Unfortunately there’s no one in the picturesque yachting town of Dartmouth that Tory is remotely interested in, despite her father’s best efforts.
But all that is about to change when she discovers that her madcap father has rented out their house as a location shoot for the biggest blockbuster of the year. As cast and crew descend, Tory’s humdrum orderly existence is turned completely upside down, especially as the lead actor has just been voted the sexiest man on the planet…’
Chapter One
RetiredAdmiral, Charles Shackleford, entered the dimly lit interior of his favourite watering hole. Once inside, he waited a second for his eyes to adjust, and glanced around to check that his ageing Springer spaniel was already seated beside his stool at the bar. Pickles had disappeared into the undergrowth half a mile back, as they walkedalong the wooded trail high above the picturesque River Dart. The scent of some poor unfortunate rabbit had caught his still youthful nose. The Admiral was not unduly worried; this was a regular occurrence, and Pickles knew his way to the Ship Inn better than his master.
Satisfied that all was as it should be for a Friday lunchtime, Admiral Shackleford waved to the other regulars, and made his way to his customary seat at the bar where his long standing, and long suffering friend, Jimmy Noon, was already halfway down his first pint.
‘You’re a bit late today Sir,’ observed Jimmy, after saluting his former commanding officer smartly.
Charles Shackleford grunted as he heaved his ample bottom onto the bar stool. ‘Got bloody waylaid by that bossy daughter of mine.’ He sighed dramatically before taking a long draft of his pint of real ale, which was ready and waiting for him. ‘Damn bee in her bonnet since she found out about my relationship with Mabel Pomfrey. Of course, I told her to mind her own bloody business, but it has to be said that the cat’s out of the bag, and no mistake.’
He stared gloomily down into his pint. ‘She said it cast aspersions on her poor mother’s memory. But what she doesn’t understand Jimmy, is that I’m still a man in my prime. I’ve got needs. I mean look at me – why can’t she see that I’m still a fine figure of a man, and any woman would be more than happy to shack up with me.’
Abruptly, the Admiral turned towards his friend so the light shone directly onto his face and leaned forward. ‘Come on then man, tell me you agree.’
Jimmy took a deep breath as he dubiously regarded the watery eyes, thread veined cheeks, and larger than average nose no more than six inches in front of him
However, before he could come up with a suitably acceptable reply that wouldn’t result in him standing to attention for the next four hours in front of the Admiral’s dishwasher, the Admiral turned away, either indicating it was purely a rhetorical question, or he genuinely couldn’t comprehend that anyone could possibly regard him as less than a prime catch.
Jimmy sighed with relief. He really hadn’t got time this afternoon to do dishwasher duty as he’d agreed to take his wife shopping. Although to be fair, a four hour stint in front of an electrical appliance at the Admiral’s house, with Tory sneaking him tea and biscuits, was actually preferable to four hours trailing after his wife in Marks and Spencer’s. He didn’t think his wife would see it that way though. Emily Noon had enough trouble understanding her husband’s tolerance towards ‘that dinosaur’s’ eccentricities as it was.
Of course, Emily wasn’t aware that only the quick thinking of the dinosaur in question had, early on in their naval career, saved her husband from a potentially horrible fate involving a Thai prostitute who’d actually turned out to be a man…
As far as Jimmy was concerned, Admiral Shackleford was his Commanding Officer, and always would be, and if that involved such idiosyncrasies as presenting himself in front of a dishwasher with headphones on, saluting and saying, ‘Dishwasher manned and ready sir.’ Then four hours later, saluting again while saying, ‘Dishwasher secured,’ so be it.
It was a small price to pay…
He leaned towards his morose friend and patted him on the back, showing a little manly support (acceptable, even from subordinates), while murmuring, ‘Don’t worry about it too much Sir. Tory’s a sensible girl. She’ll come round eventually – you know she wants you to be happy.’ The Admiral’s only response was an inelegant snort, so Jimmy ceased his patting, and went back to his pint.
Both men gazed into their drinks for a few minutes, as if all the answers would be found in the amber depths.
‘What she needs is a man.’ Jimmy’s abrupt observation drew another rude snort, this one even louder.
‘Who do you suggest? She’s not interested in anyone. Says there’s no one in Dartmouth she’d give house room to, and believe me I’ve tried. When she’s not giving me grief, she spends all her time in that bloody gallery with all those airy fairy types. Can’t imagine any one of them climbing her rigging. Not one set of balls between ‘em.’ Jimmy chuckled at the Admiral’s description of Tory’s testosterone challenged male friends.
‘She’s not ugly though,’ Charles Shackleford mused, still staring into his drink. ‘She might have an arse the size of an aircraft carrier, but she’s got her mother’s top half which balances it out nicely.’
‘Aye, she’s built a bit broad across the beam,’ Jimmy agreed nodding his head.
‘And then there’s this bloody film crew. I haven’t told her yet.’ Jimmy frowned at the abrupt change of subject and shota puzzled glance over to the Admiral.
‘Film crew? What film crew?’
Charles Shackleford looked back irritably. ‘Come on Jimmy, get a grip. I’m talking about that group of nancies coming to film at the house next
