Immediately, Isabel straightened and squared her shoulders. “Don’t patronize me, Mr. Ackerley. Someone is obviously not pleased with my work here, or they wouldn’t have called you to consult.” She ground out the last word with added emphasis.
Not this again. She was determined to make him an enemy. How frustrating. “I don’t think you understand what I do, Isabel.” He stepped forward.
“Miss Antunes, please.” She crossed her arms. “We’re inside the building and need to observe the rules.”
“Miss Antunes, as I said earlier, I’m not your enemy, and I don’t want your position at the academy. I’m here to improve the online system. That’s what I do as an IT consultant.” He kept his eyes on hers. “My reports are aimed at helping the academy as a whole. Everyone will benefit, including you. My job here is to make your job easier.”
“I hope so,” she said. But her eyes betrayed her. She wasn’t convinced.
Changing Isabel Antunes’ mind about him and his presence at the academy had just moved to the top of his priority list.
Now he just needed to gain her trust and prepare her for Elliot.
CHAPTER FIVE
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Dear Amélie,
I’m a little busy, but I’ll always find time for you. For the time being, I’m only trying to get used to all the changes. I started on the new job and even though I’m excited about it, I’m also slightly apprehensive. There, I said it. I’ve been putting up a façade with everyone else, but not with you. Change is hard, even when you seek it yourself. But in this case, it’s a risk worth taking.
I think you’re wrong about not making a difference in the lives of those around you. I don’t know the kind of job you do, but I know you always do your best. I remember how studious and applied you were in secondary school and university, always turning homework on time and going beyond for extra credit. It speaks of your character and I have reason to believe you give your best at everything you do.
Hang in there. The right path will come to you, either doing the same or something new. You never know what the future holds.
Always,
Elliot
*
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Dear Elliot,
I’m glad to know you’re excited about the new job. I’m positive you’ll do great and charm everyone. What does your family say about it?
I appreciate your vote of confidence and your kind words. I wish I could feel the same way. You know the saying “Be careful what you wish for”? Well, that’s me. I wanted change and I got it. Only, it’s not the kind of change I expected.
You see, I met someone. I know what you’re thinking and it’s not like that. SO not like that. This person is exasperating and unfortunately I can’t do anything about it. I wish I could work with someone like you instead, because I’m sure you’re a fun co-worker. But enough whining.
Do you miss London? When are you going back?
Your friend,
Amélie
CHAPTER SIX
Simon stretched his arms above his head and yawned. He stacked the papers and slipped them back into the folder. The academy had closed two hours before and he was still here, going over the information he’d collected at the end of the first week. So much for a Friday night catching up with his reading list. At least he’d made some progress on entering all of the staff and faculty card numbers and digital signatures into the tracking program. As a result, he’d discovered the card used in connection with the fraudulent bank transfers. Unfortunately, he’d also found out that card belonged to Isabel.
Her involvement was not even in question. She was innocent; of that he had no doubt. But his personal conviction about her moral character was not enough to prove someone else was using the card. And until he had solid evidence, he’d hold his discovery from Dr. Varela.
Simon twirled a pencil between his fingers. Logic and common sense told him that Isabel must have left her card and key unattended at some point, creating an opportunity for someone to make a copy of it. She hadn’t even noticed. It was unfortunate the academy didn’t have security cameras installed in the hallway by the offices. He’d have to think of another way to find out how her card had been taken.
But not today.
He turned off the lights and locked his door. His small office sat directly in front of Isabel’s. She was his biggest challenge. If he’d ever met efficiency personified, it would be her. As the director, she kept a tight rein on her little kingdom and he’d been impressed with her ability to remember the names of all the students they’d met, the mark of an involved teacher.
It wasn’t his responsibility, but as the last one in the building, he took it upon himself to make sure all the lights were off and windows locked. This new habit had him walking through the back part of the school before he left for the day. When he turned to the second hallway, light shone through the porthole on the service door to the kitchen. Simon stopped. Had one of the cooks stayed behind?
He approached the door and peeked through. Someone stood near the stove, with her back to him. She had her brown hair piled up and wore a black T-shirt and a yellow apron tied twice around her waist. Her exposed neck gave him a clear view of a small tattoo at the nape. Something he couldn’t make out from this far. Simon pushed open the door and cleared his throat. “Excuse me, are you one of the cooks?” Hopefully, she spoke English.
She didn’t turn, but she moved side to side and hummed something. Thin red cords for earbuds dangled from her ears.
Simon clapped his hands and raised his voice. “Excuse me!”
The woman jumped and screamed. She turned around, a large chef knife in her right hand.
Simon raised his hands and stepped back. “Easy there. It’s just me.”
Isabel yanked at the cords and the earbuds dropped to the floor. “Are you out of your blessed mind?” She spoke slowly in a low tone, almost a growl. Her eyes narrowed. “Did you not see my chopping knife?” She set it down on the wood block, then bent and picked up the cords which she stuffed into the apron pocket. “What are you doing here? Other than scaring me to death and trying to get yourself killed.”
Simon took a quick breath. “I’m sorry, but I did not see the butcher knife. In fact, I didn’t even recognize you.” She looked younger in simple jeans, form-fitting jeans, the kind that hugged her figure in all the right places. The black t-shirt looked just as good. It had I cook: what’s your super power? in white letters across the chest. Simon suppressed a smile. Even her hair looked different, softer and more relaxed. She always wore it in a tight, low bun during school hours. But here, in front of him, Isabel had an alter-ego, a very appealing one.
She brought her hands to her hips. “You didn’t answer me.”
“I was doing the rounds before I left. I certainly didn’t expect to find anyone in the kitchen, least of all you.” Simon leaned against the stainless steel counter. “What are you doing here?”
She rubbed her temples and sighed, then caught herself and straightened. “You’re going to tell on me, aren’t you?”
The oven timer beeped behind her, and she waved him off. “Move over there, please, and don’t say anything for a minute.”
Simon walked behind the counter and pulled up a bar stool from under a corner. He sat and watched her while he waited for her to finish. Maybe he’d have the chance to talk with her, a subject beyond the academy, the system, and the students.
She took four white ceramic dishes and placed them on a baking sheet. Then she moved to the other side and brought over a large glass bowl with a dark chocolate batter, which she carefully spooned inside the round, ribbed dishes. She slid the tray into the oven and set the timer.
For a minute, she stood in front of the oven. Was she going to watch while they baked?
The tattoo at the base of her neck was a small trail of stars that disappea
red down her back and underneath the T-shirt. This woman was a contradiction, so stiff and proper, yet mysterious and captivating. Simon pushed the thought away. He couldn’t think of her like this, not at work.
After placing the bowl and utensils in the sink and running some water over them, she turned to face him.
“Are you a chef?” Simon asked.
She shook her head and actually rolled her eyes. “Are you going to tell on me?” She repeated the question.
“What’s there to tell? You’re in the kitchen, baking something.”
She nodded.
“Is there something wrong about it?”
She shook her head. “Technically, I’m not supposed to.”
That would account for her guilty demeanor.
Her shoulders dropped. “Look, Mr. Ackerley—”
“Simon,” he said. “It’s after hours. Call me Simon.”
She crossed her arms again. “As I was saying, Mr. Ackerley.” The two last words came out accented, then she paused, took a breath, and started again. “My late grandmother was friends with the main cook. They were best friends, actually. My oven at home broke, and while the technician is waiting for the part, my grandmother’s friend agreed to let me use the kitchen here. As long as I’m not cooking for any official business and clean everything after me, she doesn’t mind.”
Simon nodded. “So this is a one-time thing?”
She nibbled at her thumb. “Yes, it should be.”
“All right.” So Isabel was using the academy’s kitchen, and she didn’t look too happy that he’d found her.
She paused and looked at him. “Look, I’d just rather people don’t know that I cook. Don’t you ever do anything to de-stress?”
Simon smiled. “Yeah, I go bike riding.”
“Do you make a habit of crashing into pedestrians as well?”
“That was the first time.”
“Just my luck,” she deadpanned.
No, it had been his luck but she wouldn’t understand, and he kept it to himself.
“I cook and bake. Or I cooked and baked before my oven broke. You’re going to tell the chairman you caught me here and I’ll be lucky if I don’t lose my job.” She turned to the sink and washed the dirty bowl.
Simon rose and came to stand near the sink. “I’m not going to tell on you, Isabel.” She looked at him pointedly, but didn’t comment. “Believe it or not, I do understand about doing something to unwind.” He moved away when she placed the clean utensils on a drying rack and started wiping them down with paper towels. “And you are the school director, after all. If you can’t use the kitchen, then I don’t know who can.”
“And you’re the director’s assistant,” she said without turning.
Simon wanted to tell her that didn’t mean anything, but he kept quiet instead. He didn’t want to argue with her and she seemed to be in the mood to contradict.
She worked quickly, washing, drying, and putting pieces of equipment back in their places. Once or twice, she looked his way, opened her mouth as if to say something, and then closed it. Maybe she was doing something she liked, but she wasn’t relaxed in his presence.
Before the timer went off, she turned off the gas stove and waited. When it beeped, she reached a gloved hand for the tray and set on the counter. The batter had popped over the rims, dark brown and enticing.
“What are those?”
She poured confectioner’s sugar into a small sieve. “Chocolate soufflés,” she said in a low voice.
Slowly, she moved two of the dishes from the tray to their own white plates, then dusted their tops, the edge of her finger hitting the side of the sieve with a few taps. She took a pinch from a small bowl and added the contents to the top of each soufflé. She stood back and smiled at them.
“Did you just smile at your dessert?”
A scowl quickly replaced her smile. She reached in her pocket and checked her phone. “Cristina was supposed to be here, but she bailed on me for her boyfriend.” She put the phone back. “Which is only fair since last week she bailed on him to take care of me after some biker mowed me down.”
“You have no idea how worried I was about you all weekend.” He hadn’t meant to confess it with so much emotion in his voice.
Isabel raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. She placed a dessert spoon on the plate and pushed it in his direction. “Looks like you’re my guinea pig tonight, Mr. Ackerley.”
Simon pulled the plate closer and touched the top of the batter. It was warm, and a soft aroma wafted to him. The soufflé sprang back at the first contact with the spoon and Simon pressed harder. The batter had turned airy and spongy, and when he took a bite, his eyes closed.
“Mmmm.” He actually moaned. When was the last time he’d moaned about food? “Wow, you do have super powers.” His eyes flicked to the front of her T-shirt.
“Hardly.” She looked at him expectantly. “Well, is that all you’re going to say?”
Simon scraped the bottom of the dish. “It has a sweet, full flavor. It’s fluffy too.”
“Did you just say fluffy, Mr. Ackerley?” She didn’t hide the amusement in her tone.
He set the spoon down and resisted the urge to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yes, Isabel, I said fluffy. But I hardly have the words to describe this piece of culinary perfection.”
She placed another soufflé on his plate. “Have another one. These won’t keep.” Then she pulled a small notebook out of her apron pocket and wrote some notes while eating her own soufflé at a leisurely pace.
Simon watched her as he ate. He had found a chink in her armor. A delicious chink.
*
Isabel remained seated while the postlude music played softly from the organ. She pulled out her tablet and kept her eyes down, avoiding eye contact. Around her, people exited to their next classes and parents tried to corral their young children. Where was the reverence at the end of the religious services?
The childhood memories of Sunday mass stood out in great contrast, almost the polar opposite. Here, it was light instead of dark; noisy instead of quiet. And it was warm instead of impersonal. These Mormons, these Latter-Day Saints, as they called themselves, put all their focus on family relationships. Well, she was one of them too, but she didn’t understand everything yet, far from it.
Avó Marta had been gone for a few months now. Isabel could have stopped coming to church. No one remained to ask her about it. But how could she say no to Grandmother? In a way, she had promised her she’d keep coming, and her love for Avó Marta ran too deep to lie to her, even after death. Or maybe especially after death. Forever families, indeed.
Someone touched her shoulder and Isabel startled. It was one of the bishopric guys.
“Irmã Isabel, I’m so glad to see you.” He shook her hand with more vigor than necessary. This business of calling everybody brother and sister was still a little foreign to her.
She nodded, not knowing what to say. Thank you?
He pulled at her arm to stand. “I have someone I’d like you to meet.”
Isabel lagged behind him. Almost every time she came, someone introduced someone else to her, particularly to guys of marriageable age. What was it with this church and pairing off unattached people? Did they stop to think that maybe her single status was by choice and not default? She enjoyed being single.
He turned to a man with his back to them. Isabel stopped. The man in question wore a dark gray suit and he wore it very well.
But the back of his head. His red hair. How many redheaded guys were there in Lisbon? How many of them were this exact height?
Isabel stepped back, but the bishopric guy took her by the elbow.
Then the man in the gray suit turned around.
It was him, of course.
“Irmã Isabel, this is Brother Simon Ackerley and he doesn’t speak any Portuguese. Brother Simon, this is Sister Isabel.”
“I know.” The words escaped her lips before she could put a stop
to them, and the bishopric brother looked at her with a quizzical expression.
Simon’s eyes widened but he recovered quickly and shook her hand, smiling. “What a pleasant surprise, Sister Isabel.”
Why did he have such nice, long fingers? Isabel returned the shake and suddenly wished she had a church program to fan herself. It felt like someone had upped the heat, though autumn had barely started. His green eyes smiled at her and even his freckles looked different today. The necktie was a mustardy color and it matched ridiculously well with his suit and eyes. Did he dress with the aid of a color wheel? Most likely he had a fashion-savvy girlfriend waiting for him in England. Or maybe she’d come along too.
“We already know each other,” Simon Ackerley said with a twitch to his lips.
Isabel looked for the nearest exit when the bishopric guy spoke. “How wonderful. Where did you meet?”
“At the academy,” she and Ackerley replied at the same time.
Simon Ackerley spent the next few minutes answering the guy’s questions about his work and her work and what they did at the academy. Isabel tuned out, nodding when they looked in her direction. Where was the nearest exit? She just had to think of an excuse and she’d be on her way. Her eyes darted around.
The man from the bishopric shook their hands again. “Well, that’s great, then. I’m so glad it worked out, and that you two already know each other. I think you’ll find the other ward has wonderful things to offer.”
“Wait. What?” She hadn’t been paying attention and they were trying to rope her into something.
Both men looked at her. Ackerley had an amused smile, probably guessing she didn’t know what they talked about.
“The singles ward is having an activity next week,” the bishopric guy said. “They actually have activities quite often. I can get you a schedule. I think it’s a wonderful idea that you can accompany Brother Simon and introduce him around, since he doesn’t speak Portuguese.”
“But everybody speaks English, Bishop,” Isabel said. There was no way she was going to any activity that had the word “singles” in it. She didn’t like the sound of it.
One Small Chance: a novella (a Love Story from Portugal) Page 4