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‘Brian? What are you doing here? I thought you were Amos.’
‘Today, I am Amos. Over. I have the mail. Repeat. I have the mail. Over.’
‘Oh, OK. I’m buzzing you in. Come up to the house. Over.’ She pressed the button to open the front gate.
‘Brian?’ Nicholas questioned, putting the breakfast plates on the countertop.
‘Yes and he has the mail. Over.’ She headed to the front door.
She opened it up and Brian, dressed in a postman’s uniform, hurried up the driveway towards the house.
‘Good morning, Nick. Good morning, Freya. Over.’ Brian walked up the steps and onto the front porch.
‘You don’t have to say over now, Brian. We’re not on the intercom; we’re right here,’ Freya said, smiling.
‘Sorry. Right, here is your mail.’ He dug into the sack across his shoulder and pulled out two large packets and two smaller letters.
‘Gimme! Gimme!’ Freya ordered. She snatched the large packets from Brian’s hands and ran back into the house.
‘One of those was for you,’ Brian informed Nicholas, handing him the smaller letters.
‘Thanks, Brian. Freya’s a little over excited about wedding dresses.’
‘I heard about that. Tell me, is her father really dead?’ He adjusted his hat.
‘Sorry?’
‘It’s on the front page of The Gazette this morning. Here, I’ve got a copy with me, and I’m sure I heard something about it on the news too. Although, I was eating at the time and my hearing’s not quite as good when I’m eating as it is when I’m not.’ He produced the newspaper from the mail sack.
Nicholas took hold of the paper and read the headline. ‘“Freya Fuels Father Feud”.’ He looked at the photograph. It was one of the publicity shots from their hospital visit the previous day.
‘Brian, can I keep this?’ Nicholas asked him, folding the paper up.
‘It was seventy five cents.’
‘I’ll shout you a meal at Casey’s the next time you’re there.’
‘Three courses? With drinks and sides?’
‘Whatever you want. I promise.’
‘Sure, keep the paper.’
Freya licked her lips as she looked at the dresses in the catalogue. She’d bypassed the frills and the lace and was gazing at heavenly creations she might be able to get a dual use from. Some of Nicholas’ film parties needed glamour.
She heard him come back into the room.
‘Don’t come any closer. I’ve seen a couple of frocks I like and I do not want you getting even a peek at any of them.’ She picked up the brochure and held it against her chest.
‘You might want to look at this.’ He put the newspaper down in front of her.
She looked at the headline and then read out loud.
‘“Nicholas Kaden and fiancée Freya Johnson visited Carlton General Hospital yesterday to unveil the facility’s new scanning equipment paid for by the Nicholas Kaden Foundation. During the visit, they met with patients of the cancer ward, most of whom have limited life expectancy. One such young patient, who cannot be named, was heard asking Miss Johnson about her upcoming nuptials and in particular, whether her father, billionaire business tycoon Eric Lawson-Peck, would be attending the ceremony. A source claims Miss Johnson seemed particularly uncomfortable when asked about her father and ultimately informed the patient her father was dead. Eric Lawson-Peck, alive and well, attended a reception in New York last night where he refused to comment. Last year, Freya Johnson’s ex-partner, Russell Buchanan, claimed Miss Johnson had been abused by her father throughout her childhood and made countless accusations of improper conduct relating to both his personal and business life. These claims were strongly refuted by Lawson-Peck and Miss Johnson issued an apology.” Shit!’
‘Good, huh?’
‘I don’t understand. How the hell did they get hold of this? I mean, they’ve misquoted me to start with. I didn’t actually say it like that and I didn’t blurt it across the ward. I said it to Katherine and you were the only one there. She’s a kid and from the look of her yesterday, she was in no state to give interviews to The Gazette,’ Freya exclaimed.
