The First Time We Met: The Oxford Blue Series #1 (16 page)

Alexander is concentrating hard on steering, which gives me the opportunity to drink him in. I don’t think I’ll ever grow tired of that fluttering in my stomach when I see him. Now and again he smiles at me or points out something along the bank or in the water, but largely he’s quiet, either absorbed by the task in hand or perhaps lost in his own thoughts.

He pulls the pole from the river, water dripping from his fingers. Along the bank, the willow trees are bare now, their branches like spiky fingers trailing in the eddies. The river, I’m told, is like a motorway in the summer, but not today. Only a few hardy or crazy-in-love souls like us were prepared to break the ice skins in the bottom of the punts.

After a couple of failed attempts to push him about his family, I haven’t tried for a couple of weeks. Emma
is still at school; in the end, Alexander didn’t have to rush off and see her. She said she would stay, but she’s still dead set on applying to Saint Martins and I back her to the hilt in that. Alexander says he doesn’t mind what she does as long as she’s happy. I know we haven’t known each other long, but I also suspect I’m being kept away from her.

‘We’re here. Can you give me a hand?’ He steers the punt towards the mooring stage on the bank below the pub. I scramble up from the bottom of the boat and it wobbles alarmingly as we near the muddy bank.

Alexander jumps on to the landing stage, forcing me to grab the sides as the boat rocks.

‘Watch your hands!’

His warning’s a second too late and a squeal escapes me as the punt scrapes the wall, trapping my fingers, briefly, between concrete and punt. It’s hardly life-threatening, but the pain makes me feel nauseous for a few seconds. Tears spring into my eyes and now I’m beyond embarrassed. He pulls me out of the punt by my other arm.

‘Let me see your hand.’

‘It’s nothing. It’s OK.’

‘You’re crying.’

‘No, I am
not
.’

Carefully, he peels my suede gloves from my throbbing fingers while I grit my teeth, trying hard not to wince. ‘They’re not broken, but you’ll be bruised.’

I frown down at my red and skinned middle fingers. ‘Shit. It’s my right hand.’

He smiles. ‘No tennis for a few days or you’ll have to play left-handed.’

He makes me smile even though my fingers throb like crazy. ‘It may well improve my game.’

He puts his arm round me. ‘I think this is the perfect excuse for a medicinal brandy.’

Inside the Vicky Arms, I watch him queuing at the bar. Getting to know Alexander is like dismantling one of those Russian dolls: you take off one layer and there’s another underneath. The moment I – or he – hints at anything to do with his family, he either clams up completely or deflects the focus on to me.

By the time he returns from the bar with two Rémy Martins, the pain in my hand has eased and the fire has warmed my chilled bones.

Alexander slips his arm round me. ‘Better?’

‘Yes, thanks. The medicinal brandy is working.’

He kisses my lips and I tingle all over. ‘Maybe we should skip lunch?’ I say.

‘Maybe, but do you want to look at the menu first?’ He smiles but there’s an edge to his voice that sets off an alarm bell in my head. Only a faint one, but it’s there all the same. Maybe I’m being paranoid but he seems a little distracted.

After lunch, he tops up my glass of red wine and we relax back against the old settle. The combination of the fire and his body have lent me a delicious glow, both inside and out. The pub is packed with friends and couples laughing and chattering. There are posters up
asking people to book their Christmas parties and suddenly I’m hit by the realization that it’s Thanksgiving next week and that this will be the first time I’ve missed the day, but it’s the same for all the US students here.

I wonder if Alexander has sensed my mood because he squeezes my un-squashed hand. ‘Lauren?’

‘Uh-huh?’

‘I’m going to be away for a few days this week.’

This wasn’t what I was expecting him to say, but I manage to stifle my disappointment. ‘Oh, OK … Is it for work?’

‘Yes. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s, uh, fine. Absolutely. To be honest, it might be a good idea if I actually got some sleep this week.’

His thigh butts against mine. ‘In that case, I’d get some while you can. I should be home by mid-week and I promise to have you up all night, every night.’

‘I’ll look forward to it.’ I pause, then ask, ‘How does your family feel about you going away like this? Does Emma know?’

‘No. She has no idea that I leave Oxford. I don’t tell her anything unless I have to.’

‘What about your father?’

‘He probably guesses, but I don’t volunteer anything.’

‘Do you think he’s so keen that you quit the service because he’s worried about you?’

He shrugs. ‘If he is, he never shows it to me. We’ve never been close and after my mother died things took a turn for the worse between us. He views me as some kind of custodian of Falconbury, the same as any other
member of staff, apart from the fact that I have no choice whether to join the firm or not and no say in the terms or conditions.’ He hesitates and then adds, ‘And, of course, he blames me for my mother’s death.’

‘What? How could it be your fault?’

‘Because I was arguing with her. It was on our way to prep school, I’d been teasing Emma and my mother had told me to shut up so many times and she took her eyes off the road to shout at me …’ He pauses. ‘That’s how he sees it and maybe he’s right. I really don’t give a fuck any more.’ He makes a point of checking his watch. It’s one of those wind-up ones with a gold bracelet and it has to be a family heirloom. I know instinctively that he’s already said more than he wanted to. I think he definitely still gives a fuck, and a whole lot more, but for now he just gets up and says, ‘Come on. We need to take the boat back before it gets dark.’

We punt back downstream to the boathouse, past frost-sheened willow branches shimmering in the wintry afternoon haze. Alexander is mostly silent and intent on getting the boat home as fast as possible and my mind keeps wandering to other things. While I’ll hardly be sitting in my room waiting for his return – Professor Rafe is cracking the whip over me (an image I wish I hadn’t allowed into my mind) and I could be at a drinks party, faculty event or clubbing almost every night if I wanted – I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t wonder what Alexander might be doing while he’s gone. And, just occasionally in the darkest corner of my mind, if he might not come back at all.

It’s also impossible for me to understand the gulf that exists between him and his father. My mother drives me nuts at times, and Daddy’s so over-protective that sometimes I used to fantasize about walking out myself – but I know that’s because we all care about and love each other and we’re not afraid to show it. If that accident had, God forbid, happened to my mother, even if I’d been shouting and screaming in the car, would my father have blamed me? The answer is loud and clear in my mind: no.

But I might have blamed myself.

Is that Alexander’s real trouble: that he
does
blame himself? I can’t do anything about that, but I find it hard to forgive his father for making his teenage son feel he contributed to the death of his own mother. What kind of a man must General Hunt be? Does he really live up to the image presented by Immy and Alexander – and even Rupert? I don’t care how intimidating the man is, I’d sure like the opportunity to judge for myself.

By the time we tie the punt up at the boathouse, I’m numb with cold and no matter how much I’ve tried to think of all the amazing things about being in Oxford and being in love with Alexander, I’m missing home just a little. Back at my room, Alexander follows me inside and I draw the curtains to shut out the darkening afternoon.

He sits on my bed. ‘Is everything OK? You’ve been very quiet on the walk home.’

‘I’ve been thinking of my family. It’s Thanksgiving next week.’

‘Of course it is. I’d forgotten – it’s Thursday, isn’t it?’

‘Uh-huh. The USSoc is hosting a Thanksgiving Lunch. I was thinking of going along.’

He frowns, then says, ‘You should do that. I was hoping to be back by Thursday but please don’t rely on me.’

I’m far from doing that, I think, but instead I toy with the buttons of his shirt front.

‘It’s hot in here,’ I say.

‘It is … Will Brett be at this dinner?’

My fingers pause on his top button. ‘It’s not Brett, it’s Scott, as you well know, and, yes, he might be at the dinner. Does that bother you?’ There’s no change in his expression when I pop open the button.

‘Why would it bother me?’

‘I don’t know, Alexander.’

He regards me steadily. ‘That’s because there is no reason. It was merely an enquiry.’

He opens his legs so I can kneel between them. As I free the next button, a sprinkling of dark hair appears. ‘Because …’ I slip my hand under the cotton and flatten my hand over his pec, where his skin is deliciously warm under my palm ‘…
Because
, if I didn’t know you better, I could almost believe you were jealous.’

‘Then you’d be wrong, but if it amuses you to think I might be jealous I wouldn’t dream of spoiling your pleasure.’

‘It doesn’t amuse me – it intrigues me.’ I withdraw my hand, but only to unfasten another button.

When I blow lightly on his bared chest, my reward is
his intake of breath and the raw edge to his voice as he replies. ‘Then enjoy being intrigued, but I’m afraid I’ll have other things on my mind over the next few days.’

‘So will I …’ I flick the bottom-but-one button. ‘And it won’t be turkey.’

His expression is unreadable as he meets my eyes without flinching. ‘Lauren, undo any more of my shirt looking like that, and I won’t be responsible for what happens next.’

‘Looking like what?’

‘Hot as hell and totally shaggable.’

I pop the last button and tug his shirt from his waistband. ‘Hey, I must remember to put that on my resumé.’

So, should I laugh – or cry?

The Skype window disappears from my screen and I sit back in my chair with a sigh. After I’d got back from the USSoc lunch, I spent the past hour or so chatting with my family while they enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner. Maybe, in the circumstances, I’m allowed to have mixed emotions. Outside, darkness has descended on the quad and there’s a low mist wreathing around the Lodge tower. I’m used to the time difference now, but it feels weird to see the sun streaming in through the windows of our dining room in Washington while it’s past supper-time here.

My mother, father and three of my grandparents were all gathered around the table at our house in the time-honoured way. My paternal grandfather died when I was small, but my Grandma Cusack and my mother’s mother still come over to help with the turkey and pumpkin pie.

Everyone wanted to know how my studies were going and about the social life here and I showed them around my little room, which was quite surreal. My grandfather teased me a little, hinting about ‘new special friends’, but I side-stepped that one. Now I realize that I haven’t told them about Alexander and I ask myself
why. Is it simply because it’s easier for me to keep my life private now I’m so far away? No, it would be too complicated and I can’t face the inevitable grilling from a distance. My mother would
definitely
want every last detail about Alexander’s family and Falconbury. She’d be on Debrett’s in a flash, and as for my grandmothers they’d never leave me alone – ever again.

There’s a knock at my door and my heart pitter-patters.

‘Hell-oo!’

It’s Immy. It may not be who I’d expected, but just what I needed, and there’s a huge grin on my face as I open the door to her.

‘How are you? Happy Thanksgiving!’ She holds up a bottle of Cristal in one hand and a ribbon-tied gift bag in the other.

‘Wow. You shouldn’t have.’

‘Why not? It must be horrible to be in this hole when you could be at home with your family … and with the Great Alexander away too, I thought I’d try and cheer you up.’

‘You just did.’

‘I hope you like it,’ she says, nodding at the bag.

Nestled in the blue tissue paper is a turquoise gift box that I recognize immediately. The Kate Spade Silver Street keepsake box inside has the word ‘Stowaways’ stamped on the lid.

‘I thought you could keep your bits and bobs in it.’ Immy’s voice sparkles with excitement.

‘It’s gorgeous and I totally love it – thank you, but I
thought you were going to Brown’s with Skandar tonight?’

‘We are after he’s finished training so I can’t stay long, but I thought you might need a little company tonight – and any excuse to drink Cristal.’

As I give her a hug, I have a horrible moment when I think I might cry, but Immy pretends not to notice and chirps: ‘Shall I open the champagne before it gets warm?’

While Immy twists the cork out of the Cristal, I find a couple of glasses and we sit opposite each other on the bed, sipping fizz.

‘So how was the Thanksgiving Dinner?’ she asks.

‘The real one or the virtual one? I’d just got off a Skype call to my family when you knocked.’

‘Were they having fun?’

‘Always. You know I love them all, but sometimes I used to find the whole family thing at Thanksgiving a little wearing.’

‘Oh, same here. I lose the will to live by Christmas afternoon. Can you believe that my parents still expect me to watch the Queen with them?’

‘I can’t imagine, but … I really did wish I could have beamed over to be with them for the day. The USSoc dinner was fun and the staff had tried really hard to recreate the food and the atmosphere …’

‘But it wasn’t the same?’

‘I hate to say this, but it almost made me feel further apart from my family and –’ I sigh ‘– Professor Rafe was co-hosting it.’

‘Oh for fuck’s sake! What was he doing there?’

‘Apparently, a few of the Fellows always make an effort to attend so I guess there’s nothing unusual in him being there, and the Senior Tutor joined us too. A couple of the girls were hanging all over him, but I’m maxed out on Rafe. You know I told him I don’t feel comfortable with him touching me in tutorials?’

‘I remember you saying, but you should have reported him to the Dean or kicked him in the nuts.’ There’s a wicked gleam in her eye. ‘Or both.’

‘Maybe, but it seems to have worked. Since then, he’s kept his hands scrupulously to himself, though he keeps asking me if I’m “comfortable with his proximity”.’

‘I hope his dick shrivels up and drops off.’

‘I can handle it, but I’ve also seen him outside of tutes and lectures three times this week. Twice might be a coincidence, but the last time was in a boutique on the High.’

‘What the fuck?’

‘My thoughts exactly. I told him I was surprised to see him and he said he was looking for a gift for a goddaughter.’

She shudders. ‘Ewww. Yuk. Have you told Alexander what’s going on because he’ll probably want to waterboard him or something.’

‘That’s why I haven’t told him, and, also, I’m more than capable of dealing with it myself.’

‘Alexander does like to do things his own way and subtle isn’t part of his vocabulary. When’s he back?’

‘He was vague about it, but I’d really thought he might be back today. He doesn’t share that kind of thing with me.’

She sips her Cristal carefully. ‘Mmm. I did warn you what you were taking on.’

‘He doesn’t say much at all. He did tell me a little about his sister and the accident with his mother, but when I pushed him he clammed up. I think it would be a good idea if I met Emma and General Hunt so I can make up my own mind.’

She grimaces. ‘Emma’s cool, a bit of a wild child, but who can blame her with the ogre for a father. I’m sure you’d like her, but I wouldn’t be in any kind of rush to meet General Hunt.’

‘Surely he can’t be that bad?’

‘I’ve only met him once and he clearly considered me beneath his notice, which was fine by me, but from what I hear he’s an appalling snob. I’d thank your lucky stars that Alexander hasn’t taken you to Falconbury. Now, can I top your glass up?’

After Immy leaves, I try to settle down to read some online papers for my essay, but my mind keeps wandering to Alexander and his threat to keep me up all night. I hear footsteps thudding up the staircase, and put down my pen and notebook. I expect them to stop on the landing below me, because there’s only my room and Immy’s up here, but they continue, rounding the top flight and ending right at my door. I’m out of my chair and flinging open the door with indecent haste.

‘Alexander!’

‘Not Alexander. I’m sorry to disappoint you.’

‘Scott! No, you haven’t. It’s – uh – lovely to see you.’

He peers over my head into the room. ‘Not interrupting anything, am I?’

‘No, no … I’m on my own.’

‘No Alex, then?’

‘He’s, um … out of town.’

‘On Thanksgiving? I thought he might want to celebrate with you.’

‘Like I said, he’s busy and I went to the USSoc Thanksgiving lunch. I thought you might have been there, as a matter of fact.’

‘Like this?’ In my surprise at seeing him, I hadn’t registered that he’s in his Dark Blue kit of hoodie and trackpants, a rucksack slung over one massive shoulder. ‘I’ve been busy too. Aren’t you going to ask me in?’

‘Oh, sure …’

In my room, he immediately focuses on the bottle and glasses on my desk. ‘You’ve been celebrating the day in style.’

‘My friend Immy brought me the champagne as a Thanksgiving gift, but she had to go before we finished the bottle.’ I hesitate, unsure what to do next, wondering if I should offer him a glass or not.

‘I must admit it was a long shot. I had no idea if you’d even be in, or if you’d be holed up at Alexander’s. I heard from Maisey that he has his own place in Oxford. In fact, she said, his folks own the entire row of houses down there.’

‘My God, news travels fast. I expect the whole of USSoc know his shoe size and favourite pizza topping by now.’

‘He didn’t strike me as the pizza type of guy.’ Scott grins and I can’t help but be amused too. ‘Besides, he wouldn’t mind an old friend dropping by to wish you happy Thanksgiving, would he?’ He kisses me on the cheek, smelling shower-fresh, and adds, ‘Alexander Hunt doesn’t have the monopoly on the best-looking girl in Oxford, does he?’

I roll my eyes at the flattery, but it’s sweet of him to call, and he’s right about one thing: why should I mope around here, waiting for Alexander to materialize? He only said he might be back today. I’ve had no text or call to say he’s on his way – and, yes, I’ll admit a niggle about where and how he might be has been lurking at the back of my mind.

‘Whether he minds or not, I can have a drink with a friend and meet who I like. Would you like a glass of champagne?’

His handsome face lights up. ‘My coach would probably go ape-shit but I guess it is Thanksgiving … Oh to hell with it, why not?’

‘I’ll go get a clean glass.’

When I return with a spare flute from a box in the back of my closet, he seems to be checking out the discarded tissue and ribbon on my bed, but drops them when he sees me.

I hand him a full glass, but he looks disappointed. ‘I hope you’re not going to let me drink alone.’

‘No, of course not.’ After tipping the remaining champagne into my flute, I raise it high. ‘Happy Thanksgiving!’

‘Happy Thanksgiving.’

He takes the office chair, while I sit on my bed. ‘So what was so important that you couldn’t make the USSoc party.’

‘As you say, it’s just another day here, and there was a selection trial at the Boathouse. If I’d missed it, I could have kissed goodbye to my chances of being in the extended squad.’

‘That’s a shame, but I understand why you had to go.’

‘It’s only one day and I did pretty well on the test so I’m through to the next stage.’ He raises his glass again. ‘Another reason to celebrate.’

‘Congratulations. I’m sure you’ll make the final cut.’

Once again, I see him glance at the wrapping paper on my bed. ‘As it’s the season, and you’re receiving gifts, I’ve bought you something too.’

Fuck, this is awkward. ‘Oh, Scott, I didn’t expect …’

‘Aren’t they the best kind of presents? The ones you didn’t expect?’

‘I guess so, but I haven’t got you anything.’

‘You didn’t know I was going to turn up, did you? If you had, I’d have expected at least a gift-wrapped Porsche, now that you’re dating Lord Hunt.’

He laughs at my indignant face, opens his rucksack and pulls out a small parcel. ‘Here you go. Don’t expect diamonds.’

My hand goes to my throat. I wore the necklace to
the lunch. Maybe it was a little too much for daytime, but I hate the thought of something that beautiful lying in a drawer all the time.

‘So, are you going to open it?’

Nervously, I lift the lid on the small box. I really hope he hasn’t spent a lot of money and that it’s not jewellery. I wish he hadn’t bothered at all, but then I see what’s inside the box and burst out laughing in relief and delight.

‘You like it?’

I lift out the object. ‘It’s very, very cute.’

‘Be careful. It cost a fortune.’

‘I’ll treasure it.’ When I hold the snow globe aloft and shake it, a glittery blizzard swirls around the tiny model of the White House inside the dome. It’s the height of kitsch, but I can’t stop smiling. ‘Where did you get this? They don’t sell these in Oxford, as far as I know.’

Scott comes to look at the globe. ‘My sister has one at home so I ordered it from the White House online gift shop. I thought you might appreciate a reminder of home today. Classy, isn’t it?’

‘It’s a true work of art. Thank you.’ I get up and hug him briefly. Immediately, I feel guilty, not because of what Alexander might think – I don’t care about that – but because I might be giving Scott the wrong idea. But, to do him credit, he looks perfectly comfortable. He really is a lovely guy; he deserves someone super-nice.

‘So what are you doing for the rest of the evening?’ I ask, when we’ve finished the champagne and chatted a little about his rowing training and my course.

‘Eating the contents of my fridge then I ought to get some rest. The trials have almost finished me off and we’re back on the river at seven a.m. What about you? Will Alexander be back tonight?’

‘Um … I don’t know. He might, or he might not.’

Scott seems distinctly unimpressed. ‘Why don’t you come out for a quick drink? I’m starving.’

‘I thought you said you were tired.’

‘The champagne has worked wonders. Look, you said yourself that you aren’t going to wait around for the guy, and if he chooses to have better things to do what can he expect?’

‘It’s not that simple.’

He folds his arms. ‘Really?’

‘Trust me, it isn’t,’ I say firmly, knowing I can’t tell Scott where Alexander is, not that I have any idea myself. Alexander said he’d call to let me know when he’d set off for Oxford, so I’ll have plenty of time to get back here or meet him at his house. I pick up my keys. ‘I guess a quick drink would be fun and it
is
Thanksgiving …’

Some time later, I walk back up the stairs, mellow with champagne and the two glasses of mulled wine we shared outside, warming ourselves by the old-fashioned brazier in the courtyard of the inn. We talked about Washington; apparently Todd got a promotion in his father’s law firm and is dating a girl from the office. A month ago, that would have had me lying awake wondering whether to be relieved or hurt. Now, I just don’t care. I check my watch, to find it’s past nine p.m.

‘Happy Thanksgiving.’

Above me, Alexander leans over the banister and my heart-rate picks up as I hurry up the final flight.

‘Alexander … how long have you been back?’

‘A little while.’

I climb the last few steps, feeling disappointed and irrationally guilty – and annoyed with myself for feeling bad that I was out when he finally got here. Under the harsh light of the landing, he’s even more gorgeous than I remember, but there are dark shadows under his eyes and, is it my imagination, or are his cheekbones a little sharper?

‘How was Thanksgiving?’ he asks, waiting for me in the centre of the landing.