The Christmas Key

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  The Christmas Key

  © 2018 Phillipa Nefri Clark

  This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes study and research, criticism, review, or as otherwise permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission from the author.

  All characters and events depicted, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real person, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

  Cover design: Steam Power Studios

  The Christmas Key is set in Australia, and written in Australian English.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A NOTE ABOUT RIVER’S END: The Town of Love

  OTHER BOOKS IN THE SERIES

  CHAPTER ONE

  “One moment the wind was a gale, buffeting the cottage with icy air from the Atlantic Ocean with such power I feared the roof might come away. Then, silence. Abrupt, utter silence.” Martha Blake glanced up from the open journal in front of her. Across their dining room table, her husband Thomas’ eyes were closed as he listened.

  “This was my first winter in Ireland and I had serious doubts about my choice of destination. How I missed summer Christmas at Palmerston House, where the days were long and hot, and the house was filled with people. Here I was alone in a tiny cottage overlooking one of the coldest seas on the planet. When the wind didn’t start howling again, I wrapped myself tightly in the blanket I’d been huddling beneath near the fireplace and drew back a curtain.”

  “What did you see?” Thomas opened his eyes and leaned toward Martha.

  “At first, my mind couldn’t comprehend what I saw. Instead of the matching, endless grey of sea and sky, I gazed upon an incredible sight. Soft white flakes fell onto the lawn, and as far as I could see. It was snowing. And it was Christmas Day.”

  “A real white Christmas. How wonderful, my darling.”

  Martha closed the book and reached for his hand. “Until I was snowed in! If one of the other teachers hadn’t decided to drop by and make sure I had some turkey, well I don’t know what would have happened.”

  “Hmm. Snow won’t be a problem for you this Christmas.” Thomas squeezed Martha’s hand before standing. “I might open the rest of the windows and see if our famous sea breeze gets to us before we melt.”

  “And I shall pour some lemonade.” Martha pushed herself onto her feet. “So sweet of Elizabeth to share her family recipe for it.”

  A few moments later, two iced drinks in hand, Martha wandered through the cottage looking for Thomas. He was in the small entry near the front door, staring at one of the paintings on the wall.

  “Are you going to open the door, dear?” Martha offered him a glass, looking past him at the painting. This was one of several he’d painted as a young man. He’d thought them lost forever when his father boarded up the entry and put a cupboard where she now stood. Determined to force Thomas into following his footsteps as stationmaster, rather than artist, his father told Thomas he’d thrown away his paints, brushes, and paintings. Martha’s great-niece, Christie, discovered them hidden in here when she renovated the cottage.

  “I painted this one in the height of summer. Remember wondering what a white Christmas would feel like.” He opened the front door, then the screen door and held it open. “Care for a walk in the garden?”

  “I do.” Martha went down the steps to the lawn. “There is something magical about snow at Christmas. After the first time, some of the children would come with their parents to sing carols. And the village was a picture with a big tree all decorated on the green. But it didn’t always snow, overlooking the sea. More often it was icy sleet.”

  Arm in arm, they wandered around the garden, keeping in the shade to avoid the intense glare of the mid afternoon sun. “I’m so proud of your wonderful writing.” Thomas leaned down to kiss Martha’s cheek. “You really should share the stories with the world.”

  “I think my time has passed to be an author.”

  They stopped beneath a gum tree. “You’ve seen more in one lifetime than most would in many. You’ve scaled a pyramid – illegally, I might point out – and tramped through the wilds of South America. Wondered at the Aurora Borealis and been snowed in with no food on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean.”

  “I once told you I’d travel the world.”

  “You told me you’d run away and become a famous writer. You did the former, so think about the latter.”

  Tears glistened in Martha’s eyes as she gazed up at Thomas. “I’m so sorry, Tom.”

  He pulled her into his arms, both of them almost dropping their glasses of lemonade. “Listen, bride,” he spoke near her ear, his voice gruff. “Your sister and my deceased wife are the ones who should be sorry. You and I were pawns and I never want to hear you apologise for leaving again. Understand?”

  She nodded, eyes tightly closed to stop the tears falling. “Do you think they were sorry? In the end?”

  “Does it matter, Martha?” Thomas released Martha and ran a hand through his hair. “They stole our life away.”

  “I don’t regret my life, and nor do you. It just wasn’t what we planned.” Martha found a tissue and patted her eyes dry. “I am so grateful for Christie because it was her perseverance—”

  “Stubbornness.”

  “True, and her penchant for solving puzzles, which reunited us.”

  “And you have your own skills in that regard.”

  “Well, we still have a puzzle unsolved.”

  They resumed their walk, going around the side of the cottage toward the orchard at the back. At the wrought iron gate leading to the orchard, Thomas turned to stare up at the attic. “I know you’re curious about the trunk. How it got to this cottage from Palmerston House and who hid it up there. But perhaps it’s best to leave the past alone.”

  “Perhaps, dear. But aren’t you curious? I’m sure Christie would love to help find out.”

  The rumble of Christie’s Lotus intruded on the quiet. “Right on cue. I hope she brought afternoon tea.”

  “Do you never stop thinking about food, old man?”

  “Not really. Except when I’m thinking about you.” Thomas kissed Martha on the lips, holding her against his body until she melted from more than the warm afternoon. He raised his head, eyes ablaze. “I might be old, which is why I need to eat so often. Keep my strength up.” He winked.

  ***

  Martha led the way inside through the back door, with Christie and Martin Blake close behind. Thomas stayed outside to fill a bowl with fresh water for Randall.

  “He couldn’t wait to come with us.” Christie grinned as the golden retriever supervised Thomas. “He loves the car.”

  “He’d prefer to be in the front seat,” Martin added.

  “I don’t even know how you fit in it, Martin, let alone with Randall.”

  “Not to mention the overnight bag and picnic basket, Auntie.”

  “Did you say picnic?” Thomas escorted Randall inside and closed the door. “Where is it?”

  “In the car, Thomas.”

  “Well, bring it in.”

  Martin leaned against the kitchen table, reaching for one of Christie’s hands. “Nope. It is perfect weather for sailing.”

  Thomas and Martha glanced at each other. “So, you’re taking Jasmine Sea for a spin, son?”

&n
bsp; “We thought we might sail down the coast a bit and stay the night. As long as you don’t mind dog sitting?” Christie smiled as delight filled Thomas’ face. “So, it’s yes?”

  “About time we had him here again. Since you got back from your honeymoon, all you’ve done is keep my dog from me.”

  “My dog, Granddad.”

  “There’s the granddad thing again.”

  “He’s welcome to stay the night. Are you going now, or do you have time for some lemonade? We spilt half of ours in the garden.” Martha took the jug from the fridge.

  “They’ll stay for a cold drink,” Thomas answered for everyone, and went to the cupboard for more glasses. “We need to talk about Christmas.”

  They all ended up in the dining room, which was cooler than most of the cottage. Randall dived under the table and lay on his side on the timber floorboards. Perched on a sideboard was an old oak trunk with a rounded top which Christie had discovered in the attic about a year ago. Inside had been unopened letters from Thomas to Martha – sent but never delivered – which contributed to their fifty-year separation.

  “So, Christmas?” Christie prompted, although her eyes went straight to the trunk. So did Martha’s, and then they glanced at one another with a knowing smile.

  “Thought you two might like to come here for Christmas dinner,” Thomas said.

  “Oh, we’d been going to suggest you join us at the house. Give you a chance to relax for once.” Christie set her glass on a coaster. “And invite Angus and Elizabeth.”

  “We do little but relax, dear.” The corners of Martha’s eyes creased in amusement. “On the other hand, you’ve worked tirelessly in your beauty salon since it opened. And I’m sure you’ll be busy right up to Christmas Eve?”

  “Well, yes. I’m very glad to have Belinda home for her break and helping me, as demand is rather high.” Christie’s new salon in River’s End was gaining clients daily and she had yet to hire anyone else, other than a part-time hairdresser. “The week before Christmas there are group bookings every day for the spa and lots for hair and make-up for parties. But I can still manage—”

  “Truth is, Christie, we’d love to do it,” Thomas interrupted. “This is our first Christmas married, same as you both, but we’ve missed so many and it would mean a lot to be the hosts. And there’s room for those two love-birds from Palmerston House to join us.”

  Martin looked at Christie. “What if we have Christmas dinner here, and we can host a party on Christmas Eve? Which I’ll take care of, sweetheart. Let you worry about your clients and I’ll put something together for our guests.”

  “Oh dear.” Thomas shook his head. “Married three months and you haven’t worked out you don’t spring those kind of surprises on your better half. We might need a chat about husbandly things, son.”

  “A party sounds perfect!” Christie stood and wrapped her arms around Martin, resting her head on his shoulder from behind him. “We have an arrangement, Thomas. Martin cooks and I grow things for the kitchen.”

  “Good arrangement. You look ready to go and set sail. Just make sure you give us a call once you settle on a mooring spot. Or a text.” Thomas pushed his chair back and got to his feet. “Can’t have the bride here worrying about you.”

  They all wandered out, Christie and Martha pausing behind. “When I get back, shall we do some digging about the trunk?”

  “Thomas thinks it might be best left in the past.”

  “But you want to know?”

  Martha nodded. “When Dorothy and I were children, the trunk was special to her. I’m surprised she left it at Palmerston House, particularly once our parents moved to Ireland.”

  “Somewhere between them leaving, and Elizabeth buying the property, this found its way here. To the attic.”

  “With Tom’s letters in it.” Her fingers played with the rings on her left hand.

  “And those rings. Made for you by George. Do you think he knows more than he’s told us so far?”

  “Are you two coming along, or does Martin go sailing on his own?” Thomas called from the back door.

  “We’ll work the mystery out, Auntie.” Christie hugged Martha. “Once I’m back, we’ll write up a plan of action.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  In the front sitting room of Palmerston House, a game of Scrabble was underway. Elizabeth White, the owner of the old bed and breakfast property, was locked in fierce battle with Angus McGregor, Belinda Crossman, and George Campbell. Angus was her biggest issue, not only because they’d played often enough for him to have worked out many of her moves, but because he wasn’t playing fair today, kissing her cheek every time she scored better than anyone. Which was most rounds, in spite of his deliberate distraction.

  On her next turn, she thought for a while, then placed the letters to make the word ‘behave’.

  “Well, that won’t win you many points, seeing as I can now do this...” Belinda laid out ‘buzzard’ and sat back with a grin. “I’m going to catch you.”

  “It wasn’t meant to win points.”

  Angus chuckled. He shuffled his letters, then used Elizabeth’s word to make ‘never’.

  George burst out laughing and Belinda frowned, looking from one to the other. “Are you having a private conversation instead of concentrating on this momentous game?” She folded her arms. Belinda lived in Melbourne where she studied beauty, but was home with her mother, Sylvia, and younger sister, Jess, during the summer break. “Because I came here expecting a serious and professional approach to an afternoon battle of wills.”

  The familiar growl of the Lotus interrupted the moment.

  “I wonder where those two are going.” Belinda stood up to peer through the window. “Maybe Warrnambool?”

  “Willow Bay, dear,” Elizabeth said. “Going sailing overnight.”

  Belinda swung around. “On Jasmine Sea? Well, I guess they must be because it’s their yacht, but is it a good idea?”

  “Oh, child, come and sit again.” George smiled. “She’s a sound boat and is well repaired.”

  “Sound boats don’t sink!”

  “They will if someone puts a hole in them. I know it was frightening seeing her almost sink, but everyone is fine and the fact is Jasmine Sea means a great deal to Christie and Martin. They’ll be home tomorrow.” Angus patted Belinda’s seat and she came back. “Let them enjoy their time together. They’ve certainly earned it.”

  The ringing of the phone stopped the game for a few moments, and as Elizabeth went to answer, Belinda decided to refresh everyone’s drinks.

  “When are you planning on doing it, Angus?” George kept an eye on the doorway and his voice low.

  “On?”

  “It seems you and Elizabeth have quite a delightful relationship.”

  “Indeed.”

  “This town never tires of happy couples.” George glanced at Angus. “We love weddings. And I can whip up some rings for you both.”

  “George.”

  “Well, you’re already living here.”

  “Oh, but not like... not that way. I wouldn’t do anything to disrespect Elizabeth’s standing in the community.”

  “Sorry. One would assume...”

  Angus frowned until his forehead furrowed deeply. “Does everyone think that? It didn’t occur to me people would, but I imagine it might look as though I’m taking advantage of being Elizabeth’s guest.”

  “Nobody would think so, Angus. You’re considered a gentleman, but we don’t live in the eighteenth century either.”

  “I hate to think Elizabeth’s good name might be ruined because of how long I’ve stayed. How would anyone know I’m a paying long-term guest?” Angus tapped his fingers on the table as he spoke. “My intentions are good and I do want to ask her... well, one day, so perhaps I need to find other accommodation.”

  Eyes back on the door, George shook his head. “I’m quite certain she wouldn’t want you to.”

  “No. I think I must, George. I’ll speak to John Jones
and see if there’s anything suitable for rent in town.”

  “You should talk to Elizabeth first.”

  “My mind is made up so not another word on it. I shall move out as soon as possible.”

  With a sigh, George dropped his head and silence fell between them.

  “Drinks are here!” Belinda breezed in with a tray of glasses and a jug of iced lemonade. “Come on, Elizabeth? What are you doing out there?”

  “Umm, nothing, dear. Admiring the grandfather clock.” Elizabeth came in and sat before her Scrabble tiles. “It really is wonderful having it back here, George, so thank you again.”

  “Pleasure. It stayed away too long.”

  Belinda poured drinks and passed them around. “Are you okay, Elizabeth?” she asked. “Did the phone call make you sad?”

  Angus shot a look at Elizabeth, who played with the letters.

  “It was just Martha.” She drew in a breath and raised her eyes to Angus. “Thomas and Martha invited you and me to Christmas dinner at the cottage. With Christie and Martin.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I said... I said it sounded wonderful and I’d speak with you.”

  “It does.” Angus reached out and took Elizabeth’s hand. She didn’t return the pressure when he squeezed it. “So, I’ll let her know we’ll be there?”

  “We’ll need to go shopping for something special to take to the cottage.”

  “George, what are your plans for Christmas?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Oh, he’s coming over to our house. Mum and Jess invited George, Daphne and John, and you-know-who!” Belinda did a little jig in her seat. “Okay, so it’s Barry, and how much fun will it be having such a nice big group.” Barry Parks was a local builder who’d worked on the old cottage as well as Christie’s salon. He and Sylvia were becoming what Jess called ‘an item’, much to Barry’s amusement and Sylvia’s embarrassment.

  “I’m looking forward to it, knowing the beautiful food your mother makes every day for the bakery,” George said.

  “And my unspeakably exceptional chocolate brownies will celebrate the splendid day with the inclusion of cherries, nuts, extra chocolate, and anything else I can come up with,” Belinda said. “I might be a beauty specialist extraordinaire-in-training, but creating pastries is what defines me.”