Jasmine Sea

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  “Christie?”

  “Yes?” Her voice was barely above a whisper and now, he glanced at her with a smile.

  “I’d offer you dinner, but there’s a potential client who’s arranged to call me soon. I’ll be a while.”

  “Oh. I’ll go? That’s what you mean. Oh, I thought...”

  “What did you think?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “I’m sorry, I’d have liked to spend the evening together. Tomorrow?” He kissed her. She barely returned the pressure of his lips and he pulled away to look at her. “I’ve upset you.”

  Christie pushed down the feelings of bitter disappointment and embarrassment. She smiled and handed him her empty glass. “Actually, I’m rather tired so yes, let’s catch up tomorrow.”

  Martin searched her face, his forehead creased. “We’ll talk about this then.”

  “Sure.” Not a chance. “I hope the phone call goes well.” She ran down the steps.

  “Christie?”

  “Give Randall a cuddle!” Without a backward glance, she hurried into the evening, hoping he wouldn’t follow.

  Chapter Ten

  In near-darkness, Christie stood at Dorothy’s grave, wondering what on earth was wrong with herself. Gran had thrown away marriage after marriage. Pushed away everyone who loved her. Lived a lonely life for decades. I don’t want that!

  Hands clenched, Christie stalked away. What if she was making the same mistake with Martin that she’d made with Derek? So desperate to be loved, she’d allowed Derek to move in with her only weeks after meeting him. And her life was good. Fulfilled, busy, successful. But not happy.

  At the side of the road she waited for a car to pass. The driver tooted and Daphne waved madly as she and John passed. The tension drained away the moment Christie waved back at the couple who’d been the first to welcome her to town all those months ago. This wasn’t her old life. This was her hang-up, not Martin’s. He had no idea of her state of mind. Imagining a proposal not once but twice in a couple of days was silly.

  The old railway station loomed on the right through the trees lining her street. Once the hub for transport and freight for the region, the old buildings were long deserted and falling apart. Nobody ever stepped onto the platform to wait for a loved one to return.

  Clank.

  Like a dropped piece of metal, the sound reverberated from somewhere along the line, startling Christie. She opened the torch app on her phone.

  There was the crack of a branch, or maybe just the wind in the trees, closer now.

  “Hello? Who’s there?” Christie’s eyes shot from one side of the road to the other, following the light from her phone. There was no answer. She hurried to the driveway.

  At the gate she paused, glancing back. It must have been an animal, perhaps a possum or kangaroo. Her imagination was on overdrive. Unfamiliar fear crept into her mind and she rushed past the Lotus to the back door.

  ***

  The cottage was a mess. Scattered throughout the hallway, kitchen, and lounge room were leftover pieces of plaster and debris. The dining room and lounge room – now the main focus of the renovation – housed piles of paint-splattered drop sheets, ladders, and an assortment of plasterboards.

  Christie leaned against the doorway to the lounge room. She’d got the workmen to throw the old sofa into the rubbish bin out the front. After stepping over the drop sheets, she ran a hand over the marble mantelpiece. It needed to come off so Barry’s men could repair large cracks in the wall behind it. Not long ago, a seascape had hung above the fireplace, repaired and framed by Martin. Now it belonged to Thomas and Martha, back with its artist and the woman he painted it for.

  Hungry, she navigated around the mess to the kitchen. Behind a bottle of wine she found some leftover chili con carne. As it heated, she made good use of the short wait to open the wine. The moment she sat at the table, Martin’s ringtone filled the room.

  “Do you mind doing the talking?”

  “Why?”

  “Eating.” Without waiting for an answer, she took a mouthful. “Mmm.”

  He chuckled. “Very good. Sorry about earlier, just never know how long these things take.”

  “S’okay.”

  “S’okay? No, don’t answer. You’re not making any sense.” He paused, sipping on something. Probably whiskey. “When I finished the call about the new commission, I got one from Thomas.”

  Almost choking in an attempt to swallow, Christie grabbed her wine and forced the food down. “Are they o-okay?” She coughed a bit at the end.

  “I thought you wanted me to do the talking? They are fine. Loving it in fact. Thomas wants you to know that Martha’s little house is a lot like your cottage, except it has a front door.”

  “You didn’t ask him about my front door? Oh my goodness! If he wants a front door, then there will be one when they get back and that way they can have the cottage. Oh, I’m so happy!”

  “Are you quite finished?” He was amused. “No, I didn’t. We got onto other things.”

  “What other things? When are they coming home?”

  “Eat and I’ll tell you. Are you eating?”

  Christie filled her mouth again.

  “Martha has put her place up for sale. There’s already been a few interested people and she’s finding it a bit... confronting. Thomas is whisking Martha off to Paris. Apparently, they had some plan to go there once. He is so excited, sounds like a young man.”

  I will meet you anytime, anywhere you want me to. We can move to Paris if you wish. Get far away from River’s End and start a new life for ourselves. Just do not give up on us.

  That was what Thomas once wrote to Martha, in a letter that she never saw. There’d been other mentions of Paris, but that one came back to Christie with alarming clarity.

  “You don’t think they are staying there?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Permanently. Like, moving to Paris.”

  “No. Relax, sweetheart, it is just a long overdue visit.”

  “You know he once told her they could move there. Leave here forever. What if that’s what they’re doing?” Near tears, Christie pushed her plate away.

  Martin took a moment to reply. “It isn’t. They’re not going to leave you. Nor am I.”

  “Then why don’t you...” She stopped herself. Not now!

  “Why don’t I what? Christie, what am I not doing?”

  “Let’s talk about something else. Okay?” Please, let it go.

  A long silence drew out between them. Appetite gone, Christie played with her wine glass.

  Eventually, with a sigh, Martin spoke. “How was the walk home? Did you go via the beach?”

  “Yes. It got dark quickly and I put the torch on when I thought...”

  “Thought what?”

  Christie stared at the ceiling. “There was a possum or something up along the railway track.” She forced a laugh. “It made me jump, that’s all.”

  “Maybe I should come over.”

  “No. I mean, it isn’t necessary. I’m safely here and the door is locked. And look, I’m even eating. I just want to clean up the mess the tradies left today and have an early night. But, thanks.”

  “I could tuck you into bed.”

  “Stop tempting me. I love you.”

  “I love you as well. A lot.”

  After he hung up, Christie held the phone for a while. More than anything she wanted him here but how could she be honest without the emotion? Swirling around in her head were too many what ifs and doubts. Not just about their future, but Thomas and Martha’s.

  ***

  Martin whistled for Randall as he strode across the soft grass to the gate. Running to catch up with him, the dog – tail wagging furiously – was ready for the night-time adventure. Hand on the gate, Martin stopped.

  Would turning up uninvited on Christie’s doorstep make things worse? He’d seen her hide some sudden emotion before she’d left. Just now, her tone of voice and odd c
omments reinforced his gut feeling that something was upsetting her.

  Earlier, on the deck, their connection had been strong. Her hands on his chest, her eyes gazing at him with such incredible love. With the late rays of the sun on her face, no woman in the world was more beautiful. So fragile and precious, she created a desire in him almost impossible to keep in check.

  If it was up to him, they would be married tomorrow. They would have a family, the dream he’d kept buried his whole life. Only now, with the light she brought, could he begin to imagine this was real.

  Martin wandered back to the house, trailed by a confused Randall. He had to step back a little and give her some space. If he rushed her into a commitment, then he was no better than Derek.

  At the deck, Martin dropped onto the top step. Randall whined and offered him a paw. “Sorry, mate. False alarm.” He scratched the dog’s head, staring into the night.

  Once he had been in a happy family. His mother singing him to sleep. Dad carrying him on his shoulders. Vague memories that disappeared a little more every year.

  After a lifetime of loneliness, Christie burst into his world. He needed to protect and love her, breath in her incredible scent, and walk in the light she radiated. Every time she was out of his sight, he ached to hear her laugh. See her smile.

  The only way to do this was slowly. One step at a time, letting her lead, so she would know he was serious and not be afraid of embracing this precious love they shared.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rain on the window woke Christie before dawn. There was no need to be up yet and she snuggled under the covers. Sleep was elusive, pushed aside by annoying memories of Derek. He’d been so attentive at the beginning and she’d missed all the warning signs of his narcissism. Over time, as her friends drifted away and few took their place, he became her world, outside of work.

  No doubt she’d compensated by concentrating on her career. Perseverance paid off, fulfilling her until the day he and Ingrid ripped it away. How naive she’d been. Well, those two suited each other and, hopefully, would never appear in her life again.

  On the other hand, Martin was a real alpha male, naturally protective and, at times, bossy. Yet this felt right. More than right. Christie was an intelligent, educated and sensible woman, able to stand up for herself and others. Yet all Martin needed to do was raise an eyebrow or lower his voice to that mild yet no-nonsense tone and she was not only listening, she was melting.

  She gave up on sleep and turned on the bedside lamp. Christie picked up the photo Belinda had given her. A moment in time she would always treasure. This was the man she loved and if he needed time to decide she was his future wife, then so be it. After all, she had a cottage to finish before Martha and Thomas returned.

  ***

  Breakfast was coffee and a reminder in her phone to go shopping. By the time Barry and his men arrived, the rain was gone, leaving a grey but warm enough morning. Two of the men started pulling the mantelpiece apart, whilst Barry and another man turned their attention to the closet at the end of the hallway.

  Christie stayed in the kitchen, making a shopping list as she listened to them work. In a few days the bathroom, laundry, and kitchen would be gutted and, at that point, she would move out. Elizabeth insisted she go to Palmerston House and, unless Martin suggested otherwise, Christie would do that.

  “Christie?” Barry called from the hallway.

  Almost at a sprint, Christie joined him.

  He grinned at her. “So, would you like a front door?”

  “It’s doable?”

  “Sure is. From the look of things, this here,” he tapped on the closet “was the doorway. Where the weatherboard is outside would have been a little entry alcove. We’ll start from this side, restructure as needed, put a door in. The outside can wait until the cottage is secure.”

  “I want the cottage to be like it once was.”

  “Okay then. I’ll give you links to a couple of door places and if you can take a peek and give me some options, we’ll order one.” Barry tapped on his iPad and a moment later Christie’s phone beeped.

  Back at the table, she compared the old door in the photograph to those on the sites Barry had sent. The original door was solid timber, nothing inviting or interesting. Forget tradition. Christie sent a message back to Barry with a link to a timber door with glass inserts featuring kookaburras,

  A moment later he stuck his head around the door. “Good choice. It’ll come up a treat with some stain. I’ll also order a lightweight security screen door.”

  “Oh, okay. I guess it would be nice to have the front door open in summer.”

  “Best to have it anyway, what with the glass panels and all.” He disappeared again.

  Frowning, Christie wondered if she’d made the right choice. If someone wanted to break in, there were plenty of windows. Not that anyone would. It wasn’t as if she had anything worth stealing.

  ***

  The jewellery store door jangled as Christie pushed it open with her hip, hands full with two cups of takeaway coffee from the corner cafe.

  George Campbell looked up from polishing a watch, a broad smile lighting his face. “What brings you by, my dear lady?”

  “Hello, George. Thought you might enjoy a coffee.” Christie offered him one. “Just the way you like it.”

  “How thoughtful, thank you.”

  “Not entirely. It is kind of a swap for information, if you have a few moments?”

  “For you, always.” George reached for his coffee.

  “You know I am renovating the cottage? Well, it has come to light that once upon a time, it had a front door. In fact, there is a photo belonging to Palmerston House showing one right in the middle of the front wall.”

  “Indeed. You certainly like to look into the past.”

  “Actually, I thought that was over, but I am curious about why anyone would change such a lovely building that way. Barry Parks says it may have been done anywhere from fifty to seventy years ago, going by the timber.”

  “Let me see. I am seventy-four, so it must have been about nineteen-sixty. Yes, it was, for I had turned seventeen and Tom was just sixteen. You need to understand his parents were very traditional. No encouragement for him to pursue art for goodness sake. His father, James, wanted him to be the next stationmaster and they argued about it just before the two of us went on a weekend hike into the mountains. It is a sad story though.”

  George paused, brow furrowed.

  “What happened?” Christie prompted.

  “When we returned, I went up to the cottage with Tom to put the camping gear in the garage. It was late, and dark. Tom stopped in the middle of the driveway, not sure what was wrong, but then we realised the front door was gone. We joked about it. His parents were not very social people.”

  It must run in the family. Cliff top houses and mountain retreats.

  “After stowing the gear away, I headed home so I only have his version of events.” George was troubled by the old memories. “You really should speak to him about it, but he probably won’t tell you anyway. All I know is that his father closed in the entry way. Tom had hung some of his paintings there, against his father’s wishes. At the same time, his father threw away all of the paintings – his sketches, paints, brushes, everything.”

  “No! Oh, how horrible. How could a father do that to his own son?”

  “Tom left home the same night and came to my house for a while. He was still at school and worked weekends at the timber yards. After a bit, his father apologised and Thomas went back. But it was never the same.”

  “There’s a paint-splattered work bench in the attic.”

  “They reached a compromise. Thomas agreed to follow his father’s footsteps in return for a workspace that was his alone.”

  “But he was never a stationmaster.”

  “The line closed. Happiest I’d seen Tom in years when it happened. By then, he had Martha and was working on selling some paintings before they marrie
d. So, there it is.”

  Christie squeezed George’s arm. “I’m so sorry to remind you.”

  “The past is never far away these days. At least now, Thomas is happy, truly happy, and that, my dear, is your doing.” He patted her hand.

  ***

  Ingrid stalked into Derek’s office with a scowl. He glanced up from his laptop, raised an eyebrow and looked back at the screen.

  “Where is it?” She put both hands on the other side of the desk, leaning toward him. “And why?”

  “Why what? I’m busy.”

  “The monstrosity of a painting. I might not like it, but I should be consulted before you just sell something off like that!”

  The phone rang. Derek hit the intercom. “Hold my calls, Lorraine.” He closed the laptop, pushed his chair back and crossed one ankle over his knee. “Careful. This is still my firm.”

  Ingrid inhaled slowly and straightened. “Sorry. Don’t mean to be bossy but you know I’m used to running things.” She swayed her hips as she stepped around the desk and deliberately sat on its edge as close to Derek as possible. “Don’t be cross.”

  “Seeing as you’re here, update me with your progress.”

  “Not much to tell. Had a lovely long conversation with lover-boy and he agreed to meet. Kept telling me he doesn’t do portraits but I persuaded him I really need one. For my elderly mother, you know.”

  Amusement flicked into Derek’s eyes. “What else?”

  “While I am in town, there’s a real estate agent, John Jones, who handles things for Bryce Montgomery’s developments locally. Perhaps he needs a chance to consider... alternative options.”

  “Tread very softly and make sure you meet him away from his office. Not when that meddling wife of his is around.” He had no doubt Daphne Jones had been responsible for alerting Martin Blake when he visited Chris last year. The memory of being thrown out of her cottage by Martin still angered him. “My name cannot come into it, if you insist on speaking to him.”

  Ingrid moved her legs so that they touched Derek’s. “Did you upset things so badly?”