Clementine and Her Stalker Chapter SIx (standard:drama, 748 words) [7/7] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: May 16 2021	Views/Reads: 946/2	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Serialisation of Clementine and her Stalker. Tony Williams encounters a beautiful girl on Stamford Meadows, unaware she is a notorious aristocrat.

Chapter Six 

I arrived back in Stamford around mid-afternoon, feeling somewhat
demoralised. All journey back, my thoughts had been on Clem, and 
although she'd stated we'd meet again, I couldn't see how. The chances 
of her returning to Stamford were surely zero, and although the girl 
had a will and mind of her own, the earl and his wife surely had 
strings they could pull to rein her in. In such a short time, she'd had 
such an enormous impact on me, from the moment I'd zoned in on her as 
she crossed Stamford meadows – but it hadn't been all one way. I knew 
that because despite that damned nickname Stalker, that had stuck with 
all the adhesive power of superglue, she'd zoned in on me too. 

It had been uncanny. But I'd fought against my over-active imagination
casting us as lovers and lost. For despite the certain knowledge that 
the idea was pure fantasy and could never ever materialise into fact, 
the romantic notion had begun repeatedly playing in my head. 

Now it was time to face facts, that I'd never set eyes on Clementine
again, and trudging uphill from the station to my digs, my trainers 
felt as leaden as Army boots, and my ankles like they had bowling balls 
attached. 

The first year of my creative writing course was ending, and within a
couple of weeks, I'd be returning home for the summer break. My 
inclination was to chuck it in, to leave Stamford, and never return. 
Even though I'd known her for such a short time, Stamford without 
Clementine would render the place null and void. 

At least back home, there would be no traces of her to torment my
tortured mind. 

The following day being a Monday, I resumed my course, struggling as you
might gather to keep my act together, so to speak. With so little time 
left before the college year concluded, my thoughts were in any case on 
returning home – when they weren't consumed by the beautiful 
Clementine, that was. 

I had a two-hour interlude at twelve and used it by taking myself down
to the meadows, where I stood in exactly the same spot I'd first 
spotted Clem that day. Leaning on the railings, I gazed out across the 
meadows willing for a reconstruction, although, of course, I knew that 
was impossible. 

But then my mobile vibrated in my jeans pocket, a quick glance revealing
a number unknown to me. I was about to cut the call, but at the last 
moment, I pressed ‘accept'. A momentary pause before an equally 
unfamiliar voice came on the line. Not necessarily unpleasant, but kind 
of formal. “Am I speaking to a Mr Stalker?” 

I gripped my forehead between index finger and thumb. “My name is not
Stalker,” but then I thought again – this call had to be connected in 
some way to Clementine, so feeling like an idiot, I added, “well, yes, 
it is Stalker, in a way.” 

There was a sigh on the other end. “Please can I have clarification. Am
I speaking to Mr Stalker?” 

“Yes, I'm sorry.” I shook my head as if to clear it. “Please go ahead.” 

Another sigh. “I speak on behalf of the Earl of Hamborough. He
respectfully requests your presence at Hamborough Hall at a time and 
date of your choosing, though the earl would prefer it sooner rather 
than later. I am asked to secure an appointment today.” 

My mind immediately flew into a whirl. What was happening here? This
almost seemed like a summons. The earl wanted to speak – was this good 
or bad – and would I get to see Clem again? Why the heck was he asking, 
and how did I get to Hamborough Hall if I went along with it? I wasn't 
even sure where it was. 

A cough on the line alerted me to the fact that this Evans required an
answer. Tuesday next, my college year ended; therefore, the obvious 
option was Wednesday, and I immediately spurted that out. 

“That's fine then,” the somewhat elderly voice croaked out. “I'll relay
this to the earl, and subject to his confirmation, which you'll receive 
by written communication, the earl's chauffeur will call for you, at 
shall we say 11.30?” 

I was gobsmacked and could only agree. What was going on? In truth, only
the prospect of perhaps at least catching a glimpse of Clem again lured 
me to accept, but all in all, I was filled with trepidation.  


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