The Christmas Key

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  “And she’d have wanted to come with me. It wasn’t her concern and it certainly isn’t yours.”

  “Okay, Thomas. There’s been enough upset for one day.” Martin reached across and squeezed Christie’s leg, leaving his hand there. “We’ll meet you at the cottage in a few moments and I’ll update you on George.” He hung up.

  “Did you just—”

  “No point talking to him on the phone when he’s in a mood.” Martin put his phone in a pocket. “I shouldn’t have said what I did to you, Christie. Sorry.”

  “I love you.” She smiled at Martin and his own lips flickered up for a moment. Then he closed his eyes and leaned back.

  When Christie drove down her old road a short while later, he opened them again with a start, then straightened. Outside the cottage, Angus’ black Range Rover was on the grass verge. Christie parked behind it, leaving the driveway for Thomas once he arrived.

  Angus was in the lounge room with Martha, Jag sitting at her side. She put her hand on his head as Christie and Martin came in. “He likes me.”

  “He does.” Christie patted Jag and crouched beside Martha. “Have you spoken to Thomas yet?”

  Martha’s face hardened, only the flash in her eyes giving away deep emotions which Christie knew must be churning inside. “He seems to have better things to do than speak with me.”

  “Not true.” Thomas stood at the doorway, holding the shoebox. “Had to go to the cabin.”

  Jags ears shot up and he stood, sniffing the air.

  “Who’s this?” Thomas’ voice softened. Jag went to him, circled him once, and then leaned against his legs, staring up with an adoring gaze. Thomas scratched behind his ears. “Handsome boy.”

  “This is Jag,” Angus said. “Found him the other day and he’s staying with me until Trev finds out if he needs a home.”

  Martha pushed herself to her feet. “Whilst I appreciate you all dropping by, I’d like to speak to my husband now. I don’t mean to sound rude.”

  “Of course.” Angus got up. “Please update me on George’s progress.” He patted Thomas’ shoulder on the way past. “Coming, Jag?” He headed down the hallway and, after licking Thomas’ hand, the dog followed.

  “Are you sure, Auntie?” Christie stood. Martha nodded. Martin held his hand out and she took it. “We’re only a call away. Both of you.” She levelled a look at Thomas but his eyes were on Martha.

  ***

  Martha stared at Thomas until the back door closed. She glanced at the shoebox he still held, curious but overcome with confusing feelings of anger and something else she couldn’t quite identify.

  “Do you know how George is?” Thomas finally asked.

  “After you drove off like that, I couldn’t even go back upstairs. Christie asked Elizabeth to bring me home because she needed to stay with Martin. Like we should have.”

  “I needed to get this.”

  “A shoebox, Thomas?”

  “It was Frannie’s.”

  “You kept this? Even after—”

  “After what, Martha?” Thomas took a step toward Martha, who didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her feet were frozen in place.

  “Us.”

  “Us? This isn’t about us.”

  “We married and you kept Frannie’s things. Her mementos? Pictures of you both?” As her voice raised, she saw the warning glint in Thomas’ eyes but ignored it. “You won’t even talk about her. About what happened to make you want to marry her, and now I see this?”

  “Stop, Martha. Stop before we both say things we shouldn’t.”

  “What? That I ruined everything by running away in the first place? It was all my fault? Or how it took less than a few months for—”

  “No more. This isn’t about you.”

  Before Martha could say another word, he was gone. Storming out through the front door. She realised what the feeling was from before. It was betrayal.

  ***

  At the gate, Christie, Martin, and Angus talked, the black kelpie standing nearby. They all looked at Thomas as he closed the door in his wake and strode past, clutching the shoebox.

  “Thomas?”

  “Going for a walk, son.”

  “Granddad—”

  “Stay out of it.” He didn’t intend to sound abrupt. Martin wasn’t the problem, nor the others, but he wasn’t about to stop for chit-chat. He realised the dog was beside him. Jag. “Go on, back to Angus.”

  “I’ll pick him up later,” Angus called from the gate.

  “Fine, but don’t expect conversation,” Thomas told Jag, who didn’t appear concerned.

  His heart told him to stop, take a few deep breaths, and turn around. He loved Martha beyond life. But his head sent him away. How could she say those things? Did she really believe he’d chosen Frannie over her? Kept this... this box of hers to remember a woman who tricked him into marriage?

  At the end of the street, Thomas stopped only long enough to check for traffic, then crossed, Jag still at his side. It was late in the day and the air was finally cooling. He went through the graveyard, winding his way to the stone steps to avoid passing the three gravestones of his family. He paused at the top of the steps to stare at the horizon. Martha misses Ireland. What if she goes back? Jag went on ahead, and he followed.

  On the beach, he kicked off his shoes and went to the tideline. Jag had already run to the waves and was chasing them, then running back to Thomas as they swept toward him.

  As always, the jetty drew him and as he’d done so many times, for so many years, he trod its creaky old boards to the very end, where he lowered himself, feet dangling. The sea was too low to dip his feet in, but a fresh breeze was welcome. Jag lay at his side, staring down into the water, eyes darting around at the fish below.

  “Where do you belong?” Thomas asked him, getting a wag of his tail in response. He took a good look at the dog. Too thin. Needed a few good meals and lots of brushing. But a fine dog, no doubt. Angus said he’d found him. He’d ask where. Another time.

  Thomas put the shoebox down. Now it was more than the last of Frannie’s secrets. It was the reason he was sitting here and not with his wife and family. All his suspicions about his friend’s closely kept feelings for Frannie were true. He’d never stopped caring for her. And perhaps something inside this box would mean something.

  Bit by bit, the anger and disappointment drained away. The shock of George’s heart attack still coursed through him, but Thomas now recognised it played a large part of his earlier behaviour. Of course Martha would be hurt, him leaving the way he had at the hospital. Soon he’d go and see if he could repair the mess he’d made.

  ***

  He was there. Martha had taken a chance Thomas would go to his special place, their special place, but all the way here she’d second guessed herself. It was almost dusk, just light enough to see the stone steps as she took her time going down them. Her old ankle injury still made the steps a challenge, but nothing would stop her putting things right.

  She made it as far as the beach end of the jetty before stopping for a rest. Jag noticed her and trotted over, interested in the picnic basket she’d put down. Thomas wasn’t far behind.

  Martha stood as straight as she could, her head high. No matter what he said, she’d stay strong and make sure he understood no disagreement would come between them again. His face was so stern. Have I gone too far? Thomas stopped beside the picnic basket, expression unchanging. Her heart pounded as he leaned down and picked up the basket.

  He held out his other hand and she grabbed hold. By the time they reached the far end of the jetty, tears streamed down her face. Once he’d put the basket down, he turned to her, eyes narrowing as he saw her crying so silently.

  “I promised you I’d help you learn how to control this temper of yours. Remember, we were up at the lookout and a night bird startled you?”

  “Yes. And... and I remember you wanted to elope. We should have, Tom.” A sob escaped her and he found a handkerchief, tenderly
dabbing her eyes and cheeks, which only made the tears flow faster.

  “If we’d eloped, there’d be no Martin. Nobody to marry Christie. No-one to care for Randall. Well, maybe me.”

  The sense of his words cut through the longing for a different past, and she nodded, forcing the tears to slow.

  “And before you say it, I was wrong to take off to the cabin without a word but I wasn’t even sure at first where I was going. I knew in the back of my mind there was something I could do to help George, but it wasn’t until I was halfway there I realised why. I’d like to open this with you.” He gestured to the shoebox, on the jetty beside the picnic basket.

  “It is private.”

  “Secrets only hurt, my darling. No more, not if I can help it.” Thomas wrapped his arms around Martha until she almost couldn’t breathe. His familiar, beloved scent enveloped her and for the first time in hours, she was alive again. “No more raised voices. Okay?” Once she’d nodded, he released her.

  Jag sniffed around the basket again.

  “I’m thinking we should be opening this first. After all, you’ve gone to a lot of trouble.”

  “And a picnic is your favourite meal of the day?”

  “Any meal with you is my favourite.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  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 t
he 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.