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

‘Yeah. Love to. Great.’

‘Good,’ he replied. ‘Who was that guy you were talking to?’ He nodded towards the retreating back of Merlin.

‘Merlin Pengelly. One of Auntie Pru and Mum’s old boyfriends,’ said Abi.

‘Yeah? Which one, Con?’

Connie and Pru studiously avoided looking at each other until Connie said, ‘He was one of a group of us who used to knock around together.’

‘Really?’ Greg smiled and held Connie closer. ‘Should I be jealous that he’s resurfaced?’

He took another glance at the sauntering Merlin, who had reached the top of the beach. As if he knew he was being watched, Merlin turned and gave the family group a flamboyant salute before disappearing from view.

‘Golly, no!’ Connie hastily replied.

‘Good. He looks like a right prick.’

*

Back at the house, the freshly showered sisters started preparing supper.

Connie was squirting a generous amount of tomato ketchup into Pru’s gently simmering bolognese sauce.

‘Do you know how much sugar there is in that poison?’ Pru tutted.

‘Sugar brings out the flavour of the meat and ketchup is good for you. I read it in the Daily Mail.’

‘And you believe everything you read in that rag, do you?’

‘The same way you believe everything in the Guardian, yes.’

They carried on with their jobs, each silently distracted by their meeting with Merlin earlier.

Pru broke the silence first: ‘I used to think that you and I had no secrets.’

Connie paused momentarily as she was folding paper napkins. ‘We don’t, do we?’

‘You tell me.’

Connie turned to face her sister, who was taking wine glasses down from a cupboard ‘Tell you what?’

‘Why didn’t you tell me about Merlin?’

Connie swallowed hard and went on the attack. ‘Yawn yawn – ancient history.’

‘I agree, but I still can’t believe you could be so spiteful.’ Pru settled the glasses on the table and stood with her hands on her hips and an angry glint in her eye.

‘Spiteful?’ Connie retaliated quickly. ‘That’s something you’d know all about. Take the plank out of your own eye before you look at the splinter in mine.’

‘Not the old grudge about the blue bedroom again? Grow up!’

Connie advanced on her sister, the kitchen table between them, ‘Don’t you ever speak to me like that again. You’ve got your own way in life at every turn.’

‘And you haven’t? I’ve worked hard for everything Francis and I have.’

‘Meaning what? That I’m an intellectual pygmy who’s never had a job?’

‘If the cap fits.’

Connie moved fast around the table and stuck her face into Pru’s. ‘Say that again.’

‘Prudence. Connie. What is this racket?’ Dorothy had come through from the terrace.

The girls backed away from each other and continued with their jobs.

‘Were you rowing?’

There was no answer, but Dorothy knew her girls well enough not to need one.

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ Neither of them would meet her eye. ‘Right, I’m here now. Give me a job to do and let’s all calm down.’

The three women busied themselves for the next half hour and the atmosphere gradually thawed.

Eventually Pru spoke: ‘OK, I think that’s everything. Table laid, bolognese done. Trifle made. Just the salad to do when the kids and Greg come back. Fancy a drink, Mum? Connie?’

‘Not for me, darling. I’m going home to spruce myself up.’ Dorothy set off for The Bungalow with a parting wave.

‘Yes, please.’ Connie offered an apologetic smile to Pru. ‘I reckon we deserve a glass of something cold and white. Shall we take it outside?’

Pru laid a tray with an ice bucket and bottle of Pinot Grigio, two glasses and a bowl each of olives and cheese straws.

Carrying it out on to the terrace, she saw that Connie had plumped the cushions on the silvered wood of the ancient set of garden chairs. The lowering sun was still warm and the sea reflected its gold.

Pru raised her glass. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers.’

They watched the sun as it set low in the sky and looked out to the beach below to spot their surfers.

Connie could see Greg standing in the shallows, taking photos of Abi and Jem as they cruised the waves on their boards.

She took a long sip on her wine. ‘Merlin looked good, didn’t he?’

‘Yes. Very.’ Pru conceded.

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Greg paddled out behind the breaking waves and waited patiently. He counted the rollers coming towards him, one, two, three … small ones gently lifted and lowered him. It was quiet. Only two other surfers, both men, were waiting with him, out in the deep. Four, five … every seventh wave was the one to look out for. Six, seven … he saw it coming. Swelling and rising to meet him. He paddled like mad with his salt-wrinkled hands and looking behind him saw the water break as it rose above him. He caught it well. Came up on to his knee, got his balance and was standing on the board and riding the foaming water towards the beach.