Chasing Victory: A Romantic Comedy Read online

  It seems he’s been aware of his father’s deteriorating health for a couple of weeks, so apparently the stroke didn’t come as a complete surprise. Except to me.

  I wanted to ask him why he hadn’t shared his concerns with me, why after six months he didn’t feel he could unburden himself, reveal his worries. But the words stuck in my throat, and instead I responded to his impersonal tone in the same monosyllabic voice, not knowing how to comfort him, or what to say to make things better. In the end, when we finished the call, my first thought was that I’d lost him.

  He said he’d call me when he got to Glasgow. I glance at the clock. He won’t be there yet, even if he drives well over the speed limit. I think back over the last few weeks. How come I’m only now realizing that Jason has been uncharacteristically withdrawn? Have I been so wrapped up with my burgeoning business and Tory’s pregnancy that I haven’t noticed? What does that say about our relationship, and more importantly, what does it say about me?

  I spend the rest of the night tossing and turning, in between staring at the clock and checking my mobile phone. At five thirty, I give in and get up to make myself a cup of tea. Just as I take the first sip, my phone finally rings.

  ‘Hey babe, you okay? How’s your dad?’ My voice when I answer is breathless, matching the samba my heart is doing against my ribs. To my relief, his response is much more upbeat than our last conversation. ‘He’s doing okay. Luckily it was only a minor stroke – more of a warning really. When I left him he was sitting up in bed flirting with one of the nurses.’

  ‘Thank God,’ I answer with an enthusiasm I don’t have to force. Jason’s father Hugo is a sweet man and I’ve genuinely come to care for him.

  ‘He’ll be in hospital for a week or so while they run some tests,’ Jason continues, ‘Then he’ll need some kind of nursing care back at the Tower until he’s completely back on his feet. I’m just about to drive back to Dartmouth to attend the dinner tonight, then I’ll head back up here this weekend.’

  The dinner, the bloody bollocking dinner. I’d forgotten all about it. Shit, shit, shit…

  ‘You haven’t forgotten that we’re entertaining the new First Sea Lord this evening have you?’ His voice is now slightly exasperated. Maybe he knows me better than I think. ‘Of course not sweetheart, why would you think that?’

  ‘Why indeed?’ is his dry response. ‘Can you be up at the house for about eighteen thirty? We’ll be having pre-dinner drinks on the terrace at nineteen hundred.’

  I promise faithfully to be there, my mind already frantically converting the bloody military timing to the bog standard way the rest of us mortals refer to time, as well as cataloguing everything I have to do today: Two new prospective clients, the final preparations for a wedding on Saturday and a funeral on Monday. And I haven’t bought anything to wear yet. Bugger, I’d better get started…

  I’ve had the day from hell. This evening can only be an improvement. There’s been a mistake made in the order of service leaflets for Mr Alexander Smeelie’s funeral service - there’s a lovely picture of the gentleman in question on the front with the words Alexander Smellie.

  And the favours ordered for Saturday’s wedding are mini penises. I think they’ve got them confused with a hen party.

  By the time I dash into Dartmouth’s most up market boutique for a little black number that shouts sexy sophistication, it’s already four forty five. I frantically search through the dozen long black dresses (Jason was pretty specific over what I should wear – maybe he should have bloody well bought me one), and quickly decide on a jersey number that I think fits the bill. No time to try it on, but I’m a pretty standard size ten, so I hand over my credit card with a prayer that there’s still enough left on it.

  After laying my appallingly expensive purchase on the bed, I grab a quick shower and put on my makeup. Luckily my hair is still doing the short pixie thing so needs very little attention. I glance at my watch – five forty five, just enough time for a fortifying glass of wine before I need to get dressed.

  With a sigh of relief, I take a large sip of my Pinot Blush and sit down on my bed, stroking the fabric of my new dress with my free hand. It really was horrendously expensive - I hope Jason bloody well appreciates it. Then I stifle a giggle. As my beloved is sending a car down for me, I can go ahead and wear my killer black heels. And I know for a fact that he appreciates those…

  All of a sudden I’m looking forward to the evening. Jason wants me there as his partner and I’m determined to make him proud of me. Swallowing back the rest of the wine, I put the glass on the side and pick up the silky length of material. Trying to figure out the best way to put it on, I finally allow it to pool on the floor and step into the hole. The fabric is smooth and clingy. There’s no way I’ll be able to wear any underwear. I’m actually getting a little turned on by the thought that Jason will know I’m wearing nothing underneath. Now if that’s not sexy sophistication, I don’t know what is.

  I pull the sleeves over each arm and frown slightly. The dress obviously dips at the back. But that’s okay, this is one of those times where having small pert boobs actually works in my favour. The front neckline has a slight cowl in it, so I turn towards the full length mirror on the closet to make sure it’s sitting correctly. The dress fits me like a glove, the length perfect.

  As I stare in delight, congratulating myself on my superior dress sense, I hear a car horn beep outside the flat window, signalling my lift is here. Grabbing my purse and wrap, I hurry down the steep stairs to the street.

  Five minutes later we’re in the College grounds, winding our way up the hill to Jason’s house. The Naval College is a magnificent red brick building constructed at the turn of the century, and as Captain of said College, Jason gets to live in the imposing mansion tagged on to the side of it. I always have to fight the urge to curtsy to him when I’m in there. Needless to say we haven’t done the deed on any of the drawing room sofas…

  After thanking the driver, I step out of the car, wincing a little at the draft on my back. Hurriedly I settle the wrap over my ensemble and head to the front door where Dave the butler (apparently he’s not a butler, he’s a steward, but he definitely looks like a butler to me) is waiting.

  ‘Hi Dave,’ I smile, handing him my wrap. ‘Is Captain Buchannan in the drawing room?’

  ‘Yes ma’am. He asks that you go right in.’ Looking forward to Jason’s gasp of admiration, I sweep towards the drawing room door, only faltering slightly as I hear Dave’s sudden indrawn breath behind me. Bless, it’s good to know that I can still affect members of the opposite sex, even if I’m no longer quite the nubile young thing I was in my twenties.

  Reaching the door, I pause for effect and as Jason turns towards me, I shiver at his intense silver gaze. His eyes travel the full length of my body and the heat in them shouts his approval. ‘Would you like a drink?’ he asks finally, his voice gratifyingly hoarse. I nod my head with a wide smile and sashay towards him, only stopping when there are inches between us and he can smell my perfume and feel the heat of my body. He bends his head to kiss my neck, and I lean my own head to one side to give him better access, holding my breath in anticipation.

  But instead of the anticipated feel of his lips, he stiffens and stops completely still. Then, before I can ask if something’s wrong, he grasps my shoulders and spins me round. ‘Hey,’ I squeal in surprise, ‘What…?’

  ‘…The hell are you wearing,’ he finishes, his voice low and furious. I frown in indignation at his tone, trying to turn back round. What the hell’s the matter with the bloody man? Surely he can’t object to a simple black dress.

  Before I get chance to speak however, he ignores my spluttering and marches me towards a long mirror on the other side of the room. Once in front of the glass, he brusquely turns me to the side, exposing my back. My naked back. My very, very naked back, all the way to my very, very naked bottom…

  My protests die as I stare at my reflection in horrified silence.
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br />   ‘What are you trying to do?’ he finally grinds out, ‘Help get me promoted the old fashioned way?’

  ‘I didn’t know,’ I protest faintly, ‘I…I didn’t have time to try the dress on. I had no idea it was… quite so revealing at the back.’

  ‘That’s putting it mildly,’ is his unrelenting response. Mortified, I glance up at his face, as he runs his hand distractedly through his hair, the gesture showing more than anything what an unforgivable gaff I’ve made. Stepping forward he propels me towards another door, like a child about to be scolded. Lost in misery, I allow him to pull me into the large old fashioned kitchen where several eyes swivel towards us – away from Dave who had obviously been regaling the entire kitchen staff about the inappropriateness of my attire.

  ‘Mrs. McCaffrey, do you have a sewing kit on hand?’

  The elderly cook proves to be a dab hand with a needle and thread and potential disaster is averted. I’m back in the drawing room only a few minutes after the First Sea Lord, aka Admiral Sir Philip James and his entourage arrive, and firmly putting aside the horrifying vision of what might have been, I set out to prove that I really do have the necessary grace and refinement to be a significant asset to Jason’s naval career, (and not in the old fashioned way…)

  Consequently dinner is a resounding success. Sir Philip is totally enamoured with my witty comebacks and sophisticated banter, and I can see Jason visibly relaxing at the other side of the table. I feel giddy with triumph. This is me at my sparkling, charming best. Who knew I had such hidden talents?

  As we finish dessert, Jason suggests that we take coffee and Port back in the drawing room and nodding gracefully, I slide back my chair with poise and confidence. That is until my hem gets caught up under the back leg, and as I try to free it, the neatly sewn back of my dress slowly unravels.

  Yanking viciously at the offending fabric, I straighten up quickly, glancing around to see if anyone has noticed, but fortunately my back is to the wall. For a split second I panic, what the hell am I going to do? If Sir Philip gets an eyeful of my bottom, every bit of effort I’ve put it to this evening will go down the Swannee. I might as well just ask if he’s brought any condoms. Gnawing on my bottom lip, I wonder if anyone would notice if I just stayed here.

  ‘Darling, could you come over and pour?’ Jason’s voice is light and relaxed. I feel sick.

  ‘Coming sweetheart,’ I respond after a few seconds, hoping my voice doesn’t sound too much like Alvin The Chipmunk. Carefully I walk over to the dining room door, pausing slightly, my eyes scanning the room and its occupants in a move that would have impressed Marta Hari. In a few short seconds I note that nearly everyone is sitting on the sofas and chairs grouped around the coffee table. That is everyone bar one. Captain Whatever his name is, is currently admiring the view from the French Windows.

  There’s only one route open to me to ensure that nobody cops an intimate view of my nether regions. Adopting a serene smile that would have given Mother Theresa a run for her money, I attempt a nonchalant sideways saunter, swaying slightly like I have an irresistible tune in my head. As I catch a glimpse of myself in the same mirror that revealed my original faux pas, I realize that to anyone catching a glimpse it looks as though I’m bloody line dancing. Luckily everyone is busy helping themselves to Port. I can feel the sweat begin to tickle my back as I weave my way around the room with one eye on the group around the coffee table and the other on Captain What’s his name, careful to keep my back hidden to both.

  It takes me two excruciating minutes to finally approach the only empty chair, the one with the coffee pot and several cups placed conveniently in front of it. However, the last few yards will leave my behind exposed to Captain What’s his face in a view that could well rival the one he’s currently admiring.

  Jason glances up at me with a smile. He’s about to speak, I know he is. The minute he opens his mouth, Captain Who Je Me flip is going to turn round.

  I panic. With a gay laugh which unfortunately comes out like a maniacal cackle, I launch myself at the chair as though I’m about to throw a rugby tackle. As I slide into it at top speed, I have to fight the urge to shout, ‘Geronimo.’ Everyone looks up in surprise. I bounce off the arm of the chair and land on the cushion with a resounding woomph and favour them all with a triumphant stare, just as the arm of my dress slides off one shoulder, completely exposing my right breast.

  Chapter Three

  ‘I’m so, so sorry Jason, I know you must be really angry, and of course you have every right, but… but, well I don’t know what else to say.’

  Our illustrious guests have gone, and Sir Philip, who is obviously staying the night, has retired to bed, leaving the two of us sitting alone in the drawing room with a night cap. Or in Jason’s case, night caps in the plural. I’m not sure whether he’s on his third or his fifth brandy. Good job I hate the stuff or I’d be matching him glass for glass.

  I genuinely don’t know what else to say. I just feel like crying. For the last five minutes, he’s said absolutely nothing, just stared broodingly into his glass, until I have the horrible, terrible feeling he’s about to break up with me. And I don’t blame him. I would break up with me if I were in Jason’s shoes. I couldn’t have embarrassed him more if I’d stood on the coffee table and launched into a rounding rendition of Hey Big Spender.

  I open my mouth to say sorry again, when he suddenly looks up. My heart thuds painfully at the seriousness of his gaze. ‘Here it comes,’ I think, mentally preparing myself for what he’s about to say.

  ‘I’m thinking of resigning my commission.’ His voice is low and even. It’s so not what I expected him to say and I look at him blankly until he sighs impatiently, and knocks back the rest of his brandy. ‘I’m leaving the Navy,’ he repeats in ordinary mortal speak.

  ‘But, I thought you loved your job,’ I whisper finally. ‘Is this because of what happened tonight? I promise it won’t happen again, I’ll make sure that anything I wear is completely appropriate; I swear the next dress I wear will be a polo neck. You don’t ha…’

  Jason puts his finger gently over my lips, effectively silencing my rambling. His faint smile takes the sting out of his action, and when I stumble to a halt, he takes his hand away from my mouth and curls it into my neck. ‘This isn’t about tonight Kit. It’s something I’ve been thinking about more and more often of late. My father isn’t getting any younger and he’s struggling to cope with Bloodstone Tower on his own. His stroke has simply brought home the fact that it’s up to me to take the burden away from him.’

  ‘But that will mean you leaving Dartmouth,’ I protest, the knowledge landing like a blow in my chest.

  ‘It won’t be for another twelve months,’ he responds calmly, ‘And I was always going to leave Dartmouth anyway, you know that Kit. My draft here is only for two years, then I could well be given command of a ship.’ I simply stare at him, wide eyed. ‘I thought you knew that,’ he continues quietly when I don’t respond.

  ‘I did… I do,’ I stutter eventually, ‘But I..I…thought…’ I sputter to a halt, not knowing what the hell I thought. ‘It’s just that Scotland is such a long way away,’ I finish eventually, lamely.

  ‘Not as far as The Gulf,’ is his dry response.

  I don’t answer, my stomach is churning. I hate change, I always have. Why deal with today what you can put off until tomorrow?

  I take a large stinging gulp of my brandy, feeling the contents burn their way down, causing my throat to spasm violently. ‘I’ve had a long distance relationship,’ I whisper hoarsely after my coughing finally subsides, ‘And in my experience it doesn’t work.’

  ‘I don’t want a long distance relationship,’ he answers, looking at me steadily, ‘I want you to come up to Scotland with me.’

  ~*~

  ‘What did you say to him?’ Tory’s voice is light but I can hear her underlying concern.

  We’re sitting in my flat each nursing a glass of wine. The early evening sun is streaming th
rough the balcony windows, giving a warm glow to the room. Baby Isaac is snoring gently in his carrycot and Dotty is snoozing on her lap. Everything is peaceful.

  This is Tory’s first glass of wine since becoming a new mother, and as it’s the only one she’s allowed while breast feeding, she’s taking tiny minute sips. It will probably last for another three hours at this rate. Not like me unfortunately. I’m well into my second glass, still brooding after last night’s little tête-à-tête.

  ‘I didn’t know what to say,’ I respond glumly. ‘I had no idea he was even thinking of coming out of the RN.’

  ‘But surely you knew he wouldn’t be at Dartmouth forever?’ Tory’s question echoes Jason’s earlier comment and I realize just how naïve (could be translated as stupid) I’ve been.

  ‘I never gave it any thought,’ I mutter eventually as my best friend shakes her head in exasperation.

  ‘To be fair, I’ve been focusing on my new event management business,’ I continue pompously, indignation finally replacing the earlier self pity.

  Taking another tiny sip of her wine, Tory closes her eyes in brief bliss before nodding her head a little more sympathetically. ‘I know Kitty Kat, but you must admit you’re even worse than me when it comes to burying your head in the sand.’ I open my mouth to protest then close it again with a sigh. ‘I know you’re right,’ I murmur resignedly, ‘I just thought it would all work out somehow.’

  ‘Well it has,’ is Tory’s matter of fact response, ‘Just not in the way you might have wanted.’ I give another sigh and reach for the bottle.

  ‘Do you love Jason?’ Tory’s question is blunt, her tone almost aggressive, and I look up from the bottom of my glass in surprise. I open my mouth to say, ‘Of course,’ when the look in her eyes makes me pause. I realize she’s not just asking an idle question. She really does want to know the answer, and her gaze is challenging me to think twice before I come out with anything flippant.