Sunday's Child

by Clare Revell

  Cal felt the familiar blast of heat surge through him and he did his best to quash it. That belonged to his old self, when women threw themselves at him and he took advantage. That part of his life, no matter how hard he tried, still raged like a wild animal within him. He prayed for help as his heart pounded and his pulse raced.

  “Can I help you?” Her melodic voice rang in his ears like silver bells. That wasn’t helping.

  He rubbed his hand on his chinos before offering it to her. “Callum Trant. I have a room booked.”

  Her face broke into a smile. “Of course, we spoke on the phone. I’m Harriet Steele. Welcome to Rainbow Lodge and Headley Cross. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Her touch was cool and sent a ripple of peace through him. Not something he was expecting.

  “Did you have a good journey?”

  More than a little thrown, it took him a few seconds to articulate a response. “Nice to meet you, too. The journey wasn’t too bad. Better than I expected at any rate.”

  “I’m glad. Let me show you to your room, Mr. Trant.”

  Before he could respond, she picked up his case and headed down the hallway. “The dining room is just there.” She nodded to a room to the left. “The lounge is straight ahead. There is a downstairs bathroom just behind the staircase. The games room is through the lounge and the conservatory is just beyond that.”

  Cal glanced into the lounge as they walked. Huge sofas sat around a coffee table, laden with magazines and coasters. Ornaments lined the mantelpiece above an open fire. A TV hung on the far wall. It looked and felt as warm, welcoming, and cozy as his grandmother’s house.

  A fish tank nestled under the stairs, filled with tiny tropical fish, the filter humming and bubbling. The stairs themselves curved up and around to the first floor. Cream doors opened off beige walls, giving the place a comfortable feel. Each door had a brass number on it. He followed Miss Steele, and it was Miss as he’d noted the absence of a ring when he shook her hand, up another staircase to the second floor.

  This floor had the same pale green carpet as was downstairs, but brown doors and cream walls. She unlocked room nine and went inside, placing his suitcase on the deep pile cream carpet.

  The room was bigger than he expected, with a double bed, chest of drawers, wardrobe, and even a sofa. He turned around, taking in the décor and pictures on the wall. It really was lovely. A real home away from home, just like the brochure had said.

  Miss Steele smiled at him. “Here you are. The ensuite is just through there, although there is another bathroom on the landing. You have tea and coffee making facilities over there on the dresser. We replace them daily, but if you need more, just ask. I’ve just put the kettle on if you’d like a drink now?”

  “I’d love some tea, please. The buffet car on the train wasn’t working.”

  “That could be a blessing in disguise. The last time I drank railway tea, it was hot, wet and tasted of nothing.” Her smile shot straight through him. “Here are your keys. The silver one is this room. The gold one is the main front door. Its open all the time apart from Sunday’s when I’m at church, and we lock up about half past eleven at night. I’ll be right up with the tea.”

  “Thank you.”

  Cal turned to the window as Miss Steele left. The garden spread out beneath him. A swing for the kids, sandpit, and seating area nestled amongst trees and flower beds. A brick built barbeque stood against the corner of the patio. High fences around the perimeter ensured privacy. It was perfect.

  He just hadn’t expected to find the owner so—alluring, he decided was the right word. It was more than a little disconcerting, not to mention disappointing, how fast his body betrayed him. The body is willing, but the spirit is weak, wasn’t that the usual saying? In his case, the spirit was willing, more than willing, desired to do God’s will, but his body was weak and still strove after the old ways. But he’d be out all day, every day and would probably rarely see her.

  He picked up his case and set it on the bed, starting to unpack. How long had it been since he’d had a proper break? He didn’t remember. Straight from retiring from football, he’d gone back into the family building business and worked alongside his father and uncle.

  Dad had always insisted he have a trade alongside his football career and he’d chosen carpentry. Keeping his hand in over the years, now stood him in good stead as the quality of his work meant customers were asking for him by name having been referred by friends and neighbors.

  He picked up his wash bag and went across to check out the bathroom. Small, but functional and perfect for the long hot showers he loved to take first thing in the morning and last thing at night. He unpacked his toothbrush and other things, setting them on the glass shelf over the sink.

  Then he headed back into the main room.

  His older brother, Carter, helped out with the decorating side of the business in between cycling tours, which wasn’t often. A professional cyclist, Carter competed for his country and last year had won the Tour de France. Something that meant more to Cal than all the caps, goals and medals he’d won himself combined.

  A knock on the door made him turn. Miss Steele stood there with a tray in her hands. She smiled and came in, setting it down on the side. “Just leave it here when you’re done. I’ll pick it up later. Dinner is at six, evening drinks at ten and breakfast at eight. Is there anything else you need to know?”

  “Thank you for this, and no I’m fine.” Cal paused. He’d better ask as he needed to be safe rather than sorry later. “Did you get my email about my nut allergy? I didn’t get a reply so I just wanted to double check.”

  Her smile wasn’t fixed or condescending, rather genuine. “I did and I’m sorry you didn’t get a reply. You should have done. I don’t use nuts as a rule anyway, but will read all the packets carefully during your stay and I’ve made sure there is nothing in the kitchen containing nuts.”

  “Thank you.” He turned back to his unpacking as she left. All of a sudden, two weeks didn’t seem long enough.

  2

  Hattie returned to the kitchen with the intention of finishing dinner. Steve had bought the potatoes. She’d prepared enough to accompany the new recipe she was trying tonight. She’d made potatoes like this a hundred times and loved the way they looked piped onto the plates. It was so much prettier than plain mash.

  Penny came in with a pile of serviettes to fold. “Well, is it him?”

  Hattie sighed. “As I told Steve, I have no idea who he is, but Mr. Trant has arrived and won’t be treated any differently to any other guest.”

  “But he’s Callum Trant. The best footballer we’ve—”

  “And you’ve been married to my brother for too long. I’ve already heard that way too many times today. Steve’s corrupted you. Mr. Trant is retired and probably doesn’t want constant reminders about it. So no asking for autographs over dinner.”

  Penny pouted and complained to her husband as he came in from the garden with a handful of rhubarb. “Steve, she’s being bossy again.”

  “I don’t care,” he sing-songed back. “There’s the rhubarb you wanted for the crumble tomorrow, Hattie. I’ll put it in the fridge.”

  “Thank you.” Hattie turned back to her preparations. Experimenting with a new dish was no excuse to let her standards slip.

  “So what’s he like?” Penny persisted.

  She turned the pastry before rolling it again. “He’s a man.”

  “No. That’s a shocker.”

  Hattie smirked. “Yeah, a man. Not like we have many of them staying here. If we have any at all.”

  Penny laughed. “Seriously, what’s he like.”

  “He’s tall, dark, handsome, fit and scores a nine, but charming and pleasant along with it.”

  Steve groaned. “Not the hunk rating again.”

  “You’re just jealous because you’re not on it,” Hattie teased.

  “Pfft. I don’t need to be on it. I own it.” He grinned at her. “You li
ke him.”

  “I do not.” She shot the retort back way too fast, even for her.

  “Yes, you do. You’re blushing. Why would you blush if you don’t like him?”

  She scrunched up her nose at him. “Because it’s hot in here, that’s why. Go pick on someone your own size.”

  Steve hugged her. “OK, shorty.”

  “Beast,” she laughed, wriggling out from his arms. “I’m what an inch shorter than you?”

  “A whole inch and don’t you forget it.”

  “Fine, I won’t. Now, go lay the tables.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Steve kissed her cheek, and fired off a mock salute, before grabbing the cutlery tray and heading out of the door.

  She glanced back at the pastry. Twenty-three for dinner, so forty-six equal squares. Did she use her new lattice cutter on the top? Why not?

  Having decided what to do, she worked quickly. The food was an important part of the Rainbow Lodge experience and she took great care to ensure it was right each time. And that meant three courses each evening. Tonight was melon boats to start, then a main of Russian fish pie, duchess potatoes, green beans and carrots, followed by hot trifle. The latter had to be one of her most popular dishes, made along the same principal as a baked Alaska.

  Breakfast was cooked, with a different variation of the full English each day. She also offered packed lunches, and although not many people took her up on those, she always made new guests aware of the option at evening drinks.

  She slid the pies into the oven and glanced at the clock. Precision timing as always.

  “How are we doing?” Steve called.

  “Starters are good to go, and twenty minutes on the mains.”

  “OK. Let’s get them seated.” He headed out and Hattie smiled as the gong sounded in the small hallway.

  ****

  Having showered and changed, Cal followed the other guests down the stairs. He hoped it would be obvious where he was to sit. He filled his lungs with the delicious aromas coming from the ground floor. Whatever was cooking set his mouth watering in anticipation. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten for anything other than necessity. But just the smell of this meal had him wanting to eat.

  A blond man stood at the door to the dining room welcoming the guests. The likeness with Miss Steele was uncanny. Brother perhaps? The man held out a hand. “Good evening, Mr. Trant. I’m Steve Steele. Welcome to Rainbow Lodge.”

  Cal returned the smiled and handshake. “Thank you.”

  “Your table is number nine, right under the window. The same as your room number.”

  He crossed over to the table, nodding to a couple of the guests who smiled, obviously recognizing him. He sat, noticing the flowers and neatly laid table, with three sets of cutlery. The flowers matched the serviettes, each table a different color.

  Once everyone was seated, Miss Steele spoke from the doorway. “Let’s say grace.”

  Wow, I wasn’t expecting this, Lord, even though it’s a Christian guest house. He closed his eyes and bowed his head as Miss Steele prayed.

  As Miss Steele and another woman began to serve the first course, Cal glanced around the room. A clock hung over the fireplace, texts and landscapes dotted the walls. In pride of place on the long wall, was a cross stich picture of the guest house. Around the edge was a border of nautical flags, spelling out the names of the lodge and the proprietors—Harriet, Steve, and Penny Steele.

  Miss Steele put the starter in front of him. “Did you settle in all right?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Her smile was genuine. “That’s good. If you need anything, just shout.”

  He held her gaze, wanting to prolong the moment. “I was admiring the cross stich. It’s beautiful. Did you do it?”

  “No. I’m nowhere near talented enough to make something that amazing. One of the guests did it last summer. She and her husband have been coming for years now—ever since their honeymoon.”

  “It really is lovely. The flags spelling your names are a nice touch.”

  “You can read them?”

  Cal smiled. “I have an interest in nautical things, so yes. And living on the coast it’s hard not to know them.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “You all have the same surname?”

  “Yes, Steve’s my twin and Penny is his wife. Enjoy the starter.”

  Cal looked down at the plate in front of him. The melon boat was beautifully arranged. The curved yellow shell, with cubes of melon, sails made of thin orange slices and cherries sat on waves made of curved lime slices. It looked much too good to eat. A lot of thought had gone into the presentation of the dish and he was almost tempted to take a photo of it and post it on his social media page.

  Almost…

  Instead, he ate it, savoring the ripe fruits and tangy lime combination. He didn’t think it could be surpassed, but the fish pastry dish managed it. If this was a sign of things to come, he’d be putting on weight and need new uniform when he returned home.

  Dessert arrived and curiosity got the better of him. He caught Miss Steele’s attention as she passed him on her way back to the kitchen. “What is this? I haven’t come across it before.”

  “Hot trifle.”

  He raised an eyebrow. They were two words he wouldn’t ever dream of putting in the same sentence under any circumstances. “Hot trifle?”

  She smiled. “It’s a firm favorite with the guests here. It doesn’t have jelly in the bottom layer and has meringue instead of cream. And I promise not a nut in sight. Would you like tea or coffee to finish with?”

  “Tea, please. I’m not a great lover of coffee.”

  “Nor me. Steve’s the opposite. He hates tea and loves coffee.”

  “And the two of you are twins?”

  “More like opposites.” She laughed. “He’s left handed. I’m right handed. So ordinary tea, Earl Grey or I have several fruit flavors if you’d prefer those?”

  “Just ordinary is fine, thank you.”

  He smiled and watched Miss Steele head to the door, before he turned back to his dessert. It was by definition an opposite. Trifle should be cold not ho—

  The thought cut off as he tasted his first bite. His mouth exploded with flavor such as he’d never imagined. It was perfect. Or as near perfection as it was possible to get this side of heaven. He had to get the recipe before he left. Yes, his waistline was definitely going to suffer. Mr. Steel was, without doubt, one well fed and very blessed man, to be married to a chef as good as this one.

  He allowed himself a small smile. He’d never given himself the luxury of thinking marriage. He’d had his fair share of girls and was determined to stay single. For at least the next millennium. Women, in his experience, were only after one thing, and now he was right with God, that part of his life was over. He wasn’t proud of it, but some mistakes were destined never to be repeated.

  Besides, with his pager now going off any time of day or night, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, usually at the most inopportune moment such as the middle of Christmas dinner, plus the dangerous nature of this other, voluntary job, no woman would want him now. Despite being a man in uniform and therefore swoon worthy as his sister constantly told him.

  It was him, God, his carpentry, and his job as part of the crew on a lifeboat.

  Launched in all weathers, but usually storms and gale force winds, the men and women of the Royal National Lifeboat Institution worked in conjunction with the coastguard, going out in the roughest of weather, where no helicopter or other seagoing vessel could, saving lives at sea, at the risk of their own. It was a very dangerous job, sometimes resulting in the death of the lifeboat crew, but he wouldn’t change and do something safer for anything. Even though, unlike the coastguard, he and his crew mates did it for love, not money.

  3

  Breakfast served and over, the dishes finally stacked and the dishwasher set going, Hattie had five minutes in which to change before leaving for church, witho
ut being late. Steve and Penny had gone on ahead as they were giving out the hymnbooks. She finished her hair and dashed from the house, locking the front door behind her.

  Church was a brisk fifteen minute walk away, or a more sedate thirty minute one. Today, she didn’t have time for sedate. Not if she wanted to be on time. And she couldn’t afford petrol in her car this week. Or next week either.

  When she started working with Steve, she’d bought into the guest house with all her savings and had been under the impression she was a part owner. But the paperwork had never arrived and as the years passed, she just dropped the subject. She was paid a pittance. It was way less than the minimum wage, especially for the hours she put in and the lack of time off, but there was no point in saying anything, for fear of upsetting him. And it wasn’t just because he was her twin, either.

  He had a temper like none other, and had been known to sulk for days, ignoring her and then giving her far more work that she could cope with, by vanishing with Penny for days on end. Besides whenever she brought the subject up, Steve had an answer for everything. Each time she mentioned it, he had a very good reason for not paying her more. The roof needed doing or they needed to redecorate. Not that she ever saw any decorators or builders. She usually ended up doing that herself. But she had to ask for everything she needed. When it came to money, Steve kept tight lipped and his wallet padlocked. He dealt with that side of things— even going as far as controlling all the shopping and doing it himself— and always bought the cheapest things possible. Fortunately, she was a master at making something from nothing and her cooking skills only improved as a result.

  As she kept up a brisk walk, her thoughts turned to her newest guest. He didn’t seem anything like she imagined a footballer to be. And despite Steve’s teasing, she wasn’t attracted to Mr. Trant. Was she?

  No, she wasn’t. There was something about him, something she couldn’t put her finger on, but he’d never be interested in her.

  Besides, he was a guest and that was the end of it.