Fern Britton 3-Book Collection: The Holiday Home, A Seaside Affair, A Good Catch

‘No.’

‘Oh, Henry, don’t be a bore. Emily doesn’t want to play board games, do you, dear?’

Emily, embarrassed, murmured, ‘I don’t know.’

‘Of course you want to play,’ said Belinda. She looked at Henry, ‘You invented it, didn’t you?’

Henry laughed self-deprecatingly. ‘As a matter of fact, I did. Who told you?’

‘Francis did, ages ago. From what he said, you saved the family business from going under.’

‘Something like that,’ said Henry, getting to his feet. ‘So, Emily, do you fancy a game? I’ll teach you how to beat anyone.’

‘OK,’ said Emily, not exactly brimming with enthusiasm.

Henry got up and went to the conservatory, Emily trailing after him. ‘Come along then.’

Once the doors were safely closed, Dorothy smiled and said to Belinda, ‘They’ll be gone for at least an hour.’ She plumped up the cushion behind her back and settled down. ‘So, Belinda, tell me all about yourself.’

Belinda stirred a large spoonful of sugar into her coffee. ‘There’s not much to tell. Forty-something single mum. Struggling a bit to make ends meet. My cup’s always half-full, though – I try to focus on the positive.’

‘Quite so.’ Dorothy watched as Belinda helped herself to a biscuit. ‘What happened to Emily’s father?’

‘Oh, Brett’s still around. We’re good friends, as a matter of fact. But when he met Steve, he met the man of his dreams.’

It took a superhuman effort for Dorothy to prevent her carefully drawn eyebrows from going into orbit. ‘Steve?’

‘Yeah.’ Belinda took another biscuit. ‘It was a shock, naturally. I’d had no idea Brett was gay. I’d always counted myself lucky that I had such a kind husband with tremendous empathy.’ She wiped the crumbs from her bust so that they bounced off her skirt and on to Dorothy’s carpet. ‘And now I have Brett and Steve, so I am lucky, when you think about it.’

‘Oh dear.’ Dorothy was bemused. ‘Did your family help?’

‘Well, my mum was very understanding. My dad had abandoned her when I was a baby. Only in his case it was for another woman. We never heard from him again.’

Dorothy tutted. ‘How can men be so feckless when a child is involved?’ She leaned forward to offer Belinda the plate of biscuits.

‘Oh, thank you. These are delicious. It’s my breakfast.’

‘Would you care for some toast?’

‘No, no. This is lovely.’ Another crumb fell, but this time into Belinda’s cavernous cleavage. Dorothy wondered if, when Belinda stood up, it would work its way past her knickers and join its friends on her carpet.

‘So, how do you know my son-in-law, Francis?’

Belinda popped the last piece of shortbread in her mouth and wiped her fingers on her skirt. ‘At school. When Em joined year nine, last autumn, I thought I’d help out with the PTA. I’m good at organising and it’s a nice way to make friends. Frankie is a brilliant committee member. Organised and generous with his time. A lovely man.’

‘When you say “Frankie”, you are referring to Francis?’ Dorothy queried.

‘Oh, sorry – yes. It’s a name I started calling him and now a lot of the committee do too. I think it annoys him a bit.’

Dorothy raised her eyebrows. ‘Surely not?’

‘It’s my little joke. Anyway, he and I have got really friendly and when he told me he was coming down here for the summer and that there were cottages to rent next door, I thought, why not? Em deserves a break. I spoke to Big Ben yesterday and it looks as though we can stay right through August; he’s had a late cancellation and has reduced the rent down to almost nothing.’

Belinda drained her coffee cup and placed it on the tray. ‘Which is great, because it means I can get stuck in helping Abi with her party. Which reminds me, I’m going into Trevay to have a look for party inspiration round the shops. Is there anything I can get for you while I’m there?’

‘If you’re sure you don’t mind, there were a few items – I made out a list earlier. It’s in the kitchen.’ She stood and, picking up the tray, headed for the kitchen. Belinda fell in behind her.

Dorothy put the tray down on the spotless work surface and found her glasses, pen and notepad. After adding Shortbread biscuits x2 to the list, she passed it to Belinda. ‘Now then, where did I put my purse …’

‘Don’t worry, we’ll settle up when I get back.’

‘Thank you, Belinda. That really is most kind. You’ve certainly saved me a trip. Now, let’s find Emily and Henry.’

The Lawyer, Lawyer board and pieces were all laid out on the conservatory table, with Henry and Emily hunched over it. Emily was placing a black cap on her head while reading from a card: ‘You shall be taken from this place and hanged by the neck.’

Henry’s laugh rumbled from his chest. ‘Hold on, I only got a parking ticket!’

Emily started to giggle too. ‘It’s the sentence card. I can’t help picking it up. It was at the top of the pile.’

Henry spotted Dorothy and Belinda by the door. ‘Well, the law is an ass. We all know that to be true.’

‘Come on, Em. We’ve got things to do,’ said Belinda, holding out her hand.

Emily put the card and black cap down reluctantly. ‘Can we play again, Poppa?’ she asked Henry.

‘Oh, rather. You just come right over, any time you like.’

20 (#ulink_d389dda8-6bb3-533b-a643-993098802576)

As they watched Belinda’s car disappear down the lane, Dorothy found the spare set of keys to Atlantic House.

‘Come on, Henry – we’re going to check on the roofer and take a look at what they’ve been up to next door.’

The moment they unlocked the door, the smell of fresh polish and washing powder hit them with a pleasing strength. They wandered from room to room, Henry checking that the television was still working and that the woodwork was being rubbed down and properly prepared for painting. Dorothy went into every corner, trying to spot anything that had been missed by duster or vacuum. When the downstairs passed the inspection with flying colours, she made her way upstairs. The curtains in one of the bedrooms were missing, still at the cleaners, but the carpets were newly shampooed and pristine.

Dorothy checked her old en-suite bathroom, now used by Pru and Francis. The basin tap was dripping.

‘Henry?’ she called. ‘Has that bloody plumber finished? Only the tap is still dripping up here.’

Henry’s muffled voice came from somewhere downstairs, possibly outside. She caught the words ‘boiler’ and ‘leak’ and ‘damn cowboy’ and went to find him.

He wasn’t in the kitchen, but the back door was open. As she walked through it and out into the garden, she found him coming out of the top cellar that led down to the cave.

‘That useless bugger! Look in here.’ He went back through the old fortified door and she followed.

‘Oh my God!’ she said. The floor was six inches deep in water.

‘Quite. That stupid idiot hasn’t tightened the joints on the piping. Well, I hope he’s not expecting to be paid for this.’