Something Beautiful and Lacey's Retreat: Something Beautiful / Lacey's Retreat

“Come and sit,” Lucas ordered, gently dragging her to the table he’d shared with Willa. Picking up a fork, he begin stabbing at the bread pudding he’d left.

“Well, I can see your appetite is still intact, even if your poor heart isn’t,” Lorna said, chin propped on one hand as she gave him a sympathetic smile. “You always did eat your way through misery.”

“I’m still hungry,” he said. The rich pudding, made of bread soaked in cream and eggs then smothered in rich white chocolate sauce, hit his rattled stomach like nails hitting a tin roof. “Okay, so mebbe this wasn’t such a good idea.” He pushed the pudding away, then glared at his sister. “What’s going on with Willa?”

Lorna waved to some departing customers. “Bonsoir.” Then she turned to her brother. “Lucas, that’s not for me to tell. Willa has been working hard since she was twenty-two years old—since the day she graduated from college—and that’s been at least five years. She just needs a break.” She shrugged, then removed her chef hat and tossed her tumbling braid over her shoulder. “I met her just before I came back home a little over three years ago—at a posh party in Paris. I was part of the catering team, and she sneaked into the kitchen to get another bite of this fancy chocolate dessert that everyone was raving about.”

She stopped long enough to allow Lucas a smile. He commented, “The supermodel sneaking fattening food—now there’s a tabloid tale.”

“That’s about the way it works,” Lorna said, bobbing her head. “I caught her gobbling away, and we laughed and ate chocolate cake together. She was very lonely, and I guess I was, too—I was between relationships.”

That made him grin. “Wasn’t that always the case, love?”

Lorna slapped him gently on the arm, then continued. “Anyway, we had this instant friendship. So we met a couple of days later to go shopping. I told her all about Bayou le Jardin—how I missed it, how I wanted to come home and open my own restaurant. She was so supportive, even offered to be a silent partner if I needed funding.” Lorna’s expression grew warm with the memory. “I turned her down on the loan, of course. But I did invite her to come and visit.”

Lucas leaned forward in his chair. “Why did she wait so long?”

“As I said, she’s been very busy. She’s in demand, so she’s been booked all over the world for fashion shoots and runway work. Over the years, she’d call and we’d chat, catch up, but she was always on her way to some exotic spot. You see, Willa is very disciplined and organized. She had a five-year plan, and I guess she’s reached that goal now.”

“So you think she decided to just rest a bit?”

Lorna looked at the table, a sure sign that she knew more than she wanted to tell. “I think she needed to stop and regroup.”

“And?”

She looked up. “And…that’s it.”

“Why didn’t she come to your wedding?”

“She was in Spain and then she had to go straight from there to Australia. Something about an ad for a sportswear company.”

He nodded, then pounced. “So why is she here now? I mean, why is she all of a sudden canceling bookings and not returning phone calls to her agent?”

Lorna rolled her eyes. “You know these things for true?”

“I know what I see.” He lowered his voice, his words for her ears only. “Does Willa have some sort of eating disorder?”

Lorna laughed out loud. “Oh, my, non.” Patting his hand, she added, “Willa’s eating habits are perfectly normal. She’s like any other woman in that regard. She loves food but has to watch every bite that goes in her mouth.”

Lucas breathed a sigh of relief. “Then she’s not sick or anything.”

And that’s when he saw it. The little flair of apprehension in his baby sister’s expressive green eyes.

His heart seemed to go still in his chest. “Lorna?”

Lorna got up, busied herself with clearing away the table dishes. “It’s late, brother. Go home and try to get some rest. Mick should be by any minute for a late dinner, then I’m turning in myself.”

Lucas stopped her, dishes and all. “Lorna, tell me.”

She turned to stare at him, worry coloring her face. “It’s not for me to tell, Lucas.”

He let her go, then pushed away from the table. “Then I’ll just go and ask Willa.”

Holding plates to her white jacket, Lorna tried to stop him. “Lucas, please. Don’t do that.”

But he was already out the door.

On the other side of the huge, sprawling gardens, Willa sat on a bench in a pretty white Victorian gazebo, the scent of trailing wisteria and running roses mingling around her.

Although her bedroom was lovely, she hadn’t been able to go to the isolation of that particular place. So she’d walked through the narrow footpaths, letting the moonlight guide her, until she’d found this idyllic spot.

Now, in spite of the mosquitoes buzzing hungrily around her ears and ankles, she sat in silence, listening to the sounds of the night.

Remembering the sound of Lucas playing the saxophone.

It was the song. That was what had made her cry. That was what had made her long for something she couldn’t envision, couldn’t grasp. It was a lovely song—sweet and full of a tender yearning. Willa longed to know the words to the tune that lingered in her head like a music box being wound over and over. She also longed for answers to her confusing questions.

“Child, what are you doing out here all by yourself?”

Whirling, Willa was surprised to find Hilda Dorsette making her way up the path to the gazebo, the doorknob tip of her trusty walking cane gleaming silver in the night.

Getting up to come and help her, Willa said, “Oh, Aunt Hilda, you startled me. I thought I really was alone out here in the dark.”

Hilda gave her a penetrating look. “Would you prefer it that way?”

“No, not at all. In fact, I’d love some company,” Willa admitted, surprising herself. Then she sniffed.

Aunt Hilda placed an aged hand on her arm. “Have you been crying?”

Willa waited as the older woman settled onto one of the cushioned box seats. Then she sank down across from Aunt Hilda. “I…yes…I was feeling sorry for myself, I guess.”

“Then you were not alone, after all.”

“What do you mean?” Willa asked, wiping her damp face.

“God was here with you, Willa.”

Willa held her breath, then let out a tired sigh. “Then I hope He was listening.”

“Oh, He was. You can be sure of that. The Lord is always in His garden. It’s here that He walks with us and listens to us—just as the old song says.”

Without thinking, Willa said, “Then maybe that was the song—the one Lucas was playing earlier on the saxophone.”

Hilda nodded. “Yes, I heard my nephew playing. Decided to take a walk myself.” Then she gave Willa another sharp-eyed stare. “The song moved you?”

“It did. It was so…pretty.”

Aunt Hilda settled, adjusting a flowing silk floral scarf around her shoulders. “I know the song he played. It wasn’t the one to which I was referring, but it is another favorite of mine,” she said, one hand on her cane as she sat on the bench. “It’s a fairly modern church hymn, written by William Gaither in 1971. It’s called ‘Something Beautiful.’”