“Ash and Ray took me out for dinner at Central Pier which is straight past my old apartment. But they had already seen him go out in a taxi and were with me every moment. So protective and sweet. And they walked me almost back to the hotel. Well, we ran a bit, ‘cos it was raining.”
Martin chuckled.
Eyes closed in contentment, Christie relaxed against Martin. How silly she was, imagining Derek would even bother with her anymore. That part of her life was over and now she had the most wonderful future to look forward to.
Chapter Five
“But what if I fail? What if all the other girls are smarter and I don’t fit in?” Belinda paced around the kitchen.
“Ah, but what if you succeed? And what if the other girls adore you as much as I do?” Christie poured water into coffee cups.
The pacing stopped. “You do?”
“Most certainly I do! Listen, for me, the first day of the beauty course was terrifying. I wanted it so, so much, but I just knew everyone would look at me and see a little country girl.”
“But you’re a city girl.”
“You know, one of these days I shall hold a meeting in town and discuss that phrase with everyone. Including your cousin Martin.” She struggled to keep a straight face. “I spent my first seven years in the outback.”
“You did?”
“And I was terrified putting myself in the company of young women who I imagined were already beauty experts. And guess what?”
“They were?”
“Some thought so. But all of us were just as nervous and excited and ambitious as each other. Within a few days, we had sorted ourselves into groups and – just like at school – either became friends or simply tolerated one another.”
Belinda pulled a face. “School wasn’t much fun. I mean, I did okay, but I was always a bit different.”
“You’ll see plenty of different in Melbourne! But isn’t that what you want? The chance to become what you want to be?”
“But who is going to talk to the pastries?”
Christie burst into laughter. “Sorry.” She tried to stop. “I’ll drop in and speak with them.”
Belinda stared in disbelief. “You mock my pastries?”
“Oh, I didn’t mean—”
Belinda’s mouth quivered and then broadened to a cheeky smile.
“Funny. Maybe I should warn your teachers about you.”
“No need. I shall let them find out for themselves. Oh, I almost forgot!” She dug around in her oversized handbag and pushed a brightly wrapped box in front of Christie.
“Oh. What’s this?”
“It’s a box.”
“Ha ha. For me?”
“Are you okay? I mean, I can give it to someone else.”
Christie put her hand on the box with a stern “Mine!” and Belinda giggled.
Christie carefully pulled the ribbon to undo the elaborate purple bow. She unwrapped the vivid yellow paper one end at a time. Before taking the paper off, she peeked at Belinda, who was intent on the process.
“Hurry up!”
“I might wait until you go. No? Okay, okay.” With a flourish, she revealed the present. “Oh, sweetie.”
Framed in ornate silver was a photograph. From Thomas and Martha’s wedding, it was taken on the beach, following their vows.
It was a moment caught in time. Christie gazed up at Martin as he wound a strand of jasmine around her braided hair. His concentration was on the jasmine and hers was on his face. He’d smiled. “There, that’s better. Jasmine Sea.”
Until then, Christie had believed he didn’t love her, but when he’d used those words, her heart had almost stopped. He’d remembered their first evening together, when she’d joked about being a candle maker who created a scent made from a flower and the ocean.
“Do you like it? I was going through all the photos and saw you two in the background. It looked like a special moment. You really love him.”
“I really do.”
“Well then. We’re all happy.”
“You are a wonderful friend. I love it!” Christie leapt up and hugged Belinda. “And you will be fine in Melbourne. You call me anytime you are lonely or not sure about something, okay?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. And what’s more, I’ll be back for work so we’ll hang out and maybe go take a look at Docklands Studio together.”
Christie wasn’t entirely certain, but there may have been a tear in Belinda’s eyes when she left a few moments later. It was hard to tell past the mist in her own.
***
The office on the twelfth floor overlooked Port Phillip Bay. It was a large, immaculate workspace with modern furnishing and no clutter. A map of Victoria took up a whole wall, sporadically studded with the company logo.
Behind the desk, Derek Hobbs stared at a laptop. Cold coffee was untouched from two hours ago.
Intent on his monitor, he ignored a tap on his glass door. The handle turned. It was locked. The tapping began in earnest until, annoyed, he glanced up.
“Dammit.” He hurried to unlock the door. Ingrid pushed her way past, carrying a takeaway tray with two coffees.
“Are you quite alright?” She demanded as Derek locked the door again.
“Busy.”
“Your phone is busy!”
“Nope. Unplugged. And before you tell me, the mobile is off.”
As soon as he sat again, Ingrid passed him a coffee. “Why?”
“Thanks. Told you. I’m busy.”
“Too busy for me?” She tottered around the desk, stilettos digging into the deep pile of the carpet. She peered at the screen.
“Oh. Really?” She smiled faintly. “Aren’t you past all of that?”
“She was here.”
“Christie?”
“Yes.”
“In this office?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. In Melbourne. I saw her go into the Four Seasons the other night.”
“Did she see you?”
“No. She was working at the studios. She went there the next morning.”
“Stalking her?”
“I was curious. But then she disappeared in that stupid car of hers so no doubt is back with the artist.”
Ingrid perched on the corner of the desk, crossing one black-stockinged leg over the other. “If it bothers you so much, why don’t you visit?”
“Ingrid, why are you here?”
“You arranged a meeting. With Rupert, if you recall?”
“Sorry.” He took her hand. “Don’t mean to be abrupt but I just can’t help thinking that if things don’t work out with the artist, she’d be willing to sell. And we might as well be the ones to buy.”
“Does your ex know Rupert?”
“No. She would never have come across him. Oh, clever girl!”
Ingrid tilted her head. “I do love sea air. And I’ve been wanting my portrait painted for ever such a long time. In your internet stalking there, does it say if Martin Blake does anything other than abstracts?”
Derek got to his feet. “Did I tell you how clever you are?”
“You are most welcome to repeat it.”
“Then I must do so. Dinner tonight and we will discuss this further.”
“Send me a text with the details. I’ll leave the door unlocked. Rupert is waiting, you know.”
After she left, Derek stood in front of the map of Victoria. He ran his hand along the Great Ocean Road until he reached River’s End, a small dot on the map. He wanted that town.
Chapter Six
At the very edge of the cliff, Christie gulped in air, sweat drenching her singlet top. From here the view was endless across the Great Southern Ocean. To her right, the stone steps descended to the beach. The same steps she had just sprinted up after a decent run along the river and through the gap in the cliffs onto the sand.
She checked her watch and got moving. There was time for a quick shower before Barry and his team arrived to continue their work. She cut through
the graveyard, stopping at Gran’s resting place. Her eyes flicked over the inscription:
Dorothy Lilian Ryan
Daughter of Lilian and Patrick
1938–2017
Not a word about her only child, Rebecca. The daughter she pushed away and then lost in a car accident – Christie’s mother. No mention of Martha, her own sister once so beloved that Dorothy believed she alone knew what was best for her.
Martha may have forgiven her sister, but Christie could not. There had been no warmth about Gran. Bringing her orphaned grandchild into her sterile home was a huge imposition and Dorothy had made sure Christie knew it.
Christie touched Gran’s headstone. At least now, she was at rest. Such a pity she would never know Martha was reunited with Thomas. If nothing else, Gran’s insistence on Christie delving into the past had brought her to Martin.
***
By late afternoon the cottage was quiet again. Christie swept debris into a pile. The other bedroom and the dining room had new ceilings, primed walls and bare floorboards. Old carpet slumped in a pile near the front gate, waiting for the over-full bin on the verge to be emptied.
The familiar sound of a motorcycle interrupted the silence. Christie smoothed her hair and hurried out.
Helmet dangling from one hand, Martin stood beside the motorcycle, surveying the garden. His customary t-shirt clung to a muscular chest and flat stomach, and he wore jeans. Denim that hugged the contours of his legs right up to his narrow waist, curving over his... Stop it! Christie’s heart skipped a beat as he turned a leisurely smile on her.
“You’ve been busy.”
“It’s a bit of a mess. But at least the roses are back under control.”
“So I see.” He dropped the helmet on the seat and closed the gap between them. He checked her hands, criss-crossed with small cuts and grazes. “You’ve put something on these?”
“They’re just from the thorns.”
“And?”
“I washed my arms. I need to get a first aid kit, or something.”
“How long since a tetanus shot?”
“Last year.” Stop fussing. Christie gently extricated her arm. “What’s the helmet for?”
“Safety. Yours.”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh, where are we going?”
“Somewhere I don’t think you’ve been yet. So, get yourself ready and lock up.”
“Do you want to come in?” She grinned.
“No. I want you to hurry up!”
Still smiling, she rushed inside. Martin watched her leave with a small smile of his own.
***
The last time Christie was on this motorcycle, the Lotus had run out of fuel and Martin reluctantly helped her get some. Then he had whisked her up the nearby mountain to a lookout, where he had accused her of planning to bring development into the town.
Now, they rode past Palmerston House, the stately homestead once owned by Christie’s family for generations and now run as a bed and breakfast. Martin slowed as a new housing estate came into view along the right at the top of the hill. The few finished homes were large, on bigger than normal blocks, but still like suburbia. One road led into the estate, through stone walls proclaiming “River’s End Heights”.
The road curved inland. It was bushy, the sea disappearing from sight. With hardly a touch of the brakes, Martin swung left onto a narrow track, Christie gripping his waist. She gazed ahead as the trees parted. Here was a secluded bay, much smaller than the beach at River’s End. Protected by cliffs almost wrapping around the narrow strip of sand, the calm water looked deep. And it was dotted with yachts.
***
Fingers entwined, Martin and Christie followed a path to the shore. The motorcycle was in a parking bay, one of ten or so marked out at the end of the track.
“How long has this been here?” Eyes wide with excitement, Christie almost skipped along.
“It’s a natural harbour, so probably centuries, but the new estate we passed increased the population of boats.”
“I thought there were more around. Oh, look at that one!” She pointed to a schooner.
“Yes. Pick the most expensive one.”
“You used to accuse me of collecting expensive toys. Never considered a boat though.”
“But you’d like one?” Martin glanced sideways.
“My own yacht? That’s beyond my pay cheque.”
“If it wasn’t?”
Christie stopped as they neared the edge of the sand, surveying the bay. Ten or twelve craft of different sizes and types bobbed at their moorings. Her eyes were drawn to a smaller yacht, sleek and pretty. How wonderful to sail it out between the cliffs to the open sea.
“I would love it.”
Martin pulled her close, tilting her chin up and touching his lips to hers. “And I love you.” He turned her to face the boats. One arm around her waist, he pointed with the other. To the smaller yacht.
“Made from Huon pine in Tasmania. A sloop so responsive to sail that she can almost do it on her own.”
“She is beautiful.”
“She’s old. But yes, she is beautiful.”
The peace of early evening enveloped them. Surreal late sunlight flooded through the gap between the cliffs.
“Read the name.”
The yacht was a fair way out, but Christie had good eyesight. As though highlighted by the sun, the name on the side of the boat was clear.
She shot a shocked glance at Martin.
“Read it, sweetheart.”
“Her... her name is Jasmine Sea.”
Chapter Seven
“But... how? Why?” Christie gripped Martin’s hand to stop hers shaking.
“Take a deep breath.”
“I don’t need a breath! Why is the yacht called Jasmine Sea? Please?”
“Come and see.” Martin released her hand and strode down the beach a short way. Christie caught up with him as he dragged a dinghy from a pile. The dinghy was small and timber and, to Christie’s eye, unsafe. That didn’t stop Martin pulling it all the way to the tideline. He fiddled with the oars.
“Are we getting in that?”
“Depends if you want to see the yacht. Or you could swim.”
“It might be safer.”
“Have I ever put you in danger?”
She grabbed one side of the dinghy. “What are we waiting for?”
Martin’s eyes missed nothing. “Toss your shoes in. Once we’re knee deep, hop in and I’ll get us a bit further out.”
Shoes and socks went in and she took a moment to roll her jeans up to her knees. His idea of knee deep water was different than hers, and it wasn’t long before her legs were wet.
“Okay, sit in first and then take your legs over. That’s the way.” Martin steered the small boat a bit further out, then copied Christie’s actions to join her. He rowed effortlessly through the small waves. “I thought you knew how to sail?”
“A fifty-footer. A big boat and it was tied up in a marina, so no need to row to it.”
As he navigated round a larger yacht, Martin gestured at the water. “It isn’t very deep here. No more than we swim in. Check out how clear it is.”
He was right. The sandy bottom seemed close enough to touch. The sea was calm and she turned her attention to the yacht now only a moment away.
Jasmine Sea was a picture as she gently rocked. Her long bow was graceful, with shining ankle-high railings, and tall timber masts towering above the cabin and wheel.
At the stern, a ladder invited Christie to climb on board and, with an encouraging nod from Martin, she did so. Padded seats and a fold out table made a perfect place to enjoy a meal. Near the cabin was a timber wheel. Steps led below deck.
Christie turned questioning eyes to Martin. Unfazed, he leaned against the railing, arms crossed.
“This is yours?”
“No. Actually, yes. For now.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I’ve owned this craft for years. One of the first
things I ever bought. Over time, I’ve used her less and less. Although Randall still loves it.”
“You have a boat called Jasmine Sea?”
A tiny flicker of impatience crossed his face. “I had a boat called – well, called something else. Whilst you were in Melbourne, I changed her name. And now she is Jasmine Sea. And if you want her, she is yours.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
Why? Who gives away their boat? They weren’t married or engaged or... Was he about to propose?
“Whoa, steady. Here, sit for a while.” Martin led her to the seats and took her onto his lap. He brushed stray hair from her eyes. “Slow breaths. Don’t faint on me.”
“Sorry. I just felt a bit odd for a moment. I’m okay now.”
“Hmm. Missing meals again.”
“Did you really say this is mine? Are you giving me a whole yacht?”
“Bit pointless giving you part of one. Maybe I should have waited.”
She shook her head, struggling to understand. He sighed, wrapping both arms around her so that she leaned against his chest, her head on his shoulder.
“I’ve never had anyone to give things to. Christie, you’ve changed everything by being here. Being with me. But I see in your eyes sometimes that you’re not sure.”
She tried to sit up but he tightened his hold a little, adjusting his position so that she could see his face.
“I love you, Martin!”
“Sometimes love isn’t enough. You have another world out there and I know you’re torn.”
“What are you saying?”
Martin kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m saying this boat is your freedom. Use it anytime you want to escape. For an hour or a week. This is its harbour, just as I am yours.”
“I love my job. And I miss my apartment sometimes. And my friends. But this is my world now, at least for the most part. With you.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“And Randall.”
“Yes, actually, where is Randall?”
“Having a sleepover at Palmerston.”
Christie giggled. “May I explore my boat?”
“Soon.” His lips touched hers. “Once I’ve done this for a while.”
***
Jasmine Sea Page 3
