| |
“You hate it.”
Dismayed at the dejection in Martin’s voice, Christie held her hand out. “The opposite! I am in awe, absolutely astounded by the beauty and emotion of it!”
He didn’t move, his eyes on the floor. “You asked what I’d done.”
Now, Christie went to him, taking his hands in hers and squeezing them. “Yes, I did. Because you’ve taken life experiences and somehow... imprinted them. Turned them into something so haunting that I will not allow you to destroy it!” As her voice became more forceful, Martin looked at her. “You wanted my opinion? Okay, then come with me.”
She dropped his hands, her eyes demanding he follow her, then she stalked back to the painting and waited. After a moment, he wandered across, stopping behind her to wrap his arms around her body.
“That was very bossy,” he said.
“Then no more talk of destroying this. It is alive and deserves to be finished.” Christie felt him relax against her and leaned back into him. “I understand your concern though, in case this might remind Thomas and Martha of times they’d rather forget. But Thomas painted the seascape of the night Martha left him, then tried to give it to her.”
“True. But that was between them. This is... different.”
“Yes. You are freeing them. The young lovers, the separated and heartbroken individuals, the reconciling pair. And you.” Christie turned around in his arms, pulling him close. “You’re freeing the little boy. He’s earned freedom. Hmm?”
How far they had come. Once, any talk of his childhood or the dark years he and Thomas shared would result in a wall coming down between them. Now though, Martin’s eyes gave away the hurt still within. But there was hope as well. “Thank you.”
Rain pattered on the roof. Martin released Christie and reached for the sheet. “We’d better get back to the house.”
Cold without his embrace, she rubbed her arms. “Speaking of paintings, I was in the garage today.”
“We need to do something with it.”
“I have no idea why I have it and I’m worried about who owns it now. Is it mine? Yours?”
“Or Derek’s. Sweetheart, I don’t know. We might need to get legal advice.”
“Or I could ask him.”
“Absolutely not!” Martin shook his head as he checked the skylights. “That’s probably what he wants.”
“Perhaps. Or it could be an apology. Or maybe he just doesn’t want it.”
“Then he’d sell it, make something back.”
“Martin, one phone call will clear this up and then we’ll know.”
“And I said no.” Martin went to the door and flicked the light off. “Come on, it’s going to bucket down any minute.”
“You can’t just tell me what to do!” Christie didn’t move, crossing her arms and raising her voice a little.
“I’m going to get dessert and another glass of wine. Join me or stay here, but if it’s the latter, lock the door.” The corner of his lips curled up. “Coming?”
***
The light rain abruptly became a downpour. Christie stomped across the grass, refusing to sprint but determined to stay ahead of Martin. What made him think he could just tell her what to do? If she wanted to call Derek, she could have done so without talking to Martin first. So, why didn’t you? Ignoring her inner voice, she rushed up the steps, slipping on the top one.
“I’ve got you.” Martin caught her before she fell. “Slow down.”
Christie tried to shake his hands off and found herself swept up and carried like a baby. “Put me down!”
“Told you. I’ve got you. Behave please, otherwise we’ll both end up on the ground.”
She stopped wriggling and bit her lip.
Going straight through the open sliding door, Martin continued to his bedroom. At the end of the bed, still on his feet, Martin shifted Christie’s body so that she had to look at him. He stared at her, one eyebrow raised, expression thoughtful. She squirmed.
“This could go a few ways. The one that appeals to me the most will not please you one bit.”
“Why? Do you want me to stand in the naughty corner?” Christie could not help herself.
“That’s where you’d end up. Afterwards.”
Christie’s breath caught in her throat as colour flooded her face.
“Sooner or later, it will happen, Christie, because one day your temper will see me put you—”
“I... um, I only ever get cross with you. Nobody else really.” She didn’t want to hear where she would be put.
“Is that meant to make it okay?”
“No. It’s just sometimes you make me so angry. I’m sorry.” Her voice was a whisper.
Martin sighed and sank onto the edge of the bed, Christie on his lap. Water dripped from her now bedraggled and wet hair to his arms “Let’s sort a couple of things out. First of all, Derek is up to something. Whether it is just rattling you for old time’s sake, or still attempting a land grab, there’s an intent behind sending the canvas. You phoning him is playing into his hands.”
“Fine. But you don’t need to tell me what to do. I can make decisions quite well.”
“Which brings us to the second thing. I have the utmost respect for you, my darling, and you do make good decisions. Look at everything you’ve accomplished so far, based on hard work and intelligent choices.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “But when it comes to your safety, I won’t hesitate to tell you what to do.”
“But I don’t need to be told!”
“Let me count. Leaving the cottage door unlocked on numerous occasions. Not bothering to eat for days on end. Recent information coming to light about a history of security failures. Do I need to go on?”
“I don’t need a boss.”
“Then we’re going to have problems.” He spoke softly and Christie gave him a puzzled look. “How many captains does a boat have?”
“One. But—”
“And every bit as important to the boat is the first officer. But in stormy weather, it is the captain that takes on the responsibility of getting his boat to safe harbour. Putting himself on the line and facing danger in order to protect his crew.”
“You want to protect me.”
“I can’t help it. With my life I will protect you.”
Christie slipped her arms around his neck. “I love you for that.”
“But will you fight me when I take a stand? Every time I see danger where you don’t?” He searched her eyes. “Better to walk away now than endlessly battle for your trust.”
“No!” Tears filled Christie’s eyes. “You have my trust, Martin. You have since the very beginning, but I’ve had to make so many decisions in my life and rely on myself for so long that I don’t know how to be a first officer.”
“I’m not trying to run your life, I promise you, but I have an old-fashioned streak when it comes to the safety and wellbeing of those I love.”
Martin rotated his torso to gently deposit her on the bed. “Let’s get you out of that damp dress.”
Desire blazed in her eyes as he undid the buttons on his shirt before discarding it.
He closed the door.
***
John sat in his darkened lounge room in a dressing gown, staring at his mobile phone. The call from Ingrid had surprised him this late at night, and he was annoyed he’d forgotten to turn the phone off before retiring. At least the ringing hadn’t disturbed Daphne.
There was nothing to tell Ingrid. As much as she insisted on quick answers about his availability to work for her rather than Bryce, it wasn’t that simple. John did nothing in a hurry, without proper investigation, and the status quo would remain until his solicitor finished checking his agreement with Bryce.
After a lifetime in local real estate, John had enough for their retirement. However, this recent interest by developers in the region was proving lucrative and he wanted to surprise Daphne with the long holiday in Europe that she always dreamed about. She’d worked every bit as hard as he had to build and run their business and soon they would enjoy their rewards.
This Ingrid was trouble. Somehow he knew it, but what she offered – the incredible fee she dangled in front of him to help her – might be worth it. After all, someone would eventually continue the progress Bryce started and at least she had a vision that the locals would understand. Sighing, he switched off the phone and got to his feet.
Careful not to wake Daphne, John took his time getting back into bed. He was uncomfortable keeping his meeting with Ingrid secret, but sometimes client confidentiality came first. It wasn’t as though he’d met her for any wrong purpose.
***
Daphne opened her eyes as his breathing settled into sleep. For the first time in her life, she was afraid. Whoever phoned John just now was the same person he’d gone off to meet in another town. John usually kept nothing from her so something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
***
Wrapped up in Martin’s soft, warm dressing gown that almost reached her ankles, Christie sighed with deep contentment. Feet tucked under herself on the sofa in the living room, her eyes followed Martin’s every move as he prepared their long overdue dessert. After handing her a glass of wine, he’d kissed her forehead and told her to stay put.
At this moment, Christie would agree to anything Martin asked. Follow him to the ends of the earth. Spend every waking – and not waking – moment with him. Even be the person at his side when, as captain of the boat, he weathered the storm. Her life was complete right here and now. His touch, his kiss, his... every move, took her to places beyond imagination.
“You okay?” he asked, not looking up from the perfect little bowls of decadence he prepared.
“Hmm? Oh, just thinking.”
He shot her a look.
“I love being with you, Martin. Being here.”
Martin wandered out of the kitchen, a bowl in each hand. “I love it too. Here.” He sat beside her. “Try this.”
Thinly sliced strawberries were layered with chocolate mousse and thick cream. One bite and Christie was in heaven. “I’m sure I’ve asked you this before, but wherever did you learn to cook like this?”
“Thomas is a great cook. And YouTube. Don’t laugh, that and Pinterest are invaluable when you have a fridge full of fresh fish and no ideas how to use it all.”
“You don’t happen to be on Facebook or Instagram? Belinda scolds me for not using social media.”
“She is nineteen. It’s her job to be up with everything. I have quite enough to keep busy without losing myself on the internet.”
“Unless it’s for recipes.” Christie grinned, scraping every last delicious morsel from the bowl. “Worth every calorie.”
He took her bowl and put it onto the coffee table with his, then gathered her into his arms. “When are you going to Auckland?”
She snuggled into his chest. “Later this week. Waiting to hear when exactly.”
“So someone else makes your arrangements? Hotel, transport and the like?”
“I just get on the plane and go where I’m told.”
“Ah. You do know how to follow directions then.”
“That’s my job though.”
“And you still love it.”
Christie sat up so that she could look at Martin. “Is that a question? Because I do, at least I love everything except the distance I need to go. And how long I’m away.”
“But it didn’t used to bother you. Months in London, or Los Angeles. Don’t you miss being part of that lifestyle?”
Where are you going with this? She frowned. “If you mean working eighteen-hour days, living out of a hotel, being at the whim of directors who sometimes change their minds mid-shoot, missing home... sure.” Taking Martin’s hand, she finally smiled. “It isn’t what I want anymore.”
“What do you want?”
She kissed his hand. “I’ve got everything I want.”
“Everything?” He pulled her against his hard body, mouth tantalisingly close to hers.
“Almost.” She breathed. “Unless I’m missing something?”
“Let’s find out.” Effortlessly, Martin got to his feet with Christie again in his arms. This time, needing his kiss, she reached for his neck, his hair. When their lips met and fire devoured her, Christie knew exactly what she was missing.