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Palmerston House felt so lonely. From the first morning cup of tea, to a quiet drink out on the verandah as the sun set, everything reminded Elizabeth of Angus. He’d been gone for several days now, in fact, she knew exactly how many hours, if not minutes. Their paths almost crossed once. She’d dropped Martha at the cottage after George was admitted to hospital, and on her way home, he was driving up the hill as she drove down. Their eyes met for an instant and Elizabeth’s heart jumped. Both kept driving and by the time she turned into the gates of Palmerston House, she was calm and resolute.
But this afternoon, for some reason, she yearned to see Angus. Every time she passed the Christmas tree, she expected to see him. And as she hurried past it now to answer the front door, her emotions got the better of her and she paused to wipe away a tear before letting Martha in.
“Sorry to be so long, Thomas wanted to check on George again first.” Martha kissed Elizabeth’s cheek. “Oh. Were you crying, dear?”
“No. Yes. A bit. Anyway, come in, I’ve made some gingerbread men.”
“Gingerbread men? I haven’t had one of those for... well, I can’t recall how long.”
Arm in arm, Elizabeth and Martha wandered to the kitchen.
“Thomas was welcome to visit.”
“He’ll be along. Had some errands to run.”
Elizabeth put the kettle on as Martha settled at the table. “Palmerston House looks so beautiful, Elizabeth. Reminds me of Christmas here growing up.”
“They must have been grand affairs.”
“Father opened the house to the town for Christmas lunch and we’d have people dropping by all day. Even Mother, who normally avoided contact with anyone except her ‘set’ as she called her friends, would enjoy the day. And then at night, the four of us would have a formal dinner in the small dining room. We even dressed up for it.” Martha smiled.
“I never imagined it that way.”
“Perhaps I should ask everyone to dress up for our Christmas dinner at the cottage?”
Busy making tea, Elizabeth didn’t answer. Once she had two cups poured, she brought them to the table, then uncovered a plate revealing a dozen perfect gingerbread men.
“Well, these look delicious. Don’t let Thomas see or he’ll want the lot.”
As she sat, Elizabeth managed a faint smile. “He’s welcome to them. I’m baking rather a lot these days.”
“So, do we all dress up for Christmas dinner?” Martha helped herself to a gingerbread man and bit into his leg with a grin.
“I’ve been thinking about it. The dinner. I’m not going to be very good company so—”
“So, what? Are you saying you won’t celebrate with your oldest friend?” Now, the other leg disappeared into Martha’s mouth.
“It might be better if I go and cook George dinner and stay to make sure he eats.”
“George is going to Sylvia’s. He’s doing well, actually. Back up and about and quite determined to show the doctor he is capable of still running his shop.”
“I was surprised he came home so quickly.” Elizabeth picked up a gingerbread man, but merely looked at it.
“Well, it wasn’t a heart attack after all and he responded well to the medication he was supposed to already be taking. I don’t remember all the details, although Thomas will, but after three days the hospital was very happy with his condition.”
Elizabeth still stared at the gingerbread man.
“It won’t eat itself, dear. Perhaps you would fill me in on why Angus no longer lives here? I am sorry it has taken so long for us to be alone together, but please talk to me.” Martha put a hand onto Elizabeth’s. “It was a terrible shock at the hospital when you told us he’d moved out.”
“As it was a shock to me overhearing him tell George he was going to go.” Elizabeth sighed and turned sad eyes to Martha. “I don’t really know why. But when he explained where he found Jag, he said it was prudent for him to find his own place.”
“Prudent? I suppose if he wants to marry you, he’d rather propose on an even playing field.”
“I don’t understand.”
Martha waved her arm around at the kitchen. “He’s an old-fashioned gentleman, dear. You own this beautiful home and he lived here, as a guest. As much as it wouldn’t matter to you if he was rich or a pauper, to him it would. Part of his code of honour, if you like.”
“But... but I love him for him. And what makes you think he really wants to marry me? Particularly after I told him his leaving was for the best.” With a shake of her head, Elizabeth bit off the head of the gingerbread man.
***
“I really don’t believe she’d want to marry me, Thomas. Not after her parting words.” Angus and Thomas sat on the deck of Martin and Christie’s house. Jag lay in between, but with his paw on Thomas’ foot.
“I really believe she does. Disagreements happen, harsh words get spoken, and you really weren’t clear about your motivation for leaving. Can’t blame her for misunderstanding.”
“Well, I don’t. Nor do I know how to remedy things. I’m respecting her privacy.”
“Which isn’t going to get you back together, is it? At least you’ll have to see her at Christmas dinner.”
“About that. Perhaps I should spend the evening with George.”
“He’s going to Sylvia’s. You’re not getting out of it that easy. Besides, I’m back in the bride’s good books so don’t make me have to break it to her you don’t like her cooking.” His expression was so serious it made Angus laugh, and Thomas joined in.
Jag sat up at the laughter and offered his paw to Thomas. “You’re a fine dog, Jag. Will you keep him, Angus?”
“Might not be an option.” Trev climbed the steps, a dog lead in one hand. “Afternoon, gentlemen.”
“What do you mean?” Thomas put his hand on Jag’s head. “He’s perfectly fine here.”
Trev leaned against the railing. “So I see. Seems his owner had a living relative after all. A nephew in the city.”
“Not a city dog.”
“He’s taken a real shine to you, Thomas. Look, probably won’t amount to anything, but the ranger is heading over now to collect him, check for a microchip and other identification.”
“So, tell them to come here. Don’t they have some fancy portable machine for microchips?”
“They do, but he’s got to go back with her. Due process and all that. Sorry.”
Thomas looked away, out to the horizon, hand still on Jag’s head.
Trev squatted near Jag. “Hey, doggie. Let’s put this on.” He reached for the dog’s collar, but Jag backed away.
“Jag, sit.” Thomas held his hand out for the lead. “Be a good dog.” He clipped the lead onto the collar and handed the end to Trev. “You find a way to bring him back. Angus needs him.”
Angus and Trev exchanged a glance, then Trev stood again. “I’m sorry, mate. I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, Trev, we know you will.” Angus patted Thomas’ shoulder as Trev and Jag went down the steps.
Eyes back on the horizon, Thomas blinked a few times. “See, Angus. You love them and they leave. Don’t lose Elizabeth.”
***
“Do we have final numbers yet, or should I ring around to be certain?” Christie and Martin were in the salon after hours, using the spa. The salon itself was in darkness, except for a lamp on the reception counter. Out here under a clear roof, they could see the stars above. The bubbles were off, only low jets circulating the water and providing some relief for Christie’s sore back.
Martin reached for their wine glasses and handed one to Christie. “Everyone is invited, and I’m not stressed about whether they turn up or not. Any spare food will be put to good use on Christmas morning.”
“The shelter in Green Bay?”
“Small as that town might be, there are too many people struggling and we’re not.”
Christie leaned closer and kissed Martin. “Yet another reason I love you. Do you always do this?”
“Most years. Thomas took me along every Christmas Day for as long as I can recall. Even when we had little. Always said generosity is its own reward.”
Randall padded over from where he’d been asleep in the middle of the new garden. Grass now replaced the original concrete yard and herbs and roses grew in front of a hedge of fast growing narrow pines, planted as semi-mature trees to ensure privacy for the clients.
As Randall flopped down on the deck around the spa, Christie reached out to scratch behind his ear. “I’m so sad for Thomas. Hopefully Jag will come back and he’ll be able to see him again.”
“Dogs love the man. He really needs his own one again, but he’s not prepared to take a puppy on. Knows his limitations.”
Christie sank back into the spa, wiggling around until she found the perfect spot. This week, before Christmas was almost over and much as she loved her new business, exhaustion almost overwhelmed her.
“Sweetheart, on Sunday I want you to take it easy. Tomorrow you’ll be working all day again and I can see how tired you are.” Martin glanced up at the sky. “This was a good idea.”
“It was your idea.” Christie smiled and sipped her wine. “So, back to Christmas Eve. Who do we know is coming along? Thomas and Martha of course, and Angus.”
“Daphne and John. Aunt Sylvia and the brat. And Jess.”
Christie giggled. “The ‘brat’, as you call Belinda, is my right hand here.”
“And I love her to bits. Barry. Trev, as long as nothing crops up like it normally does when we celebrate anything. Elizabeth.”
“Is she? I mean, has she told you she’ll be there for certain?”
“Is this why you asked about ringing around earlier? I hope she will be there. And I hope she and Angus sort this out, but it isn’t our job to do it for them. Is it?” He brushed a stray hair from Christie’s eyes, smiling at her expression. “Finish the wine and I’ll get you home. Let you have some sleep.”
***
“Do you think if I put a bow on you with a card from Martin to Granddad, he might get the hint?” Thomas and Randall ambled down the cottage driveway as the Lotus, with Christie and Martin inside, drove away. “Be the best Christmas present ever, eh?”
Randall wagged his tail, eyes on Thomas, until he heard the back door open. Thomas watched the dog disappear around the corner of the cottage. At least you’re here today. The morning was already hot, with temperatures forecast to soar later in the day.
“There you are. I’ve made some lemonade if you’d like a glass?” Martha was on the back porch with Randall, who barely glanced up from the bowl of water he lapped from.
“Take a whole jug if I stay out here too long.” Thomas followed Martha inside and a moment later Randall padded through the back door. “Still haven’t got the hang of closing doors, have you, dog?”
Martha poured lemonade into two tall glasses already half filled with ice. “Is he here for the day?”
“Hope so. Youngsters are going to Warrnambool. Some kind of farmers market on so Martin thought he’d have a look for the party tomorrow night. Apparently Christie is behind with her Christmas shopping, so she refused Martin’s suggestion of breakfast in bed.”
Randall went into the dining room where he loved the cool of the timber floor beneath the table, so Martha and Thomas made their way there. The trunk still occupied the sideboard.
“Better move it out and make space for Christmas dinner.” Thomas nodded at it. “I’ll put it back in the entry if you like.”
“What do you think happened to all of Dorothy’s dolls? There’s nothing in her diary about them, but they must have been valuable, going all the way back to the mid-1800s.”
“Not in her estate?”
“Angus never mentioned them. Nor did Christie.”
“You’d think she’d have kept them for her own children.”
Martha almost snorted. “The daughter she alienated? Or the grandchild she treated like a stranger? From the time she moved to Melbourne, she lost any interest in being generous, or compassionate, or kind, or—”
Thomas put a hand over hers. “The complete opposite of her little sister. Who is all of those things and so much more.”
As if expelling her irritation with Dorothy, Martha drew in a long breath, and exhaled slowly.
“Better?”
“I think I’m going to be on edge until I know... well, it isn’t my business, as I said on the jetty, but...”
“But you’d like to open the shoebox?”
“Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
“It needs opening. There might be nothing in there to answer any questions. Or something to make the situation worse. With George, I mean, because we’re good now. Aren’t we?” He squeezed Martha’s hand and she curled up the corners of her mouth with a nod.
“I’ll ring George. See if he’s up to visitors.”
***
1993
Not content to give George the trunk and keys to the cottage, Dorothy Ryan drove there ahead of him. He wondered how she fitted her new red Range Rover through the laneways of Melbourne. Such a big vehicle for city use. He stopped worrying about her transport problems as they turned into the road to the old cottage.
Once the home of his best friend, he’d not been here since the day Thomas left, after helping him pack the last of his belongings. His parents had gone, he was about to marry Frances, and the cottage only held bad memories.
How the place had deteriorated. Overgrown bushes, the weatherboard walls peeling, the driveway pitted with holes from years with no maintenance. George parked on the opposite side of the road as Dorothy drove through the open gate. By the time she was at the back of the Range Rover, he’d crossed the road.
“Hurry up, George. I don’t want anyone seeing us here.”
“Nobody ever comes up here now.” Nevertheless, he reached for the trunk.
“Wait.” Dorothy pushed between George and the trunk. She inserted a key into the lock and opened the lid just enough to peek inside. George couldn’t see past her and wasn’t interested in what she kept in there. A click and she’d locked it again, taking the key and burying into a pocket. “Pick it up and follow me.”
He regretted agreeing to this. But the alternative was to face public and possibly police accusations and a probe into the actions of his family. And him. His jewellery shop was his life.
At the back door, Dorothy fussed as she found the right key, then pushed the door open and instructed George to go ahead. She closed and locked the door before stomping down the hallway in her expensive leather high-heeled boots. It crossed George’s mind that she had done very well for herself with the business degree her mother forced her to do.
“Once you get this up there, make it invisible. Push it right under an eave and then come straight down again. And remember. Tell nobody. Ever!”
He’d nodded, unable to find words. How he missed Martha, such the opposite of this aggressive, rude woman. But Martha was long gone, and now Thomas was once again alone, apart from his little grandson.
***
“You look so deep in thought, George.” Martha put a cup of herbal tea in front of him at his kitchen table. “Are you feeling alright, dear?”
Must everyone keep asking this? “Quite well, thank you. I was thinking about my godson.”
“He didn’t leave your side for hours, George. When you were unconscious, he watched over you.” Thomas sat opposite, placing a shoebox on the table. “Martin loves you deeply. As do I.”
“I regret worrying you all. And I’m feeling better than I have in months.”
“So you’ll keep taking the medication and cut back on the hours at the shop?”
“Not sure about the shop, Thomas. But yes, I want to see my godson’s children, so I’ve taken this as a wakeup call.” George pointed to his tea. “See, even off the caffeine and regrettably, the whiskey. For now.”
Underneath the table, Randall sighed and rolled over to sleep, touching George’s foot. “So why do you have Randall?”
“The children are Christmas shopping. Too hot to leave him at home, besides, he needs time with Martha.”
“I see.” George smiled. “And this?” He nodded at the shoebox. Something about it was familiar.
“The reason we’re here when Martin is not in town.” Thomas glanced at Martha as she joined them. “But I need to know you’re up to a bit of history. Maybe something good, perhaps not. Don’t want to be calling an ambulance.”
The shoebox was old and faded. “I remember these boxes. And the ribbon.” The past wasn’t going away. When he’d first had some coherent thoughts in hospital, it was of his conversation with Martha. None of it mattered now. The secrets were out and Thomas was still his best friend. “Why was Martin with me in the hospital, Thomas? Not you?”
“I was getting this from the cabin.” Thomas undid the ribbon, letting the velvet strip coil on the table.
“You’re not making much sense.”
“Apparently you asked for someone, dear. Before you really woke up.” Martha's eyes flicked between his and the shoebox. “You wanted to see Frannie.”
Shame poured into George and he dropped his head. How could this be? Bad enough they knew he’d helped Dorothy hide the trunk, but now... how would Thomas forgive him?
“You can stop it right now. George, nothing’s changed. You never did anything wrong, and if anything, I’m the one who took Frances from you.”
“No, Tom, George. Frannie was always in love with you, Thomas. We never saw it. And George, with Thomas single she wouldn’t give up until she married him. If anyone is to blame, it is me for leaving.”
George shook his head. “Perhaps we all need to stop blaming ourselves and move forward.”
“Exactly my point of getting this from the cabin.” Thomas took the lid off. “Frannie kept it with her precious bits and pieces and I never opened it, not even after she died.”
“Do you remember she worked at the fabric shop for a long time? The shoebox is from there. Had several pairs I bought over the years.”
“Oh, George, what a good memory you have! I quite forgot they sold shoes as well as fabric and ribbon.” Martha picked up the velvet. “So, two boxes with red ribbon. One with Tom’s letters to me and the rings.”
“And whatever is in here.” Thomas moved the box so it was between them all. “Shall we?”