“George Conlon Fresher?”
“Correct.”
“And are you aware that your grandfather had a brother, Nathaniel Collier—uh—Fresher?”
Nathan had never heard his grandfather talk about a brother. And his father had most certainly never mentioned any relatives.
“No, I wasn’t. Are you sure you’ve got that right?”
At the other end of the line, the man chuckled.
“It’s my job to be right, Mr Fresher. That’s why I’m phoning. Look, I’ll need you to go to local solicitors over there, one we’ll appoint to verify your identity. But the long and the short of it is your great uncle passed away last month, and you are one of the beneficiaries of his will.”
“Me? Are you sure?”
“Crystal.”
“How come I didn’t know anything about him?”
“Probably more info than I should be giving you, but over here, his official family name—the one on his Australian birth certificate and passport—was Brooks, Nathaniel Stanhope Brooks. Look, son, there’s a letter addressed to you included in the will. Everything will be couriered over. Maybe that’ll help explain things.”
“Are we talking money?”
“Legally, I’ve already told you more than I ought to. But if it helps any, let’s just say that if I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t give up my day job. I’m sure the solicitor at your end will explain everything in detail.”
Back in the living room, Polly paused the movie the instant Nathan reappeared. When both heads turned and peered at him simultaneously from the sofa, the Wynter family resemblance was so unmistakeable, Nathan couldn’t help but smile.
“And?” she asked.
“Your mother’s family?” asked Jaymes, which had Polly turning to him quizzically.
“Nope. Open another bottle of wine, and I’ll tell you everything.”
Chapter Eight
February
Five months to go before the fête, and Nathan lounged in his usual plastic seat in the village hall, glowering at the hall clock’s smile. Inhaling the familiar melange of odours, he tried to tune out Arlene’s enthused recounting of her Saturday night at an exclusive Brighton hotel for a charitable event. Invited by Clifton’s manager, she had also met Raul, Clifton’s handsome partner, who had arrived in England earlier than expected.
Nathan had waited in alone on Saturday night, anticipating Clifton’s promised call or visit. Clearly he’d had other, last-minute priorities to deal with, but a quick message or call might have been nice.
“—and a full house this month. Welcome back, Michael. There are now less than six months until the big day. In case you don’t have the agenda open on your phone, I have some printed copies. Remember to stick to allocated timings because I will stop us from wandering off-topic. Let’s respect one another’s time, shall we?”
Polly turned to Nathan and rolled her eyes, making him smile. Arlene’s impromptu anecdote already had them running late.
“I’d also like to welcome Jenny Nwadike, who’ll be our photographer for the sports calendar. In a moment, Jenny’s going to talk us through some of her ideas.”
Nathan could tell Jenny would be good. She seemed easygoing, with a cheerful smile, and even the way she spoke made him feel relaxed.
“Fourteen out of eighteen of the players have agreed to be photographed, including your members Michael and Nathan. I have been in touch with everyone, and some mentioned being photographed together. I suspect there’s a sense of comfort and safety in numbers. A combination of duos, groups and singles will be wonderful. However, some players--such as our captain--would, of course, have a solo spot for a dedicated month.”
Nathan feigned a smile, mainly for her benefit.
“My goal is to let people see the team as they really are and incorporate each player’s local profession into the shoot. For example, we would have a butcher theme for Michael, baked goods on display for Nathan, a garage setting for Benny—”
“Norris Hillwood’s a gynaecologist,” interrupted Mikey.
In the process of wiping her nose, Doris tittered into her handkerchief.
