The Holiday Home

24


‘Morning,’ breezed Pru as she popped a wholemeal bagel into the toaster.

‘Morning,’ replied her sister, who was gazing out into the garden, still basking in the afterglow of memories of Merlin. She looked at her watch. ‘Blimey, sis, you’re up early – it’s only seven thirty.’

‘Well, I don’t want to waste such a glorious day. I was thinking, is there anything I can do to help with the party preparations?’ asked Pru.

Connie gave her sister a suspicious look. ‘Why? That sort of thing isn’t usually your bag.’

‘Well, she is my only niece.’ Pru opened the cupboard containing the mugs. ‘Would you like a tea? Or coffee?’

‘Tea.’ Connie frowned. ‘What’s going on? Who are you and what have you done with my sister?’

Pru gave an uncharacteristic peal of laughter. ‘I’m only offering to make tea, dear.’

There was a sound in the hall and Francis appeared in a pair of rumpled pyjamas, looking as perplexed as Connie.

Pru shot him a beaming smile. ‘I thought I told you to stay in bed. Go back and I’ll bring your breakfast up to you.’

Francis hesitated, not quite knowing what to do. He liked making his own breakfast. He’d grown accustomed to making his own breakfast.

Pru shooed him out. ‘Go. Upstairs. I’ll be there in a minute.’

‘Oh.’ Francis gave a nervous smile. ‘OK.’

Connie stared at Pru’s back as she busied herself with slices of salmon and cream cheese for the bagel.

‘Come on, Pru. Tell me. What’s got into you?’

Pru smiled coyly and in a hushed voice told Connie about the book she’d been reading.

Connie’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline. ‘Oh. My. God! Poor Francis! You’ve been practising on him, haven’t you?’

Pru nodded gleefully.

‘I thought you told me you didn’t like sex?’

‘Well, I’ve woken up again.’

‘Blimey. I bet Francis doesn’t know what hit him: nothing for yonks and now you’re going to wear him out!’

Pru leaned with her back against the worktop and gave Connie an earnest look. ‘It was something Belinda said the other day. I think she’s got her eye on Francis.’

Connie gave a hoot of laughter. Pru held up a hand.

‘Honestly, Con! And a couple of days later I read a review about this book and how it had transformed one woman’s love life, so I thought I’d see what all the fuss was about. You should read it.’

‘I did. I skipped to the first couple of dirty bits and found it rather dull. But then I don’t need anything to improve my love life. Greg and I satisfy each other very nicely.’

‘Well, bully for you.’

‘Oh, Pru, I’m sorry,’ exclaimed Connie, seeing the hurt expression on her sister’s face. ‘I didn’t mean to pooh-pooh your new lease of life.’

Ignoring her, Pru carried the breakfast tray out to the hall in silence.

‘I’m pleased for you,’ Connie called after her, ‘truly I am.’

Pru met a sleepy Jem on the stairs and gave him a smacker of a kiss. ‘Morning, my darling boy.’

He rubbed his cheek where her lips had left a damp impression and then scratched at his unshaven throat. ‘Not so loud, Mum.’

‘Oh, poor little boy. Working hard for his living?’

‘Yeah, and I’ve got to see Poppa before I go. He wants me to do something on his iPad for him.’

Pru laughed and gave him another kiss, which he tried to dodge.

‘Muuum.’

‘See you later, darling. Bye.’ And she continued up towards her bedroom.

*

With a sigh of contentment, Jem wiped the bacon sandwich crumbs from his lips.

‘Can I make you another one, Jem?’ queried Dorothy, poised with the frying pan in her hand.

‘No, you’re all right, Gran.’ He got up and collected his canvas bag, which he slung over one shoulder. ‘Gotta go now. Tell Poppa his iPad’s all sorted now. Laters!’

Dorothy saw him out of the door and waved as he rode off to Trevay on his bike. She spied her husband coming up the path on his way back from Higher Barton where he’d collected some milk and his newspaper.

‘He’s a good lad,’ said Henry, as he watched Jem disappear into the distance.

‘And growing. I reckon he’s shot up another two inches this summer. Must be over six foot by now.’ Dorothy shut the front door. ‘Won’t be long before he’s ready to take on the family firm … assuming it’s still in the family.’

‘I’d be happy to have Jem and Abi in the family firm after uni, but …’ Henry frowned. ‘I don’t think it’s fair to burden them with that sort of decision at this stage. They may not want to be part of it.’

‘So sell up and share it all out between Pru and Connie.’

‘I can’t sell the company – I’d feel I was letting Dad down.’

‘Now you’re being silly.’

Henry looked steadily at Dorothy. ‘I just don’t want to make the decision.’

‘Better to give them the whole lot – the company, Atlantic House, the Dorothy – while we’re still alive to see them enjoy it. If nothing else it would put an end to the tension between them.’

Henry gazed out of the window to the garden and the ocean beyond, saying nothing.

Dorothy tried again: ‘It’ll save any misunderstandings when we’re gone.’

He turned and looked at her with a heavy heart.

‘You mean Susan.’

Dorothy hesitated, then said, ‘Yes, I mean Susan.’

‘If she wanted anything from me, she would have found me long ago.’

‘Maybe she’s been abroad and doesn’t know what a success the company is?’

Henry smiled ruefully. ‘Darling, Carew Family Board Games is an international brand. She’d know.’

‘So she’ll also know that she could be entitled to a share … unless she’s dead?’ Dorothy brightened at the thought. It was one that always brought a glimmer of hope. ‘If we only had confirmation, that would solve all our problems.’

‘And how would we explain it to the girls?’

‘We’d find a way – times have changed, they’d soon get over it. Please, Henry. I need to know where I stand.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Find out if Susan is alive. Maybe we can start by searching the Internet. Jem said he’d sorted out your iPad so we can get online again. I’ll do it, if you show me how.’

They got out the iPad and logged on to Google. Dorothy immediately tapped in SUSAN CAREW.

Up popped many Susan Carews. A dozen or so in America, some on Facebook, others on LinkedIn. There was no way of telling whether one of these many Susan and Sue and Susie Carews was the person they were looking for.

Dorothy was disappointed. ‘I thought you could find anyone on this thing.’

‘Let’s put it away, shall we? I was thinking of paying a visit to the jeweller’s in Trevay – I’d like you to help me choose something nice for Abi’s birthday.’

*

Francis was breathless. ‘How was that?’

Pru could barely speak. ‘Amazing.’

‘Good.’

‘Very good.’

‘No. I meant good as in I’m pleased it was all right.’

‘I am pleased.’

‘Good.’

‘Don’t start that again.’

Francis stepped out of bed feeling better than he’d felt for a long time. He was astonished at how the floodgates of no desire had lifted to reveal a dam of sexual energy. And he hadn’t thought of Belinda once.

‘Helloooo!’

Oh God. Talk of the devil. That was Belinda calling from the hall. The bloody woman never knocked. She just walked right in.

Francis met Pru’s wide eyes and they stayed perfectly still, listening for further sounds. They heard Greg saying something and then the sound of Belinda’s cork wedges squeaking towards the kitchen. Pru started to giggle.

‘What are you laughing at?’ said Francis, frowning.

‘Her. She definitely fancies you. Watch out while she’s around.’

‘Gosh, no, Pru. Never.’ Francis was blushing horribly. ‘I’d never do anything like that.’

Pru took his reaction at face value. ‘Well, of course you wouldn’t.’ She got out of bed and put her dressing gown on. ‘You haven’t got it in you.’

Francis was on the verge of defending himself but decided that no answer would be the best answer. ‘I think I’ll have a shower,’ he said, and disappeared into their bathroom.

Greg’s voice shouted up the stairs. ‘Coffee, anyone? Belinda’s here to talk “party”.’

Pru studied herself in her wardrobe mirror and saw a woman who needed to comb her hair and brush her teeth. A woman who had just had very satisfying sex. A woman who was going to go downstairs and flaunt her sexual satisfaction in the enemy’s face.

*

‘Hi, Belinda,’ Pru greeted her with a Cheshire cat grin.

Belinda was put on the back foot. She’d never seen Pru in any other guise than uptight businesswoman in designer holiday casual wear. Pru in satin robe and clearly no underwear was hard to adjust to.

‘Hi, Pru,’ she replied, unconsciously slipping a shirt button undone to reveal a little more freckled bosom.

Greg noticed immediately and hurried over with her mug of coffee, seizing the opportunity for his customary appraisal of her cleavage. ‘Belinda’s come to discuss party food with Francis,’ he said.

‘Has she?’ said Pru, raising an eyebrow and smirking. ‘How fabulously kind of you. He’ll be down in a moment. We had a … lie-in,’ she purred.

Belinda shook her curls and rattled her bangled wrists. ‘Really? I’m so full of energy I need very little sleep.’

‘Hmm,’ murmured Pru, psyching Belinda out. ‘How fascinating.’

Greg chewed nervously at a fingernail, realising that he was watching some kind of predatory female haka, the opening gambit in what could turn out to be a full-on catfight. ‘I’ll get Connie. So you girls can do whatever you girls do.’ He darted into the hall and they heard him go upstairs.

Moments later there was the sound of two pairs of running feet. The news that Pru and Belinda were about to do battle over Francis had Connie and Greg racing down the stairs in an unseemly scramble so as not to miss the sight of fur flying.

Much to their disappointment, the two women were sitting calmly at opposite ends of the kitchen table, discussing the weather. ‘I love getting a suntan, me,’ Belinda was saying.

Pru narrowed her eyes. ‘Yes, I noticed there was some sun damage to your neck.’

‘Belinda!’ Connie burst out, making everyone jump. ‘Great of you to come over! I’ve had an idea about how to hang the fairy lights and things. Have you had any thoughts on how to use the pink stuff you got?’

Pru laughed softly. ‘Still using the pink, are you? How delightfully outré. Ah, here’s Francis.’ She reached an arm out to clasp his hips as he stopped beside her chair. ‘Belinda’s here to help with Abi’s party. I think she wants to know what you plan for the menu.’ She turned again to Belinda. ‘This is definitely the man to satisfy any hungry appetite, aren’t you … Frankie!’

Belinda could read the startled look in Francis’s eyes. Licking her lips, she replied, ‘Oh yes. Of that I am quite certain.’

Pru flashed a look of pure ice towards her adversary. Then she rose from the table, kissed her husband full on the lips, and slunk, catwalk style, out of the room.

*

It was way past lunchtime by the time their meeting finished, but now the menu and theme of the party were agreed.

Belinda went home with a notebook full of to-do lists and Francis set about writing up his shopping list. Pru was working on something that looked like a spreadsheet and Connie was heating up some soup. Greg was on the phone.

‘Come all the way down the lane and you can’t miss us … Atlantic House … on the right … just before the beach … OK, OK, I’ll stand on the drive now and look out for you. Bye.’ He put the phone down and headed for the door, saying to no one in particular, ‘Abi’s boat will be here any minute. I’ve asked Henry if we can put it round the side of The Bungalow so that she won’t see it. I’m going to stand on the drive to wave him in …’

Connie carried on stirring the soup. Francis looked up quizzically. ‘Did Greg just say there was a boat coming for Abi?’

‘Yep,’ said Connie. ‘He’s called it Abi’s Gale. Please remember to laugh when he tells you.’

*

‘Good afternoon, Mr Carew,’ said Mr Carter of Carter’s Fine Jewels. ‘Long time no see. Tom, fetch a seat for Mrs Carew, would you?’

A spotty young man with an enlarged Adam’s apple scuttled into a back room to collect a bentwood chair. As soon as Dorothy had settled herself, Mr Carter beamed at them and asked, ‘Now then, how can we help today?’

‘We’re looking for a gift for our granddaughter who’ll be seventeen tomorrow.’

‘I see. A watch, perhaps?’

Henry looked at Dorothy for her reaction.

‘A watch would be very suitable,’ she agreed. ‘It would leave us with the option of giving her a nice ring or something,’ here she stared pointedly at Henry before continuing, ‘for her eighteenth.’

‘Quite so,’ said Mr Carter, heading for a large cabinet full of watches. He pulled a key from the chain in his pocket and opened the door. ‘Here we are. These are very popular with young ladies at the moment. Pretty, waterproof and reasonably priced.’

Henry left Dorothy to do the choosing. While she was engrossed in consultations with Mr Carter about the merits of the various watches, he stepped to one side and surreptitiously glanced at the trays of diamond rings on display. The small diamond on Dorothy’s finger was over forty years old and the gold band was rubbing thin. It had been the very best he could afford at the time. He put his glasses on and peered at the tiny price tickets. How much? He put a steadying hand on the glass countertop and reminded himself that, of the promises he’d made to Dorothy, this was the only one he was in a position to fulfil.

‘An excellent choice, Mrs Carew,’ announced Mr Carter. ‘And if your granddaughter doesn’t like it, we can always change it.’

‘She’ll like it!’ said Dorothy firmly.

Henry drifted back towards them and admired the small, elegant watch. ‘Lovely,’ he said. ‘And now would you mind showing us a selection of your diamond rings – for Mrs Carew.’

‘A special birthday? Anniversary?’ enquired Mr Carter.

‘Nope.’ Henry smiled at Dorothy. ‘Purely because she deserves one.’