“Some things are worth going a long way to see,” Jack said lightly. His gaze rested briefly on her face, then he grinned and said, “Who’s hungry?”
“I am,” I declared. “There’s something about damp, gloomy days that makes me want to eat nonstop. I’ll probably weigh three hundred pounds by the time summer arrives.” I glanced morosely at the rain streaming down the front window. “If it ever does.”
Jack scurried over to the table to pull out the wooden chair for Bree, then seated me in one of the folding chairs and took the place opposite mine for himself. He removed the lids from the casserole dishes, invited us to help ourselves, and made sure our plates were full before he filled his own. He was, I thought, behaving like a perfect gentleman. I hoped Bree was taking note.
My comment on the weather sparked a pleasant conversation about weather in various parts of the world, to which Bree contributed little. Jack seemed entirely at ease, though I couldn’t help noticing that he toned down his Australian accent and used Aussie slang less often than he had when I’d first met him, as if he sensed Bree’s aversion to his rowdy countrymen and wished to set himself apart from them.
Our talk soon turned from worldwide weather to English weather and from there it was a short leap to the English countryside and the charm of English villages. Jack reserved special praise for Finch and the many kindnesses the villagers had shown him since his arrival.
“I enjoyed spending time with Mr. Barlow this morning,” he said. “He thinks the world of you, Bree.”
“I’m fond of him, too,” said Bree. “He’s a good man and he’s taught me a lot of useful things.”
“Like grave digging,” said Jack. “I hope you know how grateful I am to you for looking after my uncle’s grave. I wish I’d gotten here in time to dig it myself.”
“I wish you’d gotten here before your uncle died.”
Bree spoke in an undertone, but she might as well have slapped Jack in the face. I glanced at him apprehensively, but he met Bree’s reproachful gaze without flinching.
“I didn’t know I had two great-grandaunties until they were on their deathbeds,” she continued. “They were the sweetest old ladies on earth and I would have given absolutely anything to have had one more day with them. Why didn’t you come here sooner, Jack? Your uncle didn’t have any friends. A nephew would have come in handy. Why did you wait until after he was dead to show your face in Finch?”
“Bree,” I began in a low voice, but Jack waved me to silence.
“No worries, Lori,” he said. “Bree’s only saying aloud what everyone else in Finch must be thinking.”
“We’d appreciate a few answers,” said Bree.
“I’ll give them to you,” said Jack, “but it’s a sad story.”
“No fear.” Bree set her knife and fork aside and folded her arms. “I’m tougher than I look.”
Six
My better self was dismayed by Bree’s bluntness, but the Finch-trained gossip in me was perfectly willing to cut to the chase. When Jack replaced the covers on the casserole dishes, I took it as a sign that a long and satisfying yarn was in the offing, and when he leaned back in his chair, I couldn’t keep myself from leaning forward. Full disclosure seemed imminent and I was all ears.
“First off,” he said, “I’m sorry about your great-grandaunts, Bree. It must have been rough to lose them so soon after finding them.”
“It was,” Bree said stiffly, “but we’re not talking about me at the moment. We’re talking about you.”
“I’d better get talking, then,” said Jack. He thought for a moment, then began, “The long and the short of it is, my dad didn’t have much use for Uncle Hector.”
“Why not?” asked Bree.
“Dad doesn’t have much use for any man who isn’t just like him,” said Jack, “and Uncle Hector was as unlike him as anyone could be. Dad’s a big, strapping bloke, all muscle and mouth. Uncle Hector was a soft-spoken, shy little guy. Dad’s the CEO and founder of a prestigious property development firm. Uncle Hector was a bean counter at a small-town accounting firm. Dad catches marlin and has them mounted as trophies. Uncle Hector caught trout and tossed them back.” He smiled mirthlessly. “Got the picture?”
“I think so,” I said. “How does your mother fit into it?”
“Mum is Uncle Hector’s sister,” Jack replied. “His only sibling. Helen, her name is. Hector and Helen.” He sighed. “Granddad was a fan of Greek literature, but his children didn’t live up to their heroic names. Mum is just as shy and self-effacing as Uncle Hector was. Which is fine with Dad because he likes to have the spotlight all to himself.”
“Opposites attract,” I said, nodding. “How did they meet?”