The Last Summer by Judith Kinghorn Read Free Book Online Page A

rendezvous. And later, when I approached the boathouse and couldn’t see him, my heart sank. But he was there, beyond the trees, sitting at the end of the jetty. He stood up as I walked towards him. ‘Shall we take a stroll?’ he asked. ‘It’s much too hot here in the sun.’
    We walked slowly across the meadow, cutting a swathe through knee-high grass filled with buttercups, cornflowers, daisies and cow parsley, and continued on – into the next field. At the far side of that field we came to the stile, beyond which lay two paths, one to the farm, the other back down to the lake. From the top of the stile I could see the farmhouse, a perfectly straight silver line rising up into the blue from the chimney on its red tiled roof.
    ‘Are you going to stay up there for long?’ he asked, squinting up at me.
    ‘If I jump will you catch me?’
    He moved nearer to me. ‘Of course, but I wouldn’t advise it.’
    I stayed exactly where I was, my hand to my brow as I surveyed and considered the options. I suggested to him that we follow the path down by the lake rather than take the path to the farm. I remembered a seat there, which Papa had often taken me to when I was younger. As I spoke, I felt something touch my ankle, and I stopped, looked down, and saw him pull away his hand. Then, as he helped me down from the stile, he turned away, as though he couldn’t bear to look at me any more. I began to walk but he didn’t move.
    ‘Is something the matter?’
    ‘Let’s not take that path,’ he said. ‘I really should be getting back.’
    ‘I see. Well then, you go back and I shall continue alone.’
    ‘No. You can’t possibly walk so far from the house on your own. We need to go back, Clarissa.’
    I didn’t say anything. He helped me back over the stile, looking away as I lifted my skirt, and we walked back through the fields in silence. As we neared the house, he said to me, ‘You’re so innocent, Clarissa. Innocent and beautiful, and you know, it’s really not a very safe combination.’
    ‘Oh. And what do you mean by that?’
    ‘I mean you really shouldn’t be suggesting we disappear off into the undergrowth on our own.’
    I stopped. ‘Ha! I did no such thing. I merely said we should take the path I know, the one I’ve taken with Papa.’
    He stopped, closed his eyes for a moment, as though I’d already exasperated him. And right then I felt a little bit furious.
    ‘It’s perfectly all right, Tom, I can see my way from here,’ I said, and marched on as fast as I could walk through the long grass.
    ‘Clarissa . . . please, I’m telling you this for your own good,’he said, catching up with me, and sounding quite cross himself. ‘You need to understand . . . you need to appreciate that . . .’
    I stopped again. ‘That
what
, Tom? That you’re afraid you might one day lose control? Chance would be a fine thing!’
    He stared at me, his jaw set, chewing his tongue.
    ‘And I need to tell you,’ I continued, pulling off my hat, ‘that I shan’t be able to meet you again. Ever.’
    ‘Well, that’s probably a good thing too. We have nothing in common and it seems to me that all these walks you’re so fond of are a completely pointless and time-consuming exercise.’
    ‘Good. Then we have nothing more to say to each other.’
    ‘It seems not.’
    ‘Goodbye then.’
    ‘Goodbye.’
    There was an awkward moment as I strode on up the hill, for I realised he, too, had to walk in that direction, but he hung back and let me walk on alone. When I reached the house I ran through the hallway, up the stairs and into my room. And as I slammed the door of my bedroom, a painted plate my godmother had given me fell from the wall and split in two.
    For the next week or so I simmered quietly in a daydream, imagining Tom Cuthbert begging for my forgiveness, his declaration of undying love, and then . . . his kiss. I’d seen him about the place but had managed to avoid him, and once, when Mama invited him to