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“Good God, I am happy to be back.” Ingrid sank onto the sofa in Derek’s office. She considered taking off her shoes, but Derek was touchy about things being out of place, so casually draped one leg over another instead.
Through the floor to ceiling windows, Melbourne city stretched out, lights defining the buildings. A sprinkle of rain dotted the glass, not heavy enough to spoil the view. Derek brought over two glasses of brandy. “Here, you deserve this.”
“Yes, I most certainly do, being sent to purgatory for all this time.”
“I would have thought Martin Blake would appeal to you.”
“He does in that primitive, alpha sort of way. But he’d get tiring quickly, so no need to worry.” She smiled very sweetly, then tasted her drink. “This is nice. Civilised. But I thought you wanted me to stay there longer?”
“Not tonight. The best thing is you being very visible here, just on the off-chance anyone suspects your involvement.”
Ingrid covered a yawn. “Sorry, darling. I’m tired. I’ll just come home with you and that way I’ll have a perfect alibi.” She glanced at Derek through partly closed eyelids, a tiny curve on her lips.
“Nope. We’re off to the casino. Between dinner with friends and then a move into the gaming rooms, you’ll be safe from any accusations. Don’t pout. Go home and have a shower and I’ll meet you there in an hour.”
“Fine, but expect me to drink a lot of very expensive champagne.” She leaned over and touched her lips to his. “It’s been hard work dealing with those idiots and if I must go out, then I shall do so in style.”
She started to get up, but Derek’s hand whipped to the back of her neck. “I expect nothing less.” He pressed his mouth against hers, forcing her lips open in a fast, hard kiss. “This will be over soon. Then we’ll book that trip to the Alps.”
***
Elizabeth suggested a game of Scrabble after a delicious dinner served in the kitchen. Angus and Christie looked at each other and groaned aloud.
“Well, what about cards then?” Elizabeth frowned.
“No, it’s a great idea! We love Scrabble but we are so competitive and nobody else ever wants to play.” Christie explained. “Angus is the king of unusual words and I like to make things up to delay everything whilst somebody researches to prove me wrong.”
“Well then, I’m sure you won’t mind me joining in and seeing what I can learn.” There was a suspicious glint in her eye.
Half an hour later and trailing behind them both, Christie shook her head. “Always the quiet ones.”
“Sorry, dear?” Elizabeth laid out a particularly difficult word and Angus sighed.
“Nice to see we’re teaching you something.” Christie grumbled.
“Care for a glass of sherry? Or wine perhaps, I seem to remember you enjoy the local chardonnay. It might help.” Elizabeth actually giggled and Christie caught Angus gazing at her with the softest of expressions.
“I’ll go and find alcohol for us all so that Angus and I can drown our sorrows.” Christie headed for the kitchen. Laughter drifted behind her, and she smiled. She found a bottle of wine, a beer she thought Angus would like, and glasses.
Back in the living room, she put them on the table. “Is it my turn yet?”
Angus stood with a bit of effort. “Go, see if you can complicate the situation! I believe I am now coming last.”
“Shall I take it easy on you?” Elizabeth asked with a deadpan expression.
“Yes. Yes, I believe that is an excellent idea.” Angus spoke with such resignation that Christie and Elizabeth burst into laughter. He handed them each a glass of wine, opened the beer and offered a toast. “To f-r-i-e-n-d-s.”
“Ooh, yes!” Elizabeth added, “to g-o-o-d-t-i-m-e-s!”
“Which leaves me to toast to m-e-w-i-n-n-i-n-g.” Christie grinned.
“That’s not how you spell Elizabeth.” Elizabeth stated.
“But it’s how you spell success!”
Angus took his chair again. “In that case, I shall try this word and you may both try to spell it!”
Christie overflowed with happiness. All that was missing was Randall and Martin to have made the evening perfect.
***
Martin put down his brush. His watch was in the house and he refused to keep a clock in here so had no idea what time it was. He tried to focus on the watercolour but exhaustion tricked his vision. Too many versions already ripped in two, until he’d spent a few minutes scratching Randall’s tummy, letting the gentle wag of his dog’s tail soothe him. In a better frame of mind, he’d finished the portrait in a few hours.
He knew what the problem was. Bethany Fox being on Jasmine Sea. Self-reproach bubbled just below the surface. Instead of controlling the situation, he’d been too concerned about money to keep his integrity, which annoyed the hell out of him. Never again. Instead of worrying about having enough in the bank to cover every future contingency, it was time to trust himself. Trust these hands that didn’t fail him. Trust Christie to love him no matter what.
This could stay here and dry overnight. In the morning, unless there were serious flaws, he would call Bethany about collecting it. Whether it would be fully dry was another matter, but he’d worked with a light touch. Cleaning up the brushes, all he wanted was sleep in soft sheets and drift into a dream as the rain tapped a lullaby. If Christie was here, it would be perfect.
Before turning off the lights, he took a moment to look at the oil he’d shown Christie last night. As if she understood exactly what his vision was, she’d got to the heart of it. Nobody in this world instinctively knew him, yet she had from the very first moment.
“Bedtime, Randall,” he said. A very sleepy dog reluctantly got up, stretched, then padded out. The rain was heavier now and Randall dashed for some bushes before catching up with Martin at the house. Something made Martin close and lock the sliding door behind them. He was accustomed to leaving it open, but it was beginning to feel hypocritical to be on Christie’s case all the time about locking doors, yet not bothering himself. Once she lived here, he’d insist on more security, so he might as well start now.
***
By two a.m. the short-lived storm had moved on and the rain slowed to a drizzle. Cold and stiff from sitting for several hours, Rupert dragged himself out of the car. He’d parked it close to the railway station, backed up into bushes right off the road where he could keep an eye on the cottage.
He grabbed a short crowbar and a pair of gloves from the car boot, then trudged through the muddy ground, past the desolate station and down the cottage driveway. During his visit this morning, he’d scoped his target areas. This wasn’t about damaging the cottage, more about scaring Christie. He felt sick about it. She was nice.
He circled the cottage, flashing a narrow light through windows, stopping at the sight of the box in Christie’s bedroom. The painting. It was Rupert who’d packed it up and got it shipped here, following Derek’s instructions.
Inspection done, Rupert rattled the garage doors. Locked. He slipped one end of the crowbar between the doors and twisted it from side to side until the old lock gave. He pulled the doors closed behind himself.
A few boxes were open. A beautiful clawfoot bath became the first casualty with a few hard swings of the crowbar. Shards flew in every direction, one hitting Rupert’s cheek.
“Goddammit!” He dropped the crowbar, grabbed a handkerchief from a pocket, and cautiously wiped blood away. Once the bleeding stopped, he retrieved the tool, angry. More careful now, he wrenched the door off the dryer and the lid from the washing machine, knocking some huge dents into each appliance for good measure.
He ignored the enclosed boxes. Instead, he uncovered a container full of accessories. Fittings, wall mounts, screws. Lifting it high up, he turned it over, spilling the contents right across the floor. That would do. Enough damage to put fear into someone living alone.
Outside, he leaned against the doors and lit a cigarette with shaking hands. His face hurt. She didn’t deserve this, the woman with emerald eyes. No matter what she’d done to Derek, it was becoming a joke. No more. From now on, he’d find a way to avoid this sort of job. That resolved, he tossed the butt away and left.
***
From across the gaming room, Derek contemplated Ingrid. She might have been tired in his office, but a decent meal and copious champagne had revitalised her. She was stunning in her tight short dress and stilettos. Red hair suited her. Men wanted her and women wanted to be her. Pity she wasn’t a little more... amiable. Still, she had her purpose and was an asset.
The small group she was in split up but one man stayed, leaning very close to her, his body language clear. Ingrid smiled and whispered something in his ear, her hand on his arm. He pulled back abruptly with a scowl. Without looking back, Ingrid tottered across to Derek.
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.