by Fern Britton
‘Unlike me and Greg.’ Connie shook her head sadly. ‘Deep down, I’ve always suspected something was amiss, all those furtive phone calls at odd hours, the weekends away, the suspect purchases on his credit card. I had my suspicions all along, but I kept telling myself what a good husband he was. And a good father … there’s no denying he worships Abi. Oh God, Pru – do you think he’s dead? It will destroy Abi if—’
‘I don’t know, Con. I just don’t know. I promise you though, whatever happens, we’ll get through this. I’m going to start acting like the big sister I should have been all along.’
‘Actually, you’re not the big sister any more,’ said Connie, smiling through her tears.
Pru looked blank for a moment, then gasped, ‘Crikey, I’d almost forgotten about Belinda.’
‘Mrs Wilson?’
At the sound of the doctor’s voice, the two women jumped up. ‘My daughter – is she going to be all right?’ asked Connie.
‘Well, she’s had a nasty shock and she’s obviously very distressed about her father. Physically, we need to monitor her lungs for any side-effects of salt-water aspiration – sometimes victims of near-drowning can suffer a delayed reaction, so we’ll keep her under observation for a couple of days just to be on the safe side. Other than that, she has a scrape on her face and a broken ankle, but she should make a full recovery.’
‘Will it be OK if I stay here too, Doctor?’
‘Yes, of course.’ He looked over his shoulder as Belinda emerged from A&E. ‘Fortunately your friend didn’t inhale any water, so she’s free to go.’
‘Actually,’ said Pru, ‘she’s not our friend. She’s our sister.’
*
It was 5.32 a.m. when the lifeboat crew recovered Greg’s lifeless body from the sea. The police liaison officer who’d been sent to Atlantic House to keep vigil with the family broke the news. Henry insisted it would be he that would drive to the hospital to tell Constance and Abi the dreadful news on the following morning.
*
The next few days passed in a blur. While Connie stayed at the hospital with Abi, Henry did his best to deal with the funeral arrangements and the police inquiry. Francis and Dorothy held the fort at Atlantic House, cooking family meals and seeing everyone was looked after.
They were just sitting down to dinner one evening, with Francis busying himself handing out bowls and plates, when Dorothy paused, serving spoon in hand, and announced: ‘You know, Francis, I never quite understood your appeal – till now.’
Francis stood, nonplussed, deciding to say nothing until he was sure what turn the conversation was going to take.
‘Mummy …’ said Pru, a warning in her voice.
‘It’s all right, dear, I just want Francis to know that I am delighted and proud to have him as my son-in-law. Now, pass me those wine glasses, would you?’
‘Hear, hear!’ Francis felt the pressure of Pru’s hand on his leg. He looked at her and smiled. ‘Mum’s right, you know. I don’t know what any of us would do without you.’
He blinked and looked at his wife’s smiling face. ‘It’s what husbands do, isn’t it?’
*
After the dinner, while Jem took Emily to watch television in the rumpus room, Henry, Dorothy, Francis, Pru and Belinda remained around the kitchen table, and the topic of conversation returned to the subject of Susan.
‘There’s one thing I still don’t understand,’ said Henry. ‘When your mother told you about me, when you found out who I was, why didn’t you just call me?’
‘It was all too much to take in. I’d been through a lot already – Brett ending our marriage, Mum’s stroke – all within the space of a couple of months. When I found the marriage certificate and wedding photos amongst her things, I was devastated. I’d always thought I was Howard’s daughter.’
‘Howard?’
‘He was Mum’s boyfriend when I was little. They were together for quite a while. It was Howard who set her up with the flat in Pevensey Bay, but he was married so he never actually lived with us. He used to bring me presents and I’d call him “Daddy”. I suppose I wanted a daddy like all the other kids had, and he never corrected me or anything so I sort of assumed it was true.
‘After Mum told me the truth, I looked you up on Google. It was so strange to see your face. I sat looking at my face in the mirror, trying to see if there was a resemblance. I thought about writing to you, or phoning you up. But … well, you’d abandoned Mum, walked out on us. I’d just been abandoned by Brett, I couldn’t face dealing with more rejection. All the same, I couldn’t let it rest, I had to know what you were like … what your other family was like, the one you’d walked out on us for. So I left Eastbourne and rented a house near the Carew factory. Then I met Francis at the school and discovered he was your son-in-law.’
‘How did you find that out?’
‘School-gate gossip. Anyway, once I’d found you, Francis, it felt as if destiny was taking a hand.’
Pru shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
Belinda turned to her. ‘I’m sorry, Pru. I may have looked as if I was making a play for Frankie. It’s just that he is such a kind person and I was at a bit of a low ebb. Lonely. Can you understand?’
Pru reached out and touched Francis on the arm. ‘Turns out I needed a wake-up call. I’d lost sight of what a good man I had.’
‘I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Belinda,’ said Dorothy, ‘but how can you be sure that Henry’s your father and not this James fellow?’
‘I’d be happy to take a DNA test.’
Dorothy snorted indignantly: ‘We are not the Jeremy Kyle show.’
Ignoring his wife, Henry announced, ‘That will not be necessary. As far as I am concerned I am your father, Belinda. And Emily.’ She looked at him. ‘Would you do me the honour of becoming my second granddaughter?’
*
Second tragic drowning at cursed beach house, said the headline in the local paper.
It has been confirmed that a man in his forties has tragically drowned in the old smugglers’ cave beneath historic Atlantic House on Treviscum Bay. The victim lost his life trying to rescue his teenage daughter, who had been trapped on a narrow ledge of the cave by the rising tide. By horrible coincidence, the tragedy happened on the anniversary of a previous drowning at the same location: fourteen-year-old Claire Clovelly perished in August 1978 after hiding in the cave following a family argument. Her heartbroken family never returned to the house, which remained abandoned for ten years until it was sold to the current owners.
A horrible trick of fate – or is there something more at work? Local legend has it that a dying smuggler placed a curse on Atlantic House after he was stabbed and left to drown in the cave by the owner, Sir Rupert Trelawney. Sir Rupert was subsequently arrested but released without charge following the intervention of his wealthy friends, who created an alibi for him. He went on to become Member of Parliament for the county, but had served only a month when he was found dead, apparently of a broken neck, at the foot of the stone steps leading down to the smugglers’ cave.
*
Greg’s funeral service was held in Trevay Church.
It was a simple service, touchingly conducted by the Vicar of Trevay, Louise.
Henry paid tribute to Greg’s selfless heroism in trying to save his beloved daughter. Abi, still on crutches, insisted on paying her own tribute. Supported by her grandfather and mother, she said simply, ‘He was the best dad in the world,’ before placing a small but beautifully crafted model sailing boat on his coffin.
32
Snow was falling gently on the churchyard, muffling the footsteps of the small wedding party.
Henry was looking very handsome in a handmade tweed suit woven in the softest of heathery green wool. His black suede waistcoat, snow-white shirt and paisley cravat were Dorothy’s choice.
The bride, wearing an Alice Temperley lace wedding dress in a subtle cream that brought out the colour of her skin and eyes, was carr
ying a bouquet of mistletoe.
The Reverend Louise was waiting for them at the ancient door of Trevay Church.
‘Welcome, welcome, on this happiest of days!’ she said, a huge smile creasing her face.
The bride and groom walked down the aisle together, with Emily and Abi as bridesmaids.
The congregation was small. Pru and Francis. Connie and Jem. And Belinda, of course.
The months since Greg’s death had been difficult for Connie. Her main focus had been Abi. Painful as Greg’s betrayal had been, Connie was careful to avoid all mention of it. Abi didn’t need to hear about his failings; it was better to let her remember the father she’d loved as a hero. And for all that he had been a philanderer and a lousy husband, there was no questioning his devotion to Abi. So Connie kept her feelings to herself – except on those occasions when she ran to her sisters for support, and vented the hurt and rage she couldn’t acknowledge when Abi was around.
As her parents exchanged their vows, Connie bowed her head when it came to the line about forsaking all others. She could still recall her own wedding day, still hear Greg’s voice intoning that vow. Living without him was hard, but living with the truth was harder.
It required an act of will, but Connie pushed all the negativity away. This was a special day – and one to celebrate. It wasn’t every day you got to go to your own parents’ wedding, after all.
The wedding breakfast at the Starfish Hotel was a low-key but convivial affair. Photos were taken and Dorothy flashed her new wedding ring and the diamond engagement ring. The waiters fussed about with champagne and lobsters; and the cake, when it was carried through the dining room, drew applause from the other diners. Simple and elegant, it was two-tiered with intricate lacy icing with a bride and groom on the top.
Henry stood and hushed the party.
‘Before my wife and I cut this cake, we both want to express our gratitude that you are all here today. To have my children and grandchildren here is the greatest gift of all.’ His voice broke a little and he coughed lightly. ‘The last few months have been a difficult time for all of us here. For Connie and Abi especially, losing a husband and father. But I think we can all say that the last few months have brought our family closer together. And I know that we are all looking forward to getting to know the new members of our family all the better.’ His voice caught as he looked at Belinda and Emily.
‘This may seem an odd choice of timing on my part, but I would like to take this opportunity to make an announcement regarding my plans for the family business.’ He paused and looked down at the new gold band on his left hand. ‘My wife and I have been to see our lawyer. In addition to drawing up a will, we have made certain arrangements that will be set in motion with immediate effect. As of today, Carew Family Board Games is no longer in my name: I have transferred ownership to Pru, Connie and Belinda. The three of them must run it as they see fit as joint chief executives.’
Pru and Connie looked at each other in shock. ‘But, Daddy,’ said Pru, ‘I have a job. And Connie and Belinda have no experience of running a company.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ snapped Connie, dangerously veering back into old territory.
‘She’s right, though,’ said Belinda.
‘Hey, don’t start ganging up on me, just because I’m the youngest.’
Dorothy quietened the three of them with a loud ‘Shhhh’.
‘If I may continue,’ said Henry. ‘In my final act as chief executive, I took the liberty of appointing a new company secretary. He is an excellent organiser who can be trusted to keep a keen eye on the balance sheet and to ensure that the company sticks to its budget.’ He turned to Francis: ‘After managing Pru for eighteen years, my boy, I think you’ll find the company a piece of cake.’
‘What?!’ spluttered Francis. ‘But—’
‘We’ll need to recruit a new MD, of course,’ continued Henry, ignoring the interruption, ‘but as joint chief executives, the future of the company is in your hands.’
He turned his gaze to his grandchildren.
‘Jem, Abi and Emily – when this lot are retired, the company passes to you. If anyone wants to sell the company in the meantime, it has to be a unanimous decision between you all. The will states this most particularly. Do you all understand?’
He looked around at his family, who nodded solemnly. ‘Good.’ He picked up his glass of champagne. ‘And now I want to make a toast. To my family, and in particular, to my long-suffering new wife, Dorothy. I love you all.’ He raised the glass: ‘Here’s to us!’
Epilogue
Five Years Later
The estate agent placed her clipboard on the worn slate steps of the porch while she found the key to the ancient, silvered oak door.
‘It’s a marvellous old key, look.’ She showed it to Mr and Mrs Brigham and their two young daughters.
‘Is it a smuggler’s key?’ asked the youngest.
‘Grow up,’ said her sister. ‘Smugglers are made up.’
‘They are not! Are they, Mummy?’
Her mother, ignoring them, was anxiously watching as Danielle Hawkes of Trish Hawkes & Daughter Property Agents, put the old key in the lock.
‘The door is a bit stiff. It hasn’t been used much …’ Danielle grunted as she pushed her hip against the solid wood and turned the key. ‘Oof … there we are.’
The door swung open to reveal an impressive oak-panelled hall with light spilling into it from the open door of the grand drawing room.
The family walked through the hall and stopped in front of the windows and the breathtaking view over Treviscum Bay and the rolling breakers of the Atlantic beyond.
‘Welcome to Atlantic House,’ said Danielle.
Mr and Mrs Brigham looked at each other and smiled. Inwardly, Danielle was smiling too at the prospect of a lucrative sale. The place had been standing empty for several years, following a tragic accident in the cave below. A man had drowned, and the daughter whose life he’d saved wouldn’t go near the house after that, so the family had abandoned the place.
‘Come and have a look around,’ she urged. ‘The previous owner did a great deal of renovation work, but sadly the plumbing has leaked badly and there is some water damage to fix. Let’s start upstairs.’
The two little girls raced ahead of them. ‘I want this yellow room,’ squealed the older girl.
‘I saw it first. I want it,’ said the younger.
‘Go and find another one. This is mine.’
The little sister stomped off and opened a door at random. It led to a beautiful blue room with double-aspect windows looking out on to the beach and sea.
‘This is my one then,’ she shouted down the corridor. ‘It’s much better than yours.’
Her elder sister came running. When she saw the blue room she stamped her foot. ‘No. This is my room. The other one will suit you ’cos you’re little.’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘’Tis.’
‘’Tisn’t!’
‘Shut up, you two!’ shouted their father sternly. ‘Mummy and I need to think!’
Danielle opened the door of the master bedroom with a flourish. ‘And this would be your room …’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I cannot thank Kate Bradley my wonderful editor enough for all the encouragement and care she has given me during the writing of this book. When the going got tough she talked sense into me over poached eggs and coffee. My love and thanks also go to John Rush who thinks, erroneously, that he is to slip into a quieter life away from his desk. I have news for you, John – you can’t get rid of me that easily! Also, I must thank Luigi Bonomi, legendary literary agent, for his encouragement and inspiring words and the adorable Liz Dawson: hey little sister! As always my family have been my sounding board and mainstay. My love too, to Karen, Carole, Caroline, Lisa and the cycling pandas. No woman has better friends. My biggest and most heartfelt thanks of all, though, is to you for picking this book up. I hope you en
joy it.
Much love, Fern.
January 2nd 2013
By the same author:
Fern: My Story
New Beginnings
Hidden Treasures
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Harper
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
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First published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2013
Copyright © Fern Britton 2013
Cover design © Robyn Neild
Author photograph © Neil Cooper
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Source ISBN: 9780007468539
Ebook Edition © 2013 ISBN: 9780007468553
Version 1
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