New Places, New Problems
Chapter 31
Stephen found Mrs. McDonald in the kitchen. She had come in through the back door, like any visitor would. He tried not to look guilty, because he had only been inspecting the house, he told himself, and he was immensely glad that it was only her. There were worse scenarios possible.
"Daniel Callander said you were here," she said.
Of course one of the children would know. They were little spies and nothing that went on in the village would go unnoticed. Stephen looked at her expectantly. This was not a simple message or they would have sent a child.
"Said you were inspecting the cottage." As far as Mrs. McDonald was concerned, Stephen might have been inspecting the cottage. She would not say he had not, but he had certainly been inspecting something else as well.
"Yes. It's ugly," he said, hearing the mockery in her voice. The warmth rose in his cheeks. She would know he had been doing something else as well and she would only relate that to the islanders in her shop tomorrow morning. Gossip was always selective.
"I've really come for Miss Elson."
Claire appeared so soon that she had to have been listening. Stephen was surprised to see that she looked neither red nor dishevelled, but completely calm.
"There's someone asking for you at the pub," Mrs. McDonald said reservedly. She would have liked it better had the girl been as discomposed as Stephen, but city girls probably made a habit of this kind of behaviour.
Claire frowned. "But I don't know anybody here."
"He's not from here." People who were not from here were generally not welcomed with open arms if they did not have any use for the island and if they did, they were still treated very cautiously until they had proved themselves to be good people. Claire was still under probation herself. Associating with Stephen did improve her chances a little, but the islanders' opinion could still swing either way. They were wise enough not to like pretty girls just like that.
"But nobody knows I'm here." She had only told her former roommate, but what business could she have had to tell people? And her relatives would not have asked yet.
"He says he's your fiancé and he demands to see you."
Claire was stunned. "F-F-Fiancé? I-I-I don't have one." Who could this be? She glanced at Stephen. He was wearing the same reserved and distrusting expression he had worn when she had arrived. He would be thinking she had lied.
"He says you do. I wasn't sure..." Mrs. McDonald glanced at Stephen as well and obviously did not find Claire's moving into his house compatible with having a fiancé. She was only holding off on her disapproval until Claire would admit it. "That's why I came to tell you about it." So you could tell me in person, she implied.
Claire sat down looking desperate. She sensed the implication very well, but there was very little she could do, except deny it. "I don't know who this is. I'm not engaged to anyone."
Stephen said nothing. He was inclined to believe Claire, but it was still strange that there could be someone who would travel all the way up here and then say he was engaged to her. Ordinary people did not -- bar Linnet. It was simply too far away from civilisation, or so the people down south always thought.
"Did he give his name?"
"Very posh. He gave me his card because I couldn't remember it. Dennis Parkhurst-Hadleigh," Mrs. McDonald read up from a business card.
Stephen changed colour and leant against the dining table for support. He knew that name.
"Dennis?" Claire exclaimed. "No! I'm not engaged to him and I never will be." She looked indecisive. "Am I supposed to meet him now?" She first ran one hand through her hair and then both hands. "Argh!"
"What is he to you?" Stephen asked carefully after he had got over the shock.
"He's the man my father picked for me!" Claire obviously did not agree with the choice.
"But you don't want him." He had to ask, even though her reaction had been clear enough, but he wanted to be absolutely sure.
"No! I can't imagine what he's here for."
"You."
"What shall I tell him?" Mrs. McDonald asked. "That you'll be right there or that you won't see him? I have a feeling that he'll come to see you if you don't come." And the entire pub would love to come with him, curious as they were, so it was preferable to have Claire come to the pub. They never had this sort of excitement and so they were loath to miss it. Witnessing it themselves was always better than hearing about it in the shop the next morning.
"I don't know." She ran her hand through her hair again. "I suppose I ought to tell him that he shouldn't have come. That it's no use. But I need a few minutes to think about what I should say. I'll be there in a few."
"Alright. I'll tell him that." Mrs. McDonald handed her the card and left through the back door.
Claire tore the card in little pieces and threw it on the table. "I could kill Dennis. This is just like him," she said viciously. He did not care about anything but himself and if her father had given him hints, he would not even consider her feelings at all. Those did not matter. His status was all he cared about and of course he would be really impressed with himself coming all the way here to claim her. But he was a wimp and someone must have put him up to it.
"Claire..." Stephen said quietly after a few moments' deliberation. He had to speak up and say what was on his mind. This was not just a random clown thinking he was Claire's fiancé. This was important. "I know him. He's a rat."
She was amazed. "You know Dennis?" How could he know Dennis? Stephen was practically a recluse, or had been one for the past three years. Where had they met and how?
"Yes. I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell him my name." He could only hope that no one in the pub would either.
"Why not?"
"Because he's a rat."
"I don't get it."
"He'll betray me."
"How?" Claire did not understand. She readily believed Dennis would betray someone, but she did not see how he could betray Stephen, because she did not see what kind of connection they had.
He gave her an agonising look.
"Stephen, you need to tell me," Claire urged.
"I can't."
"Dammit, Stephen. I will tell him if you won't tell me," she threatened. She could see it was apparently important, but he really had to tell her. She did not like to be kept ignorant.
He pulled his notepad from his pocket and began to write. That was much easier.
Claire watched him write. Did he carry that thing everywhere? And what was he writing down? An explanation? Surely if he could write, he could tell her? But then she remembered that she was dealing with Stephen here and he would easily qualify as the biggest mystery on earth. She waited patiently for him to finish, but he seemed to have some trouble finding the right words.
Stephen wondered how he could limit the damage and be as sparing with information as possible. It was difficult and he crossed sentences out numerous times.
"Stephen," Claire said after five minutes of getting nauseous by looking at the wallpaper. "Are you done yet? Dennis will come looking for me."
"Just a second," he said absentmindedly.
"Grr." Claire wondered what was so difficult about writing a short note of explanation. The anger and anxiousness over Dennis' arrival were getting to her and she had trouble sitting still. Soon she would even start attacking Stephen if he did not hurry. She jumped up and paced the room. "My patience has its limits," she announced in a conversational tone, but he did not even hear her. "Grr!" She came to stand next to where he was leaning onto the table and found that she could do anything to him that would not cause him any pain without him looking up. Kicking him and nudging him had no effects.
At last he put down his pen and frowned at the note. It was not perfect, but it would do. He gave it to her and then sat down on the couch.
D works for a company I do business with. He knows my name, but he doesn't know it's me, nor does he know where I live. I think he thinks I'm a woman, which I don't mind because I like my privacy. Claire read the note twice. "What sort of shady business are you in that you deal with people anonymously?" she asked suspiciously. She tried to remember what it was exactly that Dennis did, but it was something vague and modern.
"I don't. Not with the ones I need."
"How do you know he's a rat if you don't deal with him?"
"I do deal with him, by mail."
"Anonymously," she said skeptically. That was a strange way of communicating.
"No, I use my initials."
"Okay..." Claire looked at him. "Why can you answer my questions, but not tell me anything spontaneously except in a note?"
Stephen shrugged.
"Grr. You are the most frustrating man I've ever met," she said helplessly. "What am I to do with such an idiot? And why do you of all people happen to be doing business with someone who claims to be my fiancé?"
Stephen shrugged again.
"How can we know the same people?" she continued. "I'm..." She seemed to be from a different world. This island was so far away from where she had lived. It was incredible that they could know the same people. "I'm..." But she did not finish her sentence. It would sound arrogant to make a comparison between the world she came from and the one she was in now. Stephen would not appreciate it. "I'm going to tell him to get lost. I take it you're not coming?"
Stephen suddenly sat up straight. He had been thinking about what the islanders might tell Dennis. His happy life would be over if Dennis found out who he was. "No, I'm not coming." He would go home and think ahead.
Chapter 32
Claire quickly walked to the pub. She should get this over and done with as soon as possible. Dennis and her father had to be cured of this idea that they could just come and get her by telling lies. She was her own person and she had her own life. People looked at her when she entered the pub, as if they had been waiting for her and they probably had. This was live theatre to them.
Dennis was at the bar, a large drink in his hand and his eyes on the door. He put down his drink as soon as he saw her and he was obviously expecting her to come to him. Claire hated to do it, but she had to go to him. She had to know what he had come for.
"Claire!"
"Dennis," she said flatly. "What are you here for?" She looked at his business suit, but it was the same as ever, expensive and suave and looking terribly alien in this pub. She could guess at what Stephen would say and he would be right. Dennis stretched his arms out to her to give her a kiss, but she kept him at a distance.
"Your roommate said you'd moved here. I didn't even know where to look for this place. Why? You didn't tell anyone. Your father is pretty upset about it."
If he cared, he ought to be here, Claire thought with a bitter pang, instead of Dennis. She did not think his comment worth a reaction. "I moved here, yes."
"Why? Is this a holiday?"
"Why? Because I have a job here," she replied calmly.
"A job?" Dennis could not believe his ears. Surely there were no jobs here that were worth having.
"What have you come for?"
"I came to take you home. Are you here voluntarily?"
The preposterous implication that she had been abducted made Claire laugh in spite of herself, but then she became serious again. "I am here voluntarily and I am not coming home."
Dennis thought these were girlish whims. "Claire, now don't be silly --"
"Who's being silly here? You are!" she retorted. "And what's this lie about being my fiancé? You're not and you never will be."
Dennis did not like to be told such a thing in public. It made him lose face. "Claire, you know your father would like for us to --"
"I don't care what my father would like. He's not the one who'd be married to you. I don't want to marry you and you don't want to marry me either, or else you wouldn't have mentioned my father." Claire did not mind that the entire pub was listening. People here should not be getting the wrong idea. It should be absolutely clear that she did not want Dennis.
He tried a different approach. "Why did you go here? This is not your world, Claire. Come back home. You're going to want to go back soon, I just know it. You'd better come back now, because people are there for you now and they won't be later on if you decide to be stubborn."
Claire placed her hands on her hips. "Are you threatening me?" He was and she got the message. It was an ultimatum -- now or never. She would have to be grateful for the rest of her life because they had been magnanimous enough to accept her back into their circle. They could all go to hell, she thought. They did not have the right to demand gratefulness from her. She had every right to live where she wanted and she would not fall for this kind of blackmail again.
"I'm not threatening you," Dennis flashed his innocent blue eyes at her and lowered his voice. "Claire, how could you say such a thing?"
"Easy." I know you, she added silently. The more innocent he looked, the more insincere he was. You are a rat. Stephen had said that. She had forgotten to think about this connection, caught up as she was in her own feelings. But now she wanted to know more about that connection. How could Stephen know him? She would have to hear Dennis out somehow, although she would rather have him leave straight away.
"Claire, you're deluded."
She was not deluded. He was. "What did my father promise you? What's in it for you?" she asked sharply.
"Nothing. Claire..."
"Tell me. You have a job, don't you? How much money is he promising you?"
"He's not promising me anything. I make enough on my own. I just bought a new Mercedes."
Claire crossed her arms. She hated people who bought new cars and then dropped this news in a pub. As if anyone liked them better for it. If it was not money, then it might be something else. "No chance of promotion if you don't have a wife?"
Dennis flinched. "That's not it."
"I think it is. What do you do, anyway? Why the bloody hell do you need a wife to be promoted if you have an administrative job?" She knew this job description would sting him, because he always prided himself on being of consequence.
"I do not!" Dennis was insulted. "I'm in public relations and marketing."
That was definitely an eye-opener. Claire did not know what the precise connection between him and Stephen was, but she knew for a fact that Stephen and public relations and marketing were incompatible. He could not even market himself, let alone be involved in marketing something else and as far as his public relations' skills were concerned, he was as gracious as an elephant in a porcelain cabinet.
"And I'm damn good at it," he continued.
"I'm sure you are." She did not want to enter into any discussion about it. It was not worth the trouble.
"Where are you staying?" Dennis asked.
Claire hesitated for a second. She did not know what he had been told and she did not want to tell him more than he already knew. "I'm staying with the other teacher. So, nobody died or anything? You just came all the way up here to ask what I was doing here?"
"Yes."
"And now you know." Claire made to turn around.
Dennis grabbed her arm. "Don't walk out on me."
She shook him loose. "Look. You can tell my father to get stuffed. I didn't come here for no reason at all. I was fed up with all of you and I certainly don't appreciate this visit. Just go back home and leave me alone."
"You'd better leave the lady alone," a large fisherman growled, approaching menacingly. "My son likes her."
Claire had no idea who his son was and she thought it was wisest not to say so. He was big and he looked strong. "Thank you," she murmured. Dennis began a discussion with the fisherman she did not want to hear and she slipped out of the pub, breathing in the salty air deeply when she got outside. She had been relatively calm inside, because she had not wanted to lose her composure in front of so many people, but she was angry and she wanted to cry.
Chapter 33
Stephen was getting his boat ready to sail out so he could think, when a man called him. "Ho, good man," was enough to antagonise the easiest of tempers and the man inspired further dislike in him by his clothing. Stephen gave him a look of contempt and continued to put a piece of rope away. This had to be Dennis. Some people really believed simple peasants ought to be addressed as good man, as if they were automatically servants of the richer urbanites.
Dennis gave it another try. "Skipper, I need to get back to the shore. I'll pay you handsomely."
Stephen shot him a baffled look. He had heard those words before. In fact, he had written them. It was amazing to hear your own work being quoted to you, but it was even more stunning to hear it being quoted by someone who turned out to have completely and utterly misunderstood it. Comprehension of sarcasm and irony was obviously reserved for a select group of people that Dennis did not belong to. And this man passed himself off as Claire's fiancé. The nerve was unbelievable. He was even too stupid to be original. Stephen snorted derisively and shook his head. Life was ridiculous.
"I'll pay you," Dennis repeated impatiently, glancing over his shoulder nervously.
It made Stephen wonder whether there was an angry mob on his heels. It would not astonish him, given the man's attitude. "You'll get wet," Stephen said lethargically in a Scottish accent. That was one thing that he was certain of, provided that he was going to be so foolish as to sail Dennis to Lirra. On the other hand, he would love to get Dennis wet or seasick. That posh suit just begged to be ruined by salt water.
"You've got a nice boat here. Fishing must be lucrative." Dennis tried if flattering was going to get him to Lirra.
The immediate assumption that he was a fisherman furthered Stephen's dislike. "I don't take things out of the sea -- I put them in," he said curtly.
As he had expected, that went over Dennis' head. "Ha, nets, right?" Dennis chuckled with a wink, glad he understood the joke.
Stephen swallowed. For some people it would be easy to curse the man, but he never did things that way. He knew he had a mean pen, however. Dennis might just read about himself one day and it would have to be bloody obvious or the fool would miss it. "What was your business here, anyway?"
"A woman."
"Women just aren't worth it to descend upon primitive societies for," Stephen declared. He saw Dennis looked baffled. Good. "They belong in the kitchen."
"Oh, well..." Dennis looked shocked.
"What kind of woman?"
"My fiancée."
Stephen kept himself under control, but it was quite an effort. Had Claire not told Dennis off then? "And what might your fiancée be doing here?"
"I expect she's having a little crisis. Worked too hard and all that. She's busy finding herself, but once she has, she'll come back to London." Dennis spoke confidently.
Stephen had a great desire to smack him for those words and he hoped Claire would too. "Ah. She's not run off with a fisherman then?"
"She wouldn't. She's devoted to me."
Stephen was curious what their relationship had been like in London. Could Dennis really be making things up or was there some truth in it? Had Claire turned away from him at some point? "You were really close, were you?"
"She's a bit shy, but I think she'll get over it."
Stephen was getting seasick himself at the rate Dennis was carrying on. He was sure the man was making everything up. "You mean there is no relationship," he corrected. And there had never been one.
Dennis did not like the correction. "Will you get me back to the shore?"
Stephen made a vague gesture with his hand and Dennis jumped on deck. He would get him seasick, yes, he would. When he was out of the harbour, he spoke again and dropped his bombshell. "I heard she's living with a man, your fiancée."
Dennis jumped up. "What? A man? Turn back!"
"Don't worry. It's platonic. She said. Don't you trust her?"
"What sort of man?" Dennis inquired agitatedly. He obviously did not believe in platonic affairs. "What does he look like?"
"Try one of those highland tourist brochures," Stephen suggested. It was likely that Dennis would not know the difference between the highlands and the islands.
"She's living with an illiterate highlander?" Dennis cried out in a horrified tone.
Stephen knew that the one thing he was absolutely certain of was that he was not illiterate, so he sped up and Dennis fell. "Sorry. I think he can read and write, but that's not what's important, is it?" He glanced over at the pathetic man. The rocking of the boat and this information were slowly making Dennis turn green. Stephen could not help showing off by nimbly jumping across the deck to pick up his coat. "Don't vomit on my deck, please."
"Turn back. I feel sick. I need to get Claire away from there."
"We're going to Lirra." Stephen agilely returned to his steering position, not once losing his balance.
"Why didn't anyone tell me she was living with a man?" Dennis complained.
Stephen was relieved to hear it. "As if that is important."
"Slow down," Dennis cried when the boat went even faster. "I'm going to fall overboard!" He was thrown into the air with every wave they hit.
That would really be good riddance, Stephen thought. Revenge was sweet, but he had never known how sweet. Only if he managed to lose Dennis, he would have to fish him out again too and he did not want that.
"Psychopath!" Dennis gasped when he saw Stephen smile. He was getting wet from that splashing water and he was getting seasick and this rude fellow was laughing.
"If you vomit on my deck, you're going to swim to Lirra," Stephen warned him. The speed they were going ensured that they got to Lirra quickly. He slowed down as they went into the harbour. So far Dennis had kept everything in, but he was in a bad state. "Here we are!"
Dennis knew he would have to get onto the quay very quickly or else he would vomit and he did not trust this skipper at all. He looked green and yellow and then threw up.
"I warned you," Stephen said wearily, shoving him overboard. Dennis splashed and spluttered something about his phone, his watch and his wallet, but it did not really impress Stephen. "You frigging vomited all over my boat," he called down into the water. "What do I care about your phone?"
"I'm not going to pay you!" Dennis threatened as he doggy-paddled to the quay.
"I don't want wet money anyway." He waited till it was safe enough to steer away again, waving at the old men who always sat on the quay and who were watching this with undisguised interest. They waved back.
Stephen smugly sailed back to Tenrae and stopped halfway. The waves were always good for thinking. He made himself a cup of coffee and then sat staring out over the sea, sometimes looking towards Lirra and sometimes towards the islands. When his fingers began to move he pulled out his notebook.
It was close to seven o'clock when he looked at his watch again. He got home at half past seven, finding that his parents had taken Claire somewhere and that they had already eaten. Fixing himself some dinner was not a problem and he took it into his study to type out what he had written. Soon he would be finished with this work and then Dennis might start bugging him again, as if it was not completely useless. The man was as thick as planks. He typed out his work and added another few pages, not noticing it got later and later.
At one o'clock, he felt tired and he shut down his computer to go to bed. There was school to think of as well. As he passed Claire's door, he paused. She had not come to talk to him, if she was home. Was she? He had to know and he opened the door.
"Already?" Claire groaned when he made some noise falling over a chair. It could not be morning yet. She had just fallen asleep.
He sat next to the bed, rubbing his knee. "No, no. I just wanted to see if you were there."
"What time is it?" She sank back into her pillow.
"One."
"One?" She groaned again. "You're cruel."
"I know. I shoved him off the boat."
"What?" Her eyes flew open, but it was dark, so she flicked on the light because she wanted to see his face." Stephen! What did you do?" She assumed he was talking about Dennis. Who else?
He grinned self-consciously. "I pushed him into the harbour. Are you upset with me now?"
"Upset? No way. And I'm sure you're not telling me half of what really happened. This was a condensed version."
"Yes, it was, but I'm tired. I want to go to bed."
"No, no, no. Tell me."
"Tomorrow."
"No, now!" Claire grabbed him by the shoulder so he would not leave.
"But I need to lie down. I'm tired." Teaching all day and then making a rocky boat trip that required many muscles to stay steady did that to a person.
"I'll move over," Claire said and did so, since she slept in the middle of a double bed. "Get in and tell me." She turned off the light again because it hurt her eyes, but she really wanted to hear this and did not mind sacrificing half an hour of sleep to listen to the story.
Stephen obeyed. He did not have much of a choice. If he was crazy, so was Claire, so it was better not to wonder. "He vomited on deck and I had warned him about that, so I pushed him in."
Claire snickered. "I'm sorry I missed it."
"I don't think I would have done that if you had been there. What did he say to you in the pub?"
She told him. "I was really upset when I got home, but your mother took me with her to bingo night." Because Stephen had not been around, she had had to confide in someone else.
"Mmm." Stephen felt himself dozing off when everything turned out to be all right. She should not have turned off the light. He had a vague thought about the alarm clock being in the other room, but he would go there soon. One more minute. It was so difficult to get up.
Claire was not thinking about the alarm clock. She was only trying to imagine Stephen shoving Dennis into the harbour and it was a very pleasant dream-like thought. She forgot about Stephen when he stopped speaking.
The next thing she knew was that there were six children on her bed trying to wake her up. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Stephen was sitting on the windowsill, looking sleepy. He was wearing the same clothes as yesterday and he had not shaved, so she wondered. "Are we late or something?"
"This is my back-up alarm clock," he gestured at the children.
Claire recognised them as the six who had jumped out of the hedge yesterday. She swung her legs out of bed. "Breakfast?" she asked teasingly.
Stephen got up to whisper in her ear. "Allow me to get changed and showered." He looked at the children. "You lot, make us breakfast." They cheered. "Quietly. My Mum and Dad are still asleep." He waited until they had sneaked downstairs very quietly. "I woke up when I heard them in the garden."
Claire tried to follow that. "And then you went to sit in the window?"
"Yes."
"You never left," she concluded after a minute.
"You never said I had to."
"You never said you were still here. It doesn't matter," she reassured him when he looked a little worried. "There are worse things that can happen to a girl." It was kind of sweet of him to be worried.
Stephen felt something stir in his stomach when she said that. "I'm hungry," he concluded.
"Then you'd better go into the shower first."
Thinking about yesterday left her a bit agitated and she sat back down on the bed, giggling, even though Stephen's second account would still have been too concise, she thought after a few minutes. Maybe he could write it down for her. She went to ask.
He had showered quickly and was now shaving. "I'm nearly done," he said, thinking Claire was impatient.
"I just came to ask if you could write down for me what happened yesterday," she said, leaning against the doorpost.
Could this be a person who did not think that strange? Stephen regarded her with a new flicker of interest. "Why?"
"Because I'm sure you didn't tell me everything."
"I did."
But he must have provoked you or something." There had to be a reason. "Come on, Stephen, you're not a bully. I was just beginning to suspect that you're actually quite sweet." Claire barely knew what she was saying or how it could be taken.
Stephen's tongue froze. He was sure he could not use it anymore. "He wasn't speaking about you respectfully," he mumbled inarticulately. What was he going to say to someone who had just called him sweet?
Claire could barely make out what he was saying. "What did he say?"
"He was too confident about your going back with him." He looked the other way, replacing his razor and then splashing his face with cold water.
So she had not suspected it wrongly. He was really sweet, Claire thought warmly. It was just a bit hard to find out, that was all. "Did you tell him he ought to know you?"
"Are you crazy?" He was glad she had changed the subject. "And I know nobody on the island told him my name."
"What have you got to do with someone in PR?"
Stephen gave her a little smile. "Nothing as yet."
"Yes, I understand that, but..."
"I'm probably exaggerating, but --"
"Yes, you wrote that you tend to do that," she said dryly.
"-- but I don't feel comfortable about this marketing stuff." He had tried to say it better and in more words, but this was all he had been able to come up with.
"Was I right and were you marketed in a tourist brochure?" Claire asked mischievously, sensing he could or would not talk about it seriously.
Stephen looked at her uncomprehendingly. "Why?"
"Are you a model?"
He looked positively disgusted. "A model!"
"I guess not then."
"Why?"
"Well, if someone starts thinking about why you had to be marketed, they would think about your appearance first, I'm sure. Wouldn't they?" What else could he have, living on the island? And it began to be more and more apparent to her that he could look very attractive if he liked.
"Don't make me sick, Claire."
"Though I wonder how they could ever have found you if you live here," she mused teasingly. "If you don't tell me what it is, I'll assume you were a model for kilts."
That was an opportunity to get out of this interrogation and he took it. "You've found me out," he said ironically.
"Does it pay a bit?"
"A bit. They say it might pay more if I promoted myself properly, but I have enough already."
"Money, fictional wives and forty children. What more could you want indeed?"
"One would almost think..." Stephen said with a hesitant look at her. One would almost think that Claire was jealous. There had been a slight edge to her voice, yet she could not hate him for it, because she had said he was sweet. So what was she thinking?
"What?"
"That you have a problem with fictional wives."
"I do?" Claire asked herself. Maybe she did. "And do you have a problem with fiancés?"
"With some I do. Someone has to look out for you."
"And someone has to look out for you too," she smiled at him and touched his cheek. "You shaved properly, I notice. Now let me have the bathroom."
"Yes, Madam," Stephen said obligingly, only knowing she had removed her hand when he saw it hanging by her side. He had to sort out whether he was hungry or not. Maybe he had misinterpreted this strange feeling in his stomach.
Chapter 34
With six children in the kitchen, Stephen had very little time to devote any thoughts to Claire. He was busier telling the children how to tidy up, because they had made a little mess. However, he decided that Claire was his friend now and that she had the right to express her concern about his mental health. If he had friends who had fictional husbands, he would tell them as well. He was sure it was not quite normal to talk about fictional wives, but he had not been all that serious when he had mentioned them. And it was a nice feeling to have someone who was concerned about you, other than your parents.
"Oh dear," Claire laughed when she joined them ten minutes later. There were cereals on the table and on the floor, and all the chairs were taken too. It looked like a family scene and she would almost ask them to make room for Mummy, but she shied away from this idea. "Do I have to sit in Stephen's lap now?" she asked instead, which she realised was just as bad. Never mind that, she should get on with it now.
Stephen contemplated telling her she should really do that if she wanted the entire island to know by noon, but he could not get the words out of his mouth. "Do you actually know what you're doing?" he whispered when she had sat down on his left knee. He had not even had time to protest, although he might not have done so.
Claire half turned her head. "What do you mean?" Did he disapprove? But he did not sound disapproving.
"Nothing." Was she as innocent as she looked? She seemed to be unaware of the effect of her actions and it was so much harder to tell her to get off him than it was to tell Linnet. He stared into her eyes searchingly, but there was nothing devious there, no flirtation, no wicked teasing, just a slight fear of having done something wrong. And she had not. "Nothing."
"Am I too heavy?"
"No, no." He placed his left hand on her hip to make sure she stayed seated.
Claire quickly looked at the children, but they were too busy playing with an orange they rolled over the table to pay attention. She tried to eat her cereal, but she could not feel where it went to after she had swallowed it. It appeared to get stuck somewhere.
"Eat," said Stephen, noticing that she was only turning her spoon around and not bringing it to her mouth.
"I can't."
"Are you ill?"
Claire gasped suddenly as she was struck by a revelation. It was Stephen's fault. He was preventing her from eating. He was making her nervous by having his hand on her hip, because she had not felt this agitated before he had done so. And she had done this herself, because she had sat down on his lap. She pushed her bowl of cereal away and banged her head against the table. Good gracious, she was a complete moron.
"Claire?" His hand moved upwards a few inches, but not too far -- just above her waist.
Claire thought this had to be the greatest way to diet. To just have Stephen touch you right before a meal would make sure you could not swallow a bite. Unfortunately she did not need to lose any weight, otherwise she would have tried it. But either he had abandoned his rough-handedness or she had become more sensitive, because something was different today. She had to have a more sensitive skin today, because Stephen could not mean anything by it. He was only resting his hand on her waist very casually, because he could not leave it anywhere else. It was out of the question to tell Stephen about her sensitive skin, but she had to get away from him lest she become completely confused. "I fear I'm too heavy," she said rapidly, taking her bowl and standing up.
"No, it's alright," he said, thinking that women were sometimes very odd.
"Can I sit there?" she asked the girl who was sitting the furthest away from Stephen.
He did not miss that fact and wondered what he had done that she wanted to get as far away from him as possible. All right, he had touched her hip, but she had sat down on his lap himself, so that could not be it. He had moved his hand a little, but she had already acted strangely before that. He really did not understand and could not help looking a little uncomprehending and hurt.
Claire caught his look and stared at her cereal, her insides wrenching. He was thinking it was him. It was, of course, but not in that way. Why did there have to be children around? She could not very well reassure Stephen in front of them. On the other hand, she ought to be glad for their presence, because this would not be the easiest thing to discuss. She had to say something, though. "Stephen."
"Yes," he said warily.
"I'm having an extra-sensitive day." Whatever that might mean.
Stephen did not look as if he knew either, but he could make some educated guess. "Oh. Is that bad?"
"I don't know. I've never had it before."
That really confused Stephen. So his guess had been wrong. He went down another, but slightly related track. "Don't tell me you just found out you're pregnant by that Dennis jerk," he said in a rather hostile tone. He would really throw up if that were the case.
Claire spat some cereal onto the table and coughed. "Gods! No! I've never -- we've never -- eeew!" That was the most disgusting thing she had ever heard. The children laughed at her for spitting and she had to laugh with them, having to tell them who the Dennis jerk was.
Stephen tried to finish her sentence himself. He could ask her, but that would be strange. The problem was that he could come up with many possibilities that were not all of them reassuring, so he had to ask anyway. "You have never...?" he finally asked. Dennis and Claire might never have considered having children, but still had sex. He pushed his bowl of cereal away with a look of disgust.
She gave him an admonishingly little shake of the head. Surely he had understood her? She was not going to spell that out over the heads of six children. "You didn't listen to what I told you last night, did you? Did you fall asleep halfway?"
"I might have." Before he had fallen asleep, he had of course heard that she disliked Dennis, but he seemed to have forgotten that for a moment.
"I hate the guy."
"Oh." He gave her a stupid grin. That sentence made everything alright. She hated Dennis. "I knew that."
"You acted as if you didn't."
"I had temporarily forgotten."
"You should have written it down and kept the note in your pocket."
"I'll do that next time," Stephen promised, at the same time noticing that she was doing very well at being a schoolmistress. School had not even started yet today and she was already chiding her first pupil. And doing that well. He could hang his head in embarrassment.
"How many fellows do you think I'll have coming for me?" she exclaimed in mock indignation.
"No more of them, I hope. You might go with one and then I'd lose my colleague," he said glibly. "And you turn out to be very good at telling stupid children what they did wrong. I'd miss you."
So he admitted that he had been stupid and she was pleased she was turning out to be good. "Really?" she asked with a pleased smile.
"Yes, really."
Chapter 35
On Tuesdays they began the day with sports, Claire had seen on the schedule, and she had already changed into her sports gear, bringing her other things in a bag. They had gone straight to a beach, but not the one she and Stephen had been to. The children had assembled there already and thrown their bags on a large heap. "What do I do?" she asked Stephen as he was tying someone's shoelaces.
"Just make sure you don't leave your clothes too close to the water line," he said gravely. "You don't want to be teaching in your underwear today, do you?"
Claire rolled her eyes. He was asking for it. "Actually, I do."
It was hard to hold a conversation with forty children begging him for attention, so he only gave her an incredulous look before he had to go and see to someone who was too ill to run today. It was not after he had blown the whistle to start them running that he could talk to Claire again. He came to stand beside her. "I confess I'm a man, Claire."
"Really?" She glanced sideways. "Were you in doubt?"
"No."
Stephen's clear and easy manner of talking to the children was a stark contrast with the somewhat curt and cryptic way he always spoke to her. It puzzled Claire that he could be comprehensible if he liked. She had just been watching him be perfectly comprehensible on the topic of outfits, illnesses and last night's television programmes, but now he was going cryptic on her again by telling her he was a man.
"Are you lazy or preoccupied?"
"What do you mean?" she asked. "Lazy?"
"I've just been tying twenty shoelaces and you've been sitting here on the sand staring at me."
She blushed. She should have offered her assistance. What would he think of her now? "It didn't occur to me to lend a hand, sorry."
"What were you thinking about then?"
"That you seem to find it easier to speak to them than to me. If you speak to them, your meaning is very clear."
"And if I speak to you, it's not?" Stephen was amused. He supposed it was the truth.
"No."
"You have more abilities, Claire. It's a compliment to be addressed cryptically." He laughed.
"Yes, joke about it. You're afraid of me," she said with surprise in her voice as she got an idea. "I don't bite. Why?"
"I'm not afraid of you."
"You are. You can't speak any sentence to me that doesn't contain at least three escape routes. Everything you say is open to multiple interpretations."
Stephen began jogging and Claire had to follow him. "I know," he admitted after a while. Beginning to jog was a non-verbal escape too, he supposed.
Claire groaned. "You're the most frustrating man I know. Why can't you tell me why, instead of saying you know, implying that you'll go on doing it?"
"I don't want to be rude, but why should I change my way of speaking if you could also change your way of interpreting me?" he asked with a little smile.
"You're saying it's my fault?"
Claire was learning fast. She would have killed him for such a question on her first day here. Stephen was glad to note the improvement. "No. It's both of us. If I say you're crazy, you believe that I really think you're crazy, when I never meant that."
"Well, why can't you ever say what you do mean?" They neared a few small children and Stephen told them to keep going. Claire thought this was significant enough. "See? Keep running, you say, and that's exactly what you mean."
"That's what they expect of me." Teachers were supposed to be clear and honest; not that he had been so very honest just now, because he had not said the children had to keep going so he would not have any children behind him to see what he and Claire were up to.
"So do I."
He gave her a little laugh. "No, you don't. And neither do I." Claire would not appreciate it if he spoke the absolute truth. He somehow doubted that she would quietly accept it if he said he would like her to teach in her underwear, literally like that. It was of course impossible, so he did not expect himself to say it, ever.
Yes, she did expect him to be clear! Why did he say the opposite? Claire nearly jumped out of her skin. "Stephen!"
He sprinted away from, sprinting all the way until the end of the beach.
Claire, who was not really capable of running that far, slowed down and walked together with the two smallest children, who could not run very far either. She supposed they would have to turn back at some point, because their bags were still at the beginning. "Shall we go back?" she suggested, having one at each hand.
They returned to the pile of bags and saw that the rest of the group had begun to run back as well, but that they would have to wait for a while. Claire picked up a ball and she and Iona and Niall played football.
Stephen kept his group a little away from them, but he did send her another few small ones, so that she had ten children and he had thirty. She played some more football with them and she saw Stephen had his group do some kind of gymnastics.
After an hour on the beach, they went back to school. Claire was surprised to see there was a dressing room and she got her share of shoelaces and shirt buttons and zippers that were stuck, part of which were referred to her by Stephen. She barely had time to change herself and Stephen was observing her all the time, supervising her efforts.
"Well? Did I do my job properly? Why were you staring all the time?" she whispered when they were back in the classroom and he had just told everyone to get their notebooks. She had helped a few children now, so he could not ask her again if she was lazy.
He smirked a little. "Very properly."
"It's very hard to tie shoelaces if you're checking up on me." It had made her a little nervous and then even more nervous because she could only do it to her own shoes and not to someone else's.
"I wasn't checking up on you."
"You were."
Stephen groaned softly. "Alright I was." He had been checking up on how she was changing and being interrupted all the time had provided ample opportunity for him to look. But that was unmentionable, despite Claire's wish for clarity. That would be a bit too clear. "You take the little ones, alright?" he said to her. She would know where to look for the schedule and it would not be so bad if she did not get anything done.
Claire checked the folder and saw she had to teach writing, nothing else specified. How frustrating. Those who could write she told to write down what they had done on the beach and the other had to copy letters. Stephen was busy and she did not want to disturb him. He had three times as many children as she did.
After that, it was arithmetic and that was easier, because there was a book for each of the groups. One thing she loved about Stephen was that he could arrange books in a systematic way so that they were easy to find. She had laughed at his colour coding before, but she had to admit that it was the only way to keep a grip on things.
Stephen rang the bell for lunch and everyone jumped up to run outside. He went to the kitchen again to get the lunch things. Claire followed him slowly. By now she knew what she had to do, which was pour the milk, but surely she could take another plate and knife to help Stephen? He already had so much to do. She did not tell him and he gave her a little smile when he found out. "I have to thank you," she began when she was making the first of the sandwiches, trying hard not to keep up with Stephen.
"What for?"
"For ordering everything so systematically."
"Oh, that was hell," he grinned self-consciously. But it had only been hell only for a week or two and it would have been hell every day if he had not done that.
"It does make it easier for your colleagues who don't have any teaching experience."
"How did it go? Did I give you too many children?"
Claire snorted a little. That sounded odd and she caught Stephen looking at her strangely because she had snorted and she snorted again. "No, you did not give me too many children."
"You want more."
"No, I don't want more. Ten children is perfect." It was Stephen's turn to snort at that and Claire poked him. "What?"
"Nothing. I was just thinking..."
"What were you thinking?" she pressed, beckoning the children to come and get their milk for a change, rather than going around the room herself with the milk cartons. She was loath to cut the conversation short right now.
"I've just thought of something else." Stephen watched her pour the milk. Luckily she knew better than to fill their mugs to the brim. In that case someone would surely spill it and he would have to mop it up.
"And that is?"
"Don't have any children."
"Why not?"
"Because you'd go on maternity leave."
"I would?"
"I suppose so."
Claire supposed so too. She emptied her first milk carton and opened the next. "Though, I will consult you when the time comes around -- dear Stephen, do you think you could allow my husband and me to have a child? What would you say?"
"No," he said bluntly.
"You wouldn't!"
"Yes, I would."
"Would we listen?"
"If you've got to the point of being married, I suppose you wouldn't," he said.
Claire did not always understand what he was getting at. This was an exceptionally long sentence for Stephen, but it had not become any more comprehensible. "Marriage interferes with the school as well?"
"Some marriages do."
"Well, if I'm not allowed to marry, you aren't allowed either," Claire said primly. "Equal opportunities."
"I accept that," Stephen said generously.
"So kind of you. Are you going out again Friday night?"
"Yes."
"I'd better come along to keep an eye on you. I'm not ready to deal with the class alone yet. I can't afford to lose you to some bimbo."
Stephen was not attracted to bimbos, but he did not think she was talking exclusively about bimbos. Just any other woman, was his guess. "What if she's a teacher?" he asked, to see what she would say. A third teacher would be a welcome addition.
Claire pondered this dilemma. Losing Stephen to a woman was bad for the school, but things would be different if the woman in question was an asset to the school. However, even in that case she had her reservations. "I don't think bimbos can be teachers," she said finally.
"What if she's not a bimbo?"
Then she should not have any difficulties, but she did. She frowned. "Well, then I suppose there will be some other bad thing about the situation."
Stephen smiled. "Such as that you might have fallen for a male bimbo. Equal opportunities."
"I wouldn't!" Claire said readily.
He could imagine that and he had not expected her to, but it could not hurt to inquire about her reasons. "Why not?"
"Because they don't exist."
Stephen snorted. That was not the answer he had expected. He had expected that she would let personality prevail over looks or something. He thought that was he did, but he might have been wrong. "That's a dangerous thought. I think I'm going to have to keep an eye on you Friday to see that you don't get taken in by one."
"Let's wear handcuffs," Claire suggested ironically.
© 2000, 2001 Copyright held by the author.