EITC & ROYAL NAVY COZY ALREADY?
Less than 24 hrs after arriving in Port Royal, EITC Director for West Africa Cutlena Beckett was spotted sharing a cozy drink with Royal Navy Lieutenant Theodore Groves. The couple arrived together and shared open-air cocktails over warm gazes and fond smiles. Groves looked relaxed in his uniform shirtsleeves, and Beckett looked fetching in a green pencil dress. The couple left together and Groves was seen shortly thereafter returning Beckett to her hotel. The couple parted with a quick exchange of cheek kisses under the front entrance awning. Sources confirm that the Groves family are longtime friends of the Beckett family. Perhaps this was just a reunion of old friends, but perhaps this is the start of something more intimate.
Beckett has arrived in Port Royal to work with the Royal Navy regarding the piracy threat that escalated and recently culminated in the sinking of the Persephone . It is widely believed that she will liaise in a official capacity with Commodore James Norrington, Groves' commanding officer.
This is a developing story.
She hated that she was right.
The photographer's boss had probably shit himself when this gem of a photo crossed his desk. She and Theodore were both leaned over the small table, revealing everything inviting in their body language. Their glasses were poised on the brink of their cheers, and the shared smiles and eye-contact broadcasted the lingering attraction. It was everything one could want for a plausible romantic scandal that could comprise her objectivity and authority.
All the more reason that they'd just said goodnight under the awning. If he had followed her inside – even if he'd never left the lobby - that photo alone would have generated ten times the shitstorm.
She glanced at her watch, doing the quick math back to London time. Honestly, it was amazing that she hadn't heard from her father about it yet. He must be in session and unavailable to his office. Never the matter. Whenever he did find out, it was bound to be a tense conversation.
Good thing she'd taken her time in the shower this morning and had one outlet for stress relief. After last night, it had been all too easy and delicious to picture Theodore on his back as she rode astride him. Her fingers had slipped easily against her wet skin as she gasped out, imaging that it was his hand, his mouth on her. But then the image morphed - and it was the staunch commodore on his knees, his bright green eyes boring into hers as his tongue worked her. Release burst behind her closed eyes, punching a strangled groan from her throat.
The rapid rush of her orgasm on such an unbidden thought surprised her. She'd spent the rest of the shower trying to work out any lingering complications, but ultimately chalked it up to the heat of the moment. The sweet relief brought on by the physical reaction was well worth whatever it took to get her there. Sure, it wasn't as satisfying by herself, but it was better than nothing.
Or risking the onset of journalistic vultures looking for a juicy sex scandal to undermine her purpose.
And seven hours into her day, pouring over maps and reports, she was glad to have had the morning's release.
She did her best to suppress a yawn, but the afternoon tea hadn't kicked in yet. The commodore, for his part, looked just as unruffled and cool as he had at 0800 when their meeting began. His tie still sat pristinely knotted, his uniform unwrinkled, and his mask of professional detachment hadn't slipped once. She'd almost go so far as to say that he didn't have a hair out of place, but there was one little rebellious lock that he kept subtly smoothing back into place as the day progressed.
Taking a sip of tea, she glanced up at the man as he studied the large map on the table. He marked a set of coordinates as his other hand rose, brushing the loose hair back into place. It brought a small smirk to her lips. Was it a nervous tic or was he just that self-conscious?
She shook off her smirk as she set her tea back to the tabletop, reaching for the printout list of all the wanted pirates still loose on the high seas. The names were just as familiar now as they were this morning. Jones. Togg. Sparrow. Vane. Blythe. "And we have no acquaintances of these pirates in your holding cells currently."
He looked up from the map, a hand still poised in his charting. "No, ma'am. We used every means at our disposal to ascertain who might have been lying."
"Within the law, of course."
"At our disposal, yes." His tone left no room for doubt.
She sighed, flipping the cover back on the list and reaching for the Persephone 's manifest. "And what of the black market? Do any of those criminals have any knowledge on that? I'd even settle for rumors at this point."
He nodded sharply. "We pursued that line of questioning, as well. Results were largely indeterminate, but what few nuggets were disclosed, we sought to the end of the line. There is nothing more in addition to the report amendments made by the MI5 investigators."
Sadly, she knew that he was telling the truth. His agents working in tandem with MI5 had done a remarkably thorough job in questioning the current inventory of prisoners. Having spent the day pouring over all the reports and files out of the commodore's office, even she was having a hard time turning over a stone that he hadn't already.
And most telling of all – he hadn't bothered to deny the black market existed. There were CEOs who still refused to acknowledge its existence, but after seven years in Africa, she knew well of its prosperity.
No, he had clearly shown that he wasn't stupid, and contrary to the Admiralty's working theories, his sharp cleverness was prevalent in the details. There were no obvious, official flaws – and that just made it all the more harder and fascinating.
Yes, Commodore Norrington was clever, but apparently the pirate was just that much cleverer. She only had to read the report detailing the commandeering of the Interceptor to know that. The commodore had done everything by the book as his duty dictated, but the pirate had been just one step ahead the whole time. It made her wonder if the pirate might even be former Royal Navy to have executed that plan so flawlessly.
Her brow furrowed. Had she asked that question? She thumbed through the stack of incident reports, finding the one in question as she started to re-read the details and the known information on the perpetrator, Jack Sparrow. Originally from unknown. Credited with sacking Nassau Port without firing a shot. Impersonated a Church of England cleric.
A knock on the door jarred her attention, breaking from the report look over.
The door opened, Groves' trim form stepping swiftly inside. "Please excuse the interruption, sir, ma'am – but there's an urgent matter for you, sir." He stepped around the table, handing a slip of paper over to the commodore.
Norrington read over it, his expression carefully schooled. "Yes, thank you, Groves. If you'll both excuse me, please. This shouldn't take long." He started to move for the door, paying no mind to the questioning look on her face.
"This urgent matter wouldn't happen to pertain to a ship under a pirate attack, would it?" Her gaze hardened when he met it. "I would hate to think that you were deliberately withholding information."
"No ma'am." His sharp tone met her in response. "This is an internal, personnel matter. Now, if you'll excuse me." He continued around the table, reaching for the door without waiting for her response.
"That must be some personnel matter." She looked up to Groves.
"Yes, ma'am." He simply said, offering a polite nod. "I'm aware of his orders not to be disturbed unless absolutely necessary."
"We weren't right in the middle of anything pressing." She flipped the cover back on the incident report, tossing it idly back onto the stack.
"How is the meeting progressing, if you're allowed to say?"
She nodded slowly, considering her words. "Going slowly. There's…there's a lot of intricacy here that the summarized reports in London don't convey. He's clever – this pirate of yours."
He nodded to the stack of reports on the table with a quirked brow. "You assume there's only one?"
"No, but it's what your commodore believes." She tapped the Interceptor report with the end of a pen. "Cut off the head, and the rest will die."
"If you had seen it that day, you might just find yourself equally impressed."
Her brow furrowed. "You were there when the Interceptor was taken out from under his nose?"
"Yes ma'am." He smiled, almost fondly. "I gave the commodore's order to fire on our own ship until we discovered the disabled helm."
She pursed her lips, surprised at Theodore's almost respectful tone. "I'm not sure I'd be so proud of that."
Groves shrugged, unconcerned. "The pirate did everything right – played us perfectly. Honestly, it was inspiring to watch. Almost made me want to turn pirate myself."
"Theodore Groves," she scolded, not quite able to keep the amused smirk from her face. "I've known that you were somewhat of a rascal. But who knew it was a buccaneering rascal that lurked under the polished officer."
He chuckled, a warm sound as his eyes crinkled with mischief. "Arrgh indeed, matey."
She didn't quite cut off her soft laugh when the door opened, admitting the commodore, looking as unflappable as ever. "Thank you, Groves. You may return to your duties."
"Thank you, sir." He looked to Cutlena with a flash of a fond smile. "Ma'am."
The door closed softly in his wake as Norrington resumed his position back at the map.
She studied him, trying to get a read if anything had changed since stepping out. But, unsurprisingly enough, he was too good at schooling a distant, professional expression. Did he even relax in the space of his own home? "I trust everything with your presonnel matter resolved satisfactorily."
"It did. Thank you." The words were stilted, carefully measured.
She recognized his crafted response to answer without answering. Perhaps it was time to take some pity on the man and not press this one issue. They had enough to contend with already. She stood up, leaning over the map to point with the pen towards his most recent coordinates. "We'll start with redirecting a few shipping lanes, cluster the opportunities for attacks and better naval coverage. That proved successful off the Guinea coast." She met him with a prim smile. "You'll see the bill for extra fuel costs next month."
Meetings. Emails and more emails. Daily briefings. It was all very much business as usual around Fort Charles.
And that was to say nothing of the continuing business in West Africa. That work certainly didn't stop just because she was in the Caribbean.
Over two weeks now she'd been plugged into the situation, overseeing the diverted shipping lanes, and two weeks of radio silence. No attacks, no credible sightings. The garrison on Turks & Caicos had reported a suspected ship in harbor, but inspection had yielded nothing more than large quantities of gulf shrimp.
It certainly wasn't the start that she expected.
And tonight brought something even more unexpected. Dinner out with the commodore. Off the fort and at his invitation.
But then again, she was a visiting dignitary. Dinner out was simply a required gesture of courtesy on his part. Hell, she should probably be insulted that he had waited so long. Groves, after all, hadn't even waited one day.
Either way, it would be a good chance to learn some more about the man. Professional to a fault, he dabbled in pleasantries as social norms dictated, but he largely kept to the business at hand. Whether it was for her benefit, or the man was always so personally distant, she couldn't say. She slung her bag over her shoulder, heading for the main lobby, exhaling softly.
She hadn't been able meet up with Theodore since that first night, but that hadn't stopped the gossip sites from running wild with continued speculation. Who knew what else the Commodore's second in command and the EITC Director for West Africa were up to out of public eye?!
The thought roiled her stomach. And, of course, dinner with James Norrington tonight was sure to set off a whole new wave of different speculations. She squared her shoulders, not even remotely inclined to back down. Let the press make of it what they will. She still had a job to do, and this was simply a business dinner.
She offered a polite smile in greeting when she met him in the lobby as previously arranged. She graciously accepted his offer to drive and allowed him to pull her chair out at the dinner table. She knew it wasn't a power move on his part - from all that she had seen, he rather inhabited old-world chivalry as a sign of respect. And his choice of restaurant - classy, refined and just off the water, filled with candlelight and low sounds of waves on the sand - fit everything about this gentleman's gesture.
She could freely admit it was attractive. Especially when coupled with his knowledge of seafood and wine, all wrapped in his dashing, neat appearance - it was distractingly attractive. Maybe he would prove himself worthy for her to act on it someday.
She smiled in thanks as the waiter filled her glass after taking their dinner orders, the low light catching in the dark red wine. He reached for his glass, swirling it to waft the aroma.
She lifted hers to do likewise, extending it towards him. No time to mince words. "A toast. To the Interceptor ."
His gaze hardened, but there was no denying the hint of remorse that darkened his green eyes. Slowly, he raised his glass to meet hers with a soft clink. "To the Interceptor ."
"She was your first true love, yes?"
"Direct hit." He pulled his glass back for a sip. "Right through the heart."
"You're the one who brought up the Persephone during introductions."
"That's different."
"Is it now? Please. Enlighten me."
He shook his head, as if trying to summon words for an impossible concept. "Well. It's like you said – she was my first true love. Each ship has their own personality. Their own quirks and attitudes, if you will. And I knew her well. Very well, in fact. That was…a personal loss for me, as well as professional. By contrast, I have to wonder if you ever even set foot on the Persephone ."
"Never once."
"Then you'll forgive me when I say that the two losses are not equal." He licked his lips, gaze dropping to the tabletop. "Watching her go down…when I…." Words failed him and for the briefest of moments, she saw him . Truly saw him. The young man beneath the rank – the man who was just as human as the next with insecurities, worries, and fears that his post demanded he conceal. She didn't think it was possible.
God, she hadn't intended the toast to strike such a chord. Defensiveness, yes. Anger, sure. But this? This was immensely more intriguing.
He coughed softly, tearing his gaze from the tabletop as his face resumed its mask of calm control. "Apologies." He spoke softly, reaching for his glass. "That's not an entirely appropriate line of conversation considering our working relationship."
"This is after-hours, off the record." She used the same words that she had used with Theodore, but Norrington's flash of vulnerability almost made her want it to be true. "You must have had your heartache – and doubts. Fears. You spent three years at her helm. Lost men." She didn't know what exactly ran through his head when his words faltered just then, but she hoped something might draw him back out.
He eyed her with a cautious hesitance. "Frankly, I don't trust you."
She bristled with a stab of hurt but tried not to let it show. It shouldn't bother her, but dammit, it did. "Fine." She reached for her own drink, taking a drink. "I just know it's lonely at the top. Hard to find a sympathetic ear who won't risk becoming a liability."
"I hardly think the woman sent to report on my fitness for command counts as a sympathetic ear."
"True, your every command decision is under intense scrutiny. But this is just dinner."
"This is not just dinner."
"Then, you didn't need to invite me out to insult me." She took another drink. "You could have done that back at the fort."
"Insulting you was not my intention. You broached that topic of conversation, and contrary to popular belief, I do have a life that extends outside the fort."
Her brows raised in surprise. "Is that some sly invitation back to your place after dinner?"
"Perish the thought." His face flashed with amusement. "That would without doubt ruin your objectivity in the investigation, as well as the press' 'developing story'."
The waiter interrupted with plates of food, shuffling dishes around the table. Her scallops smelled divine as she reached for her fork.
She looked down to her plate, spearing a bite. "Developing story, indeed. I wasn't aware you kept up with the gossip sites."
"I'm informed of all press that involves my name." He cut a neat bite. "Particularly when the future of my career is at stake."
"Then shouldn't you be encouraging my objectivity to fail?" She fixed him with a pointed gaze. "Is that the purpose of this dinner? Since you've already acknowledged that this isn't just dinner."
"It's about managing this 'developing story'."
Her eyes darted around – the dimly lit restaurant on the beach, the put together officer and the well-dressed business lady, wine and delicious seafood. She knew exactly what the press would make of this by morning, but that hadn't stopped her in the lobby. "Is that what we're doing? Liaising?"
He tipped his wine glass towards her. "Liaising."
In spite of herself, she moved her own glass to meet his again. He'd already proven himself clever, but his situational awareness was beyond compare. No wonder he commanded an entire fleet at such a tender age. God, the growing tug of attraction irked her. Why exactly had his fiancée jilted him?
She set her wine down, taking another bite. "I understand you had a fiancée until recently."
His eyes darted up from his plate, a sharp glint in the edges. "Do you ever spare a passing shot?"
She shrugged innocently. "You tell me that I'm untrustworthy, and I get defensive. And you know what they say about the best defense."
He swallowed a bite, setting his fork down. His face stiffened with impassive lines, the same lines she recognized from his press conference footage. "Yes. It's officially public domain to know that I was engaged, briefly, to the governor's daughter. It's also public domain that she broke off the engagement shortly after accepting."
"But you left out the best parts. Captured by pirates and rescued by her dashing, soon-to-be-fiancé. Then, mounted a rescue mission with now-fiancé for the man she ultimately ended up marrying."
"You're very well informed."
"There's a lot of talk that isn't in the official public domain."
"You should know better than to give credence to those gossip sites."
"There's always a little bit of truth buried in amongst the garbage."
He gave his head a short, indignant shake. "Publicly and privately, the happy couple have nothing but my best wishes, despite whatever you may read about the circumstances of the broken engagement." He licked his lips, staring up at her pointedly, eyes narrowing shrewdly. "If you're trying to determine if heartache or grief has played a role in recent events, I don't appreciate –."
"I know better than that." She cut him off swiftly, her sharp tone matching the look in his eyes. "You're far too professional to let your personal feelings get in the way of your duty. I didn't ask after your ex-fiancée to find an emotionally unhinged angle to explain your recent failures. That would be too easy and I enjoy a good challenge." She ran a fingertip around the rim of her wine glass. "I merely asked about your ex-fiancée for stimulating conversation."
"You don't merely do anything. In fact, I'd wager that you've never made an uncalculated move in your life."
"Well, with a name like Cutlena," she smirked mirthlessly, spearing another bite, "one must always stay ahead of those who seek to find flaws."
"Hm, and with your lineage, it's a wonder you're not angling for Prime Minister."
"Diplomacy was never a strong suit. I much prefer baseball bat negotiations to the dizzying waltz of words that politicians employ."
"Why limit yourself? With that attitude, you could make rear admiral in no time." The corner of his lips lifted in the barest hint of a smirk, his tone oddly warm, almost playful.
The cheeky nerve of the man. And such yet another completely unexpected revelation. What would she have to do to get to know this James Norrington better? Would it even be possible to both do her job and explore the man beneath the rank at the same time?
She raised her wine glass. "As advantageous as it is to plan ahead for one's career advancement, planning too far ahead can be just as detrimental as not planning at all. I'm here for now. That's what matters."
"Indeed." He polished off his last bite, reaching for a drink of wine. "And while your presence here is welcome, of course, one can hope that you are not with us for too long."
She laughed a harsh sound, taking her last bite. "That sounds like true, press conference bullshit."
"Take it as you will."
"Off the record, commodore. Remember?" Her gaze didn't falter from his as the waiter cleared their plates.
His eyes sparked with an intriguing challenge as he leaned over the cleared table, dropping his voice. "Not a chance in hell." He placed his napkin on the tabletop, tipping his head. "Please excuse me."
She nodded as he rose, watching him go and taking in the fine lines cut by his uniform. Why did he have to be such a complete package? It truly begged her earlier question – what could the fiancée's other lover possibly have offered her over the commodore?
She sighed, disgusted with herself as she drank the last of her wine. The objective part of her brain knew better than to dwell on such fancies, but that didn't mean it wasn't pleasurable. Same with indulging the occasional shower fantasy. Admittedly, it would be much harder now to keep those images away after tonight.
She caught his eye on approach back to the table, watching him drop to sit with a disinterested look.
He cocked an uncertain brow. "Did you stare after me the whole time I was gone?"
She huffed a derisive laugh. "No. I also drank my wine."
"Productive."
"Always." She turned from him, glancing around. "Now if only our waiter would be equally so productive and bring the check."
"I've already seen to that, in interest of not creating a scene."
She stared at him, taken aback. "Wait, you've already paid?"
"Of course. Dinner tonight was at my invitation, after all."
"Hm, and I suspect on the Crown, too."
"Liaising with the duly appointed Crown and company representative more than qualifies as a business expense."
"I'm sure that will please Governor Swann."
"It already has."
She shook her head, unable to completely banish her smirk. "Well, just you wait - someday, I'll get you back for this."
Another not-quite smirk lifted his lips but his eyes shone with the challenge. "I'll concede for you to do your worst. But be warned that I'm rather an old-fashioned sort."
An old-fashioned sort, indeed. That's probably why, as they left, she allowed him to open the car door for her and offer her a hand. It was equal parts flattering and eye-rolling. He really had no cause to impress her, yet his treatment of her never faltered.
A quiet, melodious chorus of strings sounded over his car radio as he drove.
Her lips quirked with amusement. "I'll have to agree to old-fashioned. I don't think I know anyone who listens to classical music."
The corner of his mouth tugged up on the tease. "You can speak against it all you like, but you'll be hard pressed to find another genre that offers up so many of the greatest composers of the human age, and pieces that can stir the human soul. Take this piece for instance." He adjusted the volume from steering wheel controls, and the peaceful, passionately building melody filled the car for a few measures. "Quite arguably the most beautiful piece ever written for a string orchestra."
"Well, with such a glowing recommendation, how can I pass that up? What's the name of it?" She could just make out the annoyed pinch of his brow in the passing street lights.
"'Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis'."
"I'll have to look it up."
"Even if you're just mocking, I would recommend that you do." He sent her a sideways look at a stoplight. "Though, don't mistake me completely - the Beatles and the Stones have their place, too."
The admission startled a laugh from her. "Now, that I'd love to see - the staunch commodore with the windows down, 'Satisfaction' blowing from the speakers."
"'Jumpin Jack Flash', actually."
"No," she shook her head, not missing his small smirk, "you're putting me on."
"Not at all." He pulled into her hotel parking lot, easing under the awning. "ACDC, too."
"'It's a Long Way to the Top'?"
"'Dirty Deeds."
"Well, next time then, commodore."
"Next time."
She couldn't suppress a smirk as he got out and came around, again opening her door. He certainly made for a good show. She took his hand as she stepped out.
"Suppose I should thank you for dinner, even though you didn't give me a fighting chance." She met his gaze with a small smile. "I enjoyed tonight."
A wry look of surprised amusement flashed across his face. "Oh really?"
"Sure. I know what you think of me, and I got my jabs in return. It's always good to know you stand with people."
He smiled. Actually smiled. Had she ever seen such a look on him before? It set off a warm flutter in her chest. Did he really have to be so handsome? "It has indeed been good." He ran his thumb over the back of her hand, reminding her that she hadn't dropped his hand. "I'll be sure to arrange pistols at dawn with Groves."
"Oh, I'd expect nothing less."
He looked down to her hand still in his, raising it and bussing his lips across her knuckles as his eyes returned to hers. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
He dropped her hand and stepped back around to his door, but not before casting a single wave in the direction of the parking lot across the street.
Of course, this wasn't his first media circus.
And as she lay in bed listening to the 'Fantasia' piece, she did have to agree with him. It was quite beautiful.