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Again his conscience gave him a kick. He should never have singled her out so blatantly. What if she were in love with him? And yet seeing the warm glow in her blue eyes and the curve of her pink lips, Alistair really couldn’t help but be glad he had.
“You took no ill from our adventure?” he asked her gently.
“I am well, thank you. And you?”
He shrugged. “I am a tough old sea dog, remember? But I’m sorry to have lost my shoes.”
She kept her finger in her place in the book, as if she didn’t expect him to stay long. It made him sad somehow and he sat down beside her to prolong the moment.
“I have come to say goodbye,” he began.
“Really Alistair, I know my father said some awful things but . . . but we can still be friends, surely?”
He realised she thought her father had frightened him away. He shook his head. “No, not that. I have had my orders. I will be returning to my ship as soon as I can manage it.”
“Oh.” She looked away, into the distance. “You’re going then.”
“Yes, I am.”
She seemed to rally, forcing a smile very different from the earlier one, almost defiant, and turned back to him. “I’m sorry for it. I will miss you.”
That was one of the things he liked about Clarissa. She did not prevaricate or pretend to something just because she thought it was the polite thing to do. She told the truth. She was honest and straightforward.
“I will miss you too,” he said and knew that was the truth too. He would miss her, more than he admitted to himself.
“Will you write to me?” she asked softly. “I will write to you.”
He nodded. “Please, I would like that, and when I can I will reply. Don’t worry if the letters are few and far between, they will have to travel across the seas.”
A frown creased her smooth brow. “I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am about my father. I—”
He put a finger to her lips and then, realising they could be seen, took it away again. “No need for you to say a word. It was my fault entirely. I am just glad you took no hurt.”
She reached up to touch her lips with her own fingers and then, realising what she had done, blushed.
He pretended not to see. “I must go.” He stood up and reached to take her hand in his. “Goodbye, Clarissa. I will not forget you.”
She pressed his hand. “Nor I you,” she murmured.
He walked away then, turning only to lift his hand in salute. She was sitting staring at her lap, where the book rested, and did not see. He thought he would remember the sight of her always, seated there, her hair pale against the dark stone wall of the school, her pale pretty face drawn into such sombre lines. If he was a more romantically inclined man he might even say his heart was aching.
What was it about Clarissa Debenham that had crept inside him and made a home there? And how could he have allowed himself to imagine, even for a moment, that anything would ever come of it?
“You’ll forget her soon enough,” he murmured to himself. “You have Boney to think of.”
But a seagull flying overhead mocked him with its mournful cries.
***
Clarissa found, as the weeks passed, that without Alistair to fill her every waking thought her attention became more focussed on her work at the school. At first it was a way of distracting herself from missing him, but gradually she became more and more convinced that this wasn’t just something to fill in the time, while she waited for real life to begin.
This was her life, and she felt it as a calling.
And she was clever at it. Children enjoyed learning from her, and adults too. She began to grow in confidence.
Annie, the maid from the inn where she and Alistair had made their impromptu stay, had come to see her. Clarissa was a little surprised by her visit, remembering the scene the girl had witnessed, but she knew that there had been no word of the kissing incident, as she had feared there might be. The gossips had been remarkably silent.
“I didn’t tell anyone,” the girl admitted. “It wasn’t my business, was it, and you were kind to me, miss.”
