Читать книгу The Holiday Home - Fern Britton, Fern Britton - Страница 12

Francis looked so poorly that even Pru noticed. Mildly concerned, she graciously vacated the big bedroom saying that she would take her conference call in the rumpus room, while Jeremy drew the curtains and settled his father down for a nap.

‘I’m absolutely fine, Jem.’

‘You’re not, Dad. You don’t look yourself. What time did you get up this morning?’

‘Not too early. Five-ish.’

Jeremy raised his eyebrows as his father lay down on the bed. ‘Did you run?’

‘Only a little jog.’

‘Well, there you are. You’re just a bit knackered. Get some kip and we’ll see you later.’ Jeremy pulled a soft rug over his father’s legs and left him to it.

Lying alone in the semi-darkness, Francis could hear the quiet roar of the ocean through an open window. His mind was in shreds. What should he do? Belinda was coming. Belinda was coming. Belinda was coming. Come on, man – pull yourself together – have a sleep and the answer will come to you. Belinda is coming, Belinda is coming. The rhythm of these words took him into a restless slumber.

*

Downstairs, the rest of the family sat down to the tasty salmon salad Francis had prepared. There was an odd silence as they ate, missing Francis’s attentions. Everyone finished quickly. Thanks to a bit of teamwork, they tidied up the kitchen in no time and cleared off to do their own thing.

‘Come along, Henry.’ Dorothy was standing impatiently by the back door. ‘It’s at least forty minutes to Lostwithiel.’

‘Lostwithiel? Why are you going there?’ asked Connie.

‘There are some staddle stones for sale. Supposed to have come from Daphne du Maurier’s house in Ready Money Cove. They’d look rather good on our drive.’

‘What are staddle stones, Granny?’ asked Abi.

Henry answered, ‘Those stone mushroom things. I’m not prepared to pay over the odds for them, Dorothy.’

Dorothy waved a hand airily. ‘Your Poppa has short arms and long pockets. Now come along, Henry.’

Abi looked at Jem. ‘Fancy a bike ride?’

‘Sure,’ he said, draining his glass of squash.

Abi dropped a kiss on her father’s head. ‘Bye, Dad. See you later.’

Greg was desperate to find a quiet place where he could talk to Janie on his mobile. Connie and Pru were still in the house. He walked to the stairs and called up: ‘Connie? I’m going to the garage – fill up with fuel while I can. See you in a bit.’

Connie appeared at the top of the stairs in shorts and T-shirt with a towel and a book under her arm. ‘OK, darling. I’m going down to the beach for a snooze and a read.’

Greg felt a sense of liberation flood through him. He had the whole afternoon undisturbed with his phone and Janie.

*

Connie, too, was feeling liberated as she sauntered along the path to the beach. An afternoon with no responsibilities. Bliss! No need to talk, listen or do anything but lie down and read or sleep.

‘Connie, wait for me.’ A familiar voice broke into her bubble. Connie kept walking.

‘Connie!’ Irritation in the call now. ‘I said wait!’

Connie breathed deeply, stopped and turned. Pru was at the top of the path, closing the garden gate. She looked cross and hot as she drew level with Connie.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were off to the beach? You knew I’d have said I’d come.’

‘Yes, I did know, but actually I was hoping for a bit of peace and quiet.’

‘Oh, me too. Don’t you find Mummy’s endless chatter and sparring with Daddy awfully wearing?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the kids! They’re good kids, I know, but the noise, the mess – it’s exhausting.’

‘Yes.’

‘And now Francis has decided to take to his bed. I just had to get out of the house.’

‘Yes.’

They found themselves a sheltered spot of dry sand in the sunshine and rolled out their towels, smoothing them to remove any wrinkles and sitting down gently so as not to get any sand on them.

Connie slipped out of her shorts and top to reveal a well-cut bikini and curvy thighs. She picked up her book and began to read.

‘What are you reading?’

‘Something from my book club.’

‘You’re lucky to have the time.’