A Good Catch: The perfect Cornish escape full of secrets. Fern Britton

       8

      1989

      Greer stepped off the train at Bodmin and walked out to the pavement, where cars were parking ready to collect her fellow travellers. She shielded her eyes against the dazzling June sunshine and stood her suitcase and two canvas ‘overspill’ bags at her feet, face turned to the sun, inhaling the scent of clean Cornish air.

      ‘Greer darling!’ Her mother’s voice carried on the breeze. Elizabeth was stepping half in and half out of the passenger seat of Bryn’s latest car. Her left leg was still in the footwell, her right on the tarmac, and both hands holding onto the top of the open car door. She was beaming and waving frantically.

      Greer could see her father pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head and then opening the heavy door of the big BMW. He got out and walked to the boot. He opened it and then strolled towards her, giving Greer a chance to admire how fit and tanned and successful he looked. ‘Darling, welcome home.’ He kissed her and picked up the suitcase and one of the canvas bags. ‘You can manage that one, can’t you?’ He nodded his head to the remaining bag.

      ‘I’ve managed all of them from London, Dad.’

      ‘Hope you haven’t gone all women’s lib on us?’ He laughed.

      Greer was thinking that her dad was being as embarrassing as usual and was struggling to come up with a suitable retort when her mother bustled up. ‘Darling Greer. You look so lovely! So slim in that dress. But what have you done with your hair?’

      Greer’s free hand flew to the back of her neck where perfect feathers of hair lay short. ‘I got bored with the bob.’

      ‘But it was a classic cut. You’ve had it since you were three.’

      ‘Exactly. I’m eighteen years old. I needed a change.’

      Her mother sniffed disapprovingly before saying, ‘Never mind. It will grow.’

      Her father loaded her bags into the boot and Greer stepped into the back seat. As with all her father’s cars it was the best he could afford. Top of the range, walnut, soft leather and deep-pile carpet.

      ‘I like your new car, Dad.’

      ‘Only picked it up two days ago. Wanted to collect you in style.’ He put the gearstick into drive mode and pulled away from the kerb. Her mother craned round to chat to her daughter.

      ‘Congratulations on your typing speed and shorthand. And how you’ve mastered the word processor, I’ve no idea. Your father has two in the office. The girls were showing them to me but it’s all so complicated.’ Her mother turned back to face the road.

      ‘Not when you know how, Mum.’ Greer was looking out of the window, enjoying the sights she hadn’t seen for two long years. The valley to her right held woodland and fields. To her left were the steep lanes leading to Lanhydrock House.

      ‘There’s a job for a secretary in the office at the moment.’ Her father caught her gaze in the rear-view mirror. ‘Tessa’s going off on maternity leave in a couple of weeks. She says she’ll be back, but she won’t. Women don’t come back once they’ve started a family. But I have to pay her while she’s away. It’s a government con.’

      Greer tried to let her father’s misogynistic stream flow over her. She had got what she’d wanted. She’d done a two-year course in interior design at a smart private college in Surrey, and, to keep her father happy, studied for a secretarial course in London during the holidays. That had left her no time to return to Cornwall while she focused on gaining her qualifications, but it meant she’d achieved them as quickly as possible.

      ‘I got a distinction in my design course.’

      There was a tight silence from the front seats.

      ‘Good,’ her mother finally said.

      Greer persevered. ‘Actually, I have a surprise for you.’

      Silence.

      ‘I got Student of the Year.’

      She saw her father raise his eyebrows in a look that said, ‘What’s the bloody use of that?’ before her mother managed: ‘That’s nice.’

      Greer said nothing more. She knew that she’d done extremely well, despite their dismissive attitude. They could ignore it if they liked, but Greer had worked hard for that distinction and it wouldn’t go to waste, no matter what her father might think. She continued to look out of the window, content to watch the familiar landmarks slide by. Trelawney Garden Centre, the bridge over the river at Wadebridge, and the Royal Cornwall Showground. They continued along the dramatic and romantically named Atlantic Highway until the first sign to Trevay came into view.