Fern Britton 3-Book Collection: The Holiday Home, A Seaside Affair, A Good Catch. Fern Britton
put all this in the boot – there’s no danger of it spoiling, here in the cool – and then we can go and have some lunch,’ twinkled Belinda.
There was a small café across the road that served huge bowls of moules marinières and chips. Francis couldn’t remember ever having such a relaxed lunch with a woman. The way Belinda chatted, laughed, enjoyed her food and drank her glass of perfectly chilled wine was fun.
‘… So, my husband walked out eighteen months ago and moved in with Steve. I had no idea whatsoever that he was gay. It’s always the wife who finds out last, isn’t it? Anyway, Steve is a lovely guy and Brett’s happy. We’re all good friends now. Emily is pretty cool about it, as she gets to go clothes shopping with a dad who really likes fashion.’ She leaned across and dipped a hunk of her French bread into Francis’s white wine and garlic sauce. ‘I do get a bit lonely, though. I don’t want to be single for ever … Still, there’s always tomorrow, right?’ She laughed and wiped her lips on her napkin. ‘How about you? Are you and Pru happy?’
Francis coughed as he took a gulp of wine. ‘Yes, yes. Very happy. Well, as happy as two people who’ve been married for almost eighteen years can be.’
‘She looks a bit of a ball-breaker to me,’ said Belinda with candour.
Francis was horrified. ‘No, no. She’s strong and kind and a good wife and mother. We look after each other.’
‘Hmm.’ Belinda gazed deep into his eyes until he looked down at his wine glass. ‘I notice you didn’t mention the word love.’
‘Well, of course. That goes without saying.’
‘So, say it.’
‘What?’
‘That you love your wife.’
‘I … I love my wife.’
‘Good. When was the last time you told her?’
‘Good lord. I mean, after all those years together, one doesn’t need to.’
‘Yes, you do. When was the last time she told you she loved you?’ Belinda fixed her blue eyes on him. ‘If she loved you, she’d tell you every day.’
Francis was getting very uncomfortable, ‘Well, we’re all different, aren’t we.’ He beckoned the waitress. ‘I think we’d better get going.’
He spent the journey back to Atlantic House in deep thought. Belinda, beside him, chattered away as if blissfully unaware that he wasn’t listening.
She had awoken something in him that he’d managed to suppress for a very long time. Years. He thought the world of Pru, but what did she think of him? Was he just faithful old Francis, chief cook and bottle washer? Where was the passion? He felt the vibrant heat emanating from this buxom and attractive woman by his side and realised how much he missed the physical joy of love-making. Could he take Belinda as a lover in the way Greg had taken Janie? The thought thrilled and terrified him in equal measure.
‘So, shall I come over at about six thirty? I’ll bring a couple of jugs of Pimm’s.’
He forced his mind back to the present.
‘Yes. That would be lovely.’
Belinda helped him out of the car and then helped carry the bags to the front door of Atlantic House.
‘I’ll take them to the kitchen for you, shall I?’
‘That’s very kind, but just leave them on the step. I can manage from here,’ he said. He pushed the heavy oak door open. The hall was cool and smelled of lavender polish. His ears strained to hear Pru. He didn’t want her to catch him like this, in Belinda’s company and smelling of wine.
‘OK.’ Belinda straightened up and kissed his cheek for the second time that day. ‘Thank you for a lovely morning and for lunch. Any time you need a driver, you know where I am.’
‘Thank you.’
‘See you at six thirty.’
‘Six thirty. Yes.’
‘And, Francis …’
‘Yes?’
‘Those things we talked about over lunch? I don’t mean to stick my nose in, but you are a lovely man and deserve to be appreciated.’
‘Oh well, erm, I’ll see you later …’
Francis watched as she manoeuvred the 2CV back on to the drive of Dairy Cottage, then he quietly closed the front door and carried the bags to the kitchen. While the kettle was boiling for the calming cup of camomile tea he so badly needed, he fished in his pocket for a piece of extra-minty chewing gum.
Francis unpacked the shopping and put the lobsters in the salad compartment of the fridge to quieten them down. Then he made a large pot of tea and went out into the hall. ‘Anyone for tea?’ he shouted up the stairs. ‘It’s in the kitchen. Come and get it.’
Greg came out of the rumpus room looking sly. ‘Hello, old man. How did lunch go with B?’ he whispered.
Francis, not liking this subterfuge, said, ‘Fine. How was your phone call?’
Greg rolled his eyes in rapture as an answer.
‘Did Pru wonder where I was at lunchtime?’ asked Francis.
‘No. I told her the truth. Belinda had taken you shopping for supper.’
‘Why did you tell her that?’ Francis hissed.
‘The truth is always best.’ Greg looked up as Connie and Pru descended the stairs. ‘Hello, girls. Golly, you look as if you could do with a cuppa.’
Connie pushed her fringe out of her eyes with the back of her rubber-gloved hand. ‘Pru and I have finished upstairs. The last lot of clean curtains are up. How did your phone call go with Janie?’
Francis looked sharply at Greg, who seemed completely relaxed.
‘All fine. She wanted to run a few things past me and there were plenty of things I needed her to do for me.’
Connie gave him a hug. Over the top of her head, Greg gave Francis a wink as he mouthed, ‘The truth, see.’
Pru walked through the middle of them all, clanging her bucket and mop. ‘Good of Belinda to take you to the shops, Francis. Did you get everything we need?’
‘Yes. Sorry I wasn’t here to prepare lunch.’
‘No problem. Greg did pretty well as a one-armed sandwich maker. Cheese and pickle.’
Greg winked at Francis again. ‘See, old man. Nothing to it.’
Francis relaxed. ‘Well done on completing the spring clean, girls. I see you’ve managed to get a tarpaulin on the hole in the roof.’
‘Yes,’ said Pru. ‘The weather forecast is looking a bit iffy, so I had to ask Merlin to do that. I’ll find a proper roofer tomorrow.’
They moved into the kitchen and helped themselves to tea and slices of shop-bought Madeira cake.
Dorothy appeared at the back door with Henry’s iPad in her hand. ‘How do I turn this on?’
Connie laughed. ‘Mummy, I showed you the other day.’
‘No you didn’t. I would remember if you had.’
‘I did. But, anyway, if it’s to find a chandelier cleaner, I think you’ll find we don’t need one. Come into the hall and look.’
Connie got up and escorted Dorothy into the hall. The afternoon sun was slanting through the mullioned windows either side