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“I feel sometimes this is a perpetual exercise, putting up decorations and then packing them away.” Elizabeth was in the middle of the foyer, boxes of Christmas decorations around her feet. “First for Christie and Martin’s engagement party that didn’t happen, then the one that did, and then for their wedding—”
“Which was divine.” Angus mentioned from his perch up a stepladder near the Christmas tree.
“As weddings must be. And now Christmas.”
“And you had Thomas and Martha’s wedding at the beginning of the year.”
“Perhaps I should leave them up all the time.”
“There is nothing as pretty as the beautiful traditional colours you’ve chosen.” Angus climbed down to collect an armful of tinsel. “Red, green, and gold. Perfect.”
“You stay up there and I’ll pass to you.” Elizabeth picked up a box. “I’m so glad the last of the guests will be heading off before Christmas Day though. I love it so much, but it should be shared with family and friends.”
“Indeed. There were many years I prepared Miss Dorothy’s house and cared for her guests, but not once did she look happy or offer a word of Christmas cheer to me. Christie was her only family and not even allowed to sit at the table with the adults until the last couple of years, so she joined me in the kitchen and in between serving courses, we’d have our own celebration.”
Elizabeth dropped the tinsel she was holding and burst into tears.
Angus almost fell off the stepladder in his haste to reach the ground and put his arms around her. “Dear lady, I didn’t mean to upset you!”
For a few moments, she sobbed against his chest, then pulled away to blow her nose. “How far does the wickedness of Dorothy Ryan go? Will there be no end to stories of her behaviour?”
“I didn’t know you felt this way, Elizabeth, or I’d have said nothing. Please, here, have another handkerchief.”
“Thanks.” She dabbed her eyes, taking deep breaths to calm herself. “After what she did to poor Martha and Thomas, then turning her back on her own daughter, and raising Christie without warmth and love... oh, and how she must have treated you, Angus.”
“She paid me well, left me to run the house and care for Christie, and mellowed in her last years. I’ve worked for worse employers and besides, Christie and I are fine.” He glanced at the grandfather clock. “Is it too early for a sherry?”
“Never.”
“I’ll arrange it whilst you freshen up.” He kissed her cheek. “Be right back.”
Elizabeth watched him until he was out of sight, then touched her cheek and whispered, “Please don’t leave.”
A little later and after several sips of sherry, Elizabeth stood back from the tree. “I think it is done, don’t you?”
“Shall we try it with the lights on?”
Angus flicked the switch and joined Elizabeth. The tree was over twelve feet tall and nestled in the curve of the sweeping staircase. A myriad of coloured lights pulsed amongst the branches, bringing to life the beautiful ornaments thickly adorning the tree. Both smiled in response, their eyes travelling over the tree, and then to each other. “I should hang some mistletoe,” Angus teased.
Tears glistened again in Elizabeth’s eyes. “Do you need a reason?”
With a hand on either side of her face, Angus kissed Elizabeth’s lips until she forgot she was in the centre of the foyer. When he drew back a fraction to stare into her eyes, his own were serious. “Why so sensitive today? I’m not used to tears from you.”
“Umm... Christmas. Always makes me emotional.”
“Then I shall be your strength. No more decorating tonight. Let’s go out for dinner.”
“To the pub?”
“Wherever you choose.”
“Then I choose the pub.”
“Shall we walk? That way we can select a nice bottle of wine and not worry about a car.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I’ll put the boxes away—”
“No, I’ll take care of it.”
“Oh, then I might have a quick shower. Are you sure?”
“Quite certain.” Angus began packing the boxes up. “Then we can talk about Christmas over dinner.”
***
Lance, who owned the local hotel, was a wonderful host. As soon as Elizabeth and Angus arrived, he escorted them to their favourite table, the quietest in the otherwise noisy bistro. Seated opposite sides of the small table near the window, Angus selected the wine at Elizabeth’s request, knowing how well he always chose. Dinner ordered, they held hands across the table.
“Shall we discuss Christmas?”
“It’s only just over a week away, so yes.” Elizabeth smiled. “How sweet of Thomas and Martha to include us at the cottage.”
“And there’s Christmas Eve at Christie and Martin’s. He said something about a buffet.”
“I think it would be nice to help Martin. I know he’s a fabulous cook, but there’ll be a lot of people there. And I’m not committed to anything at Palmerston House.”
“Good idea. Shall we see if he’s free tomorrow and we can make some plans?”
“If you are.” Elizabeth picked up her wine glass.
Angus’ forehead wrinkled. “Well, yes. Is something worrying you?”
Only hearing you say you were moving out. “You’ve done so much to help me, Angus. Been there time and again. Making breakfasts for the guests with me, helping decorate, putting yourself out when you are paying to live at Palmerston House.”
Dinner arrived. Lance placed their respective plates with a flourish and a ‘Bon appetite’ before topping up their glasses. All the time, Elizabeth felt Angus’ eyes on her. As soon as they were alone, she spoke again. Too quickly. “Of course, I love the help. I love having you here. I mean, there. At Palmerston House.”
He smiled. “You must keep in mind I am by nature, a helper. A lifetime in service and still, I do enjoy it.” The smile dropped. “Have I overstepped?”
“Angus, no!” Elizabeth noticed another diner turn their head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so loud. It wasn’t what I meant at all. I don’t know how to say what I want to.” Calm down and talk to him. You love him, Elizabeth. Instead, she concentrated on swirling pasta onto her fork.
“Elizabeth White, there is nothing you can say to upset or offend me. Not a thing. So, speak freely.” Angus hadn’t started his meal, not even picked up a fork, but the hand holding his wine glass shook ever so slightly.
Elizabeth took a deep breath. “I’d rather you don’t pay me anymore. In fact, I won’t accept any further payment. Palmerston House is your home for as long as you wish to stay.” There, it was said. “And before you say anything, please think about it. Let’s have our lovely dinner and then we can talk further. When you wish.”
Angus picked up his fork, his eyes never leaving Elizabeth’s. “I agree. We should enjoy this dinner and perhaps, over a cup of tea in the morning, discuss this further.”
***
Thomas proudly displayed his efforts in the dining and lounge rooms to Christie. The mouth-watering aroma of Martha’s famous chili wafted through the cottage and Christie’s stomach rumbled.
“I heard that. Doesn’t my grandson feed you?” Thomas flicked on the light in the lounge room.
“He’s cooking right now. We went for a walk with Randall once I got home and then remembered I needed to run over here.”
“To see my handiwork?”
“It looks amazing, Thomas!”
Dominating the comfortable if small lounge room was a dark green tree, decorated with red and gold bows, ornaments, and tinsel. Old-fashioned and traditional. A row of stockings hung from the marble mantelpiece, and Christmas cards sat upon it.
“And this is where we will enjoy Christmas dinner, and it can’t come too soon.”
In the dining room, the theme continued with thick red tinsel scalloped against the walls, held up by bows. Gold star ornaments dangled from the ceiling. “We have some lovely linen to dress the table, and will bring some of the waratah in for a real Australian touch.”
“You’ve made the cottage look so festive. I noticed the wreath on the front door, and love the little touches everywhere.”
“Thanks,” Thomas looked pleased with himself. “Before it gets completely dark, I might finish putting lights on the back porch.”
They wandered to the kitchen, where Martha stirred the chili. “Half an hour, dear.”
“I’ll be here.” Thomas grinned and went through the back door.
“Did you think about how to approach Angus and Elizabeth, Auntie?” Christie leaned against a chair, watching Martha and longing for a taste of chili.
As if she knew, Martha scooped some into a small bowl and handed it to Christie. “Not done, not hot enough yet, but you look starving.”
“Thanks, I am. And I’ll go in a minute.” Christie took a mouthful and closed her eyes in bliss. “So... good.”
“Thomas thinks we should give them the holiday. Let them work it out.”
“What do you think?”
“Elizabeth never takes a break, so I’ll support Tom’s thinking. If they don’t wish to use it together, I’m sure they can compromise.” Martha turned the heat down and put a lid onto the pot. “You brought the diary?”
Christie put the bowl on the table and opened her handbag. “I just hope it isn’t too... well, upsetting. She writes about you a lot.”
Martha expression revealed nothing. “I’m mostly interested in any comments about the trunk, or at least the shoebox everything was kept in.” She glanced at the back door as Christie held the diary out. “He doesn’t know. I will show it to him, but not yet.”
“I won’t say anything.” It hurt Christie to see Martha’s hands shake as she took the small book and stared at it. What are you feeling? Estranged from Gran for some fifty years, how odd it must be to hold her sister’s diary from 1968.
“Thank you, dear. I’m going to put in somewhere safe if you’ll watch the chili for a moment.”
“Of course.” Christie gave Martha a quick hug, then turned to the stove. “If I don’t eat it all by myself!”
***
Much later, once Thomas went to bed complaining about Martha’s night-owl habits, she took the diary to the lounge room and sat on the chair closest to the tree. Under lamp light, Martha opened her late sister’s private diary. January 1968 –only weeks after Martha had run away from Thomas and their engagement on River’s End beach in the middle of a storm.
The purpose of reading this was to find even one small clue she and Christie could follow to discover how the trunk and its contents got to this very cottage she now sat in. Nobody lived here for many years, nobody even came to tend the gardens, so when Dorothy left it to Christie, the property was in a dreadful state of disrepair.
Martha’s heartbeat was heavy in her chest as she opened to the first entry.
1st January 1968. Martha is still here with me. Still fussing about Thomas and what happened that night and fretting he has not been in touch. If I had given her even one of the letters he has written, no doubt she would have gone running back to River's End. Every time one arrives, I remind myself this is for her own benefit. In spite of his actions that saved her life, the man is not suited to Martha, and one day she will understand. She cried at Christmas time but is otherwise beginning to cheer up and even came out with me last night to celebrate the New Year.
“Cheer up? Oh, Dorothy!” Martha closed the diary with some force. The New Year celebration was under duress, with Dorothy insisting she come out. There was no joy in the occasion, only a numbness she remembered to this day. Perhaps reading this was a mistake. Yet, Martha now needed to know. To understand. One by one, she read the entries about herself.
21st January 1968. I almost gave in. Yesterday, Martha and Thomas should have been married. She would not get out of bed until last night and sat by the window with tears going down her face for hours. Why she has not got on a train and gone back to talk to the boy is beyond me. Pride and probably fear of rejection I suppose. It made me think about what I have done to her.
20th February 1968. I am getting frustrated with Martha. In spite of my encouragement for her to find a job or study she likes, her heart stays with Thomas Blake. There must be a way to break this bond and free Martha to find a new future. Frances has insisted on meeting with me this week, and although I cannot stand the girl, she helped before and might help again.
26th February 1968. Frances has a suggestion I struggle to agree to. Keeping letters from my sister is one thing, but to be party to an outright lie? It is clear Frances has strong feelings herself for Thomas Blake, but she refused to reply when I asked if he returns them. I suspect he does not.
28th March 1968. It is done. Martha never wants to see Thomas again, and I stood by and let that happen. I thought I would be happy this day has finally come, but the light has gone out of my sister's eyes. The hope, the love and her irrepressible joy of living have been extinguished. I cannot repair this, and I can never, ever let her know the truth. All I hope is one day she understands I do love her so much.
Love? Martha set the diary on the side of the armchair and pushed herself to her feet. There was no love in Dorothy. Only a selfish desire to control the life of her younger sister and keep their mother happy. She helped herself to a glass of brandy from their small bar, then sat again. If only she’d known, even had an inkling of what was going on in the background. Too naive and proud. Too stubborn and hot-headed. And the result was a lifetime without Tom.
***
Martin surfed whilst Randall ran up and down the tideline, chasing seagulls, paddling, and occasionally barking for the sheer joy of it. The day would warm quickly once the sun was further above the horizon, but for the moment, the air was comfortable.
As Thomas strolled along the wet sand, sandals in one hand and water bottle in the other, Randall raced in his direction. By the time Martin caught his final wave in, they were sitting on higher ground, where he’d left his towel and bag, deep in conversation.
“What are you two plotting?” Panting slightly, Martin carried his board to where they sat.
Thomas offered Martin his water bottle. “Have mine, I gave the dog the rest of yours.”
“There’s more in the other pocket. But thanks.”
“Seeing as the dog here doesn’t have a collar, he must be a stray. Think he’d like to come home with me.”
Martin shook his head, lips turning up a little. He found his own water and took a long drink, reaching out to pat Randall when he put it back. “Does he look like a stray?”
“Looks like he needs a good feed.”
“If he lived with you, he’d be the size of a house. He’s fit, Thomas. Feel those muscles.”
“Ah,” Thomas patted his own stomach. “Like mine.”
Randall spotted a stick and tore off to retrieve it.
“Have you considered getting a dog? It is years since you had one.” Martin towelled his hair.
“You could just give Randall to me. Okay. I know. All joking aside, I’m not sure how Martha would feel. She loves him, of course, but a puppy might be asking too much. Might need to keep sharing him.”
“Well, you are most welcome to do so. What are you doing down here so early, Thomas?”
Thomas picked up a handful of sand and let it trickle through his fingers. “The bride was up late, reading a book. Still asleep when I got up, so thought I’d have a walk. I’m thinking.”
“About?”
“The distant past. And how the trunk got into the attic.”
“Does everyone need to solve puzzles?” Martin took a t-shirt from the bag and slipped it over his head. “Does it matter now? You have the letters and rings back.”
“It’s not about having them back. I need this to be... over.”
They sat for a while in silence, until Randall returned and flopped between them. Both men automatically patted him and he grunted in pleasure.
“You said you need this to be over,” Martin said. “Is resolving these last unanswered questions going to ease your mind, let you forgive, at last?”
With a heavy sigh, Thomas nodded, his eyes on the ocean. “Doesn’t matter how happy I am now, son. I need to understand. Find the key to what happened. I know Martha is curious but I’d like to protect her from being hurt any more. If I know, then I can break it to her more gently.”
“I’ll help you.”
Thomas turned to Martin in surprise. “You will?”
“Don’t tell Christie. At least, not yet. I spend enough time suggesting she worry less about others and don’t need it turned around on me.”
With a short laugh, Thomas got to his feet and stretched. “Our secret, son.”
“I’ll walk with you.” Randall rolled around on the sand, but leapt up and followed once they headed off. “Where do we start looking?”
“I’d like to take another look at the shoebox the rings and letters were kept in all those years.”
“What’s special about it?”
“Might spark off a memory.”
“Don’t you have it?”
“Christie has it.”
“She does?”
“Asked her to keep the letters. Eventually Martha and I will want them, but there’s some... emotional stuff in them. Never felt right having them in the cottage for some reason.”
“Ask her for them.”
“Only want to look at the shoebox, son.”
“I can have a look around and see if I can find it, then you come over and look to your hearts content.”
“Thanks. I’m going to talk to George later on today. Around whiskey time.”
“Not sure what he’d know.”
Thomas stopped and waited for Randall to return the stick, then he threw it. “Your godfather had a soft spot for your grandmother. Reckon if things had been different, he might have pursued her himself.”
“And this is why I stay out of other people’s business.”
“Sorry, son. Don’t mean to upset your view of the world. But George is a gentleman and my best friend. He’d never step over that line.”
“Well, you have your chat with him and I’ll look for the shoebox.” Martin stopped. “I might get the boy home, it’s warming up.”
“Remember to collect your surfboard. What would you like for Christmas?”
Martin hugged Thomas. “All of my family happy and healthy. Doesn’t get any better than this.”