“Okay, folks.” John drew the group’s attention as they finished nibbling on cookies. “We just want to give Mike any possible ideas for tomorrow. It’s an important concluding day for all of us, and, Pastor Mike, you know we’re all praying for you. We want the Holy Spirit to really anoint you in the morning and give you the right words.”
“Thanks, guys.” He leaned forward, catching Rachel Marie’s eye and smiling.
“You’ve been great all week.” Marilyn, just coming back from the kitchen, nodded appreciatively. “My second-grade kids absolutely love your talks, Mike. I hear them commenting during lunch and recess.”
The discussion went on around her, but Rachel Marie’s mind was in unhappy turmoil. It had been a treat to see her home pastor again after more than two months of living in this alien world. But her relationship with Khemkaeng seemingly interrupted by the clandestine temptation of late evenings with this new, seductive friend was strangely stalled. Truthfully, Nigel and his luxurious playthings seemed to be shredding her spiritual core.
It’s nothing, she kept thinking as Pastor Mike solicited ideas from her peers. It’s the Dodgers in the World Series and that really nice pool.
Yet in her heart, she knew she was also playing with the fire of Nigel Blaine’s scintillating personality and worldly charm. Khemkaeng was so very Thai, so straight-arrow, needing a nudge, or even a bulldozer, just to hold a girl’s hand. The moment she stepped into Nigel’s world, though, he was instantly master of the agenda–teasing, flirting, flattering, drawing her into a new and sophisticated thread of conversation. An untamed part of her soul, she now conceded, still craved some elusive sort of chemistry, and she was continuing to compromise in its pursuit.
But this is impossible. The stark reality of life’s fixed points was a knife in her soul. Nigel was not a Christian, would never be a Christian, and shared none of her deepest values. The powerful truths described with winsome love by Pastor Mike would mean nothing to the urbane Englander. She knew this, and yet some mesmerizing force drew her to keep toying with the possibilities.
Rachel Marie jerked back to reality as Khemkaeng, a bit tentative, raised his hand.
“Yes, sir. What do you think?”
“My advice is this. In our lower grades, it is best to simply share the message of Jesus and, as you already have said, plant the seed. I would not push in these grades that they should make decisions for the Christian faith. Not yet.”
“Huh.” Pastor Mike nodded. “That’s my conviction too. For now, we simply let them know they have a friend in Jesus, and that they can pray to him, that he loves them, that he cares about their family.”
“Yes. Good.” There was a buzz of assent in the room.
“However, in our high school, I would suggest: go ahead. They are older, and able to make decisions independent of parents. So in the nine o’clock program, feel free to make a specific invitation. The parents know that we do this. When they enroll the children here, we inform them that as a Christian school, this option is shared. In a soft way, certainly.”
“I understand.” Mike looked around. “You guys all feel the same way?”
They nodded in the affirmative. The pastor glanced over at Rachel Marie. “That’s your impression too?”
“Uh huh.” She considered her own twenty-eight children, so bright-eyed and willing to sing songs about Jesus’ love. But Khemkaeng was right. They weren’t yet ready for the likely friction of swimming against the current of long-held and sacred family traditions. Her own morning worships with them were gentle breezes of influence, nothing more, a light rain of heaven’s happiness.
Where’s that happiness now? She bowed her head with the others as Mike prayed, but the grim controversy in her heart threatened to block out the gospel.
The dinner group broke up and Rachel Marie went to the front door and put her shoes on, carefully avoiding eye contact with Khemkaeng. The World Series, thankfully, was down to a decisive sixth game with the Dodgers holding an advantage. A win this evening, and she might be able to turn away from Nigel’s glittering allure.
Her phone buzzed urgently just as she stepped outside into the twilight. She flipped it up, glancing at the tiny screen. “What’s up, Mr. Cey?”
His voice sounded feeble in the growing shadows. “Sorry, love,” he muttered, coughing a couple of times. “Something in me tum has declared war on the lot. I’ve been in the loo three times since school let out.”
“Oh, no!” Rachel Marie clucked sympathetically. “What can I do?”
“Nothing, dearie. I’ll get meself well. Just have to stay here at home and lie in a coma for a bit. But listen. You go on and have a good time at the pool and all. Just give Mr. B my apologies and best wishes.”
“Are you sure?”
“No worries. I’ll be right as rain in the morning.”
“Do you need anything? Medicine or whatever?”
“No, it’s all right. Just comes from drinking out the tap, I reckon. But go on with you now. Have a lovely evening, dearie.”
The line went dead and a gray pall of indecision fell over her. Nigel Blaine was waiting impatiently with his beautifully appointed high-rise and his pristine pool and his smoothly seductive lines of flattery. It was a heady delight being with him and tasting the delicious feeling of being admired. Nigel clearly fed off the chemistry between them. It took her breath away, enjoying the knowledge that her femininity impacted such a prize catch of a man.
On the other hand, she could simply go home and prepare her heart and soul for the spiritual highlight of this school year, the very reason she had been recruited to this battlefield. Tomorrow morning Pastor Mike was planning to invite hundreds of Thai teenagers to consider her Jesus and commit their hearts to him. Khemkaeng would be translating. It might well be that the Holy Spirit would bring this man she nearly loved into the kingdom during the next fourteen hours.
Rachel Marie glanced down the street to the corner where a standard traffic light was arbitrarily directing choices, telling some people to go and others to stop. Men on their motorcycles faced a blip of a crossroads–left or right, east or west. Home to wife and kids . . . or turning down some other neon road which might lead a restless man to the infamous Soi Cowboy where nubile strangers offered an hour of plastic pleasure.
It would be perfectly understandable if she were to call Nigel and cancel. Benjie was ill. Let’s do it some other time. Sure, lovey. I understand. Cheers, then.
But a part of her wanted to swim in that pool and sit in a moonlit garden just with Nigel . . . sans chaperone. Rachel Marie gulped with an anticipatory stab of shame. Might something romantic, some altering of destiny take place this evening because the protection of her raucous sidekick was home with the Asian flu? Did she dare go one-on-one with the irresistible Mr. Nigel Blaine?
She had long since learned how to give taxicab drivers the address of her own apartment, so had discarded the tiny business card where her helpful friend Khemkaeng had penned Thai directions. Should she simply go home? Play it safe by being obedient to Jesus?
Something tightened in her heart as she remembered with a twinge that she had already made this decision! High above the surging Pacific, she had bowed her head and determined before God that she would never compromise, never settle for less than a full Christian partnership. But that was then–a tenuous choice made in the safe cocoon of a pressurized jet, 34,000 feet above all seductions, and sitting next to an old lady. This was now, a steamy moment of decision, with that adult-themed pool and Nigel’s innuendo-drenched compliments.
What do I do? Less than a minute had slipped past since the phone call from Benjie, but her mind was whirring painfully with the tumult of this momentous choice.
She sighed and fished in her purse for the address card Nigel had given her after the TV outing the week before. A taxi came around the corner and she showed it to him. “Bhai dai mai?”
The man nodded, flipping the meter on, and she climbed into the back seat with
out looking back at John Garvey’s home. Bangkok was settling into a lovely late October evening, with all of the Asian magic this unique city had to offer, and her pulse quickened at the thought of an illicit meeting with her new friend.
It’s just swimming . . . and the Series . . . and chatting . . . and that’s it. She realized in a raw moment of self-evaluation that to meet with this colorful man was plainly not worth the mental turmoil, the sacrificing of her spiritual center. Not to mention the scarlet truth that this taxi trip carried with it a tinge of betrayal. Khemkaeng was a sweet and innocent man. The thought of him accidentally stumbling onto the details about tonight made her throat go dry with apprehension
She remembered, years ago, how Bucky had flailed about, trying to juggle high school flames with a careful reply, an evasive phone call, the sly shading of a story. It was a mess, and it wasn’t right. A collegiate story of her own, a female web of deception, brought painful memories. The hurt had been greater than the few tawdry moments of fun. She already knew all of this. But she and this tobacco-drenched taxicab were already halfway to where Nigel was waiting. What to do?
It had to be just tonight and no more, Rachel Marie determined. Somehow it was calming to make that decision, and she tried to relax now as the taxicab took her toward the moment of adventure.
* * *
“I heard Benjie came down with something,” Nigel observed as he helped her out of the cab.
“I know. Too bad.”
He gave her a teasing grin. “It’s just you and me, lassie. But I’ll behave.”
Rachel Marie felt a tremor of romantic anxiety as the elevator doors slid shut, isolating the couple from the rest of the world. But Nigel simply leaned against the far wall, crossing his arms across his chest. “So did your mummy get to hear her baby girl on the telly last weekend?”
“She did!” She nodded, remembering. “They didn’t know when your story would be on, so they recorded about five things from CBS, and when they saw what looked like Thailand, they played it right through. And said, sure enough, they recognized my voice.”
“You were good.” He edged closer. “One of these days, when I’m doing another story for one of your networks, I’ll put you right on the camera and have you do the whole thing.”
The doors opened and he motioned. “After you.”
Together they went over to the bar and he borrowed the remote from the girl manning the idle desk. “Thanks, love. Kop kuhn krahp.”
The World Series contest flickered to life on the big digital screen and he set the remote down. “Okay, then. You jump in the pool and start thinking positive thoughts about your mates there on the field. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Rachel Marie gazed around the garden with its twinkly glory. Somehow tonight it felt a bit cheap and temporary. But the pool was as inviting as ever, the underwater lights casting their soft elegant glow throughout the cool liquid.
He gave her an appreciative glance when she emerged from the ladies’ room. “I’ve been meaning to tell you–that bathing suit fits you like a glove is all. You look wondrous.”
“Thanks.” Rachel Marie dove in and did a few quiet laps by herself, trying to push away her sense of unease. Taking a deep breath and kicking furiously, she submerged herself to the deepest part of the pool and slowly slid along the bottom, feeling her ears pop.
“One of your blokes just hit a home run.” Nigel, standing in the shallow end, gestured toward the TV. “It’s already one-nil.”
“That’s good.”
They chatted easily as the evening wore on and Rachel Marie slowly relaxed, her earlier angst subsiding. The Dodgers, peaking at just the right time, were getting timely hits in every frame, and boasted a six-run lead by the fourth inning.
“Lookie here,” he proposed as they toweled off. “Game’s in the bag for L.A. Why don’t we get a bit of supper, and if you like, pop back down here in an hour just to watch the champagne flow. Eh?”
Rachel Marie nodded. “‘Course I already ate. With the BCS folks.” She explained about Pastor Mike and the Week of Spiritual Focus.
He nodded affably. “How’s about just a bit of that lemonade you enjoy, and perhaps a wee salad or dessert.”
“Sure.”
She changed back into her teaching clothes and dried her hair with the towel he checked out from the service desk.
“Ready?”
“Uh huh.” Rachel Marie followed him over to the elevator and he hit the button for the tenth floor.
“Had a good time, love?”
“Yeah. It was fun.” The words were actually true, she decided. Nigel was being a gentleman, and there was nothing wrong in watching some baseball and snacking with a friend.
“Right over here, then.”
To her surprise, the luxury apartment complex boasted an intimate restaurant overlooking the gardens below. “It’s really just for tenants,” he explained. “Plus our guests. Not much of a menu. But they open up in the evening for about six hours, and it’s a lovely way to end the day.”
A pretty Thai girl, barely more than a child, came to their table and asked what they would like. “My lady friend here would like some of your slushy cold lemonade. And . . . what, dearie? A bit of ice cream?”
“Sure.” She grinned.
“And I’ll have a club sandwich and a martini.”
“Yes, thank you.” The doe-eyed girl left.
In the midnight blue of the distant sky, she could see jets lined up in a row, their landing lights glowing, waiting to descend into this dangerous corner of the world. It reminded Rachel Marie again that she was in such a faraway kingdom, despite the opulent beauty of this particular spot. Nigel leaned forward, smiling if to read her thoughts.
“What?”
He grinned. “You are a pretty thing.”
Rachel Marie blushed. “You and Benjie seem to say that sort of thing to just about everyone who walks past.”
The older man nodded. “May I tell you something, love? Yeh. We flower ‘em up a bit, I reckon. But Miss Stone, believe me when I say this ‘cause it’s on the record and all. You are a pretty thing.”
The drinks and her dish of ice cream arrived, and Rachel Marie hesitated. Did one say grace for a bowl of spumoni ice cream? Or was this just a continuation of supper at John’s place?
“Excuse me just a moment,” she murmured. Bowing her head, she said a silent prayer, asking God to help her be obedient to his will.
“All right then,” he teased. “What is all that?”
Rachel Marie took a taste of the delicious frozen treat. “I say grace whenever I eat.”
“Really?”
“Uh huh.” She looked into his eyes as if daring him to make something of it.
He ignored his drink. “Tell me this, lovey.”
She waited.
“So this Christian thing–you’re in it for real? You’re not just fetching yourself an envelope stuffed full of baht each month and exploring new travelogue horizons like my pal Benjamin?”
Rachel Marie nodded. “Yes. I’m a Christian. For real.” She weighed in a new way the import of that simple declaration. I’m a Christian. A follower of Jesus. Disciple . . . devotee . . . slave . . . of the man from long-ago Nazareth.
“May I tell you something?” Nigel picked up his alcoholic drink, eyed it, and then set it to the side in an oddly precise gesture. “Listen up, sweet lady. Because this is important.”
Rachel Marie sucked in her breath, feeling a tingle of the frosty residue left by her ice cream. “What?”
“I like you being a Christian,” he managed. “You have beauty and class–and you know something, dearie, it’s your religion and your core that makes you that way. It’s very appealing, actually.”
This was unexpected. “Th . . . thank you,” she said with a slight stammer.
The moonlight was just beginning to spill into the open area of the restaurant tables, and it bathed his handsome face. “Would you think,” Nigel said, “that you a
nd I could make a go of it?” He eyed her almost worshipfully.
Rachel Marie stared at this gorgeous man who was making such a stunning offer. “What did you say?” Her voice was low and fraught with a thrill of emotion.
“You and me, dearie. Would it work?”
She reflected on all that had come into her life these past three months: Jisoo’s death, her breakup with Adrian, the high stakes of her assignment to this new world, her growing attachment to Khemkaeng. And now this matinee idol who was suddenly and wrenchingly respectful.
“You have to admit, dear thing, that we’ve got chemistry and to spare between us. I’ve fancied you since the moment I put my eyes on you.”
The invitation hung in the air. This wild, breathtaking man dripped with charm which might actually be real. Until this moment, she assumed the myriad pleasures of his personality were simply a well-honed act, that he flirted with people simply because they were wearing a dress and standing there.
“Come over here,” he motioned. Taking her hand, he led her over to the railing where the fairyland of Imperial Manor’s impeccable garden spread out before them, quiet and glorious in the late evening.
“I’m a good man, Miss Stone,” he said softly. “I confess to you I didn’t have an upbringing sitting in a church each weekend there in London. But I’m not hostile to it. I can coexist with the things that matter to you. I’ve circled round the world enough times to realize that the only hope for all of God’s children is if we respect one another and treat each other well despite our beliefs.”
“What is it you want?” She felt her own godly reserves threatening to melt away.
“I think I want you,” he told her, vulnerable for the first time. “I think I just found me a soul mate, and so have you. If you’re willing to admit it.”
Love In a Distant Land: Rachel Marie Series Book One Page 17