Authors: Fern Britton

The Holiday Home (22 page)

‘I’d be honoured.’ Henry smiled at Emily, who was taking a biscuit from the plate offered by Dorothy.

‘And you can call me Dorothy or Granny.’

‘Isn’t that lovely, Em?’ Belinda beamed at Emily, who was looking embarrassed.

‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘It’s an honour, young lady. Tell me, have you ever played Lawyer, Lawyer?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, Henry, don’t be a bore. Emily doesn’t want to play board games, do you, dear?’

Emily, embarrassed, murmured, ‘I don’t know.’

‘Of course you want to play,’ said Belinda. She looked at Henry, ‘You invented it, didn’t you?’

Henry laughed self-deprecatingly. ‘As a matter of fact, I did. Who told you?’

‘Francis did, ages ago. From what he said, you saved the family business from going under.’

‘Something like that,’ said Henry, getting to his feet. ‘So, Emily, do you fancy a game? I’ll teach you how to beat anyone.’

‘OK,’ said Emily, not exactly brimming with enthusiasm.

Henry got up and went to the conservatory, Emily trailing after him. ‘Come along then.’

Once the doors were safely closed, Dorothy smiled and said to Belinda, ‘They’ll be gone for at least an hour.’ She plumped up the cushion behind her back and settled down. ‘So, Belinda, tell me all about yourself.’

Belinda stirred a large spoonful of sugar into her coffee. ‘There’s not much to tell. Forty-something single mum. Struggling a bit to make ends meet. My cup’s always half-f, though – I try to focus on the positive.’

‘Quite so.’ Dorothy watched as Belinda helped herself to a biscuit. ‘What happened to Emily’s father?’

‘Oh, Brett’s still around. We’re good friends, as a matter of fact. But when he met Steve, he met the man of his dreams.’

It took a superhuman effort for Dorothy to prevent her carefully drawn eyebrows from going into orbit. ‘Steve?’

‘Yeah.’ Belinda took another biscuit. ‘It was a shock, naturally. I’d had no idea Brett was gay. I’d always counted myself lucky that I had such a kind husband with tremendous empathy.’ She wiped the crumbs from her bust so that they bounced off her skirt and on to Dorothy’s carpet. ‘And now I have Brett
and
Steve, so I am lucky, when you think about it.’

‘Oh dear.’ Dorothy was bemused. ‘Did your family help?’

‘Well, my mum was very understanding. My dad had abandoned her when I was a baby. Only in his case it was for another woman. We never heard from him again.’

Dorothy tutted. ‘How can men be so feckless when a child is involved?’ She leaned forward to offer Belinda the plate of biscuits.

‘Oh, thank you. These are delicious. It’s my breakfast.’

‘Would you care for some toast?’

‘No, no. This is lovely.’ Another crumb fell, but this time into Belinda’s cavernous cleavage. Dorothy wondered if, when Belinda stood up, it would work its way past her knickers and join its friends on her carpet.

‘So, how do you know my son-in-law, Francis?’

Belinda popped the last piece of shortbread in her mouth and wiped her fingers on her skirt. ‘At school. When Em joined year nine, last autumn, I thought I’d help out with the PTA. I’m good at organising and it’s a nice way to make friends. Frankie is a brilliant committee member. Organised and generous with his time. A lovely man.’

‘When you say “Frankie”, you are referring to Francis?’ Dorothy queried.

‘Oh, sorry – yes. It’s a name I started calling him and now a lot of the committee do too. I think it annoys him a bit.’

Dorothy raised her eyebrows. ‘Surely not?’

‘It’s my little joke. Anyway, he and I have got really friendly and when he told me he was coming down here for the summer and that there were cottages to rent next door, I thought, why not? Em deserves a break. I spoke to Big Ben yesterday and it looks as though we can stay right through August; he’s had a late cancellation and has reduced the rent down to almost nothing.’

Belinda drained her coffee cup and placed it on the tray. ‘Which is great, because it means I can get stuck in helping Abi with her party. Which reminds me, I’m going into Trevay to have a look for party inspiration round the shops. Is there anything I can get for you while I’m there?’

‘If you’re sure you don’t mind, there were a few items – I made out a list earlier. It’s in the kitchen.’ She stood and, picking up the tray, headed for the kitchen. Belinda fell in behind her.

Dorothy put the tray down on the spotless work surface and found her glasses, pen and notepad. After adding
Shortbread biscuits x2
to the list, she passed it to Belinda. ‘Now then, where did I put my purse …’

‘Don’t worry, we’ll settle up when I get back.’

‘Thank you, Belinda. That really is most kind. You’ve certainly saved me a trip. Now, let’s find Emily and Henry.’

The Lawyer, Lawyer board and pieces were all laid out on the conservatory table, with Henry and Emily hunched over it. Emily was placing a black cap on her head while reading from a card: ‘You shall be taken from this place and hanged by the neck.’

Henry’s laugh rumbled from his chest. ‘Hold on, I only got a parking ticket!’

Emily started to giggle too. ‘It’s the sentence card. I can’t help picking it up. It was at the top of the pile.’

Henry spotted Dorothy and Belinda by the door. ‘Well, the law is an ass. We all know that to be true.’

‘Come on, Em. We’ve got things to do,’ said Belinda, holding out her hand.

Emily put the card and black cap down reluctantly. ‘Can we play again, Poppa?’ she asked Henry.

‘Oh, rather. You just come right over, any time you like.’

A
s they watched Belinda’s car disappear down the lane, Dorothy found the spare set of keys to Atlantic House.

‘Come on, Henry – we’re going to check on the roofer and take a look at what they’ve been up to next door.’

The moment they unlocked the door, the smell of fresh polish and washing powder hit them with a pleasing strength. They wandered from room to room, Henry checking that the television was still working and that the woodwork was being rubbed down and properly prepared for painting. Dorothy went into every corner, trying to spot anything that had been missed by duster or vacuum. When the downstairs passed the inspection with flying colours, she made her way upstairs. The curtains in one of the bedrooms were missing, still at the cleaners, but the carpets were newly shampooed and pristine.

Dorothy checked her old en-suite bathroom, now used by Pru and Francis. The basin tap was dripping.

‘Henry?’ she called. ‘Has that bloody plumber finished? Only the tap is still dripping up here.’

Henry’s muffled voice came from somewhere downstairs, possibly outside. She caught the words ‘boiler’ and ‘leak’ and ‘damn cowboy’ and went to find him.

He wasn’t in the kitchen, but the back door was open. As she walked through it and out into the garden, she found him coming out of the top cellar that led down to the cave.

‘That useless bugger! Look in here.’ He went back through the old fortified door and she followed.

‘Oh my God!’ she said. The floor was six inches deep in water.

‘Quite. That stupid idiot hasn’t tightened the joints on the piping. Well, I hope he’s not expecting to be paid for this.’

They heard the sound of whistling outside. Henry moved faster than a man half his age.

‘That’s the bugger now! Let me deal with him.’

Merlin took Henry’s furious rant with annoying calm, rolling a leisurely cigarette all the while. When Henry had run out of steam, Merlin lit up and asked, ‘What would you like me to do to make it all better?’

Henry returned to the boil again. ‘It’s bloody obvious, isn’t it?’

‘Righto, Mr Carew, I’ll see to it directly. I’ll have to turn the water off at the mains for now. Then I’ll be back Monday.’

Henry stood aghast at the brass neck of the man. ‘Monday? It’s Wednesday today. We can’t go without water for that long!’

‘Ah, but I’m a busy man. Got a job on at Higher Barton, see.’

‘Buggering up their plumbing too?’ blasted Henry. ‘In that case, I’ll get a proper plumber in to sort this out. Don’t bother sending me any bills as I shan’t be paying them.’

Dorothy, worried that they might not be able to find a plumber, stepped in. ‘Merlin, please. Whatever it costs, do it today.’

‘Well, now, that’ll be double time and cancellation of my other job, so …’

‘I’ll give you two hundred in cash, provided it’s done by tonight.’ Dorothy held her hand out for Merlin to shake.

He hesitated for a second then took her hand. ‘You drive a hard bargain, Mrs Carew.’

Henry walked away before he blew his top at his wife’s profligate waste of money.

Dorothy continued: ‘I see your friend hasn’t repaired the tiles on the roof.’

‘He’ll be here directly, and he’ll do a proper job up there. Just one or two bits to tidy up in the attic. I was going to attend to them today, but I can do them next week an’ all. OK?’

Not waiting for an answer, Merlin jumped athletically into the cab of his van and drove off as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Dorothy turned to Henry, who was staring in horrified fascination at the retreating van, and said soothingly, ‘Now then, I’m taking you out to the pub for lunch. You could do with a drink.’

The beautiful historic pub restaurant, built to lean over the small river that ran through Polperro, was cool and welcoming. Pru chose a table for them, and called for the menus.

‘I’ll have the deep-fried brie with gooseberry marmalade, please,’ said Connie, handing her menu back to the young waiter.

Pru gave her order: ‘Dressed crab with a plain green salad, thank you. And the same for my husband.’

‘I was thinking about the courgette soup and chargrilled quorn burger,’ said Francis.

‘You’ll prefer the crab.’ Pru looked over Francis’s head to Greg. ‘Greg, what’ll you have?’

‘When did pubs stop serving proper pub food?’ Greg grumbled, ‘I’ll have the steak, very rare, with chips, fried mushrooms and grilled tomatoes, please.’

‘Very good, sir. Would you like your French fries chunky or skinny?’

‘I don’t know. What do I like, Con?’

‘Chunky.’

‘Chunky, please.’

‘Very good.’ The waiter made a note on his pad – probably something insulting, thought Greg – before enquiring, ‘And to drink …?’

When the small party was finally settled and the drinks had arrived, Greg raised his pint to Pru and Connie. ‘Cheers, girls! Thank you for looking after the house and two old crocks of husbands.’

They all chinked their glasses.

‘Lovely spot,’ remarked Francis.

‘Isn’t it,’ said Connie fondly. ‘Greg brought me here when we were first together.’

‘How did you find it?’ asked Francis, curious.

‘The old AA book recommended it.’

‘It’s amazing you made it here at all,’ sniffed Pru, ‘if your sense of direction was as bad then as it was today.’

‘That junction said Tadcombe left,’ protested Greg. ‘I can’t be held responsible for the mysteries of Cornish signposting.’

‘OK, children. Stop now,’ pleaded Connie, anxious to quell any further debate on the subject.

The food arrived and was eaten in near silence. The sound of the river running playfully outside and the view of its fern-lined banks was enough to keep them occupied with safe topics of conversation to the end of the meal.

As Greg paid for the meal, which Pru noticed went on his Carew company credit card, Connie asked him, ‘Would you come with me down to the harbour? We can take the cliff path and look at the view, the same as we did all those years ago.’ She snuggled against his cast as he used his good arm to put his wallet back into his trouser pocket.

Connie’s intention was to spend a bit of time alone with her husband, but once again she was to be thwarted.

‘OK,’ sighed Pru. ‘As long as it’s not too far.’

The view from the cliffs was worth the walk. To the left was the open sea and to the right the ancient fishing harbour. They found a bench and sat watching the sea as it curled over itself and sent wisps of spray flying like smoke in the wind. Then they turned their attention to the harbour and watched as a woman and a teenager, presumably her daughter, drove a Land Rover towing a small motorboat down a slipway. At the water’s edge the Land Rover reversed to the water and the daughter jumped out. In a few minutes, she had detached the boat and eased it into the waves.

‘Abi’s party is going to be great fun,’ said Francis. ‘Belinda is taking her role as party organiser very seriously.’

‘Isn’t she just?’ Connie winced, then continued: ‘My baby – seventeen. She wants to learn to drive, but I’m not keen on encouraging that.’

‘She’ll have to one day,’ said Greg.

‘I know. But seventeen is too young. I mean, the roads at home are so busy and narrow.’

They were still watching the girl and her motorboat. The older woman had driven up the slipway and off down the road. Meanwhile the girl climbed aboard and started the boat’s engine. Within minutes she was heading confidently out to sea.

‘That’s very cool,’ said Greg. ‘What a nice little boat.’

‘And a beautiful day to take it out,’ said Francis.

Connie watched her husband with pursed lips. ‘No. You are not having a boat.’

‘Not for me! A birthday present for Abi. Give her some adventure without the dangers of the road. It’ll be fun for us all.’

On the journey home from Polperro, Greg and Connie bickered over the proposed new boat.

‘What would she do with a boat?’ Connie argued.

‘She’d use it for fun and water skiing with her friends.’

‘She doesn’t water ski.’

‘Precisely. Now she can learn.’

‘She’s got the
Dorothy
if she wants a boat.’

‘You know what Henry’s like about that thing. He won’t let anyone take it out without him. She needs some freedom.’

‘But I don’t want her to have that sort of freedom.’