The Stationmaster's Cottage

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  “Let me explain.”

  “I don’t want an explanation, Thomas. I saw what happened and I cannot endure this!”

  There was a moment of silence as the words sank in before the sky opened and a hard rain pelted down to soak them again in seconds. “I will not endure this!”

  Thomas stared at Martha in disappointment. She drew a deep breath and tugged at her ring finger.

  "Don't do it," Thomas warned.

  Martha took the solitaire off and held it out, the diamond reflecting the lightning that flashed every few seconds.

  "Put it back on before you drop it and stop being so damned melodramatic," Thomas said.

  “Oh, how can you say that?” Martha cried. “Don’t you get it? I’m leaving! It’s over!” She threw the ring onto the sand, turned and stalked off.

  Thomas scooped up the ring and pocketed it, before striding after Martha. “Where are you going?”

  He got no reply as Martha kept stamping through the sand.

  Thomas stopped and bellowed, “Just wait for one god-damned minute!”

  Martha spun around, her eyes flashing in fury. She grabbed her pendant as if to tear it from her neck. Thomas covered the ground between them in seconds and captured her hands in his. He leaned down and whispered to Martha.

  Dorothy followed, bobbing onto the sand when she was as close as she dared. She had not heard Thomas' quiet words but saw Martha raise her eyes to his, the anger replaced by confusion and sadness.

  Thomas pulled Martha closer and traced the contours of her face with his fingertips.

  The rain stopped.

  The waves were the only sound.

  Thomas wrapped his arms around Martha, holding her against his bare chest. For a long moment, it was as though even the elements held their breath.

  Martha spoke without emotion. “It’s over between us.” She stepped out of his embrace.

  Thomas shook his head and held her wrist in his hand. “It will never be over with us.”

  Martha dropped her eyes. “You see, I can’t stay now. Not to face all those people and their laughter behind my back. After our engagement party of all times. And—”

  Thomas cut her off. “That’s what you care about? Your pride? Always your pride and your temper that gets between us! Well, go!”

  Martha looked at Thomas in surprise. She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip and brought her close again, his face near hers.

  "Run away and think about what your pride is doing to us. No doubt your sister and your mother will be thrilled but know this, Martha Ryan, I will wait for you!"

  “Well, you’ll be waiting forever, because I’m not coming back!” Martha tried to pry Thomas’ fingers from her wrist, but his hold was firm.

  “I’ll wait for you. There,” Thomas pointed to the almost submerged jetty, “at the end of the jetty, I will wait. Every day I will be there to meet the dawn, as we have done so many times. Promise you’ll come back.”

  Hand over her mouth, Dorothy willed her sister to stay strong.

  “Promise me!” Thomas insisted.

  “Alright!” Martha cried out.

  Thomas searched her face for reassurance. “No, Martha. A proper promise or it’s not real. Say it.”

  “I promise!” Martha’s voice almost broke with emotion. “Okay? I promise I’ll return! Now let me go!”

  Thomas released Martha, and she sprinted back along the beach as fast as she could. Thunder boomed again, and a flood of rain began.

  “I love you, Martha Ryan!”

  His voice reached her through the rain, and she glanced back. Thomas was a shadow on the sand. She reached the bottom of the steps, picked up her shoes and ran to the top in tears.

  Thomas stared after her, swaying in shock.

  The realisation of what just happened hit Dorothy. This man had saved her sister’s life. She saw the world crash down on him as he dropped to his hands and knees on the sand. As lightning hit the waves near the jetty, Thomas raised his face to the skies and cried out. “I will wait, Martha.”

  NOW, ON THE LUMPY BED in the dingy old motel room, Dorothy lay with her eyes closed. Against her chest, she clasped the photo album with both hands. It was open on a photograph of Martha and Thomas, taken on the beach at River’s End, holding hands and laughing.

  A single tear escaped. “I’m sorry.” Dorothy’s final breath was like a whisper.

  One

  CHRISTIE RYAN GAZED out of the window of the Qantas A380, recognising the landscape below with a sigh of relief. Only minutes now and she would be home in Melbourne. She had not slept during the fourteen-hour flight from Los Angeles, worrying, instead, about the last conversation with Derek, her fiancé.

  He had been abundantly clear about his expectations in a short, tense phone call two days ago. “You need to think about your priorities, Chris. Use your time on the flight home wisely, because we’ll be talking once you’re back. I’m over the separations.” He hung up before she could respond.

  The veiled threat bothered Christie. Derek knew from the beginning that her career as a specialist make-up artist took her away for weeks on end to film sets around the world. Their first glimpse of each other was during one of her shoots in London, where he had been doing business as a property developer. Since then, he had always been so proud of how sought after she was and often bragged to his friends about what he jokingly called her "brush with the stars".

  The flight gave Christie time to think. She loved Derek, but she also loved her job. There had to be a way to compromise, and over the next three weeks at home, she intended to show Derek how much he meant to her.

  The giant plane banked over Brimbank Park, interrupting Christie’s thoughts. She wanted to kick her shoes off, have a shower, and enjoy a cup of coffee from her own machine. Once Derek was home, they could talk.

  CHRISTIE DROPPED HER bags inside the front door and went straight to the window of the living room to drink in the colour and movement that was Docklands. She never tired of the waterfront with its bright cafes, yacht-filled marina, and the myriad of visitors and residents who made it such a unique part of Melbourne. Across the narrow strip of water stood Etihad Stadium, the massive all weather sports and concert arena.

  Christie draped her jacket across the back of a chair, not noticing it slipped straight off. She tossed her handbag onto the sofa, half of its contents spilling out. Only the view mattered. Taking her shoes off, she curled her toes into the carpet and began to unwind from the long trip.

  The soft tones of an acoustic guitar drifted in from next door. Ray must be home. Ray and his partner Ashley were friends as much as neighbours.

  Derek opened the front door soundlessly, pausing to admire Christie’s slim silhouette at the window. The afternoon sunlight glinted off her long, chestnut brown hair and the well-cut skirt showed off her slender legs. He glanced at her jacket and shoes on the floor, frowning at the spilled handbag on the sofa.

  Putting his briefcase on a small stand, he closed the door with a click. Christie spun around, her face lighting up with a beautiful smile of welcome.

  Derek half smiled in return. “When did you get in?” His eyes darted back to the mess. Christie picked up her jacket and put it back on the chair before hurrying to him and sliding her arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around her waist and brushed her lips.

  “You look tired. Rundown.” Derek stared critically.

  She regarded him with a smile. His face was developing lines that matched his greying red hair, but it suited him so well. She loved the style of the man, always well dressed and carrying himself with the air of someone who knew he was not only handsome but successful as well. He was just an inch or two taller than her five foot eight stature, but he worked out, so Christie only noticed the small difference when selecting shoes, as he hated her being taller.

  “I need a shower.” She slipped out of his embrace. “Coffee would be awesome!” With a grin, Christie tossed everything back into her handbag
, grabbed her jacket and shoes, and swept out of the room. A couple of minutes later the shower came on.

  Derek carried the suitcases into the bedroom. He could see Christie in the ensuite’s shower and for a moment contemplated joining her. Instead, he placed two bags on the bottom of the bed and opened them. He left her carry-on bag, which was her professional makeup case, on the floor at the end of the bed.

  "I'll unpack soon," Christie called over the water, wishing he would stop fussing over a little messiness. She had rented this apartment for three years before Derek moved in, not knowing until a month later he purchased it soon after they met. He had been her landlord while they dated. He laughed it off when she questioned the secrecy. Business, he said. No big secret. Since moving in, he insisted the place was immaculate as if it was a show-home, rather than a real home. Christie tried, but her level of tidy was not the same as his.

  Christie could see from his reflection in the mirror that Derek was still at the end of the bed. “How’s that coffee coming, honey? It was all I could think about on the flight.”

  He came over to the doorway. “I hope you thought about more than coffee?”

  Christie turned the tap off, and Derek passed her a towel.

  “Thanks. And I did. Think that is.”

  “And?”

  Christie started drying her hair. “And I would kill for a cup of your coffee... and a talk.” Christie peeked out from the towel.

  Unconvinced, Derek wandered out and a moment later started the coffee machine.

  DEREK SAT ON THE SOFA, turning his phone around and around in his fingers, eyes drawn to the Melbourne skyline. Steam rose from two cups on a glass coffee table.

  “Hey there.” Christie joined him on the sofa. “Oh, yum, thank you.” She picked up her coffee and savoured the first sip. “I’ve missed your blend.”

  Derek put down the phone, ignoring his cup. “And I’ve missed you.”

  Christie dropped a hand onto his leg. “I’m sorry it took so long. Lots of reshoots.”

  Derek put his hand over hers. “But it’s always that way, baby.” It was a statement, delivered sadly. “Six weeks becomes ten. I might see you once in that time.”

  Christie dropped her head. “I know, and I’m—”

  Derek cut her off. “No. Let me talk.”

  Christie put her coffee cup on the table and gave Derek her full attention. He was going to break off their engagement. Or tell her to change jobs. Coldness gripped her stomach.

  “I’m so sorry,” he started. “I’ve expected too much and not given enough.”

  Christie opened her mouth to reply, but Derek shook his head. "Still my turn to talk. Listen, when I told you to think about your priorities the other day, I was selfish. You work every bit as hard as I do, so here's the plan. When you have time off, I'll try to have time off. Like now." Derek jumped to his feet. "I've got a surprise."

  He hurried to his briefcase and rummaged around, before returning with an envelope. He sat again and held it out. “Now, before you open it, I do know you’ve only just got home, but I really need this. We need this.”

  Curious, Christie took and opened the envelope, drawing out two airline tickets. Business class to Cairns, with connecting flights to Lizard Island.

  “Six days there, baby. Just you and me at one of the world’s most luxurious resorts. Okay?” His phone rang. He rejected the call. “So, we leave in the morning and get up there late afternoon. Just in time for cocktails. Yes?” His expression was like a little boy waiting to open a birthday present.

  She glanced at the tickets again, dreading the thought of getting virtually straight back on a plane, but unable to do anything but accept. Derek was never spontaneous, and she expected to be in the middle of an argument, not relieved at his change of heart. She took his hand. "This is wonderful, honey, thank you. Of course I'll come with you."

  He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. That sorted, he picked up his phone and got to his feet. “We can talk about a wedding date up there. It’s time, don’t you agree?” He did not wait around for an answer, checking his phone as he walked into the kitchen.

  Christie watched him, half-puzzled, half-amused. One minute he had been almost desperate, and now he was back to business. His phone beeped as a message came through.

  Christie wandered back to the bedroom, where she stood for a while, contemplating the value of unpacking.

  DEREK HAD ALREADY PACKED a bag for Christie by the time she woke up the next morning. He brought her coffee and half-jokingly told her she only had an hour until they left. Jet-lagged, all Christie longed to do was go back to sleep, but instead, she forced herself into the shower.

  She took extra care with her make-up, masking the lines of tiredness. Christie deliberately chose clothing for the flight she knew Derek liked. A light apricot silk blouse and darker designer pants showed off her figure, finished with flat suede shoes and the ruby pendant he had given her last Christmas.

  The doorbell rang, and Derek called out, "That's our driver. Need to go."

  It only took a moment for Christie to throw a small cosmetics bag into her handbag before she hurried into the living room.

  Derek stood at the open front door, talking to a tweed-coated man in his sixties. “Well, if you’re not our driver, how can I help you?”

  Christie squealed in delight and rushed to throw her arms around the visitor. Derek stood back, bemused, as the older man returned Christie’s embrace. After a moment, Christie stepped away.

  “How wonderful to see you... oh, sorry.” Christie said. “You haven’t met. Derek, this is Angus McGregor, and Angus, this is my fiancé, Derek Hobbs.”

  She closed the door as Angus reached a hand out to Derek.

  “Fiancé? Well, congratulations Miss Christie.” Angus nodded.

  “Thank you. Derek, Angus works for Gran. He cares for the house and grounds, and drives her and...” Christie tapered off at the sombre expression on Angus’ face. “Gran?” Christie whispered. “Oh, Angus?”

  Angus sadly shook his head. "I'm so sorry, Miss Christie. It was a peaceful passing if that helps."

  Christie covered her mouth with her hand. Derek put both arms around her in a gesture of comfort, but over her shoulder, his face reflected his irritation. Of all times for this to happen.

  "I am sorry for the short notice. Miss Dorothy left instructions. Her funeral is tomorrow, and she specifically wanted you to attend."

  Derek released Christie. “Not possible, I’m afraid. We’re about to get on a plane. But we’ll send some beautiful flowers and make a donation to her favourite charity—.”

  Christie put her hand on Derek’s arm, her attention on Angus. “Where is the funeral being held?”

  "Chris, no! It's not like you were close to her; I mean you hadn't spoken for years!" Derek stalked away to pick up his house keys and phone. "We have to go, or we'll miss the plane, baby."

  Christie gazed at Angus, who was paler and thinner than she remembered. His twenty loyal years of service to Dorothy Ryan outlasted two husbands, and now, his world had turned on its head with her death.

  “Do you want to sit down?”

  Angus shook his head. “The funeral is at ten a.m. tomorrow in River’s End.”

  The name meant nothing to Christie.

  “A town along the coast. Just off the Great Ocean Road. The original home of your family.”

  The doorbell rang, and Derek flung it open, startling the uniformed driver on the other side. Derek pointed to two suitcases inside the door, and the driver almost tripped over himself in his rush to pick them up and leave.

  “Chris, I’m sorry about your grandmother, but we must go now.” Derek collected Christie’s phone from the coffee table and held it out.

  “I have to go. Come with me, Derek. Please?” she pleaded.

  Angus shuffled away to stand near the window, his back turned to offer some privacy.

  “Come with you where? To the funeral of a woman who didn’t
even care for you? I’m sorry to sound harsh but you know that’s the truth. We have a chance to get away and reconnect. Don’t you want that?” He took Christie’s hands in his.

  “Of course I do. I’m only asking for a day... to say goodbye. We can fly out tomorrow afternoon instead. Can’t we?”

  Why can’t you see I need your support? Oh, Gran. Sadness, frustration and helplessness all welled up, and Christie pulled her hands away.

  Derek scowled and turned to leave. One hand on the door handle, he paused. “I’m going. I’ll change your flight to a later one tomorrow.”

  Christie went to his side. “Thank you. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

  Derek stared at Christie, his face blank. “Be on that flight.”

  Christie nodded and reached up to kiss his cheek. Without returning the gesture, he left.

  “I’m sorry to have disturbed your plans, Miss Christie.”

  Christie hurried over to give him a hug. “Derek’s disappointed. I’m sorry for the way he spoke.”

  Angus squeezed Christie’s arm. “You never need to apologise to me. We both know your grandmother had her moments.” He smiled at the understatement.

  Angus was the only person to have tolerated Dorothy Ryan’s coldness. He understood she was a proud woman whose life had not turned out the way she expected. She had little time for people, let alone the seven-year-old girl thrust into her custody by one of life’s cruel twists – the sudden death of Rebecca and Julian, her daughter and son-in-law.

  Gran had given Christie everything she needed. Everything, except her love and acceptance, the lack of which had driven her granddaughter away. Along with everyone else. Except for Angus.

  Sorrow swept through Christie. For all of her flaws, Gran provided a home and a safe place to grow up. She certainly deserved to have two mourners at her funeral that cared about her. For now, Christie pushed aside the hurt Derek’s departure caused.