Sunday's Child (3 page)

“Pfft. I don't need to be on it. I own it.” He grinned at her. “You like him.”

“I do not.” She shot the retort back way too fast, even for her.

“Yes, you do. You're blushing. Why would you blush if you don't like him?”

She scrunched up her nose at him. “Because it's hot in here, that's why. Go pick on someone your own size.”

Steve hugged her. “OK, shorty.”

“Beast,” she laughed, wriggling out from his arms. “I'm what an inch shorter than you?”

“A whole inch and don't you forget it.”

“Fine, I won't. Now, go lay the tables.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Steve kissed her cheek, and fired off a mock salute, before grabbing the cutlery tray and heading out of the door.

She glanced back at the pastry. Twenty-three for dinner, so forty-six equal squares. Did she use her new lattice cutter on the top? Why not?

Having decided what to do, she worked quickly. The food was an important part of the Rainbow Lodge experience and she took great care to ensure it was right each time. And that meant three courses each evening. Tonight was melon boats to start, then a main of Russian fish pie, duchess potatoes, green beans and carrots, followed by hot trifle. The latter had to be one of her most popular dishes, made along the same principal as a baked Alaska.

Breakfast was cooked, with a different variation of the full English each day. She also offered packed lunches, and although not many people took her up on those, she always made new guests aware of the option at evening drinks.

She slid the pies into the oven and glanced at the clock. Precision timing as always.

“How are we doing?” Steve called.

“Starters are good to go, and twenty minutes on the mains.”

“OK. Let's get them seated.” He headed out and Hattie smiled as the gong sounded in the small hallway.

 

****

 

Having showered and changed, Cal followed the other guests down the stairs. He hoped it would be obvious where he was to sit. He filled his lungs with the delicious aromas coming from the ground floor. Whatever was cooking set his mouth watering in anticipation. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten for anything other than necessity. But just the smell of this meal had him wanting to eat.

A blond man stood at the door to the dining room welcoming the guests. The likeness with Miss Steele was uncanny. Brother perhaps? The man held out a hand. “Good evening, Mr. Trant. I'm Steve Steele. Welcome to Rainbow Lodge.”

Cal returned the smiled and handshake. “Thank you.”

“Your table is number nine, right under the window. The same as your room number.”

He crossed over to the table, nodding to a couple of the guests who smiled, obviously recognizing him. He sat, noticing the flowers and neatly laid table, with three sets of cutlery. The flowers matched the serviettes, each table a different color.

Once everyone was seated, Miss Steele spoke from the doorway. “Let's say grace.”

Wow, I wasn't expecting this, Lord, even though it's a Christian guest house.
He closed his eyes and bowed his head as Miss Steele prayed.

As Miss Steele and another woman began to serve the first course, Cal glanced around the room. A clock hung over the fireplace, texts and landscapes dotted the walls. In pride of place on the long wall, was a cross stich picture of the guest house. Around the edge was a border of nautical flags, spelling out the names of the lodge and the proprietors—Harriet, Steve, and Penny Steele.

Miss Steele put the starter in front of him. “Did you settle in all right?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Her smile was genuine. “That's good. If you need anything, just shout.”

He held her gaze, wanting to prolong the moment. “I was admiring the cross stich. It's beautiful. Did you do it?”

“No. I'm nowhere near talented enough to make something that amazing. One of the guests did it last summer. She and her husband have been coming for years now—ever since their honeymoon.”

“It really is lovely. The flags spelling your names are a nice touch.”

“You can read them?”

Cal smiled. “I have an interest in nautical things, so yes. And living on the coast it's hard not to know them.”

“That's cool.”

“You all have the same surname?”

“Yes, Steve's my twin and Penny is his wife. Enjoy the starter.”

Cal looked down at the plate in front of him. The melon boat was beautifully arranged. The curved yellow shell, with cubes of melon, sails made of thin orange slices and cherries sat on waves made of curved lime slices. It looked much too good to eat. A lot of thought had gone into the presentation of the dish and he was almost tempted to take a photo of it and post it on his social media page.

Almost…

Instead, he ate it, savoring the ripe fruits and tangy lime combination. He didn't think it could be surpassed, but the fish pastry dish managed it. If this was a sign of things to come, he'd be putting on weight and need new uniform when he returned home.

Dessert arrived and curiosity got the better of him. He caught Miss Steele's attention as she passed him on her way back to the kitchen. “What is this? I haven't come across it before.”

“Hot trifle.”

He raised an eyebrow. They were two words he wouldn't
ever
dream of putting in the same sentence under any circumstances. “
Hot
trifle?”

She smiled. “It's a firm favorite with the guests here. It doesn't have jelly in the bottom layer and has meringue instead of cream. And I promise not a nut in sight. Would you like tea or coffee to finish with?”

“Tea, please. I'm not a great lover of coffee.”

“Nor me. Steve's the opposite. He hates tea and loves coffee.”

“And the two of you are twins?”

“More like opposites.” She laughed. “He's left handed. I'm right handed. So ordinary tea, Earl Grey or I have several fruit flavors if you'd prefer those?”

“Just ordinary is fine, thank you.”

He smiled and watched Miss Steele head to the door, before he turned back to his dessert. It was by definition an opposite. Trifle should be cold not ho—

The thought cut off as he tasted his first bite. His mouth exploded with flavor such as he'd never imagined. It was perfect. Or as near perfection as it was possible to get this side of heaven. He had to get the recipe before he left. Yes, his waistline was definitely going to suffer. Mr. Steel was, without doubt, one well fed and very blessed man, to be married to a chef as good as this one.

He allowed himself a small smile. He'd never given himself the luxury of thinking marriage. He'd had his fair share of girls and was determined to stay single. For at least the next millennium. Women, in his experience, were only after one thing, and now he was right with God, that part of his life was over. He wasn't proud of it, but some mistakes were destined
never
to be repeated.

Besides, with his pager now going off any time of day or night, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, usually at the most inopportune moment such as the middle of Christmas dinner, plus the dangerous nature of this other, voluntary job, no woman would want him now. Despite being a man in uniform and therefore swoon worthy as his sister constantly told him.

It was him, God, his carpentry, and his job as part of the crew on a lifeboat.

Launched in all weathers, but usually storms and gale force winds, the men and women of the Royal National Lifeboat Institution worked in conjunction with the coastguard, going out in the roughest of weather, where no helicopter or other seagoing vessel could, saving lives at sea, at the risk of their own. It was a very dangerous job, sometimes resulting in the death of the lifeboat crew, but he wouldn't change and do something safer for anything. Even though, unlike the coastguard, he and his crew mates did it for love, not money.

 

 

 

 

 

3

 

Breakfast served and over, the dishes finally stacked and the dishwasher set going, Hattie had five minutes in which to change before leaving for church, without being late. Steve and Penny had gone on ahead as they were giving out the hymnbooks. She finished her hair and dashed from the house, locking the front door behind her.

Church was a brisk fifteen minute walk away, or a more sedate thirty minute one. Today, she didn't have time for sedate. Not if she wanted to be on time. And she couldn't afford petrol in her car this week. Or next week either.

When she started working with Steve, she'd bought into the guest house with all her savings and had been under the impression she was a part owner. But the paperwork had never arrived and as the years passed, she just dropped the subject. She was paid a pittance. It was way less than the minimum wage, especially for the hours she put in and the lack of time off, but there was no point in saying anything, for fear of upsetting him. And it wasn't just because he was her twin, either.

He had a temper like none other, and had been known to sulk for days, ignoring her and then giving her far more work that she could cope with, by vanishing with Penny for days on end. Besides whenever she brought the subject up, Steve had an answer for everything. Each time she mentioned it, he had a very good reason for not paying her more. The roof needed doing or they needed to redecorate. Not that she ever saw any decorators or builders. She usually ended up doing that herself. But she had to ask for everything she needed. When it came to money, Steve kept tight lipped and his wallet padlocked. He dealt with that side of things— even going as far as controlling all the shopping and doing it himself— and always bought the cheapest things possible. Fortunately, she was a master at making something from nothing and her cooking skills only improved as a result.

As she kept up a brisk walk, her thoughts turned to her newest guest. He didn't seem anything like she imagined a footballer to be. And despite Steve's teasing, she wasn't attracted to Mr. Trant. Was she?

No, she wasn't. There was something about him, something she couldn't put her finger on, but he'd never be interested in her.

Besides, he was a guest and that was the end of it.

But still her imagination wandered. What would it be like to date someone like him? A world famous athlete who was a household name and got recognized everywhere he went. Did he get preferential treatment in theatres or restaurants? He was someone who'd been to places she could only dream about, never mind attempt to pronounce. The furthest abroad she'd ever been was a school geography trip to Interlaken in Switzerland when she was fifteen.

Holidays were spent with Aunt Laurie and Uncle Reg in their cottage on an island off the south coast of England. Someone famous would never fit into her quiet, boring existence, where the most exciting thing that happened was the washing machine breaking down or the freezer door being left open and the kitchen flooding.

She slid into the back row of Headley Baptist, and scanned the service sheet. Mrs. Jefferies was back in hospital again. She should go and visit her at some point. Aaron Field and Meaghan Knight were getting married in a few weeks. Perhaps she'd be able to take the afternoon off to attend the wedding.

There was a list of local churches on the noticeboard in the guest house, including this one, but she'd never run into any of her guests here. That was probably a good thing.

Enough of this—she wasn't here to worry about which church her guests attended. She opened her Bible to the passage Pastor Jack would be preaching on. Isaiah forty verses twenty-eight to thirty-one. She loved that passage and the imagery it provoked in her mind.
Those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint
. She read it through twice, closing her Bible as Pastor Jack rose to his feet on the platform.

Someone slid into the pew next to her just as the service started, but she didn't turn to look, knowing how much she hated the sidelong glances when she was late.

She stood to sing the first hymn, based on the passage she'd just read, and was more than a little surprised by the voice next to her. It couldn't be Mr. Trant, could it? She risked a sideways glance. It was.

 

****

 

Cal had gotten lost trying to find the church. He'd perused the notice board after breakfast and found the list of churches. Admittedly, he'd done a search on churches in Headley Cross before leaving home and found the website for Headley Baptist, but he'd been pleased to find it listed at the guest house. Although this one was called a Baptist church, it was a member of the FIEC and thus more Evangelical than the strict Baptist church he'd grown up in.

His navigational skills had let him down after he left the map on his bed. He'd taken a left instead of a right somewhere and got hopelessly lost. He just prayed that the lads back at the lifeboat station never found out about this. He was the helm officer after all and he'd never live it down. Still, he'd found the church in the nick of time and took a seat on the end of a pew on the back.

And ended up sitting right next to Miss Steele. He felt rather than saw her glance at him during the first hymn. He turned his head towards her and smiled; the smile fading slightly as she blushed and looked down at her hymn book.

That was a reaction he hadn't seen in a while and had hoped he'd never see again. The ‘Oh-Wow-I'm-Sat-Next-To-Callum-Trant' look that he hated so much, which had followed him around for so many years. Yes, adoring fans came with being famous, and most of the time he didn't mind. It was just women. He thought, hoped, that Miss Steele was different, but maybe all women were the same when it came to the adoring fangirliness. Unfortunately, all they would see would be the fame and fortune and not him. He turned back to the hymn, focusing his mind on his reason for being here.