Chapter Two
Clara
Clara looked up at the handsome new vicar standing before her. His dark eyes were familiar, and she recognized the shape of his lips. His shoulders were broader than when she’d last been in his company. She could tell, even though he wore a cassock, that he’d filled out and not in a bad way.
“Hello,” he said, smiling and holding out his hand. “May God be with you.” He set his whole attention on her, as if breathing her in, filling himself up on her scent and absorbing her features.
He remembers me.
It had been a long time, but yes, he did. She was sure of it.
She was vaguely aware of Reverend Gerald—now the line of people had disbanded—shuffling past her toward the tearoom.
“Don’t miss out on your cuppa,” he said without looking at them. “And you’d be a fool to not sample some of Hilda’s Victoria sponge. It’s won many times at cake fairs. Far and wide other bakers give up if they know she’s entering.” He chuckled.
“I’ll be sure to do that,” Mark said, not taking his gaze from Clara. “Be right there.”
Reverend Gerald moved away, then shut the door behind himself.
They were alone in the church.
It was as if the air around them had stilled, the ancient stones settling back into place after the service and the effigies giving a sigh of relief.
Placing her hand in his, she grinned. “Mark Travis. It’s been a long time.”
His mouth gaped, and his eyes widened. Was he remembering that time when they’d almost…
The moment stretched on, silence wrapping around them. Clara was aware of her pulse thudding in her ears and her belly tightening. She thought of a time when he’d caught her mouth in an unexpected kiss then pressed her up against a wall around the back of the bike sheds.
He closed his mouth, and tipped his head.
She laughed. “I’ll pretend I’m not offended that you can’t remember me.”
But surely he does.
She took her hand back and linked it with the opposite one. “Clara Jennings.”
“Of course. Wow … Clara Jennings.” He shook his head then pushed his fingers through his hair. It stayed sticking up at the top, over his crown, and she resisted the urge to smooth it down, the way she might once have done. “Well what a turn up for the books. Fancy seeing you here?”
He blinked several times, as though sifting through a series of flashing images of them together—hormones raging, keen to experiment, almost but not quite, going the whole way.
“I live around the corner,” she said. “For me it’s more surprising to see you here.” She gestured to his neck. “And wearing a dog collar, too. Never would have thought you’d take that career route.”
He smiled, reminding her of the boy he used to be before he’d gotten all tall and broad and manly. “It’s considered a calling, being a vicar, that is, rather than a career.”
“I thought you wanted to join the Army, be in the Special Forces. You were always on the athletic team, first in the county for archery a few times if I remember rightly.”
“I discovered I was a pacifist. Would never have worked out, all that shooting people and stuff.”
“Ah, I see.”
He placed his hands on his hip, and his smile broadened. “You look … really well. I mean, really well.”
She grinned as she saw a flash of the person he used to be. Free and easy with compliments that always sounded wonderfully genuine. She’d always hoped it was because they were. “I am, thank you. London suits me. I’d had enough of village life. Leicestershire was getting old. I needed a bit more action, if you know what I mean.”
“Action … I suppose I’ve been ready to have a little more action, too.” He held up his hands. “In terms of being in the city, that is, rather than Yorkshire.”
She pressed her lips together and watched as he glanced at the floor, and shuffled from one foot to the other.
Action. He wouldn’t have had any, would he? Unless he did before joining the…
Is Mark a virgin?
The thought stormed into her mind and whirled around like a hurricane.
No. She was being ridiculous. He was a hot, sexy guy. Her thoughts collided, and memories besieged her, flashing through her brain in full Technicolor.
For goodness’ sake, when they’d been seventeen they’d gotten naked and had some fun in the back of the hay barn at Meadow Ridge Farm. Okay, they hadn’t actually done it, but they’d discovered it was possible to please each other with their hands alone, and at the same time. It had been hot, sweaty, new and exciting and thoroughly satisfying.
“Have you been in the city long?” he asked with a slight rise of color on his cheeks.
“Yes, I trained to be a nurse here, at eighteen, never went back.”
“A nurse.” He pressed his lips together. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Very commendable.”
“It pays the bills, just, and I love it.”
“Good.” He held out his hand, as if to touch her, but quickly brought it back to his side. “It’s great to see you, really it is, Clara.”
“I guess we’ll be seeing more of each other. I attend church every Sunday like a good girl, when I’m not on duty that is.” She held up her finger and wagged it at him. “And don’t say you didn’t think I’d turn out to be a good girl. As you’ve proven, seventeen-year-olds still have a long way to go before they find their place in the world.”
“Is that how old we were when we last saw each other?”
How could he not remember? Their breakup had torn her in two. She’d sobbed into her pillow for weeks. Her heart had been broken, her life over as she’d known it. Her mother hadn’t had a clue what to do with her. Her friends quickly became bored of her moping and refusing to go out. All she’d wanted was for Mark to be her boyfriend again.
But that hadn’t happened. The next thing she knew his parents had moved to another county, and she never saw him again.
Until now.
“Yes, seventeen,” she said. “At the school summer disco, don’t you remember?”
“I’ll have to try and cast my mind back.”
“It was in the hall. Mr. Edwards was trying his hand at DJing. The upper sixth formers had strung Union Jack bunting everywhere and someone spiked the apple punch.”
“Ah…” He nodded slowly, but a line of confusion between his eyes refused to go. “Yes.”
Clara didn’t think he had any recollection of the night he’d told her he just wanted to be friends. She pulled in a deep breath. That was okay. She was all grown up. She could handle the fact she clearly hadn’t been memorable, or stood out as someone special, even though he had been to her. More than special. She’d thought he was the one.
“Would you like a hot drink?” he asked, suddenly stepping away and pointing at the closed door that led to the tearoom.
“No, I’m afraid I have an afternoon shift. I need to get ready for the ward.”
“Oh. Okay.”
A shard of something crossed his eyes. Was it disappointment? No, surely not.
“But it would be great to catch up properly,” she said. “I’ve compiled an album, photographs, for Reverend Gerald. It’s pictures taken at the various events we’ve held over the last few years, and some of his trips to the hospital. He often comes up to the wards, even though we have a chaplain. It’s sweet of him.” She paused, realizing she was rambling. “Perhaps you’d like to see it, the album that is. It might help you put names to faces.”
“I’d like that very much,” he said.
“I can bring it by later, after my shift if you’d like.”
“Later?”
“Yes, after evening sermon. I presume you’ll be here at the church. Gerald often does wine and cheese.”
“Er, yes, of course. And, I didn’t know that. Wine and cheese, how civilized it is here in London.” He chuckled. “I could get very used to it.”
“Great. I’ll see you about eight. Providing nothing major happens I can get away from the ward a bit earlier on a weekend.” She took a strand of her hair and curled it around her finger, a habit, then stepped away swirling so her cotton skirt floated up a little.
Sunlight from the grand ornate window hit her full on. She squinted as she threw her hand in the air and called back over her shoulder. “Have a nice afternoon, Reverend Mark.”