With the first long rumble of thunder, they followed Randall to the house. Rain splattered the sliding door as Martin unlocked it. “There goes my plan for a barbecue,” he commented as Christie went inside ahead of him. “Seems it will be an intimate dinner for two instead. Candles, flowers, and—”
“Chocolate mousse?”
“I was going to say wine.”
“That’ll do. I’ll quickly ring Belinda.”
As Christie spoke to Belinda, the rain became a deluge, punctuated by thunder. Randall stared out through the sliding glass door, head tilting from side to side.
“Forget it, dog. Why don’t you curl up on your bed?”
Randall glanced at Martin and whined, then pressed his nose against the rain-streaked glass.
“What is he doing?” Christie finished her call and frowned at Randall. “It’s like he can hear something. Randall, what’s up?”
He stiffened, and then his tail started to wag.
Martin headed back to the door, just as a figure appeared on the other side. A soaking wet figure carrying a bedraggled black dog.
CHAPTER SIX
In dry clothes from Martin’s wardrobe, Angus sat in the living room with a cup of coffee. Christie had towelled Jag down and he lay near the sliding door with Randall watching him from his bed. They’d sniffed and wagged tails earlier and now just kept an eye on each other.
Overhead the storm still bellowed, and it fitted the state of his mind. And heart. Elizabeth. Her final words had stopped him following her to the garden, where she’d disappeared from view toward the pond. “It is for the best.”
“Angus? Is there anything I can get for you? Anything I can do?” Christie joined him on the sofa and put an arm around him.
“Letting us be here is plenty.”
“But why—”
“Sweetheart, let Angus settle in before bombarding him with questions.” Martin brought a coffee to Christie and sat opposite with his own. “Stay as long as you need to.”
“Thank you, but I don’t mind. After all, I’ve appeared here in the middle of a storm and with a strange dog. Thank goodness Randall is so accepting.”
“Was he lost? Jag?”
“Yes, Christie. I discovered him hiding in some bushes at the house for sale out of town.”
“Poor baby. Is there a phone number?”
“Disconnected. I’ll let Trev know and see if he can track down the owner. Don’t want him put in a pound.”
“He’s so thin. Oh, shall we feed him?” Christie began to get up and Angus put a hand on her arm.
“He’s been fed. Elizabeth... she found him some meat earlier.” Angus saw the question in Christie’s eyes and sighed. “I’ve moved out of Palmerston House.”
“What! Why?”
“A misunderstanding. Rather a big one, I fear.” Jag appeared at Angus’ side and rested his head on his knee. “I found this one because I was hoping to rent the house.”
“Rent it? I really don’t understand.”
“Nor does Elizabeth. But I couldn’t go on living there. Letting people think... well, believe I would take advantage of her.”
“Okay, I have no idea what you mean, because nobody would think that! You’re a paying guest, for goodness sake.”
“But one who also loves the owner of the house.”
Martin nodded. “I understand.”
“Well, I don’t.”
Angus managed a smile. “I didn’t wish her to feel... obliged, to share the home she created with Keith, should I propose.”
Christie looked from Angus to Martin. “Is this a man thing?”
Martin raised an eyebrow. “It is an honour thing.”
“Well, I think it is nice to be noble and all that, but unnecessary. Surely Elizabeth has some say in this?”
She did. And she’d said it.
Christie continued. “After the storm, let’s go to Palmerston House with a bottle of wine, and sort this all out.”
If only it was so easy. For hours, Angus had driven aimlessly around River’s End, Jag happy to sit in the footwell of the car. He’d stopped at the motel, but it was full for the holidays. He’d considered looking in Warrnambool and Green Bay but his heart yearned for his room in Palmerston House and the lady who had his heart. When the storm closed in, something brought him to his dear Christie and her husband.
“I know you mean well, Christie, but I’m not certain this can be sorted out, as you put it.”
She opened her mouth to answer, but Angus saw her exchange a look with Martin and she refrained from answering. Instead, she held his hand.
***
Elizabeth stood outside the real estate agency the next morning, waiting for Daphne to turn the ‘Closed’ sign to ‘Open’. The rain from last night was gone, replaced by a cooler day with brilliant sunshine. Her hands gripped her handbag. She hadn’t slept. Nor had she done what every instinct told her to do – phone Angus. At least she knew he was staying with Christie and Martin, thanks to a text message from Christie. He was safe.
“Well, hello there!” Daphne swung the door wide open with a smile. “What brings you by so early? I can put the kettle on if you’d like a cup?”
“Actually, Daphne, I’m here to see John. If he’s in.”
“You are? Oh, of course, come on in and I’ll fetch him.”
Once they were both inside, Daphne hurried behind the counter and picked up a phone. “I’ll let him know you’re waiting.”
“Daph, I’m right here. Hello, Elizabeth.” John came through the door from the kitchen. “Is everything alright?”
Nothing is right. “I’d like to speak with you about property sales.”
John’s expression changed, Elizabeth was certain. He thought she was coming to ask about Angus. “About the value of properties in the area.”
“Are you wanting to invest, Elizabeth?” Daphne came back around the counter. “John has some houses for sale in the new estate. Great for holiday rentals.”
“No, I’m not interested in an investment property, Daphne, but thank you.” She turned her gaze on John. “Nor am I interested in rentals.”
“Er, I can’t discuss... I mean, when someone comes to me as a client I must keep their confidence.”
“John? Whatever are you talking about?” Daphne clearly knew nothing about John’s arrangement with Angus. A small chunk of ice melted inside Elizabeth. She’d thought her friend knew all about Angus’ desire to move out and hadn’t told her. Perhaps things weren’t as bad as she’d imagined. And during the long, lonely hours of the night, she’d imagined a lot.
“The fact is, I want to know how to sell a property. What is the procedure and how long does it take?”
Daphne and John turned wide eyes on her. It would be comical if it wasn’t so serious. She’d never considered how everyone would react.
“Process is simple. We talk through expectations, value the property, plan a campaign to promote it – once I know what a client wants I do the work. But as for how long?” John scratched his head. “It depends, Elizabeth.”
“On what?”
“Quality of the property in question. Demand from buyers. Asking price. Really, there are plenty of variables and sometimes a property holds such high appeal it sells even as it’s listed.”
“Well, I wish to sell a property and hope you’ll do everything to make it happen quickly.”
The office became so silent Elizabeth could hear the ticking of the clock behind the counter. Take a breath. She did. And planted her feet more firmly to keep her steady as she said the words she never expected to say.
“John. Daphne. I intend to sell Palmerston House and want you to do it for me.”
***
“There you go, Elizabeth, and I’ve popped one of my homemade gingerbread cookies on the side. Being Christmas and all.” Daphne put a cup and saucer on a coaster on Elizabeth’s side of John’s desk. “Sure you don’t want another, doll?”
“Fine, thank you, Daph. Wo
uld you close the door on the way out?”
Close the door? Daphne almost said it aloud, but one look at Elizabeth’s set face and she did as John asked. They never closed doors here, but then again, if Elizabeth wanted to keep this confidential for now, they couldn’t risk anyone overhearing details.
If only she could hear the conversation though. Elizabeth was a dear friend and obviously quite upset about this decision. Daphne made herself a coffee, adding a cookie for a bit of a pick-me-up.
She hurried to her chair when the phone rang, answering with a small gasp, “River’s End Real Estate, this is Daphne.”
“Good morning, Daphne. This is Angus McGregor.”
“Angus! How nice to hear from you. How may I help?” Was he meant to be in the meeting with John and Elizabeth? Not that he was an owner, but perhaps as support for Elizabeth.
“Would John be available for a quick word?”
“Well, actually not at this moment. He is with... umm, a client. May I take a message?”
“I see. Perhaps you would be kind enough to let him know things can wait until after Christmas.”
Daphne wrote on a notepad. “Things can wait until after Christmas. Angus, will he understand this or should I provide further information?”
“He’s welcome to phone me if he doesn’t. On my mobile only, if you’d make a note.”
“On your mobile only. Okay, all done.”
“Thank you. I’ll... I’ll speak with you both later.”
As she replaced the phone, she reread the note. “Things can wait until after Christmas. Can phone but only on mobile.” Why? Were the phones down at Palmerston House? Maybe the storm affected them. “What assistance?” The other day, after waiting over at the bakery for ages as Sylvia made John’s strange lunch, she’d finally come back just as Angus was leaving. He’d waved with a smile and John only said they’d been talking about Christmas.
“But we’re not all together for Christmas, unless he means at Christie and Martin’s night?” Something wasn’t right. Daphne didn’t like secrets, unless they were the good type. If John was making things up, she’d get to the bottom of it. She bit into the cookie.
***
Since unlocking the front door before eight this morning, Christie was on the go with clients, phone calls, and more clients. The hairdryer hummed, Belinda chattered non-stop, and the coffee machine got a thorough workout. It was a happy, relaxed environment for the client, based on Christie’s past career in specialist make-up. On a film set, one needed to concentrate, work quickly and efficiently, and be calm. And it worked here also, particularly with the pre-Christmas rush.
When a brief lull gave Belinda and Lana – the new hairdresser – a chance to catch up with cleaning and prepping for the next clients, Christie ran over to the bakery and ordered morning tea. John was in line ahead of her and they chatted about the storm last night.
As they waited for their orders, she gave him a smile. “I’m on the trail of a small mystery, John.”
“Should River’s End be concerned?”
“Not this time. Really, it is tying up loose ends and I’ve got some of it sorted out, but need your help.” She laughed at John’s expression. “Just a couple of questions and they’re about Palmerston House so should be easy.”
The moment she mentioned Palmerston House, John’s eyes flicked away and his lips tightened. What was that about? “Elizabeth suggested I speak with you.”
“Elizabeth did? When was that?”
“Months ago. Is everything okay, John? You look worried.”
“Do I? No, not at all. Please, what do you need to know? Although I suspect I won’t have answers.”
“Okay, as you know, we have a nineteenth century timber trunk at the cottage. The one I found with Thomas’ letters to Martha inside.”
John nodded, and ran a finger inside his collar.
“The trunk came from Palmerston House. Martha recalls it being in Gran’s bedroom. So, we’re trying to discover how – when – the trunk was moved.”
“It wasn’t me. Promise.” His laugh came out like a cough.
“No, but you handled the sale of Palmerston House.”
“How do you know? I’m sorry. I meant, yes I did. Back then.”
“Well, that’s the only time it’s ever been for sale. Do you remember Gran visiting? Did she come to River’s End to take anything before it sold to Elizabeth and Keith?”
“She did spend a few days here, at Palmerston House, but I have no idea what she did. A reclusive lady, Dorothy Ryan was. Kept to herself unless she wanted something.”
Christie’s mouth curved up a little. “You have a good memory, John. She was exactly like you say.”
“Order’s ready, John!” Sylvia called from the counter.
“Sorry I can’t be more helpful, Christie.”
“Thanks anyway.”
John collected his order and nodded to Christie as he walked past. Near the door he turned around, and came back. “You know, this might not mean anything, but I do remember your Gran visiting George. And seeing his car at Palmerston House around the same time. Of course, my memory might be wrong.”
Or it might be right. Christie watched him leave, then collected her own order, deep in thought.
***
“Who knows how long the poor fellow was on his own, but he can’t get enough to eat.” Angus sat on one side of a desk in the police station, Jag under his feet.
Across from him was Senior Constable Trevor Sibbritt, River’s End’s only police officer and long-time resident. He had Jag’s tag in one hand and the mouse for his computer in the other.
“Pretty sure I know where he’s from, but he’s come a long way.”
“It would be wonderful to find his home.”
“Might be a problem with it.” Trev clicked a few times, then frowned. “As I thought.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I thought I recognised him and the phone number looked familiar. Comes from the other side of the mountain. Probably a good twenty kilometres across country so no wonder he’s thin.”
“Can we phone his owner? Is there another way to find them?”
“Unfortunately not, Angus. His owner passed away a couple of months ago. Neighbour from the next farm found him. Just old age, poor guy. He didn't even run sheep anymore, just him and Jag all alone on a big block of land.”
“How terrible. But nobody found the dog with him? Next of kin?”
Trev shook his head. “Guess we’ll have to take Jag to the pound and see if a home comes along.”
“Is it necessary? I mean, what if someone was to offer a home now?”
“There’s a process. Might be able to speak to someone though. Pound tends to fill up this time of year. Are you offering to take him? Elizabeth okay with him staying?”
Angus glanced at Jag. “Christie and Martin are okay with keeping him for a bit. We actually have someone in mind, but haven’t spoken to them yet.”
“Right, well you take him back to them for now and I’ll make some calls.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The jangle of the doorbell cut through George’s thoughts. He straightened up on his stool behind the long, glass counter, surprised to see Martha. She rarely visited him here, and he couldn’t recall having a private conversation with her since... well, since she and Thomas were engaged the first time.
“Martha, what brings you here today? Christmas shopping?” George pushed himself off the stool.
“Hello, George. Please, sit down if you prefer. I will do some shopping whilst I’m here, but hoped to ask you something first. If you don’t mind.”
“Ask away. But I will sit again, if you really don’t think me rude. Old bones.”
“Our bones may be old, but our minds are still young. So Tom keeps telling me.” Martha smiled her sweet smile and George knew it wouldn’t be difficult to imagine all of them back in their youth. His heart beat a bit faster, wishing himself into his younger body.
/> “Christie and I are determined to find out how the trunk got to the attic. She wanted to drop by to see you again but is so busy with her lovely salon, so I’m here instead. About the letters, and my rings.”
George put both hands on his legs to stop a sudden tremor. Not this. Let it go. A lifetime of secrets needed to stay protected. For everyone’s sake, not only his. He leaned forward a little.
“As I told Christie, Frances wanted to sell the rings. I insisted she return them to Thomas.”
“And I thank you for doing so. You didn’t answer her question about the trunk though. The letters.”
“What about them? They were written by Thomas and sent to you. But Dorothy intercepted them. It’s quite common knowledge now.”
“Christie told you Dorothy kept them, but did she say Frannie wanted them?”
The strangest sensation clutched George inside his stomach, creeping to his chest. “Christie... did not tell me.” Martha was watching him with an expression he’d seen before. She was sizing him up, working out if he was being honest.
Martha extended her left hand. “You made these rings out of love, dear George. Love for Thomas. He always looked up to you, counted on you to keep him grounded when his life ran out of control. Like with his father. You are a good man, George.”
“Except I kept the grandfather clock for decades to fulfil my family’s promise to Henry Temple.”
“And returned it to Palmerston House when the time was right.” Martha dropped her hand, her stare unnerving George. “But hiding a clock is one thing. Hiding love letters from your best friend to the woman he loved are quite another.”
She knows. How can she know? His jaw ached. When did it start to hurt? He clenched and unclenched it. “This has been a bad week, Martha. I may have unwittingly encouraged Angus to move out of Palmerston House.”
“What? Oh dear, well, this is something else we can talk about, but please George, I’ve waited too long to know the truth, and I do believe you’re the key to finding out.”
The Christmas Key Page 5
