by Lisa Norato
Chapter 9
“You don’t find her a bit glam for a vicar?”
Emma threw out the question quite casually, while Quincy, her wiry gray cat, clawed his way up William’s surplice to curl his body round William’s neck. Holding the feline in place with one hand, William reached with the other to flip a page of the music program. “I may have, at first,” he admitted. “But now I find I rather fancy glam.”
“Apparently.” With the lift of a brow, Emma positioned her fingers at the keyboard. “We all saw you interrupt your sermon to give her a gawk. Really, I half expected your tongue to drop to the floor and crawl down the aisle after her.”
William grew concerned. He hardly thought he’d been that obvious. No doubt Marcella had left an impression on his entire congregation, but because he’d known Emma longer than any of them, he sought her approval especially.
Her shoulders shook with a giggle, and William realized she was having him on.
“Seriously though, William. What would the bishop think?”
“I should hope he’d think me a very lucky man and be pleased I’ve taken enough interest in a woman to once again be considering marriage.”
At Emma’s short intake of breath, William wondered whether Emma might feel just a bit jealous, then decided, no, she was merely surprised he’d entertain the idea of marriage to a woman he’d only met the day before. With a grin, he straightened and projected, “Here we are, Miss Parker. ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful.’ ”
“Hymn number ninety-one in your hymnals, please.” He strode to the top of the chancel steps, pried Quincy from his collar and cradled him in his arms like an infant about to be baptized. At the first groan of the organ pipes, he lifted his voice in song, along with the choir:
All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small.
His gaze sought Marcella among the flock.
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.
Ah, easily spotted. She’d put the hat back on. Its brim obscured her lovely dark eyes as she gazed down on her opened hymnal.
Each little flower that opens.
Each little bird that sings.
God made their glowing colors.
And made their tiny wings.
He lingered a moment, hoping he’d catch her eye, and when she didn’t lift her head, he experienced a twinge of disappointment. He got the odd impression something was wrong. But that couldn’t possibly be true. No, he was being ridiculous.
The purple-headed mountains,
The river running by,
The sunset and the morning,
That brightens up the sky.
Her friend Sallie was watching him, he noticed. Beaming, she made a fist and pointed at him, rapper fashion, which he took as a sign of approval. He smiled, gave Sallie a nod. Turning, he scanned the congregation and his thoughts drifted back to Marcella.
The instant he’d glanced up from the pulpit and found her there, watching him from the back of the church in a long, white dress, his heart was lost.
He’d been utterly gobsmacked. It had felt quite surreal, actually, the way the sunlight poured down on her from a nearby stained-glass window, and she, standing there, in a hazy glow, all whiteness and pale skin. Had he been visited by an angel? Hardly. Rather, the posh American Marcella Tartaglia had graced his humble church in Bramble Moor. The outrageous cheek of her. His chest swelled with pride.
When she’d started down the aisle towards him, if she’d been holding a bouquet, he wouldn’t have been surprised to have heard his own voice promising, “I do.”
William shook off the memory, hit by a moment of clarity in which everything fell into place. It arrived as more of a gut reaction than a coherent thought. All humor aside, could Marcella quite possibly be the woman he’d been destined for?
Paralyzing fear, acute joy, nervous anticipation, and extreme longing all rolled together into one tidy lump of emotion that suddenly lodged in his throat. He’d never quite experienced yearning like this, not in all the years he’d been with Emma.
Last night he may have been prepared to chuck what he’d originally thought a silly infatuation and move on, but this morning William could not imagine letting these feelings go without exploring where they might lead.
*
At the close of service, the doors of St. Francis were thrown wide. A queue of churchgoers and their animals filed into the sunny courtyard where William waited with Babette to greet them. He shook hands, scratched furry heads, and wished everyone a good day.
With each face that passed, each smile he exchanged, his heart knocked a bit harder against his rib cage. Marcella couldn’t have already slipped by, could she? Without a word of farewell? Certainly not.
He turned round for a peek into the church foyer, searching for a glimpse of her white hat, when suddenly he was knocked forward by a blow behind the knees.
“Vicar!” an aged voice shouted in alarm. Babette barked out a warning. As he staggered forward, a pink knitted cap swam before his field of vision. Quickly, William regained his balance and righted himself.
“Al’right there, Vicar?”
William straightened his cassock. “Yes, quite, Mrs. Wilbourne. But what was—?”
A downward glance confirmed his suspicions. He’d no need to ask when it was perfectly clear he’d just been bumped by over two hundred pounds of Old English mastiff, pure bred and dearly beloved of elderly Lydia Wilbourne of the parish council.
“Sorry, Vicar. Clumsy oaf, that one. Doesn’t know his own size.”
“That’s quite all right, Mrs. Wilbourne. My fault, I’m afraid. Wasn’t paying proper attention. No harm done, eh, Teddy?”
Teddy gazed up at him innocently. An enormous tongue lagged out one side of his sagging black jowls. William reached down to give him a scratch behind the ears, and as Teddy closed his eyes in contentment, a long stream of drool dripped to the ground.
Something caught his eye, and William realized what Mrs. Wilbourne held in her hands.
He straightened, and gave an inward sigh.
Another casserole.
Puddings, bakes, curries, and casseroles. God bless his parish. They never ceased in their obsession to see him fed.
“I did so want to bake you a shepherd’s pie, Vicar,” Mrs. Wilbourne explained. “Yesterday morn, I fried up a nice bit of lamb with some lovely lovage and onion, then left it on the cooker to simmer. I wasn’t gone a minute, checking the post, when I heard this loud crash. My Teddy here had jumped up and tipped the pan. Imagine, a beautiful lamb mince all over the kitchen floor. Teddy had himself a lovely feast, but I’d none left for your pie. I was ready to have m’self a good cry, I was. How could I bring a shepherd’s pie to church without the lamb? But then I thought, I reckon the vicar might enjoy tucking into a plate of crispy mash all the same.”
Accepting the dish, William peered down inside. The cold potatoes had been crusted over in a golden crisscross pattern, which he was certain Mrs. Wilbourne had taken great pains to score.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I will enjoy it. Absolutely. You were quite right to bring it along, Mrs. Wilbourne. Thank you, that’s very kind, very kind indeed.”
She beamed at him, displaying a full set of dentures. Her sincerity touched him, leaving him quite ashamed of his earlier ungrateful thoughts. He gave her a warm smile in return.
Mrs. Wilbourne ducked her head bashfully. A feathery wreath of snow-white hair stuck out from beneath her pink cap.
“Will you and Teddy be joining us downstairs for coffee, Mrs. Wilbourne? We’ve treats for the pets as well.”
William thought of the table of baked goods laid out in the church hall and braced himself for her reply. No sooner had service begun when Teddy had knocked down the lectern, then humiliated Laura Owens with his repeated attempts to nose his way up her choir robe. He’d been immediately removed to the outdoors.
Mrs. Wilbourne looked to Teddy and mad
e her apologies. She and Teddy would have a walk about the church grounds, she explained, share a quick bit of gossip with some of the other pet owners, and then it was home for an afternoon nap.
William wished her a pleasant afternoon and watched in fond amusement as Mrs. Wilbourne and her unlikely companion shuffled off. Standing there, he thought he detected an airy feminine scent, a sort of woodsy vanilla fragrance, perhaps. Babette tugged on her leash, and when he glanced down at her, he found her sniffing a women’s hat. Its white brim was clasped between the fingers of a long, elegant hand. His pulse quickened. His gaze lifted to alight on the shapely waist, then dashed up a slim column of white to a dead-gorgeous face with dark, exotic features. “Marcella!”
She greeted him with an amused grin, gesturing over her shoulder at the church’s entry. “I was wondering about all the Corningware.” She nodded approval. “Now I understand. How sweet.”
“Very. And just one of many, I’m afraid,” he said with a display of the casserole dish. “The charitable ladies of St. Francis feel it their duty to prepare meals for a poor, bachelor vicar. I s’pose I’ll have to either marry or resign myself to eating baked mash the rest of my life.”
“I seriously doubt it will ever come to that.”
“No?” he asked hopefully. With a will of its own, his gaze dropped to her full, glossy lips. He wanted to take Marcella in his arms so terribly that for a moment he forgot who and where he was and stood mutely, just staring, until he had the presence of mind to force himself to look into her dark, deep-set eyes.
*
Marcella’s spine tingled. All at once the moment had turned intimate, and she was uncertain how to respond. How crazy was she? Enticing a vicar? And how crazy was this vicar? Enticing her? He’d just finished sprinkling holy water over a bunch of household pets, asking God to keep them safe. Little old ladies mashed potatoes for him, and all she could think was how much she wanted to see him naked.
And then there’d been the total shock of finding Emma here. Ahhh! Her shock had quickly turned to jealousy, jealousy so insane it dredged up all the insecurity Marcella had ever experienced and threw it back in her face to leave her feeling inadequate.
Suddenly, her confidence level had regressed back to junior high. William was a major hunk and she was Ragno, the freakishly tall girl with skinny spider legs that stretched all the way up to her breasts. Back then, she’d worn only flat, thin-soled shoes, but instead of taking the emphasis off her height, all they ever did was accentuate her long, narrow feet. What chance did she have against William’s high school sweetheart, Emma Parker, now a BBC celebrity?
She might have bolted if not for Sallie’s clear thinking. Sallie had told her, “You are overreacting. He explained they’re just friends. Why would he lie? Why? Because he wants to get you into bed? Hello! And if he and Emma are a couple, then how come he pulled a solo at the wedding?”
Sallie’s wisdom had done a slow absorb until it all came flooding back to her. Sanity. Calm.
William exuded calm. Marcella could feel that calmness even now, simply staring into his guileless, watercolor eyes. Tranquility and self-possession oozed from his pores. And behind that tranquility, she sensed strength, a strength so absolute he could afford to be kind. All her compulsive, perfectionist, control-freak tendencies chilled in his presence. She allowed herself to soak up his peaceful aura and relaxed with a smile.
“Look, I’m really pleased you’re here,” William told her.
“Me too,” she confessed. “I’m glad I came. That was quite a service. Fun,” she added, then chuckled at the memory. “Not what I was expecting, but definitely enjoyable.”
“Fantastic,” Sallie cheered, springing up from a crouch beside Babette. “You rock, William. Hey, thanks again for blessing the photo of my dog.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t get the opportunity to meet Henri in person. Speaking of which… .” William shifted the potatoes to one hand, then leaned down with the other to brush the top of Babette’s long narrow head. “This, ladies, as you’ve probably guessed, is Babette.”
Babette the saluki stood tall and dignified by his side and wore a gentle expression in her deep brown eyes.
Sallie leaned forward. “We’ve met, haven’t we, Babes?” she gushed in a voice as thick as maple syrup. “You’re a beautiful girl. Yes, you are.”
Babette wagged her curled, feathery tail.
“She is beautiful, William,” Marcella had to agree. “She’s well behaved and obviously devoted to you. I haven’t seen her move from your side once.”
William’s face glowed with pride. He glanced down and ruffled one of Babette’s long, silky ears. “Well, you see, she is a champion. Quite literally.”
“A champion?” Marcella prodded.
Sallie straightened with interest.
“Absolutely,” William confirmed with a nod. “Babes knows her way around the dog show ring, don’t you, girl? Used to show her myself, in fact. One of my hobbies until the church took over our lives. Top in her breed, three years in a row, at Crufts. She celebrated her last year of competition with a win in her group.”
This was news to Marcella. Dogs and dog shows. Another facet of William. And a subject she was not conversant on. Still, she was no idiot. She’d learned a thing or two hanging around Sallie and Henri, and she recognized the critical importance of this moment. If she was seriously going to get anywhere with William, she’d have to bond with his dog.
“Wow, I’m impressed.” She reached out a shaky hand while Sallie and William looked on. Babette gave it an aloof sniff. “Hiya, girl,” she said, thinking this was permission to move closer. She attempted to pet Babette, but the saluki jerked her head out of reach, then stepped back behind the shelter of William’s cassock.
Embarrassing. Here, she’d been internalizing Emma as major competition when all along her real challenge had been this anorexic hound.
“Um … excuse me, Vicar.” The soft, fragile voice saved her further embarrassment, as they all turned in unison towards a blonde girl of no more than twelve.
The girl looked to William expectantly, while in her hands, she clutched a small basket of cherry tomatoes.
“Chloe,” William greeted in surprise. “Hello.”
“Hello, Vicar. Mum asked me to bring these over.” She raised her thin arms, extending him the basket. Green polish colored Chloe’s short, stubby nails, and she wore a different silver ring on each finger and thumb.
Marcella watched with interest as William stepped forward to accept the tomatoes. As she’d hoped, this morning was shaping up to be one big eavesdrop into a day in the life of the Honorable Will. What she’d failed to foresee was that she’d be sharing his attention with an entire village.
“Thank you, Chloe,” he acknowledged.
Chloe pressed her lips together nervously and mumbled, “Mum and I’d been shopping at the farmer’s market yesterday and we wanted to bring something for … uh, you know, you blessing our Sting and all, and well, we know how you fancy tomatoes.”
“Oh, absolutely. I’m mad for tomatoes.” He popped one in his mouth and munched. “Very thoughtful of you and your mum.”
Chloe’s smile widened as she watched William swallow. Wrapping one sneaker around the foot of her other ankle, she told him, “They’re from Sting, as well.”
“Yes, of course. And what a precious little dog he is.” William leaned closer and asked in a conspiratorial whisper which Marcella strained to hear, “So, d’you think Sting enjoyed the service? I got the impression from his growl he wasn’t quite keen on the holy water.”
Chloe giggled. “I think it reminded him of having a bath.”
“Right. Exactly. Good point. I hadn’t considered that.” William straightened. “Well, I certainly do appreciate the tomatoes, Chloe. Pass my thanks along to your mum and Sting, will you?”
“I will.” She turned and dashed off, shouting, “TTFN!”
“Bye, Chloe,” William called after her.
When he turned back around, Marcella was waiting with a smile.
“Oh. You find this amusing, do you?”
Marcella glanced at Sallie for a second opinion. No sooner had they made eye contact when Sallie’s face split in a grin.
Marcella returned her attention to William and nodded. “I do.”
“And do neither of you see the downside to all this Christian goodwill?” William asked them.
“The downside?” Marcella echoed blankly. “What downside? Cherry tomatoes are an excellent food source for the complexion.”
Sallie’s eyes gleamed with laughter. “I think it’s incredibly sweet. These people adore you.”
“Thank you, Sallie. It is sweet. Very sweet. It’d be a terrible waste not to eat every bit of this food, but s’pose I’m not in the mood for a Sunday lunch of cold mash and cherry tomatoes?”
“Stick it in the fridge?” Sallie offered. “You might wake up tonight with the munchies.”
“I’m just curious.” With a self-assured tilt of her chin, Marcella lifted her foot and set the bright red sole of her sandal one step closer to William. “What are you in the mood for?”
He hesitated. Meanwhile, his gaze melted into hers and his expression turned pensive. “Sadly, in this instance, it’s not a question of being in the mood, as it is a matter of being responsible.”
A hot rush spouted like a geyser up through Marcella’s center, part arousal, part discomposure. She was toying with forbidden fruit. Any intelligent woman would have learned her lesson last night and let it go. But for some ungodly reason she couldn’t stop throwing temptation his way.
Crazy as she obviously was, she wanted him.
“Whoa,” Sallie whooped. “Why do I get the impression you two are not speaking of food?”
William cleared his throat. He gave a cool smile, then glanced away.
Marcella centered herself, ready with a cool smile of her own, when a flash exploded in her face. She was blinking away the blindness when she heard an unfamiliar British voice say, “Sorry. Just testing the flash. All these shade trees, you know? Vicar, would you mind posing for a photo with my iguana?”