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: 1167/789	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A teenager links up with a girl, not knowing that she is a notorious aristocratic wild child.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

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.  


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