Page 10 of The Extraordinary Florence Stoker

‘What? A fragment?’

He said it with such horror, I began to laugh. ‘At least that’s something tangible.’

He regarded me seriously. ‘Vision or fragment, you’re very real to me, Miss Balcombe.’

We locked eyes. The room became uncomfortably warm.

‘So, tell me more about this American poet you’ve written to,’ I said, breaking eye contact. I wasn’t sure I was ready for this. Whatever this was.

I listened carefully as Mr Stoker spoke in deferential terms about a man named Walt Whitman and his work.

‘Are you a poet?’ I asked.

‘Me? No. I could not presume to such a skill, though I’ve had some short stories published … and a novella.’

‘But these are wonderful accomplishments,’ I exclaimed.

He lowered his head modestly. ‘Not when your dream is to write novels that attract both readers and admiration.’

‘Like Mr Dickens?’

He hesitated. ‘Can I make an immodest confession, Miss Balcombe?’

‘I’m afraid I left my clerical collar at home today.’

He chuckled. ‘One day, I hope to be held in more esteem than Mr Dickens.’

I stared into those glorious grey eyes, took in his earnest expression, heard the sincerity in his lovely brogue. Boldly, I reached over and covered his hands with mine. ‘If you remain as dedicated to your ambitions as your friend Mr Irving, then you will one day, Mr Stoker. I know it.’

He stared at me for what seemed an eternity. My heart didn’t flutter as it did when Oscar was present, but it did quicken.

‘That means a great deal to me, Miss Balcombe. Your faith in my dreams, clerical collar or no.’

We spoke a little longer before a loud voice interrupted. ‘Over here, Stoker,’ beckoned a fashionably dressed gentleman. ‘We need you to settle a dispute.’

With a regretful sigh, Mr Stoker stood. ‘It’s been a pleasure, Miss Balcombe.’

‘It has,’ I said.

‘You sound surprised,’ said Mr Stoker, eyes twinkling. ‘Were you afraid I might bite?’

A memory of Oscar’s teeth against my neck flashed into my mind. My face burned. ‘Oh no, Mr Stoker. I was afraid you’d bore me.’

Mr Stoker blinked in surprise, then guffawed. ‘Really? Well, I can safely say that no-one has ever accused me of that particular sin before.’

‘There’s always a first time,’ I said.

With a huge grin, he bowed and went to walk away but paused. ‘Excuse me, Miss Balcombe, but may I call on you some time?’

‘You may,’ I said, before I could change my mind.

As he joined another group, I wondered, was Mr Stoker the man to make me forget Oscar?

I was quiet on the way home, aware of Phil regarding me contemplatively. My thoughts spun as silver-grey eyes latched onto mine and didn’t let go. Mr Stoker had surprised me. Here was a man who displayed courtesy, humour and self-possession. He’d shared his interests with me and was curious about mine. It’s been a pleasure, Miss Balcombe.

Reluctant though I was to admit it, the pleasure had been as much mine. I found myself hoping that he wasn’t just being polite and would call.

Soon.