21:50

Chapter 3

Marcus' prime preoccupation remained the holiday. It was a useful distraction from what has happening at Gold Etc. And it was a distraction from thoughts about 27th June, a momentous date, and not just because it was the anniversary of the Battle of Dettingen. For him the date loomed large because its next occurrence would represent the completion of his first half century on the planet.

Finally, he had a shortlist of three venues. One was a large farmhouse, which featured an outdoor kitchen, another was a riverside villa with an infinity pool and the third was a Manoir set in 120 acres, and as he'd exclaimed at the time to anyone who'd listen,

'This one even has a tennis court!' He evidently had a clear favourite, but wanted to make sure that everyone had their say.

Lara had been helping Marcus in the search. However, the amount of time she could devote to this was limited, not least because this was the busiest time of year for her silk nightwear business. New ranges had to be finalised, samples ordered and projections made for production quantities. Lara's company, called Pyjama Party, hadn't exactly been a trail-blazer in the fashion industry, but the first ranges had been warmly received at the Harrogate International Lingerie Fair. One range of babydoll nightdresses had even featured on the cover page of Underlines Magazine. Now in its fifth year, there were regular large orders from Figleaves, Rigby and Peller and several hundred other retailers.

So when Marcus asked what she thought about the merits of each villa, he wasn't taken aback when she just said:

'They all look nice, just choose one and book it.'

She'd said this sweetly and it seemed as if some of the recent tension between them had evaporated. He even hoped that he'd now been forgiven for asking Vicky to join them on holiday. He was ever the optimist.

Marcus decided to get feedback from his children that evening. Tom was going through a difficult phase, displaying what they now call 'challenging behaviour', but which was traditionally known as being belligerent and obnoxious. Strangely, that behaviour was only directed towards his father. To everyone else, Tom was polite, conscientious and almost seemed to be evolving into a well-rounded young man. However, he was often withdrawn at school and, while excelling at maths and in sciences, was hopeless at arts subjects. Also, from the age of twelve until now at eighteen, he was painfully shy with girls. He was utterly awkward in their presence.

'So, Tom, what do you think about the villas? Have you checked the links I emailed you?' ventured Marcus across the dining table.

'Yep.'

'So what did you think?'

'I'll go with whatever Mum thinks.'

Marcus was on the point of pressing Tom for his own opinions, but thought better of it.

'I think your Mum likes the Manoir the best. That's the one with the tennis court.'

'Oh. OK. I didn't know there was one with a tennis court.'

As for Johanna, Marcus would have to await her return later that evening. She was helping Oliver with his work, not that Johanna's father would quite dignify what he did for a living as work. That Oliver, or Olly to his followers, was a Vlogger – and a reasonably well known one. Not quite an Alfie Deyes, but not far off. Olly provided the hundreds of thousands of subscribers to his YouTube channel with valuable insights and perceptive brilliance derived from all his twenty three years' life experience. He'd even managed to reveal to them that farts really can be set alight.

Aside from her choice of boyfriend, to Marcus she could do no wrong. Before she was born, he had set his heart on naming her Johanna, after the eponymous Bob Dylan song. And when she was born, she was indeed a vision of loveliness. Now aged 20, she was universally acknowledged to be very pretty, if not breathtakingly beautiful. She had inherited her mother's fine bone structure, with the same high cheekbones. Her full lips parted to reveal a playful smile, but most alluring of all were her eyes. Green and flecked with shards of dark brown, they sparkled like emeralds. This attractiveness was often played down as she was slightly embarrassed to be so much better looking than most of her friends.

True to form, Johanna was much more excited about the holiday than the rest of the family - and not just because it would coincide with her birthday as well her father's. She shared her father's love of tennis, as well as inability to play very well. But that didn't matter, it was the enjoyment of the game that was important to both of them.

'Wow, that's awesome,' she enthused when she heard about the court, while Marcus winced ever so slightly at the Americanism.

'It is indeed. The Manoir is set in massive grounds, there are bikes, a barbeque and it's quite close to Bergerac.'

'Isn't that in the Channel Islands?' joked Lara, a quip that was entirely lost on their children, who'd never seen the detective Bergerac, played by John Nettles on tv.

'Let me double check,' rejoined Marcus, 'especially as we might be going before Midsomer!'

Lara almost smiled.

Now all that Marcus needed to do was to consult with his parents and his brother about the choice. As suspected, Jilly Gray was delighted with the selection, particularly as she'd not been to the Dordogne before.

'It looks gigantic, almost a Chateau. And very French.'

He suppressed his natural inclination to pick up on that last observation.

'And you'll be ok flying with Dad from Bristol?'

'Absolutely.'

'Wonderful. I'll just get in touch with Jamie and Max to make sure they're happy and then I'll make the booking. Oh, and I didn't tell you, Lara's friend Vicky will be coming too.'

'Lovely! But are you sure she can afford it?'

'Ha! Bye Mum. And lots of love to Dad.'

If they were to be described in a narrative, Jamie and Max would be in danger of being seen as stereotypes, straight out of Central Casting. They did indeed live in Brighton, were always immaculately groomed and were very particular about the brands they wore.

'Gant. That's a gay brand you know. And so's Penguin.'

Jamie had been with Max for 10 years as partners, and two years as husband and husband. Max, who was Irish by birth, had actually been christened Fergal. But when he came out, which precipitated his leaving his native Co. Donegal, he took the opportunity to re-style himself as 'Max'. Nevertheless, he did retain his lilting accent which Jamie adored.

They shared their spacious Victorian house with two identical cats, Adam and Steve, which nobody could tell apart. Then again, nobody ever needed to know which was which. As for a living, they'd swapped their high-flying careers in London for the joys of running an antiques shop in Kemp Town. The merchandise was of the highest quality, but the prices were wildly excessive. Nevertheless, or perhaps precisely because of the reassuring expensive prices, their business was thriving.

Less stereotypically, neither Jamie nor Max had yet to have their aura cleansed or their Chakra tested for weaknesses. Also they preferred the great outdoors to the nightclubs and cabarets of Brighton. As a result, they'd recently taken delivery of a brand new VW campervan that had been kitted out to very precise specifications, with no detail left to chance. As well as the fold out bed, there was a hob and an oven, a sink, fridge and lots of little cupboards to put their stuff in neatly.

'Perfect. Love the Manoir,' said Jamie to his brother when told about the family gathering. 'We'll drive down through France, maybe stopping at a few places along the way. It'll be such an adventure.'

Marcus couldn't help wondering how much fun that would actually be. He'd seen inside a campervan and knew it wasn't totally an exact match for two forty-something men accustomed to luxury hotel suites whenever they holidayed. And they holidayed a lot.