Fern Britton Summer Collection: New Beginnings, Hidden Treasures, The Holiday Home, The Stolen Weekend

‘She’s about to take the world of TV by storm.’ Mel was exultant as she put her hand on Christie’s shoulder.

‘How exciting! Don’t let me stop you.’ Richard hesitated, then stepped into the kitchen. ‘I’ve come for Olly. Sorry I’m early but I finished work so I thought I’d come straight over.’

‘Mel, could you go and see what those boys are up to?’ Christie asked, and Mel, giving her sister a knowing look, obligingly disappeared into the garden. ‘Won’t you have a drink while they have supper? It’s just about ready.’

When he accepted, she led the way into the sitting room. The last thing she wanted was the embarrassment of him witnessing the burned offering that Mel was about to serve up to his son.

Olly and Fred had been number-one friends ever since Fred had come home from school and told her he had felt sorry for a new boy standing alone in the playground and had asked him to play. Her heart had swollen with pride at this evidence of her son’s generous spirit. Since then, she had occasionally seen Richard at the school gates where she was aware he had set several mums’ hearts beating faster. And with some reason, she thought, as he made himself comfortable on the sofa. A good-looking man with an air of mystery was bound to arouse interest. So far, school-gate gossip had it that he was divorced and had been in the army before recently setting up his own company, some sort of outward-bound executive-training business outside Aylesbury. Olly seemed to shuffle happily between Richard and his ex-wife, who also lived locally but was seen less often.

She caught him looking out of the window at the garden, still bright in the sunshine. For a moment he seemed lost in a daydream but, abruptly, he snapped back into the present. ‘So, can I ask how you’re planning to take the world of TV by storm? Sounds intriguing.’ He put his glass on the coffee-table, before leaning back and waiting for her to speak.

Feeling self-conscious under his gaze, wishing she’d had time to change back into her usual uniform of jeans and top, she gave an awkward laugh. ‘I’m afraid Mel was exaggerating. As usual. I’ve just been invited to try out for a presenting job. It probably won’t come to anything.’

‘Why on earth not? Be positive.’ He lifted his drink and toasted her. ‘Here’s to your success.’

She smiled back. ‘Thanks. To positivity!’ And raised her glass.

At that moment there was a shout as two small boys raced into the room, skidding on the large rug. ‘Dad, I’m Jenson Button and I’ve beaten Lewis Hamilton – that’s Fred!’ Olly squealed to a halt in front of his father, narrowly avoiding Richard’s raised glass. His tow-coloured hair was threaded with leaves, his hands and flushed cheeks streaked with mud, his eyes bright with excitement. Bits of grass clung to his sweatshirt.

‘No, you’re not. My McLaren’s much faster than yours.’ Just as dishevelled, Fred ran a circuit of the room and disappeared again in the direction of Mel’s shout of ‘Supper!’

‘Easy.’ Richard ruffled his son’s hair, sending a couple of leaves spiralling to the floor. ‘I don’t want you to break anything. Remember, this isn’t our house where things aren’t so precious.’

Looking round the room, Christie looked for something precious. Apart from Nick’s photo, there was nothing except the pieces of wonky pottery that Libby had made at school and presented to her with such pride. Seeing it through Richard’s eyes, she was suddenly aware of how makeshift the room looked. The furniture – the ancient three-piece, the coffee-table, two battered armchairs, the TV cabinet, a large free-standing bookcase – seemed small, worn and lost in this generous space.

‘Is Mummy back yet?’ Olly asked his father, with such hope that Christie had to fight the urge to hug him.

‘Not yet.’ Richard squeezed his son’s shoulder. ‘We’ll ring her when we get home, though. Promise.’

Satisfied with the answer, Olly careered after Fred with a screech of brakes and a roar of engine noise.

‘Caro’s in Brussels,’ Richard explained to Christie. ‘She’s a translator and is there more often than not these days.’

‘Single-parenting’s difficult, isn’t it?’ Christie sympathised.

‘Actually, I don’t find it that bad,’ he contradicted her, with an apologetic smile. ‘My work’s pretty flexible.’

‘I don’t think I really know what you do.’

‘I put overgrown schoolboys masquerading as company execs through team-building experiences. It’s actually great fun and they really get something out of it. So do the women who, I’m happy to report, are very resilient. The farmland and woods we use are a paradise for kids. Fred must come over. In fact, Olly and I are camping out on Saturday night. Do you think Fred’d fancy that?’

‘He’d love it. If you’re sure.’

‘Completely. Two boys are much easier than one. It’ll be fun.’

Christie smiled. She’d welcome the opportunity for a bit of bonding time alone with Libby. Her daughter was busy embarking on the terrible teens with gusto and Christie wanted to narrow what sometimes seemed an ever-widening gap between them. Meanwhile, Fred would benefit from being with a substitute father-figure for once. The close adults in his life were all women, with the exception of Maureen’s Ted – and he didn’t really count. ‘Yes, that would be great.’

‘That’s settled, then. Now tell me about your job.’ He sat back again to concentrate on what she had to say.

Basking in his interest, Christie began to describe her lunch. The high that had accompanied her home from the Ivy returned and Richard was soon laughing with her, clearly astonished when she described Julia’s presence. ‘God! She sounds a bit full-on.’

‘She probably goes there all the time.’ But Christie felt less breezy than she sounded. ‘But her being so near did make me feel a bit uncomfortable.’

‘Isn’t she the one who was all over the papers at the end of last year? I dimly remember reading about her.’

‘That’s her. One of her clients was staying with her and she found his body. He was on his own in her pool and must have slipped. A terrible thing.’

‘Apart from that, how much do you know about her?’ He seemed concerned.

‘No more than necessary, and she’s certainly not what I’m used to. But then again, everything I’m doing at the moment is not what I’m used to. I’m glad to have someone experienced on my side.’

‘This might be teaching my grandmother to suck eggs, but wouldn’t it be an idea to find out a little bit more?’

She was exasperated. ‘If you met her, you’d see immediately what a shrewd woman she is. Whatever the press may have said about her doesn’t make her a bad agent.’

‘Well, do you trust her?’ he asked, as if making a point.

‘Oh, God, yes.’ She thought about it, then said firmly, ‘I would never have gone with her if I’d had any doubts.’

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be saying any of this. Of course you wouldn’t.’

She could see he thought he’d overstepped the mark. ‘Oh, I don’t blame you. Really. I know how crazy it sounds. She involves herself far more than I was expecting, but she’s done some great things for me already so I can’t complain. She’ll probably lose interest eventually.’

But Julia’s unexpected appearance in the restaurant had set one or two alarm bells ringing in her mind although she couldn’t put her finger on why. Had it been coincidence? Or did Julia not trust her to do the right thing on her own? Christie was used to making her own decisions and didn’t want to be manipulated or controlled by anyone.

‘There you go again. What happened to positivity? She’s lucky to have you.’ Richard was smiling as he stood up. ‘I’d better take that urchin home. But you must let me know what happens.’

‘I will.’ Christie took him back to the kitchen where Libby was scraping the food from her plate into the bin. Mel looked at Christie and shrugged. Not my fault.

Libby glanced up before putting her plate in the dishwasher. Then she planted a quick kiss on her mother’s cheek. ‘Got to phone Jasmine. I’ll be down later.’ Christie recognised the teen-speak for ‘I’ll be down in a couple of hours when I’ve rinsed the phone bill’ but she didn’t rise to it.

When Richard and Olly had left, and Fred had gone to watch a Simpsons DVD, Mel and Christie sat together at the kitchen table.

‘You might have warned me,’ Mel complained. ‘I’d have dressed up if I’d known he was going to be here.’

‘Who? Richard?’

‘Yes!’ Mel’s voice was loud with disbelief. ‘You know – the tall dark handsome apparently single bloke who has just left the house. Don’t play the little innocent.’

Christie laughed. ‘Oh, stop. It’s only Richard. A really nice dad, that’s all.’ She paused, then said, And, anyway, I’m out of the habit of thinking like that about men. There isn’t a switch I can just turn on when I want to.’

‘Well, try harder. Tune your radar in. Or I’ll have to come over more often and make a play for him myself.’ Mel rubbed at a splodge of tomato ketchup on her T-shirt. ‘I’m sorry about supper. Libby hated it.’ She looked downcast, upset to think she might be falling out of favour with her adored niece. ‘I’m worried she’ll be hungry.’

‘Don’t. She’ll be fine. You’re fantastic to come and cover for me and that’s all that matters. They like it so much better than when Mum comes.’

Are you surprised? Elisabeth!’ Mel mimicked Maureen exactly, brightening as she did so. ‘Eat everything on your plate or you’ll have it for lunch tomorrow and I’ll keep on giving it to you for every meal until it’s finished. For the rest of your life, if necessary.’

They both burst out laughing at their mother’s renowned insistence on the proper way of doing things – it was often the butt of their jokes. Then, changing the subject, Christie told the story of her lunch for the second time.