The Holiday Home

14


Back at Atlantic House, sitting round the breakfast table were four, unwashed, sullen adults. They were waiting for Merlin and the return of hot water, to arrive. He was not answering his phone. Connie made an effort to be cheerful.

‘Well, at least we’ve got electricity!’

Greg was ostentatiously working at his computer, tapping noisily on the keys. He replied absently, ‘Hmmm?’

‘I said at least we’ve got electricity,’ repeated Connie with what she hoped was a relaxed smile.

Francis, who was writing out one of his endless shopping lists, picked up her tone and agreed. ‘Yes. We’re lucky, really.’

Pru, who was sitting as far away from Connie as possible, gave her sister and husband a scathing look before returning to her paper.

The silence lingered on until Francis cleared his throat. The rest looked up expectantly.

‘I have noticed that we need some more loo rolls. Any preference in colour?’ he asked.

Pru rattled her broadsheet pages and spoke very clearly. ‘No.’

Francis bent back to his list. ‘OK, I’ll get the white then.’

The silence returned. Only the scraping of Francis’s chair as he stood up to stock-take in the larder disturbed them.

This was how Henry found them when he knocked on the patio doors.

Pru leapt up before Connie and hurried to welcome him in. ‘Hi, Dad.’ She kissed him.

‘Good morning,’ he said sternly, surveying the four of them with a look that the girls remembered from childhood. All four felt a chill in their stomachs. They were in for a telling off.

‘Morning, Daddy,’ Connie said in a small voice.

‘I hear you two have been arguing –’ he studied Francis’s sore face – ‘and Francis has come off worst, by the look of things. Mind telling me what it was about?’

The sisters looked anywhere but at each other or their father.

Henry bellowed at them, ‘I am going to remain here until this is sorted out. What’s been going on?’

Connie leapt in: ‘Pru said that you and Mummy would be leaving Atlantic House to her instead of sharing it out between us. And then Greg got that idiot Merlin Pengelly to look at the boiler and we had a flood and now we’re waiting for Merlin to come back with the spare parts because we still don’t have any hot water.’

Henry pursed his lips. ‘Let’s deal with the plumbing first. Merlin Pengelly – is he that bugger who made a mess of our summer twenty-odd years ago?’

‘Yes,’ said Connie. ‘And now Greg’s got him to mess up the plumbing as well.’

Greg spoke: ‘Come on, I was only doing my bit. You asked me to find a plumber and I did.’

‘How did you manage to come up with that waste of space? He’s not even a plumber!’ boomed Henry.

Greg reached across to a pile of discarded newspapers and pulled out a copy of the parish magazine. ‘Here, it says: “Merlin’s Magic Plumbing Services. No job too big or small.”’

‘Oh,’ said Pru nastily, ‘it wasn’t too onerous a task for you to track him down then? All you had to do was read through the recycling. Well done.’

Greg clenched his hands. ‘I can do without your sarcasm, Pru. And if it wasn’t for you plotting to con Connie out of her inheritance, we wouldn’t be in the situation we find ourselves in. Would we?’

‘Exactly.’ Connie threw a spiteful look at her sister and then laid her hand on Greg’s. ‘Well said, darling.’

‘I see,’ said Henry. ‘Tell me, Pru, what is this about you inheriting Atlantic House?’ He looked her straight in the eyes.

She dropped her gaze under his scrutiny and whispered, ‘That’s not quite what I said.’

Connie shot back, ‘It’s exactly what you said.’

Henry raised his hands to silence them both.

‘Did you say that, Pru?’

Pru squirmed. ‘In a way, but—’

‘But what? Since when do you decide how I divvy up my home and worldly goods?’

Pru, shame-faced, didn’t answer.

Connie chipped in: ‘Exactly, Daddy. She wants all the good stuff and she’s trying to cut me out.’

Now Henry’s stony gaze turned on Connie.

‘“All the good stuff”? What do you think the firm is? I made your husband managing director. Carew Family Board Games has made me what I am today, what Greg is today and what you are today. Without the factory and the business, there would be no Atlantic House.’

Connie opened her mouth as if to say something, but Greg caught her eye and shook his head, so she closed it again.

Henry placed his hands palms down on the table. ‘So, my two venal, selfish daughters, you want to know how much you’ll be worth when I’m dead and gone?’ He waved away their vehement protests. ‘Yes, you do. And the answer is that I don’t know. Your mother and I intend to go on living for a while yet. And we may as well indulge ourselves a little, since neither of you have done anything to deserve Atlantic House or the company.’

Greg, looking aggrieved, protested, ‘Hold on, Henry, I’m keeping the money coming into the firm.’

‘True. But I would expect nothing less, you are a salaried managing director with a generous annual bonus, a pension scheme and a family home bought and paid for by the firm. You are not – I’m sorry to be blunt here – my son. You are my daughter’s husband. Two different things.’

Greg looked with fury at his father-in-law and chairman, but wisely kept his temper under control and fought the urge to respond.

Henry continued: ‘In all the years you’ve been coming here, have you ever helped your mother prepare the house for these long, free family holidays? Have you ever offered to pay for the fuel or water bills that you run up so profligately? Or chipped in to help with running repairs?’

He looked around at the guilty faces before him. ‘No. So, if Dorothy and I decide to sell up, go to Las Vegas and put all the money on red, we shall.’

A silence so dense you could see it, fell upon them.

‘I’m sorry, Daddy,’ said Connie, clearly shaken.

‘What can we do?’ asked Pru.

‘You can all start pulling your weight around here and not expecting it to land in your lap. I worked hard for everything you enjoy in life. And my father worked hard before me. I’ve been too soft on you all. I suggest you begin by sorting out the plumbing – which, by the way, you will pay for as a sign of goodwill. Do I make myself clear?’ Henry saw their nodding heads and then turned to leave. When he reached the French doors, he paused and said sadly, ‘You have really disappointed me.’

*

The four adults felt very small indeed.

Francis, who’d been doodling on his shopping list, lifted his head and said quietly but firmly, ‘If we’re not careful we’re going to ruin this holiday for your parents and our children. Henry has a point. We do all take this house and Dorothy’s hospitality for granted.’ He looked around the table. ‘I propose we make a concerted effort to smarten the old place up. And pay for it too. All those in favour, raise their hands.’

Pru sniggered, ‘You’re not at a PTA meeting now, Francis.’

‘Are you saying you are not in favour?’

‘No, I’m—’

‘Then raise your hand.’

Three hands went up and Francis added his. ‘Motion carried. Excellent. Greg? Where’s yesterday’s maintenance list? You and I will do an inventory of work that needs to be carried out on the exterior of the building. Connie and Pru, you go through each room inside the house, noting if anything needs repairing or repainting, and then give everything a good spring clean. OK?’

Everyone nodded, stunned at the transformation in Francis.

‘Yessir!’ said Greg. ‘But let’s have a brew first.’

‘Did I hear you’re making a brew?’ Merlin walked into the kitchen looking rather rough and undeniably handsome in his overalls.

‘Ah, morning, Merlin.’ Francis got up. ‘I could think of one or two other elusive figures you might more aptly have been named after. Houdini for one and the Scarlet Pimpernel for another.’

‘Is that an up-country joke?’ said Merlin with a short laugh.

‘No. You are a West Country joke, Merlin. You are not leaving this house today until you’ve repaired the boiler, fixed the leak under the sink – which was second only to Niagara Falls last night – and replaced the washer in the dripping tap of our en-suite. Do you understand?’

‘Handsome. No worries,’ responded Merlin, the insults rolling off him like mercury on glass.

Pru, glass of cranberry juice in hand, edged her way past Merlin, saying, ‘I’m off to make a start in the drawing room.’ Merlin goosed her as she went by. She scowled at him and called her sister. ‘Come along, Connie.’

Connie hurried past an innocent-looking Merlin. He goosed her too. She gave him a cold glare, but he merely smiled his beatific smile and turned to Greg and Francis. ‘Right, chaps. I’ll start on the bottom and work my way up, shall I?’

*

In the drawing room, Connie and Pru finally spoke to each other.

‘I haven’t seen Dad that angry for a long time,’ said Pru, running her fingers through her hair.

‘I can’t believe Greg got Merlin in to do the work!’ exclaimed Connie.

‘A horrible coincidence,’ agreed Pru.

‘Ghastly,’ replied Connie. ‘And, Pru …’

‘Hmm?’ Pru was gazing around the room, taking in the faded curtains and stained rug.

‘… I’m sorry about yesterday.’

Pru stopped her mental inventory and looked at her sister. ‘Me too. I didn’t mean it to come out that way.’

‘It did, though. And it made me angry.’

‘I know.’

‘So, we’re back on a level playing field? For the house and everything.’

‘Yes.’

They gave each other a short hug, but a residual resentment remained – simmering away under the surface.

‘Mind you,’ said Pru, ‘there’ll be bugger-all left if we don’t look after it.’

Connie smiled, trying to shake it off. ‘Help me shift this sofa, would you?’

The castors hadn’t been moved for years and it took an effort to budge them. Eventually they dragged the sofa out, revealing a dusty but cleaner patch of carpet.

Pru surveyed the floor.

‘God, this is filthy. Look at the difference!’

Connie bent down to pick up two old biros, a marble and a rubber band from among the balls of fluff that had lain under the sofa for decades.

‘We’d better hire a carpet-shampoo machine. Do you suppose Mr Pomeroy’s in Higher Barton would have one?’

Pru wiped her hands on her I’D RATHER BE SURFING apron and threw the bits of rubbish into a black bin liner. ‘Bound to. Old Pomeroy does everything from Alka-Seltzer to wellingtons via sunbeds and lipgloss, as far as I can remember.’

Connie picked at a dead moth stuck in the brocade of the heavy curtains. ‘If I take these down, you could pop them into the dry cleaners. I think the one next to Pomeroy’s is still there. Oh look, a fifty-pence piece.’ She stooped to pick it up. ‘We can use that for parking.’

She flipped it to her sister, who caught it neatly.

‘Which reminds me,’ continued Connie, ‘how are we going to share the cost of all this spring cleaning and renovation?’

‘Keep the receipts, give them all to me and I’ll tot them up and split the bill down the middle.’

‘But suppose Greg and I spend more than you and Francis?’ Connie queried.

Pru tightened her lips, ‘Well, write your name on each receipt so I’ll know who’s paid what. OK?’

‘OK.’

Pru straightened up and put her hands on her hips. ‘I’m not trying to do you out of anything, Connie. I’m not going to get Daddy drunk and make him sign a will giving me everything.’

‘Hmm,’ murmured Connie as Pru turned away. She turned back quickly.

‘What did you say?’

‘Nothing,’ trilled Connie. ‘Just pass me a bin bag and I’ll pop the curtains into it.’

For the next fifteen minutes neither of them said a word. While Connie balanced on a kitchen chair to unhook the curtains, Pru busied herself removing the loose covers from the sofas and armchairs.

When they had everything bundled up into seven or eight bin liners, they carried the first couple to Pru’s car.

Outside the front door, Francis and Greg were doing something with the guttering.

‘Let’s start with the roof and clear the gutters,’ Francis had suggested earlier. ‘A sound roof is the best basis for a sound house.’

‘Is it?’ said Greg. ‘What about good footings, a damp-proof course and solid brickwork?’

‘Well, of course, those are all important too, but they need to be kept dry by a sound roof.’

‘OK,’ said Greg, who knew as little about building as Francis but couldn’t be bothered to argue the point. ‘Who’s going up the ladder? You or me?’

‘I’m not good at heights,’ admitted Francis. ‘I’ll keep the bottom steady for you.’

‘Righto. Here I go.’

At the top of the ladder, Greg had a breathtaking view of the rolling fields and the rolling flesh of Belinda, who was in her garden, hula hooping in a bikini, with Emily.

Her invitingly wobbly bosoms and folds of comely stomach and hips were much more appealing than listening to Francis, who was standing at the foot of the ladder wittering about cracked slates.

Greg’s pleasant reverie was interrupted by Connie calling from below: ‘Greg, would you help me carry these bags into the car, please?’

‘No can do. I’m busy.’

‘I’ll help,’ said Francis.

Greg felt the ladder give slightly as Francis let go.

‘You’ll be all right up there, won’t you? I’ll only be a mo.’

‘Of course, old man,’ he called down.

He waited until the tops of his wife and brother-in-law’s heads had disappeared into the house, then seized his chance.

‘Morning, neighbour,’ he called from his perch.

Belinda, very aware that he had been watching her for the last ten minutes, pretended not to know where the voice was coming from, and turned her head from side to side before looking up and feigning surprise. She caught her hula hoop and let it fall to her ankles.

‘Ah! Hello again. You’re looking busy.’

‘And you’re looking hot.’

She gave him an impish grin. ‘Cheeky!’

He hurriedly continued, ‘I mean, hot doing all that hula hooping.’

She smiled again and in a faux Cornish accent replied, ‘Ooh, sir! Thank you.’

‘You look as if you could do with a cold glass of something.’

Connie, coming out of the house with another heavy bag, peered up at her husband and said, ‘I’d love a cold glass of something, darling. That’s thoughtful of you. But since you’re busy up there, I’ll sort it out. Fruit juice OK?’

She dropped the bag by Pru’s car and went back inside.

Belinda giggled. ‘You’re a naughty man,’ she said in a stage whisper.

Connie returned minutes later with a jug of juice and a tall glass with several ice cubes in it. Greg began whistling nonchalantly, giving the guttering his undivided attention.

Connie called up to him, ‘I’ll put the jug here for you.’ She was setting it down on the bench under the rose arbour when Francis came staggering out with two more bags. ‘Put those on the back seat, would you?’ she instructed him, and then walked back into the house.

Belinda had now left her garden and was standing in the drive. ‘Hello, Frankie.’ She moved forward and embraced him. ‘Greg was just saying I looked hot. And could do with a cold drink. I was about to make up a jug of Pimm’s. Want some?’

Pru came out now and elbowed her way past Belinda and Francis with the last of the bags. ‘Not for the boys, thank you. Alcohol and ladders don’t mix.’

She got into the car and with a small wheel spin, accelerated up the lane in a cloud of sand and grit.

‘God, I wish she wouldn’t drive like a maniac,’ muttered Francis.

‘If you change your mind about the Pimm’s …’ Belinda winked at both men, ‘I’ll be next door.’

Connie came out again with another bin bag. ‘Has Pru gone?’

‘Yes,’ said Francis, tearing his eyes away from Belinda. ‘You just missed her.’

Connie shrugged and set the bag down. ‘Oh, hi, Belinda.’

‘Hi there. Want a Pimm’s? I’ve asked the boys, but Pru said they weren’t to have any alcohol.’

Connie laughed. ‘That’s my sister, all right. I’d love a Pimm’s!’

‘You’re my kind of girl. Come on over and I’ll make you one.’

‘I should be getting on in the house. We’ve got loads to do. Especially since the flood.’

‘Then why don’t I bring the jug to you and give you a hand?’

‘Thanks!’

Connie darted back inside the house and Belinda smiled wickedly at Greg and Francis. ‘What a lovely family you are! I can see Connie and I will get along famously.’

*

The two women worked well together. It wasn’t long before, tongues loosened by the Pimm’s, Belinda began questioning Connie about Pru and Francis.

‘They’re a bit of an odd couple,’ she said.

‘You’re telling me!’ Connie laughed. ‘My sister, much as I love her, is a total control freak. If things aren’t done her way there’s hell to pay. Poor Francis.’

‘He’s such a lovely man,’ said Belinda. ‘Whereas she seems a bit … forceful.’

‘God, yes!’ Connie took another sip of Pimm’s. ‘Do you know, she told me that having sex was immature. She hasn’t given Francis any in years.’

Belinda thought about this for a moment. ‘Really?’

Connie nodded her head vigorously, her eyes wide and shocked.

‘Poor Frankie. We all need affection, don’t we?’

‘Oh quite.’ Connie was hitting her stride. ‘I make sure that Greg has no need to go elsewhere.’

Belinda thought about the Greg she had observed. Very flirtatious and with a definite twinkle in his eye. ‘So neither of you has ever been tempted?’

Connie shook her head vehemently. ‘Absolutely not. I’m a very lucky woman.’

‘You certainly are. What about Frankie? Has he ever strayed?’

Connie, mid swig of Pimm’s, spluttered a laugh, ‘Good God no! He’s lovely and all that, but he’s not exactly sexy, is he?’

Belinda frowned. ‘Oh, I don’t know.’

Connie looked at her with widening eyes. ‘Do you fancy him?’

‘I think he’s a nice bloke.’

‘Oh wow! How hilarious. That would put the cat among the pigeons. Poor old Pru. What would she say if you and Francis were to have a passionate affair! Hilarious!’ Connie burst into peals of laughter and Belinda tried to join in.