One Small Chance: a novella (a Love Story from Portugal) (5 page)

Isabel followed his gaze. “Each class gets a small area to grow seeds in the early spring. The gardener waters through the summer and picks up the early harvest. The students resume their work again in September in time for the second harvest.”

He nodded. “A great project for the children.”

Her shoulders relaxed as she surveyed the grounds. She stood in profile to him and Simon sent her a glance disguising it as interest for the surrounding area. He didn’t want to be caught openly staring at her. The words they’d exchanged earlier in her office were still fresh on his mind. Under the calm appearance, her anger had been palpable, and he couldn’t blame her for it. Her boss had not told her of Simon’s coming before today, nor his purpose, that much was clear, and he regretted their rocky start. As eager as he was to get to know her better, patience and tact were virtues worth remembering.

After one more look around, Isabel took the path to the school and he followed.

“How long have you worked here?” Simon caught up to her. For a short woman, she walked fast. Well, shorter than most women in England. Here in Portugal she had two or three centimeters on the general female population, which would make her at the perfect height to fit nicely is his arms. The unexpected thought surprised him, and he stepped back to put more distance between them.

“It was my second job after graduating. I first worked in the administration of a public preparatory school for a few years, but when a position opened here I applied right away.” She stopped at the front gate and introduced him to one of the security officers who didn’t speak English. She facilitated the translation.

They ended the tour in front of their offices, tucked away at the end of a hallway around the corner from the reception room.

“I was first hired as an administrator here, as well, but Dr. Varela appointed me director three years ago.”

“And from what I’ve seen today, you’re doing a tremendous job of it.” The compliment was genuine. His first impressions were favorable, and everything seemed to run efficiently.

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 disappeared 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.