The Stationmaster's Cottage

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  With a sudden shock, Christie realised he was dismissing her for the evening. As if she was an employee, not the woman he wanted to marry. She didn’t move when he kissed her cheek before heading off after Ingrid.

  Nineteen

  AS IF IN A DREAM, CHRISTIE got herself home. She was numb inside. Even the Uber driver asked if she was okay and she had only been able to nod.

  Leaving the apartment in darkness, she kicked off her shoes near the front door and went straight to the kitchen to make coffee. Nursing the hot cup in both hands, she stared out of the window at the city lights in the direction of Crown Casino.

  Somewhere in there, her fiancé was enjoying the company of another woman. If she had gone to Lizard Island, would this have happened? Would his re-acquaintance with Ingrid have blossomed into this merger, not to mention the relationship that apparently was more interesting than the one he had with Christie? Or was it inevitable?

  She turned on her computer and opened her emails. Before going out for the evening, Christie emailed the director’s personal assistant to let her know no itinerary, e-ticket or schedule had arrived. This was the first time working for this particular company, but they had come well recommended and by referral.

  With a soft beep, a reply email arrived. Christie read it without understanding. It was short, stating that - as requested - the contract had been cancelled.

  Christie dialled the phone number at the bottom of the email, wondering how such a mistake could happen. She had signed the contract some months ago, and although the only contact since then had been via email, all had seemed normal. The other end answered.

  “Mr Kennedy’s office, Janet Green speaking.”

  “Hello, Janet. It’s Christie Ryan here. How are you?”

  There was a silence, before, “Ms Ryan. I’m surprised to hear from you.”

  “Um, Janet, there seems to be some misunderstanding about my contract. I’ve not requested it be cancelled.”

  “No, another lady did. On your behalf. She explained you were quite ill, too ill to speak to me yourself.”

  “I’m not ill.” Christie was stunned.

  "Well, I'm pleased you've recovered so fast, but it did leave us in a difficult position. Changing your availability so close to the beginning of a commercial shoot. I had everything ready to send you, and we've had to find a replacement at short notice." Janet was annoyed.

  "What I'm saying is I've not been ill at all! Nobody was authorised to speak on my behalf, and you should have confirmed the situation with me. Who phoned you?"

  “I have no idea. Don’t blame me, I have enough to do without worrying about chasing up people who can’t decide if they want to work or not. I do have to work.” Janet hung up.

  Christie jumped to her feet in agitation. What had gone on? Who would do such a thing as pretend to represent another person? Why would anyone want her to lose this contract?

  She paced around the lounge room. This evening started well but was turning into one of the worst nights of her life. Derek’s support about Bryce warmed her heart. Then, in an instant, he turned the tables and left her to find her own way home.

  He was so hot and cold she struggled to keep up. Did he want to marry her or not? Where did Ingrid fit into all of this? Janet Green told Christie another woman phoned and cancelled the contract. Was it Ingrid? Surely, having Christie on the other side of the world was more advantageous if she wanted Derek herself.

  Or, was it more about what Christie owned? Christie stopped pacing and gazed at the balcony, remembering the overheard phone conversation between Derek and Ingrid after the dinner party.

  “I agree. It’s worth looking into and if so...” then, “let me try first, that’s the easy way of handling it,” a laugh and, “trust you to think of that, but yes, it might be that important. The opportunity we wanted.”

  Try what? Derek had begun to press Christie about going to visit the cottage after that dinner party. He mentioned Ingrid’s special ability to move into new markets, ones he could not reach. That excited him. He was all about pushing the boundaries and growing his wealth.

  Christie picked up her phone and dialled Derek. Waiting, she played with her hair, thinking.

  "Hi, baby."

  “I made it home okay.”

  “Well, why wouldn’t you? You travel all the time on your own so I wouldn’t think a couple of kilometres in the same city is a concern.”

  Martin Blake, who barely knew her, ensured she made it home safely. Her own fiancé did not care.

  “I phoned London. There’d been some sort of mix up with my contract.”

  “So, you’re not going?” Derek could not even sound surprised. “Sorry, baby. How about we head to that cottage of yours in the morning. That should cheer you up.”

  The numbness inside Christie vanished, replaced by slow-burning anger. She took a moment to gather her self-control before replying in a light tone.

  “You misunderstood. Of course I am still going! In fact, I’m starting to pack now as my departure day has changed.”

  The stunned silence on the other end of the phone was enough to force a disappointed smile from Christie. It was true. She was about to start packing. Just not for London.

  “I’ll head straight home.”

  “Goodness, no need. You and Ingrid enjoy your evening. I’m quite capable of packing.”

  “Chris, what’s wrong? You sound a bit strange.”

  “It’s Christie. Not that it matters now, but my name is Christie.”

  She hung up and tossed the phone onto the sofa. Derek's ringtone began, and she stood with her hands clenched, willing it to stop. It did but started again.

  Scooping the phone up, she hurled it at the wall.

  AFTER BUYING A PAINTING, Derek had escorted Ingrid to the Atrium Bar and ordered an expensive bottle of champagne to celebrate their purchase. Gambling would come later.

  The call from Christie was a complete shock. When Derek put the phone on the bar after three attempts to call her, Ingrid laughed.

  “Not such a quiet little thing, is she?”

  “I thought you had this covered.” Derek scowled at her.

  “Don’t blame me. She’s your girlfriend. And she doesn’t want that land; she wants to control you.” Ingrid softened her tone, her fingers on Derek’s leg. “You won’t let that happen, will you?”

  “Nobody controls me. Least of all Chris.”

  Ingrid refilled their glasses. "All we need is that cottage, and we'll have bargaining power with the council. They want the town to grow, and I have – ways - of helping key people see the benefits subdivision brings."

  “Oh, you sure do.” Derek picked up his glass. “Bryce Montgomery is on a buying spree. We’re going to miss the boat.”

  “Not if you go play nice. Tell her whatever you have to; just get her back under your thumb.”

  DEREK FUMBLED AT THE front door and stumbled over Christie’s abandoned shoes. Cursing, he turned on the light and kicked the shoes to one side.

  He tried to sneak to the bedroom, all too aware he had drunk too much. Christie was asleep in bed. The lamp on his side of the bed was on, the way Christie always left it if he was last home. He stood and watched her for a moment, still drawn to her natural beauty. Why she had to make this so difficult was beyond him.

  Neatly stacked next to her side of the bed were several suitcases. Much more than she usually took on a job. He glanced into her robe. Empty. In the bathroom, only his things and a small makeup bag remained. Leaving the bedroom, Derek went to the small study. Christie kept a small selection of novels, some photos and her business files in here. All were gone. Derek swore. Sitting at the desk, he phoned Ingrid.

  CHRISTIE OPENED HER eyes when she heard Derek swear. Earlier, after picking up the pieces of her shattered phone – keeping the sim card and throwing the rest away – Christie wasted no time in packing. She only wanted her personal items. He could have the kitchen utensils and furnishings she bought when she f
irst moved in.

  She slipped out of bed and put her dressing gown on before padding, barefoot, down the hallway. Outside the study she stopped, leaning against the wall while she listened to Derek speak to Ingrid on the phone.

  "Yes, everything! I don't know if she's moving to London or back to that damned cottage or somewhere else, but it won't be without a fight."

  Without making out what the words were, Christie could hear Ingrid’s voice on the other end. An angry voice.

  “Calm down. Seriously, calm down and leave it to me. I’ll find a way to change her mind.”

  Christie wondered how he was going to do that. Every word he said ripped away another layer of trust.

  “She’ll calm down. Whatever she thinks she knows, I’ll persuade her otherwise. By this time tomorrow, everything will be back on track. Just trust me. Okay?”

  Ingrid’s voice was quieter when she said something that made Derek laugh.

  "Of course I will. Our interests come first, and you know that."

  Christie stepped into the room as he spoke and Derek swung around.

  “Christie. Sorry, did I wake you?” Christie noticed he hung up on Ingrid without a word.

  “What interests, Derek?”

  "Huh? Oh, just that our family interests must come before work. I was saying to Ingrid I should have come home with you tonight. You know, making sure you were safe and spent the rest of the evening here."

  “Right. That’s what you were saying.” Christie stared steadily at Derek. Uncomfortable, he avoided her eyes.

  “Um, sure baby. Particularly if you’re about to go to London.” There was a question beneath his words.

  “If?”

  “I mean, earlier than expected. What exactly did London say when you rang?”

  Christie smiled. What else could she do? If he believed she was so naïve and stupid that he could deny all knowledge, what was the point?

  "Derek, I'm tired, and I'm going back to bed. I suggest you do the same and when you come home tomorrow, the place will be all yours. No mess, no shoes by the front door. Nobody you feel obliged to come home to."

  Without another word, she left, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water. Her hands shook with the effort of keeping the anger under tight control.

  Derek followed, turning on all the lights and then standing in the middle of the doorway. “We need to talk about this. It feels as though you’re leaving me. Like, really leaving me.”

  “Does it? Well, you’re right.”

  "But why, baby? Maybe I was a bit dismissive earlier, but that didn't mean anything. I had my head somewhere else and didn't think you needed me to hold your hand getting home."

  “You told me to come home. Quite dismissively. There’s nothing more to say unless you want to explain about my London contract?”

  Christie put her now empty glass on the counter and watched Derek closely. He swayed a bit then stepped into the kitchen. “I had nothing to do with that.”

  “Oh, come on, Derek. How stupid do you think I am?”

  Christie pushed past him, pausing in the lounge room, unsure of where to go.

  Derek was right behind her. “Hey, I love you.”

  “You are drunk.”

  “Sure as hell not enough to let you leave me! We’re getting married, so stop the hysterics and calm down.”

  “I am calm. But we’re not getting married. We’re not.” Christie took off her engagement ring. He ignored her outstretched hand and flopped onto the sofa.

  “Here, sit down and let’s talk. Come on, give me that much!”

  Christie put the engagement ring on the coffee table. Derek stared at it and dropped his head into his hands.

  “I’ve been such a fool.” His words were muffled behind his hands. “I can’t lose you, baby. I can’t. Please don’t go. I love you so much.”

  Christie sat next to him.

  "I got greedy. You know I want a prosperous life for us. Early retirement and the world at our feet. I want to give you the world." Derek reached for the engagement ring, playing with it in his fingers. "I chose this ‘cos it's like you, baby. Beautiful and perfect. Somehow, I let business overshadow that. This whole thing was Ingrid's idea, and I've terminated our planned merger."

  “What? You’ve done that?” A flicker of hope rose in Christie.

  He took her hand. “I can’t have Ingrid or anyone else telling me how to run my life. Your cottage, your land. Yes, I’d like you to trust me with it because it represents our future, but then again, without you in the picture, what’s the point?”

  Christie slipped her hand from his. “To be honest, I don’t want to be away so much. One day soon, I want to take a step back. Have a family.”

  “Family? You mean children?” Derek almost recoiled from Christie as he got to his feet.

  “And a dog. A house with a garden. Yes, all of that.” The flicker of hope went out.

  Derek spoke through an expression of revulsion. “Sounds fun, baby. Let’s set a date and work toward that.”

  “You misunderstand.” Christie clasped her arms protectively around herself. “That is my future. After everything you have done, who you have shown me you are, well, that future doesn’t include you. I’m sorry. I am.”

  “Everything I’ve done? Tell me what!”

  “You want me to spell it out?” Christie stood. “You messed with my career. You and Ingrid. If you want to buy the cottage, why not ask?”

  “Okay. Will you sell it?”

  “No.”

  Derek threw his arms up in the air. “See? What you want is more important than our relationship.”

  “That’s almost funny, coming from you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know you don’t and that’s what’s sad about all of this.”

  “If you’re leaving, why haven’t you gone? Why are you still here?”

  “I’ll be driving.”

  “So?”

  “Um, I had a few glasses of wine tonight.”

  “Oh for goodness sake. Why would that stop you?”

  Christie remembered the moment when Martin crossed his arms and told her firmly, "You can stay in the guest room, or you can walk, but you're not driving home." He refused to let her be in danger, or be a danger.

  “I’ll leave my keys on the table. Keep whatever else is here. The apartment is yours so let’s call it quits and move on.”

  In a swift move, Derek was right in her face. "You'll regret this, and it won't be the last you see of me. Chris."

  She held her ground, and after a moment, Derek spun around and stalked out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

  MARTHA WAS DROWNING. The water was crystal-clear, perfectly still, and icy cold as it filled her lungs. Tiny bubbles escaped from her parted lips, and she watched them ascend to a surface only inches above her but impossible to reach.

  There was no pain, and that was as strange as the warm sand imprisoning her feet. How could the water be so cold and yet the sand so warm? She noticed streams of sunlight piercing the surface, straight into the seabed like tiny columns of solar heating.

  Thomas swam toward her, his hands reaching for hers. She leaned forward, smiling at his handsome face. She wanted to tell him she was okay, but the words would not come out. She stretched her own hands out, and their fingers almost touched.

  Almost.

  Someone else, their back facing Martha, swam between them. A woman wearing a red dress who put her hand up to stop Thomas. He swam away.

  Martha tried to follow him but remembered she was drowning. She reached down to tug helplessly at her feet in the sand, and when she glanced up again, he was gone. The woman was gone. She was alone.

  “Martha, wake up dear. Martha!”

  An insistent voice intruded, and with a start, Martha awoke.

  Disoriented, she forced herself to sit up.

  Elizabeth sat on the side of the bed, her arm on Martha’s. “You were dreaming, dear.” She reache
d over and turned on a lamp.

  Martha took a deep breath, recognising the bedroom in Palmerston House and clearing the nightmare away. “Oh my,” she said. “Did I wake you?”

  “Not at all. I was reading and heard you call out.”

  “What did I say?”

  “I’m sure it was nothing important. Now, shall I get you some water?”

  Elizabeth stood up to go, and Martha put her hand on her arm.

  “Please, what did I say?”

  "Wait, Thomas. Please wait for me."

  Elizabeth was dismayed at the tears that flooded Martha’s eyes. She sat down again. “I know you wished to go home earlier and although I’m sorry staying wasn’t your choice, my selfish side is still thankful.”

  The doctor at the hospital had insisted Martha stay in River’s End after her check-up. The old ankle injury from Egypt had always been troublesome and only weeks before Dorothy’s death Martha underwent corrective surgery. She was partway through rehabilitation when the letter arrived, begging her to come to River’s End. Now, a small blood clot had her grounded until medication resolved it.

  “I enjoy your company also; you’ve always been a true friend to me.”

  "So, shall I fetch some water or some tea?" Elizabeth said.

  “Neither thank you. I’ll try to sleep, and hopefully no more dreams!” Martha put her arms around Elizabeth and hugged her. Sleep might evade her, but she was not about to burden anyone else with her silly thoughts.

  Once Elizabeth left, Martha lay on her side, the lamp still on. The dream haunted her. The image of the faceless woman nagged at her. She knew enough about dream psychology to understand the woman might represent any one of a number of things. Herself, a manifestation of the loss of Thomas, or simply a memory of the woman who stepped in so quickly to take her place.

  She had called out for Thomas. For him to wait for her. Well, in real life he had not waited. Certainly not long enough for them to have found each other again, and now, five decades on, it was only a matter of time before she followed him to his resting place.