The Second Time I Saw You: The Oxford Blue Series #2 (16 page)

‘Well, I’m delighted to hear you’re going to spend some of the vac, at least, focusing on your work. A missed tutorial may not seem like much but I’m a very busy man and as I’ve said before, there are many students needing my attention. Several have already indicated that they want to stay on and do a DPhil, but obviously a doctorate takes a lot of commitment and dedication. It’s not for everyone.’

‘I understand that.’

He stands up. ‘I’m afraid I have to cut the tutorial slightly short but I think we’ve covered all the important points. If there’s anything you don’t understand or want to discuss before we meet again, email me or call me.’

‘Thanks, I will.’

Relieved to be let out of jail early, I gather up my papers and put them in my laptop bag. Rafe collects my coat from the rack by his door but instead of handing it to me, he keeps hold of it.

‘Oh, there’s one more thing. I may not have mentioned it but I’ve organized a special screening of
Il Conformista
at the Art House cinema next Sunday morning. I know it’s an odd time but the cinema is doing us a special favour. I presume you can make it?’

Oh fuck. ‘
Us
?
You mean me and you?’

He laughs. ‘That would have been very stimulating for both of us, I’m sure, but alas, no. To make it worthwhile, I had to promise to gather at least a dozen people. I did post a notice in the faculty and email you. Have you not received it?’

I might have received anything, I’ve been so caught up in the Valentine’s Day Film Massacre. For a second, I wonder if Rafe is hinting he did actually send it, then I decide I’m being ridiculous. How would he get it? Even if he had a copy, he knows Alexander – and the college authorities – would go nuts if they found out.

‘Um, no, it must have been lost in cyberspace and I hadn’t seen the notice in the faculty.’

‘I noticed your name wasn’t with the others, but if you’re not too busy, I think you’d find the film of great interest. I’ll see you there, shall I?’

So, there are others, and I can’t really refuse and
I ought to show I am committed to my course. ‘Sure. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

‘Good.’ He hands me my coat. ‘You know, Lauren; I meant what I said about making your life a work of art. Please, don’t ruin it or waste it. You arrived here with such promise and
joie de vivre
. It would be a shame to throw that away.’

‘I’ve no intention of wasting a moment,’ I say, stung by the malicious edge to his ‘advice’.

‘No, but be wary. You may want to move on but some people will always try to hold you back. The world never changes for some people; they cling on to tradition and will do anything to maintain the status quo.’

The bastard, he must be referring to Alexander. Who else could he mean?

Steaming inside, I smile sweetly on my way out. ‘
Ciao
, Professor Rafe.’

I’m supposed to be meeting Immy after my tute but I need a few moments to calm down after this encounter. Rafe has every right to remind me that my focus should be on my work, not my love life, but his mean, manipulative way of doing it is way beyond acceptable. I walk through the cloisters on my way to the JCR, deliberately slowing my pace and my breathing and trying to calm myself. Years ago, these cloisters would have been used for quiet contemplation and study. Maybe some of that vibe will rub off on me.

My heeled boots ring out on the flagstones, which are hollowed with age. It was here that I first met Alexander and I think I knew even then that he was trouble with a capital T. Didn’t stop him blowing my mind, however, with his body and face and his arrogance.

The kitchen staff have started to set up for lunch and the metallic ring of trays and glasses being transported from the kitchens to the Great Hall, next to us, shatters the peace. Before I reach the end of the cloister, my phone pings to tell me I have a text.

Hi. Are you coming to the

USSoc party on Friday?

Hope so, I’m celebrating.

Judging by the row of smiley faces at the end of Scott’s text, I have an idea what he may be hinting at. I text back:

Wow. Yes. Sounds good.

He replies:

Will Alex be with you?

Does that bother you?

As my text flies off into the ether, I try to picture the look on Scott’s face. I’ve reached the quad before I get a response.

You know me.

I love a
ménage à trois
.

Now I know he knows I was joking but I think I had him hooked on my line for a moment.

You’ll have to make do with me and Immy. X

I slip my phone back in my bag. Alexander would rather wear a pink tutu than share a Fuzzy Navel and a mini-burger with Scott, I’m sure, but I’m really looking forward to it.

Immy is waiting for me outside the JCR and my face must tell a story.

‘Hey, you look like you want to commit a murder. What’s up?’

‘Rafe is such an asshole!’

‘What’s he done now? If he’s touched you, you have to report him, Lauren.’

‘He hasn’t touched me; in fact he hasn’t even used an innuendo. He’s just such a small, mean man under the “big, cool professor” facade. He’s been hinting that I haven’t been pulling my weight and that if I miss any more tutes, he might report me.’

‘He’s a complete shit.’

‘Yes, but the worst thing is, he’s right. I have missed tutes and I haven’t “kept term”, as he calls it, which could get me into trouble. The problem is I can’t decide if he’s threatening me because he’s jealous of Alexander, is trying to blackmail me into sleeping with him or really is concerned for me.’

We walk up the spiral staircase to the upstairs common room. ‘Probably all three. Did he give any hints that he might have sent the clip?’

‘No, I don’t think he has a clue he was hacked. If he
had, I’m sure he wouldn’t have been able to resist tormenting me by now. Have Skandar’s friends any ideas?’

‘I’ve asked but everyone’s either ignoring me or been too busy with work. I can’t believe it’s Fifth Week already. Time’s running out.’ She nibbles her lip.

Tell me about it, I think, realizing how fast the past term has flown by. ‘Immy, I’m sorry, I’ve been so wrapped up in my own dramas that I haven’t asked how your work is going …’

‘It’s all right, I suppose. My tutor says that if I work really hard and if the right questions come up on the day, I should get a 2:ii. Whatever, I’ve got to keep my head down for the rest of term.’

‘So you can’t come out at all?’

‘No.’

‘Not even to the USSoc party? I’m sorry, I got a reminder about it the morning I got the sex tape but I’d forgotten all about it. It’s this Friday night.’

‘I might, possibly, be able to sneak out in between essays. If you really, really insist.’

‘I demand your attendance.’

‘OK. What are you wearing?’

‘Stetson, leather chaps and spurs.’

She laughs a second too late.

What I’m actually wearing are Calvin Klein jeans, a silk shell top and spike-heeled Kate Spade boots. Immy’s in a mini, her new Ghost top and ankle boots. She looks knock-out so I sure hope that Scott makes good on his promise to turn up. I’m not sure what Skandar would make of her being in pursuit of Scott, but that’s none of my business.

I told Alexander I was going and he told me to ‘enjoy myself’ and that he was going to stay in to work. I couldn’t work out whether he was being ironic or not but he’s been treading very carefully since the video. The party is being held in the Hall of St Vesey’s College, tucked away off the High, one of the oldest colleges in Oxford. When we walk into the medieval hall, Immy bursts out laughing.

‘Oh my God. It’s fiesta time …’

Indeed it is. The hall is smothered in papel picado, snaking through some of the lower beams and festooned around the lamps on the long tables. High Table is now a tequila bar, and college staff dressed in Mexican costume mill about serving cocktails and hors d’oeuvres. Quite a few of the guests are rocking Tex
Mex outfits so my Stetson comment wasn’t that far from the truth.

Immy giggles. ‘When does the mariachi band get here?’

‘Behave, Imogen, this set-up must have taken our hostess most of the term to plan.’

Our hostess herself, Maisey Amster, descends on us before we make it six feet into the Hall and while Immy is still feasting on the fiesta-themed decor. ‘Maisey makes Martha Stewart look like a slattern …’ I whisper to Immy.

‘Lauren, hi there!’

‘Hi, Maisey.’

She’s rocking a full Spanish señorita costume. ‘You did know it was a costume party?’

‘Sorry, I forgot.’

‘And I thought you were bringing Lord Falconbury along,’ she says accusingly.

‘Really? No, he’s working. He’s been very busy.’

‘Oh, yes, I heard that his father has passed but I guess it’s cool being marquess.’

‘I don’t think he quite sees it like that …’

‘Will he be taking up his seat in the Lords?’

I dare not even glance at Immy. ‘Like I say, he’s working so I brought a friend along – the invitation did say plus guest. This is Imogen Hawthorne; she’s doing Geography at Wyckham. Immy, meet Maisey Amster, president of the USSoc.’

Maisey manages a smile but I can tell we’re both poor substitutes for Alexander. Especially, maybe, an Alexander in a sombrero … ‘Good to meet you, Immy. Now, Lauren, have you seen Scott around?’

‘So he’s
definitely
coming?’ Immy is all innocence.

Maisey looks astonished. ‘Of course he is. Why would he miss it? Why don’t you help yourselves to a Sundowner? Or there’s some Shiner Bock; I had to get it shipped specially. Must go, I have to make sure the PA is working.’ With a flick of her fan, she flounces off.

‘What the hell is Shiner Bock?’ whispers Immy.

‘A type of beer, I think.’

We check out the guests and Immy is nibbling on a canapé when I hear a ‘Guess who?’ behind me and turn to find Scott.

‘Hi, guys.’

He kisses me – on the cheek this time – and says, ‘Howdy, Imogen,’ while she’s otherwise occupied with a mouthful of taco. He’s ditched the Blues tracksuit for jeans, a checked shirt and steel-tipped Western boots, which I suspect are an ironic touch but work well with his six-and-a-half-foot frame. I guess he’d probably look good in a trash-can liner.

Immy’s eyes are popping. Poor Skandar …

‘Go on, then, tell me your news, though I think I can tell by the entirely justifiable smug grin on your face,’ I say.

‘If you’ve heard already, why should I share it?’

‘Because you want to tell me and I would love to hear you say it.’

‘You are looking at one of the Blues squad rowers.’

I hug him. ‘That’s awesome! I knew you’d do it, but congratulations.’

‘It’s incredible. I mean, perfectly credible because you’re very fit, obviously, but still it’s awesome.’ As Immy finally gets a word in, Scott’s grin gets even wider until I worry his face might break apart.

‘It’s pretty neat. Is there a non-alcoholic option?’ He takes a glass of Virgin Tequila Sunrise from the table and chinks it against our Sundowners.

‘It must have been incredibly tough to get into the final sixteen,’ Immy says, her eyes seemingly fascinated by his guns. ‘Was the training as awful as they say?’

‘Oh, it was nothing,’ he says airily, then laughs. ‘In truth, it was hell and I’m pretty pleased with myself for having survived this far, so you’ll have to put up with the smugness.’

Immy giggles. ‘I think we can live with it. Would you mind if I felt your bicep? I’ve always wanted to touch one and see if they’re as hard as they look.’

I literally have to bite my lip at this, and after a moment of confusion, Scott laughs. ‘Sure you can, but I think you’ll be disappointed.’

‘I doubt it.’ With her free hand, Immy reaches out and squeezes Scott’s bicep through his shirt as if she’s testing a mango for ripeness. ‘Yes, that definitely lives up to expectations.’

‘I’m happy to be of service.’

Immy slurps her cocktail, then says, ‘Really?’

‘So does this mean you’ve a good chance of being in the First Eight?’

‘Possibly. I’ll either be in the Blues boat or the reserve boat, which I suppose I should be happy with. Some of the guys didn’t make the cut and I’d hate to be in their shoes after all this training. Now at least I know I’ll get to row on the tideway; whether it’s in the Blues boat or
Isis
, we’ll have to wait and see. I don’t think I can work any harder than I am and the final eight is down to the selectors. However, while I have breath in my body, I’m going to work like fuck to get there.’

‘I’m sure you’ll do it,’ says Immy.

‘You’ll make it,’ I say, planting a kiss on his cheek, which may be a mistake but it’s what I feel like doing and after recent events, I’m not going to let anything or anyone stop me from doing what I feel is right. ‘You deserve it.’

His eyes shine with pride, lighting up his handsome face, tanned by all the hours spent on the river. His features are chiselled in the way of the super fit. Alexander has the same honed look, but definitely in the English style, leaner and not so square of jaw. Alexander has an austere handsomeness and an animal sexuality that makes him feel unpredictable and dangerous to be around. Scott makes me feel so relaxed and at ease, like I shouldn’t have a care in the world.

‘Uh-oh. Maisey has spotted you.’

‘Oh fuck.’

She homes in on us like a heat-seeking missile and grabs his arm. ‘Scott, you should have told me you were here! It’s so amazing you turned up. We are all so proud of your achievements. Come here, I’ve got some people I want you to meet. Do you know …’

I don’t hear the names of the lucky and important people who get to meet Scott because Maisey has whisked him off.

A few minutes later, Scott is, literally, being dragged out to the front of the Hall by Maisey, a feat I would have thought impossible. She calls for silence down the PA and regales the guests with tales of his exploits. He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks incredibly embarrassed when we all have to give him three Brit-style cheers before he’s toasted in tequila. Her request for a speech, however, is met with brief yet good-humoured thanks before he escapes. I think he’s trying to get to us but he’s being clapped on the back and smothered with congratulations.

‘Imogen? What are you doing here?’

‘Oh, hello, Anna!’

Immy’s attention is claimed by a girl who I think is one of the Blues women’s tennis squad members, who sweeps her off to the other side of the room, just as Scott finally looks like making it back to our side. I can guess she doesn’t want to be drawn away from Scott but she has no choice.

‘Will you be coming to watch the race in London?’ Scott asks when he finally reaches me again.

‘I’ve no plans yet but as you’re going to be one of the stars, I’ll make sure I do.’

‘You’d better not let Alex hear you say that.’

I laugh off the comment. ‘If you’re trying to provoke me, it won’t work. I meant what I said, about not letting anything stop me from seeing my friends.’

Maybe I see something change in his expression at the ‘friend’ word but the smile is quickly back. ‘You’re right, I was trying to stir things. You seem a little edgy, however.’

Of course I’m edgy. The sex clip is never that far from my mind, but I know what would happen if I mentioned it to Scott. He would only use it to reinforce my doubts about Alexander, and I wouldn’t blame him.

A waiter arrives with a plate piled high with appetizers and hors d’oeuvres. ‘The hostess sent these over.’

‘Great.’

‘Mini taco? Pulled-pork slider?’ My mouth waters but I’m trying to avoid the many temptations on offer in Oxford. I’ve had to start jogging again to keep my figure, and added an extra dance class to my schedule. Nonetheless, Scott’s not about to help me resist temptation of any kind and he offers up the plate to me.

‘No, I’ll pass.’

‘What about a stuffed jalapeño?’

‘Really, I shouldn’t.’

‘ “Really, I shouldn’t.” ’ He mocks me in a high-pitched ‘girly’ voice. ‘You’re picking up the accent, Lauren.’

‘I am
not
!’

He slips the jalapeño into my open mouth before I can stop it. Wow, that is hot. My mouth tingles like crazy and not in a good way. Scott watches, obviously relishing every moment. After I’ve swallowed the jalapeño, hoping my mascara isn’t running, he thrusts a taco in front of my nose.

‘No more. Mercy!’

The taco waggles. ‘Go on, you know you want to.’

‘I do want to but I daren’t,’ I laugh.

‘And that is the story of my life.’ His expression changes from teasing to serious. ‘Listen, my friend, in just a few months we’ll both be back in the US. How are things with Alexander?’

‘I’m taking each day as it comes,’ I say quietly.

‘Really? I would have thought that Alexander might have longer-term plans.’

‘He’s in the army; he can’t afford to have long-term plans, especially since his father died.’

‘Yeah, I can believe that, and I’m sorry. But what about
your
long-term plans, Lauren?’

Whew. He is
not
going to let me off the hook and it’s not something I can really face thinking about right now. ‘I have plenty,’ I lie airily, ‘but none I want to discuss now. I just want to get through this term. You would not believe how much I have to do before the vac and I get my exam-essay topics at the end of term.’

‘I know – still, the year will be over before we know it. I hope we’ll stay friends once we’re back in the US,’ he says brightly.

I make my reply super casual. ‘I don’t know if I’ll definitely be going straight back yet. I had thought of working with an art auctioneers in New York but now I think I might get a job as a curator with a museum or gallery in Europe instead. Maybe even in London.’

‘So you won’t stay on at Oxford to do a DPhil?’

I laugh. ‘My tutor seems to want me to, but I’m not sure that’s because he’s interested in my intellectual skills.’

Scott pulls a face. ‘And does Alex figure in any of these scenarios?’

I bat this one right back to him: ‘I don’t know that either.’

He gives a low whistle. ‘Does he know
that
?’

‘I refer you to my previous answer. Can we change the subject, please?’

‘Sure. Sorry, didn’t mean to put you on the spot. You are OK, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, I am OK. I’m fine. More than fine.’

‘OK. So I take it things are going well with Alexander?’ He carries on probing me.

My toes curl in embarrassment. I don’t want to answer this question, even to myself, in case I decide that the answer is ‘yes’.

‘I plead the Fifth.’

‘You’ve a right to but it’s a legit question because,
let’s face it, Lauren, you could have your pick of any guy in Oxford. Any guy in England or the States. You’re smart and sexy. Your parents are practically US royalty and you blush
so
cutely.’

I blush some more at this and try to laugh off his teasing. ‘I could name you plenty of guys who don’t agree,’ I say, thinking of Rupert, Henry Favell and a couple of guys from last term who hit on me and Immy in the pub and got punched by Alexander – not to mention a few of his relations. Since I met him, I’ve definitely made some enemies.

‘Show me who they are and I’ll show them the error of their ways.’ Scott is only half serious and I relax, realizing I’m probably reading too much into what he’s saying. We go back to our usual easy chat when suddenly I feel a hand rest on my back, and smell the crisp scent of Creed.

I turn to him and his hand caresses my lower back. ‘Alexander? How did you get here?’

‘I walked. So we meet again, Scott. Someone told me you made the Boat Race crew. May I offer my congratulations?’ Alexander thrusts out his free hand while keeping the other firmly at my waist. ‘I’m seriously impressed.’

I’m so surprised to see Alexander, and that he knows Scott’s news and that he’s shaking hands with him and sounding genuinely impressed, that I am speechless.

‘Thanks, Alex.’

I wait for the bone-mashing contest to start but the
handshake is brief this time and seems almost normal. I still wouldn’t want to be part of it. They drop hands and I suspect the truce is over.