The Stationmaster's Cottage

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  “Would you like some tea, dear?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Yes please.” Martha sat up, glad for the company. “Who was that?”

  “The young woman?” Elizabeth stood by the window, watching the Lotus drive out. “After directions, that’s all.”

  “I’ve seen the car before. She must live around here.”

  “Visiting. I’ve pointed her in the right direction. I shall go and brew some tea and bring up here.”

  Martha reached for her cane and stood up. “No, I shall come down. I’m spending too much time alone again and I would much rather hear about your last few years. We’ve not caught up at all.”

  “And there is plenty to catch up on! Alright, well, let’s go together and I’ll see if I can find a slice of cake, assuming you still like chocolate?”

  Elizabeth put her arm through Martha’s. Elizabeth was in turmoil. She had just sent away Martha’s great-niece and now she was lying to her old friend. All she wanted was to protect her from more hurt, so why did it seem like a terrible mistake?

  CHRISTIE ALSO WONDERED if she was making a mistake by being back at Martin’s property. She sat in the car staring at his house across the meadow, remembering the door slamming as he walked out of the cottage. Finding her lipstick, she reapplied it.

  The gate was unlocked, the chain and padlock missing, so she slipped through and crossed the grassy land. Martin was working on the area around the front door. Randall sat on the top step of the small porch and barked a welcome before rushing to her, his tail wagging madly. Martin turned around, broom in hand, and watched Christie as she stopped to pat the dog.

  The dead pot plant was in a wheelbarrow and the area around the door was free of cobwebs and debris. Martin leaned the broom against the wall and crossed his arms.

  “Changed your mind?”

  Christie was puzzled.

  “About my offer?” he prompted.

  “Oh, that was an offer? Well, no, I came to pay you for repairing and framing the painting.”

  A flicker of disappointment crossed Martin’s face. “No payment required.”

  “You’re sure I’ll sell it to you?” Christie said.

  “Yes. But beside that, it was a work of love.”

  “Tell me about the painting. You said it was never Gran’s so who does it belong to? Who is the mystery owner?”

  “Why do you care? This isn’t your real life, is it? It’s not as if you’re staying here.”

  Christie saw the wall in his eyes and something snapped. She was at the end of her tether with the secrets and poorly formed opinions since arriving in River’s End.

  “It’s not as if I’ve been made welcome, is it? Secrets everywhere, as if something from the past could matter so much now. I’d never even heard of River’s End until a few days ago yet I’m still here. Martin, I’m still here, trying to honour my grandmother’s final wishes.”

  She paused to glare at Martin, who remained impassive. “And I have you wanting the painting she left me and developers wanting to buy the cottage I just inherited!”

  “Sell it to them.”

  “And let them bulldoze it into the ground?”

  “Best thing for everyone.” There was a bitter tone to his voice now.

  The anger drained away. “Well, I disagree. It is not for sale. And nor is the painting.”

  Martin reached for the broom. “Anything else?”

  Christie walked away but called over her shoulder. “Yes. How did you get such a nice dog to live with you?”

  By the time she reached the gate, she thoroughly regretted those last words. How rude she was becoming. Why the loss of control? Get a grip, Christie.

  A COUPLE OF MINUTES later she was regretting her temper even more. The car refused to start and the petrol gauge defiantly stayed on empty. How she had overlooked the warning signal was beyond her, but here she was, stranded outside the only house in the area, which happened to belong to a man who made her lose the ability to behave normally.

  Christie started searching Google on her phone for the closest petrol station, hoping there was one within walking distance who would sell or loan her a petrol can. The deep rumble of a motorbike drew closer. It was Martin, riding something out of a 50’s movie toward her over the grass. There was a petrol can propped in front of him.

  He eased the motorbike through the gate and pulled up beside Christie. “Put the roof up and lock it.”

  Christie did not move.

  “Or you can walk,” he continued. “It’s only a couple of k’s each way.”

  That galvanized Christie, who raised the roof and locked the car. She slipped the keys into her handbag and looped the strap over her head. Martin motioned for her to get on the motorbike behind him and she cautiously climbed on.

  He powered the throttle and Christie grabbed around his waist as he steered off the grass and onto the road.

  “What about a helmet?” Christie called over the motor, but the only response was a quick acceleration.

  A FEW MINUTES LATER, Christie walked back to the motorbike after paying for the fuel. Martin was on the bike, the can again tucked in front of him.

  “Thanks. I mean it, thank you.”

  Martin contemplated her.

  “What’s wrong?” she said.

  “There’s something you should see.”

  “Ok. Where?”

  Martin started the bike. “Coming?”

  Christie clambered on and gripped Martin.

  “I won’t let you fall.” he said and she loosened her hold as they left the petrol station.

  CHRISTIE DECIDED THE sea air must have gone to her head and caused her to lose all caution and common sense. The motorbike was surprisingly powerful and careened too fast up a narrow track filled with twists and turns, fallen trees and potholes.

  After a short ride inland, Martin made an abrupt turn into forest and from that moment, Christie wondered if he might be so intent on getting the painting he was heading for a place to hide her body. The track kept going up and up through increasingly dense bush before ending at a flat clearing, right on the side of a mountain.

  Martin stopped the motorbike and turned off the engine. Relieved, Christie hopped off and stretched, checking she was all in one piece.

  The clearing was a natural lookout, with mountains going off one way and the ocean in the other. Christie wandered to the edge. Far below, River’s End was a miniature village. The river wound its way from the mountains right to the lagoon near the jetty. At high tide, the sea and river would meet.

  Martin joined Christie. “Be careful. The rocks can give way.”

  “But you said you wouldn’t let me fall.” Christie flashed a smile at Martin. She turned her attention to the township.

  “Oh look! I can see your house.”

  “Forget my house. See that area?” he pointed to a darkened, cleared hill. It was somewhat further up the road that Palmerston House was on.

  “Did a fire go through it?”

  “Not a fire. A housing estate. Out here.” The last two words were said in disgust. “What was once there succumbed to bulldozers a few months ago.”

  “What was there?”

  “Forest. Old forest and its inhabitants, who were all displaced.”

  Christie turned to Martin. “That’s what you wanted to show me?”

  “That is what developers do.”

  “Why tell me to sell the cottage to them?”

  Shaking his head impatiently, Martin took hold of Christie’s left hand and held it up, touching her engagement ring. “Are you here to bring more destruction? Are you the scouting party now you own part of this town?”

  “Me? What? How do you even know Derek is a developer?” Pulling her hand away, she unconsciously rubbed where his fingers had touched her. “Why would you even think that of me?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Tears filled Christie’s eyes and she turned her back on Martin, unwilling for him to see them. “I don’t owe
you an explanation.”

  “Why are you still here?”

  “I came for my grandmother’s funeral.”

  “That was days ago. Why are you still here?” Martin pressed.

  “I don’t know!”

  She swung around, not expecting Martin to be so close. She took a step back, her foot slipping. Martin caught her arms with his hands and steadied her. She stared up at him with wide eyes and a racing heart. He searched her face.

  “Please, may we go back now?” she ventured in a small voice.

  He nodded and released her. As he walked back to the motorbike, Christie forced herself to breathe normally. Her body tingled all over and she crossly told herself it was the altitude.

  “This bike used to belong to my... to someone I know. He’d bring his fiancée up here under moonlight.”

  Christie joined him on the bike. “Was she allowed to wear a helmet?” she grumbled.

  She could have sworn she heard Martin chuckle but the roar of the engine drowned it out. Just above the horizon, Christie saw a full moon, pale in the late afternoon sky. She remembered Thomas writing of a special place where he and Martha would celebrate selling his painting. Maybe this was that place.

  A FULL MOON SHONE ON Thomas and Martha, standing locked in a passionate kiss, their arms wrapped around each other. A night bird sailed from one of the trees, flying right next to the couple. It startled Martha, and Thomas laughed at her reaction.

  “So, my fearless explorer is not so fearless.”

  Annoyed, Martha tried to walk away but Thomas held her fast within his arms.

  “Let me go!” she pushed against his chest.

  “Uh uh. Temper!” Thomas slid a hand to her behind, tapping it lightly. “That is the first thing I will work on once we marry. No more tantrums.”

  Martha leaned in to him and raised her face with a mischievous smile. “I can be very naughty if you like.”

  Thomas sighed. “You think I joke? You will see.”

  He pointed to the sky near the horizon. “A shooting star! Quick, make a wish.”

  Martha closed her eyes, smiling. Thomas watched her, his face softened by the love that sometimes threatened to overwhelm him.

  She opened her eyes after a moment. “Did you make a wish?”

  “No need to.” He took her hand. “We should elope. Tonight.”

  “Thomas?”

  “Yes, we should pack a small suitcase and drive to the city. Find someone to marry us tomorrow.”

  “But... but the wedding is less than two months away. The arrangements are nearly all complete and the guests all invited. Our engagement party is coming up and imagine how upset everyone would be!” Martha’s eyes brimmed with anxiety and Thomas pulled her close to his chest.

  “Sh. Sorry. No, you are right of course. Just... well, what if something should go wrong? I could not bear to lose you.”

  “Nothing will go wrong. I would never let it!” Martha slipped her arms around Thomas’ neck and reached up on her toes to kiss him.

  He returned the kiss, and held her to him, stroking her hair. Over her head, he stared off into the night, worry creasing his forehead.

  CHRISTIE HUNG ONTO Martin as the motorbike hurtled along the track, apparently oblivious to any possible dangers.

  “Do you have to go so fast?”

  “No, but it’s almost dark and there’s no headlights.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “What?”

  “I said - watch out for that creek!” Christie spotted a narrow, water filled dip in the track.

  Without slowing, Martin ploughed the motorbike through the widest part of the dip, spraying water over them both.

  “What creek?” he called innocently.

  Christie gave up trying to get wet hair out of her eyes and closed them instead, hoping nobody would see her in such a waterlogged state.

  Thirteen

  SUNSET APPROACHED AS the motorbike rumbled up the hill to Martin’s property. It slowed near Christie’s car, edged through the gate and rolled over the meadow to the house. Martin parked it near the deck and Christie jumped off.

  “I’ll empty this into the car and bring it right back.” she said, holding a hand out for the petrol can.

  “Why don’t you go inside and have a shower? I can fill the car.” Martin held onto the petrol can. His hair and clothes were drying in the late warmth of the day, but Christie looked as though she had stepped out of the ocean. A muddy ocean.

  “Shower? Well, no, I need to get home; I mean what would I wear?”

  “You’re going to wet that fancy car of yours. I’ll loan you something. Go on.”

  “Um, well I wouldn’t mind visiting the bathroom.” Christie realised she might not make it home without a stop.

  Martin was already walking away. “Through the living area, second room on the left.”

  Christie nodded and headed onto the deck. Randall came to greet her through the open sliding door.

  “While you’re in there, have a shower.” Martin called over his shoulder.

  Christie sighed and went inside, mentally noting it was somehow okay for his house to stay unlocked, but not hers.

  IT ONLY TOOK A GLANCE in the mirror for Christie to change her mind about using the shower. She tried to wipe the muddy splatters off her face with tissues but only succeeded in turning them into streaks of brown.

  The bathroom – a large ensuite to a guest bedroom - was a surprise with its fluffy towels, shampoo, and goat’s milk soap all saying welcome. Perhaps Martin was expecting someone. Which meant she should shower and leave.

  The shower itself was a delight, with much better water pressure than the cottage, and Christie had to remind herself not to linger. Wrapped in a towel and drying her hair with another, she peeked back into the bedroom. On the bed was a neatly folded T-shirt.

  Finding a comb in her handbag, Christie ran it through her hair. Her makeup had washed off in the shower and all she had in her handbag was lipstick. She grimaced at her reflection.

  She folded her wet pants and blouse, relieved at least her lingerie escaped the soaking. The T-shirt was long on her, stopping just below her thighs. It was plain white, like the one Martin wore the first time she visited here and the tingling returned. This has to stop!

  After slinging her handbag over a shoulder, she collected her wet clothes and damp shoes. The house was deserted, so she wandered outside to a dramatic sunset of gold and red.

  Martin stood at the railing staring out over the sea, wearing dry jeans and a dark blue T-shirt. Randall ate dinner from a stainless steel bowl, briefly lifting his head as Christie stepped out. She paused to take in the view and Martin turned around.

  “Funny how things work out.” she said.

  “How so?”

  “I’m supposed to be on Lizard Island enjoying sunsets, the ocean and cocktails.”

  “Would you settle for a sunset, the ocean and a local chardonnay?” Martin picked up two glasses of white wine from the small table near the deckchairs and held one out to Christie.

  Surprised, she hesitated. Was this a truce of kinds? Should she even be here, with a man who was little more than a stranger?

  “Thanks.” Something deep inside her wanted this to continue so she proposed a toast. “To sunsets, the ocean, and chardonnay.”

  “To things working out the way they’re meant to.” Martin counter-proposed and they touched their glasses together with a clink.

  Christie put her clothes, shoes and handbag on one of the deckchairs and joined Martin at the railing. She sipped on the wine, relaxing for the first time in oh so long. The sun dropped below the horizon, leaving a trail of fading pink and a soft golden glow across the sea. A light breeze carried the salty tang of the ocean, complementing the heady scent of jasmine along the railing.

  “If ever I become a candle maker, I shall create one that smells like this evening and call it Jasmine Sea.” Christie announced.

  Martin turned his head to her with
amusement in his eyes. “Do you aspire to being a candle maker?”

  “I wasn’t. But it’s always worth having a backup plan.”

  Randall ran off the deck to chase a rabbit.

  “Does he ever catch them?”

  “Never. He wouldn’t know what to do with one. He’d make friends with it and bring it back to the house as his pet.”

  “He’s a sensational dog.”

  “Yes.”

  As the sky darkened, the pale moon Christie saw earlier from the lookout became brighter, full and white as it rose almost from where the sun set. Along the coast to the west, a storm front approached.

  “Will your clothes be okay?” Martin said. “They’re expensive.”

  “They’ll be fine. Are you apologising?” she teased.

  “Not at all. I’ve told you before—.”

  “Yes, yes, it weakens your position. Thing is, sometimes it takes strength to say you’re sorry. When it matters.”

  Martin contemplated Christie over the rim of his glass.

  Under the moonlight Martin was less intimidating... no that was not the word. Less stern and cold. His eyes were like deep and mysterious black pools and the longer he gazed at her, the more they drew Christie in. Who was this man and what did he want? Apart from my painting.

  Christie turned her back on the view and leaned against the railing, not sure what to do or say. Her head told her to use this opportunity to get Martin’s trust so he would help her solve at least some of the puzzles of the cottage. Her instincts told her to run as fast as she could. In between those extremes, she struggled with a need for him to understand she had no ulterior motives and no desire to harm this little town. She swallowed the rest of her wine.

  Martin wandered over to the table and, without comment, brought the wine bottle back, refilling their glasses.

  Randall trotted back onto the deck and sat at Christie’s feet, making her laugh as he leaned against her asking for a chin scratch.

  “He likes you.” Martin said.