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

‘If I had an engagement ring to give. Or a wedding ring,’ needled Dorothy.

‘Good God, woman. You are my wife. There has never been anyone can hold a candle to you.’

Dorothy rounded on him. ‘Oh, I’m your wife, am I?’

Henry put his hand to his forehead and winced. ‘You know what I mean. In every sense that matters, you are my wife.’

‘Except in the sense that really matters.’

Henry tilted his head towards the nearby tables that were filled with lunchtime diners.

‘Dorothy, lower your voice. Do you want the whole pub to hear? This isn’t the time or the place.’

‘When exactly would be a good time for you, Henry? It’s been more than forty years and you still haven’t told me when would be a good time. You never want to talk about it. I’ve had enough – and I don’t care who bloody well knows about it!’

Henry raised his hands in a gesture of conciliation. ‘Darling. Why all this now? Let’s finish lunch and then I promise we will talk about this later.’

Eyes brimming with tears, Dorothy pushed aside her plate. ‘I’m not hungry any more.’ She picked up her bag and got to her feet. ‘You may not want to discuss it, Henry, but the fact remains: I am not and never have been your wife. Susan is your wife.’

Henry watched helplessly as she stood and fumbled with her handbag. Finding her sunglasses, she did her best to make a dignified exit.

23 (#ulink_b54fa209-91de-5fe6-8429-676afb1276ec)

‘I can’t believe our baby is going to be seventeen in two days’ time, can you?’ Connie was sitting in bed, completing her nightly routine of creaming her feet and hands. She was rubbing vigorously at her cuticles as Greg sat on the bed and lifted his legs under the covers.

‘No. I can’t. Where did the time go? We’re lucky that she’s got this far without doing anything illegal.’

‘That we know of,’ said Connie, screwing the lid back on to the hand-cream tube.

‘Well, she hasn’t got a boyfriend, so we know she’s still innocent in that sense.’

Connie gave a quiet laugh.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ asked Greg.

‘Nothing.’ She turned to face him. ‘But teenage girls are very good at having private lives that remain private.’

‘I would know if she’d been up to anything. I could tell just by looking at her,’ said Greg smugly.

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘OK.’ Connie reached for the bedside light and turned it off. ‘Good night.’

‘Good night.’

In the darkness, with the house settling around them and the dull shush of the unsleeping sea outside their bedroom window, Greg began to worry about Abi and her purity. Connie, on the other hand, smiled a secret smile and closed her eyes, reliving once again her own seventeenth birthday.

She’d been alone in the house – she couldn’t remember why – when there was a knock at the front door. She opened it to find Merlin leaning casually against the porch wall, looking very desirable.

‘Hey, birthday princess. I hear you’ve got the key to the door today?’

‘Not quite,’ Connie had giggled. ‘I’m only seventeen.’

‘Shame – I was going to take you for your first legal drink.’ He had stepped into the hall, uninvited, and closed the door behind him.

Connie felt a shiver of anxiety. ‘Pru’s not here.’

‘It’s you I’ve come to see, birthday girl.’ He leaned in and gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘It’s very hot outside. Can I have a cold drink?’

‘Yes. Sorry. Come into the kitchen.’

He stood behind her as she opened the fridge door. ‘I’ve got some Coke or orange juice … Milk?’

Laughing, he reached his hand in and pulled out a tin of shandy. ‘This is more like it. But I can’t drink alone – will you join me?’

Connie had tasted a sip of her father’s shandy and wasn’t keen on the flavour, but wanting to appear sophisticated she agreed and got out two glasses.

He took the tins and walked with them into the big drawing room. ‘Quite a house.’ He opened one tin with a hiss and offered it to Connie. She poured it into a glass and then did the same with the second tin. ‘Come and sit on the sofa next to me.’

Connie did as she was asked and he sat down next to her, very close.

‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers.’ They clinked glasses.

Connie wasn’t sure what to say next, but it didn’t seem to matter. Merlin started talking.

‘Like your sister you’re a very ’andsome woman. Different, mind, but I bet you’ve got plenty of admirers an’ all.’

‘Have I?’ She took a quick mouthful of the bittersweet shandy.

‘Don’t pretend you haven’t seen the boys lookin’ at you on the beach.’

Connie, who had hoped this was the case, shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Yeah, an’ some of them ’ave been asking me to put in a good word for them.’

‘Have they?’

‘Oh yeah.’

Connie took another sip and felt its unfamiliar alcohol warmth hit her tummy. ‘Who?’

Merlin laughed and drained his glass. ‘I’ll get us each another one of these, then I’ll tell you.’

When he came back, with two more tins, he sat down next to her and turned his sleepy, sexy blue-green eyes on her. ‘Where were we?’