Platinum Coast. Lynne Pemberton

      Christina got up and found the bottle of pain-killers the doctor had given her. She took two in a tumbler of icy-cold water and staggered back to bed, sleeping fitfully for the next three hours until Stephen came to her room with a breakfast tray.

      ‘The top of the morning to you,’ he said, mimicking an Irish accent, and set the tray on the bed.

      ‘What happened to you last night?’ she snapped, and pulled herself into a sitting position, rubbing her eyes. ‘I stayed awake for ages waiting for you to come.’

      ‘I played Monopoly for almost an hour like a good, dutiful father, then I tucked my daughter up in bed and tiptoed down here, intending to be a good, dutiful lover. But you …’ – he pinched Christina’s leg – ‘… were in sweet dreams.’

      ‘I wouldn’t have minded if you’d woken me up!’

      ‘You looked so peaceful,’ he grinned. ‘Sorry.’

      ‘Don’t be.’ She slid her legs out of bed. ‘It’s your loss as much as mine.’

      ‘Come on, Christina, don’t be like that. I’ll make it up to you tonight.’ His voice was flippant.

      ‘Don’t make promises you may not be able to keep, Stephen.’ She began to limp to the bathroom, ‘I must do my teeth before I can eat breakfast.’

      He ran round the bed to help her. She refused his arm, saying, ‘I can manage, Stephen. My foot’s a lot better this morning.’

      He watched her shapely naked bottom disappearing into the bathroom and thought she had been right when she had said it was his loss.

      ‘That’s great. So do you think you’ll be able to make the gymkhana?’ he called after her.

      ‘I’m sure I shall,’ Christina shouted from the bathroom. I’ll get to that bloody gymkhana if it kills me! she thought.

      The gymkhana was crowded, cold and very, very wet.

      Stephen tramped around the muddy field for hours under a vast umbrella, arm in arm with Victoria, whilst Christina, hating every moment, sat in the car becoming more and more morose.

      Victoria won a rosette for second place and talked non-stop about horses for the hour-long journey back to Purley Hall. It was almost six o’clock when the car pulled into the drive, and Christina had a splitting headache. She took a further two pain-killers and excused herself to lie down.

      Hobbling downstairs an hour later she found Stephen and Victoria curled up in front of a log fire watching a video. He looked up briefly. ‘I’ll be with you in a moment, Christina; this is a really exciting bit.’

      Victoria’s eyes did not leave the television screen.

      She left them and walked towards the kitchen, where Dorothy was preparing a roast-beef dinner.

      ‘We usually have Sunday lunch, but Mr Reece-Carlton has to go abroad tomorrow so we’re having it tonight instead,’ she informed Christina, who looked surprised.

      Stephen had not told her he was going away – but then, she was slowly learning, there were lots of things Stephen did not tell her.

      The smell of the meat roasting set hunger pangs gnawing at her stomach.

      ‘Mmm, that smells wonderful.’ She sat down heavily at the kitchen table. She would have loved a cup of tea but did not like to ask the rather formidable housekeeper to make her one.

      ‘Well, I make a good roast even if I say so myself.’ The housekeeper stuck out her ample chest. ‘Mr Reece-Carlton says he’s never tasted a better roast lunch anywhere.’ She continued to heap praises on her own cooking whilst vigorously beating a batter mixture for Yorkshire pudding.

      ‘How’s your foot?’ Dorothy enquired, but seemed indifferent to Christina’s reply.

      ‘A lot better, thanks.’ She looked down at her swollen ankle, which was looking more like its normal size.

      ‘You’ll feel a whole lot better after you’ve had my roast dinner,’ Dorothy assured her. Christina wished she would stop boasting about how good a cook she was, and just get on with it.

      The housekeeper poured the batter mixture into a smoking oven-tin as Stephen came in to kneel down and survey several bottles of wine in a rack below the work-surface. He eventually pulled out a 1963 St Emilion which he opened and decanted.

      ‘Twenty minutes for the Yorkshires,’ Dorothy announced, and slammed the oven door tightly shut.

      They ate their Yorkshire pudding separately as a starter, a custom Stephen’s mother had faithfully followed. Christina didn’t care how it was served; it tasted wonderful – light and crispy. The roast beef was done to perfection, and she had an extra helping of beef and golden roast potatoes with thick, rich gravy.

      Victoria had spoken very little during the meal, much to Christina’s surprise.

      They were all eating enormous portions of plum crumble and cream when Stephen said, ‘I thought your friend Caroline was coming to see you tonight?’

      Victoria shook her head, and some of her hair fell into the dessert bowl. It was sticky with cream when she continued, ‘She was, but I told her not to when I knew you were coming home for the weekend. You know how Caroline always spoils things.’

      The girl pulled a face, and Christina thought how well Victoria knew about spoiling things.

      Stephen poured the last drops of red wine from the decanter into his and Christina’s glasses.

      ‘I’ve got another James Bond video I thought we could watch together.’

      Victoria was looking directly at her father as she spoke, deliberately excluding Christina. She glanced over Victoria’s shoulder at a portrait of a very dark young woman. Her large grey-blue eyes stared back, heavy-lidded and mysterious.

      ‘Is that your wife, Stephen?’ she asked.

      He turned. ‘Yes, that’s Barbara.’

      ‘She was very attractive,’ Christina commented.

      ‘She was more than attractive – she was beautiful!’ Victoria looked at the portrait then back at Christina. Her eyes were narrowed and her voice very quiet.

      ‘No one could replace my mother. Not ever.’

      Christina held Victoria’s troubled eyes for a long time. They were both silent until Christina said, ‘I don’t think anyone would even try.’

      She finished her dessert, though it stuck in her throat, and congratulated Dorothy, who seeped up the praise, a huge smile stretching from one ear to the other.

      Christina hated old James Bond movies but was forced to watch Goldfinger, squashed at the far end of the sofa as Victoria lay full-length with her legs looped over her father’s lap.

      Christina was delighted when the child fell asleep halfway through the movie and Stephen carried her to bed.

      ‘She’s sound asleep.’ He seemed relieved when he joined her on the sofa five minutes later with two glasses of Hine.

      She took the brandy goblet from his outstretched hand, saying, ‘You didn’t tell me you were leaving tomorrow?’

      He took a sip of brandy and sighed heavily.

      ‘I’m sorry. That call from Robert Leyton last night was to confirm I had to go to Spain. I forgot to tell you after you hurt your foot.’

      He raked his long fingers through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I’m afraid I have to catch the 11.30 plane from Gatwick to Malaga. We’re trying to set up a leisure park in Spain and I must meet the planners on-site first thing Monday morning. It was the only available flight. I took the liberty of booking you a flight back to Manchester fifteen minutes after mine, if that’s okay with you? I didn’t think you’d want to stay down here