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

‘Belinda!’ Connie burst out, making everyone jump. ‘Great of you to come over! I’ve had an idea about how to hang the fairy lights and things. Have you had any thoughts on how to use the pink stuff you got?’

Pru laughed softly. ‘Still using the pink, are you? How delightfully outré. Ah, here’s Francis.’ She reached an arm out to clasp his hips as he stopped beside her chair. ‘Belinda’s here to help with Abi’s party. I think she wants to know what you plan for the menu.’ She turned again to Belinda. ‘This is definitely the man to satisfy any hungry appetite, aren’t you … Frankie!’

Belinda could read the startled look in Francis’s eyes. Licking her lips, she replied, ‘Oh yes. Of that I am quite certain.’

Pru flashed a look of pure ice towards her adversary. Then she rose from the table, kissed her husband full on the lips, and slunk, catwalk style, out of the room.

*

It was way past lunchtime by the time their meeting finished, but now the menu and theme of the party were agreed.

Belinda went home with a notebook full of to-do lists and Francis set about writing up his shopping list. Pru was working on something that looked like a spreadsheet and Connie was heating up some soup. Greg was on the phone.

‘Come all the way down the lane and you can’t miss us … Atlantic House … on the right … just before the beach … OK, OK, I’ll stand on the drive now and look out for you. Bye.’ He put the phone down and headed for the door, saying to no one in particular, ‘Abi’s boat will be here any minute. I’ve asked Henry if we can put it round the side of The Bungalow so that she won’t see it. I’m going to stand on the drive to wave him in …’

Connie carried on stirring the soup. Francis looked up quizzically. ‘Did Greg just say there was a boat coming for Abi?’

‘Yep,’ said Connie. ‘He’s called it Abi’s Gale. Please remember to laugh when he tells you.’

*

‘Good afternoon, Mr Carew,’ said Mr Carter of Carter’s Fine Jewels. ‘Long time no see. Tom, fetch a seat for Mrs Carew, would you?’

A spotty young man with an enlarged Adam’s apple scuttled into a back room to collect a bentwood chair. As soon as Dorothy had settled herself, Mr Carter beamed at them and asked, ‘Now then, how can we help today?’

‘We’re looking for a gift for our granddaughter who’ll be seventeen tomorrow.’

‘I see. A watch, perhaps?’

Henry looked at Dorothy for her reaction.

‘A watch would be very suitable,’ she agreed. ‘It would leave us with the option of giving her a nice ring or something,’ here she stared pointedly at Henry before continuing, ‘for her eighteenth.’

‘Quite so,’ said Mr Carter, heading for a large cabinet full of watches. He pulled a key from the chain in his pocket and opened the door. ‘Here we are. These are very popular with young ladies at the moment. Pretty, waterproof and reasonably priced.’

Henry left Dorothy to do the choosing. While she was engrossed in consultations with Mr Carter about the merits of the various watches, he stepped to one side and surreptitiously glanced at the trays of diamond rings on display. The small diamond on Dorothy’s finger was over forty years old and the gold band was rubbing thin. It had been the very best he could afford at the time. He put his glasses on and peered at the tiny price tickets. How much? He put a steadying hand on the glass countertop and reminded himself that, of the promises he’d made to Dorothy, this was the only one he was in a position to fulfil.

‘An excellent choice, Mrs Carew,’ announced Mr Carter. ‘And if your granddaughter doesn’t like it, we can always change it.’

‘She’ll like it!’ said Dorothy firmly.

Henry drifted back towards them and admired the small, elegant watch. ‘Lovely,’ he said. ‘And now would you mind showing us a selection of your diamond rings – for Mrs Carew.’

‘A special birthday? Anniversary?’ enquired Mr Carter.

‘Nope.’ Henry smiled at Dorothy. ‘Purely because she deserves one.’

25 (#ulink_7cbd79b1-69c8-5e6d-be89-ca58856b03d4)

Woken by a loud and tuneless rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’, Abi buried her head under the duvet to drown out the noise.

‘Go awaaay,’ she mumbled from under the covers. ‘Oww! Get off me, Dad!’

Greg had put all his weight on top of the form of his sleepy daughter and was attempting to squash her the way he used to when she was little.

‘Come on, my little Abi-Wabby,’ he said in a high baby voice. ‘You used to love a lickle tickle from your daddy.’

‘I said get off me. Oww, you’re hurting me.’

Greg lifted his weight from her and waited for her head to surface. One hand appeared from the depths of the duvet and pulled it down just enough for him to see the mascara-smudged eyes of his beloved child.

‘Hey, Dad,’ she managed.

‘Hello, you.’ He kissed her nose. ‘We have breakfast for you and a surprise.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Eight o’clock.’

‘Why so early? Pearl has given me the day off.’

‘Too early for birthday surprises?’

Abi groaned. ‘Yes. No. Can’t I just have another half-hour?’

‘OK, but if you’re not down then, I shall come and squash you again.’ He threw his weight on top of her and tried to tickle her squirming body.

‘All right all right,’ she laughed, ‘I promise. But my presents had better be good.’

*

Greg was like a cat on hot bricks. He was so excited by the boat that was lurking on the other side of The Bungalow that he couldn’t sit down. He’d also had a few hot emails from Janie. He was missing her. He’d told her about the party and Abi’s Gale and she’d jokingly threatened to come and join the celebrations. What a hoo-ha that would make!

‘Is she up?’ Connie was beating some eggs.

‘Yep. On her way.’

‘Lay the table for me, would you?’

When Abi eventually made her entrance, the entire family were waiting for her. ‘Happy Birthday’ they shouted together. She was lost in a blizzard of hugs and kisses for a few minutes before being ushered to her place at the table. There were two balloons tied to her chair. One said ‘17’, the other ‘Birthday Girl’.

‘They’re from me,’ said Jem. ‘I got some funny looks cycling home with them yesterday.’

‘That wasn’t the balloons, Cuz,’ replied Abi drily, and everyone laughed.

Dorothy placed a narrow box wrapped in silver paper and tied with a purple ribbon, on her table mat. ‘This is from me and Poppa.’

Abi ripped apart the paper, opened the box and was suitably pleased with her gleaming new watch. ‘Cool, Granny. Thanks, Poppa. It’s lovely.’