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

It was the very epitome of eighties chic.

Outside, the ancient back door led to a newly planted herb garden and, Henry’s pride and joy, the renovated smugglers’ cave.

The curious room above ground was cool enough to house his wine cellar and the steep stone steps leading down to the cavern had been made safe.

‘Mind your head,’ he told Dorothy as he led her by the hand, the light from his torch bouncing off the dimpled walls. ‘The electrician is putting lights in next week.’

‘I still don’t like it, Henry. You shouldn’t have wasted time and money on this. It would have been better blocked up. It scares me.’

‘Don’t be silly, old thing. It’s exciting – smugglers and redcoats and all that stuff – a slice of Cornish history, right in our own backyard.’

Dorothy’s concern was writ large across her furrowed brow. ‘I don’t want to be proved right on this, Henry. It’s an accident waiting to happen.’

Henry patted her arm reassuringly. ‘I promise you, there’s nothing to fear, darling. Besides, the children aren’t little any more, so stop worrying!’

The steps took a twist and a turn and then opened out into the natural boathouse under the cliffs.

‘Ta-dah!!’

Henry stretched out his right hand and Dorothy saw something bobbing on the water.

‘What the hell is that?’

‘A 1967 Riva. The best speedboat money can buy. And you see?’ He pointed at the floor. ‘I had the lads concrete a level jetty on the old rock ledge so we can tie her up and get on and off easily.’ The torchlight picked out the jetty and the polished wooden hull. Dorothy could make out cream leather seats and a shiny wooden steering wheel.

‘How much?’ she said in an angry voice.

‘It’s a present to us from the company. We deserve a little toy.’

‘You and your bloody toys! That’s not a board game. That’s a monstrous waste of money.’

Henry was crestfallen. ‘I thought you’d be pleased. I can take you and the girls out for trips around the coast and picnics on secluded beaches.’

‘That’s another thing.’ She rounded on him. ‘Can you even drive the bloody thing?’

Henry smiled. ‘Ah well, yes, you see, I’ve booked the whole family on a seamanship course.’

Dorothy pursed her lips.

‘Don’t you want to know what she’s called?’ he asked.

‘No.’

‘Look, darling,’ he urged, pointing towards the boat.

She shook her head in disbelief as she picked out the golden letters painted on the stern: Dorothy.

Dorothy scowled. Henry kissed her. She frowned. He hugged her. Finally the beginnings of a smile reached her lips.

‘You’re mad and bad but lovely to know, Henry Carew.’

‘No greater compliment was ever received – thank you.’

*

Henry and Dorothy were very pleased with their newly restored home and loved inviting the locals in to marvel at how the old house was being reborn.

Prudence and Constance had come down to see it during the Christmas holidays and had been less than impressed. Still in the throes of being renovated, the house was barely habitable. The girls were billeted at a local hotel while the damp and mould in the bedrooms was being dealt with.

‘It’s so cold,’ shivered Pru, clad in her new striped dungarees and red ankle boots.

‘And spooky,’ added Connie, shaking her wash-and-wear perm so the corkscrew curls bounced.

Dorothy looked at them sternly. ‘There are no spooks here. And it’s cold because the central heating hasn’t been installed yet. Want to see your bedrooms?’

‘Do we get to choose?’ asked Pru.

‘Well, let’s see.’

Sighing inwardly, knowing that a jealous spat between the siblings was bound to ensue, Dorothy led the way upstairs. The three of them picked their way over the dust sheets, abandoned tools and other builders’ detritus cluttering the landing to the first door.

‘Look at the view, girls!’ Dorothy threw open the door leading to the yellow room. ‘Who wants this one, overlooking the garden and the cliff?’

Assuming their mother was showing them the best room in the hope of winning them over, Pru, who was always quickest off the mark when it came to getting what she wanted, jumped in: ‘I do!’

Connie’s shoulders slumped dramatically. ‘I knew she’d get the first choice. It’s not fair. I really like this room. Pru gets the best of everything.’

Fighting the urge to scream, Dorothy forced a bright smile and kept her voice tone jolly as she told them, ‘Prudence, wipe that conceited look off your face. Connie, please refrain from sulking. I have a super room for you – follow me.’

Pru pushed past Connie, who whispered, ‘You always get the best.’

And Pru replied sotto voce: ‘Tough shit, little sister.’

When their mother opened the door of the blue room, Connie’s mouth dropped open as she took in the double-aspect windows with views of the beach and the bay. ‘Yes!’ she cried, fist punching the air.‘Yes! This has to be the best room. I love it! Thanks, Mum.’

Pru was now the one who was in a sulk. ‘I thought you said you wanted the other room.’

‘Nope. This is mine and that is yours. Fair’s fair, eh, Mum?’

Dorothy, distracted by the screech of the plumber drilling in the en-suite, answered vaguely, ‘Yes, of course, darling. Sort it out between the pair of you. Off you go.’ Moments later she was lost in a discussion about power showers and hot-water tanks.

Pru glared at Connie. ‘Give me this room.’

‘No. You chose yours. This is mine.’

‘It’s too big for you.’

‘No it isn’t.’