The kitchen was empty for the first time today as Christie filled the kettle. The table almost groaned under the weight of all the prepared food and a peek inside the fridge left no doubt of the work done over the past two days. All for us.
Coffee in hand, Christie wandered back through the foyer and outside. Although Palmerston House was now at capacity with guests, there were no cars in sight as Elizabeth had asked everyone to park around the side to keep the frontage clear.
“Come and sit with us.” Angus called from the bench at the farthest end of the verandah. Beside him, Randall wagged his tail in greeting.
“What are you two doing out here?” She sank onto the bench.
“How lovely are you?” He leaned across and kissed her cheek. “Oh, I didn’t just ruin your make-up?”
“Not at all, besides, everyone is kissing me. Belinda will do a touch up once I’m dressed.”
“But first you wanted some time to yourself. We can leave you in peace.”
“I’d rather you stay.” Christie pulled her legs under her on the bench to sit cross-legged. “How are you holding up?”
“Me? Absolutely fine, my dear girl.”
“You’ve done too much, you and Elizabeth, for Martin and me.”
He chuckled. “A labour of love. Both of us, in fact, everyone involved, is so excited. You and Martin have given this little town something wonderful. And with your guests, a little bit of glamour.”
“Will you go and have a rest for a bit?”
“I may do so, now Elizabeth is getting herself all pampered.”
“When I left, Belinda was discussing glittery eyes.”
“Oh, my.”
“So, no matter what she says, don’t let her trick you into a bit of make-up. She’s full of mischief.”
Randall stood and stretched. “Might be my cue to have a short lie-down. Eh, Randall? Care to join me upstairs?” Angus pushed himself to his feet and smiled at Christie. “You’ll be alright alone for a bit?”
“Enjoy your rest and I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
Soon she’d go upstairs and sort out Belinda’s own hair and make-up. Martha would arrive and Belinda would no doubt fuss around her as well. Everything she’d longed for was happening. Her life with Martin was about to begin.
***
Charlotte wandered into the kitchen as Christie put away her washed cup and saucer.
“Wow, you look stunning!”
“Belinda’s done so well. Are you coming up to let her do your make-up?”
“Me? Oh, I don’t want to intrude. And once I’ve had a shower it won’t take me long to get ready.”
“Not intruding. She needs practice for her course, and besides, I love having you around. There’s still heaps of time, so please think about it.”
“Ok, thank you. I’m going to get some water and then I’ll shower.”
“Cool. See you later.” With a twirl, Christie danced her way out of the kitchen, leaving Charlotte with a smile on her face. You deserve such happiness.
She filled a glass from the tap, not daring to open the fridge in case anything fell out. She’d seen how packed it was earlier and had no idea how Elizabeth made everything fit. With such delicious smells she regretted missing lunch.
Footsteps approached from the other side of the closed door to the cellar. The door handle began to turn and there was a muffled comment, something about “not enough hands”.
“Hang on, I’m coming.” Charlotte put her glass near the sink. She’d seen Angus bringing up wines today from a list Elizabeth kept adding to. She swung the door open. “There you go, shall I take something?”
He mustn’t have heard her as he wasn’t on the landing. She stepped through the doorway. “Need a hand?”
The door closed behind her and she reached to reopen it.
An arm whipped around her body, pulling her back against a body.
“Shh, Lottie.”
His hand covered her mouth as she struggled to free herself, but Bernie had her pinned against him. Charlotte kicked backwards, missing.
He laughed. “Not the movies. Now be a good girl and make things easy on yourself. Are you listening?”
The noise she made wasn’t any sort of answer as fear turned to anger. She was going to have him arrested. Put away for years. How dare he—
“We’re going to go down the steps and I can carry you. Or you can walk. Either way, we’re going.”
Charlotte made herself as heavy as she could, slumping against him. It didn’t work. He picked her up with a grunt, releasing her mouth. “You make a noise and something bad will happen.”
Bernie paused at the bottom of the steps, drawing in breath heavily. Then he went through the cellar and pushed another door open with his foot. They were in the storage room, where he’d hurt Angus. Nausea rose in Charlotte’s stomach.
In an abrupt move, he put her down, gripping her shoulders. “Go through the doorway. Quickly.”
At first she couldn’t see what he meant, then her eyes adjusted to the low light. The stone door was open, a key inserted into its lock.
“Do it!”
“No, Bernie. Let me go.”
“I’m not telling you again. Or would you prefer I tie you up here and go back upstairs – in time to attend the wedding?”
Dismay flooded into Charlotte. He wouldn’t hurt her, of that she was certain. Whatever he was up to, she’d talk him through it. Nobody was going to ruin Christie’s wedding. She ducked her head and stepped through. The temperature dropped.
“Where are we?”
Bernie followed and turned on a torch. “Tunnel.” He flashed it around, the light picking up a pile of boxes lining a rock wall.
“See these? Mine. All left by Harry for his family.”
“Where were they?”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
Bernie brushed past, flicking the torch onto a framed painting. “There’s Harry.”
Charlotte glanced at this side of the door. No keyhole. A small rock stopped it closing on itself. It was a one-way door.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. Look at the likeness.” Bernie reached for the painting.
“Is there a signature?”
“Yes. It was painted by... umm... let’s see.” He peered at the bottom corner.
In an instant, Charlotte was at the stone door. Bernie grabbed at her foot and she fell heavily on her stomach but free of his grasp. She scrambled forward, arms extended to push the door with all her might.
“No, you don’t!”
He was almost upon Charlotte as she shoved the rock aside and using all her strength, forced the door shut with a thump. She slid down face forward.
“No!”
Bernie pulled the door. Then hit it. “What have you done?”
With hardly any breath in her body, she wasn’t about to answer. Stopped you. He roughly turned her over, his face close to hers, breath rancid and anger radiating through the tunnel. “You’re gonna regret that, doctor.”
***
Barry and Martin had finished the reception counter in Christie’s salon. The base was mirrored steel beneath a whole piece of mountain ash, stained and highly polished. It retained most of its original shape including interesting imperfections.
“Truly unique.” Barry had admired it once they wiped it down. “One of a kind. She’ll love it.”
“I’ll bring her down in the morning. She has enough to worry about this afternoon without me dragging her away.”
“According to Daphne, it was bad enough you seeing her this morning so probably best not to mess with tradition anymore.”
“By seeing, you mean us being in different parts of the property and only having time for a quick kiss in passing?”
“Yup. She mumbled something about it being bad luck.”
“As if anything will spoil today.”
And nothing would. Back at his house, Martin rested both hands on the jasmine covered railing
surrounding the deck. Less than a year ago, under a moonlit sky, he’d wanted to kiss Christie at this very spot. They weren’t together then, not even as friends. He was protecting Thomas and she was determined to unravel the secrets her grandmother left in the cottage. Yet the attraction between them was so strong, he’d struggled to keep his hands to himself.
Soon, he’d stand near the arch and watch her approach with Angus. Their friends and family there to share this most special day.
Out at sea, yachts dotted the water, some under spinnaker and others simply idling along. Jasmine Sea was undergoing final safety checks before making her way home to them. Whether Christie would ever step aboard again was another matter, but they’d face any residual fears together.
Martin selected some long strands of jasmine, going down onto the other side of the railing to pick the ones he liked. If he could get them to Martha or Belinda once he arrived, he hoped Christie might wind some through her hair, or in her bouquet.
A sound drifted up from the cliff face. Seabirds no doubt, squabbling over some morsel on the path. But when it happened again, Martin stopped picking jasmine and listened. It surely wasn’t a person calling?
There it was again, nothing clear but definitely a person’s voice. A woman. Sometimes visitors to River’s End started up the narrow, winding path to the top of the cliff, only to find themselves lost. Hopefully not today. He strode across to the cliff edge and looked down.
“Help!”
Martin dropped the jasmine and ran down the track to where it forked.
“Where are you?” Martin took the right fork.
“Get... help.”
He forced his way through the bushes, stopping where the sides crumbled. A rope trailed over, tied to the base of one of the larger bushes. What on earth was anyone doing climbing? There were signs at the bottom not to go off the path.
“I’m coming. Hang on.” He checked his pocket for his phone before remembering it was on the bed. “Are you hurt? I’ll go and call for assistance. Stay as still as you can.”
“Martin?” It was Charlotte
“Charlotte! Are you hurt?”
Martin reached for the rope. The knot was good, but there was nobody on it. He braced his legs and used the rope to let him see further over. “Charlotte?”
“Help—” Her scream was cut off and Martin found himself over the edge, his feet on the rocks and using the strength in his arms and shoulders to lower his body.
How she’d got herself down there, let alone why, was forced into the back of his mind. Within minutes, sweat poured down his back and arms, which ached under the tension. His breath was shallow, rushed. Idiot. Should have got help. He knew better than to climb like this with no protective gear and all alone.
He rested, feet finding a crevice to support him and give his muscles a brief respite. Not far below was the entrance to a cave. But no sign of Charlotte. And with a shock, he realised he was almost at the end of the rope. It wasn’t long enough.
He pushed himself away from the wall, checking the terrain between his position and the cave. There were hand and footholds within reach. Going back up would take too long, so at the very end of the rope, he locked his fingers into a crack.
A yacht sailed past, not far out. Every ounce of his strength concentrated on moving one hand, then one foot, over and over, until he was close enough to drop onto a small ledge outside the cave.
Where was Charlotte? He looked down to an ocean crashing against jagged rocks. No. Surely not. Fear gripped him. Then a sound from inside the cave. A shuffle.
Martin stepped inside, trying to see into the murky depths. He’d always known it was here but never been inclined to explore. The cave was much larger than he expected. “Charlotte?”
This time he heard her, close by. Not words, but definitely Charlotte. He followed the sound, blinking to make his eyes focus in the darkness. Against a wall, she sat on the floor, feet tied together, arms behind her back, and a rag wrapped around her mouth.
Her eyes darted to her left, toward the back of the cave and she shook her head. Before Martin could reach her, Bernie stepped between them, an old revolver dangling from one hand. “Wouldn’t go any closer, mate. In fact, why don’t you take a seat right there. You look tired.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
Now he had two of them to worry about.
It should have gone to plan. He’d worked through the night moving Harry’s treasures through the stone door. Load by load, he’d crept through the kitchen and out to the old, unused residence behind the garage. His original idea of hauling everything up the cliff was stupid once he was in the cave and saw the rocks below. One slip and they’d crash down and be destroyed.
Once the reception was underway, all he needed to do was back up the SUV and fill it. Nobody would notice if he crossed a paddock and moved quickly.
Already safely stashed were several paintings, two small cases which annoyingly had no keys, five wooden crates filled with spirits of a vintage so old they must be worth thousands, and several firearms.
After sleeping until midday, he’d eaten a lunch of pastries stolen earlier from the kitchen, followed by a couple of bottles of his special water. He’d waited for the right moment for another run. Even in broad daylight, he knew he’d be safe if everyone was upstairs. So, he’d managed another wooden crate as far as the stone door, then heard Christie come downstairs. Once she left the kitchen, he tried to move another, which was where he ran into problems.
Lottie. Plan B was going to have to work.
Except here he was with Plan C.
“You’re Bernie, aren’t you? What’s going on, mate?”
“I told you to sit down. Do it.”
Martin made no sign of moving from his wide-legged stance and crossed arms. Sweat dripped down his face and he inhaled unevenly.
“You climbed down? Unbelievable. Sorry to make you do that on your wedding day.” Not sorry. “Turned my back on her for one minute and there she was, waving at yachts and screaming like a banshee.”
It was satisfying seeing Lottie shake with rage. So good she couldn’t speak. Made a change for him to be heard. Him to be in control. From the corner of his eye he saw Martin move toward him. Bernie spun to face him and raised the gun. “Sit.”
This time, Martin Blake did what he was told and sank to the floor on his knees. Nice touch. Almost begging to be spared. Thing was, the gun – as pretty as it was – might not even fire after all those years in a cave.
“Thing is, Marty, all I want is to get the rest of my treasures and leave. Palmerston House might be lost to me, but Harry wanted me to have the contents of this cave.”
“Harry?”
“Harry Temple. I’m his direct descendant. Your thieving wife-to-be thinks she’ll get her hands on it, but I have something she wants now. I have you.”
“I assume there’s a tunnel back there, leading to the locked stone door.”
“Except I have the key, thanks to the carelessness of the owners of the cottage.”
“You broke in? What, for the second time, or more?”
“I’d watch my tone.” Bernie took a few steps back to an empty crate, and lowered himself on it. “You’re my prisoner, remember.”
“And I have a wedding to attend, so let’s get this sorted quickly. You need a hand removing the rest of this junk, and taking it somewhere to gloat over. I’ll tell everyone to let you pass. Give you a head start before Trev arrives. Let’s go.”
“Junk!” Bernie yelled. Lottie jumped. “Did you hear what he said?”
She nodded, eyes on him. No point getting upset. There was a water bottle within reach and he picked it up with one hand, still training the gun on Martin. He managed to open it and took a swig.
“Thing is, Marty, our friend here thought it funny to close the stone door. No way to open it from this side.”
Did Martin Blake actually smile? “You’re stuck here.”
“We all are.”
�
��You didn’t think this through very well.”
“I know what you’re trying to do. Make me angry enough to make a mistake. And maybe this gun is too old to work, or not loaded. Can you get to me before I get to her?”
Lottie was scared, she’d huddled up more and stared at the ground. Good. After everything she’d put him through. Good. “Maybe I should take the gag off and let you tell our guest what you did.” He had her attention now. She shook her head. “Yep. I might enlighten him with a bit of back story.”
“Cut it out, Cooper.”
“Got herself in trouble. You know, I was her patient for a while. Thought I could trust her with anything. But so did the poor woman she reported for something she didn’t do. Broke your doctor-patient confidence, didn’t you, Lottie?” He smiled at her. Were those tears in her eyes?
“And there’s more. You want to tell him? No. Okay. She had her own mother committed to a psychiatric hospital. Permanently.”
Lottie struggled to stand, but the way he’d tied her feet made her fall back, tears streaming down her cheeks. He almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
“Enough! What is it you want from me?” Martin hadn’t moved, but his anger took all the fun out of teasing Lottie.
“I want to get out of here, with the rest of my possessions. I suggest you climb back up and make it happen. Shouldn’t be hard to unlock the door and make sure nobody stops me.”
“You let Charlotte go and I’ll show her how to climb up the cliff. The groom arriving early will raise suspicion, but not a resident. While she’s gone, I’ll help carry everything you’ve got left to the door.”
He thinks I’m stupid. Bernie extended his arm toward Lottie, pointing the gun at her, and cocked it. “I don’t trust her. Don’t trust you, either, but you’ve got a lot to lose today. I’d be climbing back up that cliff because my patience is almost gone, Mr Blake.”
***
Trev tapped a pen against the keyboard as he waited for the computer to respond. For the past hour he’d sent queries about Bernard Cooper and his SUV to every agency he could access. Everything was coming back the same as his own department. No sightings of the man or vehicle since the purchase of vodka at the pub the day he’d hurt Angus.
The Secrets of Palmerston House Page 24
