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“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.
“Did you meet my mother and father?” Christie touched the locket.
“Just once.”
Eyes wide, Christie grabbed his hand. “When? What were they like? Was I born?”
“One question at a time.” Angus chuckled. “It was your mother and she came to visit with you. I’d only been working for Miss Dorothy for a very short time and picked you both up from the airport. You were about four, if memory serves me, and such a chatty little thing.”
“I can’t imagine that. Where was my dad?”
“Working, I believe. Your mother came for Miss Dorothy’s birthday. The visit was cut short, unfortunately, after your mother and Miss Dorothy disagreed about something.”
“They argued? What about?”
“I’m sure I couldn’t say,” Angus knew exactly what it was about, but telling Christie would serve no purpose. No, he remembered the day with alarming clarity.
***
It was the second day of Rebecca and Christie’s visit, in the middle of the morning. Angus carried a tray holding tea, a glass of milk, and some small cakes into the informal living room. The formal areas of the house were off limits to children and kept in pristine condition, should visitors drop by. Not that they often did, for Dorothy had few friends.
Little Christie flicked back and forth through a colourful picture book, engrossed and chatting quietly to herself. But Dorothy stared at Rebecca with a cold expression, whilst her daughter’s face was creased in distress.
“But why won’t you visit us? Never is a long time, Mother.”
“You made the choice to live where you do. Instead of enjoying a good life with friends and family, and a purpose, you blindly followed him to such a remote and barren place. Working amongst people who can’t even pay you.”
“I have a very good life, and lots of friends, thanks for caring. Julian and I love the community. It is a work of love and I most certainly do have a purpose!”
As Rebecca raised her voice, Christie looked up with wide eyes. Angus offered her his hand as he went past, hoping to remove her from the escalating argument, but she didn’t see it.
“I did not raise you to live in such squalor, Rebecca! You are a Ryan, and one day you will inherit everything I’ve worked my life for.”
Rebecca stood up as Angus reached the door. “No. I am an Oliver. And I most certainly do not want or need your money. You were happy enough for me to marry Julian, so what changed?”
Dorothy also got to her feet and Christie slipped out of her chair. “As a doctor he should have put his own family first. Not the needs of... what do you call them? A community? This is your last chance to change your mind. Come home and live the life you deserve.”
“What I deserve? Do you think this is it? Oh my God, Mother, you have no idea!”
As Dorothy took a step toward Rebecca, Christie backed away. Straight into a stand holding a ceramic vase which teetered, then crashed onto the floor and shattered. Angus hurried to begin picking up the pieces as Dorothy turned her attention on the child, stalking toward her, palm open.
“No!” Rebecca flew to Christie and lifted her up, away from her mother. “You will never raise a hand to my child!”
“Then get out of my house.”
Angus took Christie from Rebecca and carried her out of the room. “Hush little one, Mummy is okay. Grown-ups say silly things sometimes.” She clung to him, her head on his shoulder. He walked as far away from that room as he could, taking the child out of earshot.
An hour later, he drove Rebecca and Christie to the airport and waited with them as Rebecca booked a flight home. He never saw Rebecca again.
***
“Angus, are you okay? You’re very quiet and you look sad.”
“I was just remembering how beautiful your mother was, and how very much she loved you.” It took all of Angus’ resolve to keep those memories to himself. “There was nothing she would not do for you.”
Christie’s smile was enough to tell Angus he’d made the right decision.
***
Watercolour was the least favourite medium Martin used. It was, however, a relatively fast drying way to paint and the best option in these circumstances. If he finished it today, with drying time and proper packing it should be safe to travel by Wednesday. This wasn’t ideal and, for Martin, the pressure was not welcome.
Laying out his paints and setting up an easel directed his brain to that place of unwavering focus for his subject, his job. This time though, Christie’s face kept intruding. Her lips, so soft and sweet. Those emerald eyes capable of inspiration or devastation. God, he wanted her here, more than ever. All of his plans were on hold now, because he wasn’t prepared to subject Christie to his moods when he painted.
He needed to talk to her, to warn her again about the tight little cocoon he wrapped himself in. To ask her to give him just a little bit of time so he could do this, and then be free to be with her. No doubt she was at Palmerston House. He’d missed any opportunity to have her here and, in reality, this was bad timing. Get it done and move on. Just one quick call, then he would paint.
***
Dusk fell as Christie drove into the cottage driveway. Barry and his team were long gone. She sighed at the inevitable mess left behind. After sweeping, she peeked into the laundry. Completely gutted, the walls had new holes cut in to provide access for the washing machine and new sink. Stepping carefully past a pile of tiles, she checked the laundry door was secure.
One by one, Christie ensured the windows were all tightly locked. Before leaving, Christie stood in the kitchen, gazing around. The place felt a bit alien now with the work in progress. Once the door was locked, Christie headed for the garage. That was secure. Everything was the way it should be.
Christie wished she was going to Martin’s now. She felt alone and a bit sad. But he was painting and the slight tension in his voice when he had rung gave away his need to be alone.
Rain pattered on her windscreen as she turned onto the main road. Storm clouds loomed from the south-west. A lone yacht scurried beyond the cliffs, hurrying to its mooring. Not the night to be out on the water.
***
John stood at the kitchen doorway, watching Daphne stir something in a pot. She hummed, her face relaxed, as she put a lid on the pot.
“Smells good, love.” He decided it was time she had a kiss.
“Oh, I didn’t hear you come in!” With a big smile, Daphne opened her arms. He wrapped her up in his, squeezing her until she protested with a giggle. Then, he kissed her. A romantic, lingering kiss that left both of them a bit surprised and breathless.
Red-faced, Daphne wiggled away. “My, oh my, John Jones! It’s got terribly hot in here all of a sudden.”
“Well, I should cool you down with a nice bottle of red.”
“But it’s only Monday.”
“You get the plates and I’ll get a bottle.”
Daphne dabbed her forehead with a tissue, then gave the pot one more stir, replaced the lid, and turned off the flame.
John wandered back, reading the label of the bottle he’d selected. “Think this will do. Been keeping it for a special occasion, and today fits the description, don’t you think?”
“I think you are the most wonderful man in the world.”
“Then let’s open this baby and drink to us.”
While he found a bottle opener, Daphne filled two plates with stew and added a bread roll on each. Instead of their customary dinner in front of the television, she rushed into the dining room and set the table. John appeared behind her with the plates. “You sit down, I’ll get everything.”
“First...” Daphne opened the glass cabinet and found a pair of crystal glasses, the good ones they kept for entertaining.
After John filled their glasses, they clinked them in a toast from him, “To the best darned real estate agency in the world!” which resulted in more giggles from Daphne.
For a few moments they ate in silence, then Daphne sighed and took another sip of wine. “I truly cannot understand what that woman was thinking. As if I would believe for one minute that you would stray.”
“She’s used to getting what she wants and I just hope she’s gone for good. The trouble is she’s nosing around all over the region and, before long, just might find someone who doesn’t see through her.”
“Should we warn the others?”
“Don’t see how we can, love. Not without the risk of a law suit, should she get wind of it. She’s good though. Very clever at getting a person to see her vision, and it’s not a bad vision.”
“Just a bad woman. Well, doll, you saw through her and sent her packing back to Melbourne.” Daphne stabbed a piece of potato as if it were Ingrid.
John put his hand on hers. “If you hadn’t reminded me how much we owe Bryce for his loyalty, then I might have signed something and got us into a lot of trouble. I just want to be sure we’ll be comfortable when we retire.”
“You did nothing wrong and you never would have. Now, tonight is special and we’re going to stop talking about horrible women and start talking about helping Bryce with his next endeavour!”
John smiled and nodded. Talking shop was never old with Daphne. Telling her about Ingrid’s attempt to intimidate him today reminded him why he loved her so much. Ingrid was gone, and, like Daphne, he hoped it was for good.