Authors: Fern Britton
The Holiday Home (34 page)
The Reverend Louise was waiting for them at the ancient door of Trevay Church.
‘Welcome, welcome, on this happiest of days!’ she said, a huge smile creasing her face.
The bride and groom walked down the aisle together, with Emily and Abi as bridesmaids.
The congregation was small. Pru and Francis. Connie and Jem. And Belinda, of course.
The months since Greg’s death had been difficult for Connie. Her main focus had been Abi. Painful as Greg’s betrayal had been, Connie was careful to avoid all mention of it. Abi didn’t need to hear about his failings; it was better to let her remember the father she’d loved as a hero. And for all that he had been a philanderer and a lousy husband, there was no questioning his devotion to Abi. So Connie kept her feelings to herself – except on those occasions when she ran to her sisters for support, and vented the hurt and rage she couldn’t acknowledge when Abi was around.
As her parents exchanged their vows, Connie bowed her head when it came to the line about forsaking all others. She could still recall her own wedding day, still hear Greg’s voice intoning that vow. Living without him was hard, but living with the truth was harder.
It required an act of will, but Connie pushed all the negativity away. This was a special day – and one to celebrate. It wasn’t every day you got to go to your own parents’ wedding, after all.
The wedding breakfast at the Starfish Hotel was a low-key but convivial affair. Photos were taken and Dorothy flashed her new wedding ring and the diamond engagement ring. The waiters fussed about with champagne and lobsters; and the cake, when it was carried through the dining room, drew applause from the other diners. Simple and elegant, it was two-tiered with intricate lacy icing with a bride and groom on the top.
Henry stood and hushed the party.
‘Before my wife and I cut this cake, we both want to express our gratitude that you are all here today. To have my children and grandchildren here is the greatest gift of all.’ His voice broke a little and he coughed lightly. ‘The last few months have been a difficult time for all of us here. For Connie and Abi especially, losing a husband and father. But I think we can all say that the last few months have brought our family closer together. And I know that we are all looking forward to getting to know the new members of our family all the better.’ His voice caught as he looked at Belinda and Emily.
‘This may seem an odd choice of timing on my part, but I would like to take this opportunity to make an announcement regarding my plans for the family business.’ He paused and looked down at the new gold band on his left hand. ‘My wife and I have been to see our lawyer. In addition to drawing up a will, we have made certain arrangements that will be set in motion with immediate effect. As of today, Carew Family Board Games is no longer in my name: I have transferred ownership to Pru, Connie and Belinda. The three of them must run it as they see fit as joint chief executives.’
Pru and Connie looked at each other in shock. ‘But, Daddy,’ said Pru, ‘I have a job. And Connie and Belinda have no experience of running a company.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ snapped Connie, dangerously veering back into old territory.
‘She’s right, though,’ said Belinda.
‘Hey, don’t start ganging up on me, just because I’m the youngest.’
Dorothy quietened the three of them with a loud ‘Shhhh’.
‘If I may continue,’ said Henry. ‘In my final act as chief executive, I took the liberty of appointing a new company secretary. He is an excellent organiser who can be trusted to keep a keen eye on the balance sheet and to ensure that the company sticks to its budget.’ He turned to Francis: ‘After managing Pru for eighteen years, my boy, I think you’ll find the company a piece of cake.’
‘What?!’ spluttered Francis. ‘But—’
‘We’ll need to recruit a new MD, of course,’ continued Henry, ignoring the interruption, ‘but as joint chief executives, the future of the company is in your hands.’
He turned his gaze to his grandchildren.
‘Jem, Abi and Emily – when this lot are retired, the company passes to you. If anyone wants to sell the company in the meantime, it has to be a unanimous decision between you all. The will states this most particularly. Do you all understand?’
He looked around at his family, who nodded solemnly. ‘Good.’ He picked up his glass of champagne. ‘And now I want to make a toast. To my family, and in particular, to my long-suffering new wife, Dorothy. I love you all.’ He raised the glass: ‘Here’s to us!’
Five Years Later
T
he estate agent placed her clipboard on the worn slate steps of the porch while she found the key to the ancient, silvered oak door.
‘It’s a marvellous old key, look.’ She showed it to Mr and Mrs Brigham and their two young daughters.
‘Is it a smuggler’s key?’ asked the youngest.
‘Grow up,’ said her sister. ‘Smugglers are made up.’
‘They are not! Are they, Mummy?’
Her mother, ignoring them, was anxiously watching as Danielle Hawkes of Trish Hawkes & Daughter Property Agents, put the old key in the lock.
‘The door is a bit stiff. It hasn’t been used much …’ Danielle grunted as she pushed her hip against the solid wood and turned the key. ‘Oof … there we are.’
The door swung open to reveal an impressive oak-panelled hall with light spilling into it from the open door of the grand drawing room.
The family walked through the hall and stopped in front of the windows and the breathtaking view over Treviscum Bay and the rolling breakers of the Atlantic beyond.
‘Welcome to Atlantic House,’ said Danielle.
Mr and Mrs Brigham looked at each other and smiled. Inwardly, Danielle was smiling too at the prospect of a lucrative sale. The place had been standing empty for several years, following a tragic accident in the cave below. A man had drowned, and the daughter whose life he’d saved wouldn’t go near the house after that, so the family had abandoned the place.
‘Come and have a look around,’ she urged. ‘The previous owner did a great deal of renovation work, but sadly the plumbing has leaked badly and there is some water damage to fix. Let’s start upstairs.’
The two little girls raced ahead of them. ‘I want this yellow room,’ squealed the older girl.
‘I saw it first. I want it,’ said the younger.
‘Go and find another one. This is mine.’
The little sister stomped off and opened a door at random. It led to a beautiful blue room with double-aspect windows looking out on to the beach and sea.
‘This is my one then,’ she shouted down the corridor. ‘It’s much better than yours.’
Her elder sister came running. When she saw the blue room she stamped her foot. ‘No. This is my room. The other one will suit you ’cos you’re little.’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘’Tis.’
‘’Tisn’t!’
‘Shut up, you two!’ shouted their father sternly. ‘Mummy and I need to think!’
Danielle opened the door of the master bedroom with a flourish. ‘And this would be your room …’
I cannot thank Kate Bradley my wonderful editor enough for all the encouragement and care she has given me during the writing of this book. When the going got tough she talked sense into me over poached eggs and coffee. My love and thanks also go to John Rush who thinks, erroneously, that he is to slip into a quieter life away from his desk. I have news for you, John – you can’t get rid of me that easily! Also, I must thank Luigi Bonomi, legendary literary agent, for his encouragement and inspiring words and the adorable Liz Dawson: hey little sister! As always my family have been my sounding board and mainstay. My love too, to Karen, Carole, Caroline, Lisa and the cycling pandas. No woman has better friends. My biggest and most heartfelt thanks of all, though, is to you for picking this book up. I hope you enjoy it.
Much love, Fern.
January 2nd 2013
Fern: My Story
New Beginnings
Hidden Treasures
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.