Fern Britton 3-Book Collection: The Holiday Home, A Seaside Affair, A Good Catch. Fern Britton
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house, leaving Greg and a wounded Abigail to carry the luggage. Abigail kept her head down to hide the hot tears she could feel pricking her eyes. Greg put his arm round her. ‘Abi, she’s a silly, jealous old woman. Forget it. There’s nothing wrong with you. If anything, I reckon you need fattening up – and I shall make it my business to take you out for a cream tea every day.’
‘Thanks, Daddy,’ said Abigail, managing a smile.
*
Pru, still on the Okehampton bypass but driving at only ninety miles an hour now, was seething.
‘These jumped-up nobodies in their little blue uniforms, doing no good to anyone. Why aren’t they out catching criminals instead of hassling innocent motorists? It’s appalling. I shall get on to the solicitor and demand an apology from the chief constable. They’re not getting away with this.’
Francis kept quiet, merely nodding when he felt it appropriate to do so.
On and on she went. Past the sign to Jamaica Inn and St Breward, through Bodmin, Wadebridge and Padstow, until finally they arrived at Atlantic House.
As soon as he saw that Greg and Connie had got there before them, Francis knew what was coming.
‘Mummy, how well you look!’ Pru limped slowly round to the front of the car and towards her mother, who was standing on the doorstep with a mug of tea in her hand.
‘Prudence! Connie and I have been waiting ages. How long did the police stop you for? Connie saw you.’
Connie came to the front door too. ‘Yes. Poor things. We saw you, but there was nothing we could do to help so we just pushed on. We made good time actually.’
Pru smiled through gritted teeth. ‘How super!’
Dorothy stepped aside and ushered Pru in. ‘So, apart from the speeding ticket, how are you? Why are you limping?’
‘I’m fine, Mummy. So happy to be here again – oof!’ Pru suddenly came to a halt as if in spasm, her right side collapsed on itself, a look of pain on her face.
‘My God, whatever’s the matter?’ Dorothy rushed to her aid.
Smiling bravely and steadying herself, Pru replied, ‘It’s the drive. I’ve been sitting too long. You know Francis, he never lets us stop.’
Her mother glowered at the blameless Francis, who was standing on the drive with several heavy bags at his feet. He gawped at his wife with his mouth open in astonishment.
‘Francis, don’t stand there like a halfwit. Bring Pru’s things in while I get her comfortable.’
‘I’m fine, Mummy. Really I am. Ow! Don’t take my arm, it radiates the pain into my leg.’
The pair walked into the cool shade of the beautiful old hallway, leaving Connie to help Francis with the bags.
‘How was the drive?’ she asked him knowingly.
He smiled at the sister-in-law he was so fond of. ‘The usual.’
‘How was she with the police?’
He sighed. ‘Forceful is the best word for it.’
‘Ah.’
‘Quite.’
They looked at one another and laughed.
‘Let’s get these bags in and I’ll fix you a brew – unless you fancy something stronger?’
‘Oh, Con, you are a dear. I think a nice cup of camomile tea will do me nicely.’
Pru, meanwhile, had followed her mother to the large cream drawing room overlooking the sea.
Dorothy plumped the cushions on the long and inviting sofa.
‘Here, darling, put your feet up. I’ll have Connie bring you tea and a hot-water bottle.’
Connie, hearing this as she entered the room, looked at Pru suspiciously.
‘Hi, sis. What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing really. The osteopath thinks it’s a slipped disc, but I’m fine. Aargh!’ She screwed her eyes up at the alleged sudden pain. ‘It’s only when I move. Mummy, would you find my bag? Francis will know where it is. I have some painkillers in it.’
‘Of course, darling.’
As soon as their mother had left the room, Connie rounded on her sister.
‘There is nothing wrong with you. And, no, you are not having the big bedroom.’
‘Connie, I am in severe pain here. I don’t want to spoil anyone’s holiday, but I simply can’t sleep on that bed in the blue room. It just isn’t firm enough.’
Connie stood with her hands on her hips. ‘If you think I’m going to relinquish the big room because you’re pretending to have a bad back …’
Dorothy returned. ‘Here’s your bag, darling. Connie, Pru must have the big room. You’ll be fine in the blue room. Golly, how selfish you are! I’ll tell Francis to swap the luggage round.’ She swept out of the room calling, ‘Francis, Francis.’
Pru, with a gleeful look of triumph, preened. ‘Well. That’s sorted then. Get me a cup of tea, would you?’
‘I can’t believe Mummy fell for that. Bad back, my arse.’ Connie was in the blue bedroom, unpacking the first of their four bags while Greg lay on the bed fiddling with his laptop.
He was exchanging very personal emails with Janie. Her descriptions of what she was wearing and what she was doing to herself at that moment were turning him on. He rolled on to his stomach to conceal his excitement.
Connie was moving about the room with hangers and holiday clothes. ‘Do you want me to unpack your case for you, Greg? Might as well, while I’m doing mine.’
He was typing something and had a little smile on his lips. He didn’t answer his wife.
‘Greg?’
‘Hmm?’
She walked to the bed and bent over him to see the screen, which instantly went dark as he pressed the sleep button.
‘What are you up to that’s making you smile?’
‘Oh, one of the guys at the gym. Just been to Berlin on a stag weekend. You wouldn’t want to know what he’s been up to.’
‘Were you invited?’ she asked airily, picking up a couple of T-shirts and placing them in an open drawer.
He closed the lid of the laptop and turned to face her. ‘Yep. But why would I go out for hamburger when I have steak at home?’ Eyeing up his wife’s shapely, hourglass figure, he made a grab for her as she passed the bed on the way to putting an emptied case away.
‘You have a much nicer arse than your sister … or your mother, for that matter.’
‘Do I?’ Connie giggled and wriggled out of his grasp to check herself in the cheval mirror.
‘Yes, you do.’ He grabbed his wife’s waist again as she walked past the bed.
‘Greg, I’m not sure there’s time for that!’
He pulled her down beside him, and lifting her hair from her neck began nibbling the way she liked best.
‘Greg, I have to make supper for the kids. Pru won’t, and I don’t want any of that wholefood budgie stuff Francis dishes up.’
Her husband persisted with the nibbling and then allowed his hand to drift to her breast. He felt her nipple stiffen under her T-shirt.
‘Come on, darling.