by Fern Britton
‘Are you ready?’ he asked Abi.
‘Yes.’
‘OK. Here we go. One, two, three—’ He whipped off the tea towel and Abi saw in front of her the boat tied with pink ribbons and balloons with Abi’s Gale in large gold letters on the back and side.
‘Oh my God!’ she squealed, running towards it. ‘Is it mine? Mine alone? No one else’s?’
‘All yours.’ Her father put his arm round her skinny shoulders and hugged her. ‘Mum wouldn’t let me buy you a car.’
‘Shut up, Greg,’ responded Connie. ‘Do you like it, love?’
‘I adore it! Poppa, will you take me out in it and teach me how to drive it?’
‘Of course. You’ll be a natural,’ said her grandfather. ‘Haven’t you been skippering the Dorothy since you were little?’
‘Can we go now?’ she pleaded.
‘Get dressed first,’ said Henry, looking at her standing in her shortie pyjamas.
‘OK! See you in fifteen!’ She turned and raced back to the house.
‘See. Told you she’d love it,’ crowed Greg to Connie.
‘Well, if nothing else it’ll keep her out of the way of the party preparations,’ Connie replied.
*
Connie was standing on the garden terrace of Atlantic House watching Abi skimming across the waves in her new boat, with Henry sitting next to her and bending his head away from the stinging spray they were whipping up and Greg sitting up front, posing with his sunglasses on his head.
‘Look at her. Poppa never let Pru or me touch the Dorothy, but he’s happy to take his life in his hands for his granddaughter.’
Belinda looked up from where she was sitting with a pile of pink tulle in front of her. ‘She’s having a ball. Come and sit down and help me with this stuff. It’ll take your mind off her.’ She passed Connie a quantity of pink fabric. ‘All you have to do is make a little frou-frou skirt and put some gathers in for the waist. We’ll sew the pink ribbon on as a waistband and voilà!’
Connie sat and took hold of the proffered netting. ‘How many do we have to make?’
‘As many as we can. And then we have the turquoise blue.’ She nodded towards a plastic bag at her feet.
Connie threaded a needle with pink cotton and together the women sewed in silence. After a few minutes, Belinda said, ‘It must be a great feeling to have a sister. Pru seems so much fun.’
‘Really? Well, we have our moments,’ replied Connie.
‘You can share so much. Secrets and laughter.’
‘Mmm.’
‘I’d have loved a sister.’
‘Are you an only child?’
‘Yes. And I grew up wishing for a family. You see, it was just me and Mum. I didn’t even have a father, let alone brothers or sisters.’
Connie didn’t know how to reply. She wasn’t really in the mood to hear about Belinda’s deprived childhood. The best she could manage was a subdued, ‘Oh,’ as she kept on sewing.
Belinda did a few stitches more and then looked up at Connie. ‘You’re so lucky to have the family you have. A loving dad. Money. This house.’
‘Mmm.’ Connie had turned to look out to sea to watch Abi and Henry again.
Belinda changed tack. ‘Frankie is a sweetie, isn’t he?’
Connie turned back with suspicion. Was Pru right? Did Belinda fancy Francis? ‘Er. Yeah. I suppose so. He’s a very good father.’
‘I think he’d make a wonderful partner.’
On Pru’s behalf, Connie became defensive, ‘Really?’
‘To be honest, a lot of the mums at school have a crush on him.’
Connie could not conceal her disbelief. ‘Francis?’
Belinda nodded her head and bit through a piece of cotton. ‘Oh yes. I’m not sure Pru knows what she’s got.’
Connie decided that Belinda needed to know her sister’s marriage was sound. ‘Oh, I think she does. They’ve been like a couple of honeymooners these last few days.’
Belinda’s eyes clouded over. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Just that this holiday seems to have relaxed them both. They’re enjoying each other’s “company”, shall we say, more than ever.’
Belinda twisted her mouth to one side. ‘Oh. I see. You surprise me. I thought they had quite a … cold marriage.’
Connie laid her sewing in her lap. ‘What makes you say that?’
Belinda tried to bluff Connie into divulging more information. ‘Something I sort of picked up. Pru doesn’t seem the passionate sort and … well, quite frankly, Frankie is a very sexy man.’
‘Is he?’ said Connie, taken aback.
‘You should hear the women at the school gates.’
‘What do they say?’
‘That if his wife doesn’t want him, there are plenty who do.’
Connie was both astonished and furious on Pru’s behalf. ‘Well, you can tell them that my sister and Francis are very happy and have a healthy, passionate marriage – not that it’s any of their business!’
Belinda said nothing but bent her head to her sewing.
It occurred to Connie that she might be hiding tears. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked.
Belinda added the finished skirt to the pile and stood up, keeping her face turned away from Connie.
‘Oh, gosh yes! Talking of Frankie, I promised I’d help him with the trifles,’ she said. ‘Any problems with the rest of those skirts, give me a call.’ And she walked across the paving and through the kitchen doors.
*
Francis was stirring an enormous pot of chilli mince.
Belinda sniffed appreciatively. ‘Something smells good,’ she said, sidling close to him.
He gave her a quick look and carried on stirring, ‘Hi. You’re just in time. Would you make a couple of bowls of couscous? There’s some coriander, parsley, dried apricots and oranges and limes to squeeze into the mix over on the side.’
She put her arm gently round his waist and squeezed him. He felt her warm breast on his arm and shamefully remembered how that feeling had aroused him until this week’s surprising revival of his sex life with Pru.
He made a casual movement away from her so that she had to let go of him.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’ll get on with this, then make the trifles, shall I?’
He didn’t even look at her. ‘Yes please.’
She busied herself with 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.’
‘Abi’s Gale?’ said Janie.
‘You know the name of the boat?’ gasped Francis.
‘Sure. I was the one who came up with it,’ Janie preened.
‘Belinda, I’ve finished the pink and I’m on the blue now … Oh, hello.’ Connie, having spotted Janie, was looking at her curiously.
Francis stepped in. ‘Connie, this is Janie – Greg’s PA. Janie, this is Connie – Greg’s wife.’
Connie smiled warmly at the new arrival. ‘Janie, how lovely to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you. Greg’s an insufferable pig at times, isn’t he?’ she laughed.
The tall blonde looked coolly at Connie and said, ‘Oh, he’s not bad. I’ve heard a lot about you, too.’
‘He didn’t tell me you were coming. Is it about work?’
‘Yes. It’s a last-minute thing. Once I heard about the party, I thought it would be easier for me to come down here and sort it out with him.’
Connie looked baffled but remained polite. ‘Can I offer you a drink? Something to eat? Where are you staying?’
‘I’d love a double espresso. And I haven’t booked anywhere to stay yet.’
‘Stay here! We’ve plenty of room. I’ll take you up to a guest room and you can come down for your coffee when you’ve had a chance to freshen up. Greg will probably be back by then.’
26
‘Throttle back. Point the nose to the right … gently.’ Henry talked Abi through the approach to the mouth of the cave that led to Atlantic House’s secret boathouse.
‘That’s it … easy does it.’
‘I have done this before, Poppa.’
‘Yes, I know. But Abi’s Gale handles a bit differently to the Dorothy. Now throttle back a bit and aim for that wall there, then we’ll turn the corner.’
Abi beamed with pleasure at the thrill of driving her own boat into the cave. She only wished she had a few spectators, but part of the boathouse’s purpose was to prevent arrivals and departures being observed. They slowly motored into the cave and up towards the man-made jetty.
Henry donned a battered blue cotton cap. ‘Well done, Abi. We’ll make a seaman of you yet.’
Greg, barefooted in his shorts, scrambled out into the thigh-deep water and up the semi-submerged slipway. He caught the rope one-handed and held it until Abi arrived to secure it to the metal ring embedded in the concrete floor. ‘Well done, Skip!’ He mock saluted her.
It took them a while to wipe the boat down and make her safe next to the Dorothy. Abi was beaming with excitement. ‘She’s the best present I’ve ever had, Dad. Thank you so much.’ She grabbed him in a bear hug. ‘And the party tonight is going to make this the best day of my whole life!’
Henry smiled indulgently at his beautiful granddaughter. ‘Tell you what, if we’re clever and sneaky, we might get out of here and over to The Bungalow before the rest of the family catch us. That way we can have a celebratory hot chocolate together.’
‘Personally,’ said Greg, ‘I could use a Scotch.’ He put his arm round Abi. ‘Next year I can take you for a proper drink in the pub, but for now, hot chocolate will have to do.’
She laughed and kissed his tanned stubbly cheek. ‘Thanks, Daddy. This really is the best birthday ever!’
The three of them climbed the stairs and made a dash for The Bungalow without being seen.
*
When they finally rolled up to Atlantic House after their celebratory hot chocolate, with a dash of Scotch for the men, they found a hive of activity and a very miffed Connie. She was in the hall, surrounded by balloons.
‘There you bloody are! Where the hell have you been? Have you eaten? If you’re hungry you’ll have to ask Janie to make you a cheese sandwich. She’s just clearing ours up, so you’d better get in quick.’
‘Who’s Janie?’ asked Abi, as Greg and Henry gasped ‘Janie!’ in unison.
‘Hii!’ Janie was standing in the door of the kitchen, brandishing a sharp knife. ‘I make a mean cheese and pickle if you want some?’
Greg felt his legs turning to liquid beneath him. His eyes swivelled from Janie to Connie and back again.
Henry, doing his utmost to conceal his fury, stepped forward. ‘Welcome, Janie,’ he said, in a not altogether welcoming voice. ‘This is a surprise.’
‘A good one, I hope?’ she giggled mischievously. ‘I’ve got some paperwork that Greg wanted me to bring down.’
‘You have?’ Greg was finding it hard to breathe and talk at the same time.
‘Yes. We discussed it yesterday. Remember?’
Greg shook his head then nodded it in confusion.
‘OK, who wants a sandwich?’ said Janie, turning back to the kitchen.
‘How did the boat go?’ Connie asked Abi. ‘I was watching you zipping across the bay.’
Greg and Henry remained in the hall, watching as the women disappeared into the kitchen. Greg was feeling as if he’d been the victim of a hit-and-run accident. Henry was staring at him, his colour rising ominously.
‘I want a word with you,’ he hissed. ‘In the study.’
Greg blinked and looked at his father-in-law’s deadly serious face. He did as he was told.
‘Here, drink this.’ Henry passed a glass of Scotch over, before waving Greg to a seat and sinking down in a chair himself.
‘Thank you,’ said Greg meekly.
‘What the devil do you think you’re doing, inviting her here?’ Henry’s voice was controlled, but the fury in his tone was unmistakable. ‘And, before you say a word, bear in mind that I already know the answer.’
Greg sipped the Scotch to buy some time. Henry was no fool in business or in private. How much did he know? How did he know? Greg took another, larger mouthful of his drink.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Oh yes you do.’
Greg looked at his hand, clasping the glass. ‘I didn’t ask her down. There is no urgent paperwork.’
‘Then why is she here?’
‘I don’t know!’ He looked up with horrified eyes.
‘You’re hav
ing an affair with her, aren’t you?’ Recognising a rhetorical question, Greg didn’t bother with an answer.
‘Aren’t you?’ thundered Henry.
Greg simply nodded his miserable head.
‘She’s not your first mistress, I take it?’
Greg looked away, his averted eyes speaking volumes.
‘You bastard!’ Henry’s voice was icy with contempt. ‘You’re an utter fool. How could you jeopardise the happiness of your wife, your daughter – not to mention risking your position in the company! What were you thinking?’
‘I’m sorry.’ Greg rubbed his eyes with the fingers of his good hand and started to weep. ‘I’m so … so … sorry.’
‘Sorry you did it, or sorry you were found out?’
‘I was going to end it after the holidays.’
‘Were you? And how would you be able to resist Janie in the office? Have her sacked? Bring in a younger, blonder model?’
‘Nooo,’ Greg wailed.
Henry stood up and went to the door.
Greg was scared. ‘What are you going to do?’
Henry looked at him contemptuously. ‘I’m going to make sure my granddaughter and my daughter are going to have the best party this house has ever seen. As for you, keep out of my way, keep your hands off Janie, and try to behave like a decent husband and father.’
Greg relaxed a little. ‘You’re not going to tell them?’
Henry could not conceal his disgust. ‘Thinking of your own skin as usual? You really are a complete shit. I will deal with you when I’ve had a chance to think about things. In the meantime, remember: I will be watching your every move.’
*
Greg avoided Janie for the rest of the afternoon and took to his bedroom in need of sanctuary. He couldn’t think straight. His mind kept going round and round in circles, like a dog chasing its tail, until he felt sick and giddy. Why was Janie here? How did Henry know? Would Henry tell Connie? What would Abi think? Where would he go? What would he do? And back to the beginning again.
He lay on the bed, curled up like a baby and wept. Some time later there was a tentative knock at the door. He lay rigid. Another pint of adrenalin squirted into his system, tensing his muscles in readiness to flee. He heard a man’s voice.
‘Greg? Are you awake? It’s Francis. Can I come in?’