| |
1971
Frannie wrapped her scarf around her neck for the third time, battling the wind blasting across the Great Southern Ocean on this late winter day. She glanced up the path from Green Bay Lookout, but still no sign of Dorothy. At her feet was a canvas bag. She stared out at the turbulent, grey sea, wondering if a storm was heading across. She needed to be home soon to Thomas and their baby.
The crunch of footsteps finally came and she turned to Dorothy. Dressed immaculately, as always, the older woman offered no salutation. No niceties. She stopped beside Frannie and glanced at the bag.
“Everything is there?”
“Hello, Dorothy. Yes. But I believe it is best for me to keep the rings. The letters. What if Martha visits you and discovers them?”
“And what if your husband finds them?”
“He respects my special things. What I keep in my other shoebox.”
“A shoebox?” Dorothy scorned. “Do you really believe he’ll never look? No, I’ll take the bag and then our... relationship, for want of a better word, is over.”
Dorothy drew an envelope from her handbag. “As I promised. Enough to feed your child and buy your husband something nice. Or shoes.”
This was not what Frannie ever wanted. She eyed the envelope. Tom wasn’t making much from his paintings, and she’d had to go back to work a few days a week to makes ends meet. If only George had helped her sell the rings. She shrugged, took the envelope and handed Dorothy the canvas bag.
“Mark my words, Frances. Never contact me again for any reason. I won’t hesitate to tell your husband what you did. And Martha.”
As Dorothy stalked up the hill, tears pricked at Frannie’s eyes. What a horrible woman Dorothy was. Not at all like Martha. For a moment, Frannie let herself imagine having her best friend back in her life. Then she saw her wedding ring and smiled. Thomas was worth this. Thomas and their son.
***
Martha’s heart raced as Thomas reached into the shoebox. She wished Christie was here, yet knew it was for the best that this moment was shared by the two men who’d mattered to Frannie. Shared with her, Frannie’s best friend for so long. Her fingers curled into her palms.
One by one, Thomas laid out the contents of the box.
A thick, sealed envelope.
A small notebook.
A black velvet jewellery pouch.
George gasped.
“George? Isn’t this one of yours?” Thomas asked.
With a nod, George gently opened and emptied the contents onto his palm. Out slid a silver chain. His hands visibly shook as he lifted the chain to reveal a pendant. A silver letter ‘F’.
“Oh! You made this for Frannie, George.” Martha leaned closer to inspect the pendant. “She kept it all those years.”
“But... but she told me she’d lost it.” George’s eyes glinted. “I don’t understand.”
Thomas sighed, and took one of Martha’s hands. “I found it. In the cottage. From... that night.”
That night. After Frannie took off her clothes in a failed seduction attempt. “I see.” She gripped Thomas’ hand. “You kept it?”
“Not on purpose. I did find it the night you left me, but Frannie was the last person I wanted to see for a while. It went into a drawer and it was only when I moved out of the cottage it reappeared.”
“Well, I’m glad you have it back, George.” Martha released Thomas’ hand and picked up the pouch. “There’s something in here. A note.” She smoothed the paper out, revealing Frannie’s handwriting. “Keepsake from George Campbell. A sweet and dear man.”
“I’m touched.” George nodded to himself with a small smile. He returned the pendant to the pouch, then studied the note before refolding and putting it into his top pocket.
“Notebook, or envelope?” Thomas had one hand on each.
“Do you think we should do this?” All of a sudden, doubt flooded into Martha. What if there were personal memories of Frannie’s intimate life with Thomas? Or more about her conspiracy with Dorothy? She knew now how the trunk got to the cottage, but still not why the other shoebox, the one containing her wedding and engagement rings and all the letters Thomas wrote trying to win her back, was inside it.
“Up to you, bride. Last thing I want is to upset you, or you.” Thomas looked at George. “There’s a reason Frannie kept these things though, and if it gives you both, and me, some peace of mind, then I vote we do.”
With a touch of his top pocket, George nodded. They both turned to Martha.
“Very well. But then it’s done. We put it all behind us.”
Thomas picked up the envelope. “No stamp.” He turned it over. “No names, nothing. Let’s take a look inside.” He grinned suddenly. “Could be money.”
Martha rolled her eyes. “Open it, old man. Surprised you didn’t suggest it had a restaurant voucher inside.”
“There’s a thought.” He broke the seal and lifted the flap. “Err... you two won’t believe this.” Thomas pulled out a letter, and a wad of twenty dollar notes. Crisp, perfectly lined up and tied with string. “I was joking.”
“They look brand new.”
“They are, I think.” Thomas peered at the top note. “Feel new, but look how old they are. Must be from the sixties, maybe seventies.” He counted the wad and his jaw dropped. “There’s one thousand dollars here.”
“May I?” Martha slid the letter closer. “This is Dorothy’s handwriting. I wonder if this is the final key to the past.”
***
1971
Dorothy Ryan counted the notes again. Surely one thousand dollars would secure the silence of the only person who could harm her reputation. And reputation meant everything to a young woman in a business world filled with male contenders ready to pounce on her hard-won career. One day, this amount of money would be there in her bank account for the taking, but the notes she now tied with string were a secret gift from her mother.
Lilian owed her this. It was her mother who’d refused to accept Thomas Blake as a suitable suitor for Martha. Lilian who’d turned her back on her youngest daughter’s engagement party, leaving Dorothy to make decisions which led to such disastrous consequences. With a heavy sigh, Dorothy slipped the cash into an envelope.
Martha was gone, travelling somewhere overseas with no contact for the past two years or more. Father heard from her from time to time, but not one word to her sister, as if she somehow suspected the truth. Regret stabbed Dorothy and she put down the unsealed envelope, and gazed at her favourite photograph. How different things might have been. But they weren’t. It was important the secrets she shared with Frances Blake stayed secret. Dorothy took a pad of fine writing paper from a drawer.
Dear Frances,
Once you read this, destroy the letter. This serves as our final communication.
You will find a sum of money enclosed. Use it however you wish, but understand this is in exchange for your silence, now and in the future. No good will come of bringing our past association to the notice of your husband, my sister, or any other person. I am confident you would not wish your son to know your part in the fallout from our regrettable relationship.
For I do regret what happened to my sister, more than she will ever know. You may have what you wanted – the husband and son rightfully belonging to Martha – but I have nothing from this.
My sister is lost to me. All that remains are the memories of our childhood. The dolls we’d play with. The songs I would sing to Martha, hoping one day to perform to a wider audience. Regrets follow me everywhere. The photograph that accompanies this note is a reminder to you of what you helped destroy. Remember this before you divulge a word.
Dorothy Lilian Ryan
***
“Martha? Look... this was inside the envelope.” Thomas held an old photograph.
She didn’t want to see it. Turmoil bubbled through her veins, into her heart. Such cruel words to Frannie. To use her own son against her. Yet the bitterness about Dorothy’s own destiny cut her deeply. Mother forbade Dorothy to follow her dreams and directed her into the commercial world, expecting she’d come home to River’s End and revive their flagging timber business.
Instead, Dorothy accepted a lucrative job in the city. And when the timber yards closed, their parents boarded up Palmerston House and left for Ireland. She was left with no family or friends.
Martha folded the letter and put it down, then finally looked at the photograph. Two girls. Five-year-old Martha sat on fourteen-year-old Dorothy’s lap, playing with one of the precious dolls from the trunk. Both were laughing. A happy moment captured forever. The photograph that accompanies this note is a reminder to you of what you helped destroy.
Thomas stood and came around behind Martha, putting his hands on her shoulders. “She loved you.”
“And I... loved her.” Martha put her head in her hands and wept.
***
Martin pushed the gate to his property wide open, and latched it onto the fence. The afternoon was cooler than the last few days and he was almost finished preparing for the party tonight. Christmas Eve. First one married. He smiled to himself.
“What’s that cheesy grin for, son?” Thomas, followed closely by Randall, carried two tall garden candles from the house.
“Christie.” Martin took one of the candles from Thomas and pushed the sharp end of its stick deep into the ground inside the gate. “Our first Christmas.”
“Here, you’re stronger than me.” Thomas handed Martin the second candle. “Know what you mean. Our first Christmas as well. As husband and wife.”
“And we will celebrate both events tonight.”
“And tomorrow.”
Job done, the men wandered toward the house. Randall trotted ahead, found a long patch of grass, and began to roll. Between the long, jasmine covered railing of the deck, and the edge of the cliff, a marquee was set up with a couple of long trestle tables and chairs. Thomas had strung solar lights and tinsel around it, as well as the deck.
“Looks inviting, Thomas. Thanks for the help.” Martin led the way up the steps and through to the kitchen. “Drink?”
“Water’s good for now.”
“When are you heading back for Martha?”
“Soon, unless you need more help.”
“Not much to do until later on. Is she okay?”
Thomas sat at the counter and Martin leaned against the opposite side, both with glasses of water. “Bit rattled. Last thing we expected was a letter from the past. We’re going to leave the notebook be for the moment.”
“And the money?”
Thomas shrugged.
Randall wandered in, tail plumed high. He plonked himself beside Thomas and rolled onto his side. “Good idea to have a nap, dog. Once guests arrive, you’ll be run off your feet.”
“What about me?” Martin finished his water.
“It was your idea, so no sympathy here. When will Angus get back?”
“Not his keeper, Thomas.”
“I just wanted some friendlier company.” Thomas grinned and stood. “I’ll go find the bride.” He grabbed a box of tinsel on his way out.
Once Thomas left, Martin started on the platters. One at a time he piled them high with seafood salad, a fresh garden salad, his own twist on potato salad, and a fruit platter. Each went into the fridge once done. Then, he worked on a cheese and fruit board.
Angus arrived as Martin was cleaning down the counter. With a smile, he put a box onto the coffee table. A big box, filled with little gift wrapped boxes. “The craft shop was wonderful! I can’t believe they did all of this so quickly.”
Martin joined him and picked one of the small boxes up. “The size is perfect. This is going to be fun.”
“Where shall I put them? All under the tree, or piled on one of the tables?”
“We might let Christie decide. She’s feeling a bit left out today, but should be here soon.”
“In that case, I might go and change.”
“Angus, thanks for picking them up. Between you and Thomas, it’s made my job much easier today.”
“A pleasure. I’ll be right back to help set things out.” His phone rang and he pulled it from a pocket. “Oh, it’s Trev. Back shortly.”
Martin gazed after Angus. He seemed happier today. Perhaps looking forward to tonight. Or seeing Elizabeth.
***
“But, doll, don’t you think it should wait until after Christmas Day? We still have to get ready for the party, and goodness, look at the time!” Daphne threw her phone into her handbag. “We should close now.”
With a laugh, John headed for the front door. “Very well. An hour early won’t upset anyone. Not on Christmas Eve.” He locked the door and turned the sign.
“Thank you. But about the display—”
“It won’t take me long to set it up. Elizabeth insisted it be done as soon as the board arrived. Which, as you can see, is now here.”
Daphne pouted as she glared at the oversized timber board leaning against the window, along with a long spike and John’s tools. It was a pretty sign in spite of her irritation, with the main photo showing off the foyer of Palmerston House, then a smaller photo of the pond area, and another of the kitchen.
“Well, I’m going to need a while to get ready so are you doing this now, or on the way to the party?”
John came back around the counter and held his arms out. Daphne stopped pouting and went into his embrace. “Daph, you go home and take as much time as you need, but you always look wonderful. I’ll drop around to Palmerston and get this set up, then I’m done until after Boxing Day.”
“Promise?” Daphne’s voice was muffled against his chest. “We’ll have some time together?”
“We work together every day, love. But I get what you mean.” He released her and reached for his own phone from behind the counter. “How about we have a serious talk after Christmas? It might be time to plan for the caravan you want and a bit of travel.”
“Oh, love!” Daphne threw her arms around John. “Yes, let’s do exactly that!” She planted a kiss on his lips.
“Well, if this is the response to the idea, we do need to talk.” John kissed her back. “Go get ready. I’ll be there soon.”
A few moments later, as she let herself out of the back door, it occurred to Daphne she’d never found out why John was so secretive about Angus visiting that time. And now with Palmerston House on the market, what would happen to dear Elizabeth and Angus? Nothing had been said about finding them a home of their own, so what was going on?
***
Christmas music, laughter, conversation. Christie heard the wonderful sounds from the gate, where she and Randall had gone to look out for Thomas and Martha. Even though it wasn’t quite dark, all the solar lights looked lovely, and someone – she suspected Thomas – had added tinsel to the gate. She couldn’t remember seeing it open like this before. Nor, it seemed, had anyone else, as all the cars were parked along the street.
Arriving home only a couple of hours ago, she’d been amazed at her transformed house. The marquee, a second Christmas tree on the deck, a dance floor set up outside. How Martin had done this, and prepared all the cold food, was beyond her. All she’d had to do was decide where their gifts to the guests should be, accept a glass of wine, and take a shower. Even Angus had smiled more than she’d seen in days.
“Ah, there you are.”
“I was just thinking about you, Angus.” Christie kissed his cheek as he stopped beside her. “Thanks for helping Martin today.”
“The least I can do, seeing as you are both being so generous about my staying here.”
“You’re most welcome, although I do hope...”
“So do I. She does appear to be running late.”
“So are Martha and Thomas. They went to pick up George first.”
“This looks like them.” Angus nodded to the road.
The four wheel drive spluttered as Thomas reduced speed and turned through the gateway. His window was wound down and he stopped beside Christie and Angus. “Special delivery. Might go closer so George doesn’t have to walk too far.”
“We’ll follow.”
Thomas nosed toward the side of the house and, by the time Angus and Christie caught up, was opening the front passenger door. Randall danced about at Thomas’ feet.
“Who put tinsel on your collar?” Martha opened the back door and climbed down, accepting Angus hand. “Thank you, dear.”
Christie and Thomas helped George out, who leaned back against the door once it closed. He put a hand onto Angus’ shoulder. “Terribly sorry, Angus.”
“George?”
“It was a shock to us when we drove past, so I can only imagine how you feel.”
“I’m not sure I follow.” Angus cast a puzzled glance at Thomas.
“You don’t know.” Thomas said.
“Auntie, did these two start on the Christmas cheer early? They are not making much sense.”
“No, but I think I’d like some now.” Martha took Angus’ hand. “When we drove past Palmerston House, there was a big sign out the front. Elizabeth appears to have put it up for sale.”
“She’s selling Palmerston House?” Christie shook her head. “Elizabeth would never do that!”
“If the board out the front is correct, then she is. Through John.” George took his cane from Thomas.
Christie looked from George, to Thomas, then Martha. Elizabeth loved her home. But maybe she loves Angus more. “Angus—”
But he was already moving. Christie sprinted after him. “You’re going to see her?” She caught him near the gate.
“I am.”
“Shall I drive you?”
“The walk will do me good.”
“Then, I’ll come—”
“Miss Christie, you have guests. I shall return in due course.” He didn’t slow or turn his head. “I must do this alone.”
Yes, you do. Whatever it was. In a moment he’d disappeared into the night.