Clementine and her Stalker Chapter Two

Chapter Two

I returned to my lodgings, head spinning. Surprise, and yes, elation after literally bumping into Clem, her cheeky remark about me being a stalker, and then finding out who she really was – daughter of the Earl of Hamborough, but Hamborough was over a hundred miles away down south. So what was she doing in public school here?

And what about all the stuff about her minders, and Mary-Anne acting like a chaperone? Such thoughts kept my mind occupied that evening when it ought to have been centred on my forthcoming writing assignment.

It made me wonder if making this phone call was a good idea, and by making it what would I be getting myself into?

The daughter of an earl, no less, far from my tiny social station. Out of curiosity I googled Hamborough Hall and back came this huge stately home in acres of grounds surrounded by woodland. But then amongst the links to Hamborough Hall and the Earl was one carrying a newspaper report involving Lady Clementine St Lodes.

I clicked on the link; it was not recent, some three years back, but what I read filled me with consternation. It focused on the New Year’s celebrations and the fact that the only daughter of the Earl of Hamborough had been arrested and bound over for climbing naked onto Hamborough’s guildhall roof, creating a scene likely to cause an affray. Apparently, the ensuing court case resulted in only a caution, but I couldn’t help wondering whether the fact that Clem was an earl’s daughter counted in the court’s decision.

But as well as that, there were one or two other incidents, mainly wild parties where she had been a notable attendee, although no charges appeared to have been brought.

What am I getting myself into? Again that warning voice in my head. But was it enough to deter me from making that phone call at 7.30 p.m. on Friday?

I guess that you’ve probably concluded that it wasn’t.

And you’d be right.

***

 

I called Clem on Friday evening, a few minutes later than seven-thirty. I didn’t want to appear overly keen to be honest, but guess what? Yep, no reply. Not that it surprised me, with the track record this girl seemed to have. I think I’d have been more shocked if she’d answered.

I tried once more a few minutes later and left it at that. Some of my friends were holding a Friday evening get together in a pub in Stamford centre, so I set off to join them feeling a little dejected, it has to be said.

I was passing through one of the narrow passages that typify Stamford, though, when my phone vibrated in my pocket.

Fishing it out of my jeans and holding it to my ear, I heard, “Is that you, stalker?”

The cultured voice was unmistakable, and although I sighed, I couldn’t prevent my lips from curling into a smile.

“You could try calling me Tony,” I said, not half as niggled as I tried to sound. “It’s a little less …”

“Fun,” she jumped in. And then straight after, “So where are you?”

“St Mary’s Passage,” I said, glancing at the name plate for confirmation, though I knew full well where I was.

“Cool, loiter there for a few minutes. You shouldn’t have much trouble with that, and I’ll join you in a jiffy.

“Oh – kay …” but before I could add to that, she rung off only to appear almost immediately at the far end of the passage wearing flared green trousers, plain black top, and of course sporting her trademark long curly blonde hair.

“You hang out in all the best places,” she called out on approach, the spring in her step emphasising what I had begun to realise was a stunning figure.

“I try to,” I said, unsure of how to take her remark.

“There’s a coffee shop further down that’s half decent …”

“Out of prying eyes?” I said curiously.

“You could say that.”

I nodded. “Okay, but I’ve a request to make before we do.”

“Which is?” Her sky blue eyes, almost on a level to mine, widened, practically shining in the evening sunlight, and I had trouble keeping my composure.

“That you desist in calling me stalker – it’s rather embarrassing.”

“Perhaps,” was all she said as she pushed the shop door open, and we settled at a table away from the window.

We ordered a couple of lattes, nothing more than that.

“So,” I said quietly, even though the coffee shop was practically empty, “How is the daughter of an earl finding Stamford?”

She fixed those lovely eyes on me, threw her head back, raked a hand through her ringlets of curls. ‘“The daughter of an earl’, as you say, hasn’t had long to form an opinion.” She sighed, “Not that much different from my home town, I suppose.” Clem took a sip of her coffee. “And when all said and done, my time here is limited; come end of term, school life is over for me, and I’ll be off.”

I stirred my coffee, questions raring to escape my lips. “So what brought you here in the first place? Minders and Mary-Anne and all … and where are they, and why must you have them?”

“Tut tut, so many questions. A faint smile spread across her lips before the coffee cup concealed it.

“And what do you intend specialising in when you leave here?” I continued, plunging right in. “Wild parties and naked scenes on guildhall roofs?”

Suddenly those eyes seemed to turn several shades darker, firing virtual daggers. “My, my – you see you are a stalker,” she said leaning towards me. You’ve been spying …”

I threw my hands up. “Simple male curiosity, no offence meant.”

She sat back, chewed her lip, not taking her eyes off mine. “Curiosity could get you into all kinds of trouble.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, not liking the way she’d said that.

She shrugged. “Just speaking from experience. You finished? Kind of stuffy in here, let’s take a walk.”

I nodded and followed her through the door; truth be told, I was indeed finding it stuffy in there myself, although whether it was the temperature or merely Clem’s presence, I wasn’t sure.

“So, then, what made you want to delve into my history like a part-time private detective? she asked once we were outside.

I was fascinated by her, that was the short answer, but I was not going to own up to that. So I searched my mind for an explanation that didn’t seem too soppy.

“I have an inquisitive mind, that’s the main reason.” I winced at the not-quite-complete explanation and hoped she didn’t notice. “After what Mary-Anne said,” I continued, “I wondered why you’d need minders and why you were here at all. And now I guess I’m beginning to get the picture.”

I thought I’d gone too far, delved a little too deep, been too nosy, and of course, that was true. As we wandered down towards the meadows, Clem was quiet, and it wasn’t until we reached a bench that she plopped down and slapped the space beside her.

Looking out across the meadows towards the bridge where we’d first spoken, she said, “It’s not all a bed of roses, you know, being an earl’s daughter. I mean – only daughter I might add. I have an older brother Simon who’ll be the earl one day. He’s pompous and annoys me – and I guess I’ve always been this irritating little sister. Anyhow, I guess I rebelled at an early age, got myself a bit of a reputation, much to the chagrin of my father, the earl, who by the way is as stuffy as they come.”

She leaned forward, clenched her hands together. “That prank on the guildhall roof was what did it for Father. He had me railroaded here to finish my schooling, figured I couldn’t get up to much here, particularly with a couple of ‘overseers’ as he calls them – a couple of staff who’d be better employed on the grounds of the estate – and of course, Mary-Anne, who I know for a fact keeps regular contact with my father.”

“So where are they now?” I asked, leaning forward alongside her.

She smiled. “Oh, I’ve been pretty good during my short time here, not given them any reason to get heavy-handed. Simply said I was going for a stroll, but I could see the cogs working in Mary-Anne’s head. So you see I’ll have to get back shortly.”

I nodded. Surprised she’d been so open with me, but what she said next surprised me even more.

“Will you be my friend?”

Friends? I must admit I hadn’t seen that coming, but in truth, I wanted to be a whole lot more than that. But what was the point? She was due to return home after the next few weeks.

“But you’ll be going home, surely?”

“Yes, but we can be friends from a distance, besides, once I leave school, I can chart my own course – don’t need anyone controlling the way I act or think.

She grabbed my hand firmly. “Say yes. I don’t have anyone I can genuinely trust.”

I looked into those startling eyes again, saw a tinge of emotion there. I was magnetised by them, couldn’t look away.

“How do you know you can trust me?”

She shrugged. Stared over at the bridge again. “I sensed it the first time I saw you.”

I could concur with that. I might not have ‘sensed’ something the first time I saw her crossing the meadows, but I sure as heck felt it.

“Okay,” I said, smiling at her.

“Deal,” she said, finally releasing her grip on my hand. “What say we make Friday evenings our meeting up time? Down here on the meadows.”

“Yes,” I said, somewhat bewildered at the speed of this development. “I’d like that.”

“Good. Then we shall. Clem sprang to her feet. I should be getting back, don’t want to make anyone suspicious.”

“We’re not doing any harm,” I protested.

“No, we’re not. But I don’t want anyone encroaching, understand?”

I nodded.

“We’ll walk to where we met up, and then I’ll leave you. Same time, same place down here next week, okay?”

“Okay.”

And with that, we parted company in St Mary’s Passage. I watched her go, that same bouncing stride of hers. And this time when she looked back, I didn’t feel the least embarrassed.

But then, just as I was turning away, who should appear at the top of the passage but Mary-Anne, with a tall guy by her side. Instantly, even at that distance, I felt Mary Anne’s piercing eyes sweep past Clem and down towards me. I headed away with falling spirits. It was obvious to me that Mary-Anne’s original suspicions had led to the search for her, culminating at the top of the passage.

Of course, school year was almost at an end, and with that, Clem’s time in Stamford. I’d little idea what she was going to do once she’d left, whether her future had been mapped out for her, but from the impressions I had of Clem, it didn’t seem likely that she could be kept in check for so long. It seemed more like a desperate attempt by her father, the earl, to set her right before it was too late to intervene. Obviously, her previous activities had brought about the surveillance she was under; she’d even admitted her rebelliousness.

But now, after feeling Mary-Anne’s eyes on me, even at a distance, it seemed that our developing friendship would be nipped in the bud.

The time was barely nine p.m., and by Friday terms, the evening was still young. I decided, after all, that I’d drop into the pub where my college friends were getting together. On the way, I thought about how quickly Clem had appeared at the top of the passage following her phone call, and how Mary-Anne and the presumed minder had come from the same direction. It occurred to me then that the girls’ school lodgings had to be close to the passageway. I filed that thought away to memory.

I walked into the Golden Fleece where a dozen or so from the college were congregated. There was an amiable ambience, after all, college year was nearly done, meaning I was halfway through my two-year course.

It was the short-haired redhead, Elena, who hit the mark, though a little too forcefully when she said, “Who was that girl I just saw you with?” She turned to the others and said, “Pretty doesn’t sum her up … cow!”

I shook my head, feeling myself reddening. “Oh, just someone I met recently … just friends, nothing special.”

“Not the way I saw it.” Elena scoffed. “The way you two looked at each other. Still, if you don’t want her to associate with us, that’s fine.”

I laughed it off, and then Elena said, “What’s her name, anyway?”

“Clementine,” I whispered, and then repeated a little louder, “Clementine.”

“Oh, posh girl,” came the remark from Ian in the corner. I obviously wasn’t going to let on she was the daughter of an earl and had to suffer a boisterous verse of “Oh, my darling Clementine.” I must have been redder than a ripe apple by the time they’d finished.