[This episode takes place the day after the events of
Part 7, which got bogged down in
Dawson's Creek levels of relationship issues. Can the pirates write their way out of this awkward narrative corner? Only one way to find out...]
Nigella trembles slightly in the coastal breeze as Julian emerges from the swell of the surf, sea water cascading down every inch of his body. Sunlight glints off the individual beads of moisture that form on his sinewy forearms as he strides confidently up the beach towards her. Nigella feels a current of electrical excitement course through her skin as he advances, his vest clinging moistly to his perfectly sculpted pectoral and abdominal muscles. Before she has a chance to take a breath, he is upon her, sweeping her up in his powerful arms and pressing her mouth to his in a salty, intoxicating kiss.
"Oh, Julian," she swoons, "I've waited years for this moment. How I've longed to be the submissive blank canvas on to which you can project your macho, authoritative fantasies."
Julian's eyes narrow with diabolical intent. "You're mine now, Nigella darling," he coos: "forever and ever and ever."
Nigella wakes abruptly from her dream, gasping for breath. She gets up briskly, plucks a paperback book from her bedside table, and hurls it purposefully out of the window into the sea.
"That's the last time I read Jackie Collins before bedtime," she mutters.
Nigella dresses and descends the steps to find Cap'n Smythe in a state of agitation. He hands her a note in Rupert's handwriting.
Dear Cap'n Smythe, she reads,
Nigella has betrayed me. In my grief, I have fled this sordid island of perfidy, perhaps never to return.
Lots of love, Rupert x
P.S. Please tape Lost for me while I'm away.
P.P.S. I have taken Geoffrey with me. He, at least, is loyal, and knows how to make those salmon canapés I like.
"Oh, this is terrible!" wails Nigella, after reading the message. "Rupert promised we were going to Ikea today."
"Gosh, so he did," agrees Smythe; "it's the last day of the sale, too."
Nigella looks inconsolable. "This is all your fault, Julian; if it weren't for you and your roving tongue, I'd be browsing the bathroom accessories aisle by now."
Unperturbed, Julian yawns and stretches. Nigella makes a point of not noticing his well-developed triceps.
In fact, Rupert and Geoffrey have only escaped as far as their tiny hideaway Pirate Isle.
"How could she do it to me, old chap?" wails Rupert: 'she' being Nigella, 'it' being the kiss she shared with Julian.
It's the fourteenth time he's asked that question this morning, and Geoffrey is no closer to being able to provide a satisfactory answer. Frankly, he's preoccupied with daydreaming about Maria, the Governor's lovely niece. Last night he rowed all the way out to the Governor's fort to deliver some flowers to her, only to be informed by Rupert on his return that they were running away from home. He dozes lightly in the warmth of the morning sun.
He's woken abruptly by a loud bang from Rupert's pistol. A stricken parrot tumbles to the earth.
"Not a bad shot, eh, Geoffrey? I used to be quite a crackshot on Pater's pheasant hunts," says Rupert. "Killing seems to be my only comfort in times of emotional turmoil."
Geoffrey edges discreetly away from his companion.
Meanwhile, at his fort, the Governor flings open the doors to find a bunch of roses adorning the driveway. Lance Corporal Davies picks them up and examines the attached card.
"It looks as if your niece has a secret admirer," he deduces.
"Well, I can assure you that it isn't me, Davies; that girl's been nothing but trouble ever since she arrived. First there was that business with letting those pirates out of jail. Then, while I was trying to work, she was lecturing me non-stop about the ethical ramifications of whaling. It put me right off my aim."
"A waste of good harpoons, Arthur."
"Please don't call me Arthur, Davies."
"Sorry, sir. Maria said-"
"Never mind what Maria said. Give the wretched woman her flowers, and then keep her out of my hair, for goodness' sake."
The Governor sighs as Davies departs to do his duty. Women make life so much more complicated.
Davies finds Maria practising her yoga on one of the fort's turrets. He presents the roses to her.
"We found these on the doorstep this morning," he explains.
"Oh, they're beautiful," she says, inhaling their scent deeply. "I'll bet they're from one of those lovely stubbly boys that Uncle Arthur tried to put in prison yesterday."
"Rupert and Geoffrey?"
"Yes, that's them." She's privately hoping that Geoffrey was the sender; she took rather a shine to his unassuming nature. "I must thank them somehow."
Davies remembers the Governor's instruction to keep Maria out of his way. "I could take you to visit them if you like, Miss."
"Thank you Davies, that would be super."
And so the pair stroll off to find a rowing boat. "I do hope these roses were grown locally," says Maria, by way of conversation; "the amount of carbon dioxide emitted during transportation is phenomenal. Oh, it's so difficult to be a romantic
and an environmentalist."
Back on Skull Island, Nigella continues to exchange recriminations with Julian.
"I do hate to think of Rupert being all alone when he could be with me, paying for my shopping," laments Nigella. "He's very sensitive, you know."
"Nonsense," Julian counters. "I'll wager he's fallen straight into the arms of that Maria woman he met up with behind your back."
"Piffle. My Rupe has always been faithful to me. You simply upset his delicate emotional equilibrium by kissing me, you brute."
"That kiss was purely ironic," he bluffs. "Anyway, you kissed me back; Rupert's in a flap because he can see that you lust after me. I expect you dreamt about me last night."
Nigella flushes deep red. "I've never known such an ego!" she declares, and strides away indignantly.
She finds Cap'n Smythe upstairs. "This is all very testing, Cap'n," she says.
"What is, old girl?"
"Julian is nothing but an ape, but he's so rugged and muscular that I can't help being physically attracted to him."
Smythe is sympathetic. "Oh, yes; he's certainly very rugged."
"Rupert is a sweetheart, but he's such a fop sometimes, gadding about in his waistcoat and tricorn."
"He's quite the dedicated follower of fashion," agrees Smythe.
"If only he could be a bit more
manly sometimes," she sighs. "He's always so prim and chivalrous."
On Pirate Isle, Rupert sits surrounded by the carcasses of two parrots, three monkeys and a shark. He admires his handiwork.
"I think I've accounted for all the available wildlife, Geoffers," he announces. "I feel much better now, I must say."
Geoffrey surveys the scene with distaste.
"I've decided to forgive Nigella for her little indiscretion, so we might as well head back home, what?" Rupert continues. "Put this lot into a sack, will you, and we'll get going."
Rupert reclines against a post, satisfied. Geoffrey dons his rubber gloves resignedly and sets to work.
Meanwhile, Lance Corporal Davies and Maria are en route to Skull Island. Maria is engaging her travelling companion in a conversation about global injustice.
"So you see," she concludes, "the Fairtrade label is really only a salve to the guilt-ridden conscience of the middle class. Until farming subsidies are banned in the developed world, we'll never be able to trade on equal terms with our economically disadvantaged neighbours. Isn't it awful?"
"Shocking," agrees Barnes, through a mouthful of confectionery. "Do you fancy a bit of my Dairy Milk?"
"Ooh, go on then," says Maria. "Let me just check that there are no beef by-products in it. I can't abide unnecessary animal suffering."
Satisfied with the chocolate's contents, she breaks off a few squares and savours them at length. Davies rows on.
After a time, they arrive at their destination. Maria climbs out of the boat to be greeted by Bos'n Julian.
"Hello there," she says. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if Rupert and Geoffrey were around. One of them sent me some lovely flowers, and I wanted to thank them in person."
"Flowers?" echoes Julian. "That must have been Rupert. Geoffrey can barely muster the energy to send the mustard to the other end of the dinner table."
Maria tries to conceal her disappointment. By this time, Nigella has arrived to investigate the new arrival.
"What-ho, Nigella," smirks Julian; "this is Maria. Rupert's been sending her flowers, apparently."
"What?" shrieks Nigella.
"Yes, I think so," confirms Maria. "A beautiful bouquet of roses. I came to say thank you."
Nigella is seething. "Rupert is spoken for," she hisses.
Julian rubs his hands with glee. He was right about Rupert, and - more importantly - he's about to witness a lady-fight.
With characteristically fortuitous timing, however, Rupert and Geoffrey's raft drifts ashore at this critical moment.
"Gosh, hello again, Maria," Rupert calls. "Didn't expect to see you again so soon, I must say."
Nigella interjects. "Apparently, you two-faced philanderer, she's come all this way to express her gratitude for the roses that you thoughtfully sent her."
"I sent her nothing of the sort," protests Rupert. "I've been far too mired in my own abject misery to think of anybody else."
Nigella has to admit that his alibi is plausible.
Maria is delighted. "Then they must have been from Geoffrey after all," she reasons. She jogs over to the shore, where he is hauling the heavy sack on to the beach, and kisses him lightly on the cheek. "Thanks for the flowers," she smiles.
Geoffrey is utterly stunned. In his surprise, he drops the bag, spilling its lifeless contents across the sand.
Maria screams as the limp tail of the shark slaps against her thigh. "Oh, God! What have you done?" she gasps.
Before he can draw breath to explain, Maria has turned and leapt back into the boat with Davies. "Get me away from here!" she instructs him. Davies, who had been hoping for a slightly longer rest, grudgingly complies.
"That was a flying visit, eh, Geoffrey?" says Rupert, as the boat departs.
Geoffrey inhales to deliver a vituperative response, but his energy fails him. What's the use?
Nigella, on the other hand, is thrilled with Rupert's haul. "Look at you, my little blood-stained hunter-gatherer! You're just like a caveman; a very manly caveman, at that. I knew you'd never betray me for another woman, especially not a weedy little vegetarian like that."
"Of course not, dearest," Rupert assures her. "Now, be a good girl and fire up the barbecue, will you?"
Maria arrives back at the fort to find her uncle in a relaxed state.
"Ah, Maria," he says, cordially. "How was your day?"
"Well, I went out with Davies to discover who had sent me those flowers."
"And?"
"At first, I thought he was a sweet, quiet type. It turns out he's actually more of the reclusive-serial-killer, don't-make-eye-contact-under-any-circumstances quiet type."
"Oh, dear. Never mind, eh? How about some cocoa?"
"That would be nice, uncle, as long as there aren't any animal extracts in it."
The Governor ponders over how to make cocoa without milk. Women certainly do make life complicated.
Later, the barbecue on Skull Island is in full flow.
"Hurrah!" cheers Nigella, waving a cutlass-skewer laden with exotic grilled meat. "This is all jolly splendid."
"Put a sock in it, you shameless hussy," requests Julian, bitterly.
Rupert chuckles. "Good old Jules," he says.
"Yes," agrees Nigella; "everything's back to normal. Perhaps we can go back to having shorter, less emotionally-convoluted adventures again now."
"I'll drink to that!" cries Smythe. "Chin chin!"
The pirates raise their glasses happily. In the corner, Geoffrey bursts into tears.
Everything really is back to normal.
Happy New Year, everybody.
