Read One Small Chance: a novella (a Love Story from Portugal) Online
Authors: Lucinda Whitney
Cristina clasped her hands. “You did? You’re going on the cooking auditions? My gosh, Isabel. You knew from the beginning and you didn’t say?”
Isabel chuckled lightly. “You were the one with all the questions.”
Cristina scraped the spoon against the bottom of the soup plate and finished her last bite. “So how does it all work? Did they say?”
“Tomorrow they’ll put all fifty applicants at different stations and we’ll be cooking in front of three judges. There will be a secret ingredient and I have to come up with something original.”
“Like on the Food Channel,” Cristina said.
Isabel nodded. “Yes, it’s similar. The top twenty applicants who pass will then be chosen for the TV show. And the show works like this—” She paused and ticked her fingers. “On day one, the first round is taped in front of a live audience. The contestants receive a basket of ingredients and they have to make a three-course meal in front of a panel of judges. On day two, the contestants get a day off to plan their menus while the taped show goes on national TV, and people can vote online or through text message for their favorites. On day three, the four contestants with higher votes go face to face on a show broadcast live and are judged by four professionals.”
Cristina blew a breath. “Wow. I can’t even fathom. What are you doing to prepare for all this?”
Isabel shrugged. “Nothing. There’s nothing I can do to prepare. I don’t know what the secret ingredients will be tomorrow. I’ll have to improvise and hope I can remember all the things Avó Marta taught me.”
“You’ll be great, Isabel. I know it.” Cristina stood and placed their plates in the sink. “And look at you, all calm and confident.”
“I—” Isabel paused and twisted her hands, unable to hide her hesitation. “I prayed, Cristina. I know you might not understand this, but I prayed and I’ve been very calm since then. Like God is guiding me through this and I don’t need to worry about it.” She’d do the best she could and leave the rest in God’s hands. Even the matter at the academy and her security card was no longer weighing her down as before.
Isabel stood and walked to the sink. “Okay, there’s more to it. If I pass the cooking audition, I’ll come home to pack a light suitcase and I’ll let you know. When I return to the resort, they’ll put me in a hotel room and I can’t contact anyone, or have a phone, watch TV, be on the internet or anything. I’ll have to sign a confidentiality agreement.”
“That’s insane. For how long?”
“Until I’m kicked out or until the end of the live show. I do get to add someone’s name to the list of guests coming to the live broadcast, and I’ll put your name on it. They’ll call you and ask if you want to come in to the event if I make it that far.”
Cristina flicked Isabel’s arm. “You bet I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss for anything.”
Isabel wiped her hands dry. “You just have to promise me you won’t tell Simon. He’s got a lot happening at the academy right now and I don’t want him to worry.”
“There’s something going on at the academy, isn’t there?”
“I’m sorry I can’t tell you. I don’t even know everything that’s going on.” Simon was working on it and somehow she believed he’d figure it out. “Hopefully, it will all be solved soon.”
After Cristina left, Isabel put the leftovers in the refrigerator and washed the few dishes in the sink. She settled in bed with her favorite blanket and the new book she’d bought last week, but her mind was elsewhere.
Isabel had contacted Dr. Varela and explained she’d be involved in a project for a few days and might be out of reach. She gave him the competition publicist’s email address if he needed to get word of anything to her. And she’d assured him she’d be in Lisbon the whole time. Technically, it was Almada, on the bank across the river, but it was still part of the Greater Lisbon Area.
Her only regret was Elliot. She didn’t have the time to tell him all that was going on and she’d be unable to reply to his next email right away. But she planned to tell him about the cooking competition when it was all over. Maybe it was time to even tell him everything else. His last email had hinted he wanted to come to Lisbon for Christmas. Or had she misread it?
In the past few months, their correspondence had taken on a more intimate tone. They’d started sharing more details about what mattered to each one, asking questions and trying to guess what kind of jobs they had or what they thought about certain subjects. They’d even discussed past relationships.
Sometimes Isabel told herself it was just Elliot being polite and expressing a friendly interest. But other times she let herself think it was something more. It was Elliot wanting to know who she really was, what she did, and what she thought of him. She wanted the same thing. She wanted to know the real Elliot, the man behind the letters, the friend who knew so much about her, and yet not enough.
The old fear was still there, the one which had been holding her back from asking more of him, a fear Elliot probably shared. What if they met in person and he didn’t like her? Or she didn’t like him? Was she prepared to take the risk of losing her best friend? How would she go on without his letters?
And then there was Simon, who’d turned out to be the friend she never planned for. She’d never seen it coming, this friendship with him. What would he say when she told him she’d been corresponding with a guy for half her life? A guy who held such a special place in her heart. Did it even matter what Simon thought of Elliot? As much as she wanted to say it didn’t, more and more Simon’s opinion was important to her and the attachment between them was undeniable.
Isabel closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. The conflict within her was much too real. How did she even find herself in this confusing situation with such strong feelings for two different men?
One thing she knew: it was time. If Elliot wanted to come to Lisbon and meet her, she’d say yes.
CHAPTER TWENTY
From: [email protected]
Dear Elliot,
I’ll be away from a computer and cell phone for a few days. I’ll tell you everything when I return.
Always,
Amélie
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
On early Thursday morning, Simon got up from bed cold. The rain beat hard against the windows and he wiped the frost from the pane with the tip of his fingers. Half the city hid behind a curtain of fog, hanging low by the river and muting the colors of the buildings and the occasional red tiled roof peeking through. Lisbon was a wet, gray city, not so much unlike London on a day like this.
He pulled a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders. He hadn’t quite gotten used to the lack of central heating in the apartment and he’d left the space heater in the living room. Maybe he should get another one.
It was the last day of classes before the Christmas holiday with class parties in the morning and an academy-wide assembly after lunch. Afterward, the upper classes ran a Santa workshop for the lower grade classes, which was always very popular, from what he’d heard. The marks for the first term would be posted tomorrow, the letters to the parents had been mailed, and the last updates on the online portal had gone up glitch-free.
If he could just get the digital trail to pan out, he’d clear the suspicion on Isabel and turn in the information about the criminal to Dr. Varela, who’d hopefully call the authorities on the real culprit.
Once he had everything behind him, he could meet Amélie for Christmas, if she’d have him.
Simon walked to the small kitchen table where he’d left his laptop the night before. He filled the kettle with water, put it on the stove, and grabbed a teabag of caffeine-free morning blend from the cupboard. He’d have to buy some of that lemon-balm herbal tea Isabel had made when he was sick. The taste had grown on him.
While he waited for the water to boil, he ran a finger across the touchpad. The screen came to life. He clicked on the small window with the tracker software and red trails filled the gaps.
Simon stilled, his eyes wide and fingers hovering over the small area below the keyboard. This was it, what he’d been waiting for weeks. A transaction had occurred in the early morning, and even though the perpetrator used Isabel’s card number to access the site and make the transfer, the card signature was different. Someone had made a copy of Isabel’s security card. Now he just had to find out who.
With a few clicks, he made a copy of the trail and recorded the ISP address. Then he made duplicates of the information and burned them to a flash drive, making three copies of that.
Simon couldn’t wipe the smile off his face while he sent a quick message to Dr. Varela, drank his cup of tea, and got dressed for the day. When he stepped outside, the temperature was colder than in the days before, the rain fell in sheets, and his umbrella had a bent spoke at an odd angle. He adjusted the lapels of his overcoat and grinned again.
It was a glorious day.
* * *
Simon stood in the center of the academy’s atrium as the students left.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Ackerley,” a first grade girl said as she hugged him around the legs. He’d gotten used to the gesture from the younger children in the past few weeks.
He placed a hand on her head. “Merry Christmas, Carlota. Have a good holiday.”
The day was almost done now. Who knew that such a busy day could go by so slowly? Dr. Varela was meeting with Simon after the students left, and Simon was anxious to share his findings.
He returned to his office and grabbed the laptop. Across the hallway, in front of Isabel’s closed office door, sat a pile of brightly colored presents and homemade cards. Children had come throughout the day and left them for their beloved director. They missed her.
He missed her, more than he thought possible in just three days. The last email he’d received from Amélie concerned him, but he couldn’t confront Isabel with something she hadn’t told him. Cristina knew something. She’d been avoiding him all week, and she’d never done that before. As soon as he met with Dr. Varela, he’d go and talk to her.
Dr. Varela crossed the atrium and Simon followed. The older man closed the door behind them.
“Have a seat, Mr. Ackerley. What have you been able to find out?”
Simon opened his laptop and navigated to the window with the electronic trail. “There was a transaction early this morning. I was able to pin the tracker onto the user.”
“What does that mean?” Dr. Varela asked.
“Imagine someone coming into your office at night. You know they’re coming so you’ve left sticky black paint all over the floor, which they miss since they’re sneaking in and keeping the lights off.” He pointed at the screen. “It’s the same here, except electronically. I knew they were using Miss Antunes’ card number from the last tracking I did, so I left a trap for that purpose and I caught them sneaking in.”
Dr. Varela looked up from the screen. “But how is that possible? I told you I locked her card in the academy’s vault.”
Simon’s lips rose in a smile. “And that was the best thing to do, because it proved my suspicion that she was not the one using it for diverting the funds.”
“How did they do it then?” Dr. Varela’s expression furrowed.
“It was a clever move from the person behind this. I still haven’t figured out how he had the opportunity, but at some point he was able to make a 3D copy of Miss Antunes’ key. Then he used another academy card and transposed the magnetic strip to a copy of her card.” Simon hoped to find out if Isabel remembered leaving her card and key behind or unattended. She’d never even noticed it missing.
“A 3D copy?”
“Dr. Varela, do you know what the science lab has under the white cover sitting on the back counter?”
“The big box on the west wall?”
Simon nodded. “You didn’t even know that your academy owns a 3D printer, did you? A really nice model too.” As the fifth and sixth grade pranksters had proved.
Dr. Varela raised his eyebrows. “And a copy of the counterfeit card and key were enough?”
“The person behind this operation is savvy and probably has done this before,” Simon added. “He knew how to duplicate the information from Miss Antunes’ card onto the copy. That’s how I also knew that she couldn’t be involved. It’s not her area of expertise. I’m recommending new security cards and keys, by the way.” His full assessment report included more detailed recommendations.
“I agree,” said Dr. Varela. “Now tell me you know who did this.”
Simon handed him the flash drives with the information. “I have a copy of the tracker and the ISP address. When you call the authorities, they’ll be able to find out the identity of this person.” He paused. “But I can tell who I think it is, and I’ll be very surprised if I’m wrong about it.”
Dr. Varela leaned back in his chair. “Well, who is it?”
Simon held back a smile. “Dr. Varela, who has unchecked access to all the rooms on campus?” He didn’t wait for Dr. Varela’s reply. “You do, of course, and Miss Antunes. I’ve been given that responsibility and I’m sure the security company does too. And then the janitors do.”