The First Time We Met: The Oxford Blue Series #1 (18 page)

He gives a wry smile that makes me feel ever so slightly guilty for having been so blunt about him touching me in tutorials. Though God knows why because he did make me feel uncomfortable. In fact, everything he does, even when he seems to be genuinely nice, like now, puts me on edge.

‘Um … well.’ My stomach rumbles and he laughs softly.

‘You look as if you’re about to pass out from starvation.’

Going for a coffee with him now is the last thing I want, but I can hardly refuse when I plan to bail out of his tutorial so I nod politely. ‘Not quite, but maybe I could use a cup of tea.’

A short time later, I’m sipping a cup of Earl Grey as Rafe returns from the counter with two pains au chocolat and an espresso for himself. He pushes the pastry towards me and empties a sachet of sugar into his coffee. I don’t want to refuse the pastry and, anyway, I won’t have time for lunch now; I’ll have to work right up until Alexander calls for me.

‘I must say I’m impressed that you still plan on making the tute when there are so many other temptations in Oxford, as I’m sure you’ve discovered.’

The pastry sticks in my throat.

‘The Falconbury Hunt is a huge social occasion, isn’t it? I hear Alexander is travelling down tonight.’

I swallow. ‘I’m – um – not sure I understand you.’

‘Really? But you must have been invited. Alexander wouldn’t leave
you
off the list, now would he? In fact, I’m very surprised you still plan to come to my tutorial. Maybe I’ve got things completely wrong, but I can’t help having noticed that you’ve got into his group. You
are
seeing him, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, but … how do you know about the hunt?’

‘I’ve been around Oxford for years; the hunt and ball are legendary among people who care about such things, not that mere mortals like me get invited, of course. Not that I’d go if I was; the Hunts – and hunting people in general – are not people I’d choose to socialize with, and obviously I’m bitterly opposed to blood sports.’

‘So am I. I despise cruelty to animals, but it’s a drag hunt now.

‘So he has asked you.’

‘Yes, he has.’

He holds up his hands. ‘I apologize. You want to go, understandably. It’s none of my business, of course, and you have every right to ignore me, but if the relationship affects your studies then I wouldn’t be doing my job as your tutor not to bring it up.’

It really
isn’t
any of his business and I could and probably should tell him that, but he is my tutor and I am supposed to be here to study as well as enjoy myself.

‘It isn’t affecting my studies. I’ve tried not to let it.’

He gives a little sigh. ‘I know. Your coursework has been exemplary and … as I said at the start of term, you’re an outstanding prospect, Lauren. I really think you could go on to do a DPhil here if you wanted to and if you applied yourself. I would hate to see you throw all that potential away by getting distracted.’

‘I’ve no intention of getting distracted by anyone.’

‘I must say I’m very relieved to hear it. Also it’s very creditable that you plan on staying here for the tute, and not sending me some excuse afterwards about being ill.’

I tear off another piece of pain and shove it in my mouth. Rafe may be a creep but he’s also very clever. He knows exactly what he’s doing here.

‘I’m happy I’m wrong and you decided your end-of-term work was more important.’

My mother told me never to speak with my mouth full so I nod, panicking inside. Now I’ll have to make some excuse tomorrow – or come clean now.

He checks his wrist and grimaces. ‘I really should be leaving. I’m having lunch at a friend’s in Summertown.’

‘Of course. You don’t want to keep him waiting.’

‘Her,’ he says with a smile. He gets to his feet and to my horror I find
my
hand on
his
arm. ‘Professor Rafe, wait.’

He glances down at my fingers, as if he’s astonished
I actually touched him. Heat rising to my face, I pull them away, but it’s too late. He smiles and sits down again.

‘I expect my friend won’t mind if I’m a little late, not if you’ve something important to ask me. You do have something to ask, don’t you, Lauren?’

‘I –’ Oh God, what am I doing? ‘After what you’ve said about my studies and me being reliable, I shouldn’t ask this, but I would very much like to go to Falconbury this evening. Alexander has asked me to dinner with his family and I had agreed. I’d hoped to find a time to ask you if we can reschedule the tute and kept putting it off. Now I know it’s too late unless you can see me later today?’ I ask hopefully.

‘Unfortunately not, but in view of the fact you’ve been honest with me I’ve got half an hour now. We could have a quick chat about next term’s work load and reading list and you could email your essay to me.’

‘That would be great,’ I sigh in relief.

Half an hour later, I’m trying to pay attention to his thoughts on the Hilary schedule, relieved that I got off so lightly. When we’ve finished, he checks his watch again. ‘Well, I could chat to you all morning, but I really have to go now. I hope you have a good time at the hunt and ball, but, please, be careful.’ He pats my hand. ‘I’d hate to see you get hurt.’

‘Why would I get hurt?’

He shakes his head. ‘Nothing. None of my business.’

‘Please, Professor Rafe, say what you need to.’

I think I raised my voice a little because a couple of people glance up from their books and tablets, but instantly return to their own private worlds.

‘My dear, I’m sure I don’t know anything about Alexander beyond what you’ve worked out for yourself, but I would hate to see you ruin your studies over him – or worse, get hurt very badly.’

‘I can look after myself,’ I say, yet my stomach is fluttering. ‘But, now you’ve started, go on.’

He gives a deep sigh. ‘I hate pigeon-holing people – it goes against everything I believe about the complexity of human nature – but I know Alexander.’

Hastily, I swallow down my pastry. ‘Sorry, but you
know
Alexander?’

‘Of course I know him. He did his undergraduate degree at St Merryn’s College. I was his pastoral tutor there before I joined Wyckham. You are aware of his background and circumstances, of course?’

‘Of course I am, and I’m not influenced by it in any way.’

‘I knew you wouldn’t be. You’re not one of these naive young women who would be seduced into thinking a man like Alexander would see them as a long-term commitment. He may act like a cavalier maverick, but when it comes to family he’ll marry within his circle, as his kind always do.’

I’m so pissed by the sexism of this statement, I can hardly reply. ‘I can assure you I’ve no intention of marrying him. We’ve not long started dating.’

‘Then I won’t have to worry about you any more.’
Rafe gathers up his laptop bag. ‘Now, my dear Lauren, I really
must
go. I’ll email you with some more information about next term’s work and, if you need me, please don’t hesitate to give me a call. My only concern is your welfare and happiness – and, of course, helping you to achieve that wonderful potential. Don’t let anyone take that away from you.’ He pats my arm. ‘And have a wonderful Christmas.’

‘This bloody weather. If it rains again tomorrow, the hunt will have to be called off.’

Alexander switches the wipers on to max and they thrash across the screen. It’s been raining since we left Oxford, and forty miles and over ninety minutes later water is still pouring down the windscreen as we turn off the main road on to a lane that seems barely wide enough for the Range Rover.

The Thursday-afternoon traffic combined with the rain has conspired to make it a tedious journey largely conducted at a snail’s pace. None of the roads seem big enough to cope with the volume of traffic and Alexander has spent most of the journey drumming his fingers on the wheel, concentrating on the road or staring moodily into space. Now we’re on the way to what I assume to be the Falconbury estate, it’s hard not to clutch the grab handle as the hedgerows whizz past at dizzying speed.

‘Jesus Christ!’

The screech of brakes cuts through me. In front of us, a Porsche 911 has stopped in the road, inches from the grille of the Range Rover.

‘If he thinks I’m backing up, he’s mistaken. There’s a farm gate behind him. He can pull into that.’ Alexander revs the engine, forcing the enemy Porsche to reverse
back along the twisting lane. The driver flinches first, tucks in against the metal gate and the Range Rover flashes past, the scrape of twigs on our paintwork setting my teeth on edge.

‘Idiot!’ Alexander seethes as we roar off again. Closing my eyes, I say a silent prayer that we get to Falconbury before I throw up.

Ten minutes later, he swerves the Range Rover between two pillars topped by what I think are griffins. It’s hard to tell in the afternoon gloom and rain, and the griffins are so weathered by age, who knows … then the headlamps sweep briefly over a sign that reads
FALCONBURY HOUSE
.

I sigh with relief that the journey is over and hope both Alexander and I can relax a little now we’re finally here. I’ve tried not to give Professor Rafe’s comments any credence, suspecting that they were another way of manipulating and undermining me – this time without touching me. Yet I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t wonder if there was a tiny grain of truth in them, or have thought something similar myself once or twice.

The gates may have announced our arrival at Falconbury, but the driveway from gates to house seems to go on for ever. I’m sure I catch a glimpse of eyes glinting under the trees as we drive along. Maybe it’s a fox, I think, and say a silent prayer that it won’t be chased all over the countryside on Saturday. The drive rolls on and on until the trees stop and meadowland opens up in front of us, with dark shapes dotted across the fields.

‘Are those deer?’

Alexander keeps his eyes on the road. ‘Yes, there have been deer on the Falconbury estate for eight hundred years.’

Eight hundred? By any standards, that’s impressive. I realize now that I could have Googled the place and wonder why I haven’t. Partly because it seems a vulgar thing to do, and in the past week my mind has been focused on the weekend itself, but now I wish I’d prepared better.

Too late.

Just in time I bite back an ‘OMG’ as we drive round a bend.

Immy wasn’t joking when she said that Rashleigh Hall was small in comparison to Falconbury. We sweep on to the forecourt and Alexander brakes hard, bringing the car to a halt in a spray of gravel.

While he climbs out and opens the tailgate, I slump back in my seat, taking it all in. Through the rain-spattered window, Falconbury looms above me. It’s hard not to find the place a little forbidding on a foul December afternoon like this, but the sheer grandeur of it eclipses everything else.

It’s far bigger than Rashleigh Hall and completely the opposite in character. Rashleigh was built in creamy stone, all neoclassical elegance. Falconbury is full-on gothic revival, channelling dark medievalism with turrets and gargoyles. I’m guessing it dates back to the mid-nineteenth century, but Alexander said there had been a deer park here for eight hundred years so I assume there were earlier buildings on the site. With
the rain lashing the facade, I almost want to laugh at the gloomy splendour of the place.

The tailgate whispers down and Alexander appears at the door. ‘Let’s get inside, shall we?’ His voice is still gruff but a little softer now and I wonder if he’s regretting his earlier loss of temper. ‘Please, let me give you a hand, and mind the puddles.’

A guy hurries towards us and as he gets close up I almost do a double-take. I’m sure he’s wearing some kind of butler’s uniform.

‘Good evening, sir. What a dreadful night.’

‘Hello, Robert, and yes, it could be better.’

Alexander shakes hands with him and breaks out the same warm smile he used on the elderly salsa dancer who tried to help me when I fell after my run. The same smile he uses to me, when he’s not glowering or brooding.

‘Please, let me take those, sir.’ Robert nods at the bags on the gravel.

‘I can manage, but I’m sure Miss Cusack would be glad of the help.’

‘No really, I’m OK.’

Politely ignoring me, Robert picks up two of my bags, while Alexander carries the other two and his leather holdall. I brush the rain from my face as we hurry under the porte-cochère with its gabled tower and oriel windows.

The door is open and a petite blonde woman, who I guess is in her early fifties, beams as we reach her.

‘Good afternoon, sir. How was your journey?’

‘Not too bad, Helen. I hope you’re well?’ He kisses her on the cheek.

‘Very, sir, and it’s wonderful to have you home.’ The warmth in her voice tells me Helen means what she says. I’m guessing she’s known Alexander a long time, maybe since he was a baby, which means she must have been here while he’s been serving in the army – and while his mother was alive.

His smile is tight and I can tell he’s a little embarrassed too. ‘How are the grandchildren?’ he asks as I hang back, unsure what to do or say.

Her eyes shine with pride. ‘Very lively and growing up far too quickly.’

‘Good.’ I feel his hand slip over mine and my heart rate picks up. It’s possibly the first sign of real warmth I’ve had from him for a few days. ‘Helen, this is Lauren Cusack.’

‘Good to meet you, Helen.’ I hold out my hand.

‘You too, miss.’

She takes it briefly, but I’m not sure I did the correct thing. ‘Please, call me Lauren,’ I say, more in hope than expectation.

‘Whatever you wish.’ Helen’s smile is polite, but I can see the discomfit beneath.

‘I’ll have your bags taken up to your room, sir,’ says Robert. ‘We thought Miss Cusack might prefer the larger room above the porch.’

My antennae twitch. I have my own room, so I’m not sharing with Alexander. I should have realized, but I’m still taken aback, yet he nods as if it’s all expected and perfect. ‘Thank you. Is my sister home yet?’

‘Lady Emma is staying on at school for the end-of-term party, I believe.’

‘And my father?’

‘Lord Falconbury has been in town today, but he should be home soon. He asked if you and Miss Cusack would be joining him in the sitting room for drinks before dinner?’

I hide my disappointment; I’d have loved to have met Emma, and sense she might be some kind of ally.

‘Of course we will.’

‘Do you want to go to your room now, sir, or shall I have some tea served in the sitting room?’

‘We’ll go up.’

Helen smiles at me. ‘I expect Miss Cusack would like some tea sent up?’

‘I’d appreciate that.’

‘Can we take your coats?’ Gratefully, I hand my damp pea-coat to Helen while Robert takes Alexander’s Barbour. Another guy, not in uniform but in a shirt and tie, is already carrying some of our luggage up the red-carpeted oak staircase to the first floor.

Suddenly a dark shape shoots out of a door to the side of the stairs and a volley of deafening barks drowns out everything.

‘Benny!’

A black Labrador hurtles along the hall, his claws clattering on the polished floor, and launches himself at Alexander like a guided missile.

His face lights up. ‘Hello, boy! I wondered where you’d got to. Have you missed me?’

Benny’s answer is to leap up at Alexander and lick his face. He laughs and strokes the dog’s ears. ‘OK, OK, settle down, boy.’

Ignoring him, Benny weaves his way round my legs, almost knocking me over.

‘Down!’

At his master’s command, Benny drops to the floor, panting hard and gazing up at me as if he’d like to lick me to death. I crouch down, stroking his silky ears.

‘He’s adorable! I didn’t know you had a dog.’

‘I’ve had him since I was at university, but I don’t get to see him often enough, do I, boy?’

Benny rolls over so I can tickle his belly, his tongue lolling to one side in happiness.

‘Ignore him. He’ll do anything for attention.’ Alexander crouches down beside me, scratching the dog’s belly.

‘Buddy used to do that,’ I say, and suddenly there’s a huge lump in my throat. Oh shit.

I renew my efforts to tickle Benny into submission.

‘Buddy?’ he asks.

‘He was a schnauzer – we had to have him put to sleep while I was at Brown. We used to take him with us for summers on the Cape. I loved him.’ My throat is scratchy with emotion. It must be the end of term, Thanksgiving and this weekend getting on top of me.

Alexander either hasn’t noticed the moisture on my cheeks or is pretending not to. ‘He sounds like a fine dog. I’m sure you miss him, like I do this rogue when I’m away.’

I straighten up, managing to hold it together.

Benny twists back to his tummy, eyes fixed adoringly on Alexander.

‘I promise I’ll take you out for a walk later,’ he says, then holds out his hand for me to go ahead of him. ‘Shall we go up?’

The walk up the staircase serves to reinforce my impression of the scale and opulence of Falconbury. The walls are panelled in oak, with a lofty, carved arched ceiling. We pass dozens of portraits of people I assume to be Falconbury ancestors. As we reach the first floor I stop, unsure whether to turn left or right down the landings on either side of the staircase.

‘We’re in the West Wing, at the end.’ Alexander points to the left.

Halfway along the corridor, two women about my age bustle in and out of rooms. Both of them smile at us briefly and say, ‘Good evening,’ and Alexander responds with a nod, but they’re clearly not part of the Hunts’ inner circle of loyal retainers. That’s six staff already and we haven’t even reached our room.

I don’t know why it surprises me so much that the Hunts have staff. My mother has help with the cleaning and hires in caterers if she throws a big party. Logically, it’s obvious that an estate this huge has to be managed and run, but there’s an air about these people that you don’t see in employees. I can only describe it as deference – and, in the case of Robert and Helen’s response to Alexander’s arrival, I have to admit there’s genuine warmth and affection too.

‘This is it.’

He opens the door for me and stands back so I can go in first.

‘Wow.’ My coolness deserts me as I walk inside.

My bags stand at the foot of a four-poster bed, with brocade hangings and a canopy that seems as if it touches the ceiling. Immediately, I picture us making love on the silk bed throw and my anxieties about this weekend melt away temporarily.

Then I focus on the rest of the room. Opposite the bed is a huge window with leaded panes and stained-glass coats of arms. The walls are panelled to half-height, with antique red wallpaper above and an elaborately carved cornice. It’s a Gothic dream – or nightmare, depending on your point of view. The wardrobe, dressing table and drawers are huge pieces, polished to perfection. A stunning arrangement of fresh roses stands in the centre of a table in the window, their delicate scent perfuming the room.

‘Alexander, I had no idea.’

‘About what?’

‘This house, the staff, the estate. It’s on a different scale to anything I expected.’

‘It’s not my house,’ he says, crossing to the window. ‘It’s my father’s.’

Joining him, I peer out into the darkness, which stretches on and on, uninterrupted by any lights that might signify neighbouring properties. The moon peeps out briefly, revealing the shadowy figures of deer at the edge of the woods. Suddenly I feel very small and insignificant.

There’s a knock at the door. Alexander opens it and Helen comes in with a huge tray of tea and cookies.
She sets the tray down on the table. ‘I’ve made a pot of Darjeeling and one of Earl Grey because I wasn’t sure which you preferred, Miss Cusack. There’s milk and lemon.’

‘Thank you, and also for the flowers. They’re beautiful.’

‘It’s a pleasure, but don’t thank me. Alexander asked for them to be waiting in your room. Is there anything else you need?’

‘No, everything’s great.’ Apart from not sharing a room, that is.

Helen smiles, obviously waiting to be dismissed by Alexander. The subtleties of dealing with the staff are so nuanced that I don’t think I’ll ever get to grips with them.

‘Thank you,’ says Alexander.

After Helen has gone, I take another look through the window, still unable to quite believe that Alexander spent his childhood in this place; it feels so little like a ‘real’ home in some respects. The rain is lighter now and there are headlights wavering along the road that leads through the parkland.

His hand is on my shoulder and I turn. ‘The flowers were a lovely gesture. Thank you.’

‘I’m glad you like them. I wanted you to feel welcome … Will they do?’ he adds, almost anxiously.

‘They’re perfect and this suite is magnificent, but I still wish we were sharing a room.’

He sighs. ‘So do I, but it’s traditional for unmarried couples at Falconbury to have separate rooms. I know that’s incredibly old-fashioned, but it’s simpler to leave
things as they are rather than have a battle over it. If I’d insisted to Helen that we share, my father might have made life hard for her.’

‘I’d hate for that to happen. Robert and Helen seem like lovely people. I guess they’ve worked here a long time.’

‘They’ve been here since I was born. Robert started out as an assistant to the old butler and Helen worked in one of the estate offices. She’s a housekeeper and staff supervisor now.’