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

They heard the sound of whistling outside. Henry moved faster than a man half his age.

‘That’s the bugger now! Let me deal with him.’

Merlin took Henry’s furious rant with annoying calm, rolling a leisurely cigarette all the while. When Henry had run out of steam, Merlin lit up and asked, ‘What would you like me to do to make it all better?’

Henry returned to the boil again. ‘It’s bloody obvious, isn’t it?’

‘Righto, Mr Carew, I’ll see to it directly. I’ll have to turn the water off at the mains for now. Then I’ll be back Monday.’

Henry stood aghast at the brass neck of the man. ‘Monday? It’s Wednesday today. We can’t go without water for that long!’

‘Ah, but I’m a busy man. Got a job on at Higher Barton, see.’

‘Buggering up their plumbing too?’ blasted Henry. ‘In that case, I’ll get a proper plumber in to sort this out. Don’t bother sending me any bills as I shan’t be paying them.’

Dorothy, worried that they might not be able to find a plumber, stepped in. ‘Merlin, please. Whatever it costs, do it today.’

‘Well, now, that’ll be double time and cancellation of my other job, so …’

‘I’ll give you two hundred in cash, provided it’s done by tonight.’ Dorothy held her hand out for Merlin to shake.

He hesitated for a second then took her hand. ‘You drive a hard bargain, Mrs Carew.’

Henry walked away before he blew his top at his wife’s profligate waste of money.

Dorothy continued: ‘I see your friend hasn’t repaired the tiles on the roof.’

‘He’ll be here directly, and he’ll do a proper job up there. Just one or two bits to tidy up in the attic. I was going to attend to them today, but I can do them next week an’ all. OK?’

Not waiting for an answer, Merlin jumped athletically into the cab of his van and drove off as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Dorothy turned to Henry, who was staring in horrified fascination at the retreating van, and said soothingly, ‘Now then, I’m taking you out to the pub for lunch. You could do with a drink.’

*

The beautiful historic pub restaurant, built to lean over the small river that ran through Polperro, was cool and welcoming. Pru chose a table for them, and called for the menus.

‘I’ll have the deep-fried brie with gooseberry marmalade, please,’ said Connie, handing her menu back to the young waiter.

Pru gave her order: ‘Dressed crab with a plain green salad, thank you. And the same for my husband.’

‘I was thinking about the courgette soup and chargrilled quorn burger,’ said Francis.

‘You’ll prefer the crab.’ Pru looked over Francis’s head to Greg. ‘Greg, what’ll you have?’

‘When did pubs stop serving proper pub food?’ Greg grumbled, ‘I’ll have the steak, very rare, with chips, fried mushrooms and grilled tomatoes, please.’

‘Very good, sir. Would you like your French fries chunky or skinny?’

‘I don’t know. What do I like, Con?’

‘Chunky.’

‘Chunky, please.’

‘Very good.’ The waiter made a note on his pad – probably something insulting, thought Greg – before enquiring, ‘And to drink …?’

When the small party was finally settled and the drinks had arrived, Greg raised his pint to Pru and Connie. ‘Cheers, girls! Thank you for looking after the house and two old crocks of husbands.’

They all chinked their glasses.

‘Lovely spot,’ remarked Francis.

‘Isn’t it,’ said Connie fondly. ‘Greg brought me here when we were first together.’

‘How did you find it?’ asked Francis, curious.

‘The old AA book recommended it.’

‘It’s amazing you made it here at all,’ sniffed Pru, ‘if your sense of direction was as bad then as it was today.’

‘That junction said Tadcombe left,’ protested Greg. ‘I can’t be held responsible for the mysteries of Cornish signposting.’

‘OK, children. Stop now,’ pleaded Connie, anxious to quell any further debate on the subject.

The food arrived and was eaten in near silence. The sound of the river running playfully outside and the view of its fern-lined banks was enough to keep them occupied with safe topics of conversation to the end of the meal.

*

As Greg paid for the meal, which Pru noticed went on his Carew company credit card, Connie asked him, ‘Would you come with me down to the harbour? We can take the cliff path and look at the view, the same as we did all those years ago.’ She snuggled against his cast as he used his good arm to put his wallet back into his trouser pocket.

Connie’s intention was to spend a bit of time alone with her husband, but once again she was to be thwarted.

‘OK,’ sighed Pru. ‘As long as it’s not too far.’

*

The view from the cliffs was worth the walk. To the left was the open sea and to the right the ancient fishing harbour. They found a bench and sat watching the sea as it curled over itself and sent wisps of spray flying like smoke in the wind. Then they turned their attention to the harbour and watched as a woman and a teenager, presumably her daughter, drove a Land Rover towing a small motorboat down a slipway. At the water’s edge the Land Rover reversed to the water and the daughter jumped out. In a few minutes, she had detached the boat and eased it into the waves.

‘Abi’s party is going to be great fun,’ said Francis. ‘Belinda is taking her role as party organiser very seriously.’

‘Isn’t she just?’ Connie winced, then continued: ‘My baby – seventeen. She wants to learn to drive, but I’m not keen on encouraging that.’

‘She’ll have to one day,’ said Greg.

‘I know. But seventeen is too young. I mean, the roads at home are so busy and narrow.’

They were still watching the girl and her motorboat. The older woman had driven up the slipway and off down the road. Meanwhile the girl climbed aboard and started the boat’s engine. Within minutes she was heading confidently out to sea.