He met her halfway. “Having fun? Making friends?”
“Stupid, bad smelling—”
“I get the picture. You can’t expect men to leave you alone. And anyway, you enjoy leading them on, only to kick them in the guts on whim.”
“Right. I think there’s a compliment in there. So, can we go yet? I’m finally done with champagne and have a lot to do in the morning.”
“It is the morning. Almost three actually and yes, we can leave.” He lowered his voice. “Rupert just called and it’s done.”
“Then we’ve got to be ready to move. Is he back at his motel? I might call him.”
Derek took her arm. “Let’s go. Let him be.” They sauntered out, making sure they spoke to acquaintances on the way. “We’ll have breakfast at seven, okay? Go home and sleep and then we’ll work on the next move.”
She curved her lips. “Who needs sleep, darling?”
“I do. Actually, so do you. Thank me in the morning.”
He could never tell if she was amused or irritated when he rejected her, not even after all this time. But he knew she loved being kept at arm’s length until it suited him. She loved it.
Chapter Twenty-eight
The Marine Licence test was booked for eight-thirty, just as VicRoads opened for the day in Green Bay. Although she’d studied and practised, Christie couldn’t sit still as she waited, jiggling her feet until the woman behind the counter glared at her. Martin had sent her a text message just after dawn. You’ll ace this, sweetheart. Call me when you’re back.
She’d switched the phone off after sitting down. This meant so much to her, not just for the yacht but as a measure of how far her relationship with the ocean had improved. Deep water still scared her so very much, but now she had techniques to distract her from thinking about it too much. Of course, when Martin was around, he was all the distraction she required.
“Miss Ryan?”
Christie jumped up. A man beckoned from a door to one side of the counter. This was it!
***
The insistent ringing of his phone stirred Rupert from a deep sleep. He pushed it away and the noise stopped. He turned over, dragging blankets with him. It rang again. A bleary glance at the bedside clock reminded him Derek wanted to do a conference call with Ingrid at seven. Two hours ago.
“Okay, okay.”
“I’ve rung you half a dozen times, Rupert!”
“Man, I’ve had hardly any sleep. I’m awake now.”
“You’ve had more sleep than me, so pull yourself together and listen. You get yourself ready from a call from Christie, or the agent. If you don’t hear anything by this afternoon, go and find out why.”
“Huh? Like just rock up at the cottage? Hey there, Christie. So, feel like selling now I’ve smashed your stuff up?”
“Just remember who pays your wage.” The steel edge in Derek’s voice cut through the last bit of sleep haze.
“Yeah, dude, I know.” Rupert swung his feet out of the bed. “Sorry, boss. Just damned tired.”
“Have a shower, have some coffee. But make sure your phone is charged and with you every minute. Hang around town. Get the gossip. You’ll find an opening if it comes to that but this is the best chance we have to strike.”
“Will do. I’ll come up with something. Maybe I can go help clean up.”
“Yes, take her some chocolates. Be careful, Rupert.”
“I’m not stupid. Is there anything else?”
“I’ll be waiting for your call.” Derek hung up.
“I’ll be waiting for your call,” Rupert mimicked. “Don’t hold your breath, boss.”
***
Christie drove into her street, still buzzing at passing the test. Her heart jumped seeing a police car on the verge outside the cottage. She pulled over, grabbed her bag, and almost flew down the driveway. Is someone hurt? The garage doors were propped open and Barry’s team stood around, looking in. Was Barry okay? Her legs wouldn’t carry her fast enough.
“Christie. Good, you got my message.” Barry came around the corner of the cottage and Christie slid to a stop. “Message? No, I haven’t checked. Why are the police here?”
Barry put his hand on Christie’s arm. “Afraid there was a break-in overnight.”
“Break-in! Who? I mean, what happened?”
“Somebody forced the doors open then decided to would be fun to smash some appliances. It’s a big mess in there, but once Trev is done fingerprinting, we’ll clean up and see what is salvageable.”
Christie stared at Barry. It didn’t make sense. Vandalism? Who would do such a thing? “I need to see.”
“Let Trev finish up, then I’ll show you. There’s stuff all over the floor. Sounds like Martin’s arrived.”
“Martin?” The rumble of the motorcycle reached Christie.
“I rang him after leaving you a message. Thought you’d be there.” Barry returned to the garage and Christie ran down the driveway.
Martin was barely off the motorcycle when she threw herself at him. His arms closed around her, strong and comforting.
“I’ve got you.” He squeezed her tightly. “At least everyone is okay.”
Head against his chest, she nodded. “But why?”
“We’ll try to find out. Come on, Trev’s winding up.”
Senior Constable Trevor Sibbritt nodded to Martin and extended his hand to Christie. “Nice to see you again. Shame to have this happen, particularly when you’re working so hard to bring the old girl back to life.”
“Um, thanks.” Christie tried to smile. She’d only met Trev a few times. First at Martha and Thomas’ wedding, and then just passing hellos in town. He spent a lot of time on the road, covering several inland towns as well as River’s End.
“Any ideas?” Martin asked.
“Bored kids. An attempted theft gone wrong. I got fingerprints but bet they belong to Barry and his men. Nothing on the lock or the doors.”
“They were locked?”
Christie shot a glance at Martin. Did he think she’d let this happen? She’d checked every lock last night. Hadn’t she? Doubt crept in. Of course I did.
“Sure was. Crowbar job, I reckon. Odd thing is, they didn’t have a crack at the cottage.”
“So maybe they wanted the appliances, but for whatever reason, couldn’t get them out and went on a vandalism spree.” Martin suggested.
Trev picked up his case. “Dunno. Something doesn’t sit right. And it’s not as if you’ve had trouble up here.” He looked at Christie. “Nothing out of the ordinary? Strangers or cars hanging around?”
Oh, no.
“Christie?” Martin squeezed her hand and she turned worried eyes to him.
“I’m going to apologise in advance. There’s something I need to tell you both.”
***
In the kitchen, Christie, Martin and Trev sat around the table. Trev wrote lots of notes and Martin stared at Christie. She felt his eyes boring into her. His response to her confession about believing someone was here the other night was silence. He’d drawn his breath in when she admitted there was a window left unlocked. I’m in so much trouble.
“Christie, what makes you think this Rupert is above board? Do you know anything else about him?”
“Not really. He just didn’t strike me as suspicious. A bit absent-minded and not very prepared for his trip, I guess. Daphne Jones might have some insight. I believe she’s met him more than once.”
“Okay. I’ll go see her next. If you think of anything else, call.” On his feet now, Trev offered his hand to Christie. “We don’t get much crime around here. Be assured I’ll find the perpetrators and bring them to justice.”
It was a big statement, but Christie shook his hand and smiled, her heart pounding as he left, leaving her alone with... well, the man she loved.
The silence dragged on whilst Christie watched her fingers trace an old line in the table.
Barry stuck his head in. “Boys will have it safe to come in shortly.”
“Thanks, Barry. We’ll be out there in a few moments.” Martin’s voice was mild. Christie knew that tone.
“We need to talk,” Martin got to his feet and held a hand out. She finally peeked at him, and wished she hadn’t when she saw his disappointment. She took his hand.
“Dining room.” He headed that way with her hand held firmly in his.
He shut the door behind them. The room was empty, except for the two straight-backed timber chairs that had been here when she moved in. They caught her attention. Why had just two chairs been left by the previous tenant? Her mind wanted to go somewhere else.
Martin released her hand and leaned against the door, arms folded.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but I—”
“But you didn’t want me to know you’d left a window unlocked. And you’d never have told me had this not happened. Correct?”
“I thought I’d imagined the whole thing, the smell of perfume and the moved satchel. Why would I bother you with something that probably wasn’t real?”
He stared at her.
“Okay, yes. Once I found the window unlocked, I didn’t want to say anything. I’ve been trying to be more aware of security and it shocked me to find the clip undone. I didn’t want to disappoint you,” the words tumbled over each other, “or make you think I wasn’t listening. Because I was and I agree that the cottage needs to be locked and I even came back last night and know I locked the garage—”
Martin took one of Christie’s hands. “Shh. I know you did. But, sweetheart, when will you ever trust me?” Frustration underpinned his words. “It doesn’t matter if you need to admit a mistake, God, we all make them! We will deal with it.”
“You’re disappointed in me.”
“You keep pushing me away.”
“I’m not!”
“You are.” He released her hand. “We need to look at the damage and give the boys a hand cleaning up.” Still, he didn’t move.
All Christie wanted was for him to hold her, kiss her. Even tell her off. Anything other than this exasperation filling his voice and his face. “I am sorry.”
“Forget it.” He stepped aside, opening the door. “As you said the other night, you don’t need to be told what to do.”
A cold chill swept through Christie. “Martin?”
“Let’s go.” He gestured for her to leave first and his now stony expression gave away nothing. Nothing except his refusal to discuss this further.
Chapter Twenty-nine
By the time Christie and Martin reached the garage, most of the mess was cleaned up. One of Barry’s men sifted through a pile of screws, parts, and small fittings. Another inspected each appliance for damage. Barry frowned as he tapped on his iPad.
Christie hesitated at the door. The clawfoot bath was beyond repair, its porcelain and acrylic interior shattered and the feet broken. With massive dents in the washing machine and dryer, and parts ripped off, they too looked destined for the scrap heap. She watched Martin speak to Barry as if from a great distance. Her stomach churned and, in spite of the warm sun, she shivered.
I can’t lose you. Christie covered her mouth to supress a sob. Tears threatened and she slipped away. Through the open gate in the back garden, past the vegetable beds, running until she dropped onto the grass beneath a fruit tree.
She closed her eyes and let the silence wash over her. Christie concentrated on each breath, following its path through her body until gently exhaling. She curled her fingers into the long grass, connecting to the earth through their soft strands. Bit by bit, the panic retreated. Her eyes opened. From here, the back of the garage was just visible behind trees. If she listened carefully, voices drifted across.
She’d have to go back. Talk to Barry and find out what to do next. Move back in for a start, to prevent this happening again. Except, it hadn’t stopped someone entering the cottage, touching things, spraying her perfume. Was someone watching her? Was this Derek’s doing?
Arms tightly wrapped around herself, Christie thought it through. One quick phone call. Why did you send the painting? Five minutes conversation for peace of mind about the break-in. Martin said he’d handle it, but sending a solicitor’s letter might not get the answers they needed, if any at all. With Martin already upset with her, what difference would it make?
The shivering returned and she held herself more tightly. He’ll understand. She knew it wasn’t true. Tears trickled down her cheeks and she buried her head in her arms.
***
Martin went into the cottage to find Christie. Her handbag sat on the kitchen table, but no Christie. When she’d told Trev someone might have been in the cottage, anger and fear flooded him. What if she’d walked in on them? No more coming home at night alone. Hell, no more living here. Let me protect you.
He followed the path to the orchard. His gut felt like he’d been kicked ever since realising she was still holding herself back from him. Trust and respect. With them, they could face anything together. Without them... well, the thought scared him.
There you are. Under the tree, arms wrapped around her drawn up legs, her head rested on her knees. Martin caught his breath. He wanted to kiss and comfort her, and paddle her behind all at the same time. Get through to her that she never had to fear losing him. She was not his follower or submissive but his equal, except if there was danger. At this moment though, his self-control remained tenuous.
“Are you okay?” He spoke softly. Her head shot up, eyes red and cheeks streaked with drying tears. He squatted down and brushed back a strand of her hair.
“Sorry, I just needed a moment.”
“Take all the time you want. Do you want me to leave?”
“No! I mean, please don’t leave me.”
Martin’s resolve almost melted away. He joined her on the grass. “Barry is ordering replacements as we speak. The insurance should cover a lot of the damage.”
Christie nodded.
“Did you pass?”
“Oh. Yes.”
“I’m proud of you.” He smiled and she managed a flick of her lips in response. “We’ll talk about Jasmine Sea another time. Okay?”
Her lips turned down. Did she think he meant forever? “Christie—”
“It’s okay. I understand and really, I shouldn’t have a boat anyway. I’d sink it or something.”
“You wouldn’t sink it, silly.” Martin stood up. “Let’s go.”
“You’re angry with me.”
“No. But I need to think.” He held out a hand and after a second, she took it. He hauled her onto her feet. “Give it time.”
Her eyes were wide and her lips invited his but he meant what he said. Until he knew what was going on in her head, and his, he would wait. No more mistakes.
***
Word of the break-in spread quickly. By the time Christie returned to Palmerston House, Elizabeth and Angus were locking the front door, ready to go to the cottage.
“Christie! Are you okay, dear?” Elizabeth held her arms open as Christie stepped onto the verandah. “We were so worried!”
“I’m fine. Just a bit shaken.” She returned Elizabeth’s hug. “There’s a fair bit of damage inside the garage.”
“Thank goodness you were staying here last night.” Angus put an arm around Christie’s shoulders.
“I don’t know.”
As she unlocked the front door, Elizabeth glanced at Christie in surprise. “Do you think you would have stopped them? But that would have been so dangerous.”
“Or maybe they wouldn’t have tried. The cottage being deserted might have encouraged them.”
“But we don’t have any crime here!” Elizabeth went inside. “Not for years, and even then it was from outsiders.”
Christie hid a grin. Everyone not living here for at least twenty years was considered an outsider. She got away with it because her family once owned half the town, but people like Rupert and his family would be regarded with suspicion until they proved otherwise.
>
“I shall put the kettle on, dear, and you can fill us in on the details.”
“First I just need to dash upstairs. Trev’s dropping by soon to dust some of my stuff.”
“I thought you said only the garage was damaged?” Angus closed the door behind them.
“There’s a slight chance someone may have been in the cottage the other night. No wait.” She took both their hands as they gasped. “I wasn’t there, but a couple of things were moved and Trev wants to see if there are fingerprints.”
“But how did they get in?” Angus asked.
Christie released their hands. “Please don’t overreact. There was an unlocked window and—”
“Christie!”
“I know, I’ve been told already.”
“Well, as long as Martin has things under control, I’m sure you won’t do it again,” Elizabeth slipped her arm through Angus’. “Let her go upstairs and we’ll make some tea.” She tugged at his arm gently, and although he had plenty more to say, he sighed and went with her.
Christie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Angus wanted to tell her off and Elizabeth assumed Martin already had. Why wouldn’t she? Everyone seemed to believe she and Martin were going to make things official. Problem was, Martin didn’t share this view. And after this morning, probably never would.
***
Randall trailed Martin around the house, then across the grass to the studio. Only ever a few steps behind, he wagged his tail hopefully when they headed outside, glancing at the path to the beach. When Martin went the other way, he picked up his frisbee and trotted after him.
Inside the studio, Martin stood before the watercolour of Bethany. It was dry enough to hand over and he wanted that more than anything.
Despite his mood, the artist in him was satisfied with the portrait. Watercolour suited the subject of a woman on a boat, the sun highlighting her red hair, and the green backdrop of the rugged bush in soft hues. Her eyes were cold. But he painted the truth, not some diluted version. Bethany was a cold woman who manufactured warmth. Whether she’d recognise it in the portrait made no difference to him.
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