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FOR A FEW DAYS, DEREK spent close to every waking moment with Christie. He was like the man she had first met, attentive, caring, and respectful. If he had had things his way, they would have gone out for breakfast every day and probably dinner as well, but Christie managed to keep it to just a few times. They went to the movies and wandered along the river under moonlight. Derek brought her flowers and paid her compliments.
She started to enjoy his company again instead of being on guard. He mentioned setting a wedding date in passing, suggesting they make time for a honeymoon in the Greek Islands. It had Christie thinking about life as his wife. Her career would continue for now, but one day they would want children. Before that happened, she would change direction – opening her own beauty salon or pursuing her interest in remedial make-up. Whichever it was, her family would come first.
Exactly two weeks from the day Christie got home from the States, Derek cooked dinner for them both. It was such a rare event Christie could not help but hover around the kitchen, much to his amusement.
“You don’t trust me in here!”
“No. I just thought I could help.” she lied, giggling at his disbelieving expression.
“Alright, seeing as you’ve told me how fantastic it is, get a bottle of that Chardonnay out and pour us both a glass. That should keep you busy.”
"Oh, goodie!"
Christie opened a bottle and poured two glasses.
Derek held his glass up to inspect the clear gold liquid. "A toast," he said, "to life working out the way it should."
He offered his glass to Christie to clink hers against, and she did, murmuring "Cheers".
His words had been uncannily like Martin's counter-toast on his deck overlooking the ocean. She could almost smell the jasmine and sea air and had to turn away. Her heart rate had gone up a bit, and she took a long sip of the lovely wine.
Derek made a big deal about setting the table and sitting Christie with a refilled glass before placing her plate in front of her.
“It smells wonderful!” Christie saw his smile widen and reached across to squeeze his hand. He turned his hand over and held hers, playing with the engagement ring.
“Time to think about adding a wedding ring, don’t you agree?”
She nodded, wondering if now was the time to mention her ideas about changing direction with her career.
"Wine's alright," he commented, piling salad on Christie's plate. "Where did you say you got it?"
“Thanks, that’s plenty! Oh, there’s a little wine shop in River’s End, part of a pub. This comes from a family winery a bit further west, just off the Great Ocean Road.”
“One thing about small towns is there’s always a pub. Or four.”
“True.” Christie sliced into the pie.
“And what else is there? How big is this place?”
“Not big. A couple of streets of shops. You know the sort of thing, real estate agents, small supermarket, a couple of clothing shops. The most divine bakery.” Christie smiled to herself, thinking about Belinda.
“So not much at all. Not your thing I imagine, no real substance to the town.”
“I quite like it there.”
"But it won't suit you for any length of time. I mean, no spas or boutiques or a decent hairdresser. After all, at heart, you're a city girl." Derek speared some tomato and feta.
"So I've been told," Christie commented.
“Who told you that?”
Christie filled her mouth with pie and shrugged. Derek let it go, more interested in the wine bottle.
He read the label. “What else do they make?”
“We should google it. I told you it was lovely.”
“No, let’s take a drive tomorrow.” Derek topped up the glasses.
“What? Where?”
“Well, to the winery, silly. And you can show me that cottage on the way back.”
Christie could not believe her ears. All she wanted when she was there was for him to show any kind of interest in her inheritance. Instead, he had made her feel awful about staying there and had shown no interest. Until now. She picked up her glass but only played with the stem as he continued.
“We can leave after breakfast and find somewhere for lunch. Maybe this winery does lunches. Or that bakery you mentioned.”
All of a sudden, the idea of Derek in River’s End was disturbing. Christie did not want him meeting Belinda. He could be such a snob about people in service jobs he would likely dismiss her as just a shop assistant. He would hate the condition the cottage was in and miss its charm and heritage. What if we run into Martin? Christie could not bear that.
She kept her tone neutral. “I’d rather not. Not until after London, if that’s okay?”
“I’d like to see this place. Why wait?” Derek pressed her, his eyes cold.
“There’s a lot I need to do before London. It’s less than a week away. Why don’t we plan to have a weekend there once I’m back?”
"It's one day, Chris. Then I'll be back in the office, and I can't count on having a spare weekend when it suits you." He pushed his plate away.
There it was. The side of Derek he showed when she attended Gran’s funeral. The familiar cold stone dropped into her stomach as she gazed into her wine glass. The silence dragged on. Hold your ground. Christie dug deep for words.
"This week has been wonderful, Derek. It means a lot to me you've taken time off to spend together, it does. I'd rather stay in Melbourne though. I'll be back before Christmas, and we always talked about staying by the sea around that time, so why not stay in the cottage this year? We can choose a wedding date then if you like. Please, honey?"
Derek finished his glass of wine. “So, you’re saying no to me?”
“Well, you did suggest I should on occasion.”
"Yes, I did. All right, let's do what you want. See how that pans out."
As if nothing happened, he pulled his plate back and continued eating, leaving Christie confused and unsure. Something was terribly wrong.
***
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Christie woke up uncharacteristically late to an empty apartment. Near the coffee machine, she found a note from Derek. He was going to the office for a few hours and would take her out tonight to Crown Casino for dinner.
She sighed, knowing dinner at Crown meant several hours afterwards in one of the Casino rooms playing any one of a number of the games he enjoyed. Give and take. He'd backed down over going to see the cottage so she would go with him tonight.
Over breakfast, Christie planned her morning. First, she wanted to check her emails to see if her final arrangements for London were here. She would see if Angus was free for coffee. It was time to find out how he was and whether he could help her decipher Gran’s note.
***
ANGUS WAS DELIGHTED to hear from Christie. The child that had come into his life through the tragic deaths of Dorothy's daughter and son-in-law brought joy and brightness that stayed with him long after she moved away to live her own life.
The few things both grandmother and grandchild shared – a love of gardening, cooking and art – had never been enough to bridge the chasm between them or ease the deep loneliness both of them endured.
Her leaving had been as sad for him as he imagined it was for Dorothy. Although she said nothing about it, he caught her staring at a photo of Christie in the hallway more than once. Yet, she let her go without a fight.
Hearing the Lotus turn in through the wrought iron gates, Angus hurried to the front door. He opened it as Christie climbed out of the car, waving like a little girl with a big smile on her face. A moment later and she was throwing her arms around him.
"Oh, let me look at you!" he laughed, and she stepped back. Wearing a white T-shirt and jeans, she was a picture of casual beauty.
“I know. No heels or designer stuff.” She did a small twirl. “Don’t tell Derek.”
“Why would your young man object? Although, if I might say, you are a little on the thin side.”
“Hm. That’s what Derek said too. And I don’t know why. I ate so much gorgeous produce in River’s End!”
Angus didn’t understand. She put her arm through his. “I’ll fill you in. But first, how are you doing?”
“I’m well, just tired. But, nearly everything is done now.”
He paused at the doorway to let her go in first and saw dismay fill her face as she took it all in. Dark and lifeless, the home she had grown up in was almost empty. The furnishings had gone, and photographs and paintings no longer graced the walls. The floor was vacant of the expensive Persian rug with its intriguing patterns Christie had been afraid to drop anything on.
“So, the contents are sold? Then the house will be?”
“Not quite. There’ll be a couple of boxes of photographs and trinkets you should have, but Miss Dorothy wanted the antiques, the quality furnishings and artwork to be sold by an auction house with the proceeds to go to charity.”
“That’s wonderful. I always wondered... I mean, she never said anything...”
“Your Gran could be gruff and fiercely private, but deep down she had a warm heart that led her to deep generosity. Secretly, of course. She supported two worthy causes for a long time. Surf Lifesavers and the Royal Flying Doctors.”
Christie’s hand flew to her mouth as her eyes filled with a sudden rush of tears.
***
JUST SEVEN YEARS OLD, Christie baked under the heat of a late morning sun as she squinted up at a single winged plane overhead. It circled once and now prepared to land over at the airfield, only a couple of hundred metres from their house. In minutes, the ambulance would meet it and transport some sick or injured person from the plane to the small clinic where Dad would care for them. Mum might be there too, to help any family that travelled with the patient.
Christie had been on the plane a few times with Dad, not to fly but to sit in one of the few seats in the small plane as he replaced emergency supplies and talked to the pilot, who was also a doctor. The smell of disinfectant and diesel mingled together.
Other times Dad and Mum would fill the old Jeep with supplies to drop off to even more remote settlements, do health checks and attend to minor ailments. Before leaving, Dad would squeeze her so tightly in a hug that she would squeal and wiggle as he reminded her to behave for Trishi while she stayed there. Mum would wave until they rounded the furthest corner. It might be a few hours or a few days, but they always came home with stories and little gifts sent by the communities they serviced.
Except one day, they did not come home. Everyone tried to pretend it was just taking a bit longer than usual, but as the hours dragged on, Christie knew something terrible and beyond her understanding had happened to her Mum and Dad. It had. Trishi said to take comfort knowing they were doing what they loved and they had not suffered. All Christie knew was they left her all alone.
***
“MISS CHRISTIE?”
Christie snapped back to the present to find her face wet with tears. Angus held out a perfectly folded white handkerchief.
“I wish I’d known. I mean, everything Gran had must be worth enough to make a difference. To save a life?”
“It will make a difference. Come on; let’s not dwell on all of that. The kettle just boiled so what about a cuppa and catch up?”
***
ON A BENCH UNDER AN old elm, Christie updated Angus on the events following the funeral. At least, an edited version. She played down how much Derek hurt her, but Angus saw the sadness in her eyes and wished he could have few moments with the man.
She smiled though as she described her discovery of the orchard and vegetable garden, of the growing love she had for the cottage. Then became serious again as she told Angus about the painting.
“So you think this Thomas Blake was the artist?”
Christie nodded, playing with her empty coffee cup.
“And you’ve left it in River’s End, with the man you believe is his grandson?” Angus watched Christie closely.
"Yes, and I'm not certain it was the right thing to do. I mean, what if he refuses to return it. He wants to show it to someone, so perhaps it will disappear."
“Yet you left it there.”
"Hm. Yes. Well, he seems to think there is some reason why the Ryans aren't welcome in River's End, and that includes me. Funny how his dog loves me though." Christie missed Randall. That gentle, friendly dog had wiggled into her heart.
“Your great-grandparents’ grandparents virtually founded River’s End. Who knows, maybe the Blake family settled around that time as well, but it seems to me something a lot more is in play than who is welcome or not. It sounds like bad blood.”
“That’s what I think. And those letters, oh Angus, the love Thomas had for Martha! Saving her from drowning in the middle of a storm and waiting months for her to come home but she didn’t. Not ever, I think, although...”
“Although what?”
"I'm being silly. It's just I thought maybe Martha had come home. Just after Gran's funeral, I found a pendant on Thomas Blake's headstone that was T and M with a love heart. And there was an inscription in the limestone cliff almost the same. But I've searched everywhere I can think of. There was a newspaper report of an elderly lady found on the jetty – I even went to the hospital, but they'd only say she was released and wouldn't tell me her name."
“Did you read the note Miss Dorothy left?”
"Oh! Yes, and I need your help because some of the writing is quite hard to decipher. Something about a box. I think."
Christie found the note in her handbag and passed it to Angus. He read aloud. “Dearest Christabel, my last request is you find my sister and give her the diary. In the box. It is... in...” he hesitated, caught on the same words as Christie had been. “Maybe inside? Yes, it is inside the dwelling? Not dwelling, but a d to start. And that is a double s. Inside the dress? Oh! Inside the dresser! Yes, come on, I know what she means.”
Face animated, Angus almost leapt to his feet.
***
AT THE DOORWAY OF THE attic, Christie baulked. Angus had unlocked the door and gone straight in, but Christie's feet would not follow. It was a forbidden room, and the consequences of being caught in there by Gran were etched in her memory. Gran might be gone, but the little girl in Christie remembered the anger on Gran's face and the fury in her voice as she dragged her by the arm out of the attic and downstairs to her bedroom.
“It’s quite safe now. She was protective of her past. Come in.” Angus held a hand out to Christie, and with a gulp, she stepped inside.
Not much remained of the mix of old furniture and knick-knacks that intrigued Christie so long ago. Just a few packing boxes and an ornate dressing table. It was white with gold handles, gold coloured inserts and its mirror was a perfect oval in a gold frame.
“This belonged to your Gran when she was a child and is the only piece of furniture I was instructed to keep. To be honest, I’d begun to wonder what to do with it, but perhaps we shall find out?”
Angus opened the single drawer and there, inside, was a box. About the size of a book, it was made of timber and etched into the lid was a tulip. Painted white.
Christie and Angus turned to stare at each other in silent recognition of the white tulips at the funeral. Unsure of herself, Christie hesitated to pick up the box, so Angus did, placing it onto the dresser. A tiny padlock kept it secure.
"Oh, it needs a key," Christie said.
“You have it. On the keyring from the cottage.” Angus prompted.
Christie found the keyring in her bag and slid the smallest key into the padlock. It turned and released the lock.
Inside was a small diary with "1968" on its leather cover. Underneath were two envelopes. The top one was in that familiar hand Christie recognised as Thomas Blake's, and her heart skipped a beat. Her instincts had been right!
The second envelope was addressed to Thomas at the cottage. With trembling hands, Christie turned it over. From Miss M Ryan. It was a letter from Martha.