Cometh the Hour (The Clifton Chronicles 6)

She was taking a yogurt out of the fridge when the door bell rang. She smiled, and checked her

watch: the last rose of the day, which would join all the others in the vase on the hall table. Wondering just how long Seb would keep this up, she walked quickly to the door, not wanting the young man to get drenched. She opened it to find him standing there, an umbrella in one hand, a rose in the other.

Priya slammed the door in his face, sank to the floor and burst into tears. How could she continue to treat him so badly, when she was the one to blame? She sat in the hallway, hunched up against the wall. It was some time before she slowly picked herself up and made her way back to the kitchen. The light was fading, so she walked across to the window and drew the curtains. It was still raining—what the English describe as cats and dogs. And then she saw him, head down, sitting on the curb on the far side of the road, rain cascading off his umbrella into the gutter. She stared at him through the tiny gap in the curtain, but he couldn’t see her. She must tell him to go home before he caught pneumonia. She ran to the door, opened it and shouted, “Sebastian.” He looked up. “Please go home.”

He stood up, and she knew she should have closed the door immediately. He began walking slowly across the road toward her, half expecting the door to be slammed in his face again. But she didn’t close it, so he stepped forward and took her in his arms.

“I don’t want to go on living if I can’t be with you,” he said.

“I feel the same way. But you must realize it’s hopeless.”

“I’ll go and see your father as soon as he comes back from India. I can’t believe he won’t understand.”

“It won’t make any difference.”

“Then we’ll have to do something about it before he returns.”

“The first thing we’re going to have to do is get you out of that suit. You’re soaking.” As she took off his jacket, he leaned forward and began to undo the tiny buttons on her blouse.

“I’m not soaking,” she said.

“I know,” he whispered, as they continued to undress each other. He took her in his arms and kissed her for the first time. They fumbled around like teenagers, discovering each other’s bodies, slowly, gently, so when they finally made love, for Sebastian it was as if it was for the first time. For Priya it was the first time.

* * *

For the rest of the weekend they never left each other, even for a moment. They ran together in the park each morning, she cooked while he laid the table, they went to the cinema, not watching much of the film, laughed and cried, and lost count of how many times they made love. The happiest weekend of her life, she told him on Monday morning.

“Let me tell you about my master plan,” he said as they sat down for breakfast.

“Does it begin with making love in the corridor?”

“No, but let’s do that every Friday night. I’ll stand out in the rain.”

“And I’ll tell you to go home.”

“Home. That reminds me, my master plan. Next weekend I want to take you down to the West Country so you can meet my parents.”

“I’m so worried they won’t—”

“Think I’m good enough for you? They’d be right. I suspect the real problem will be convincing your father that I’ll ever be good enough for you, but I’ll go and see him the moment he’s back in England.”

“What will you say to him?”

“I’ve fallen in love with your daughter, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

“But you haven’t even proposed.”

“I would have done at Lord’s, but I knew you’d only laugh at me.”

“He won’t laugh. He’ll only ask you one thing,” she said softly.

“And what will that be, my darling?”

Her words were barely audible. “Have you slept with my daughter?”

“If he does, I’ll tell him the truth.”

“Then he’ll either kill you, or me, or both of us.”