Jasmine Sea

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  Chapter Seventeen

  Evening closed in as Martin cut across country to reach Palmerston House. The Lotus had zoomed past earlier, top down, with Christie calling out some cheeky comment with a wave. She had done so well today and he knew the decision to gift her the yacht was the right one.

  He whistled as he neared the front steps.

  “He’s over here.” From the far end of the verandah, Angus called out.

  Martin grinned as he drew closer to the bench. Randall wagged his tail at Martin, but made no attempt to move from the side of the older man he sat beside. Had a friendlier dog ever existed?

  “Good evening, I take it you are the owner of this rather wonderful dog?” Angus stood and offered his hand.

  Martin shook hands. “Don’t know about owner. He is quite happy to share himself around. Martin Blake.”

  “Angus McGregor. I believe we have more in common than a golden retriever.”

  “Christie can barely contain her excitement at us meeting. She has it all planned for dinner tonight.”

  “Oh dear. Shall we pretend this didn’t happen?” Angus leaned toward Martin, his voice hushed. “I’m game if you are.”

  “I wonder how long it will take for her to work it out.”

  Randall whined at Martin and both men reached a hand to his head. Then laughed.

  “Would you care to join me?” Angus sat down.

  Randall lay down immediately, so Martin relaxed on the bench. It was pleasant to sit here in the near darkness as the trees became silhouettes. Solar lights along the driveway flickered on. The fountain randomly changed colour, a tribute to Martha and Thomas’ wedding. Elizabeth had refused to let Christie take the lighting system back out after the reception, not only for the pretty effect, but as a reminder that anything is possible.

  “I believe the pub is only a short walk from here.” Angus said.

  “Five minutes. I’d offer to drive you, but only have my grandfather’s dreadful pile of junk, or an old motorbike.”

  “I’m partial to motorcycles. My father had a beauty that he rode everywhere. Still remember the growl it made when he powered it down.”

  “Mine gives more of a whimper than a growl. Perhaps walking is a better idea. Christie would be horrified if we front up on it at the pub.”

  “Indeed.”

  Martin glanced at his watch. “I’m going to take the boy home and feed him. Have you spoken to Christie about what time to be there?”

  “Briefly. A moment or two before you arrived. She said she needed to get the sea spray out of her hair.”

  “We were sailing.”

  “I beg your pardon. I thought you said sailing!”

  Martin chuckled. “Seems impossible. Christie had almost full control of Jasmine Sea, out in the open sea and back. And she swims. Not quite as confident about deeper water yet, but it’s a process.”

  “That fear was her biggest. And sadly I let it happen.” Angus dropped his head. “Instead of standing up to Dorothy Ryan, I watched a happy, self-assured little girl retreat into quietness. Becoming invisible at times.”

  “I’ve never known where that fear came from. Christie once mentioned Dorothy forbidding her from swimming in the sea, but that’s all.”

  “After losing her parents, all Christie wanted was someone to love. In spite of her sorrow, she was such a loving, sweet child. Bit by bit, her grandmother’s coldness and occasional fury taught her to rely on herself. She’s good at that.”

  “You’re not at fault. And Christie would be heartbroken if she thought you blamed yourself.” Martin stood and Randall jumped to his feet. “Christie was lucky to have you.”

  “As she is to have you, Martin.”

  With a nod, Martin took his leave. After one more pat from Angus, Randall tore after Martin.

  ***

  Christie tapped her feet on the floor. First to arrive at the pub, she’d chosen a booth at the furthest end where it was a bit quieter and had a window view of the street.

  “Would you like to order a drink?” Lance, the long-time owner of the pub, laid out cutlery for three.

  “I’ll wait for Martin and Angus, if that’s okay? Although, would you arrange a bottle of local chardonnay please? And three glasses.”

  “Your wish is mine to fulfil. Do you know that they also grow olives at the winery? No? I shall also bring a complimentary plate of olives, from their own harvest.” With a flourish, Lance disappeared into the kitchen.

  Martin slid into the seat beside Christie.

  “I didn’t see you come in!”

  “You were busy flirting with Lance.”

  “Well, my flirting got us a plate of olives. Not a bad result. How’s Randall?”

  “Exhausted. Pretty much ate his dinner, went for a wander, and tucked himself into bed. How do you feel after our sail?”

  “Happy. I’m getting the hang of it, not that I can envisage sailing alone. I mean, why would I ever need to?”

  Martin kissed Christie’s cheek. “Good.”

  “Oh look! Here comes Angus, quick, let me out. Please.” She added with a grin. Martin made space and she rushed to hug Angus.

  “Angus, meet Martin. Martin Blake, Angus McGregor.”

  Martin and Angus met in a hug. Like long lost friends. Martin stepped back, gesturing for Angus to take a seat. “You’re looking very dapper tonight, Angus.”

  “You too, Martin. What is that term? Ah, yes, you scrub up well.”

  Martin waited for Christie to sit again before joining them. “Considering how little time I’ve had to get ready, that means a lot.”

  “And how is Randall?” Angus enquired.

  “Okay. What’s going on?” Christie demanded. “You’ve already met!” Her downfallen expression made both men laugh. “Stop. You’re not funny. Either of you.”

  “Wine for three?” Lance arrived with a tray.

  “I need my own table, Lance.” Christie said. “But I’ll take the whole bottle with me.”

  “So, wine for three.” He placed a platter of olives, bread and cheese in the middle of the table. “This should help.”

  Under the table, Martin captured Christie’s hand and squeezed it. She wouldn’t look at him, so he gently pulled her toward him and whispered, “I love you.”

  Her eyes flickered in his direction and the corners of her mouth curved ever so slightly.

  The wine poured, Angus raised his glass. “To friends and family.”

  Martin passed a glass to Christie and they both tapped Angus’ glass. “To friends and family.”

  “Where’s that fancy car of yours?” Martin asked Christie.

  “At home. I’ll walk back.”

  “I’ll walk you home.”

  Christie nodded. Once she would have argued that it was a safe town and she was a capable adult. The arrival of Sole Survivor and the odd feeling she had of not being alone last time she walked home changed that. Only a little bit. After all, it was a safe town and her cottage was secure. Nothing to worry about at all.

  ***

  By the light of a small torch, Ingrid wandered around the cottage. Why would anyone want to live here? Old, run-down place with small rooms and no walk-in robes. She opened the wardrobe in Christie’s room, inspecting her clothes. She has good taste. She picked up the photograph from the bedside table. Ingrid cared little for romance, it was a ridiculous waste of energy better spent pursuing wealth. A quaint shot of Martin and Christie made her stomach turn.

  The bathroom interested Ingrid, with a cabinet next to the sink and one behind the mirror. The quality and selection of make-up and perfume was impressive. Unable to resist, she dabbed a different scent on each wrist, sniffing one and then the other. She sprayed another on the side of her neck, wrinkling her nose.

  In the kitchen, she opened the fridge. Not much other than cheese, wine, and fruit, but it reminded Ingrid she was hungry. On the kitchen table was a satchel. She undid the clip and peeked inside.

  Her phone rang and
she jumped, dropping the satchel.

  “What is it, Rupert?”

  “They’ve just left the pub. The old guy went one way. Christie and her boyfriend are walking in your direction. Looks like lover boy is going home with her.”

  “Then come and pick me up. I’ll wait on the corner.” She hung up, annoyed. Clearly this backwater town had no night life.

  As she hurried down the road, she dialled Derek. Potholes and a lack of a footpath made for an uncomfortable walk in heels.

  He answered almost straight away. “Anything?”

  “Nice make-up and clothes. She certainly has some class.”

  “Ingrid!”

  “I couldn’t find the painting. Not in the cottage anyway, so maybe the artist repossessed it.”

  “Were you in the cottage?”

  “Well, if she’s going to leave windows unlocked...”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Thanks. I’ll call when I’m back at the hotel. Rupert’s on his way to get me.”

  “Stay out of sight.”

  “I wish you were here. Not Rupert.”

  “Put up with him a bit longer.”

  “I can see his car. Ciao.”

  She made it to the corner as the sedan pulled over. Cigarette smoke wafted out when she opened the door. “Put that out, now.” She wound the window down, slamming the door behind her. “Kill yourself with them, but not me.”

  Rupert wound his own window down enough to toss it out. “How can you complain, smelling the way you do? What the heck type of perfume is that?”

  Not expecting an answer, he touched the accelerator and drove away from River’s End.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Arms around each other, Christie and Martin stopped at the end of her street to gaze out over the moonlit sea.

  “So peaceful. So perfect.” Christie said.

  “Yes.”

  “Except for that.” Slipping out of Martin’s embrace, Christie crossed to the other corner to a smoking cigarette butt. She extinguished it with her shoe, then found a tissue in her bag and picked it up. “Seriously, does nobody care about bush fire risk?”

  Martin followed her and now, took the tissue and buried it in a pocket. “You do. Beautiful girl, you never fail to surprise me.”

  “I do? Surprise you?”

  He kissed her, taking her hand. “Did you enjoy this evening?” They wandered down the street.

  “Apart from you and Angus ganging up on me so much, I did.”

  “We did not. It was just interesting to hear from someone else about your ongoing disregard for security. It was probably just as well your grandmother was away when you left the house unlocked, and the gate, and—”

  “Okay, okay. That is enough, thank you. I was sixteen.”

  “Don’t use your age as an excuse. I shall have to spend more time with Angus.”

  “He’s leaving in the morning.” Christie said.

  Martin halted in the middle of the road and pulled her into his arms. His hands slid right down her back, pressing her against him so that she had to tilt her head back to look at him. His fingers tapped her bottom like he was playing a piano. “Is that a lie?”

  “Yes.” Christie’s breath left her. He was not serious, she could see amusement in his eyes, but the tone he used, the way he held her brought those part attraction, slightly scary anticipation feelings rushing back.

  For an endless moment he watched her as mild alarm softened into desire. “Just so you know, I need honesty. Lies don’t work for me.”

  “I know. I do know, and I was joking.”

  “Don’t ever lie to me, Christie. Please.” His face hardened.

  Christie reached up to touch his cheek. “Hey,” she said softly, “I’ll never knowingly hurt you. Don’t you know that by now?”

  “Yes. But sometimes people don’t mean to lie. They promise they’ll be there, then...” Martin abruptly released Christie and turned away. His head dropped and his hands clenched.

  Christie stepped in front of him and took one of his hands, unclenching his fingers and kissing his palm. “Martin, it’s okay. My parents did that too.”

  He raised his eyes to meet hers.

  “I’ll always come home, I promise. I won’t leave for long. Ever. Listen, I’ve been asked to go to Auckland next week for a film shoot. Just for a couple of weeks. Tell me to stay and I will.”

  “You want to go.”

  “Not desperately. But I want my reputation back and this will help. Whether I ever go overseas for work in the future is a whole different matter, but this job, well, I would like to do it.”

  As if forcing his body to relax, Martin drew a deep breath. “Go. Do this, because you’ll always wonder otherwise.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “It’s part of the package. Besides, I have a portrait to paint and you don’t know what I’m like when working. I can be unforgiving of interruptions and protective of my privacy.”

  “Which is different from normal, how?”

  Martin raised his eyebrows and reached for her but she danced away, laughing.

  ***

  Christie took her shoes off in the kitchen and draped her jacket over a chair. She and Martin had stood on the porch for at least five minutes, kissing and whispering. Then, just as she went to invite him in, she yawned. Another yawn quickly followed that refused to be concealed.

  “Go to bed.” Martin instructed.

  “Alone?” She yawned yet again and he laughed.

  “I think so. Sleep well and dream about the dolphins.” He had given her one last long, lingering kiss.

  Now, she touched a finger to her lips, smiling. How much I love you. Martin’s new vulnerability touched her so deeply and she ached for his pain. For the little boy in him that still couldn’t comprehend the accident that he alone survived.

  At the bathroom mirror, ready to remove her make-up, she sniffed the air. Surely one of her perfumes hadn’t leaked? She opened the mirrored cabinet and checked each one. No leaks, and now that she thought about it, the scent in the room was not specific to one of hers. More of an odd mixture.

  She knew she’d unlocked the back door when she’d got home, but rushed to check it again. It was locked. The satchel left behind this morning by Angus was open, the clip undone. You’re imaging things. She glanced inside, not that she’d know if anything was missing. Angus put it there and then she’d moved it to one side. Clipped shut. Now it wasn’t.

  “Oh, God.”

  Christie grabbed her phone and started dialling Martin. Then stopped. What would she tell him? Someone had been in the cottage? What if they were still here? Eyes wide, she grabbed a frying pan from the cupboard.

  Room by room, she flicked each light on, checking behind doors and what little furniture there was. Frying pan still in hand, she tested each window. Bedrooms locked. Bathroom too small. Laundry locked. Lounge room locked. Dining room... the window yielded.

  Heart in her throat, she forced the window down as far as it would go and locked it. She’d had this window open the other day, airing the room after the workmen filled it with plaster dust. How could she have forgotten to lock it?

  Someone had climbed in. Played with her perfume and opened the satchel. She ran to her bedroom. Everything valuable was present, including jewellery and a small amount of cash in a box. Her passport and book of contacts were untouched.

  Tonight the lights could stay on. She picked up the phone, turning it in her fingers. Don’t spoil things. The phone went into a pocket and she checked again that the back door was locked. Disappointed in herself, Christie climbed into bed, the frying pan on the floor. Her light was off but the rest of the cottage was ablaze.

  ***

  In the middle of the studio, Martin studied a part finished painting, a glass of whiskey in his fingers. The subjects were Thomas and Martha, sitting on the end of the jetty, their legs dangling and toes dipping in the sea. Perhaps they were in their early twenties. Deep in conversatio
n, the love in their eyes reminded him of them today.

  Behind them, partway along the jetty, another Thomas stared at the young couple. This Thomas was older, gripping the hand of a small, dark-haired boy. A woman walked away, toward the beach. From her long chestnut hair it could be Martha. And on the beach itself, seventy-two-year-old Thomas, on his knees, offered an engagement ring to seventy-year-old Martha.

  Martin touched the face of the child. “You landed on your feet.” He drank the whiskey, its warmth radiating through his body. The little boy lived deep inside him, always expecting the worst. Now, it was time to stop. Christie wasn’t leaving him. Nor was Thomas.

  From his bed near the window, Randall whined in a dream. And you. Thank God for you as well. Fatigue set in and Martin covered the painting with a sheet. Ever so gently, he woke Randall. “Bedtime.” With a wag and a yawn, the dog followed Martin to the door.

  ***

  In the apartment that Christie once called home, Derek prowled from room to room, listening to Ingrid on the phone. Still in the suit he’d worn all day, he wanted a shower and a shot of brandy. Tonight would offer little sleep. He had too much to do.

  “Once I have John Jones in my pocket, then he’ll introduce me to the right local councillors. Ones who are open to this.”

  “You sound confident.”

  Ingrid laughed shortly. “How often do I fail?”

  Derek stopped at the doorway of the bedroom. His big, lonely bedroom with its king size, empty bed. Perfectly made, ready for love, the bed mocked him. “When are you coming back?”

  “Do you miss me?”

  “With you and Rupert away, I’m doing everything.”

  “Poor baby. Never mind, it will be worth it when you cut the ribbon to open the new estate.”

  Time for that brandy. Derek headed for the bar in the living room.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Have you seen Chris?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “God. She didn’t see you?”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. She was too busy cuddling up to her artist on a boat to notice anyone.”