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

Connie laid her sewing in her lap. ‘What makes you say that?’

Belinda tried to bluff Connie into divulging more information. ‘Something I sort of picked up. Pru doesn’t seem the passionate sort and … well, quite frankly, Frankie is a very sexy man.’

‘Is he?’ said Connie, taken aback.

‘You should hear the women at the school gates.’

‘What do they say?’

‘That if his wife doesn’t want him, there are plenty who do.’

Connie was both astonished and furious on Pru’s behalf. ‘Well, you can tell them that my sister and Francis are very happy and have a healthy, passionate marriage – not that it’s any of their business!’

Belinda said nothing but bent her head to her sewing.

It occurred to Connie that she might be hiding tears. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked.

Belinda added the finished skirt to the pile and stood up, keeping her face turned away from Connie.

‘Oh, gosh yes! Talking of Frankie, I promised I’d help him with the trifles,’ she said. ‘Any problems with the rest of those skirts, give me a call.’ And she walked across the paving and through the kitchen doors.

*

Francis was stirring an enormous pot of chilli mince.

Belinda sniffed appreciatively. ‘Something smells good,’ she said, sidling close to him.

He gave her a quick look and carried on stirring, ‘Hi. You’re just in time. Would you make a couple of bowls of couscous? There’s some coriander, parsley, dried apricots and oranges and limes to squeeze into the mix over on the side.’

She put her arm gently round his waist and squeezed him. He felt her warm breast on his arm and shamefully remembered how that feeling had aroused him until this week’s surprising revival of his sex life with Pru.

He made a casual movement away from her so that she had to let go of him.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’ll get on with this, then make the trifles, shall I?’

He didn’t even look at her. ‘Yes please.’

She busied herself with boiling the kettle and emptying couscous packets into a couple of large bowls.

‘Where’s Pru?’ Belinda asked quietly.

‘In Trevay, getting her hair done.’

‘When will she be back?’

‘Not for an hour or two. Why?’

‘It’s nice to spend some time together. You know. Chatting. No interruptions.’

Francis felt nervous and slightly guilty that he might have inadvertently led Belinda on.

‘Oh.’

Belinda put down her wooden spoon and came towards him. Two fat tears had finally been released and were meandering down her cheeks. She put her arms around Francis’s stiffening neck and kissed him on the lips.

‘I have some very strong feelings for you, Frankie.’

‘I’m awfully sorry,’ he said, nervously wiping her kiss from his lips.

‘Tell me you don’t have any feelings for me.’

‘Oh golly, Belinda. You’re a lovely woman and I treasure our friendship, but I don’t feel … You see, I love Pru.’

Belinda’s tears dripped on to his hands, which were clenched close to his chest in order not to accidentally stray towards her breasts. She let him go and dipped her head to wipe her eyes on her cardigan.

‘Well! I’ve made a fool of myself, haven’t I? I’m sorry. Please don’t tell anyone about this.’

‘Of course I won’t.’ He moved slightly towards her but then thought better of giving her a consoling hug.

Belinda took a deep breath and plastered an over-bright smile on her face as she looked out of the window to the sea.

‘Looks as though Abi’s enjoying her birthday present.’

Not knowing quite what to do, Francis dipped a teaspoon into the chilli ready for tasting. ‘Yes.’

‘What did you give her?’

‘Erm, sorry. What? I’m trying to remember if I put the cumin in.’

Belinda scanned the worktop in front of her and found an open cumin pot. ‘I think you did.’ She showed it to him.

‘Ah good. Well, I think that’s done. I’ll crack on with the guacamole.’

The two of them continued to work with the minimum of conversation. Belinda’s heart was heavy. Here was another man who was abandoning her. It was odd how, with age, these pains of loss were getting worse. Her father leaving, gentle Brett walking out for Steve, and now Frankie. A wave of anger and self-pity hit her. Come on, Belinda, she admonished herself. You’ve come a long way. The end is in sight.

The door knocker sounded in the hall. ‘I’ll go,’ said Belinda, bustling out.

When she came back, she was followed by a willowy blonde in her mid-twenties. ‘Hi.’ She walked straight up to Francis with her hand out. ‘I’m Janie – Greg’s PA. I’m here for the party.’

Francis, having barely recovered from Belinda’s shock confession, now stood gulping as if he’d swallowed one of his fresh chillies whole. ‘Janie?’ His wide eyes slid to the outdoor terrace, where he knew Connie was sewing in all innocence.

‘That’s right!’ said the blonde, tossing a glossy mane of hair over one shoulder.

‘Greg’s PA?’

‘The one and only.’

‘He … he didn’t mention you were coming.’