Clementine and her Stalker, Chapter Three continued (standard:romance, 2565 words) [4/7] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Dec 03 2020	Views/Reads: 1166/789	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A teenager links up with a girl, not knowing that she is a notorious aristocratic wild child.

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


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