Fern Britton 3-Book Collection: The Holiday Home, A Seaside Affair, A Good Catch. Fern Britton
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boiling the kettle and emptying couscous packets into a couple of large bowls.
‘Where’s Pru?’ Belinda asked quietly.
‘In Trevay, getting her hair done.’
‘When will she be back?’
‘Not for an hour or two. Why?’
‘It’s nice to spend some time together. You know. Chatting. No interruptions.’
Francis felt nervous and slightly guilty that he might have inadvertently led Belinda on.
‘Oh.’
Belinda put down her wooden spoon and came towards him. Two fat tears had finally been released and were meandering down her cheeks. She put her arms around Francis’s stiffening neck and kissed him on the lips.
‘I have some very strong feelings for you, Frankie.’
‘I’m awfully sorry,’ he said, nervously wiping her kiss from his lips.
‘Tell me you don’t have any feelings for me.’
‘Oh golly, Belinda. You’re a lovely woman and I treasure our friendship, but I don’t feel … You see, I love Pru.’
Belinda’s tears dripped on to his hands, which were clenched close to his chest in order not to accidentally stray towards her breasts. She let him go and dipped her head to wipe her eyes on her cardigan.
‘Well! I’ve made a fool of myself, haven’t I? I’m sorry. Please don’t tell anyone about this.’
‘Of course I won’t.’ He moved slightly towards her but then thought better of giving her a consoling hug.
Belinda took a deep breath and plastered an over-bright smile on her face as she looked out of the window to the sea.
‘Looks as though Abi’s enjoying her birthday present.’
Not knowing quite what to do, Francis dipped a teaspoon into the chilli ready for tasting. ‘Yes.’
‘What did you give her?’
‘Erm, sorry. What? I’m trying to remember if I put the cumin in.’
Belinda scanned the worktop in front of her and found an open cumin pot. ‘I think you did.’ She showed it to him.
‘Ah good. Well, I think that’s done. I’ll crack on with the guacamole.’
The two of them continued to work with the minimum of conversation. Belinda’s heart was heavy. Here was another man who was abandoning her. It was odd how, with age, these pains of loss were getting worse. Her father leaving, gentle Brett walking out for Steve, and now Frankie. A wave of anger and self-pity hit her. Come on, Belinda, she admonished herself. You’ve come a long way. The end is in sight.
The door knocker sounded in the hall. ‘I’ll go,’ said Belinda, bustling out.
When she came back, she was followed by a willowy blonde in her mid-twenties. ‘Hi.’ She walked straight up to Francis with her hand out. ‘I’m Janie – Greg’s PA. I’m here for the party.’
Francis, having barely recovered from Belinda’s shock confession, now stood gulping as if he’d swallowed one of his fresh chillies whole. ‘Janie?’ His wide eyes slid to the outdoor terrace, where he knew Connie was sewing in all innocence.
‘That’s right!’ said the blonde, tossing a glossy mane of hair over one shoulder.
‘Greg’s PA?’
‘The one and only.’
‘He … he didn’t mention you were coming.’
‘Well, it’s kind of a surprise,’ she said in a conspiratorial tone. ‘Is he in?’
Belinda was intrigued. Greg had been sufficiently flirty with her that she sensed immediately this girl spelled danger with every tap of her stiletto-booted foot. Here was mischief to be made. ‘No, he’s out on the boat with his daughter.’
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