Confession

by Lily Harlem

  “It was in the hall. Mr. Edwards was trying his hand at DJing. The upper sixth formers had strung Union Jack bunting everywhere and someone spiked the apple punch.”

  “Ah…” He nodded slowly, but a line of confusion between his eyes refused to go. “Yes.”

  Clara didn’t think he had any recollection of the night he’d told her he just wanted to be friends. She pulled in a deep breath. That was okay. She was all grown up. She could handle the fact she clearly hadn’t been memorable, or stood out as someone special, even though he had been to her. More than special. She’d thought he was the one.

  “Would you like a hot drink?” he asked, suddenly stepping away and pointing at the closed door that led to the tearoom.

  “No, I’m afraid I have an afternoon shift. I need to get ready for the ward.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  A shard of something crossed his eyes. Was it disappointment? No, surely not.

  “But it would be great to catch up properly,” she said. “I’ve compiled an album, photographs, for Reverend Gerald. It’s pictures taken at the various events we’ve held over the last few years, and some of his trips to the hospital. He often comes up to the wards, even though we have a chaplain. It’s sweet of him.” She paused, realizing she was rambling. “Perhaps you’d like to see it, the album that is. It might help you put names to faces.”

  “I’d like that very much,” he said.

  “I can bring it by later, after my shift if you’d like.”

  “Later?”

  “Yes, after evening sermon. I presume you’ll be here at the church. Gerald often does wine and cheese.”

  “Er, yes, of course. And, I didn’t know that. Wine and cheese, how civilized it is here in London.” He chuckled. “I could get very used to it.”

  “Great. I’ll see you about eight. Providing nothing major happens I can get away from the ward a bit earlier on a weekend.” She took a strand of her hair and curled it around her finger, a habit, then stepped away swirling so her cotton skirt floated up a little.

  Sunlight from the grand ornate window hit her full on. She squinted as she threw her hand in the air and called back over her shoulder. “Have a nice afternoon, Reverend Mark.”

  Chapter Three

  Mark

  Mark watched Clara Jennings walk away from him. She’d been a beautiful teenager; as a woman, she was perfection.

  Right now, the light was shining through the flimsy skirt she wore, and he could make out her long, delicate legs as the material swished around them. Her hair bounced as she called to him to have a nice day, and his fingers ached to touch it, the way she’d done, twirl it around his thumb and capture the texture of it, the scent, too.

  She closed the church door with a clunk, and he blew out a breath.

  It was going to be harder here in Southwark than he could ever have anticipated. He’d moved here hoping the city would be a distraction from the male needs that gnawed away at him. He knew he’d have sex one day, full on sex, intercourse, but that wouldn’t be until his wedding night. That was the way God intended it for him, and he was happy to wait.

  But damn, Clara’s face, her upturned nose, sexy mouth, stunning eyes, had whisked him back to the day he’d very nearly lost his virginity to her.

  The barn had been warm, and he could still recall the smell of the hay and how dust motes floated in the air. She’d been soft, giggly, willing, and he’d been hard, lustful, and keen to make it as good for her as he knew she could make it for him.

  His sexy little girlfriend had been strong, though, for both of them—insisting she wanted her first time to be in a proper bed—and they’d come up with a compromise.

  Mark took several steps to the right and sat at the end of a pew. He clasped his hands together and tipped forward, resting on the bench in front of him. Blood rushed to his groin as he remembered, with shocking clarity, how she’d slipped his pants down and worked him until he’d splattered cum onto his belly and her hand. She’d wiped it off with hay and a glint of achievement had flashed in her eyes.

  She’d then shown him how to please her, where to touch, how fast, and how much pressure. Everything about her had made his teenage hormones wild, and as he’d worked her to an orgasm with his fingers, she’d made him come again. They’d been a writhing mass of desire in the hay, coated in sex sweat and the scent of arousal.

  It was singularly the most erotic experience of his life.

  And now, after being buried for so long, he remembered everything about it, and everything about her.

  “I’ve asked you to forgive me before, Lord,” he whispered. “For breaking her heart. I knew I had, because what I did, it broke mine, too.” He squeezed his eyes closed and thought of that night at the school disco. They were kids, sure, but the feelings they’d had for each other were real, intense and fiery. Telling her he only wanted to be friends had ripped his world in two. But what choice had he had? His parents, strict and God-fearing, had insisted they split up, saying they were concerned that Mark would sin with her. For a while he’d wondered if they’d been spotted in the barn, or if they’d smelled sex on him. But those concerns had eased over time. His parents would have been very vocal if that had been the case. He could have argued with them, and in fact he had. But when a family move was also on the cards, several hundred miles away, and a new school for the last year of his education planned, making a clean break seemed to be the best solution.

  The upheaval, the parental pressure and his roller-coastering emotions had led him to break Clara’s heart and his own. Would he make the same decision again? Probably not. He liked to think his adult self would be more compassionate, more empathetic, and considered. But the past was the past, and he couldn’t undo history. And in the light of the calling he’d found a year after graduating, it was for the best. He’d devoted himself to God and God’s teachings. Pleasing the Lord and allowing his life to be led by the directions in the Bible made Mark happier and more secure than he’d ever been.

  He sat up straight and stared at the effigy of Christ on the altar. Later, Clara would be back, and he’d need to summon strength from Jesus to remain professional and keep his thoughts pure.

  There was going to be nothing easy about that.

  Standing, and pleased the ache in his groin had eased, he headed into the tea room. A round of placid conversations with his new congregation would surely help distract his wayward thoughts of the past and put everything back into perspective.

  ****

  The evening sermon was short and light-hearted. It was clearly something Reverend Gerald enjoyed, and although there weren’t as many churchgoers as at the morning service, it was still well attended. Mark suspected the free cheese and wine afterward may have had something to do with that.

  He sipped a small glass of merlot and chatted to an elderly woman, Beatrice, who had not only been widowed recently but found her twenty-year-old grandson now living with her. She was of the opinion her young lodger was both a blessing and a cause for concern, and Mark was happy to listen to her worries and offer his support going forward. He managed to only glance at the large black clock on the wall twice even though it was a magnet to him. Would Clara be able to escape the ward early and join them? Perhaps the traffic was bad. He didn’t know if she drove, or cycled or walked to work. Come to that she hadn’t even mentioned which hospital she nursed in.

  Just as Beatrice excused herself to get more cheese, the door opened.

  Clara stepped into the busy room, pushing her hair behind her ears as she did so.

  Mark felt his heart rate pick up. For a moment, he forgot to breathe, and everything and everyone faded away.

  There was only her. She absorbed every shred of his attention, filled his vision, and for the first time a part of his soul felt complete, just by being in the same room with her.

  She spotted him and paused, her hand falling to her side and her lips parting.

  All the emotions Mark had felt in the past came
rushing back. He longed to hear her laugh again, a real belly laugh, unhindered and free. He wanted to hold her in his arms, be reminded of the fragile feel of her back, ribs, arms, and legs as he wrapped them in his big ones. And her mouth, he wanted it on his, her tongue probing, her flavor filling his senses.

  What are you doing?

  She pressed her hand to her chest and appeared to blow out a breath.

  Mark found himself walking toward her. He put one foot in front of the other in an almost dreamlike state.

  He’d been a fool to ever let her go.

  And now…

  “Hey,” she said, when he drew close. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

  “It doesn’t matter, you’re here now,” he said, putting his hands into the pockets of his smart black pants. The urge to touch her was strong. He had to trap his hands somehow and was glad he’d ditched the cassock for this service.

  “It was a bit busy, the ward. I stayed to help out.”

  “That’s kind of you.”

  She smiled and gestured to the table holding the cheese and wine. “I might get a little something.”

  “Yes, do. What would you like?”

  “A glass of red and a chunk of the cheddar Reverend Gerald gets from Borough Market. It’s delicious, has little crystals of salt in it.” She rolled her lips in on themselves. “Mmm…”

  “I’ll have to try it.”

  “You should.”

  They walked to the table, and Mark poured her a glass of wine. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” She took it, then popped a cube of cheese into her mouth.

  Mark watched, fascinated, as her eyelids fluttered and her jaw moved. The pleasure in her expression transported him to another time and place, when it had been he who’d created that blissful expression and not a lump of cheddar.

  “Here,” she said, after she’d swallowed. “Try it.” She reached for a cube and held it before him.

  He hesitated. It seemed such an intimate gesture, to take food from her fingers.

  “I’ve got clean hands, promise.” She giggled and placed the cheese up against his lips.

  What the hell?

  He opened up and took it. The smoky, salty flavor flooded his mouth. “Wow, it is good.” He raised his fingers to his face as he spoke.

  “Told you.” She sipped her wine and gazed up at him. “Once sampled, it’s one of those things you never forget.”

  Just like you.

  He closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed. He needed to get his train of thought back under control. He’d spent the afternoon quiet with his feelings and directing them at work duties and concentrating on the commitments he’d made to Him. But the minute Clara had walked into the room it was as if the energy had changed. Now she was all he could think of. Memories swirled within him. Regrets, what-ifs, how the future might have panned out. Her feeding him tasty morsels really didn’t help the situation.

  “Ah, Clara, you made it.” Reverend Gerald appeared at his side. “How was the ward?”

  Clara removed her attention from Mark, and for a moment he wondered if similar thoughts to his had been going through her mind. Did she still regret the fact they’d ended, or was it ancient history, long forgotten? Heck, she probably had some hunk of a boyfriend waiting outside to take her for dinner, then the theater. Likely he was jetting her off to the Maldives, or New York next weekend for a wild time.

  Lucky bloke.

  “It was busy,” Clara directed at Gerald. “But just the usual.”

  “Did the old guy, Desmond, with the fractured hip get home?”

  “He’s gone to stay with his daughter, in Hammersmith, to recover, but he should be fine to go back to his flat in a few weeks.”

  “Ah, that’s good. Nice chap, wasn’t he? Fascinating to talk to.”

  “He’s certainly well-traveled.” Clara took another sip of wine.

  “And I see you’re getting on well with our young new vicar.” Gerald nodded at Mark.

  “Yes.” Clara hesitated. “Actually, we’re just catching up. We went to school together.”

  “Well I never.” Reverend Gerald pressed his palms flat, the tips of his fingers brushing his chin. “The good Lord above does work in mysterious ways, doesn’t he?”

  Mark smiled and nodded. He was a little surprised Clara had mentioned their previous acquaintance. He didn’t know why. Perhaps it was because it had been passionate, intimate, and he’d never told anyone about it. But then again, it’s not as if she’d come out and said they’d had a naked roll in the hay. Going to school together meant exactly that, old school friends.

  “Yes, it is,” Clara said, returning her attention to Mark. “Very mysterious.”

  Chapter Four

  Clara

  Clara’s mind was spinning. Mark had been handsome before, but now, all grown up, and standing before her, no longer in a cassock, but black pants, black shirt, and dog collar, he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. The addition of a shadow of evening stubble did nothing to detract from his appeal, nor did the fact his hair was a little long and curled over the collar at his nape.

  When she’d walked into the room, she’d had a sudden rush of heat blast through her system. It tugged at her breasts, between her legs, and she was back there for a moment, pressed up against him in that barn. Returned to a time when he was hers to touch, all over, every last inch of him.

  “I’ll leave you to catch up,” Reverend Gerald said, beaming. “How lovely, Mark, that you have old friends right here in Southwark.”

  “Yes. Indeed.” Mark kept his attention on her.

  His eyes seemed to bore into hers. The depths burned with heat and something else she couldn’t put her finger on. Or maybe it was that she didn’t dare hope she still saw a spark of passion there, a small glimmer of the electric attraction that used to fizzle between them?

  “What a small world,” Reverend Gerald said, stepping away and shaking his head.

  “I … er, brought the album,” Clara said, tapping the side of the bag she had over her shoulder.

  “Oh, yes. Perfect.” He nodded. “Shall we?” He gestured to a low sofa in the corner. The arms were threadbare. It held several soft embroidered cushions, and before it was a low wooden table set with a bunch of flowers.

  A few people stopped Mark to speak to him as they made their way across the room. He was clearly a hit with the females of the group, and Clara noticed that both Jean and Mable had on lipstick tonight, something she’d never seen before. Mark was completely charming with them, though he did have a knack of moving a conversation on so he could move on.

  Clara smiled as he nodded at the sofa. “After you.”

  She set down her wine and settled back, retrieved the album, and flicked it open.

  Mark sat next to her. A little closer than she’d expected, possibly nearer than he’d expected, too, because the old cushions and worn springs tipped his big body to hers.

  He glanced at her as his leg pressed up against her thigh.

  Clara nibbled her bottom lip and covered up the fact they were touching by opening the album across their laps.

  “Sorry,” he said quietly.

  “It’s okay.” Anyone else she’d have shifted away. But not Mark. The heat of his flesh through his trousers and the solidity of his muscles had her heart skipping with delight and a wonderful tingling sensation running over her body.

  She cleared her throat. “This is the fete last year,” she said.

  “Very colorful, looks like the sun came out.”

  “Yes, it was a great day. We raised a lot of money for the church fund.”

  Mark leaned across her, his shoulder brushing hers.

  She held her breath.

  “Is that you?” he asked, pointing to the picture on the opposite page.

  She laughed as a flush of embarrassment caught her unawares. “Yes, silly really. We dressed up as milkmaids and handed out ice cream to the kids.”

  He chuckled, a lovely low
vibrating sound that she wanted to go on and on. “I like it.”

  “It’s not my best look.”

  He glanced at her, his eyes narrowing slightly as he opened his mouth.

  She wondered what he was about to say. Something about her looks? How she was now compared to then when they’d…

  But he closed his mouth again and set his attention back on the album. His shoulders tensed a little.

  Clara pulled in a breath and turned the page. The next set of photographs were taken during a walk they’d enjoyed along the Thames and a park picnic. As Clara explained what they were doing then turned the page, she realized just how much she did with the congregation. Sure, she had friends at work, most of which were her own age and whom she enjoyed spending time with. But here, at St. Agnes church, she really felt at home. Perhaps it was because in the hustle and bustle of life in London it held the intimate care of a family. She knew everyone, and they knew her and she could be herself. She also enjoyed the fact she could help out and had the energy and the commitment to do so.

  As she came to the end of the album, she was a little sad. She’d enjoyed sitting close to Mark, his leg against hers and the scent of his faded aftershave.

  But glancing up, she noticed the majority of parishioners had wandered off. She’d been so engrossed in her conversation she hadn’t even been aware.

  Reverend Gerald was still there, chatting quietly to Derek, who’d recently lost his job and was getting divorced.

  “Wow, I guess it’s getting late.” Mark glanced at his watch. “I didn’t realize. I was having such a nice time.” He leaned forward and finished off the last drip of his wine.

  “Me neither.” Clara watched him drink, the way his lips touched the glass and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “And I have an early shift tomorrow.” She closed the album and stood. The day had been an emotional whirlwind. From the moment she’d seen Mark stepping up to the pulpit, her feelings for him had done nothing but grow and grow. It was as if history was tempting her, willing her to rekindle the love for him which had never died.

  But he’s a man of the cloth.