The Holiday Home Read Online Free PDF Page B

let’s give Daddy a hand with the rest of the luggage.’
    Pru got off the bed and put her arm round Connie. ‘Your room is lovely. It’s perfect for you. I’ll help you settle in.’
    Connie looked at her sister and silently swore that she would get her sister back for this. Never mind how long it took.

3
    Some decades later
    ‘W hat on earth is your father doing now?’ Connie Wilson could feel her temper starting to rise. ‘Greg?’ she shouted up the stairs. ‘Come on – we’ve got to go.’
    Calm down , she told herself, you’ve got the whole summer ahead of you. Don’t let the holiday get off to a bad start, don’t let it get to you!
    Abigail, sitting quietly on the sofa, bags packed and at her feet, looked up from her book. Though only sixteen, she had endured enough family holidays to realise how stressful her mother found the whole business. With an expressive shrug of the shoulders, she returned to her place on the page.
    Connie tossed her expensively highlighted hair back and put a hand over her eyes.
    ‘God, we’re going to be late again . Why does everybody leave it all to me?’
    Abigail sat unmoving, peering over the top of her book as her mother pulled the specs from her blonde head and checked for the umpteenth time the long list of notes she’d made in her Smythson diary.
    ‘Well?’ She looked at Abi pointedly.
    Abi indicated the bags at her feet. ‘Mum, I’m all packed and ready to go.’
    ‘Sorry, darling. I don’t mean to be a grouch, it’s just that I hate the thought of Pru getting there before us.’ Connie glanced towards the stairs. ‘What on earth is your father doing? Why is he taking so long?’ Rolling up the sleeves of her stripy sweatshirt, she marched to the foot of the stairs and bellowed, ‘Greg! Please can you turn your computer off. Surely work can wait for a few hours? We need to get a move on.’
    Upstairs, Greg had his feet propped up on the wide and empty expanse of his ultra-cool desk, or ‘work space’ as he preferred to call it. This was his oasis. A place of sanctuary from the bedlam of his wife’s domain. A place of privacy. He slowly rocked himself on the ergonomically designed kid leather chair, sighing as he ran his hand through his wavy dark hair, now speckled with grey – much to his annoyance.
    Raising his voice he shouted back, ‘Darling, won’t be a minute. Just got some loose ends to tie up at the office. Your father will want to have a full report as soon as we get there.’ He listened for a response from below, but none came. ‘Sorry about that, Janie,’ he murmured into the receiver of his agonisingly trendy and sleek steel handset.
    ‘That’s all right, Greggy,’ returned the voice of a well-educated young woman. ‘I’m so going to miss you.’
    ‘And I shall miss you. But I shall be thinking of you every moment of every day and every night, Janie darling.’
    ‘You will call me when you get there won’t you, Greggy?’
    Irritation flared in him. Janie was getting too clingy.
    ‘Greg!’ Connie was shouting again. ‘Please hurry up!’
    Greg, beginning to lose interest, was eager to end the call. ‘Yes, Con, I’m coming,’ he shouted. Then, speaking softly into the phone: ‘I’ll try. I’ve got to go. If only for Abigail’s sake.’ He started to tidy his desk, closing the lid of his laptop and looking round for its leather case. Lately he’d found himself wondering whether the time had come to kick Janie into touch. Lovely girl and all that, but it was asking for trouble, having an affair with your secretary. Especially when your father-in-law owned the company. Maybe he could pay her off, get her another job in a friend’s company. He’d write her an excellent letter of recommendation. After all, she was very good at her job. And very, very sexy.
    Greg Wilson considered himself a reasonable man. A man who was satisfactorily married while indulging in a slice of illicit cake. Surely it was expected that a man in