The Holiday Home Page 0,55

to clean it out. Now, let me just do up your seat belt.’

Francis sat, helpless as a toddler, as she leaned across him, smothering his face with her magnificent breasts. He breathed in her musky, sun-warmed smell. She really was extremely attractive. As she clicked his seat belt into place and moved back out of the car, he flicked his one good eye nervously up towards the windows of the house. Thank goodness Pru and Connie were cleaning the bedrooms on the other side this morning.

Belinda eased her sun-tanned flesh into the driver’s seat and started the engine. She laid her hand on his knee and patted it. ‘How’s your poor eye today?’

‘A little better, I think. The doc says the patch can come off in a day or two.’

‘That’s good.’ She smiled at him. ‘Pity, though: you look very dashing with a patch.’

She gave him a wink and started up the engine. ‘Trevay here we come!’

Although the day was sunny, there was a cool breeze as the 2CV, its soft-top rolled down and its engine chugging away like a sewing-machine motor, carried them into Trevay. Holidaymakers were strolling along the streets, oblivious to traffic, stopping and starting as they wished, licking ice creams and window-shopping. The main car park was full, but Francis directed her to a sneaky space – one of the few not covered in double yellow lines – behind the main street. They were lucky. It was empty.

Belinda was delighted. ‘Frankie, you clever man!’ And she leaned over and planted a warm kiss on his cheek. Gathering up a couple of his jute bags from the back seat, she said, ‘Right – where’s this fish market?’

Ambling arm in arm with Belinda as they made their way to the fish market was a revelation to Francis. Pru had never taken his arm; on the one occasion he had taken hers, she had shrugged him off. Belinda’s arm was comforting in its fleshiness. Her chubby wrists and tanned fingers made him feel powerful and … well, male. As they walked he found himself smiling at strangers and enjoying the sound of Belinda’s inconsequential but amusing chatter. Her golden curls kept blowing across her face and on to her lips. He didn’t hear much of what she said. He didn’t need to. He felt happy. Naughty, but happy.

Together they chose six lobsters, which the fishmonger packed into a polystyrene cool box.

At the trendy food market next door they got asparagus, new potatoes, lemons and – for home-made mayonnaise – eggs and good olive oil.

‘Look at those raspberries! My favourite!’ cooed Belinda.

‘Do you like Eton Mess?’ asked Francis, carried away by her foodie enthusiasm.

‘Who doesn’t?’ She smiled at him, twinkling her blue eyes.

‘Right. I’ll make meringues with the egg whites left over from the mayonnaise.’

‘Are you inviting me to supper, Francis Meake?’

Francis took a grip on his destiny. ‘Yes, I am. You and Emily. Come and have dinner with the family. Pru would love to have you share it with us.’ He was less sure about the last part, but this new shot of courage in his veins kept him from buckling.

Once they’d paid for everything, they returned to the car, which was sitting in the shade of the narrow street.

‘I’ll 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.