He moved his hands to the counter as though to support himself. Except he was still sitting.
“George, Frannie was my best friend. I knew you adored her and I fully expected you to marry her one day. Is it possible you kept caring for her, even after she married Tom? That you’d have done anything for her?”
“Not that. I’d never have hidden those letters, Martha. Not from Thomas, nor you.” He drew in a ragged breath. All this upset was making it harder to breathe. But he couldn’t allow Thomas to believe he’d have been party to the terrible conspiracy. “There isn’t much to tell. But I will, so you’ll let me rest.”
“Oh, George, I’m not meaning to distress you, dear. Please, go and rest and we can talk another time.” Martha put her hand on his arm, alarm in her eyes.
“No. Now, or it’s never. I don’t wish to revisit the past ever again. Not for you, or Christie, or even Thomas, so mark my words and then it’s done.” There was a curious ache in his shoulder and tingling down his arm. He needed to lay down. Let his blood pressure settle with a nice glass of whiskey.
“Dorothy came to River’s End twice after you left. The first time she took the rings from Frances. But I didn’t know this until much later. Until she was selling Palmerston House.”
***
1993
It took George a few seconds to recognise the woman across the counter. Dressed in black pants and jacket, hair wound tightly in a bun, expensive and quite beautiful jewellery on her hands and neck, it was her stern face he remembered.
“Miss Ryan. You’re back in River’s End.”
“Clearly. As soon as you close the shop today, come to Palmerston House. The back door will be open but knock first. Tell nobody.”
“I beg your pardon? Why do you want me to do this?”
“I have a small errand for you to take care of, and no-one else in this town is suitable.”
“Miss Ryan, with all respect, if you require assistance at Palmerston House I am happy to help, but do require more information than to just turn up and tell nobody! Is this a... legal... errand?”
“It doesn’t matter. You’ll be there.”
“It does matter.”
“For goodness sake. You’ll transport a small trunk to the old stationmaster’s cottage. Once there, put it in the attic and lock the place back up.”
This was getting stranger by the minute. “Why?”
“It is none of your business! You’ll do this and then you will forget you did this. If I could manage it myself I would, but I’m not strong enough. So, you will.”
“Actually, I won’t. I’m sorry, but—”
“But?” she snarled, leaning over the counter. “George Campbell, my mother knew about the grandfather clock.” She stabbed a finger in the direction of the clock in the corner. “It was stolen from Palmerston House before my ancestor took possession and your family have been keeping it for generations. Now, I don’t know why and don’t care at all, but I will not hesitate to contact the police and every person in this town if you refuse to help me. Understand?”
***
George had understood. “I did as she said. The trunk was locked so I never knew what was inside. I took it into the attic and pushed it into the farthest corner.”
Martha had her hand over her mouth.
His chest was so tight and heavy. “Forgive me, Martha. I didn’t know.” He gripped the counter to stop himself falling from the stool.
“George. I’m going to get some help. Are you okay to sit there?”
He couldn’t answer. There was no air in his lungs and his legs wouldn’t work. He felt Martha’s hands on his arms.
“George! Somebody, help us!”
***
In Green Bay hospital, Christie sat beside Martha, who gripped her hand as they waited for news about George. Thomas paced. Up and down the hallway to the doors George had been wheeled through, then around the seats in the middle of the waiting room.
Martin sat opposite the women, head in his hands. Christie longed to reach out to him, but Martha had hold of her too tightly. He’d barely spoken since arriving at the jewellery shop a moment after she had. People were milling around in there, John and Daphne, Sylvia, and there was little room to move.
“Let me through.” Martin had reached George and sat him against the wall, gently straightening each leg out. He’d partly fallen, partly sunk to the ground and Martha had struggled to move him from the difficult tangle he’d landed in. “You need to be upright, George. Is it your heart?”
In too much pain to answer, George had managed to nod. Christie covered him with a blanket from the back room, then ushered everyone but Martin and Martha out. “Keep an eye out for the ambulance. Can someone please go and get Thomas?”
The ambulance arrived before Thomas, and it was Martin who rode to the hospital with George/
“This is all my fault,” Martha murmured. She’d barely spoken since they’d arrived, nor touched the water Christie gave her.
“Oh, Auntie, how could it be?”
“I upset him. I forced him to remember things he didn’t want to.”
“What do you mean?” Thomas stopped pacing. “What things?”
“About the... the trunk.”
“Our trunk?”
Martha nodded.
“Why were you asking him? Are you doing what I said not to do and looking for answers about it, Martha?”
“You didn’t say I couldn’t.” She raised her chin. “In fact, all you said was perhaps it was better left alone.”
“It was what I meant.” Thomas stared at Martha and she met his eyes, not backing down.
“Stop it, both of you.” Martin stood. “This is why I stay out of other people’s affairs. And I should never have agreed to help you with this either, Thomas.” He glanced at Christie. “Do I need to ask if you were involved in what Martha’s doing?”
“Are you admitting to helping Thomas with a mystery?”
Martin stalked to the end of the hallway. After a moment of silence, Thomas sighed and followed him.
Christie watched them stare through the windows in the doors, then Thomas put an arm around Martin’s shoulders. She squeezed Martha’s hand. “Everyone is overwrought. Things will settle down once we know how George is.”
“I shouldn’t have pushed him. He told me it was too painful, but I wanted to know.”
“Did he tell you anything?”
A range of emotions crossed Martha’s face. Sadness, anger, and then back to worry. “It was all Dorothy—”
“Martha, Christie? Oh, is there any news? What happened?” Elizabeth hurried from the elevator and sat beside them. “Daphne is beside herself but John insisted she not come with me.”
“Why would he do that?” Martha asked. “But there’s no news yet. We’re all so worried.”
Thomas and Martin came back, both calmer but their faces still etched with concern. Christie stood so Thomas could sit beside Martha, which he did, with a quick kiss to her cheek.
At last Christie was able to go to Martin, and she put her arms around his waist, leaning against his chest. Tension kept him rigid, but he held her against him. There were no words. George meant so much to Martin, not only as his godfather, but the other man in his life growing up. It was George who he bought Jasmine Sea from years ago, long before her name change. There was a powerful connection between them.
“Elizabeth, thanks for being here.” Thomas leaned back in his seat. “Is Angus parking the car?”
“Oh!” Christie exhaled and Martin released her. “Umm, Thomas—”
“It is fine,” Elizabeth took a deep breath, “well, not fine. Angus has moved out of Palmerston House.” She tried very hard to smile, but her lips ended up firmly planted together.
Thomas reached across Martha and patted her hand. “Well, it won’t be for long. No matter what happened, there’s always a way back.”
The door at the end of the hallway opened and, as one, Thomas, Martha, and Eliz
abeth stood. Martin stepped forward as the doctor headed their way. “How’s George, doctor?”
“Yup. Look, he’s conscious and breathing on his own. Still waiting for some results back but he’s suffered a cardiac incident. He needs to stay on his medication, which he hasn’t been taking for a while.”
“What medication?”
“Not something I can go into. Does he have a relative here?”
“I’m his godson. He doesn’t have anyone but us,” Martin said. “Thomas is his closest friend.”
“Right. He’s been asking for someone though. Mind you, he is disoriented, but he asked me to find Frances.”
The colour drained from Thomas’ face and he opened his mouth as though to speak, then closed it again.
The doctor glanced at his watch. “I take it Frances isn’t here? One of you can sit with him for a while, just one.”
“I’ll go. I’m Frances’ grandson.” Martin glanced toward Thomas, who raised a hand, before turning and stalking toward the elevator. Martha followed him, her shoulders slumped.
“Go, Martin, I’ll follow them.” Christie forced a smile. “Thanks, doctor.”
In a moment only Christie and Elizabeth remained. “Angus is okay, Elizabeth, but you two need to talk. Sorry to interfere, but please, don’t leave it too late.” Then she rushed after Thomas and Martha.
***
Thomas made it to his four wheel drive before Christie caught up. He knew Martha was somewhere behind, struggling to keep up, but nothing would stop him. His legs had a mind of their own and his brain fought to work out what just happened. Don’t think. Not yet. He shoved his hand into a pocket for car keys.
“Thomas! Wait up.” Christie should be staying with Martha, being there for Martin. He wasn’t her problem.
Before he could fit the key in the lock, she was at his side, hand on his arm. He looked at her, puzzled. “Christie, why are you here?”
“You’ve had a shock. What if we let poor Martha catch up and we’ll go find a coffee shop.”
“Don’t want coffee.”
“That’s not the point.”
He stared past her at Martha, almost hobbling in her haste to reach him. Her eyes were wide and he was sure he saw tears. Not now. “There’s something I need to do. I’ll be back.”
“Where are you—”
“Christie, no. I said I’ll be back.” He unlocked and opened the door. “Sorry. Tell her I’m sorry.” Before anyone could stop him, he climbed inside and started the motor. As he pulled out of the parking spot, he glanced in the mirror and wished he hadn’t. Martha was sobbing in Christie’s arms. His foot lifted from the accelerator. He asked me to find Frances. That’s what the doctor said. His foot went down again.
He drove toward River’s End with almost no conscious thought. There was somewhere he had to go and he blinkered his thoughts. Shoved them into a bag and closed it. If he thought too hard, he’d change his mind.
Down the hill past the cottage, over the bridge, through town. He turned onto the road to the mountains, and glanced at the jewellery shop. It was more than a shop. A place he’d been welcomed by George’s father, the previous jeweller, even to the point of living with them for a short while when things were too bad at home. Then George took over, and he created the beautiful rings now on Martha’s finger. George gave Thomas the push to propose, and he’d laughed as he’d left with the ring box, telling his best friend it would be him he’d blame if he was heading for misery.
“How could we have known?” he muttered aloud, accelerating as the road opened up. The misery had come in volumes, thanks not to a marriage to Martha, but by the conspiracy of her sister, Dorothy, and his own future wife, Frannie. Frances. Did George never stop wishing for her? He shut it all out again.
Another twenty minutes passed until he slowed and took a dirt road. Despite the steely grip on the wheel, his heart lightened as the four wheel drive twisted its way higher and higher, through increasingly dense forest and over deteriorating ground. Huge potholes and a sheer drop on one side kept his focus on staying on the road and by the time he reached a narrow track, he was exhausted. Not long now. A steep incline, one final curve, and the landscape changed as he burst onto a small parcel of flat land with a cabin at its edge.
The moment the engine was off, he climbed out and stood, eyes closed, listening. Birdsong. Nothing else. Mountain air – thick with mid-afternoon heat – filled his senses. A deep breath in and he released it slowly. Home. He opened his eyes.
The cabin was never locked. Who would even know where to find it? Besides, most of his important possessions were now in the cottage, the one from his childhood. Inside, it was so much cooler but smelt musty. Thomas left the front door open. No point opening windows on such a short visit. Need to come back. Bring Martha. And show Christie where Martin grew up. He loved this place. Missed it more than he’d realised. There were some paintings on the walls he’d forgotten. One done by Martin. He gently took it off its hook and leaned it near the front door to take back.
At the door to his old bedroom he hesitated. Here he’d mourned Frannie. Mourned his son, Thomas, and daughter-in-law Anna.
He stepped in. The furniture was here, but little else. Thomas pulled a mat aside, revealing a floor safe. Originally installed to keep legal documents and money safe should fire threaten the cottage whilst he was away, he’d eventually put other items in it. Things he didn’t know what else to do with. Should be forgotten. Well, forgetting hadn’t worked. With a sigh, he sat on the floor.
On his key chain was the key to the safe. When he’d first seen the key to the trunk, it reminded him of this one. Both skeleton keys. Both belonging to something life changing. Christie’s key opened both the trunk, and the stone door beneath Palmerston House that led to a tunnel to the sea. His key opened this safe. Old memories. And something he’d kept, even though he’d never known why.
Thomas opened the safe. At the top was a large envelope marked ‘Martin’s school photographs’. He chuckled, wondering if he should give it to Christie first, or Martin. Beneath this was a tin box, filled with cash. Old Australian notes, coins now out of circulation, and a thick wad of fifty dollar notes. He’d get something nice for Martha. Guilt flooded through him. Never make her cry again. She’d understand once she knew what he was doing.
Only one thing remained. A shoebox. Old. Tied with red, velvet ribbon.
Frannie’s. He’d found it after the car accident. Long after the funeral for three, when he was dealing with a distressed, confused toddler. He knew it meant something to her for it was in her box of special things, along with her wedding dress, a piece of their wedding cake, and photographs he’d forgotten about. Some of him and Martha from the days when Frannie trailed behind, taking snapshots.
Somewhere in here were the answers. The ones Martha sought. And perhaps something to ease George’s mind. For George was his best friend. No matter what.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Martin eventually emerged from George’s room, deep lines around his eyes.
“How is he?” Christie was the only person left in the waiting room.
“Where is everyone?”
“Thomas took off somewhere. Martha was upset so Elizabeth drove her home. How’s George?”
“Asleep.” He ran a hand through his hair. “He is wired up to all sorts of things, but said he was comfortable. He knew me, knew where he was, so I don’t know what happened earlier.”
“Asking for Frannie?”
“He didn’t mention her again. But he wants to see Thomas.”
“Will the doctor let Thomas go in?”
With a shake of his head, Martin led the way to the elevator. “Not yet, but it doesn’t matter anyway if he’s not here.”
Inside the elevator, Martin pulled Christie into his arms. “You should have gone home, sweetheart. Or back to work.”
“Belinda and Lana have rescheduled a couple of clients. I’ll do an evening later this week.”
After
kissing the top of Christie’s head, Martin sighed. “Where’s Thomas?”
“Last seen he was driving in the direction of River’s End.” Christie explained how Thomas drove off, although she’d pleaded with him to wait for Martha. “She’s so hurt, Martin. But once she stopped crying, all I saw was anger in her eyes.”
“They’ll sort it out. Thomas said he needed to do something. He’s probably back at the cottage by now. I’ll call once we’re on the way.”
A few moments later, as Christie drove out of Green Bay, Martin hung up from leaving a voice mail for Thomas. “Tell me what you and Martha have been doing, please.”
“There’s not a lot to tell.” Christie glanced at Martin’s stern expression. “Martha is looking for closure. Finding out how the trunk got to the cottage might help, so she’s been reading Dorothy’s diary—”
“And this was worth George having a heart attack?”
Christie touched the brakes. “Don’t.”
“He’s an old man. Being interrogated—”
“Martin! Nobody did such a thing!” Breathe, Christie. Martin was exhausted. Worried. “We all love George, and the doctor said he hadn’t been taking his medication. It isn’t fair to blame Martha. Or me.”
She drove for a few moments with no response from Martin, and she wasn’t about to argue with him. Or even look at him. They needed to work together to support George, and be there for Thomas and Martha, not make things worse.
Martin’s phone rang. “Thomas? Where are you?” He put it on speaker.
“Almost at River’s End. Coming to the hospital.”
“Well, there’s no point, because the doctor said no more visitors today.”
“But I’ve got something for him.”
“Tomorrow. Have you been at the cabin?”
Christie shot a curious look at Martin. Why would he go there when his best friend was in hospital?
“Where’s Martha? Is she with you?”
“Thomas, Martha went home. She was terribly upset by the way you left.” Christie sped up a little. “You only had to a wait another minute and tell her what you were doing.”
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