Jasmine Sea

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  Her phone announced a message with a soft beep and she almost squealed in delight. From Thomas, it was a photo taken in front of the Eiffel Tower. His arm was around Martha’s shoulder and her eyes were on him. A message followed. Highly recommend Paris for honeymoons.

  Christie responded with a smile. Will keep that in mind. Lovely photo. Love you both! How wonderful to see them in the place they’d once dreamed of going to. Their happiness was an inspiration. But were two happy endings in one family even possible?

  ***

  “What is that sound?” Thomas stopped in the middle of the park for the third time.

  “I imagine it is your phone, dear.” Martha took the opportunity to sink onto a bench. Thoughts of a foot rub had occupied her mind for the past hour, as Thomas directed them from one part of the beautiful city to another. His enthusiasm was admirable but her legs were suffering.

  Phone in hand, Thomas joined Martha. “I think it’s this thing here, then that... ah!” He held the phone back a bit to see. “From Christie. She wrote ‘Will keep that in mind. Lovely photo. Love you both!’”

  “That was quick! Isn’t it midnight at home?”

  “Maybe we woke her. Might need to work this out a bit better. What does she mean, ‘will keep it in mind’? What could be better?”

  “They’re not even engaged, Thomas. Perhaps a little early to plan a honeymoon.”

  “Only took us a few weeks.”

  Martha leaned against Thomas and his arm went around her. “We had a lifetime to make up for.”

  “Not an hour passes that I forget that. Which is why we need to keep walking. There’s so much to see.”

  “No, let’s sit for a while. We can see perfectly well from here. I promised Christie I’d bring some photographs back.”

  As Martha opened her handbag, Thomas put his phone away. “This is the most incredible place. As you once promised it would be.”

  “What you could have accomplished had you come here as a young man! Paris would have been at your feet, my darling.” Martha smiled at Thomas. “Tonight, I have something special arranged.”

  “Just how have you arranged anything? I thought I’d kept you close to me all the time.”

  “I have my ways. Did you know there is a restaurant below the glass pyramid in the Louvre?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, there is. And, if you would care to escort me back to the hotel to have a short rest and get changed, then I will take you there.”

  “At night?”

  “That’s usually the best time for dinner, I find.” She snapped a few photos of the park. “Unless you prefer not to visit the Louvre?”

  “At night?”

  “I’m certain you are repeating yourself. Yes, twice a week it is open late, so we can wander and gasp at the Mona Lisa and imagine ourselves part of a thriller book if we wish. But dinner is reserved for six-thirty, which is in about two hours—”

  “Why are we sitting here?” Thomas was on his feet in an instant, hand held out for Martha. She took a moment to put the camera away, smiling to herself.

  As soon as Martha stood up, Thomas wrapped his other around her body, pulling her close to him. “Do you have any idea how much I love you, Martha Blake?”

  “Oh, yes I do. And I shall spend every day of my life the happiest woman in the world.”

  ***

  Moments before her appointment with Martin, Ingrid sat outside his wooden gate in a blue Porsche, contemplating her reflection in the mirror. This was a bold move, even for her. First she’d develop River’s End, then further west. Bit by bit, she and Derek would stamp their authority on this backward region.

  All it would take was the cottage and its land. The precious long, narrow parcel had two things going for it. The obvious one was its location. Secluded enough to attract privacy-seeking weekenders, yet close enough to the town centre for amenities. Then, there was the abandoned railway station alongside.

  Attached to the railway line was hundreds of acres of land, and whilst local council would probably be happy to sell, there was a problem. Long ago, when all the land belonged to the Ryan family, a covenant was created to protect it being subdivided. Only the owner of the cottage could give permission for council to approve such an action.

  Pity that Derek had stuffed things up with his ex. Instead of getting all primal with her, he should have used that considerable charm of his to change her mind. Marry her, by preference. Tie things up and manage the situation.

  Nine o’clock. No point sitting here and wishing this was over. Ingrid smoothed her short hair, now flame red rather than its normal platinum. She swung her legs out of the car, stood up, and threw her bag over her shoulder. Elegant but understated black pants and jacket over a soft green blouse were eye-catching. But, no jumping in and doing a seduction just yet. Slowly. One thing that Ingrid had plenty of was patience. Lots and lots of patience.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Christie was up at dawn, intending to make the most of the weekend, free of Barry’s crew. By about nine, she had cleared a wide section of the garden bed in front of the cottage. It did look a bit odd though, the blank wall with an old step and cleared frontage. She hurried to the back of the cottage.

  In a box left by the workmen was a can of spray paint. Giving it a shake, Christie returned to the front of the property, giggling now at what she planned to do. She stood on the best of the old bricks and sprayed the outline of a door onto the wall. Not a very good one, as it leaned to one side and was too wide.

  She added a door handle for good measure, then attempted a kookaburra. “Oh dear,” she murmured. “I’m not really artistic after all.”

  A black Range Rover crossed the railway tracks. Christie couldn’t believe her eyes when it turned into the driveway with Angus McGregor behind the wheel. She jumped up and down until he climbed out, then threw her arms around him.

  “My goodness, Miss Christie! Let me stretch! You always were the most impatient child!”

  “Yes, and I still am. Impatient that is.” Christie squeezed him and reluctantly stepped back. “I can’t believe you’re here! How long are you staying? Oh, you can meet Martin!”

  “I should like that. As for your question, I don’t have any plans. I just wished to see you.”

  “Are you alright? You’re not ill, Angus?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Nothing of the sort. I missed you.”

  “Well, come inside and have some tea. There is so much to talk about. You can stay for a while? Days? A lifetime?”

  Angus reached into the car, drawing out a small satchel. “Perhaps a few days.”

  “Oh, goodie!”

  After Angus locked the car, Christie put her arm through his and they wandered along the driveway. Angus stopped. “And what, may I ask, is that?” He pointed to the door and Christie laughed. “That, dear Angus, is the front door. Or at least, a not very good artist’s impression of where it will be. We have much to discuss and I need to warn you, it is a mess inside.”

  ***

  Angus McGregor lived his life in the service of others. Marrying young and losing his beloved wife only a few years later, he had turned his energies to the hospitality industry. After working his way up to concierge of a prestigious London hotel, he eventually yearned for his homeland of Australia and returned with no job, friends, or ideas. Quite by accident he had come across Dorothy Ryan, a wealthy businesswoman with a long history of being difficult and failing to retain staff to run her home.

  Within a few days, he’d understood why so many previous staff had left. Hired to run her Toorak mansion, including arranging and running regular dinner parties and overseeing all aspects of the day-to-day management of everything except her business, he’d come close to resigning more than once. Dorothy was a cold, sometimes unpleasant woman who expected perfection yet refused to deal with details.

  Determined to make Melbourne his home, Angus had learnt to ignore his employer’s sharpness and somehow
won her over with his steady, calm, and perpetually polite nature. She retired around the time that Christie, her only grandchild, was orphaned and came to live with them. He flew to outback Queensland to attend the funeral and bring the child back. Dorothy would not forgive her own daughter for marrying the doctor who took her so far away, not even long enough to see her only offspring laid to rest.

  Now, he had finished his final duty of emptying and selling the Toorak mansion. The Range Rover was his to keep, a car he rather liked. With nothing to hold him to Melbourne, he relished his recent travels around Victoria, following whatever road took his fancy. But it was Christie who always stayed in the back of his mind. The child, now woman, was as close to a daughter as he would ever have.

  ***

  Almost dancing from room to room, Christie showed Angus the changes already made, and filled him in on the plans for the rest of the cottage. They stopped between the bedrooms.

  “So here was once the front door.” Christie waved at the brick wall. “Can you believe it was filled in last century and in all these years, nobody reversed that? Thomas lived here with his first wife, Frannie. Surely, they would have put the door back? Although...”

  “Although?”

  “Perhaps it hurt too much. His parents did this after there was an argument about Thomas’ future. He wanted to paint and they wanted him to be the next stationmaster. According to his best friend, Thomas came home after a weekend hiking and not only was the door gone, but all of his paintings and art supplies. Thrown out.”

  “How awful! That would be life changing for a young man.”

  “It was. He eventually agreed to do as they wished in return for his own space to paint.” She gestured above to the attic. “That is where he painted the seascape, Angus. And where Frannie hid the letters he once wrote to Martha so something must have stopped him using it, or she would never have kept them there.”

  “A sad story indeed. But your last email told me how happy Thomas and Martha are now.”

  “Come and have some tea. They are in Paris! I’ll show you the photo they sent last night.”

  “I might just wash up first, if you don’t mind?”

  “Of course, ignore my chatter. I shall put the kettle on.”

  When Angus joined her a few moments later, he dropped the satchel onto the kitchen table. “I found some photos and bits and pieces from your Gran’s you may wish to keep.”

  “No love letters from unknown people?” Christie handed him a cup of tea.

  “Thank you. Not that I am aware of.”

  “Please, sit. Have you had breakfast?” She joined him with her coffee, pushing the satchel to one side. She’d open it later, when she was alone.

  “Indeed. Quite a pleasant breakfast at the motel in Warrnambool.”

  “Speaking of motels, we need to find you somewhere to stay. I would have you here in a heartbeat but as you’ve seen, the place is only just habitable for me. As it is, I’ll be moving out in a couple of days to let the guys do all the wet areas.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I planned ahead and booked a room.”

  “You did? Not in that motel I hope!”

  “No. At Palmerston House.”

  “Wonderful! Elizabeth will look after you and that’s probably where I’ll be soon as well. Oh, this is going to be so great. I don’t know where to begin!”

  ***

  Martin straddled his surfboard, aimlessly paddling in a circle of sorts. His mind drifted over the morning with his new client, Bethany Fox. He couldn’t pick her accent, a curious mix of private school Australian, English and something else. German or Dutch. Or South African. She said she worked in finance and, from the look of her clothes and car, it was lucrative.

  Under normal circumstances he would have politely declined. He usually only painted those who mattered to him, but two things swayed him. There was her own soft plea. This painting was for her parents in England. Her mother was frail and unable to travel. A lover of art, she asked Bethany for a portrait with Australian scenery around her beloved daughter. Whilst Martin wondered why a quality photograph would not have sufficed, he nevertheless understood Bethany’s desire to make her mother happy.

  More importantly, there was the commission. Money usually mattered little to Martin. As long as he had enough to pay his debts and feed his dog, not much else counted. Thomas had taught him to save, to invest wisely. There was sufficient tucked away to keep him going for a long time should his income dry up. But that was before Christie came along.

  He had to stop thinking like a single man. Sooner or later, she’d give him an indication that she was ready to be with him forever. If he was to be the man who would be the father of her children and the husband she deserved, then he needed to start planning for their future.

  A small wave carried the surfboard in. Randall bounced around, barking happily. Martin put the surfboard under an arm and trudged through the sand toward his house. Much as it pained him to take time away from Christie, and go against his odd gut feeling, he’d made a decision. He’d ask for a ridiculous sum for the portrait and, if she agreed, he would paint Bethany Fox.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ingrid drove past Palmerston House heading to River’s End Heights. This was the first of Bryce Montgomery’s development estates in the area. She snorted as she turned in through the stone entry walls. It was typical of so many developers to alienate the locals by creating a new suburb. The small town needed a massive upgrade and development so clever it would feel organic, which was the best way to get the nod from councils.

  It took only a few moments to finish her inspection. About a hundred houses. No shops. No amenities apart from a tiny park in the middle. With only a handful of the houses occupied, it would be a while until the impact of a sudden population increase would filter to the village. One hundred families needing school placements, medical facilities and more shopping. How did Bryce think this would work?

  She scanned the street, noting the boat trailers outside several homes. No boats on them, so there must be marina or harbour nearby. Interesting. Boats meant money and she was all about that.

  Derek’s ring-tone interrupted her thoughts. “Phase one underway,” she answered.

  “So, he’s agreed?”

  “Do you doubt me?”

  “When do you start?”

  “Still to be decided. Anyway, I’m seeing this estate agent shortly, so have had a drive around Bryce Montgomery’s pathetic attempt at developing.”

  “You’re keeping a low profile? Avoiding Chris? That would ruin—”

  “For goodness’ sake, Derek. I wasn’t born yesterday.” She softened her tone. “I won’t let you down, but you need to trust me. Everything is meticulously planned.” She followed the street back to the main road.

  “Fine. Just be careful, the town is very insular.”

  “Insular or not, it is large enough for me to avoid exposure, as long as this John Jones character keeps his mouth shut.”

  “Presumably money will take care of it.”

  “I’ll call you after my meeting.”

  “Good luck.”

  Luck is for gamblers. Ingrid drove down the long hill that forked to either Martin’s house or the town. She glanced at Palmerston House. The Lotus was there. No sign of Christie Ryan, but she would need to be careful if the other woman was in town today.

  ***

  After an impromptu morning tea at Palmerston House, Christie reluctantly drove home. Angus insisted she keep her plans, promising to have dinner with her that evening. Elizabeth made him welcome and he was most comfortable in his new surroundings.

  An empty car was parked opposite the cottage and Christie hoped it wasn’t more property developers. The last time it was Bryce Montgomery and he was brazen enough to try to buy the place from under her. The older model sedan was not his style though, and she gave it no more attention.

  Half an hour later, concentrating on shaping the roses along the front fence, Chr
istie jumped and dropped her shears when a man walked into the driveway.

  “Hey, I’m sorry!” Short and rather overweight, the man leaned down to retrieve the shears and handed them back. “I should have sung out.”

  Christie took the shears. “I was miles away.”

  “Beautiful garden.”

  “Thanks. It will be, once I finish it.”

  “I’m Rupert. How are you?” He offered his hand to shake. “I took a wrong turn and ran out of gas! At my age, one would think I’d know better.”

  “Hmm. I’ve done that myself. Do you need me to call someone?”

  “Oh, not at all. I walked down to the petrol station and just put some fuel in it.”

  Christie realised he was sweating, and wore a suit. “Would you like a glass of water?”

  Rupert shook his head, then smiled. “Actually, yes. As long as I’m not imposing. My wife will be upset I forgot to carry water on the trip.”

  “Come around and I’ll get you one. Where are you heading?”

  “On my way home now. Bit disappointing really. I went to Warrnambool for a job interview. I’m in sales. We want a sea change, Lucy and I, now that we’ve got a bubba on the way.”

  They stepped onto the deck and Christie hesitated.

  “Miss, I’m happy to wait here. Don’t want to traipse dirt over your floor.”

  Christie broke into laughter. “Sorry to laugh. I’m renovating and the mess those tradies leave is more than you would imagine. Come in, please.”

  Rupert followed her, leaving the door open behind himself. He gazed around. “Miss, if you don’t mind me saying, this is true old world charm.”

  She offered a glass of water to Rupert. “Please, I’m Christie. The cottage is rather special, isn’t it? I’m looking forward to getting it back to its original beauty.” The smell of cigarette smoke clung to his clothes, so she took a discreet step back.

  “Was it a stationmaster’s residence?” Rupert gulped his water. Christie took his glass and refilled it. “Thanks. Had no idea how thirsty I was. Long day.”