Chapter Six
Clara
The ward was busy with the usual drug rounds, consultant visits, and new arrivals. Clara’s head was full of all the things she needed to do. She couldn’t forget one, and that meant, luckily, she had no head space for thinking about Mark.
Because Mark was the last thing she wanted to think about. Their kiss the evening before had been one of the most sensual, erotic moments of her life. It blew every other kiss, and intimate experience, with men out of the water. And it was for one reason and one reason only. It was Mark. The one who’d gotten away. The man her heart had never stopped beating for.
Yet just as things had heated up, he’d poured a bucket of cold water on it. Oh, she knew why. In her understanding of God’s teachings, sex, while it was designed to be pleasurable, was also meant to be within marriage. As a modern woman, Clara accepted sex without marriage was okay and within her moral compass, though it was clear that wasn’t the case for the man whose clothes she wanted to rip off.
And that was something she was going to have to accept.
She set up an intravenous drip on a patient suffering from dehydration, then assisted an elderly woman to the bathroom. After two phone calls, one to the pharmacy, and one to a junior medic who was late, she headed into the sideward to see Hilda, who’d been brought in the night before.
“Hey, how are you feeling?” Clara asked.
Hilda rubbed her sternum. “Much better now they’ve told me the tests are normal.”
“Yes, I saw the notes. Nothing more than a nasty dose of indigestion. Are the tablets working yet?”
“A little.” Hilda frowned.
“You’ll be able to go home soon. I’ll organize transport to take you back to Southwark.”
“Thank you, dear. You’re so kind. It’s lovely to see your face in this big, scary place.”
Clara smiled and took her hand. “I’m just relieved it’s nothing more serious, Hilda. You’re very special to us all.”
Hilda smiled, her eyes a little moist. Her trip to hospital had clearly rocked her safe little world.
“Ah, there you are, my dear.”
Clara turned at the sound of Reverend Gerald’s voice.
He walked into the room holding a small bag of green grapes. Behind him Mark appeared. He wore jeans, a black shirt, and of course, his clerical collar. His hair appeared a little damp, as though he wasn’t long out of the shower.
Clara’s breath caught. Images of him kissing her, pushing her up against the door, folding her in his arms, besieged her. Damn it, why did he have to be so God-fearing like his parents? Why couldn’t he have thrown caution to the wind and made up for it with a ton of confessions and absolutions afterwards?
She pulled her gaze from him. The pain and passion were too much to bear. “I’ll go and organize that transport, Hilda.”
“Thank you.”
Clara stepped past Reverend Gerald. “It’s good to see you, and what’s even better is Hilda will be going home soon.”
“Oh thank the good Lord above.” Gerald raised his gaze heavenward. “Wonderful news indeed. How very blessed we are.”
Clara nodded, then purposefully didn’t look at Mark. She slipped past him to the ward, then blew out a breath. Her world had turned upside down in twenty-four hours, and she didn’t know what to do about it.
The clinical room that housed the drugs, dressings, and sterile equipment was mercifully empty, and she dashed in there, needing a moment alone to compose herself. If she’d been thinking of Mark all morning perhaps having him appear suddenly wouldn’t have been so shocking. But the fact was, seeing him, all handsome and brooding—yes brooding, that’s what his expression had told her—had sent her into a tailspin.
Placing her hands flat on the counter, she stared out of the window at the River Thames flowing past the hospital like a large chocolate milkshake. Beyond it stood the Houses of Parliament. She’d go for a long walk that evening, perhaps around Horse Guards Parade and into the park. It would do her good to clear her head with some fresh air.
“Clara.”
Her heart skipped, and she clenched her fists.
Mark had found her.
“What do you want?” she asked, still staring outside but no longer really seeing anything.
“I need to … I mean what I want to say is…” He stepped up behind her. She could make out his reflection in the window.
She remained silent.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“What about?” His rejection of her the night before had been a big fat full stop on their relationship, if they even had one.
“Us, we need to talk about us,” he whispered.
“There is no us.” But oh, she wished there was.
He was quiet for a moment. Then he pressed his palms on her shoulders and set his mouth nearer her ear. “Clearly there is.”
She swallowed, her throat and chest tight. Her eyes prickled with emotion, but there was no way she was going to cry at work.
“But we can’t talk here,” he said. “Come to my new home, later, and we’ll straighten this out.”
“Straighten it out?” She huffed. “I’m not sure we’ll be able to, Reverend. I think it would be best for me to find another church to worship in.”
“No, please don’t say that. You are a valued and much-loved member of the congregation at St. Agnes.”
She turned and looked up at him. “Much loved?”
His eyebrows were pulled close together, and a small line had, once again, formed between them. “Yes. Much loved.” He squeezed her shoulders, just a little, then released them and stepped back. “Please, Clara, come to my house. I’m staying in Little Warren, next to Reverend Gerald.”
“I know it.”
“At about seven, there’ll still be some sunshine in the garden. It’s only small, but I’d like you to see it.”
Clara didn’t trust herself to speak. Mark had invited her to his home? Spending time with him, but not being able to have him, would only serve to increase her pain. And Clara was no martyr. Pain was something she could live without. “I can’t. I’m busy.”
He winced. It was a tiny expression, the twist of his mouth, a flicker beneath his eyes. “Then come any time, whenever you’re free. My door is always open.”
Turning, he began to stride from the room.
She stared at his butt. Cute and pert, it was the perfect handful, and encased in faded jeans, it was enough to send Clara’s hormones skittering. “I’ll be there.”
He stopped but didn’t face her. After a moment, he carried on walking and went from sight.
Clara knotted her fingers beneath her chin and looked up at the ceiling. “Forgive me, Father, but I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off that sexy man tonight. If he’s willing to sin, then so am I.”
****
The rest of Clara’s shift went by with the usual speed of a busy day on the ward. Hilda was sent home with antacids and dietary advice, and her bed was soon filled by a diabetic who needed insulin and close observation.
When she finally arrived home, the first thing Clara did was jump through the shower. She washed her hair with jasmine scented shampoo and conditioner, then used her favorite coconut shower gel. She found herself shaving her legs, something she rarely had to do because her hair was so fine, and wondered if subliminally she was hoping Mark would get to feel the silky-smooth skin.
Tutting at the direction her thoughts were heading, Clara sought out a matching bra and knicker set. She owned very little pretty lingerie. What was the point? Comfort was better than sexy, and with no man in her life for a few years now, there was no one to impress.
After drying her hair and teasing it into a semi-controlled mass of ringlets, she dressed in a pale lemon summer dress and added small pearl earrings. Slipping on flat white pumps, she examined herself in the mirror. The dress accentuated what curves she had, and with the slight padding on her white lace bra she even had cleavage. She smoothed her hands over her waist then spun to check her rear view. Was it too revealing? Too sexy? The last thing she wanted was to be brazen. If something happened, it happened, but Clara didn’t want to be branded as a floozy or a temptress, even if just in her own mind.
“It’s fine.” She frowned at the mirror. “You wore this to the summer fete last year and didn’t think anything of it.”
She remembered getting several compliments about the dress from the older ladies, and it settled her nerves and made up her mind. The dress was perfectly fine to wear. She hoped Mark liked it, of course she did, but not too much if he was trying to resist temptation.
As she made her way toward St. Agnes she mulled over the word temptation. She’d been tempted by Mark in the past, too. When they’d been in the barn and he’d wanted to go all the way. But without a condom, and with an ideal of losing her virginity in bed, not a barn, she’d resisted. She’d foolishly thought they’d have many more times to explore the delights of each other’s bodies.
How wrong she’d been.
Oh, but if she’d known that was to be Mark’s only sexual experience, she would have spread her legs and let him do the deed. She really would have. He was, or had been, highly sexual back then. It must have been so hard for him to turn that off and be celibate all these years. How had he managed?
And what if she were the one he broke his celibacy with?
She halted, mid pavement. Another Londoner muttered and stepped around her.
Lose his virginity to me?
Clara wasn’t rampant. She’d had two sexual partners since Mark. Nothing kinky, nothing to write home about. Satisfactory would be the best way to describe her experiences. Neither earth-moving or passion-infused. A natural progression within the relationships. If she were really honest, not even that memorable.
Sex with Mark. That was something else. Their one time together was stored securely in her memory. And if they ever—and that was a big if—did more, she knew it would be off the Richter scale hot.
A girl could dream, right?
She continued to walk, enjoying the early summer smells and the feel of warm air on her limbs. It was as if her senses were heightened, on full alert.
Finally, she came to the small brick cottages next to the church. It appeared Reverend Gerald wasn’t home, as through the railings, she could see his bike had gone from the stand. Likely he’d taken his two dogs, Florence and Fred, for a run in the park.
After letting herself through the gate, she stepped up to the polished black front door and banged the round knocker three times.
Nerves spun in her belly, and she pushed her hair over her shoulders. She had no idea what direction the conversation Mark seemed so keen to have would go in.