The Christmas Key

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  Angus and George laughed and Elizabeth smiled, but it was forced. Belinda mouthed ‘are you okay?’ and she nodded. Her hand was still in Angus’ but her eyes dropped back to her letters.

  ***

  “The last time I did this, I almost hit the rocks.” Christie turned the wheel slightly and the yacht responding effortlessly beneath her feet. This was the first time they’d taken her out to sea since her return from dry dock.

  “No, you didn’t.” Martin sat to one side, not the least bit interested in what Christie was doing, but intent on her face. “You steered Jasmine Sea down the middle of the channel, the way I’d taught you. As you’re doing right now.”

  “I let her drift though. For ages whilst I was below. All the time I was crying and panicking, she might have run aground.”

  “But she didn’t. And you held it together once you focused on the job at hand.”

  “If you call leaving Jasmine Sea where she could be damaged by my ex, then taking Randall with me on a sinking yacht, holding it together? Sure, I did well.” Her voice trembled.

  Martin was behind her in an instant, arms firmly around her waist. “You saved Randall’s life. You somehow kept Jasmine Sea afloat with a hole in her hull and a deadly storm bearing down.” He tightened his hold. “You kept yourself alive when Derek tried to take you from me. Start seeing this through a different filter, sweetheart. You were courageous and strong.”

  She sighed and relaxed against him, as though releasing the fear coiled inside for so long. After a moment, she smiled. “I love you. I’m thirsty though.”

  “Needy. Bossy. Beautiful.” Martin kissed her neck. “I’ll find some water.”

  By the time he returned with bottles of water, Jasmine Sea was through the channel. “What would you like me to do?”

  “I’m the captain? Cool. Then you are required to prepare the spinnaker. There’s a fine wind we’re about to take advantage of.” Her eyes sparkled and she adjusted her stance to balance as the swell increased. “Afterwards—”

  “Afterwards, sweetheart, I’ll help you reconsider this captain illusion you have.”

  In moments, the yacht was in open water and a strong breeze filled her spinnaker. As though desperate to run free, Jasmine Sea skimmed across the sea, barely touching the waves in her haste.

  “Steady her a bit.” Martin called from the bow, where he squatted, hand shading his eyes.

  This was like the first day Christie and Martin sailed together. They’d gone the other direction, only as far as Green Bay, but along the way Christie was enchanted by dolphins swimming alongside and fell in love with the yacht Martin had given her.

  Along the Shipwreck Coast they sailed for an hour, then another. Close enough to land to see Warrnambool glide by. Martin took over as they crossed paths with fishing boats, Christie tired and ready to hand over.

  The landscape changed and Martin searched the shore for a suitable mooring. They came upon a quiet cove, where other yachts bobbed gently and the wind was nothing more than a wisp. Surrounded by old forest, Jasmine Sea cast anchor.

  “Shall we go ashore?” Martin gazed at the tiny beach.

  “You decide. I’m happy here. I’ll take some photos and send to Thomas.”

  “Better make them selfies or he won’t believe they’re from you.”

  Christie took her phone out and began snapping pictures. She took a few of Martin, who, in his dark sunglasses, unbuttoned white cotton shirt, and shorts, was as handsome as any movie star she’d worked with over her career as a make-up artist. Even more than some.

  “Are you quite done?”

  “Never. Ever. You should be a model.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Shall I take some of you to send to Thomas?”

  She handed over her phone and Martin spent way too long filling the camera with photos of his new wife. “Should be one or two you’ll like.” He returned the phone with a smile. “Send away, and I’ll open some wine.”

  There were no other people in the cove, only the handful of weekend yachts. Christie settled herself on the comfortable seats at the stern, and gazed at the bushland a hundred or so metres away. The beach was small – like Willow Bay – but here the sand was rich gold, rather than the almost white shore where Jasmine Sea usually moored. The gentle rocking of the yacht was soothing and Christie’s eyes fluttered closed.

  She must have napped for a while, for the sun was heading toward the horizon and the air was cooler when she woke. Martin sat opposite with an open sketch book, drawing her. “How long did I—” She yawned, and Martin turned the book to show her an almost completed sketch.

  “Long enough. Now, do you want wine, or will it put you back to sleep?” he teased.

  Christie stretched. “Wide awake now. Yes please. And sorry. Didn’t mean to spoil our time together.”

  “I got to watch you sleep.” He leaned over to kiss the tip of her nose. “And Thomas sent a reply to say thanks. And confirmed Angus and Elizabeth are coming to Christmas dinner.”

  “Oh, goodie. Have you got any ideas for presents?”

  Martin poured two glasses of their favourite chardonnay from an ice bucket. “You mean, in addition to the designer scarves you bought for Martha and Elizabeth in Sydney, oh and the designer ties for the gentlemen? Plus the boxes of delicacies I know you ordered from the little chocolate shop we went to?”

  “Well, I wanted them to share some of our experiences from Sydney. I loved our honeymoon.”

  “As did I. Here,” he handed Christie a glass. “Let’s make a toast to them.”

  “Cool. Okay, to Martha and Thomas, the second happiest couple in the world!”

  Martin lifted his glass. “They might disagree, but I don’t. And to Angus and Elizabeth, a couple meant to be together.”

  “Cheers. Nice one. I wonder when Angus will propose.”

  “Sweetheart.”

  “Harmless speculation. Christmas Day would be special.”

  “What makes you think he’s close to doing so?” Martin sipped his wine, smiling at Christie over the rim.

  “He loves her. They’ve both been alone for a long time. She loves him. What else? Oh, as your toast stated, they are meant to be together. So why wouldn’t he? Nothing will come between them.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  A few days after the sailing trip, Christie took advantage of a short break between clients to have lunch with Martha at the bakery. As they waited for Sylvia to bring their meals and coffee, they wasted no time getting to the subject of their mutual interest.

  “We’re going to need to keep track of what we know, Auntie. I like mind mapping stuff, and am happy to set something up?”

  “I think its best you do. And keep it at your house.”

  “Oh. Is Thomas worrying about it?”

  “He hasn’t said not to see what we can find...”

  “Better we don’t give him the chance then? Why don’t we meet at the salon then if we need to talk? I can’t imagine him, or Martin for that matter, dropping in.”

  Martha beamed. “Clever girl! We’ll get to the bottom of this and then tell him.” She peered through the window. “Daphne’s on her way across. Not a word, yet.”

  Daphne Jones pushed the door open with a frown, which turned into a wide smile as she saw her friends. “How lovely to see you two out together! Having lunch?”

  “Hello, Daphne, yes. In fact, Sylvia is bringing it over as we speak.” Martha squeezed Daphne’s hand. “We’d invite you to join us but we’re just having a quick catch up.”

  “Oh, love, I couldn’t anyway. John sent me over with a long and slightly strange list of what he wants for lunch. It will probably take ages to make.” She sighed. “Better go and order. But you two enjoy your catch up.” She made for the counter, stopping to speak to Sylvia on the way.

  “We will.” Martha glanced at Christie, who stared out the window. “What are you looking at?”

  “Angus went into the real estate agents. How odd.”


  “Your eyesight is good! Anyway, how should we approach this puzzle of ours?”

  Sylvia slipped plates and coffees onto their table with a quick, “There you go, ladies.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  “Yes, thanks, Sylvia,” Christie added. “Let’s see. We need to pool our knowledge. What do we know about the trunk before it was moved? Who had access to it, as well as the shoebox full of secrets?”

  “The trunk belonged to Dorothy. For as long as I remember, it stored her dolls in her bedroom at Palmerston House.”

  “You don’t remember it going to Ireland with your parents?” Christie cut into her pie, sniffing in appreciation as steam rose.

  Martha shook her head. “My mother took many small items, ones of sentimental value or genuine value, like her silver. All the furniture remained, in fact, Elizabeth bought Palmerston House partly furnished.”

  “Yet she doesn’t recall the trunk being there.”

  “So it was moved between the time my parents left Australia and Elizabeth moving in. Which is quite a few years, when the house was simply boarded up.” Martha nibbled on the end of her sausage roll.

  “Auntie?”

  Martha stopped nibbling. “The way you said ‘Auntie’ reminds me of how Martin calls Thomas ‘Granddad’ when he’s going to say something difficult.”

  “Sorry. I wondered if you’d like... well, I have Gran’s diary. And I know I’ve offered it to you before and you’ve said no, but perhaps you’ll see something in it I’ve missed. Some clues we need.”

  It was a moment or two before Martha answered, whilst she drank some coffee, and then dabbed her lips with a napkin. “Sometimes I dream about Dorothy. Almost as though we were children again, but when I wake, it is always to the knowledge she is gone, and we were estranged for most of our lives.” Christie reached across the table to take one of Martha’s hands as she continued. “I’ve come to terms with what she did, more than Thomas has about Frances. You know, Frannie was my very best friend. I sometimes go to her grave and ask her why it meant nothing. But then I go home to Tom and understand.”

  “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “No, dear, what I’m trying to say is I’m ready now. I’ll read it. See if between us we can discover something useful.”

  “If you’re certain... I’ll drop it up later.”

  “Good.” Martha slid her hand out of Christie’s to pick up her fork. “Thomas is doing something with the decorations. He decided if we are hosting Christmas dinner that the dining room required more colour.”

  “A true artist. So, what is he doing to remedy this?”

  “I have no idea. He mentioned something about not enough red, so I was most happy to leave him to it. He’s missing Randall and needs something to distract him. I need your advice, dear. Elizabeth is my friend, but I am a little bit stuck about her present.”

  “Spa gift voucher. One can never have enough.”

  “Except we’d like to get something for them both.”

  “As a couple? I don’t know. They love each other, I have no doubt at all, but they’re keeping things quiet.”

  Martha nodded. “Thomas and I agree. However, we’d like to give them a little... push.”

  “Oh, Auntie. Don’t let Martin hear you say it!”

  “Life is too short. And Thomas can handle your husband if he really has to.”

  “Right. I might need some tips in that department. Martin is anti-gossip, anti-interference. What kind of push?” Christie leaned forward, eyes alight.

  “When we were arranging your trip to Sydney for the honeymoon, Thomas collected lots of brochures. He found a weekend away in the Macedon Ranges which might be perfect. Staying at a lovely two bedroom cottage on a lake, it is close to wineries and restaurants.”

  “Oh, is it near where Charlotte moved?” Charlotte Dean, who helped save Randall’s life once and was kidnapped right before Christie and Martin’s wedding, recently moved to a small town in the Macedon Ranges to take on a new role in a bookshop. She’d left behind a very sad Trev Sibbritt, the local police officer, unable to accept his growing feelings for her as she dealt with some personal issues.

  “Close enough to visit.”

  “Should I sound out Angus? And you speak to Elizabeth? Or do you take a chance?” Christie said.

  “We don’t know.”

  With a glance at her watch, Christie pushed her chair back. “I have to go, sorry. My next client is due in a few minutes. Can we talk a bit more tonight?”

  “Of course. I’ll get Sylvia to make some take-away coffee for Thomas. And a pie. Because—”

  “Lunch is the most important meal of the day.”

  Christie and Martha burst out laughing.

  ***

  On the bench outside the jewellery shop, George enjoyed the late afternoon sunshine as he watched the people of River’s End go about their business. Earlier, Angus had sat with him for a while on his way back from seeing John Jones.

  “He says not many rentals come along in River’s End, but he’s going to speak to the owners of the old place just outside town.” Angus had pointed in the direction toward the mountains. “Been on the market for a couple of years, so they might as well make some income.”

  “Isn’t that where Bernie Cooper holed up for weeks on end?” George remembered all too well the young man who’d disrupted Christie and Martin’s wedding, not to mention threatened half the town, including himself. “It’s a bit secluded.”

  “Which is why having someone living there might be good. And it will only be until Elizabeth and I are ready for... well, for a proper commitment.”

  “So, she’s alright with this arrangement, Angus?”

  From the way his friend’s expression changed, he’d known the answer. “You’ve not told her. I’ve never married, so ignore my advice if you wish, but it seems risky to withhold such important information from her.”

  Angus nodded. “Good advice, George. Why did you never marry?”

  The question still had him pondering a few hours later. He’d told Angus he’d never met the right woman, but had left out a few words. He’d never met the right woman who returned his feelings. And once Frances Williams set her sights on Thomas, he wasn’t about to interfere. The sad thing was, while Thomas yearned for his lost love with Martha, George saw Frannie with him every day and wondered where all their lives would be had the fateful night on the beach in 1967 not occurred.

  “George? You okay?” Christie dropped onto the bench beside him, shaking him from his thoughts.

  “Are you closed already?”

  “Belinda threw me out.” She laughed. “She had the last client of the day and insisted she’d clean up and close.”

  “So you’re on your way home to my godson.”

  “Soon. I am so glad to catch you.”

  “How may I help?” Christie was one of his favourite people, one whose resilience and determination was matched only by the kindness in her heart. “Is it a new puzzle?”

  “An old one, actually.” She rummaged in her bag for sunglasses.

  His smile faded. These days his mind wandered to the past often and not always to good memories. “I’m listening.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you for so long, but now Martha and I are hoping to get to the bottom of how the trunk got into the attic of the cottage.”

  George sucked his breath in. Why now? Some things should be left untold.

  “We know the trunk belonged to Dorothy and speculate it was left behind in Palmerston House when she moved to Melbourne, and her parents left for Ireland.” Christie waved to Daphne, watering her pot plants lining the outside of the real estate agency. “Gran had the letters from Thomas to Martha.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes. She admitted as much in the diary she left me. But Frannie had the rings.”

  “No. I’m certain she sold them.”

  Christie tilted her head. “Do you recall the first
time we met, George? I came here looking for information on those rings and you said you thought ‘she’d sold them’. I thought you meant Martha.”

  “I meant Frances. This isn’t a comfortable subject.”

  “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t ask, but Martha really wants to know. And so does Thomas, except he’s concerned about upsetting Martha.”

  “Wouldn’t want to hurt either of them.” He sighed heavily. “It was close to Christmas and Thomas junior was only a few months old.”

  ***

  1970

  George finished wrapping a small jewellery box in ornate Christmas paper, then handed it to his customer with a smile. “You will be a very popular man on Christmas Day, sir.”

  Once his customer left, he realised Frances was in the shop, admiring a row of elegant diamond rings. She looked up with a smile as he approached. “These are so beautiful, George. I mean, I do love the ring Thomas chose, but these ones are very special.”

  “Are you looking for a present today?”

  Frannie frowned and glanced over her shoulder at the door. “Actually, I’m selling.”

  “Selling?” George’s heart sank as she pulled a familiar pouch from her bag. “Oh, don’t open it, please, Frances.”

  But open it she did, sliding out the ring box he’d once given Thomas. He struggled to look away, still proud of the engagement and wedding rings he’d crafted for Thomas, his closest friend.

  “Why do you have them?”

  “Thomas won’t get rid of them. I asked him once and he didn’t speak to me for a whole day. But they are in the bottom drawer and will never see the light of day. What are they worth, George? I could use some extra money now Thomas junior is here.”

  George turned away, appalled. “Those don’t belong to you, so please return them to Thomas.”

  “I just told you—”

  “They were a gift for him and Martha. I won’t discuss this any further.” He went around the counter and stared at her, disappointment mingling with anger. “Did you ever find it, Frances?”