and angry. ‘There’s no way the Admiral would drag Tory all the way up here without good reason.’

  ‘Way to go Freddy, good point, well made.’ I nod my head sagely even though the only witness to it is Dotty (and ignoring the fact that my father is quite capable of dragging me half way around the world on nothing more than a slight whim). ‘Come on, answer that you toad,’ I mutter, waiting to see if Jason is able to shed any further light on the mystery. There’s a short silence, then Jason’s next words take the wind out of my sails completely. ‘You’re probably right,’ is all he says with a frustrated sigh. ‘The last time I was clearing out my father’s old mail, I came across a note referring to “The Hermes Incident”. It didn’t say much, but both the Admiral and my father were mentioned, and someone called Noon?’ I gasp as Jimmy’s name is mentioned – so he was involved - and decide it’s time to take part in the conversation. Putting Dotty down, I push open the door fully and allow the dogs to rush in as though I’ve just got back. ‘What’s that about the Hermes incident?’ I ask innocently, as I walk towards them. Jason looks over at me irritably. ‘How long have you been standing there?’ he responds rudely, causing me to wonder if his dislike is confined to anyone with the name of Shackleford. I shrug, determined not to give anything away, particularly about Jimmy, whilst at the same time pumping him for as much information as possible. I glance towards Kit w
ho gets it immediately and interrupts Freddy when it looks as though he’s going to connect the dots. ‘Well it looks like you know more than we do,’ she shrugs, ‘But at least your father is not actually being implicated in murder. For now,’ she adds darkly. Jason’s frown indicates that this possibility has actually occurred to him and I decide to turn the screw a little more. ‘I imagine they’re going to want to take your dad in for questioning at least, especially if he was around when whatever happened, happened.’ Jason opens his mouth, obviously intending to argue, then unexpectedly closes it again. Closing his eyes, he runs his hand through his hair angrily. ‘Dad hardly ever talks about his time in the Royal Navy. The only person he’s ever kept in touch with since my mum died is your father. But I’ve got to say they don’t appear to like each other very much.’

  ‘Like father, like son,’ I resist the urge to mutter, saying brusquely instead, ‘Well if it’s not undying friendship that keeps them in contact, it stands to reason it must be something else – and I get the feeling we’re going to be enlightened pretty soon as to exactly what.’

  Eventually Jason makes the decision to follow our two fathers down to London in case he’s needed. I want to ask what he thinks he might be needed for, and, if it’s another blistering lecture, whether that’s likely to add anything positive to their situation. In the end though, I decide that a meeting between Mr. Poker face and Noah is probably best avoided at this particular point in time, and while my father might not thank me for it, Jason Buchannan is best away from Bloodstone Tower during the brief time Noah is here. And I’m determined that it will be brief, however much I might want it to be otherwise.