Jasmine Sea

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  By the time Barry and his crew arrived at the cottage, Christie had moved the Lotus onto the grass verge. Today was a big one, with deliveries expected for the bathroom and laundry.

  Christie unlocked the garage and went inside to stare at the box containing Sole Survivor.

  “Morning, Christie.” Barry tapped on the garage door, leaning against it to adjust a boot. “What if the boys put that into your bedroom? We’ll keep the door closed anyway and lock it up at night. Probably less risk of damage than the comings and goings in here.”

  “Good idea. I’m all packed so it can go against the wall.”

  “There’s something I need to ask about.” Barry straightened up with a lopsided grin. “Er, it appears you already have a front door.”

  “Got a bit carried away with some spray paint. How long until the real one arrives?”

  “Few days. But we’ll open the entry way up internally first. I’ll probably do that today, maybe tomorrow. Are you going to be up here at all this week?”

  “I’m part way through clearing the veggie gardens, so yes, you’ll see a bit of me.”

  “Good. Just in case I need to check anything. Looks like you’ve got a visitor.” Barry gestured to the front of the house.

  Rupert stood outside the fence in the driveway, waving.

  “Interesting,” Christie said. “I’ll leave it to you, Barry.”

  ***

  Rupert watched Christie walk toward him, wishing his purpose here was to invite her to dinner, to New York, to anywhere really. She was one classy woman and he silently cursed Derek. He didn’t care for his employer and even less for Ingrid, but the pay made up for it. This job was unsavoury, but he’d do it, and do it well.

  “Hello, Rupert. What brings you by?” Christie wandered onto the grass verge.

  “How goes the renovation?”

  “Doing bathroom and laundry as we speak. Then the kitchen.”

  Rupert whistled. “Big job!”

  “Can’t wait to see the end result. So, passing through town?” Christie regarded him with those emerald eyes and he almost forgot himself.

  He did his best to look embarrassed. “I wanted to thank you again for your hospitality the other day. Lucy told me I should extend her thanks as well, you know, she worries about me.”

  “Not necessary. It was only a glass of water.”

  “I went to see the estate agent. Spoke to his lovely wife, um, Daphne? Anyway, she took my details and is apparently sending some stuff through the post for us to look at together. You know, about the town and some new estate?”

  “River’s End Heights.” The expression on Christie’s face told Rupert how little she thought of it.

  “Sounds right. But, here’s the thing. I kind of fell in love with this place.”

  “The cottage?”

  “I told Lucy all about it and she almost jumped up and down in excitement. Not that she did, what with bubba on the way, but you know what I mean. So, um, is there any chance you’d consider it?”

  “Consider..?”

  “Selling me the cottage. It’d be perfect for Lucy and the little one when she comes along. Room for a pony. Grow our own stuff and such a nice town.”

  Christie was quiet. She hadn’t said no. But she was quiet.

  “I can pay whatever you ask. We’ll be selling our place in Melbourne and it’s a seller’s market there.”

  “It isn’t a matter of money, Rupert. I just don’t know if I want to part with the cottage. My Gran left it to me and it has a lot of meaning attached. Lots of history. Besides, there’s someone in the family I’ve been thinking of gifting it to.”

  That stunned Rupert and he covered his surprise with a broad smile. “How generous! Young family?”

  A beautiful smile crossed Christie’s face and Rupert gulped.

  “Not young. In fact, they are quite... senior. But this would be perfect for them.”

  “It is a bit out of town though. A bit isolated. No neighbours by the look of it, which appeals to me. But older folk, well, perhaps they like being close to amenities.”

  “You don’t know them like I do.”

  Rupert patted his forehead with a handkerchief. “Well, if you decide to sell, please think of me first. Lucy and I would treat it like the family home neither of us ever had as kids.”

  “Yes.” Christie had the oddest expression on her face, almost sad.

  “The lovely Daphne has all my details. You know, in case you want to have a chat.”

  Christie extended her hand. “I appreciate the offer.”

  A truck rumbled down the road. “Better let the crew know the new bathroom is here!” Christie smiled at Rupert and hurried back to the cottage.

  Rupert scowled. She wasn’t going to cooperate. Not yet. Plan B time.

  ***

  As the elevator doors opened, Derek hit the button to take him upstairs again. Hopefully, Ashley and Ray were back in their apartment and not skulking around the hallways. To think he’d once called them friends. In hindsight, it was Chris they liked. Their loss.

  Derek went straight to the room they’d used as an office. What exactly was still here? The night Chris left him, she packed only a few suitcases.

  He rummaged through the drawers of the filing cabinet. Some old receipts, an expired passport, airline tickets kept as mementos. She’d left a shoe box on the desk and he tipped it upside down. More receipts, birthday cards, a signed menu. Rubbish.

  The bookcase had big gaps where Christie had taken her favourite novels, leaving others lying at angles. Messy and annoying. Derek propped the remaining books together neatly. He’d need to buy bookends now. And why she’d thought a photo album belonged in the bookcase was beyond him. He grabbed it, slamming the door in his wake.

  He knew what was in this album. Her life before him and without him. People he didn’t know, places on sets, and randomly selected moments in time that meant nothing to him. In the kitchen, he stepped on the pedal of the bin, ready to toss it in. Be done with her. Unless. He let the lid close as he opened the photo album.

  Derek flicked through the pages. “No. Good God, what was she doing? No,” then, “ah.” It was a photograph of Chris with a bald, rotund man on a yacht. Ripping the photograph out, he turned it over. Got you. Carlo Palmero. Yes, that was the man he’d thought it was. Now, all he had to do was find out where he was filming. Or planning to film.

  The phone rang, Rupert’s name appearing on the screen.

  “Tell me she’s selling.” Derek tapped the pedal of the bin again and the lid swung up.

  “Sorry, boss. Not yet anyway but she’s agreed to think about it.”

  Derek dropped the photo album into the bin. “Not what I want to hear.” He strode to the entry way to get his briefcase, turning straight around to return to the kitchen. “Did she actually say she’d consider it?”

  “She said she’s thinking about giving it to some old couple.”

  “What? Damn it.” Derek took a laptop out and opened it. “Then there’s no alternative but to implement the next part of the plan.”

  “I think she’s moving out today. Suitcase in the car and lots of bathroom work going on. But it’s risky—”

  “Then don’t get caught. Or leave evidence. If that’s not too hard for you?”

  “Whatever you say.” Rupert hung up.

  The laptop booted, Derek typed Carlo Palmero into the search bar. That led to his website and a list of credits. At the very bottom was a one-line reference. “Shooting will commence on The Devil’s Dream in and around Auckland, New Zealand, in February.” Derek read it aloud. Chris was in River’s End, but she had a packed suitcase in her car. Was she on her way to Auckland?

  Derek closed his laptop. Just maybe there was another way.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Martin changed into board shorts, longing to surf. He did his best thinking out on the waves with nothing to distract him save Randall’s occasional complaint from the beach. Christie overwhelm
ed his senses and made him want to ask her to marry him. Last night proved she wasn’t ready, not when she was still willing to put herself at risk again with her ex.

  He lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Christie was moving into Palmerston House today. Instead, she should come here. Give her an idea of what life would be like when the time came. Waking up to his kisses and coffee, long days in the late summer sun, evenings filled with conversation and romance. Randall would love having her here. I’d love it.

  Surfing forgotten, Martin searched for his phone, Randall on his heels. He found it in the studio, switched off. He turned it on, then uncovered the painting in progress. Seeing it through Christie’s eyes and heart, his confidence had returned.

  A soft beep from his phone. Martin grimaced as he read the message from Bethany Fox. That bay is perfect. Please meet me there at eleven. Once preliminary sketches are complete, I will transfer the next instalment into your account. Bethany.

  He’d meet her there, do some sketches and then she could go back to Melbourne and he would talk to Christie. If she agreed to stay here instead of Palmerston House, then he’d delay Bethany’s painting until Christie was away.

  ***

  Martin heard Ingrid before he saw her. On the phone, her voice carried along the small beach at Willow Bay in a tone of scorn. Snippets of the conversation made no sense and he wasn’t interest in hearing it.

  “Ridiculous and self-indulgent!” She realised Martin was only metres away and she forced her expression to change from anger to welcome. “I’ll call you back.” She hung up and pocketed the phone. “Well, hello. Thought you’d forgotten me.” She tilted her head, eyes hidden behind oversize sunglasses.

  “It isn’t quite eleven. Shall we begin?”

  “Now? Oh, no darling. I’m not dressed properly and have to be somewhere else soon.”

  “Then why am I here, Bethany?” He crossed his arms.

  “To show me the boat.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Ingrid smiled sweetly and pointed into the bay. “What better place to sketch me than on a yacht, with the backdrop of the Australian bush and such a secluded little beach? Mother adores the sea and it will be perfect and so special. Just what I want.”

  He kept his voice neutral. “We can’t just board anyone’s boat.”

  “Of course not, how silly you must think me!” Her laugh was hollow. “As if I wouldn’t do my homework. No, it is a particular boat. That one.” She pointed to Jasmine Sea. “Your yacht, Martin.”

  “She is old. Not sophisticated like some of the others here. And she isn’t mine anymore.”

  “Oh. That’s disappointing.” Ingrid removed her sunglasses and stared at Martin, her eyes hard. “Very disappointing. I have my heart set on this and it would be a shame to have to cancel the arrangement.”

  “Your choice. If, and I do mean if we go out to the yacht, it will be once only. We’ll be there long enough to get the sketches I need and photographs. The rest will be done in the studio.”

  Ingrid put her sunglasses back on with a smile. “Sounds perfect. Let’s make it tomorrow then.”

  “This afternoon. I’ll have the dinghy ready at two.”

  “Anything you say.” She turned to go, then glanced back over her shoulder. “It will be just us? I’ve told you, I’m very private.”

  “I can’t sketch with distractions. It will be just us, Bethany.”

  With a nod, she wandered toward the path to the car park. Martin stared at her back, wishing he’d told her it was off. You’re being selfish. Think of Christie.

  ***

  Ingrid waited until she was out of Martin’s earshot and dialled Derek.

  “Why did you hang up on me?” Derek demanded.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I should have continued our discussion in front of Martin Blake.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I’m going out to the yacht this afternoon to be sketched. But apparently he no longer owns it. Was cagey about the whole thing.”

  “Well it’s important you keep him busy. Where are you with John Jones? Shouldn’t he be on our side by now?”

  “We’re meeting shortly and I fully expect he’ll be on board. Stop doubting everything I’m doing, Derek! And maybe instead of coming up with ridiculous notions to win your ex back, you should concentrate on being ready to buy the minute we can.”

  “Those ridiculous notions are the last resort, if you and Rupert fail. I’d be careful, Ingrid, and do your part without telling me what to do.”

  “Let’s not argue, particularly about a woman who left you for some deadbeat artist. By tomorrow morning, she’ll be chasing Rupert, so just relax, darling.”

  Ingrid reached her car. She shook sand off her shoes.

  “It’s hard to relax with so much at stake. But you’re right, arguing is pointless when we’re on the same side and you’re sounding jealous, which you don’t need to be.”

  Ingrid almost dropped a shoe. “I can’t wait to return to civilisation. In fact, once this is bedded down and we turn it over to the legal team, I might just treat myself to a trip to somewhere snowy, with a hot tub and brandy. Do you ski?”

  Derek chuckled. “Of course.”

  “Well then, let’s make it a date.”

  “When you’re back, we’ll talk about it. Now, be a good girl and sort John Jones out.” Derek terminated the call.

  She threw herself into the car and slammed the door. “Be a good girl!” she muttered. “No wonder Christie left you.”

  ***

  Daphne shuffled paperwork. John hadn’t told her about last night’s phone call and she wasn’t about to ask. Trust was an unspoken part of their relationship. Whatever was going on, she had to believe it wasn’t about them.

  “Love, I’m popping out for half an hour.” John dropped a folder in front of Daphne, frowning at her uncharacteristically half-drunk coffee and untouched cake from morning tea. “Are you okay?”

  “Um, oh, I’m fine, doll. Seeing a client?” She glanced up at him. His remaining hair was freshly combed and she smelt reapplied cologne. Her heart sank.

  “Just that same one from the other day. Has a few more questions.”

  “I remember you said they are interested in property? Maybe one of those nice homes up in the Heights would appeal?” She fished.

  “Not after housing. Something a bit bigger.” John kissed her cheek. “Gotta go.”

  “They aren’t developers, are they? Because if they are, we shouldn’t be speaking to them. Not unless they are with Bryce Montgomery.”

  Halfway around the counter, John stopped. “We’re not locked in with him, apart from what we’ve already done together.”

  Pursing her lips, Daphne stared levelly at her husband. “I’m sure you don’t need my opinion, but whether or not we have a legal arrangement with Bryce, there most certainly is a moral one! That young man has been good for us, very good, and he believes we are on his side. Which we are, doll, aren’t we?”

  “I’m only in discussions. Trust me.”

  “I do. I always trust you to do what’s right and I still love you today as much as the day we married. Now, go and have your meeting.” She picked up the folder, her mouth softened in a smile.

  John hesitated.

  “Go on, you don’t want to be late.” Daphne got to her feet. “I’ll see you soon.” Holding the folder to her chest, she forced herself to walk to the filing room without looking back. A moment later, she heard the door close. “I do trust you,” she whispered.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Rupert pushed open the door of the real estate agency with a big smile.

  Daphne looked up. “Well, hello again. Back in our little town?”

  “And I hope it won’t be too long before I’m a local.” He leaned on the counter. “Of course, I do need your expert help.”

  “That’s what I’m here for. It’s Rupert, if my memory serves me.”

  “Your memory is perfect, Mrs Jo
nes.”

  Daphne laughed. “No Mrs Jones around here, just Daphne. So, what brings you back so soon?”

  “After our last chat, I drove back to Melbourne and told Lucy all about River’s End and the beach. I’ve accepted the job in Warrnambool, and we’ve put our place on the market. Better to do it now, before our bubba arrives.”

  “Very wise. It is a perfect time to move here, what with the wonderful new estate and all.” Daphne came around the counter. “Over here in the window, there are photographs of some of the best homes in River’s End Heights. Every mod-con, big blocks, and on the right side of town for your drive to work each day.”

  Rupert stayed where he was. “Lucy just won’t have a bar of them, I’m afraid. She has a thing about old places and besides, we really want at least an acre. That little cottage up the hill is perfection itself.”

  “Christie’s cottage? Well, yes, it would seem perfect, but Christie is happy there. Renovating to make it more of a home for herself.”

  Scratching his head, Rupert looked confused. “Odd. She just told me she’s thinking of giving it to some old couple.”

  “How sweet of her! She’d be talking about her great aunt Martha and Thomas. They’re away right now so she must be doing all that work with them in mind. Of course, now I think of it, most likely she and Martin will make things official one of these days, so there’d be no need for her to keep the cottage.”

  “Do you think they’ll take it? It’s a bit isolated for older folk.”

  Daphne returned to her chair with a laugh. “You don’t know those two! But Thomas has a house already, so who knows what will happen.”

  “Would you do me a favour? If you hear anything leading you to believe it might come up for sale, would you let me know first? I’ll pay above market rates.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t hold your breath, and it would be wise to consider other properties, just in case.”

  “Our hearts are set on that one.”