Fern Britton 3-Book Collection: The Holiday Home, A Seaside Affair, A Good Catch. Fern Britton
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plenty to catch up on.’
‘That is so sweet of you, Francis. Much appreciated.’ Connie gave him a warm hug and then hurried after Dorothy and Pru.
As the women walked away, Francis collected the remaining plates and scraped them into the bin.
*
‘Here you are, ladies,’ he said ten minutes later, carrying a tea tray laden with mugs and organic muesli biscuits. ‘Where shall I put it?’
‘Coffee table, Francis,’ said Pru, barely looking at him.
‘Well, the kitchen’s all clear for the morning. I’ll just pop over to The Bungalow to say good night to Henry and Greg.’
‘OK. See you in the morning. And thank you for supper, Francis.’ Connie smiled at him as he left.
Pru turned to their mother. ‘How are you settling into the new bungalow, Mummy?’
‘It’s perfect, darling. Easy to clean, lovely and warm. Everything brand new. What else would we do with all that garden. It was the ideal plot and it’s the best thing your father ever persuaded me to do.’
Connie looked unconvinced. ‘How could you bear to leave Atlantic House and live in a modern box?’
‘Easily. When your father and I bought Atlantic House we were considerably younger than we are now. Your father can’t get up on the roof to paint gutters any more. It takes him two days just to mow the lawn. And I am fed up with all the housework. The Bungalow takes twenty minutes, tops. Also, now we have our separate rooms and bathrooms, we get along so much better.’
Connie raised her eyebrows. ‘Don’t you miss cuddling up to him at night? I think he misses you.’
‘Sex is very overrated, darling. I’m glad all that side of things is finished. Much nicer to do the crossword together.’
‘Too much information, Mummy!’ Connie preferred not to hear her mother talk about her sex life.
‘Well, I’d love separate rooms,’ sighed Pru. ‘Francis and I have never bothered too much with that sort of thing.’
Connie looked astonished. ‘Don’t you have sex either?’
‘No. Still, it’s not as if I’m a panting twenty-something, is it?’
Connie thought for a moment. ‘When did you last make love?’
‘I can’t remember. Couple of years, at least.’
‘Two years!’ Connie was shocked. Greg had told her that if they didn’t make love at least three times a week his testicles would be damaged. ‘Poor Francis! He must be feeling so neglected!’ Connie was indignant on her brother-in-law’s behalf. ‘I make sure Greg is very happy. I always have.’
‘And you?’ her mother asked. ‘How about you? Does he make sure you’re happy?’
‘Yes. Well, it’s not as if the earth moves every time. But it’s the glue that holds a man and woman together in a marriage.’
Pru tipped her head back and laughed. ‘Dear little Connie. It’s as if the feminist movement never happened.’
‘No. It’s not to do with that. It’s …’ Connie felt flustered and hated her elder sister for trying to belittle her.
Dorothy stepped in. ‘Darling, one day you will pray for separate bedrooms. Believe me.’ She stood up and said pointedly, ‘Now, I am off to my peaceful bed in my horrid little bungalow.’ The comment was aimed at Pru, who didn’t react. Dorothy continued: ‘I suggest the pair of you head off for an early night too.’
Both girls tutted in annoyance behind their mother’s retreating back.
Dorothy heard and, without bothering to turn round, added: ‘With luck you’ll be asleep before either of your husbands return.’
*
While the women had been chatting, Henry had been catching up with Greg. He poured them each a large glass of Scotch and motioned for Greg to sit in one of the two armchairs.
‘So, my boy. The business is looking in excellent shape.’
Greg stretched his legs out in front of him. ‘Yes, we’ve had a good first half of the year and the Japanese are meeting the delivery dates on the new apps, which I believe will increase our turnover significantly over the next twenty-four months.’
They discussed markets, initiatives and overheads for a while, and then Henry said, ‘You know, my old father wouldn’t recognise the company now. He would have hated all these virtual games. His mantra was always “Nothing can beat the fun—”’
Greg finished it off for him: ‘“—of a family sitting round the table playing Ludo.”’
Henry looked at him in surprise. ‘Have I mentioned that before?’
‘Once or twice.’
‘Well, you’ve been with the company … ooh, how many years is it?’
‘Coming up for twenty-two.’
‘Twenty-two years. My goodness! And look at you now: managing director.’
Every year Greg and Henry had this discussion. Greg had joined the company as a graduate trainee. His excellent degree in business and marketing meant he’d been marked out as management potential, but he’d had the nous to ingratiate himself with his colleagues and bosses, getting noticed as the lad who wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty sweeping the shop floor or making a good impression on visiting VIPs. Within a few months, Henry had begun grooming him for bigger things.
Henry liked to have Greg as his eyes and ears among the workers. Greg never pulled any punches. He told Henry who was good, who needed help and who was just plain useless. He also persuaded Henry to make improvements to staff working conditions by loosening up the rosters, smartening up the canteen and improving holiday leave. None of this did him any harm with his workmates or with Henry. One summer he’d received an invitation to a private barbecue at Henry and Dorothy’s house. He could still remember how hard he’d tried not to flirt with Connie. She was almost eighteen and reminded him, in certain lights, of a young Brigitte Bardot.
‘I’ll tell you honestly, Greg,’ Henry said now, ‘I didn’t think you were good enough for Connie when you asked me if you could marry her. But you’ve been a marvellous addition to the family and the company. Cheers!’ They raised their glasses to each other.
Greg had heard this speech many times before.
‘I am lucky to have her and Abi and a job with a company I’m so proud of.’ This answer always achieved a satisfactory end to the conversation. Henry grinned over his empty glass. ‘Get me another of these and let’s see how we’re doing against the West Indies, shall we?’
Henry enjoyed male company. He was fond of his sons-in-law. Both so different, but decent husbands to his girls. He heard the front door open and Francis’s voice called out, ‘Helloo.’
‘Come in, my boy, come in,’ Henry roared. Francis appeared in the sitting room.
‘Hi. Am I disturbing you?’
‘Not at all, old boy. Get yourself a glass of Scotch and sit down.’
Greg shifted his legs so that Francis could get past him to the drinks tray.
‘How are the women?’ Greg asked sardonically.
‘Fine. All having their cup of tea and chatting nicely.’
‘How do you put up with them?’ asked Greg.
Francis looked bemused. ‘I like them. I like women. Between us three, we’ve done pretty well.’
Greg was about to say something horribly misogynistic when it struck him that it might upset his father-in-law. Coughing, he replied,