Clementine and her Stalker, Chapter Three continued

After we’d settled into the carriage – first class of course – Clem seemed to be intent on punishing her father in every conceivable way, I was drawn to ask about her life at Hamborough Hall, perhaps discover something that had contributed to her rebellious nature. So I said, “Tell me a little about things at Hamborough Hall.” 

Clem shrugged. “So what do you want to know? Only daughter with a bolshy brother set on being lord of the manor one day; arrogant, stuffy father, and mother whose only interest is in enhancing her own social status – so I granted myself licence to roam.” 

“Until you had your wings clipped,” I cut in. 

Not funny, Stalker …” Clem thumped me on the arm. It hurt. “Anyway, it’s short-term, obviously …” 

“Obviously,” I repeated, rubbing my arm and giving her a mock scowl. 

“So where do you go from here?” 

“Well, as we discussed – Oxford Street, Regent Street – hit Covent Garden …” 

I sighed. “You know what I mean.” 

“Who knows? I’m not a long-term planner, Stalker – see where the path leads.” 

I swiped a hand across my face. “I dread to think.” 

“Hey, whatsit,” she suddenly called out, snapping her fingers as a stewardess came by. 

Whatsit? 

The stewardess gave her a condescending look, but Clem seemed oblivious. “Have you any wine on board?” 

I thought I caught a disapproving glint in the stewardess’s eye; after all, it was still early morning, and she might also have been sizing up whether to ask Clem for proof of age, although Clem looked every bit of eighteen at least; in any event, the stewardess asked, “What type, Miss?” 

“Sauvignon blanc,” Clem replied before turning to me. “That okay with you?” 

“Yes, I suppose,” I said, taking a none too discreet look at my watch. 

“Good.” Clem gave the stewardess a sweet smile. “In that case, we’ll have a bottle and two glasses.” 

“I’ll be right back.” 

“I didn’t say I wanted a drink,” I protested, “It’s only eight-thirty for …” 

“You said yes,” Clem retorted. 

“I know, I thought you were asking me whether it was okay for you to …” 

Clem crossed her arms; her eyes flashed, “Now, why would I do that?” 

“I really don’t know.” I shook my head. 

“Good, then you can join me. I’ll take yes as your commitment to a drink.” 

The stewardess placed the opened bottle and two glasses on the table, and Clem slid one over to me. I accepted it reluctantly; it was pointless trying to argue with her, as I was quickly finding out. 

Clem poured a generous measure for me and one for herself. “Take your time with that,” I instructed but soon realised the futility of the remark when she said, “Nonsense, we’ll be at King’s Cross in thirty minutes, shame to waste it, so cheers, Stalker.” 

Clem held the glass to her lips and practically consumed hers in one gulp. Most certainly not ladylike. 

I declined to drink any more than the one measure, but if I thought that having consumed two-thirds of the bottle Clem would be inebriated before we arrived in London, I was in for a surprise. Arriving at King’s Cross, tying in a race up the elevator, and then setting course for Oxford Street, Clem was the picture of elegance, the turner of men’s heads, and totally unaffected it seemed by what she’d drunk. 

Even in the prosperous West End, Clem looked a class apart – and she garnered plenty of attention in the shops as we browsed through.  It may have been how she spoke, and thankfully there was no crass attempt at a cockney accent – or her walk, and certainly her looks. But at least she kept that penchant for mischief under control for a time, at least. 

I half expected her to flash the cash in the clothes boutiques, if only for another dig at her father, but there was no inclination to do so, just passing interest in the merchandise on display, and all went fine until we caught the tube to Covent Garden. 

It was around lunchtime, and being a fine day weather-wise, the area was already becoming crowded. 

Nevertheless, we managed to find a table with a couple of spare seats at the bottom of a pub with a rectangular shaped bar. I forget the place’s name, but if only for what was to ensue afterwards, I should at least have recalled it. 

There was a group of perhaps eight or nine seated at the long bench-type table. I saw eyes turn our way, or should I say Clem’s way, and of course, she wasted no time in returning their glances, at least those of the four or five guys in the bunch – the looks on the girls’ faces were something of a mixture, to be honest – and I could well understand that. 

And then those lovely blue eyes flashed with what I soon realised was recognition, and instantly a shudder of uncertainty ran down my spine. 

“Willerby – how lovely seeing you here. I can’t believe in this great metropolis I’ve run across you like this!” Instantly Clem leapt from her seat, brushed past the others’ chairs in the group, and as the fella turned, engulfed him in a gigantic hug. 

I was gobsmacked – unnerved if I were to admit it. 

“My delightful Clementine, what a lovely surprise,” and with that, this Willerby bloke returned the embrace, a little over-zealously if you ask me. 

“Who’s your friend?” His eyes turned from Clem to me. It might have been the light, but inside the pub, this tall, good looking, fair-haired Adonis’ eyes were dark, and I thought none too friendly. 

“Ah.” Clem followed his stare towards me. “I’m so sorry.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m neglecting you, Stalker.” 

Stalker. I took a sip from the pint of bitter that I’d bought, and it tasted like acid in my mouth. I winced. 

“Stalker?” The blond guy’s eyes narrowed. 

“Not literally. Don’t worry so, Guy.” She snatched his hand, held it tight. “He’s my friend …” then she gave me a smile full of mischief. “But he’s Stalker to me. Stalker, this is Guy, Guy Willerby, my cousin from Richmond.” 

“Pleased to meet you, Guy,” I forced myself to say, then stood up, reached out, and took his hand.” 

“Likewise,” he said with little or no conviction, and in contrast to his appearance, his handshake was damp and limp. 

I gave Clem a brief, agitated glance, but of course, it went right over her head, either that, or she totally disregarded it. Anyway, I introduced myself to the rest of the group, and Clem did likewise – thankfully, Guy was the only one she knew, but as it turned out, it was more than enough, and Clem, as you may imagine, turned out to be the centre of attraction. I was forced to abandon any thoughts of trying to extricate ourselves from this jolly group of Hooray Henries and their ladies. 

But the drinks flowed, though I managed to restrict myself to a couple, although Clem, I noticed to my consternation, made no attempt to follow my example, accepting a string of shorts, willing supplied by the delightful Guy. 

I wasn’t sure that things could get a lot worse, but I soon found out they would. Guy, now up to his eyebrows in booze, invited everyone back to his home in Richmond. “Even you, Stalker,” he ground out. I looked at Clem, shook my head, mouthed, ‘no,’ but again, she was having none of it. She scooted across, back to her seat next to me, placed an arm around my neck, and hugged me. “Don’t be such a spoilsport, Stalker,” she said, “we’ll just send a couple of hours there, and we’ll go. It’s a great place Guy’s got. You’ll love it.” 

I most certainly won’t, I remember thinking. I looked at my watch, already four. I didn’t know much about Richmond, but I knew it was the end of the line in South West London – well-to-do place. Brilliant, just brilliant. 

I wasn’t about to abandon Clem in London, and I couldn’t convince her to call it a day, so I gave in, though with a sense of trepidation. I didn’t like the way this was going. 

Thirty minutes in a stuffy, boiling hot tube – alright there was a change at Hammersmith for a breath of semi-fresh air – with Guy hanging from the straps, lurching left and right with the sway of the train, ogling his cousin who sat by the doors with increasing rapidity, who, of course, appeared totally unconcerned, but I could smell the alcohol on his breath even from where I stood by the doors. 

Guy, as it turned out, lived in an up-market townhouse halfway up Richmond Hill, problem being there were numerous pubs en route from the station, meaning that Guy felt it appropriate to pay at least a couple a call. Additional problem being that his entourage, and of course, Clem included, was more than willing to accompany him. Sinking ever deeper into the mire of dejection, I watched Clem, who up until now had been handling the alcohol rather well, slip towards intoxication. 

Her blonde curls swirled vigorously as she tossed her head and slapped me on the shoulder. “Oh, come on, Stalker, cheer up.” She curled an arm around my neck, “Relax, chill.” I smiled or did my best to; the prospect of getting Clem back on the tube and then the mainline at King’s Cross, one that filled me with dread. And still, we had to get to Guy’s place first. 

We eventually left the pub in the high street, Guy leading the way, haphazardly, I might add,  zig-zagging over the crossing, down a narrow road called River Lane, at the bottom of which, would you believe, another hostelry awaited us. Clem, by this time, was clutching my arm with both hands, chiefly, I think, to try to keep herself upright. 

Guy stood outside the place, ushering us all in as if he owned it. The bar staff, however, judging by their expressions, had correctly assessed Guy’s inebriated state. However, it was apparent they knew who they were dealing with and that he had some clout in the area, though not so much in his current condition because a member of staff, who was clearly the manager, held up one finger and swivelled around, indicating that one drink was the limit. Moreover, he gestured to the outside tables, indicating that we drank outside. That turned out to be a momentous decision. 

Clem snatched her wine glass from the bar, took a slurp, lowered it, and gave me her brilliant smile, but by now, I was getting to know when it was laced with mischief. And this smile sure was. “Watch me sail …” 

“Eh … what?” I frowned, following behind as she sashayed outside, plonked her glass down a little heavily so that some of the contents sloshed over the side. Then, without warning, she sprinted full pelt down to the waterfront and dived headfirst into one of the empty rowing boats that were moored by the embankment. 

“Clem!” I stretched my arm out in a hopeless gesture and then clutched my forehead as the chained boat collided with its neighbour, capsized, and promptly ditched her into the river. I swung to the group for assistance as she disappeared beneath the surface, but the only response from them was loud guffaws. 

I had no idea if she could swim but wasn’t going to wait to find out. A riverboat was approaching, heading quickly along the Thames, churning up the tide, and then I saw her head appear momentarily and a hand waving frantically above the surface. “She’s in trouble!” I shouted the obvious, realising with the swell created by the riverboat, Clem would soon be in a whole lot more. 

Still dressed in my red T-shirt and jeans, I dived into the river, submerging myself briefly in the gloom, close enough to hear the riverboat’s motor as it hummed ever louder. Then through the mirk, I spotted Clem drifting down towards the riverbed. 

Instantly I hurled myself forward, reaching her, thrusting my arms beneath her armpits, paddling backwards, using sidestroke, rising as I did, so that I broke the surface just before the Thames met the embankment. 

I managed to swing Clem onto the embankment and sprung up, kneeling over her motionless body. I shoved my ear next to her mouth, but there was no sound of breathing. Alarm gripping me, I placed my fingers on her neck for a pulse, but again, nothing. 

Frantically, I commenced chest compressions, and thankfully, finally, Clem coughed, spurting out the water embedded in her lungs. 

Looking at the watching group, I saw that the severity of the situation was only now beginning to dawn on them. 

“We need to get her checked out,” Guy slurred, coming to his senses. 

I kept my eyes on Clem; her eyes were open, but she wasn’t taking anything in, her breathing coming in rapid pants. 

A figure emerged through the group, a slim, silver-haired man I took to be around sixty, rather distinguished looking. 

“What happened?” he asked, examining her, feeling her pulse. 

I scratched my head, not wanting to explain the circumstances. “She fell into the water, got herself in trouble,” I said, affording him the best explanation I could manage. 

  “Fell in?” The man shook his head as if he wasn’t buying that, but he didn’t comment. He studied Clem’s eyes, examined her more closely, and then turned to me. “I’m a GP. I think you’ll find this young lady is concussed; that seems to be her main problem right now. I’ll call for an ambulance and accompany her to the hospital.” The doctor stood up, made the necessary call, and then said, “I don’t know what went on here, but I saw you jump into the water. She’ll owe you a ‘thank you’ young man.” He looked me over. “You’ll need a change of clothing … you’re soaked through … go and get yourself changed, young man. I’ll handle things here.” 

I shook my head. “That might be difficult.” I gave him a hopeless smile. “Home’s best part of ninety miles away.” 

The doctor shook his head. “We were supposed to be returning this evening,” I hastened to add, “but that looks out of the question now.” 

“I see.” He beckoned behind him, “Tom, Tom over here.” A guy came running forward, about my age, similar height and build. “Tom, this young man here has been exceptionally brave, but he’s not local and can’t get home tonight.” The doctor turned to me. “We’ll put you up for the night, and then no doubt Tom here will loan you a set of clothes. You look about the same size as him.”  

Tom nodded. “Sure, no problem. We live just a couple of hundred yards from here. Come with me, man. Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

“Thanks …” I looked back at the doctor. In truth, I wanted to accompany Clem to the hospital, but I could see that wouldn’t be practical. Instead, I joined the doctor’s son and spent the night in a spare room in what was a very elegant townhouse, albeit was a restless night, with my thoughts centred on Clem.