Fern Britton 3-Book Collection: The Holiday Home, A Seaside Affair, A Good Catch. Fern Britton
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soon as he saw Pru in the water, Merlin stopped paddling and put his head to one side, staring at her from under his still-golden eyelashes. He dropped his gaze to her bare shoulders and then down to the water, where he could clearly see she wasn’t wearing any clothes. He lifted the boat’s paddle out of the water and balanced it across the front of the canoe.
‘So. My little Pru has returned.’
‘I think it’s you who have returned.’
He laughed. ‘True, that. I haven’t been to Figgoty’s since you left me.’
Pru snorted in derision. ‘Stop sounding like a schoolboy and leave me alone. I need to get out and get dressed.’
‘Nothing I haven’t seen before, eh, Pru?’
She was shivering in the water now. ‘Bugger off, Merlin.’ She started to swim back to the beach.
He leaned on the paddle and looked thoughtfully up at the sky.
‘You’re not holding a grudge are you, Pru?’
Angrily she stopped swimming and turned to him. ‘Hold a grudge? Whatever for? You are a footnote to my youth, someone Connie and I laugh about.’
He smiled, showing his attractively wonky teeth. ‘If I thought that was true, you’d be breaking my heart.’ He picked up his paddle and put it in the water. ‘You and I are unfinished business. Catch you later.’
She watched as he disappeared around the next headland and then she swam back to shore and into her warm, dry clothes.
The climb from the beach and up the cliffs was hard. Her legs were shaky and her fingers felt weak as she fumbled for handholds in the slate. Seeing Merlin had upset some delicate balance within her. She grasped a good wedge of rock, but as she hauled her weight on to it, it came away in her hand and she slid a little, grazing her shins. Her breath was uneven and painful in her throat. She felt something rising within her – something buried but not dead.
‘Come on, Prudence. It was all a long time ago. Don’t let that idiot under your skin.’
After a while she scrambled from her hands and knees to a bent walk and then, finally, she was standing upright on the grass-tufted path of the clifftop. Pru rubbed her eyes with her T-shirt and looked down to the beach. She saw her own footprints in the bare sand, but of Merlin there was no sight.
There was a weather-beaten bench ahead of her, facing the ocean, and she gratefully walked towards it and sat. She put the palms of her hands over her blue eyes and instantly saw an image of Merlin making love to her for the first time in the little cave up in the valley. The fuggee hole. She remembered the excitement of having given Connie the slip. She remembered how he’d held her hand and guided her through the gap in the earth bank and into the warm pitch-blackness. She could hear the rasp of his lighter and see the candle stubs sitting in solid pools of wax on the floor. She’d watched as he bent and lit their wicks. Now, she could see the tall graceful arch of the rock; white and smooth. It wasn’t dank and slimy like the cave under Atlantic House. Merlin had moved to the back of the cave and collected the bundle of blankets and the faded paisley eiderdown quilt. He’d laid them on the floor, the same as he had that day when Connie had been with them.
‘Do you want to lie down?’
She kicked off her plimsolls and sat on the makeshift bed.
‘I’ve never seen a girl like you before.’ He was kneeling in front of her. Slowly he slid his arms round her waist, all the while gently kissing her neck and shoulders.
‘Is that nice?’ he breathed.
‘Mm,’ she said, her eyes wide open.
She had been kissed by boys before, but had never understood what all the fuss was about. Now, with the warmth of his arms around her and his soft lips on her face, she felt different.
He sat back a moment to look at her. Satisfied that she appeared not to mind, he moved in to kiss her mouth. Unsure how to respond, Pru had parted her lips a little and allowed his tongue inside her mouth. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, so she let them hang loosely by her side. He pulled away and looked at her.
‘Not shy, are you?’ he asked.
‘No.’
He’d taken her hands and placed them on the belt of his jeans. ‘Undo me,’ he whispered.
She squeezed the palms of her hands tighter over her eyes, remembering the way he’d made love to her and how she had felt. Special. Adult. Wanted. Until …
‘Merlin!’ the sound of that name broke through her reverie. Rubbing her eyes roughly, she uncovered them and sat blinking in the daylight.
A little round dog followed by a little round man barrelled towards her.
‘Here, Merlin!’ the man called in a Midlands accent. ‘Quiet, you’ve disturbed this lady. Mind if I share the seat with you?’ He sat down before she could answer. ‘Beautiful up here, isn’t it? I’m going to be scattered up here when I die.’
Without saying a word, Pru stood up and walked away as fast as she could. Behind her, she heard the man say, ‘Well. Some people, eh, Merlin?’ Her walk turned into a trot which turned into a run. She had to get back to the real world. To Francis and security.
*
‘Mum … Muuuuum?’ Abigail was shouting from upstairs.
Connie, who had only just sat down after clearing up the supper things, was in the drawing room with Greg. Her mind had drifted back to the initials carved in the rock wall. She took a deep breath and blew it loudly through her lips. ‘What?’ she yelled.
‘There’s no hot water. And I’ve got shampoo in my hair.’
‘Well, use the cold tap.’
‘It’s cold.’
‘Exactly.’
A short silence ensued. Connie picked up her glass of wine and waited.
‘Daaaad?’
Connie looked over at Greg, who was trying to watch the news.
‘Whaat?’ he bellowed.
‘There’s no hot water and …’
‘… You’ve got shampoo in your hair?’ he chorused with her.
‘Yes. Help.’
He flicked the TV off and stood up, quietly swearing.
Connie heard him go upstairs, followed by Abi’s protestations that he couldn’t come in the bathroom because ‘I haven’t any clothes on.’
‘I’ve seen you without clothes on since you were born. Now open this door.’
After another five minutes or so Greg came downstairs and into the drawing room.
‘There’s no hot water,’ he announced.
Pru and Francis stuck their heads round the door. ‘There doesn’t seem to be any hot water, Connie.’
Connie looked at them as if they were all mad. ‘Really? You don’t say? What do you expect me to do about it?’
‘Oh, don’t get all huffy. We’re only saying,’ said Pru.
‘And I’m only saying why are you all asking me? I don’t know what to do.’
The four of them stood, pathetically, trying to come up with a solution.
‘We’ll have to talk to Dad in the morning. He’ll know a plumber. In fact, Mum and Dad need to do a bit of maintenance on the old place.’
‘That’s true.’ Pru looked at Francis. ‘The tap in our en-suite basin is still dripping.’
The following morning, a delegation of Connie and Pru knocked on the door of The Bungalow.
Dorothy