‘Oh, you’re such a wimp, Clara! Now, come on. Give me a hand to put some stuff away in the boatshed.’ Clara noticed Eleanora making a face to summon her away from Tom.
She spoke again once they were out of earshot. ‘Sorry to drag you away from him but I have to say, he’s a keeper. Does he have a brother? Please tell me he does.’ Eleanora gave Clara a celebratory hug.
Did he have a brother? Clara had no idea, although she was thrilled that he had been given Eleanora’s approval. It felt like the perfect end to another wonderful date.
‘You never know, if your date works out tonight, we could end up as a foursome.’
‘I doubt it, but you live in hope,’ said Eleanora.
Clara left Eleanora to lock up as she returned to Tom, who gently steered her up the steep path to the bridge where they had to say goodbye. As they reached the top, Tom hugged her and leaned in to kiss Clara lightly on the lips. Kissing her like this was earlier than he had planned but it felt so right, and Clara certainly wasn’t complaining.
Although she felt relief that nobody she knew was around, she couldn’t help feeling that it was all very cloak and dagger. Despite the irresistible charm of Tom and finding it hard to control her emotions, she wasn’t ready for anyone to find out. What would the congregation say if they saw the reverend kissing the chorister who came to practise in the church? It could make the front page of the chapel newsletter! No, she must remember that as much as being with Tom was the best feeling in the world, she was still someone in a very responsible role and, no matter what, she must show a little more restraint. It was very early days in their relationship and Clara certainly didn’t want a scandalous reputation at this stage in her life.
Meanwhile, Tom understood that there would be a time when he could no longer hide the truth. What if Clara found out about him before he had told her himself?
Between the both of them, there were secrets among the spires that nobody must discover.
ChapterSeven
Clara couldn’t wipe the smile off her face when she woke up the following morning. She had sunk into the deepest sleep after coming home smelling of Tom’s masculine patchouli and sandalwood aftershave. She was so well rested and in such a good mood, that she decided she would use her expensive ground coffee today. Sleepily, she opened her wardrobe and removed her dressing gown, pushing the identical brand-new one beside it out of the way. Eleanora always told her off for buying two of the same dressing gowns, cardigans or shoes, but when Clara found something comfortable, she wanted it to last forever. She knew it was the right decision as she wrapped her fluffy dressing gown around her and popped on the percolator. How she loved her home comforts.
* * *
Meanwhile, at Tom’s maisonette, he was in no rush to get up. He couldn’t get Clara out of his head. It was as though she had cast a spell on him. He pictured her tossing her hair back as she laughed on the punt at his lame jokes. He thought about how she was such a conversationalist. He loved how she was one of those people who could talk about practically anything. He had adored how their conversation had gone from a debate on whether pineapple belonged on pizza – she believed it did, much to his disagreement – to discussing the portrayal of the gods inThe Iliad. He had never met anyone like her before. He wished he felt truly worthy of the love of someone as wonderful as Clara.
He recalled his conversation with Pat who told him to move on and forgive himself. If only it was that easy. His life was at rock bottom by the time his wife had left and his son disowned him. What if Clara disowned him too? He couldn’t bear such heartbreak again. He was torn. How he wanted to love Clara with all his might, but if he didn’t love himself because of what he had done, how could he possibly ask someone else to love him? Tom needed a coffee. He needed caffeine to get his head straight. It was time to get up out of bed before he went insane with all his thoughts. Then, he pulled himself together and sent Clara a good morning text, thanking her for yet another lovely afternoon.
* * *
As Clara’s percolator bubbled away at the rectory, she tried to focus on her busy day ahead and booted up her laptop. Clara often liked to scan through her emails before she started work so that she knew what the day ahead might have in store. She liked it when she had a sermon to prepare, as she could do it from home and didn’t have to head into the office until later. She hoped there weren’t too many emails to respond to so that she could crack on. She was still unsure how she could link this week’s prescribed lectionary with anything that was going on around her, and needed more time to think about it.
The messages on the laptop downloaded as the percolator finished. Clara grabbed her favourite mug – the one with pink and purple butterflies that Eleanora had bought her from a local pottery. She had always loved the butterfly family and their process of metamorphosing. She often wished she could metamorphose into becoming someone who could let go of herself, and be brave enough to take a chance in life. Clara admired the way the students at the university seemed so carefree. Why did she have to always err on the side of caution?
‘Ah, what a lovely start to the day,’ she said to herself as she took her first sip of coffee and saw a text from Tom. She gave her arms a stretch and reached out with a big smile. Having met Tom felt like winning the lottery.
She rubbed her eyes as the usual host of emails started filtering through. Some of them were from Lawrence copying her in on things she probably didn’t need to be copied in on, an email or two from the porters at St Peter’s, a message from Roy, the organist, and the usual requests from parishioners asking for prayers or help. But then, a name caught her attention.
‘Lowri Thompson.’
It also had a high-importance flag, which wasn’t something she got that often, unless it was Lawrence in a panic.
Clara took another sip of coffee before she started reading the message.
Her heart skipped a beat as she read over the words.
Dear Clara,
I hope this email finds you well. I know it’s been a while since we worked together but I often think of you. Life gets in the way sometimes and it’s so hard to keep in touch with past colleagues, but I have a very good reason for doing so now. I just had to write to you as an amazing vacancy at work is about to come up!
Basically, there will be a position arising for a senior chaplain at King’s College, working alongside me in Cambridge. They’re not recruiting for it for a little while, but I wanted to give you the heads up as I just heard the news. We had so much fun working together that I would love to have you as a colleague again and, to be honest, I think you’d be perfect for the role.
My boss, Bryony Malcolm, happened to ask me if I knew of anyone suitable and I thought of you right away. Of course, they’ll be advertising the role in due course, and I don’t think the position would begin until around mid-September, so there’s no rush to arrive at a decision, but I was excited to let you know. Please say you’ll think about it!
How’s Lawrence, by the way? Do give him my regards, although best not let him know I’m trying to poach you over to the other side! Does he still insist on driving that Morris Minor around? Or has it finally given up?
Anyway, if you fancy a chat, let me know. You have my number. Hope to hear from you soon.
Take care!
