“What would explain what?” Bree demanded.
“Uncle Hector didn’t like to draw attention to himself, Bree,” said Jack. “He must have known he’d be the center of attention if Mrs. Taxman found out about his family in Australia.”
“He would have become a local celebrity,” I confirmed.
“Which is the last thing he would have wanted,” said Jack. “So he bypassed Mrs. Taxman.” He smiled quizzically at Bree. “I didn’t send my letters through the post office in Finch. I sent them to a post office box in Upper Deeping.”
“Your uncle had a post office box in Upper Deeping?” Bree said uncertainly.
“That’s right,” said Jack.
“Your uncle was a clever man, Jack,” I said, chuckling. “Not many of us can say we’ve outfoxed Peggy Taxman, can we, Bree?”
“Not many of us, no,” Bree murmured, looking discomfited.
“Uncle Hector and I lost track of each other after I left home,” Jack went on. “I haven’t had a permanent address since then. That’s why it took Aldous Winterbottom so long to find me. He tried to reach me when Uncle Hector became ill, but I didn’t get his letter until . . . too late. When I found out that Uncle Hector was gone, I was gutted.” He tilted his head toward Bree. “If I’d become a VP in Dad’s firm, I could’ve visited Uncle Hector as often as I pleased. But if I were the VP type, I wouldn’t be the sort of bloke who’d want to visit a bloke like Uncle Hector. My uncle understood why I couldn’t come here, Bree, and he didn’t mind. He encouraged me to work for love, not money.”
“Oh,” Bree said quietly.
“Uncle Hector left me enough to cover my travel costs,” Jack went on, “because he wanted me to take care of a few things for him. There was no one else he could rely on.”
“Right,” said Bree, more quietly still.
“What did he ask you to do?” I asked.
“He wrote a memoir,” said Jack. “I’m to read it, give it a tune-up if it needs one, and publish one copy of it privately. Uncle Hector wanted just one copy made.” Jack’s voice trembled slightly as he added, “For me.”
I stared down at my plate, abashed. Lilian Bunting, Bree, and I had treated Hector Huggins’s memoir as a big joke. We’d never considered the possibility that it might have been written as a farewell gift from a loving uncle to a favorite nephew. I felt thoroughly ashamed of my frivolity and I knew that Lilian would feel equally mortified when I told her the whole story.
Bree must have been experiencing similar emotions because she unfolded her arms and said somberly, “I wish I’d known your uncle better, Jack. I think I would have liked him.”
“He would have been terrified by you,” said Jack, but his crooked smile took the sting out of his words. “People terrified him, Bree. He preferred the company of birds, badgers, butterflies, trout. You may find it hard to believe, but he was a happy man.”
“I’m glad,” said Bree. “It gives your sad story a nearly happy ending.” She cleared her throat, then inquired with exquisite courtesy, “What kind of conservation work did you do at Uluru?”
“Removing invasive plants, mostly,” he replied. “Good preparation, as it turns out, for the second project Uncle Hector left me.” He swept a hand through the air to indicate Ivy Cottage. “I’m to tidy the place up and get it ready to put on the market. The house seems to be in good nick, but the land needs a lot of work. And that’s left me in a bit of a bind. Uncle Hector didn’t own any gardening tools, apart from a dodgy-looking lawn mower, and I’ll need more than that to restore order around here. Is there a place I can hire—”
“Don’t be stupid,” Bree interrupted. “I’ve got all the tools you’ll need. What if I bring them ’round tomorrow morning?” She turned to me. “I’ll haul them in my own car, Lori, so the Rover won’t get mucky.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I have a hard enough time keeping it clean as it is.”
“I could stay on and pitch in,” Bree continued, turning back to Jack. “I’ve no plans for the day.”
“I’ll help, too,” I piped up. “I’m not much of a gardener, but I can pull weeds if someone points them out to me. I’ll see if I can recruit Emma Harris as well. She lives up the lane and she knows a lot about gardens.”
“I’ll take all the help I can get,” Jack said gratefully. “Nine o’clock tomorrow morning suit you?”
“Could we make it ten?” I asked. “My mornings tend to be a little hectic.”
“Fine with me,” said Bree.
“Ten it is,” said Jack. He sat upright and surveyed our empty plates. “You choose: dessert or a breath of fresh air?”
“Fresh air,” Bree said promptly. She gave him a shy, sidelong look as she added, “And a fresh start?”