Jasmine Sea

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  ***

  Angus hung up the phone and turned frantic eyes to Elizabeth. The others – Daphne and John, Sylvia, and Barry – huddled around, wanting to know what Martin said.

  As each had arrived, Elizabeth had recounted the little that they knew. Christie was missing, presumed lured to Jasmine Sea by her ex-fiancé. Emotions from anger to fear filled the small group. Angus paced the floor, inconsolable until the phone rang.

  “Martin is going to the jetty. The hope is Christie is alone on the yacht and heading for the beach.”

  “How does he know that?” Daphne gripped John’s hand.

  “Educated guess. He is being dropped at the bridge in a moment or two.”

  “Where is Trev?” Barry demanded.

  “Apparently the car Derek Hobbs hired was seen going toward Christie’s cottage.”

  “I’ll go.” Barry strode toward the front door.

  “Please wait. Martin might need us. The police are quite capable of going there without any of us getting in the way and we should stay here. We should gather some blankets and towels. And... well, we need to be alert.” Angus sank onto a chair and Elizabeth hurried to his side

  “I didn’t think of that, but yes, we should be prepared.” Barry turned back.

  With Elizabeth’s hand on his shoulder, Angus took a deep breath. “Thank you. I am so very worried.”

  “Martin must be beside himself.” Elizabeth spoke quietly. Angus reached up and patted her hand.

  The headlights of a car flashed across the windows. Daphne peered out. “Oh dear, it’s George. Do you think he knows?”

  “I’d think not. Perhaps it is time for us to work out how best we can assist.” Angus stood up. He kissed Elizabeth’s cheek. “We must believe Martin will find her.”

  ***

  The worst of the storm was directly overhead as Martin ran alongside the river. Swollen by the rain, the normally slow and shallow channel lapped the edges of the narrow track. Thank goodness Trev had insisted he take the torch.

  She must be at the jetty. They’d talked once about sailing to River’s End beach and tying up there so he knew she’d remember it was possible. She had to remember.

  The wind hit him as he reached the sand. The torch sliced through the rain to the jetty, but he couldn’t see the yacht. Unless it was at the very end... holding the torch up high, Martin jogged toward the tideline.

  “Come back!” A faint cry reached him. There was the silhouette of a man, staggering to the beach end of the jetty. The beam of light caught the man’s attention and he looked straight at Martin. Derek. Fury and dread mingled into one overriding emotion. Martin flew toward him.

  Derek got to the beach first. He faltered as his feet hit the sand and had no chance as Martin tackled him to the ground. The torch spun into the shallows as Martin pinned him face down.

  “Where is she?” Martin put his hands around Derek’s neck. “You have one chance.”

  “You’re choking me.” Derek croaked. “Save her.”

  “What?”

  “The boat will sink.”

  Martin released him and went to retrieve the torch. “Tell me what you mean,” he shouted against the wind.

  Afraid to get up, Derek gestured out to sea. “There’s a hole in the hull.”

  “You bastard.” Martin concentrated the torch out past the jetty. Jasmine Sea was there. A long way out with no sails up and under motor. He ran to the far end of the jetty to get a better look. She wasn’t right in the water, listing slightly to one side.

  “Christie! It’s Martin. I’m here. You have to come back to shore.” The wind slammed his words back.

  Jasmine Sea was taking on water. If Christie didn’t realise and kept going, they’d both be gone forever. He pulled his phone out as he ran to the beach, noting that Derek was halfway to the stone steps. He dialled Trev, ripping off his shoes and socks.

  “Is she there, Martin?” Trev answered.

  “Jasmine Sea is a few hundred metres out. There’s a hole in the hull and she’s taking water on, but I don’t think Christie knows.”

  Trev swore.

  “Derek Hobbs did it. He’s heading toward the graveyard.” Martin peeled off his soaking pants.

  “I’m on my way but you need to keep watch for where the yacht is.”

  “There’s no time. Just get me some help.” Martin hung up and tossed the phone beside his shoes. He threw off his shirt and dropped his watch beside the phone, which was ringing. Only one thing mattered as he ran to the end of the jetty.

  Lightning lit up the bay, showing him exactly where the yacht was. It listed visibly and his heart sank. With one fluid motion, Martin dived into the ocean.

  Chapter Forty-six

  Something was wrong. Christie felt a change in Jasmine Sea as they reached the halfway point to clearing the bay. The beach was a distant shadow and Derek gone. This was a good place to stay, too far for him to reach her but close enough to shore that she would be found. If and when help came. When help comes. The storm was no longer directly above.

  After pushing away from the jetty, Christie concentrated only on getting away from the immediate threat of Derek. He’d screamed her name over and over as Jasmine Sea powered into the night. Her hands shook as she battled to control the fear that Martin would indeed be his target. By leaving shore, she’d failed the man she loved.

  Randall had run up and down the deck at first, barking at the waves as though this was a wonderful adventure. After a while he went downstairs, perhaps tired of the rain. The wind dropped and the engine suddenly spluttered and cut out.

  Out here, the water was deep. Anything could be below the hull, lurking there. A shiver ran down Christie’s spine and she tightened her hold on the wheel. The yacht bobbed up and down, but not the normal way. Almost more to one side.

  She turned the key, but the engine refused to respond. Martin kept spare fuel in the tiny engine room and Christie knew how to add the diesel. She went downstairs, spotting Randall fast asleep on the bed.

  The steel hatch was hard to open. Christie sat on the floor and pulled, relieved when it swung out. She felt for the light switch but it wouldn’t work. It would have to be done by feel and guesswork. Christie swung her legs into the opening, reaching down with her toes for the rungs of the ladder.

  She screamed as her skin touched water, instinctively pulling her legs up. On her stomach, she reached in. At arm’s length down, she found the surface. The engine room was filling up and the boat was going to sink. Christie slammed the hatch down.

  Scrambling to her feet, she swayed. Jasmine Sea is sinking! I’m going to die. Tears spilled from her eyes. This beautiful yacht would succumb to the water it loved, taking her with it. Everything was gone. No future with Martin. No family. Nothing.

  Randall nuzzled her hand. Christie looked at him in shock. He sat by her side, soft eyes filled with love and trust. This dog had welcomed her into his heart from their first meeting. He’d run to greet her when she’d nervously approached Martin’s house, damaged painting under her arm, in the hope that the reclusive artist would help her.

  “Hey, doggie. Shall we see if we can get a sail up? Maybe outrun this silly leak?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but Randall wagged his tail. Christie was taking Randall home. He could swim and once they were near shore, she’d make sure he got there.

  ***

  Thankful to have escaped from Martin Blake, Derek only wanted to get to his car and leave. Whatever happened to Chris was out of his control. She’d chosen to sail into a storm and it wasn’t his fault.

  Pain shot through his foot with every step. Being flattened to the ground had added to the damage and he felt blood inside his shoe. He cursed his moment of weakness in telling the artist there was a hole in the boat. But nobody could prove he put it there.

  At the bottom of the stone steps he stopped to try to see what was happening out in the water, but the yacht was invisible. The hero had jumped in to save her. Good luck with
that. They might both go down in the shipwreck. How romantic. Reminiscent of that painting, Sole Survivor. Not once had Chris thanked him for his generosity. Sending it to her as a gift was his way of saying sorry for any misunderstandings. No words of appreciation from her. Just silence.

  He wished he’d never started this. Nobody could ever say he hadn’t tried. Loving someone as much as he loved Chris meant sacrifices. Their love would live forever, even if she didn’t. He noticed an engraving on the smooth cliff face. A love heart with the initial T at the top, and M at the bottom. Another time and he’d do a replica. D loves C. Pity she’d probably never see it.

  Sick of being wet through, Derek climbed the steps. He stopped a few times to look out over the ocean. The rain fell in sheets and only once did he think he’d caught a glimpse of the boat. By now it would be taking in lots of water and Christie must surely know.

  He dropped his head. Goodbye, Chris. Finally at the top, he realised too late that his car was blocked by two police cars. Lights flashing, they barred his escape. Three police officers huddled at the back of his car. As one, they saw him.

  ***

  Back on deck, Randall at her heels, Christie hoisted the mainsail. The further she got it up, the more the yacht struggled. Although the wind was not as intense as half an hour ago, it still buffeted the side of Jasmine Sea. There was a steep lean to starboard.

  Randall slid as a large wave broke over the lowered railings, spewing sea water across the deck. Christie held onto a rope with one hand, grabbing Randall by the collar as he surfed past her. “No you don’t. Got to stay together.” He wagged his tail but was spooked, his ears back and eyes darting around.

  She sat on the timber floor, hard against the side of the cabin, holding Randall. Think. Surely by now Martin would be looking. Christie shook all over. Violent tremors of exhaustion and fear. Her yacht was sinking in deep water. She closed her eyes. The rain turned into a drizzle, almost like sea spray.

  Not long ago, when Martin had taken sailing along the coast, she’d lain on her stomach near the side of the yacht, laughing at the pod of dolphins that accompanied them. Warm sea spray showered her as she trailed her hand out as if to catch the waves. That wonderful day was etched in her memory. Even the more serious parts, when Martin showed her where he kept tools, fuel, and flares.

  Her eyes shot open. The flare gun was in the cupboard beneath the radio. Was there any chance Derek hadn’t destroyed or taken it as well? Randall refused to come down the stairs, laying at the top to watch her. The floor was wet as water seeped through the hatch. Careful not to fall, Christie opened the cupboard and uttered a cry of relief that the flare gun was in its box.

  She slid the box out, half aware of a dog blanket, toys, collar, and a food bowl. Randall whined as she joined him, his tail low.

  “Soon. This will show them we need them.”

  She braced herself against the side of the cabin and took the flare gun out. Once she’d checked it was ready to fire, she turned so her back was against the wind and pointed it upwards. The trigger was rigid but she kept the pressure up and then with a thud the flare fired, whizzing upwards.

  A sudden movement caught her eye and she spun around in time to see Randall launch himself off the other side of the boat and land in the water with a mighty splash.

  “Randall!” She slid all the way across to starboard. He was swimming toward shore. “No!” The yacht lurched and Christie almost went overboard. She dragged herself to the cupboard beneath the seats at the stern. All of the life jackets were damaged beyond use, including the one she’d worn earlier. But Randall had a special one.

  How Christie got down the steps again was a mystery. She was suddenly there, pulling everything out until his water collar was in her hand, undamaged. Nausea rose in her throat as she fought her way back onto the deck.

  The shore was too far for Randall to swim. It was too far for her, and the water was too deep. She unclipped the water collar and shoved it underneath her top. At the side of the yacht she hesitated. Everything was bright from the flare that hovered above.

  Randall was already metres away.

  The ocean was dark.

  And deep.

  Christie jumped.

  ***

  Palmerston House bustled with activity. Elizabeth and Angus carried blankets, towels, bottled water, and first aid supplies into the foyer, while Daphne and John packed them into big plastic bags. In the kitchen, Sylvia made flasks of tea and coffee, and Barry put them into a basket with cups. There was little discussion, just a shared and unspoken need to be ready.

  At Elizabeth’s desk near the staircase, George stared at a map of the region. He traced the route that Jasmine Sea might take then used a calculator, and noted the findings on a piece of paper. Charlotte stood halfway down the staircase. George glanced up. “Join us, young lady.”

  “Can I help?” She asked quietly once she reached the desk. “What are you doing?”

  “I used to own that yacht our Christie is on. Know her like the back of my hand. She’s as sound as the day she was built and even in a storm, she’ll stay safe as long as Christie keeps her away from rocks.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s great news. Is Christie a good sailor?”

  “Inexperienced, I’m afraid. But well trained and one of the most resourceful people I’ve met.”

  Thunder rattled the windows and Charlotte jumped. George smiled. “It won’t harm you.”

  “Not a fan of storms.” Something caught Charlotte’s attention through the picture windows. “What’s that light? In the sky?”

  George got to his feet and followed her to the front of the foyer. “I can’t be sure.”

  “What is it, George?” Elizabeth followed as George opened the front door and went outside. From the top of the steps, in the direction of the beach, a bright light hung in the sky.

  “That is a flare from Jasmine Sea.” George declared.

  “Angus, Barry, everyone! There’s a flare. We need to go.” Elizabeth ran back inside.

  ***

  Each powerful stroke of his arms, every kick of his legs, Martin mentally recited one phrase. Christie Blake. Christie Blake. Imagine what will be and see it come true.

  She was alive and he would find her. Their lives were mapped out. A short engagement. The most romantic wedding imaginable. Children. Happiness. More dogs. He would paint and she would follow whatever dreams she might find. He visualised their lives.

  The rain was gone and the strong wind more of a breeze. He calculated he was halfway to Jasmine Sea, assuming she hadn’t drifted too far. He should have got more information from Derek. What part of the hull was holed? The easiest place would be in the engine room and that gave Martin some hope. If the hatch stayed secure, the yacht wouldn’t sink. Not for many hours. The risk was more around Christie losing control of the steering.

  Christie Blake. He saw her as his wife. How he loved her. So beautiful and so very generous. Her warm heart and gorgeous smile brought a light and happiness to his world. Everyone in the whole town adored her. She’d even won over Sylvia despite their early issues around Belinda. Randall worshipped Christie and would probably live with her over Martin any day. Fortunately, Randall wouldn’t have to choose because once she was back in his arms, Martin was never letting go again.

  The black night suddenly lit up and Martin thought it was a close lightning strike. But the light stayed bright and he stopped swimming to paddle upright. It was a flare and now he saw Jasmine Sea. She was alive. Relief warmed him. Taking a moment to let his muscles rest, he watched the yacht. It was leaning heavily to starboard now. By the look of it, she’d had issues with the mainsail and the wind was hitting it side on.

  “Christie! I’m coming!” He called with all of his power. He couldn’t see her but she would be at the highest point of the deck. Once he got to her, he’d keep them afloat until the Coast Guard arrived. Martin kicked forward and resumed his rhythmic stroke. Christie Blake. Christie Blake.


  Chapter Forty-seven

  Dark, deep, silent water. Under the surface a strange peace consumed Christie. To sink to the bottom was not such a bad thing, where the warm arms of the ocean would carry her to a restful seabed. There she would sleep. So weary, every bone and muscle ached and her mind demanded sleep. Bubbles ascended. Just another moment of rest.

  Randall. Fire filled her lungs. Her heartbeat exploded in her ears and she kicked herself upward. There was a bright light above and she reached for the surface.

  With a gasp, she found the night sky and oxygen. Jasmine Sea was behind her, the flare slowly dropping toward the sea. Paddling, she checked the collar was still under her top as she got her bearings.

  There was Martin’s house, the outside light like a star in the distance. To its right were more lights, moving around on the opposite cliff. In between was the beach and just ahead she saw Randall.

  Christie swam after him. Endless lessons in a pool as a child taught her little about the ocean, but over these last few months Martin had insisted she swim with him often. He wasn’t one for fears and had continually prompted her to challenge hers.

  She’d never swum in deep water. Not like this where the smallest mistake would claim her life, as it almost had just done when she jumped in. Exhaustion was her enemy, every bit as much as the terror somehow shelved to deal with later. It was there in the back of her mind, taunting her with images of unseen monsters, but she swapped it for a picture of Randall, back on the sofa, head on her lap.

  Christie caught Randall in a few minutes. She got ahead of him and paddled again as she pulled the collar out of her top. She only had to get it around his neck and clipped, then inflate the ring.

  Once he was within arm’s length, Christie held the collar open. She got it under his throat but of course he kept swimming and she couldn’t connect it without pulling him under the water. The collar dropped off and she dived after it. This was his only hope. Fishing it out, she swam after him and, this time, turned onto her side, matching his slower paddle.