Clementine and her Stalker (standard:romance, 2296 words) [1/7] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Updated: May 16 2021	Views/Reads: 1197/826	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A chance encounter on Stamford Meadows changes Tony Williams' life in ways he could scarcely imagine.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


She laughed, threw her head back, sending that luxurious hair streaming
behind her. 

“Oh, that's novel. Not one for sophisticated intros, are you?” She
turned sideways at the willowy girl's more aggressive action, this time 
more of a thrust to hurry her up. 

“Clem, and you?” 

“Clem?” 

“That's what I said.” 

“Tony,” I offered as she finally swung away. 

“Well, Tony, looks like I'd better be going before Mary-Anne here
dislocates my shoulder. 

“Wait ...” 

She swung her blonde head towards me but carried on walking, and I
wished that the bridge across the stream wasn't a hundred metres away. 

“Can we meet sometime?” The desperate words rushed from my lips.
Preferably without your friends, I thought. 

“Maybe.” But tantalisingly she left it at that and tracked back across
the meadows the way she had come. And then, as I turned to go, in the 
distance she turned towards me, and I could just make out a smile. 

*** 

I had no further lectures or pressing assignments in my BA creative
writing course, and it was just as well for the encounter with Clem had 
stretched my mind to its limits. Call it infatuation, perhaps, but if 
it were possible, my skull would have swollen to twice its size by 
thoughts of her alone. 

But now I was stuck. Being engulfed by thoughts of the girl was one
thing but doing something about it was quite another. ‘Maybe' – she'd 
said to my request to meet up with her – but that only left me in no 
man's land. 

My head being fuzzled, I decided to walk into town for some refreshment.
Walking up from the meadows, I made my way into the Crown Hotel. I 
bought a pint and ordered a sandwich from the bar menu. It struck me as 
I sat down at a table in the corner, that in a small, compact town like 
Stamford, the chances of meeting up with Clem again had to be good. 
Strange, though, that I hadn't encountered her before, I would surely 
have remembered. 

But what were the chances of another encounter on the meadows? Was this
something the girls did regularly? I thought it was well worth finding 
out, and so, having consumed my pint and sandwich, I set off for my 
less than luxurious lodgings with my intentions firmly set on a return 
to the meadows tomorrow. 

Disappointingly, the following day it poured, so any hopes of a repeat
rendezvous with Clem were dashed from the outset, though I did brave 
the elements in the forlorn hope that maybe she'd do likewise. Of 
course, she didn't, so I wandered back to college and prepared for my 
afternoon lecture. 

With the following week being mid-term break, I'd practically written
off seeing her then, but my luck turned, or at least I thought it had 
because crossing Red Lion Square on a bright Wednesday morning was a 
tall, slender girl in a pale, yellow dress who turned out to be none 
other than Mary-Anne, Clem's schoolmate. 

I'm sure she saw me crossing towards her from the slight turn of the
head in my direction, but be that or not, she hurried off towards the 
bus station. 

I wasn't giving up, though, lengthening my stride, I cut across to her
before she reached the narrow lane leading to the bus station. “Hey,” I 
called out. “Remember me? The guy from the meadows.” She stopped and 
sighed, obviously unhappy that I'd inhibited her progress to the bus 
station. “I won't keep you a minute ... I was hoping to catch up with 
Clem again ...” 

“She's gone home for the break,” Mary-Anne replied, her dark eyes
glaring at me. 

“Ah, I see.” I was going to ask where ‘home' was but held back, and then
suddenly I had a flash of inspiration. “Look, I'm going to leave a 
note. Can I impose on you to hand it to her?” 

Her eyes bore into me, giving every indication that she thought it
wasn't a good idea, but then she nodded, and reaching into my back 
pocket, I drew my notebook from its home and scribbled out a note. 
“Nice meeting you the other day, if only briefly. Care to meet up 
sometime?” I scribbled my phone number and name and thrust it into 
Mary-Anne's hand. And then with hardly a word spoken, the willowy girl 
headed towards the bus station at an increased pace, whether it was 
fear of missing her bus or to put distance between us, I had no idea. 

But at least it was a breakthrough of sorts. So wondering what Clem
would make of my note when she got to read it, I headed back to my room 
intending to concentrate on my college revision. Little did I know that 
the fate of my note had already been sealed. 

*** 

A week went by, and gradually my hopes and spirits drained away. There'd
been no reply – nothing. Each time my mobile illuminated, I felt that 
stir of excitement inside, but it quickly faded. Not that I didn't 
appreciate calls from my mates or my parents, but they failed to 
provide the same adrenaline surge. I chastised myself that it was 
foolish and juvenile to harbour such feelings for someone I didn't even 
know. But like that did any good— 

I returned to my parents' home in Melton Mowbray at the end of that week
for a short weekend break – it was good to see them, of course, and to 
spend a couple of nights out with my mates, Ryan and Harry, but 
unbeknown to me, they'd met a couple of girls during my time away and 
established relationships. It made me feel like a third wheel when they 
turned up with the girls. I felt that they might have warned me, 
although the only effect it achieved was to turn my mind back to Clem 
again and keep my eyes magnetised to my mobile in the increasingly 
unlikely event that it would flash with a message from her – or better 
still, a call. 

Of course, nothing happened, and despite my fascination for the girl, my
mind began to level out, to return to normal as I gradually accepted 
Clem had no desire to see me again and that I was behaving in typical 
love-struck teenager fashion. 

Return to normal, that was, until one breezy afternoon when I was
picking up some stationery supplies in Stamford's St. Mary's Street. I 
collected my debit card from the machine, slipped the stationery into 
my holdall, slung it over my shoulder, ambled straight out of the shop, 
and into the path of the girl with the tumbling golden hair. 

“Well,” she said, “if it isn't my little meadow stalker.” 

I was gobsmacked, but my rapidly rising adrenaline was partially
obstructed by the way that Clem had addressed me. I felt immediately 
degraded by her words, but Clem was nothing if not astute. She pinched 
my cheek and laughed. “Don't take it to heart, joke, okay?” I sighed, 
feeling embarrassed in her presence, turning full on to face her, 
thereby relieving myself of the glaring gaze of Mary-Anne, who, of 
course, was accompanying her. 

I said, “Well, okay, but when you didn't reply to my note, I thought—”
Clem frowned, her long fair eyelashes meeting as she looked to 
Mary-Anne. “Note?” 

“Yes,” she said, looking sheepish. “He gave it to me, but I forgot to
give it ...” Her delivery was hardly convincing, but then in a flash, 
her expression changed as she quickly shook her head. “No, I didn't 
forget it. You need to remember who you are. I'm tired of getting you 
out of fixes, and so must your minders be.” 

I scratched my head, looked from Mary-Anne to Clem, “What's this all
about?” 

Mary-Anne snorted through her long nose, her face reddening with
irritation. “This here is Lady Clementine St Lodes, daughter of the 
Earl of Hamborough,” she rasped with her arms crossed, rapping her 
fingers furiously on her forearms. 

“That may be,” Clem fired back, her flawless features now flushed with
anger. “But I still maintain the right to make my own decisions. You 
should have passed his note to me, so where is it?” 

“I threw it in the bin,” Mary-Anne snarled, a nasty curl to her thin
lips. “And as you know, making your own decisions tends to land you in 
all sorts of trouble.” Glaring at both of us, she added, “I'll wait for 
you by the church; don't be long.” 

So Clem was nobility. I'd thought there was something about her, but I
hadn't put it down to that. Thinking about it, though, her accent was 
ultra-sophisticated, not the sort you could easily put on, and of 
course, that name. 

“So how do I address you, Your Ladyship ... Your Poshness?” 

Her brow furrowed, well, as much as Clem's brow could furrow, “Try to be
smart, and you won't be addressing me at all.” But then her features 
softened, and her gorgeous blue eyes settled on me. Clem was quite tall 
and able to look me directly in the eyes, only barely raising her head. 
“She sees herself as my minder, or one of them, and in a way she is.” 
Clem turned her fair head in Mary-Anne's direction, “Though not of my 
choosing.” 

I frowned. Beg pardon?” 

“Never mind.” Clem swung back, fixed those startling eyes on me. “So
that note that I never got to read—what did it say.” 

“Just my contact details,” I replied as nonchalantly as I could, “and
wondering whether we could meet up.” 

“Hmmm, I see.” Clem made a great play out of musing with her palm
beneath her chin, her bright eyes wandering over me. “You are kind of 
sweet in a way.” 

“In a way?” I asked, wondering what that meant. 

“Plus, I'd need to give my minders the slip,” she said, ignoring my
question, and with a quick turn of her head in Marry-Anne's direction, 
“including her.” 

“Minders?” I repeated, and this time she slammed her hands on her hips. 

“Are you going to keep repeating everything I say?” 

“No, but ...” 

“But nothing. Now look ...” She produced a wallet from her shoulder bag.


“Call me Friday evening, put this number into your phone.” She rattled
off her mobile number, and I barely caught all the digits. And with 
that, she was gone, ringlets of golden hair sweeping around her face 
and shoulders in the wind. A fleeting look back to see if I was still 
watching, and of course, I was, embarrassment at being caught out 
flooding my features. 

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