The Holiday Home Page 0,72

do this to Connie and Abi?

Much as he hated Greg at that moment, preying on his mind was the knowledge that he hadn’t exactly been a model husband himself.

22

Henry hadn’t slept a wink. All night he’d been tossing and turning, trying to decide what to do. Should he confront Greg? Tell Connie? Upset Abi before her birthday? Early the next morning he got out of bed and put on his dressing gown. His slippers made track marks in the dewy grass as he walked across the garden to Atlantic House. He managed to catch Jem before he went to work.

‘Ah, Jem. Just the chap. I appear to be picking up your Uncle Greg’s emails on my iPad and I wonder if you could show me how to stop that?’

Jeremy, swallowing a large glass of orange juice, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘Yeah, no worries, Poppa. Can it wait till tonight? You can delete anything you don’t want.’ He grabbed his bag and packed lunch. ‘Drag the arrow to the dustbin icon and left click.’ He gave his grandfather a quick hug. ‘Laters.’

Back in the solitude of his bedroom, Henry did as instructed and removed the incriminating email, along with all the others addressed to Greg.

Then he snapped closed the iPad cover and hid it in his wardrobe.

Dorothy was still in the shower. He didn’t want to face her until he’d come up with a solution to the Greg problem, so he slipped out of the house to go and get the boat ready.

As he walked across the lawn to the fortified door that led to the cave, he saw Greg and Connie waving to him from the kitchen. Greg was looking pleased with himself, standing there with his arm draped round Connie. It was all Henry could do to stop himself running over there to confront his philandering cheat of a son-in-law. His hand clenched into a tight fist as he imagined landing a punch that would wipe that smirk off Greg’s face. Instead he smiled grimly and walked on.

Opening the door into the old stone room, now used as a store for household detritus, he took in the familiar smell of sea damp and the sound of the water lapping at the bottom of the rough flight of rock steps ahead of him. He often thought of the young girl who had died down here. Such a tragedy. How would any parent recover from that? A painful stab of loss made him catch his breath, and he was aware of a lump forming in his throat. God, what was this? He put his hand out to the damp wall to steady himself. Tears stung his eyes and he swallowed hard. He fumbled for an old stool and sat on it. He told himself that what was past was past. He had Dorothy and Connie and Pru. He was blessed. But what should he do with the knowledge he had about Greg? If he told Connie, it would kill her marriage. Could he do that to her? He didn’t know. He hoped the answer would come to him. Standing up, he switched on the boathouse lights and descended the steps to the cave.

The Dorothy was resting in her hammock hoist, suspended above the water. He checked the boat’s bottom and twin propellers and ran his hand along the sleek curves of the hull. Satisfied that everything was in good order, he lowered the hoist and eased the boat into the rising tide.

Forty-five minutes later, he was putting away his cleaning cloths and thinking about turning on the engine, when he saw Dorothy enter the cave with Belinda. Belinda was carrying a large cool box.

‘Hi, Poppa.’ She waved to him. ‘Dorothy asked if I’d like to join your little cruise, so the least I could do was to pack a picnic.’

‘Well, you are very welcome, my dear.’ He got off the boat and stepped on to the rock floor that doubled as a harbour wall. ‘Let me help you aboard.’

The women got themselves settled and Henry gave them each a life jacket, untied the ropes securing the boat to the wall and turned on the engine. The deeply pleasing throb bounced around the cave.

‘OK, girls, duck your heads as we go out. The ceiling is a bit low.’ Henry confidently manoeuvred his pride and joy round to face the cave entrance. Belinda couldn’t see the outside world yet. The narrow passageway took a twist to the left and