With a click, Charlotte closed the front door. “I said, what are you doing here, Bernie?”
“So, are you working here, now? Bit of a come-down from your old job.”
“No I am not working here! Either tell me why you’re here, or get—”
“Get out?” He crossed his arms. “I’m a guest. And unless you own Palmerston House, I won’t be going anywhere.”
“Don’t be so sure. Once Elizabeth knows about you, she’ll throw you out herself.”
Bernie threw his head back in a loud and insincere guffaw. Charlotte glared at him. He wasn’t dangerous. At least, he hadn’t been. “Have you been seeing someone?”
He stopped laughing. “Romantically? I didn’t know you cared.”
“Truly, I don’t. Psychologically.”
With one movement, he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, face red. “I’m here to take photographs. Got a commission from local tourism so simply taking the opportunity to stay here. That’s the full story, Lottie.”
“But, Bernie, why here? It won’t help you—”
“Oh, now you wanna be my psych again?”
“No.”
“Let’s set things straight. You can’t say anything about me. Imagine what it would do to your career, not to mention the law suit I’d file against you for breach of confidence. I’m here to take photos and you can be friendly or stay out of my way. Your choice. Now, are you gonna to show me my room or do I go looking?”
Charlotte stalked past him toward the staircase. “Elizabeth had to go out so I offered to step in, but dammit, had I known it was you...” She stopped and looked back. “You weren’t surprised to see me.”
He shrugged.
“You knew I was here. Nobody knows where I am, except—”
“Yup. Except your dear old mother.” Bernie put one hand on the balustrade and leaned close to Charlotte. “The other reason you’ll be keeping my secrets.”
Her throat constricted and she forced out the words. “What did you do?”
“Had a lovely chat. Pushed her wheelchair down to that nice little lake at the institute you stuck her in. She was quite happy to talk about her daughter. The acclaimed psychiatrist who took a sabbatical. Her mind is a whole lot better than you think.” He stared at Charlotte as if disappointed in her. “I didn’t know how else to find you, disappearing like that. Imagine my delight that you came here. To Palmerston House, as if you want what’s mine.”
Then, as though nothing had happened, Bernie went past Charlotte up the stairs. “Come on, show me around.”
Unable to make her legs function, she glanced at the front door. Where was Trev when she needed him? For once, his habit of dropping by unannounced would be welcome. But the reality sank in. She couldn’t do anything. Bernie was here on some misguided mission which would fail. What would she tell Elizabeth and Trev? A former patient wanted to see a house that meant something to him. Hardly a crime. With a deep breath, she forced her feet to follow him upstairs.
***
Martin and Christie swayed as one on a make-believe dance floor beside the table on the deck. There was barely room to turn, but neither cared, their eyes on each other as Norah Jones invited them to come away with her. Her husky voice drifted out to the cliff edge and beyond, filling the night. As the last few notes ended, Martin touched his lips to Christie’s. “Time for dessert.”
“Mmm.” Christie’s eyes closed and she leaned against his chest, her arms tight around his waist.
“But you’ll need to release me so I can get it.”
“No dessert. More dancing.”
Martin whispered, “The first layer is chocolate mousse.”
Christie opened her eyes.
“Then, a layer of fresh cherries that I soaked in a rather good brandy overnight.”
“Yum.”
He held her close, eyes amused. “Next is more mousse, this time with some slivers of almonds and grated chocolate. But you don’t want dessert so stop wiggling.”
“Martin—”
“Where was I? Ah, whipped cream, with just a few more cherries. I might have mine now, and save yours for breakfast.”
There was a long silence.
“Have you fallen asleep?” Martin loosened his arms to gaze down at Christie. He grinned at her expression. “Thomas wanted to stay for dinner.”
“Thomas is not nearly as nice to dance with as I am.”
“This is true.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Why don’t I refill our glasses and you can stargaze whilst I get dessert?”
“I’m not going to refuse such an offer, particularly in this lovely weather.” Christie dropped her arms and took a seat back at the table. “You don’t need a hand?”
Martin poured two glasses of white wine. “I think I can manage. When I get back, we can talk about the wedding, if you’d like to?” He handed Christie a glass and wandered inside, through the open sliding glass door.
With no music or conversation, the soothing sounds from the ocean were carried on a breeze. Christie’s eyes sought the horizon, now as dark as the sky above, a clear, black velvet with diamond stars. She recognised the constellations. A little too early in the evening for the Southern Cross, Christie turned her attention to the stars belonging to Carina and Vela. The keel of a boat and sails in the sky. She curled her fingers around the pendant that rarely left her neck.
“Sweetheart?” Martin placed the decadent dessert in front of Christie, then covered her hand holding the pendant with his. “Thinking about your parents?”
Christie blinked to clear what might have been a tear or two. “Thank you, this looks divine.”
He released her hand and sat opposite, picking up his wine glass and sipping. His eyes never left her face and after a moment she answered, “I was stargazing.”
Now Martin glanced at the sky. “They brought you safely home to me.”
“Sometimes, it just feels as though...”
“As though?”
She picked up her spoon. “Where do you find these recipes?”
“Pinterest. I’ve told you this before. Are you changing the subject?”
“Yes.” With a smile, she scooped up a cherry and bit into it with a sigh. “So good. Does Pinterest have wedding pictures?”
“How can such a world-wise person know nothing of Pinterest? Have you never looked at it for inspiration?”
“For make-up? Nope. But I might for the wedding. We are still talking about it, remember.” She slid her spoon into the soft mousse and sneaked a look at Martin. He shook his head ever so slightly, not in answer to the question, but at her attempt to divert him away from whatever was worrying her.
“Yes. We are still talking about it.”
***
His solitary dinner eaten, plate washed and whiskey now in hand, Thomas wandered around the cottage. Such quiet used to suit him best. Time to reflect, paint, read. Whatever took his fancy, whenever he wished. After Martin built the house on the cliff, Thomas found himself alone in his cabin in the mountains. Lonely for the little boy he’d raised, for the family he’d lost in the car accident, for the girl he once loved more than life itself. Martha. But time changed him and being on his own was all he knew for many years.
Thomas stared at the seascape hanging above the fireplace. Lightning forked into an angry ocean under cover of darkness. His finest work. One born from despair when Martha disappeared the night of their engagement party. He sipped the whiskey. He’d followed her beneath the waves of the storm, finding her only seconds before the sea took her for itself. Either way, she’d been lost to him. Until Christie burst into their lives almost five decades later and changed everything.
He turned his back on the seascape and went to the dining room, where more of his paintings adorned the walls. Martha insisted he hang everything they could fit and he had to admit, it was nicer than having them under sheets. He set his glass on the table and pulled out a chair. As a child he’d rarely been allowed in here where
his mother kept her special plates and glasses. The table had been shiny mahogany – so no fingerprints allowed – and only as a teenager had Thomas been included in the occasional dinners she hosted.
The new table was built with local mountain ash and better suited the small room. Martha dressed it with a pretty table runner from her old home in Ireland, and a vase of fresh flowers. He was now welcome in this room anytime. He stretched his legs out under the table, his foot prodding Randall, who grunted and got up for a pat.
“Didn’t know you were there, old boy.” Thomas scratched the dog’s head. “Good thing you’ve got me to keep you company.”
Randall padded out of the dining room and up the hallway to one of the bedrooms. Thomas chuckled. “Yup.”
Soon, he’d get up and put the kettle on. Have tea ready to make when Martha arrived home. Martha. Her perfect smile filled his heart with warmth and there was not a moment awake or sleeping when her presence left him. Even with her off gallivanting with the other ladies, he knew she was with him. All those wasted, lost years apart. He picked up his glass and drank the rest in one gulp to force those old feelings back to where he usually kept them. The here and now mattered and they had a lot of catching up to do. No more time apart or people interfering with their relationship.
Christie would move out in a few weeks to marry that boy of his. She’d be safe with Martin, particularly with her dangerous ex-fiancé Derek behind bars. Too many strangers in such a small town just spelt trouble and River’s End was due for a nice long time of peace and quiet. Hopefully, the SUV up the road earlier was simply a lost driver passing through town. A car door slammed outside and Daphne’s loud laughter lightened his mood. Martha was home.
Chapter Three
Soon after dawn, Elizabeth flicked on the lights in the kitchen of Palmerston House. She blinked a bit at the sudden brightness. Hot, strong tea was first on her list. The kettle heated as she added tea leaves to her favourite porcelain teapot. Perhaps the nightcap at the cottage was one too many. Such a wonderful evening though with Martha, Daphne and Sylvia, and how sweet of Daphne’s husband John to come and drive them around once he knew they’d drunk a little more than planned.
Before the kettle could whistle she poured its water into the teapot. As she waited for it to brew, she took two teacups and saucers from the cupboard. How silly. She only needed one. With Angus still away in Melbourne, there was nobody to share the first cup of the day with so early. She sighed and went to put back the second cup, halted by a tap on the open door behind her.
“Good morning. Mrs White?”
“Mr Cooper, how nice to meet you!” Elizabeth extended her hand as a tall, young man approached.
“Bernie, please.” Bernie shook her hand. “My apologies for arriving so late. I was rather unavoidably detained.”
“No problem at all. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you, which is quite unlike me. Charlotte was so generous offering to take my place. Now, would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Actually, I love tea and can smell the brew from here.”
“Come and sit at the table then.”
Elizabeth returned to the counter and Bernie found himself a seat, gazing around at the old but beautifully kept kitchen. “This is a lovely building, Mrs White.”
“Indeed it is. And please call me Elizabeth. Everyone does.” She poured two cups and brought them to the table. “Please, help yourself to milk and sugar. Do you mind if I join you before starting to make breakfast?”
“I think I interrupted you, so I must insist you do.” Bernie smiled broadly, reaching for the sugar bowl. “Have you owned Palmerston House for a long time?”
“Oh, quite some years. More than twenty, yes, because Martha and I met up in London in 1995 for a visit, and it took another year or so for the sale to happen.”
Bernie tilted his head in interest. “Martha?”
“Martha Blake – Ryan back then. Her family were the owners of Palmerston House for many generations and she knew the property was sitting idle, boarded up and showing signs of neglect. Her sister was kind enough to sell to us at a fair price. My late husband worked tirelessly to restore it to its previous splendour and since then many wonderful guests have enjoyed its charms, as I do every day.”
“Surely you don’t run it all alone?”
“I have some part-time help, of course, with the grounds. And the pond. Anyway, I mustn’t bore you with my story. You mentioned on the phone you are a photographer?”
“Actually, I’m enjoying hearing about the property here. Its history and all that. I love photographing old buildings so perhaps you’d allow me to do so during my stay? I’m sensitive about the privacy of your other guests, so would be discreet.”
“I would be delighted. The grounds are particularly pretty at this time of year, with early jonquils blooming.”
“Yes, lots to photograph outside.” Charlotte walked in, straight to the table, holding a set of keys out to Elizabeth. “Morning, Elizabeth. Here’s the keys you left with me last night.”
Elizabeth stood, took the keys and hung them on a rack near the door to the cellar. “Charlotte, dear, thank you for looking after Mr Cooper last night.”
“Bernie.” He stared at Charlotte. “Yes, thank you for being so... welcoming.”
Charlotte kept her eyes on Elizabeth. “No worries, Elizabeth. Would you like a hand getting breakfast made?”
“No, but thanks.” Elizabeth picked up her cup. “More tea, Bernie? Coffee, Charlotte?”
“I’d love another which, if you don’t object, I’ll take up to my room,” Bernie said, still watching Charlotte.
Elizabeth creased her forehead as her eyes moved from Bernie to Charlotte. “Coffee, dear?” she repeated.
“I might have a shower first. I’ll see you at breakfast, Elizabeth.” Charlotte rushed out of the kitchen leaving Elizabeth gazing after her.
***
Charlotte ran up the sweeping staircase of Palmerston House. She’d expected to find Elizabeth alone in the kitchen, enjoying her first cup of tea as usual.
Once in her room, she stripped off and threw herself into the shower, turning the water on as high and hot as it would go. As steam rose around her, she forced her emotions to drift with it. Let go. One breath. Two. Bernard Cooper must not get under her skin. She leaned against the tiles, eyes closed. Fitful sleep, punctuated by long spells staring at the ceiling, had left her exhausted.
What was he really after? His fascination with River’s End permeated every session for the first few months she’d treated him in Brisbane, until one day he simply dismissed the subject. He’d refused to discuss it again, after telling Charlotte he’d been wrong thinking his ancestors once owned Palmerston House. All a mistake. Charlotte had believed him.
“Because you wanted to.” The torrent of water drowned her words and she opened her eyes.
There was no point in revisiting this. Around the same time her own life hit rock bottom and she was no longer the psychiatrist he needed. That anybody needed. With a savage twist, she turned the shower off. Whatever Bernie’s motives, Charlotte’s hands were tied.
She reached for a towel and worked on her hair, catching her reflection in the mirror which, streaked with condensation, made her look broken. Like two people. Maybe it was time to move on, find another place to stay. If she gave Elizabeth a week’s board to compensate notice, she could leave today. This morning. She’d head along the coast to South Australia.
The idea bubbled up and consumed her. She’d find another small town, and another. Lose herself in the dramatic landscape of the Limestone Coast. Then perhaps she’d be ready for the city of Adelaide where at least she would be less visible.
Dry, Charlotte hurried into the bedroom and dressed. In a few hours, River’s End would be behind her. Bernie would probably stay a while then move on as he always did.
She dragged her suitcase from under the bed and opened it on the floor. Inside were a few winter jumpers, a couple of p
airs of nice shoes, and the small box that travelled with her. A box of memories, her mother used to say.
With a light tap on the door, Elizabeth called out, “I’ve brought you a cup of coffee, dear.”
“Oh, I’ll be right there.” The suitcase got shoved back under the bed and Charlotte opened the door. “You didn’t need to do that, Elizabeth.” Charlotte took the cup. “Thank you.”
“Dear, did everything go alright last night? You didn’t have any problems with Mr Cooper?”
Charlotte pushed the door wide open so Elizabeth could come in, then closed it behind her. “Why do you ask?”
“Just a feeling.”
“I’m just not very outgoing.”
“I don’t want you upset. Since you arrived, I’ve grown fond of you, Charlotte. So have many folk in town and the way you looked after Randall and Christie and Martin the night of that awful storm... well, we see you as one of our own. So, you have your coffee and come down for breakfast when you wish.”
With a smile, Elizabeth slipped out. Charlotte knew she should have told her she was leaving today. Should be putting down the coffee and pulling the suitcase back out. They see you as one of their own. Nobody ever said such a thing before.
***
It was still early when Christie – after a lingering kiss from Martin – followed the track down the cliff face near his house.
Halfway down, Christie paused to watch the sea, shuffling the bag carrying her clothes from last night from one shoulder to the other. How beautiful the water looked today, reflecting the perfect blue morning sky. The tide was still low and the jetty stood high above the calm waves. Further out a yacht sailed toward Green Bay. It was one of the luxury yachts moored in Willow Bay, where her own Jasmine Sea normally anchored. But Jasmine Sea was all the way up the coast in Geelong in dry dock, being repaired from the damage her ex-fiancé did when he put a hole through the hull and almost sank her, with Christie and Randall aboard.
Her hands clenched. I’m safe now. Christie uncurled her fingers and rubbed them, feeling the tension drain away as her thoughts turned to today’s plans. She had an early meeting with builder Barry Parks at the beauty salon to finalise the renovations, then lunch with Martha and Thomas, so it was time to get going.
The Secrets of Palmerston House Page 2
