Page 41 of The Fete of Summer

“And?”

“Plenty of sex on demand.”

“I need to pay yousomething, Nate.”

“The place is bought and paid for. And as you said, you’re only here until May.”

Jaymes went quiet and thoughtful for a moment before a smile blossomed on his face.

“This is turning out to be one hell of a weekend. All these sweet deals.”

“My thoughts entirely.”

“Okay,” said Jaymes, starting to collect up plates. “Even though I’d love to head back to bed, it’s ten already. I’m going to clear up here while you shower. I’d have suggested we shower together—to save time and water—but your shower cubicle is smaller than a Hobbit’s phone booth, and knowing I would not be able to restrain myself, I fear two men our size in that thing doing what I have in mind are likely to end up in Casualty. So go and shower and change, out of temptation’s way, while I tidy up.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Do you want to postpone the solicitor?”

“No.”

“Then move your cute arse. We have the rest of the afternoon and evening now that I’m living here.”

Nathan’s heart filled with pleasure on hearing those words.

“You’ll move in, then? You never said yes.”

“Hell, yes,” said Jaymes. “Apart from sleeping on a mattress instead of a tiny sofa, I’ll have you next to me. Like I’ve died and gone to Hawaii. Can we swing by Polly’s later to pick up my suitcase and boxes? Maybe even try to wheedle out of her what she got up to last night.”

For the next thirty minutes, the apartment became a hive of activity, Jaymes and Nathan never missing an opportunity to touch or kiss as they passed each other.

By ten-thirty they were on the road to Eastbourne in the baker’s van. They found parking on the same road as the solicitors. One of a terrace of Edwardian houses, each with three storeys and a basement, the one announcing Miller, Price and Cawthorn had been elegantly decorated in simple shades of cream and white, the sky blue plaque announcing the name of the partnership providing an eye-catching addition.

Inside the offices, the Edwardian theme continued in the decor, with antique furnishings and brown leather Chesterfield settees. Nathan found the air oppressively hot and humid. Ms Cawthorn met them at the otherwise empty reception, clearly working with minimal staffing. Dressed immaculately in a plain but stylish black pantsuit, white silk blouse and black heels, she exuded expensive competence.

“Please come this way,” she said after shaking Nathan’s hand.

As she led them away, Jaymes turned to Nathan and pulled a face, which had Nathan smirking. After his father’s death, he’d had a number of visits to solicitors’ offices and they no longer daunted him. In a small but plush conference room along the corridor, papers were laid out carefully along the oak table, with brightly coloured tabs indicating places for signatures. Nathan knew the drill well.

“This should not take long,” she said, waiting for them to be seated before joining them.

Nathan handed over his documents—birth certificate, utility bills, passport and his father’s will. After a cursory once-over, Ms Cawthorn left the room and returned around ten minutes later. Placing copies into a file, she handed the originals back and got straight down to business.

“Nathaniel Standhope Brooks died on the fifteenth of December in Melbourne. He is survived by an only son, Mr Grant Stanhope Brooks, but in a strange turn of events, it appears that you are also a distant relative. Mr Brooks was a property developer in Melbourne but sold the business eight years ago. He left most of his estate to his son but also wanted to bequeath a sum of money to you. The amount is detailed here.”

Ms Cawthorn twisted a sheet of paper around and tapped a pencil at a figure.

“Two hundred and fifty thousand Australian dollars? How much is that?” said Nathan, turning to Jaymes.

“Given the current exchange rate,” said Ms Cawthorn, “it’s around a hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds. A tidy sum.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“From our end and our counterparts’ in Melbourne, everything is in order,” she said before drawing a letter from her file. “One of the forms you signed is to let His Majesty’s Revenue and Customs Department know about your inheritance. I’ve also been instructed to pass you this letter, Mr Fresher, which may help to clarify your connection to the benefactor. Would you like some privacy? To read the details?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m happy for everyone to stay.”

Nathan was surprised at how pristine the envelope appeared and respectfully untucked the sealed pouch. The letter inside was written in neat ballpoint handwriting.

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