Teapots & Tiaras: A sweet and clean Christian romance in London and Cambridge (Love In Store Book 5)

by Autumn Macarthur

  His godfather smiled. “You would have liked him, I think. Though Robert would have jumped at the opportunity you have now, to stay in England and run the Trust. Once he married Susanna and you were born, he missed you both so much when he was away in Africa.”

  An image flashed into Matthew’s mind of Anita and Daisy facing the dangers of Mapateresi, and his stomach clenched. Concern for them would interfere with his work. But if he loved his wife, leaving her behind would be equally difficult.

  No wonder the old man disapproved of his father’s love match.

  He nodded slowly.

  “Robert had big ideas for how he’d change things once he took over.” David glanced at the portraits of past directors. “Maybe that’s why Henry insisted he go back out to Africa, despite the risk if he contracted dengue fever another time.”

  Matthew folded his arms across his chest. “He did his Coalbrooke duty.”

  Grief rasped his throat, contradicting his words. Did obeying Grandfather’s ideas of duty make up for leaving a son who never knew his father?

  David shook his head as if Matthew had asked the question aloud. “Henry trained Robert the same way he did you. Duty above all else, and the belief he had to earn his salvation. Don’t make the same mistakes. And when you marry, don’t bring your children up the same way.”

  Matthew clamped down on the thought of Anita, rising unbidden to his mind. Choosing the wrong wife was one mistake he wouldn’t be making. “I have no plans to marry. Not until I know if I’m returning to Africa or not.”

  Duty dragged him in opposing directions. Should he go back to Mapateresi, back to the clinic work he’d trained for? Or did duty demand he stay here to head up the Mission Trust and take over his grandfather’s role? And where did his duty to marry and have a child fit? What about his duty to God?

  The portrait of his grandfather glowered at him for daring to ask the questions.

  He knew one thing. He didn’t want his own child raised as he was. Anita was right. Children deserved to be loved and wanted for themselves, not to be bred to have duty and responsibility heaped on them before they were old enough to understand.

  Help me make the right choice, God.

  The involuntary prayer escaped him. He’d never prayed so much or asked God’s help so much as he did now. What happened to the Coalbrooke self-sufficiency he’d had drummed into him, his “need nobody” code?

  Realisation struck him. Grandfather lived his life like God needed him, rather than him needing God. Perhaps David advised him not to repeat his grandfather’s mistakes, rather than his father’s.

  His phone buzzed a reminder in his pocket. Five o’clock, and the end of their meeting.

  “Thank you, David. You’ve given me plenty to think about.” He clapped the older man on the shoulder. “I need to leave now, but I’ll give this more thought before we meet next.”

  On the way out, he checked his appointments for the following day with Hettie, the receptionist in the outer office, and then stepped out onto the street. No time to burn off his frustration in a run or a punch bag session at the gym, but a brisk walk across Cambridge to meet James, Beth, and Anita should help.

  His chest expanded, and his pulse accelerated as he thought of seeing Anita again. Her bright bubbliness, so irritating when they’d first met, could now just as easily light up his day. She’d texted to tell him Daisy was fine, and they’d exchanged a few messages each day.

  He’d been tempted to call her. Temptation he’d resisted, perhaps wrongly.

  Anita had something he didn’t have and had never known he lacked—a personal relationship with God. A sureness and security in her faith. What she did stemmed from love, not duty.

  A hunger woke in his soul for something more, something deeper.

  Something he didn’t know how to get.

  Bitterness gnawed at his belly. He wasn’t sure who he felt most angry with. His father for dying young? His mother for leaving him with Grandfather? The autocratic old man? Himself for not making a stand sooner? Or God for putting him in this situation?

  Far more questions than answers. As he considered them, his long stride carried him through the tourist-crowded Cambridge streets, along Mill Lane and down to the riverbank punting station.

  Nothing further from the reality of the clinic in Mapateresi could be imagined than the rows of flat-bottomed timber boats, ready to carry laughing sightseers on a leisurely trip along the River Cam. The inequalities in this fallen world. He’d have to do something about the Trust offices.

  A voice called his name. James waved. “Over here.”

  As he hurried to his friend, Anita and Beth emerged from Laundress Lane.

  “We had to park miles away,” Anita explained, tactfully averting her eyes from Beth and James’s kiss. Her full-skirted floral cotton dress belled out as she turned, and the late-afternoon sunlight gleamed on her bright hair.

  An uncharacteristic touch of shyness curved her smile. Then she slipped her floppy brimmed hat and sunglasses on, disguising the vulnerability in her eyes.

  “No Daisy?” he asked. “How is she today?”

  “She’s fine, thank you.” Her smile broadened. “I haven’t been punting before, but I guessed toddlers and riverboats probably aren’t a good mix. I had her all day, as it’s my day off. Mum’s looking after her this evening.”

  James grinned and raised his lips from Beth’s. “If I’m doing the punting, that’s a wise move.”

  “You are not getting your hands on that pole.” Matthew shook his head. “I remember what happened last time you were let loose with a punt. Besides, I’ve been stuck in the office all day. I need some exercise.”

  Anita laughed. “Dare I ask what happened?”

  “All I did was lose the pole here in the Mill Pond,” James protested. “An expected beginner’s mistake.”

  “I’m guessing there’s more,” Beth teased, eyes alight as she smiled up at James.

  No wonder Anita averted her eyes. The pair were so in love it hurt to watch.

  Matthew glanced away and snorted. “Right. He was so determined not to lose the pole a second time, he hung on when it got stuck in the riverbed, fell overboard, and caused a six-boat pileup under Silver Street Bridge.”

  “Okay, okay, I concede. You get to punt.” James raised his hands in surrender and grinned. “Suits me. I relax with Anita and Beth while you do all the work.”

  Matthew laughed. “I knew there was a catch. But I’ll make you work too. You can do the tour-guide spiel for Anita and Beth.”

  Truth was, he preferred it that way.

  Less contact with Anita. Until he knew God’s will for his future, his disorderly emotions needed tighter control. The way her touch sent his adrenaline levels soaring as he held the punt and took her hand to steady her while she climbed aboard proved it.

  Beth and James sat in the front seat, facing him, while Anita sat in the rear seat. Only a foot or so away, but looking forward, with her back to him.

  That worked.

  Her voice and laugh were distraction enough, without seeing her smile, too.

  He took his stance on the platform at the back of the punt, bending his knees and rocking the boat a little to get the feel for it and ensure his shoes had good grip on the deck, before he picked up the long heavy pole. After ribbing James, he’d best make sure he didn’t pull a similar stunt. He hadn’t poled a punt for well over ten years.

  Like riding a bicycle, his body didn’t forget. The old rhythm came back.

  The hand-over-hand lift of the heavy wet pole from the water, then dropping it back down to the riverbed, letting it fall through his hands. Bending his knees as he walked his hands to the top of the pole, remembering to hold on, but not too tight. Pushing the boat through the water.

  He negotiated the passage under Silver Street Bridge successfully, avoiding the notorious Queen’s Teeth, the concrete posts hidden under the water where James came unstuck last time, and gave his friend a thumbs-up
.

  As James began pointing out the landmarks they passed, he continued the unhurried rhythm. Poling the boat was just the exercise he needed.

  Warm sunshine. Steady repetitive movement. The satisfying smooth glide forward along the river with each push. The water’s gentle swish against the boat. The beauty surrounding them as they passed the Mathematical Bridge, Kings College Chapel, Clare Gardens, and the other colleges along the Backs. An occasional smile at the antics of other punters.

  It became almost meditative. Perhaps he had no idea of what God’s will for him was because he’d forgotten to slow down enough to listen.

  “This is the Bridge of Sighs, nothing like its namesake in Venice. Queen Victoria—”

  James’s mobile phone interrupted his speech. He grimaced, clearly tempted to let it ring. Then he pulled it out of his pocket and answered.

  As he listened, his expression changed. All traces of laughter left his face. He turned to speak to Matthew. “Where’s the nearest landing?”

  “Quayside.”

  “It’s Quayside,” James repeated into his phone. “Okay. We’ll meet you there.” Ending the call, he glanced up again, anxiety clouding his expression. “Can you get us there as fast as possible?”

  Matthew upped the pace, weaving through the boats meandering aimlessly along the river. “What’s happened?”

  James reached out for Beth’s hand. “It’s Mother. She’s been rushed to hospital. Jefferies is bringing the car to take us to her.” His worried glance met Matthew’s. “Will you make sure Anita gets back safely?”

  “Of course.” As his arms pumped and his back bent, his mind ran through all the possible complications Portia might have requiring emergency hospitalisation. None were reassuring.

  James nodded his thanks, and then squeezed his eyes shut as he loosed a long breath. “Please, when you can, will you meet us at the hospital? And please pray. It sounds serious.”

  Matthew nodded. He already guessed as much.

  The question was, how serious.

  Chapter 13

  Anita’s joy in the lovely day evaporated. Sadness weighed stone heavy in her chest, for her friends, and for Portia. Despite the warm evening, she shivered.

  Leaning forward impulsively to hold James and Beth’s hands, she bowed her head.

  “Let’s pray now.”

  Lord, you tell us when two or three are gathered in Your name, You’re here with us. So here we are. Please help Portia. Guide the doctors to make the right choices for her. And please, maybe Matthew can find anything extra to help her? Thank You.

  Gentle pressure on her fingers told her they prayed their own silent prayers, too. It would help.

  It had to help.

  The rhythmic splashes behind her as Matthew poled the boat forward more than doubled, and the punt sped through the water. She turned to look up at him.

  He stared downriver with an anxious, heart-jolting frown. If Matthew looked that concerned, things must be bad.

  As if he felt her glance, his face smoothed, and he threw her a blandly professional don’t-worry smile. It didn’t quite convince her.

  She forced her lips to curve in return, but they wobbled badly. She gave up the attempt and shifted to watch their progress. The dock with a row of punts tied up, attendants wearing flat straw boaters, and crowded cafe tables lining the riverbank must be Quayside.

  Faster than she expected, he guided the punt to a stop. A classic Rolls Royce idled on the roadway.

  “There’s Jefferies,” James said, relief ringing in his voice.

  She followed them out of the punt while Matthew held it steady, and waited as he handed it over to an attendant.

  “You go. I’ll get Anita safely to her car, and then come to the hospital.” He gave James a quick bear hug.

  Had Matthew changed his mind about hugging? One good thing to come from this, even though her heart ached for the reason.

  She whispered another silent prayer and threw her arms around both James and Beth. “God has her safe. I’ll keep on praying for her.”

  Beth nodded, but her pale strained face showed her worry. “That’s the best thing any of us can do.”

  James clapped Anita on the shoulder and hurried Beth to the waiting car.

  Matthew shook his head slightly as the Rolls glided away. His expression only worsened her concern.

  “It’s not good, is it?” she asked.

  “No. Probably not.”

  She appreciated that he didn’t try to pretty it up or make pretences for her.

  “Where is your car parked?” He pulled the map provided by the punt hire company from his pocket and opened it. “I need to work out what will get us there faster, leaving the punt here or punting back to where we started.”

  Bracing herself for her reaction to his nearness, she leaned closer to put her finger on the spot. “My car is here. The Grand Arcade.”

  “Walking from here will be faster. But how are your feet?” He looked down.

  Her red flat pumps should meet with his approval. “I can do it. But you’ll need to show me where to go. I don’t know my way around Cambridge.”

  He nodded, and led her along busy Bridge Street, thick with tourists and students on bicycles. Opposite the Round Church, his touch on her arm guided her to the right, down a narrow but crowded laneway. They rushed past the fronts of the mellow old redbrick and stone college buildings they’d passed on the river, their gardens protected by tall iron fences.

  Trying harder to leave Portia in God’s hands, she wished she could feel some gladness in the beauty around them. “I’d never manage to find my way on my own.”

  “I went to medical school in Cambridge, and did my houseman years at the hospital here.” His lips twisted, and the fine lines around his eyes deepened. “Another Coalbrooke family tradition.”

  “I’m sorry things aren’t working out for you with the Mission Trust.” She responded to the bitter edge in his voice, rather than to his words.

  He shrugged. “I’m still here. I still have no idea what God wants me to do.” His wry smile became more genuine, and he shook his head as if laughing at himself. “I suppose the fact I’m asking Him at all signals some progress. At least I’m neither blindly obeying my grandfather’s mandates nor stubbornly insisting on getting my own way and going back to Africa.”

  “What will help you decide?” She spoke carefully, tentatively, not wanting to interrupt their fragile closeness, something rare and special, almost shimmering in the air between them.

  “I talked with my godfather today. He’s the head trustee, and he knew my father. It raised more questions than it gave answers, but I feel we’ve started a process. Things might work their way to where they should be.”

  “Like a tangled ball of string? When you start trying to get the knots untied, it appears worse. A lot worse. Then it suddenly all comes loose?”

  “Exactly.” Humour lit his eyes. “This is something of a first for me. I’ve always been a do-it-myselfer. God is asking me to leave it up to Him, and not try to untangle the string myself.”

  Amazed he trusted her enough to share this much, she laughed softly. “That doesn’t sound your usual style.”

  “It’s not.”

  Without her consciously willing it, her hand crept into his. She half-expected he’d let it drop. Instead, his fingers enveloped hers in a warm firm grip. Their clasped hands seemed to communicate some wordless message.

  It felt right.

  Scarily right. Her heart trembled, and the breath caught in her throat.

  Lord, I’ve never known such a connection with any man. This is where I usually cut and run, when things start getting serious. Help!

  Even though she’d been the one to reach out, the urge to pull her hand back grew. Reject him before he could reject her. But something whispered to her—it was time she learned to trust. Matthew wasn’t like anyone else she’d dated.

  She let her hand rest in his.

  They walked al
ong the busy street in silence. She prayed, and somehow knew he was praying too. A sense of communion united them. Her racing heartbeat slowed a little, though she knew whatever was happening between them would take her somewhere she’d never been before.

  He led her off the busier street and through a maze of narrow alleys and yards.

  “I’m totally lost.” She looked around, not recognising anything she saw.

  Matthew grinned. “No, you’re not. You only think you are.” They turned a corner, and the parking station stood right in front of them.

  She laughed.

  He released her hand as they entered the building and headed for the lift. Losing that sweet warm contact chilled her like a cloud passing over the sun.

  “Would you like me to drive you to the hospital?” she said.

  He held up his hands in mock horror. “You’re driving Edwin? I swore never again, after last time.”

  “Of course I’m driving Edwin. He’s my car.” She pretended outrage, but the fact he’d remembered such a little detail touched her.

  Suddenly serious, he nodded. “Please. It will be quicker than catching a bus or trying to find a taxi at this time of evening. I do want to see how Portia is and if I can help at all.”

  When they found her car, he paid for the parking. She needed his patient directions through the chaotic Cambridge traffic. The narrow old town centre streets filled with bicycles as well as cars needed all her concentration.

  “It will be easier once we get to the more modern part of town,” he reassured her.

  Her white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel must have clued him in. She risked a quick grin at him.

  He guided her through a few more turns and across a roundabout. Then they were on a wider street. Five minutes later, they arrived at the hospital, and she pulled up in the drop-off area outside Accident and Emergency.

  Matthew opened the door, got out, then bent to lean across the passenger seat and look at her. “Do you plan to park and come in, or go home?”