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

Henry turned to where his father had pointed. Miss Danvers, the cool typist who’d joined the firm a month or two ago, was smiling at him warmly but without any hint of flirtation. She took a couple of steps towards him, juggling her shorthand book and pencil into her left hand and offering him her right. He shook it and asked rather pompously, ‘Do you have advertising experience, Miss Danvers?’

That smile again. ‘Yes, a little. I worked for the Surrey Advertiser after leaving secretarial college. Occasionally I’d be roped in to help with the classified ads.’

‘So, not an advertising executive then?’ he asked.

She laughed. ‘No. Sorry.’

Henry’s father coughed and indicated that they should take a seat. ‘Now we’ve established that neither of you have advertising experience, perhaps we can get this meeting under way. I propose starting an advertising department for the company. Just a small team at first: you two.’

‘Really, Dad?’ Henry was excited. ‘When? What’s the plan? What’s the budget?’

The three of them had spent the rest of the afternoon devising an advertising strategy. Carew Family Board Games was viewed in the industry as a relic of the fifties and sixties; while tradition and the cosy family image remained important to the brand, they needed to show that board games still had a place in the seventies.

‘Times may change, but the fact remains: the family that plays together, stays together,’ declared Henry’s father, Clarence. ‘Nothing can beat the fun of a family sitting round the table playing Ludo.’

Henry looked up under his eyebrows to see if Miss Danvers was familiar with his father’s favourite catchphrases. She gazed steadily back at him with a small curve of her lips.

He returned his attention to his father: ‘Absolutely, Dad.’

‘I’ve an idea,’ said Miss Danvers. ‘How about redesigning the Snakes and Ladders board? Instead of the usual nursery rhyme figures, how about having some more modern faces pictured on the board? Maybe pop stars? David Cassidy and the Partridge Family, or the Jackson Five.’

‘Good idea,’ said Henry warmly.

Mr Carew senior looked bemused. ‘I don’t know who the hell they are, but why don’t you ask Sylvia in the art department to mock something up? Anything else?’

Dorothy, confidence growing, spoke again. ‘Supposing I contact Thames TV and the BBC and ask if we could have the franchise to use their popular programmes? In Ludo, for instance, each of the four teams could be a children’s programme: Blue Peter, Dr Who, Crackerjack and Catweazle?’

Henry’s father leaned back in his chair and placed his hands firmly on the desk in front of him. ‘Genius! Why haven’t you thought of this, my boy?’

Henry was still gasping in awe at the brilliance of Miss Danvers. ‘I’ve got some catching up to do, I agree.’ He turned to her: ‘Are you sure you need me as a colleague?’

She laughed and looked down at her unused notepad.

His father got to his feet. ‘Right! That’s the new department up and running. Henry, your office is now the HQ of Carew advertising.’

He ushered the two fledgling advertising executives to the door and rang through to his secretary to order his afternoon cup of tea. ‘And, Elsie – I’ll have a couple of Bourbon biscuits, too.’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Elsie before putting the receiver down. Bourbons! He must be having a good day.

*

The following months had seen the blossoming of the advertising department and the blossoming of a love affair between its two members. Everything about Dorothy Danvers appealed to Henry. She was upfront and honest, she was attractive but didn’t spend hours on her appearance or feel the need to flirt with every man she encountered. Dorothy wore little makeup and treated men as equals. She was all the things that his life had been lacking.

One evening in her small one-bedroom flat, stomachs replete with Henry’s home-cooked spag bol, they lay on the sofa together watching The Goodies.

Henry turned off the TV, stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head.

‘I love you, Dorothy.’

She gazed up into his eyes. ‘I know. I love you too.’

A lump formed in his throat and his eyes shone. She reached up and brushed the unformed tears away. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’

He swallowed hard and, finding her hand, kissed the fingers and the palm.

‘I want every evening to be like this. I want to live with you and be with you every day and every night. As man and wife.’

It was her eyes that filled with tears now. ‘Oh, Henry. So do I. I want to be Mrs Henry Carew so very much.’

Henry paused. He knew this would the hardest thing he would ever do; there was so much at stake here. ‘Dorothy … there is something I have to tell you. Something …’ he gulped. ‘I’m afraid you might not love me after you hear this.’

He let her sit up and face him. Clutching her hands in his, he told her, holding nothing back.

When he had finished, she looked at him, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. ‘This is a cruel joke you’re playing on me.’ She stared at him, willing him to laugh. ‘It is a joke, isn’t it?’

‘I wish it were.’

Hearing this, she buried her face in her knees.

‘Do you hate me?’ he ventured.

‘I am disappointed in you.’ Her voice was muffled by her skirt. ‘I think you’d better go now, Henry. I need to think.’

He thought about falling to his knees to plead with her, or sweeping her up and carrying her into the bedroom. But in the end he walked to the door in silence and let himself out.

*

Dorothy stayed as she was for some time. Her brain was trying to make sense of the enormity of the mess she’d found herself in. Who was Henry? Her Henry had vanished and this other man who could keep such an enormous secret from her had taken his place.

She realised that her feet were getting cold. Rubbing her hands together to warm them, she slowly stood up. Her legs felt as if they didn’t belong to her. She went to the bathroom and ran a bath. The little pilot light leapt into action as she turned the Ascot water heater on and the gas jets hissed with heat.

Dorothy caught sight of her drained face looking back at her from the clouded mirror above the basin. She didn’t cry. She wasn’t sick. Although she felt like doing both.

Instead she came to a decision. In the bath she washed her hair and afterwards towelled herself dry and applied Nivea crème to her skin. Then she cleaned her teeth, got into bed and slept soundly.

*

In the morning she got to work half an hour earlier than usual. By the time Henry arrived she was surrounded by cardboard boxes, packing up her things.

He threw down his briefcase and rushed to her, pleading, ‘Don’t go. Please, Dorothy.’

She looked at him, astonished. ‘I’m not leaving. I’m reorganising the office, that’s all. I think our desks should face each other in the centre of the room. Much more practical, and it’ll mean I get a bit of the natural light from the window.’

He gawped at her. ‘Oh. OK.’

She moved towards his desk. ‘And another thing: book a taxi for six o’clock tonight. We’re catching the Caledonian Sleeper to Scotland. I have reserved us a room in a nice hotel for three nights. When we come back we shall return as Mr and Mrs Henry Carew.’

*