A Season in the Sun by Robert Rees

Author:Robert Rees
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
Published: 2017-05-16T00:00:00+00:00

Captain William Kheda founder of Anse Royale

Cricket Club

1921–2002

Donated by Anse Royale Parish Council 2003

Repaired by St Christol Cricket Club 2011

Its head had been refashioned using the photographs gleaned from back copies of the Seychelles Nation, and Henry was thrilled with the result. The join was hardly visible, and the new bronze head had been aged so as to meld seamlessly into the original torso. Now, if they could only shift it to the front of the clubhouse, under cover of the tea table, then his grand design would be complete.

Pierre and the Boy took one end of the table and Henry and the Chief the other. Together, and with a lot of heaving, they managed to carry it round from behind the clubhouse, with white tablecloth intact and the statue underneath still hidden. Once in place, various supporters, marshalled by Cilla, who to Henry’s delight had not cottoned on in the slightest, arrived with plates of sandwiches, cakes, and a large urn of tea. Henry watched as these were placed on the table. All was going to plan.

It was then that Cilla noticed an imperfection in the tablecloth.

“Mr Fanshawe, there’s something underneath the cover, and it’s making all the cups tip over.”

Before Henry could stop her, she had removed the cups, and the tablecloth.

Cilla shook her head, “Someone’s forgotten to take the straps off the table.” and as Henry looked on in horror, she continued, “Don’t worry, won’t take a moment.”

And with this she undid the buckle.

There was a loud crunch as the bronze of her father hit the ground. Henry could hardly look, as a small round object rolled out from under the tablecloth and into the crowd of onlookers. Sydney picked it up.

“It’s a cricket ball, a bronze cricket ball. Didn’t that come from…?”

“…My father’s statue!” Cilla finished his sentence, and, as Henry held his breath, she leant over and peered underneath the table.

On the ground and thankfully undamaged, save for the dislodged ball, lay her father in bronze. She looked, speechlessly, at Henry.

“It was meant to be a surprise, Cilla.”

“Well, you got that right, Mr Fanshawe!”

“We had it mended. Come on, let’s get the chap up on his feet and you can see.”

A number of volunteers rushed forward and quickly manhandled the statue onto its old plinth in front of the clubhouse.

Cilla stood before it. She looked her father up and down and seemed lost in thought for a long while. Then she turned to Henry. “If I’d known you were up to all this, I would have stopped it immediately!”

Henry cringed as she continued, “But, you know, this new head… You’ve got the likeness far better than the old one.”

Henry involuntarily started to back away as she walked towards him.

“So.”

“Yes, Cilla?”

“No harm done then.”

Then, to Henry’s, and most of St Christol’s utter astonishment, she threw her arms around the blushing Englishman and planted an enormous kiss on his cheek, whispering as she did so, “Thank you so much, you dear, dear man.”

After this unprecedented demonstration of

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