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“Congratulations on getting married, that’s great news.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m calling to let you know that I’ve finally heard from Charles Hooper, the lawyer in Christchurch. He called me because he in turn heard from Walsh, Boylan, and Kelly. That’s the firm of solicitors in Dublin who originally contracted Hooper & Sons to find you.”
“Oh, okay.”
“They were employed by your grandmother, Bridget O’Clery. Unfortunately, she died nearly a year ago. And I’m not sure if you’re aware, but your grandfather, Cormac O’Clery, also died, a year before her.”
“No,” I say, emotion washing over me, “I didn’t know.”
“Apparently, when your mother decided to move to New Zealand, your grandfather cut off all contact with her. Bridget used to write to her, but of course Niamh’s letters stopped coming, and she didn’t know why. When Cormac died, Bridget finally tried to track her daughter down, and then discovered she’d died in 2011, but had left behind a daughter. Bridget employed Walsh, Boylan, and Kelly to find you. They contacted Hooper & Sons in Christchurch to enlist their help, and they found out that you’d moved to Auckland, but your father had passed away by then. They wrote to your stepmother but didn’t hear back from her. At that point, Bridget fell ill, and unfortunately she died shortly afterward. Following her death, the solicitors contacted your aunt—your mother’s sister—Mona, and explained the situation. It was her decision to continue the search for you. And that’s why Mona’s contacting you now. She wants to talk to you.”
I inhale with shock. “Really?”
“Yes. And not just that. Are you sitting down?”
Saxon reaches out for my hand. “Yes, she is.”
“Bridget and Cormac owned a house in Dublin. They’d paid off the mortgage several years before. When she became unwell and moved in with Mona, the house was sold, and once all debts, bills, and the funeral was paid for, it left just over three hundred and fifty thousand euros, to be divided—as per Bridget’s will—between Mona and Niamh’s daughter.”
I stare at the phone. “I don’t understand.”
“At the current exchange rate,” William continues, “you’ve inherited just over two hundred and sixty thousand dollars.”
I blink. “What?”
Saxon bursts out laughing. “Seriously?”
My heart is banging loudly in the cavern of my chest. “What?” I say again.
Saxon gives me an amused look and then directs his attention to the phone. “It’ll take a while for that to sink in, William. What happens next?”
“In Ireland, the probate process can take a year, but as Catie’s grandmother died last year, it’s already been cleared and settled. Hooper & Sons should be receiving the money over the next few weeks. If you can provide me with a bank account number, they can transfer the money straight to you.”
“I’ll get Catie to email you the details soon, William. Thank you so much.”
“No worries at all, I’m glad I could help. Happy New Year to you both.”
“And to you, thank you.”
Saxon ends the call and looks at me. “Looks as if lunch is on you.”
And I start crying.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Saxon
Later that morning, I pull into the car park at Cape Reinga and turn off the engine.
This is the northernmost point in New Zealand. We get out of the car and, hand in hand, walk along the track toward the lighthouse that overlooks the sea.
Catie is quiet, but that doesn’t surprise me. She spent over an hour crying this morning, not just, as I came to understand, because of the money, but by the story of her grandparents, and the fact that her aunt has asked to get in touch with her. Her eyes are still red, but she’s composed, and she even smiles as she looks at the glorious view.
“Its Maori name isTe Rerenga Wairua,” I tell her. “It means the ‘leaping off place of spirits’. Reinga is the Maori word for underworld.”
“I didn’t know that.”
