Fern Britton 3-Book Collection: The Holiday Home, A Seaside Affair, A Good Catch - Fern Britton

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      ‘Don’t creep up on me! How many times have I told you! You’ll give me a heart attack!’

      ‘OK. Chill, Dad. What’s making you so nervy today?’

      ‘Nervy?’ Francis snapped. ‘I am never nervy!’ He looked at the two pairs of sandy feet. ‘Get outside and clean those bloody feet. Both of you. This is my holiday, too, you know.’

      ‘Blimey, Dad, no need to shout.’

      ‘I am not shouting,’ shouted Francis.

      ‘Sorry, Uncle Francis. Come on, Jem.’ Abi steered her cousin outside and threw over her shoulder, ‘I’ll be back to help you lay the table in a minute, Uncle Francis.’

      Francis slowly resumed unpacking and storing the groceries, then made a start on washing the lettuce for his organic poached salmon salad. His thoughts were a mess. Should he tell Pru about Belinda? How would he introduce Belinda? How long was she planning to visit? Oh God, oh God.

      ‘Francis?’ Pru’s querulous voice made him jump yet again. He clutched his chest with a damp lettuce hand. He turned to face her. ‘Yes, darling?’

      She studied him intently, until he felt as if his mind was being read. Eventually she said, ‘Are you all right? You look very pink and glazed.’

      ‘I’m fine. Just, erm, thinking about some jobs I need to do.’

      ‘Oh, good. Would you put the dripping tap in our en-suite basin on the list? Get Greg to help. He does bugger-all when he’s here. When’s lunch?’

      ‘About ten minutes.’

      ‘Bring it up to me, would you? I’m expecting a conference call any minute.’

      ‘Yes, Pru.’ But she’d already left the room.

      Abi and Jem reappeared with clean feet and found Francis looking worse than ever.

      ‘Dad, you don’t look at all well. Sit down and I’ll make you a drink.’

      Francis did as he was told.

      Abi started to lay the table. ‘I’ll fix lunch, Uncle Francis, and Jem and I will wash up. You need a rest.’

       6

      Francis looked so poorly that even Pru noticed. Mildly concerned, she graciously vacated the big bedroom saying that she would take her conference call in the rumpus room, while Jeremy drew the curtains and settled his father down for a nap.

      ‘I’m absolutely fine, Jem.’

      ‘You’re not, Dad. You don’t look yourself. What time did you get up this morning?’

      ‘Not too early. Five-ish.’

      Jeremy raised his eyebrows as his father lay down on the bed. ‘Did you run?’

      ‘Only a little jog.’

      ‘Well, there you are. You’re just a bit knackered. Get some kip and we’ll see you later.’ Jeremy pulled a soft rug over his father’s legs and left him to it.

      Lying alone in the semi-darkness, Francis could hear the quiet roar of the ocean through an open window. His mind was in shreds. What should he do? Belinda was coming. Belinda was coming. Belinda was coming. Come on, man – pull yourself together – have a sleep and the answer will come to you. Belinda is coming, Belinda is coming. The rhythm of these words took him into a restless slumber.

      *

      Downstairs, the rest of the family sat down to the tasty salmon salad Francis had prepared. There was an odd silence as they ate, missing Francis’s attentions. Everyone finished quickly. Thanks to a bit of teamwork, they tidied up the kitchen in no time and cleared off to do their own thing.

      ‘Come along, Henry.’ Dorothy was standing impatiently by the back door. ‘It’s at least forty minutes to Lostwithiel.’

      ‘Lostwithiel? Why are you going there?’ asked Connie.

      ‘There are some staddle stones for sale. Supposed to have come from Daphne du Maurier’s house in Ready Money Cove. They’d look rather good on our drive.’

      ‘What are staddle stones, Granny?’ asked Abi.

      Henry answered, ‘Those stone mushroom things. I’m not prepared to pay over the odds for them, Dorothy.’

      Dorothy waved a hand airily. ‘Your Poppa has short arms and long pockets. Now come along, Henry.’

      Abi looked at Jem. ‘Fancy a bike ride?’

      ‘Sure,’ he said, draining his glass of squash.

      Abi dropped a kiss on her father’s head. ‘Bye, Dad. See you later.’

      Greg was desperate to find a quiet place where he could talk to Janie on his mobile. Connie and Pru were still in the house. He walked to the stairs and called up: ‘Connie? I’m going to the garage – fill up with fuel while I can. See you in a bit.’

      Connie appeared at the top of the stairs in shorts and T-shirt with a towel and a book under her arm. ‘OK, darling. I’m going down to the beach for a snooze and a read.’

      Greg felt a sense of liberation flood through him. He had the whole afternoon undisturbed with his phone and Janie.

      *

      Connie, too, was feeling liberated as she sauntered along the path to the beach. An afternoon with no responsibilities. Bliss! No need to talk, listen or do anything but lie down and read or sleep.

      ‘Connie, wait for me.’ A familiar voice broke into her bubble. Connie kept walking.

      ‘Connie!’ Irritation in the call now. ‘I said wait!’

      Connie breathed deeply, stopped and turned. Pru was at the top of the path, closing the garden gate. She looked cross and hot as she drew level with Connie.

      ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were off to the beach? You knew I’d have said I’d come.’

      ‘Yes, I did know, but actually I was hoping for a bit of peace and quiet.’

      ‘Oh, me too. Don’t you find Mummy’s endless chatter and sparring with Daddy awfully wearing?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And the kids! They’re good kids, I know, but the noise, the mess – it’s exhausting.’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And now Francis has decided to take to his bed. I just had to get out of the house.’

      ‘Yes.’

      They found themselves a sheltered spot of dry sand in the sunshine and rolled out their towels, smoothing them to remove any wrinkles and sitting down gently so as not to get any sand on them.

      Connie slipped out of her shorts and top to reveal a well-cut bikini and curvy thighs. She picked up her book and began to read.

      ‘What are you reading?’

      ‘Something from my book club.’

      ‘You’re lucky to have the time.’

      ‘To read or join a book club?’

      ‘Both.’

      Pru unpopped the fastenings on her stripy beach robe and rolled it up carefully to use as a pillow. She was wearing a one piece in navy and white.

      ‘I don’t like bikinis,’ she said pointedly. ‘Not at our age.’

      ‘I am not your age.’

      ‘You know what I mean.’

      Pru reached into her bag for sun cream, factor 50, and made a huge amount

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