The Adventures of Clarissa Hardy

by Chloe Gillis

  Adam drew back, looking down at her and smiling. Wrapping his arms around her, he folded her into his chest. Clarissa could hear his heart beating like a song in her ear. At last he released her.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for showing up in my life again.”

  “You are very welcome, sir,” she answered with a little laugh. “Thank you as well! Now, I must be going in. It is growing late.”

  Adam smiled and touched her cheek. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Good night,” he said. “I look forward to tomorrow!”

  Clarissa smiled and slipped inside without another word. Her heart was beating through her breast.

  The days swirled by. News traveled fast in the social circles, both in and outside of London. Adam MacLaren was squiring the American social columnist Miss Clarissa Hardy to every event and then some. True, they seemed always to be in company of others, Lord and Lady Tallman, Chauncey Chelmsford, or one or another MP, so perhaps it was just convenience, the papers speculated. Yet they found it fascinating enough to fill their society pages with news of the liaison.

  Clarissa obviously could not write about herself, so she sat wrapped in her silk peignoir one Sunday morning, surrounded by the Times, the Daily, and the Herald. Mrs. Dutton had served her breakfast in bed. Outside, the dreary, wind driven rains of late November pelted against the windows, but Clarissa felt particularly safe and warm. She snuggled down deeper into her pillows.

  The columns were mostly very complimentary. Clarissa was called “fresh,” “American beautiful,” “stylishly sporty during the daytime and smoothly chic for evening,” and perhaps best of all, “a compliment to the tall and handsome visage of the older editor-in-chief.” She liked that.

  She liked everything she did with Adam. They were together almost every evening. Sometimes there was a function to attend, sometimes dinner with Chauncey and Bruce, or the Tallmans, or Hugo and Kitty, when Hugo could come to London, and sometimes—the best times—just an intimate supper for the two of them.

  She had written as much to Annabelle, who was settling into married life in the countryside, and had issued a kind, and Clarissa thought, perhaps a bit desperate, invitation for Clarissa and Adam to join them for the holidays. Please come, she had written Clarissa. I love my home, but sometimes, especially at the holidays, it can get a trifle boring.

  Clarissa giggled to herself upon reading that statement. William was rather dull, after all. She did hope her lesson to him had had the desired effect. At the memory of that jolly night, Clarissa smiled to herself. Andrew had been great fun, but nothing about him had ever induced Clarissa to feel more than friendship, however genuine. No, she was in love with Adam MacLaren. She sighed, and put down her newspaper.

  How odd, she thought. They had been seeing each other for six weeks, constantly in each other’s company, and yet they had not slept together. How odd she should have bullied Eddie into it after just a few weeks, jumped aggressively into an affair with Roger in one afternoon, and allowed Eleanora to lead her down a different path altogether, after only being acquainted for four days. How odd she should have been so randy that she first opened her legs to Andrew and then proceeded to take on Andrew and William together. How odd that she should be so adventurous as to throw herself wholeheartedly into a Greek orgy with people she hardly knew and yet she was shy as a virgin with the one man she wanted above all the rest, the man who had her heart.

  Clarissa wanted desperately to sleep with him. Every time he kissed her, she felt herself begin to melt. They held hands and she could feel the electricity, the desire, between them, but true love was not to be trifled with. Clarissa was happy to wait for this man. Anything that happened between them was sacred to her and so she was patient, even as he had slipped his fingers down her throat to the cleft between her breasts last night in the car as he kissed her. At that, she had become nearly sick with unrequited desire.

  Still, she had no reliable word from Adam that he felt in any way more attached to her than to any pretty young woman who was socially adept and would allow him a kiss at the end of the evening. As much as she as desired him, she must at least wait for him to tell her he loved her. And Clarissa felt that this must happen soon. Even buoyed by true love as she was, her patience would not last forever.

  Clarissa was snapped out of her daydream by a tap at her boudoir door.

  “Yes,” called out Clarissa.

  “It’s Chauncey and me,” said Bruce. “May we come in?”

  “Of course,” answered Clarissa, smoothing her hair and gathering the bedclothes around her.

  Her friends entered. Chauncey took the slipper chair, and Bruce ensconced himself on the bed at her feet.

  “I see you are enjoying your Sunday morning,” said Chauncey.

  “I am, indeed. What brings you here so early?”

  The door opened again, and Mrs. Dutton entered with a silver tray laden with coffee and scones for the three of them. She set it down on the table near Chauncey. “Shall I pour?” she asked.

  “No, no, that’s quite all right, Mrs. Dutton. I shall do the honors myself,” answered Chauncey.

  “Very well.” Mrs. Dutton left the room.

  Chauncey handed Clarissa a cup of coffee and then poured one for Bruce.

  “Chauncey and I are going away for the holidays!” blurted out Bruce after his first sip.

  “What!” exclaimed Clarissa. “I say! Are you really, Chaunce?”

  “Yes, we are. We are going to Italy and then to knock about the Mediterranean for a few weeks.”

  “I am sick to pieces of the bank,” explained Bruce. “We haven’t been anywhere for so long!”

  “What do your families say?”

  Chauncey sighed. “They are not keen, but I told them I was doing a piece on the exotic culture of the islands and Bruce was coming along as a sort of scribe. They will adjust.”

  “Well, I certainly shan’t,” pouted Clarissa. “You are my best friends! I shall miss you dreadfully!”

  “Pooh-pooh, I say to that,” scoffed Chauncey. “You have been rather busy yourself and seem to have a new friend, if I am not mistaken. Why, I have to read about you in the papers! Besides, you should have girlfriends to chum about with. You will just get bored rubbing elbows on a daily basis with a pair of old puffs like Bruce and me.”

  “Speak for yourself, man,” snorted Bruce.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I shall miss you no matter what!” persisted Clarissa.

  “And Adam,” said Bruce, serious for once, “is he treating you well? Are you happy, my chook?”

  “I am deliriously happy,” said Clarissa, hugging her knees. Clarissa looked from one to the other. They both wore serious faces. “Is there something wrong?”

  Chauncey spoke first. “We just want to make sure you are in good circumstances before we leave.”

  “Well, I am, I assure you.”

  Bruce picked at the coverlet. “I ask you this because we love you,” he said. “Has there been a…an…well…”

  “Has there been a consummation, as it were, of your relationship?” Chauncey finished for him.

  Clarissa was taken aback. “If you mean have we slept together yet, the answer is no. My dears, I love this man, and I am willing to wait until he declares himself to me. I feel certain he will!”

  Both Chauncey and Bruce seemed to be relieved. Clarissa was feeling a bit peevish. They did get so fussy at times!

  “Dear, your business is your own, of course,” said Chauncey. “Bruce and I adore you, and I suppose we want to impart a bit of our wisdom to you before we leave.”

  “Sometimes you are overdramatic,” said Clarissa. Instantly, she was regretted her remark and apologized. “I am so very sorry. It was an unfortunate remark. I have been harebrained lately!”

  Chauncey was patient. “And that is why we wish to have this little chat.” He put his fingertips together. “You must remember that Adam MacLaren is a man of the world. He is
probably close to ten years older than you are.”

  “Chauncey, you know I am experienced for my age!”

  “Technically, perhaps. Emotionally, no.”

  “What do you mean?”

  It was Bruce’s turn to answer, with the clarity of thought that, though hidden most of the time, was one of the primary reasons Chauncey had come to love him. “We mean, dearest, that you ought to protect your heart. Now, we are not saying in any way that MacLaren means to seduce or compromise you. We are just saying that the man has been knocking about single, handsome, and full of testosterone for most of his adult life. Things may come up.”

  “What sort of things?” asked Clarissa, her eyes narrowing.

  “I wouldn’t have the faintest idea,” said Bruce. “We are just telling you to take it slowly. The man is Scottish, you know, even though he was born in America. Sometimes the Scots can be, well, rather harsh. I do not want your feelings hurt or your enthusiasm dampened!”

  Clarissa jumped to her knees and crawled down the bed. She threw her arms around Bruce’s neck and kissed him on the cheek. “You two are the best friends a girl could have!”

  “I will say what I’ve said in the past,” said Chauncey. “The man is a straight shooter. He’s honest. We’re just cautious, darling. We want the best for you! Things can come up when a man has been single and in the crosshairs for as long as Adam has.”

  “And by ‘things,’ you mean other women?” said Clarissa cheekily.

  “That’s exactly what we mean,” replied Chauncey. “The man has not been without female company, I’m sure.”

  Clarissa was young and, for the first time, truly in love. It made her cocky.

  Clarissa crossed the room and bestowed the same caress on Chauncey. He looked up at her and smiled. Clarissa thought his pale blue eyes were a trifle sad.

  “Don’t worry about me. Go off on your holiday! Have a wonderful time! I shall be thinking of you on your sunlit isles while I am shivering before the fire! And write to me, please!”

  Clarissa saw them off that Saturday. They stood on the deck, Chauncey in white linen, and Bruce in fawn colored cotton, madly waving their fedoras. Clarissa was gripped with a sudden loneliness, as though she was facing the world without her protective flank men.

  That evening, over drinks at their favorite little pub where they had had their first tryst, Clarissa confided to Adam. “I was very sorry to see them go,” she said. “You know they are my closest friends here in London!”

  Adam peered at her over the rim of his glass of Scotch. “And sometimes, I am jealous of that. In fact, I am jealous of anybody who takes you away from me.”

  “Why, Adam! Whatever do you mean? Jealous of Chauncey and Bruce? That’s silly!”

  “Is it? They have your ear. Do I have your ear? You discuss everything with them. Do you even care what I may think about anything? It is hard to gauge your emotions, Clarissa. Especially those emotions directed toward me. You are always blithe and charming to me, but you are always blithe and charming. It seems you enjoy our times together, but who is to say? I may simply be an entertainment.” He stopped and gave a rather shuddering sigh. “I speak from my heart, Clarissa. Don’t invalidate me.”

  His remark hit home. Clarissa felt awful. “Oh, dear! Oh, Adam, I did not intend to trifle with you. Truly, I didn’t. Anyway, I do not kiss Chauncey or Bruce!”

  He smiled at that, but said, more seriously, “Who do you kiss, Clarissa? Do you kiss Andrew, or would you, if he were here? I am quite a lot older than yourself. Do you wish you were escorted about by a younger sort, like Hugh squires Kitty? How can you not understand how I feel about you? I wake up each morning thinking about you. I go to bed each evening thinking about you. Have you stopped to think about why I haven’t given you an assignment outside the society section?”

  Clarissa shook her head silently, letting him talk without interruption.

  “It is not because I don’t think you wouldn’t make a marvelous success of it. No, I am sure with your pluck, you would have the Communists eating out of your hand. No, it is because I have no desire to lie in my bed at night, while you are cavorting about the Continent, or the Balkans, or mushing through the icy wastes of Siberia. It would worry me sick on two fronts. I would be in constant fear of your physical safety. And, more acutely, I would be in constant fear that you would be swept off your feet by some king or prince, and forget all about lowly newspaper editors.”

  His voice has risen slightly. Clarissa recognized the gravity of the situation. She set her drink down and tucked her hands into her lap to hide the fact that they were shaking. She said, as calmly and quietly as she could manage, “Adam, what are you saying?”

  Adam cleared his throat and leaned forward across the small table. He reached out and traced the line of her cheek where her hair swung jauntily forward. “I am saying, Clarissa Hardy, that I love you. I am saying that you have captured me, heart and soul, and that I have no wish to escape. I am saying that I sit here in fear that you might not feel the same about me, and what shall I do if you don’t? Do you feel the same, Clarissa? Even in part?” His large blue eyes smoldered darkly.

  Clarissa’s heart soared. She threw back her head and laughed with true happiness. “Adam! This is the most wonderful declaration. I have yearned to hear you say this! I have yearned for it! Oh, Adam, I do love you, too! I have been living in a quandary, wondering where your true emotions lay, wondering whether I had a place in your heart! I have been keeping my own emotions under wraps, quelling them, so as not to have my heart broken!” She clasped her hands together, but Adam took them and pulled her forward until their lips met across the table.

  Then, keeping hold of her hands, he sat back and heaved another sigh. “Well, I am safe, then,” he said. “My heart’s desire desires me as well. Clarissa, I want to take you to my aunt’s home in Edinburgh for the holidays. It will be from Christmas through the New Year. My mother and father will be there. You must meet them. You must meet my family. What do you say?”

  With all the hope and happiness in her heart, Clarissa said, “Why not!”

  Clarissa began to plan in earnest as Christmas grew closer. Adam told her that the weather in Scotland could be quite brutal. She bought new clothes in preparation against the cold and packed them carefully in her traveling trunk. They would be taking the train, an overnight from London. They would be met at the station by Aunt Caroline’s butler. As the day approached, Clarissa grew more and more excited. She did so want to make a good impression.

  The week before they were to embark was frantic. Adam had meetings with his editors, as well as a quick trip to France to meet with a sister newspaper there. Clarissa had to turn out several columns which would then be published daily during her absence. They would not see much of each other until they stepped aboard the train.

  Clarissa came back to the paper one evening to finish a column and found a note on her desk from Adam. It read:

  Darling, sorry about the short notice, but will be crossing the Channel and making for Paris for meeting with the Herald. I will miss you dreadfully! Can’t wait until we are alone on the train and I can take you in my arms. Adam.

  Clarissa’s heart leaped. She smiled and tucked the note into her purse. She sat down at her typewriter and clicked and clacked merrily.

  The next morning, she was the first person in the newsroom. Or, at least, that was what she thought. There were lights on in Adam’s office. My, she thought, that was a quick trip! He must have decided not to go. Eagerly, she crossed the newsroom and opened the door.

  There was a woman sitting at Adam’s desk. A woman Clarissa had never seen. She looked up when Clarissa entered the room.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  Clarissa said, “Where is Adam?”

  “Mr. MacLaren is away on business. He will not be returning soon.”

  “Who are you?” asked Clarissa.

  “I beg your pardon!” said the woman harshly. She stood up. She was tall
and thin, with dark, shoulder length curled hair held back from her angular face with combs. She wore a severely tailored wool suit, cut beautifully, obviously expensive. She was older than Clarissa and had she smiled, she might have been attractive.

  Clarissa was not to be cowed. “I asked who you were. What are you doing in Adam’s office? I shall call the watchman.”

  The woman smiled with one side of her mouth. “Perhaps you have heard of me. I am Amelia Southerton. I am a personal friend of Mr. MacLaren. I needn’t say more to you, except that you may leave at once.”

  Amelia Southerton! Clarissa had heard of her! She was a famous independent foreign correspondent, connected to the highest sources, and sought after by all the established news agencies.

  “I am also a close friend of Adam’s. Closer than yourself, I am sure. I work here at the Tribune writing the social column,” said Clarissa, holding her own.

  Amelia Southerton laughed harshly. “Ah. I see! I understand now. You must be Clarissa Hardy.” She walked around the desk and sized Clarissa up with glaring eyes. “So you are Adam’s little entertainment! My, my. Well, I will give you this. You are quite as attractive as he says, but I am back now, and for quite some time, so I do not think you will be seeing him in any other context other than as your boss.”

  The breath left Clarissa’s body. The room swirled around her. She thought she would faint and made a valiant effort to regain her composure.

  “You stand there as if nobody told you of the relationship between Adam and myself. I am sorry to be the one to inform you. I thought he had done it. Men! Well, you never know with them, do you?” She laughed again and the sound sliced through Clarissa’s heart like broken glass. “Yes,” she continued, “we have been an item for a long time now. Of course, we are apart a good deal of the time, so we have rather of an understanding, but I am thinking we will not be apart much longer now.” She approached Clarissa.