“I’ve got your contact details, so leave it with me.”
“Thanks, Daphne. You are a gem.” Rupert headed for the door. “It’ll be great living here.” With a wave, he left, taking care not to let the door slam.
“Now what was I doing?” Daphne asked herself, her mind straying to what John might be doing right now.
***
John unlocked the front door of one of the new homes in the estate, the one furthest from the main road. This street was uninhabited and the chance of anyone driving past was next to zero. Ingrid wanted privacy, well, he’d provide that. This last time.
The growl of the Porsche cut through the otherwise silent house. A moment later, the front door opened and shut with some force. “Where are you?”
“In the kitchen, just straight ahead of you.” John placed his briefcase on the white counter of the spacious room and walked to the opposite side.
“Why are we meeting here?” Ingrid stopped in the doorway, eyes darting around, then back to John. “I’m not buying houses.”
“But you want to avoid being seen. The worst anyone would think if they see your car here is that you’re inspecting it. Besides, it’s quiet and we won’t be disturbed.”
“Alright. What news do you have?” Ingrid lifted herself onto the edge of the counter and sat there, legs crossed. “My connections are keen to work on a contract with you.”
“Bryce Montgomery approached me almost three years ago looking for land to develop into estates. Like this one. He might not go about it the way you propose, but it’s been a mutually agreeable arrangement.”
“I don’t need a history lesson, Johnny. Get to the point.”
“My point is I’m not prepared to go behind his back.”
“That isn’t what you’d be doing. There is plenty here for all of us, and in fact, my interests are going to be different from his. Keep working on whatever you’re contracted to if you must, but I will need priority.”
“May I suggest talking to our competition in town—”
“No you may not suggest it!” Ingrid pushed herself off the counter and leaned across it, her face red. “I chose you for a reason, darling. You have knowledge of whatever Bryce is doing. You also have the ear of certain landowners I require access to. No, John, you will reconsider.”
He levelled his gaze on her. “The answer is no and it is not negotiable. I wish you well. Now, if you’d like to leave first, I will lock up.”
Ingrid smirked. “Don’t be too hasty, darling. I wonder how that lovely wife of yours will feel once she finds out we’ve been having an affair.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Sure I would. I can be very convincing and it’s easy to prove we were alone twice recently. And the phone calls. You know, this arrangement will bring you lots of money. I mean, real wealth to retire on. Just a year of your help and then we’ll go our separate ways. No need for unpleasantness.”
“Get out.” John picked up his briefcase. “Now.”
“Oh, you will regret this,” Ingrid hissed. She spun around and stomped out. When the door slammed, John put his briefcase down again and looked at his hands. They shook almost uncontrollably.
***
Daphne hurried to the front door when she heard the Lotus pull up. She’d been clock-watching since Rupert left. Something wasn’t right, she felt it in her bones.
“Hello, lovely!” She called as Christie stepped out of the car.
“Oh, hi Daphne! Just the person I want.”
They hugged.
“So good to see you, Christie.” Daphne beamed when she finally released her.
“You too. Are you on your own?”
The smiled dropped. “Just for now. John’s out with a new client. Why do you ask?”
“I’d like to take you out to lunch. If you haven’t eaten, that is.”
“How sweet and no, I haven’t. But I probably should wait until he’s back, if that’s okay?” Daphne looked out of the door but there was no sign of John’s car. “I was going to give you a call anyway.”
“I can wait with you.”
Daphne flopped into her seat behind the counter and Christie leaned her arms on the counter top, much as Rupert had done earlier. “Why were you going to call?”
“A young man called Rupert dropped by.”
Christie raised both eyebrows. “He is certainly persistent. Did he want to look at local properties?”
“Just one. He loves your cottage.”
“So he tells me.”
“Are you planning on giving it to Martha and Thomas?”
“If they’ll take it.”
“What a wonderful gesture! You are a most generous girl and Martin is very lucky to have you in his life.”
A door closed at the back of the building and Daphne’s eyes widened. “That’s John.” She stood up.
“Daphne?”
“Out here, doll.”
From around the corner, John hurried straight to Daphne and embraced her. He was sweating profusely and had pulled his tie away from his neck. He stepped back, but held onto Daphne’s hand. “We need to talk.”
“Whatever is wrong? You look pale. You didn’t have an accident, did you?”
“No, no. I’m okay. Christie, sorry to be rude...”
“No, that’s okay. Daphne, lunch tomorrow?” Christie went to the door with John now right behind her.
“I’ll give you a call and arrange a time.”
Christie slipped through the door which John closed, and then locked. He turned the “open” sign around.
“John?”
“Let’s have a cuppa, love. There’s something I need to tell you.”
***
By the light of a small lamp, Martha sat on a rocking chair in the lounge room of her Irish cottage. Outside, dawn was a long way off in spite of spring being imminent. She loved this time of year, as the first signs of the coming season filled the air with a freshness and vibrancy unique to Ireland. With a cup of coffee in her hands and a blanket around her legs, she was warm enough. Once Thomas woke, she’d get the ancient stove going and make them both a hearty breakfast. Thomas did love to eat and yet never gained an ounce.
From here, in the quiet, the ever-present sounds from the ocean soothed her spirit. The waves rushing in and out were a lullaby that had sung her to sleep many times in her life. This little home had been hers for more than forty years, bought after she’d finally decided to live out her life in the country of her ancestors. She knew everyone in the village, had taught most of them at some time or another. It was like an extended family. One she would miss so very much. The cottage had sold and, today, she and Thomas would begin packing.
“Whatever are you doing up so early?” Wrapped in a dressing gown, Thomas rubbed his eyes as he wandered in. He stopped beside Martha and she leaned her head against his side, reaching for his hand.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you, dear. Go back to bed.”
“Not without you.” He lowered himself into a chair.
“Shall I make you coffee then?”
“Soon. Why are you sitting here all alone?”
“Just thinking and remembering some of the special times I’ve had here. Birthdays with friends who are long gone. Dressing the place up for Christmas and hearing the children sing carols outside, until the wind off the Atlantic Ocean sent them home in a hurry.”
“There’s always memories with houses. Some good and some... well, at least you’ll be taking a lot of your keepsakes home.”
“Yes. It’s strange to think of someone else moving in. I shall probably be a little emotional at times, and I apologise in advance for any moments I may have.”
Thomas leaned across to pat her leg. “Darling girl, I’ll be with you every moment. Think how much fun you’ll have unpacking everything and finding special spots for your most precious things. No doubt Christie will help.”
A smile brightened Martha’s face. “I can’t wait to see her! And Martin too.”
/> “I just miss Randall.”
Martha laughed and he joined in.
“We do need to discuss where we will live though. It’s a subject you tend to avoid – see, there’s the expression on your face again!”
“There’s nothing to discuss. I own a perfectly good house with stunning mountain views. What more could a woman want?”
“Well, there’s small luxuries, like an inside toilet.”
“There’s a covered walkway.”
“And heating.”
“I’ve got blankets.”
“Which is all very nice, but there’s one thing you don’t have up there.”
Thomas sighed. “The sea.”
She nodded, her eyes misty.
“We’ll find somewhere in town, okay? Don’t cry, I don’t know what to do when you cry.” Thomas took her hand, squeezing it tightly. “I was never going to make you live up there. We need to be close to the children.”
“And Randall?” She managed with a weak smile.
“Especially Randall. Now, why don’t you go and get dressed and I’ll organise some coffee and kick this stove of yours into action. And you complain about my house!” He got to his feet, then pulled Martha to hers. With the lightest touch, he held her face between his hands. “I love you, Mrs Blake. If you wanted to live on that damned boat of Martin’s, I’d even consider it, so never think for one minute I’ll let you down.”
“Oh, Thomas, I love you too and you’ve never let me down. Not once.”
Thomas kissed her. “Get dressed. We’ve got a lot to do today and I want my woman properly nourished.”
“You mean you’re hungry.” Martha laughed as she left the room.
Thomas stared after her. For you, always. He couldn’t wait to get her home and start building new memories for her.
Chapter Twenty-five
As he checked his watch for the third time in as many minutes, Martin decided Bethany was almost out of time. The dinghy was near the water line, his sketch book and camera in his backpack on its floor. She’d been on thin ice for a while and he only needed one more reason to ditch her as a client and find another way to build his nest egg.
“Hi Martin.” Ingrid hurried toward him, dressed in jeans and a checked shirt. “Thanks so much for this, I phoned my mother and she is over the moon with the idea.” She stopped in front of Martin, smiling. As if she was a different person.
“Let’s go.”
“In that?”
“In that.” Go on, refuse. But she said nothing else, simply went to the dinghy and waited. With a sigh, he joined her.
***
Once on the yacht she wandered around, openly admiring the timber panels. “I like this so much more than those artificial looking boats. This has real character and you must love it! Although, didn’t you say you sold it?”
“No. I gave it away.”
“My goodness! What a generous man you are. Must be someone special.”
“Are you ready to start? The light is good right now.”
“Where shall I pose?” Ingrid was so helpful and friendly Martin wondered if she was the twin of Bethany. He directed her to the stern, where she quietly sat, eyes on the horizon. For an hour he sketched and she barely moved, despite the warmth in the air and the natural distractions of the bay.
After several sketches, Martin stood and stretched. “You’ve done well, Bethany. Take a break whilst I sort my camera out.”
“May I use the amenities?”
“Down the steps and to the right. There’s water in the fridge if you need some.”
Martin put the sketch book to one side and prepared his camera, taking shots of the bay and adjusting the aperture.
“Why do you need photos?” Ingrid re-joined Martin, offering him a bottle of water.
“Thanks.” He took a quick drink. “Sketching lets me get to know you. The way your face changes as you think, observe, daydream. How your hair moves. What’s natural for your body. Photographs give me colour. Skin tone, eyes, your clothes. The background as well, in fact is very important, because the sketches are all about you.”
“May I see?”
“No. Not until I’ve formulated the finished painting. Then I’ll show you the process. I’m happy you’ve chosen to dress this way. Informal, at one with the region.”
“You know, I only wear those heels and dresses because it’s what I have to do in order to get ahead in a man’s world.”
“Let’s do this before we lose this great light. There’s a storm coming.”
Ingrid positioned herself where she’d sat for the sketches. “I love storms. So powerful. They excite me, like a lover.”
Martin ignored her, taking hundreds of images in just a few moments. Satisfied, he turned the camera off and gathered his things. “Time to go.”
“Oh, good! How long before it’s finished, Martin?”
“A couple of weeks. I’ll start it late this week and should have something for you to look at the middle of next week. Now, do you need help getting into the dinghy?”
***
Christie stared out of the window of the bedroom in which her great aunt Martha had grown up. The outlook was over the front garden. Martha must have spent many hours watching the comings and goings outside, the abundant bird life, and even occasional kangaroos.
It was a privilege to stay in Palmerston House whilst the cottage renovations continued. With each visit, Christie discovered some new snippet of information about its history or her family. Elizabeth showered love and respect on the property and it showed in every little touch.
Through the gates and up the hill was Martin’s house and studio. He was sketching his client, the mystery woman with the Porsche. Over dinner one evening, Martin had explained his commission work was almost all abstract or, occasionally, a more traditional seascape. All done via a brief from big businesses or a gallery.
“I make enough for my lifestyle, Christie, but I’m not wealthy.” Martin had stared intently at her.
She’d kissed him with a smile. “You may not believe it, but money doesn’t matter to me.”
Now, Christie puzzled over his decision to accept this commission. On welcoming the subject into his very private sanctuary, their identity kept secret. Even from her. Was this woman some kind of celebrity? Of all people, Christie understood the famous.
***
Back on shore, Ingrid turned on her mobile phone and immediately received a message to contact her father in England. Martin saw the panic in her eyes and agreed to wait a few moments to let her call. As she walked a little way off, talking to her father, he put the dinghy away. This afternoon her manner was so different, making it not quite a pleasure, but at least tolerable to work with her.
He flicked through the sketches, stopping on the one he favoured as the base for the portrait. She wasn’t hard to draw and would be even easier to paint. Once Christie left for her job, he would download the photographs and use the best of those to select the palette.
Ingrid hurried back to Martin, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “I am so sorry, Martin. Mother is quite unwell and my father believes she’ll be moved into palliative care in a few days.”
“That must be shock.”
“I didn’t know it was so bad or I would be back already. My next call will be the office so I can get a flight. Oh, you’ll need me though, won’t you?”
“Not now. Today went well and I can work from everything I’ve done so far. Getting to England is more important.”
“Yes. Please excuse me and sorry. I’ll be in touch.” She almost ran back to the car park, dialling as she went.
Martin followed. He’d ridden the motorcycle up, planning to see Christie afterwards.
In the car park, Bethany leaned against her car, tears running down her face. Seeing Martin, she wiped them away as she waited on her phone. Not prepared to leave her alone and upset, he tinkered with the motorcycle. Eventually, she finished her call and found another tissue. With a soft cou
gh, she regained her composure.
“Well, it seems I can’t get a flight until Wednesday night. My secretary is trying to find something sooner, but it’s how things are right now.”
“You must be very worried.”
“I had hoped to give her the painting when I went home. We may need to talk about shipping it instead... if there’s any point by then.” Her eyes welled with tears again. “Martin, what’s the fastest you’ve done a portrait?”
“Fast enough but it won’t be dry.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Even if I could manage the layers without fully drying them, it will be weeks before it can be safely shipped. Oils are tricky.”
Ingrid’s shoulders slumped and her head dropped. For the first time, there was a vulnerability about her. She sighed deeply and looked up at him. “Well, I appreciate your honesty. It’s my fault for leaving this so long.” She opened the car’s door.
“Bethany, wait a minute. I could do a watercolour. It won’t be as vibrant or intense, but your mother will still see you as you envisaged.”
Her hand went to her mouth and she nodded. “Yes, please do that. I want to hug you, but I’m sure you won’t want a teary face all over your chest.”
Thankful she didn’t hug him, Martin nodded. “I’ll start work now. You make your arrangements and we’ll talk soon. I’ll refund your second payment.”
“You won’t. I still want the oil done please, but in your own time. By the end of the week I’ll deposit the balance, plus another ten thousand.” Ingrid’s phone rang and she got into her car to answer.
Martin started the motorcycle, wondering exactly what sort of finance industry she was in to spend such large sums of money on portraits of herself. It didn’t matter. He would take care of her request and then he would have what he wanted.
Chapter Twenty-six
“So peaceful.” Christie sat on a bench beneath a very old oak tree, close to the pond. “I’d spend all day in this spot if I lived here.”
Ducks squabbled on the water and ibis stalked delicately around the reedy edges on the far side. Angus settled himself at her side and took the lemonade she offered.
Jasmine Sea Page 13
