‘I can do original,’ said Will.
‘Roseflix?’ said Leigh.
‘At the moment it’s dreams in my head. But I intend them to become reality, and I want you two boys on board.’
‘Of the very instant that I saw you,’ said Will, ‘Did my heart fly at your service.’
‘You do realize we’ll now haunt you until you do it?’ said Kit.
‘Haunt away,’ said Eliza. ‘Let’s make it happen.’ She smiled at him, and when he smiled back, holding her gaze, something inside her lurched. And she saw him notice.
‘Can I play?’ said Leigh. ‘Be your money lady?’ Leigh was treasurer of the Dramatic Society.
‘We’ll certainly need a feasibility study,’ Eliza replied, dragging her eyes from Kit’s. ‘Could be a thesis angle for you?’
Leigh’s business brain was formidable, especially when it came to finding new areas to exploit.
‘What about me?’ asked Frankie, with a pretend pout.
‘Well, if I’m being accused of nepotism – I’ll sponsor your round-the-world boat.’ Eliza grinned. ‘We can plaster Roseflix logos all over it.’
‘Chuck us a ciggie, Leigh,’ said Kit, standing up.
‘Don’t, Leigh,’ said Eliza. ‘Filthy habit. Why are you still a smoker?’
‘All they that love not tobacco and boys are fools,’ said Kit.
‘I love boys,’ said Leigh.
‘Don’t we all?’ said Kit, as the pair headed outside.
Chapter 3
Eliza
‘You weren’t serious, though, about the whole virgin thing?’ said Leigh, as she and Eliza headed to the Turf Tavern on Friday night. The evening was warm, and the streets teemed with students heading to Oxford’s favourite watering holes and clubs.
Once again, Eliza wished Terri hadn’t included the virgin quote in the Sunday Times piece she’d written just before Harry’s retirement. Her friends and family teased her remorselessly about it. She’d meant it at the time – her younger self had been appalled at the way adults lost their heads over the opposite sex, and the most obvious way to avoid that was surely to keep men firmly at arm’s length.
That said, Eliza loved men, cerebrally speaking. She sparkled under the spotlight of male attention, and recognized that flirting was in her DNA. She was her father’s daughter, after all. But she wasn’t about to let her life goals be swept aside by what was essentially the body’s biological imperative yelling ‘procreate!’ There was deep friendship, and there was physical attraction, but until the two meshed in some as yet unencountered and probably non-existent Mr Right, she refused to set off down the path of romantic disappointment. With this in mind, she put her recent inappropriate thoughts about Kit Marley firmly to one side.
‘I was serious when I said it,’ she said, dodging a bike as they crossed the road by the Bodleian Library.
‘And now?’
‘Still in no hurry. I haven’t met any suitable candidates.’
‘Not Will?’
Eliza laughed. ‘You’re fishing. No, not Will. And anyway, he only pretends he fancies me. It’s all show. Go ahead and flutter your unfairly long eyelashes at him. You know you want to.’
‘I don’t think I’m his type,’ said Leigh. ‘His last girlfriend looked like Anne Hathaway.’
‘Seriously, I’m sure he likes you. All this “Methinks a Rose is best” nonsense is just to divert attention.’
‘Could you at least try and be less beautiful, then?’ Leigh skipped in front of Eliza and turned round, walking backwards. ‘Look at you, with your dazzling looks and talent for casually throwing together the perfect outfit.’
‘This old thing?’ Eliza stroked the soft leather of her jacket, worn over a cotton dress with a short full skirt and black Doc Martens. Her long curly red hair hung over her shoulder in a low side ponytail, and her only make-up was a touch of mascara and a sweep of red lipstick. It clashed with the hair, but it worked.
Clothes were Eliza’s weakness – the buzz she got when heads turned. Her addiction to such moments was perhaps a little sad, but she was what she was. DNA doing its thing again. Her mother had been a style icon.
Eliza had also inherited Ana’s deep-brown eyes, while everything else – the red hair, tallness and pale skin with a scattering of freckles across the nose – was her father’s. She wished she had Harry’s rosy cheeks, though. No matter how bitter the wind or fierce the sun, her face stayed resolutely pale, if not the colour of actual snow.
‘Will would be a bad choice for either of us, I think,’ said Leigh. ‘Though it’s tempting. I think he just loves the drama of the chase.’
‘So get caught! Live in the moment. Just don’t get – you know. Involved.’
They made their way down the cobbled alleyway to the pub, where Will, Frankie and Kit were sitting at an outside table.
‘Leigh! Eliza! Looking babelicious this fair eve. What’s your poison?’ said Will, rising from his seat.
‘Chrissakes, Will,’ said Eliza. ‘I thought you were a lover of language. I’ll get them in. Who’s for another?’
‘Well, I’d say that’d be all of us, the night is but young,’ said Will.
Leigh went to stand beside Will, until he got the hint and shuffled along the bench. She winked at Eliza as she sat down. ‘I’ll have one of those unnecessarily strong ciders, please.’
‘Same, please,’ said Frankie.
‘We’re on pints of Bald Badger,’ said Will.
‘I’ll give you a hand,’ said Kit.
The two of them went inside and joined the queue at the bar. It was busy, and as a woman squeezed past carrying drinks, Kit put an arm round Eliza’s waist and pulled her out of the way. He kept it there, and she noticed him watching her in the mirrored wall behind the optics, a small smile on his face.
‘What?’ she said, turning to look at him.
‘Just admiring your red lips. Very . . . kissable.’
Eliza felt herself blush. Or at least, if her cheeks had just once in her life hosted the colour pink, that moment would have been now.
‘Stop it, Kit.’
Yes, he was beautiful. But no, she wouldn’t be going there. Where so many had been before.
‘Stop it why?’ His smile was wicked.
‘Because . . . well . . . ’ Those hypnotic eyes seemed to be snuffing out her words before they had the chance to leave her mouth.
‘In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you with a bloke. How’s that possible? You’re utterly lush.’
She pulled herself together. ‘I have standards.’
‘Drop them, just for tonight.’ His arm pulled her closer, and a shiver ran down her spine.
‘A one-night stand? And then awkward for ever more? I intend to be your boss one day. I think not.’
‘Why would it be awkward? It’d be nice. Trust me, I’m good at it.’ He bent down and kissed her cheek, then released her. ‘Are you buying these drinks, or what?’
Sitting next to Kit, Eliza sipped her cider, but all awareness of taste, or of the conversation around her, was subsumed by the sensation of Kit’s leg against hers. Echoes of the thrill that had zipped through her in the bar rippled along her limbs.
She made a conscious effort to wrench back use of her faculties and join in the discussion – recent movies, Brexit (as per), the Extinction Rebellion protests, their plans for the summer vacation. In an effort to relax, she downed her drink far too quickly, but the alcohol only exacerbated her confusion.
‘Are you with us, Eliza?’
‘Sorry, what?’
‘I said, do you want another of those?’ said Frankie, grinning, her eyes flicking between Eliza and Kit.
After the second drink, and then a third, she stopped worrying that everyone would notice her discomfort; that Leigh and Frankie would be wondering if she was finally about to cave in the face of this irresistible, wholly unsuitable boy.
The sky grew dark above them, but the night air was warm and so
ft.
When Kit and Will went to buy another round, the girls leaned in.
‘Eliza! What the heck?’ said Frankie. ‘You and Kit?’
‘Don’t know what you mean,’ said Eliza, invisible-blushing again.
‘Come on,’ said Leigh. ‘I can feel the heat from here. Did he finally make a move?’
Eliza glanced through the open doorway, but the boys were still buried in the throngs at the bar.
‘What do you mean, finally?’
‘He’s always watching you. Like a cat stalking a mouse.’
‘He came on to me earlier. Can you believe it? As if!’
‘Still holding out for Mr Right?’ said Frankie. ‘That’s fearsome self-control right there. Kit’s totally the definition of temptation.’
‘Wasn’t it you who said he lacks boundaries?’ said Eliza. ‘I’ve seen the havoc guys like him cause. Harry Rose, anyone?’
‘I’m not saying you should go out with him,’ said Frankie. ‘But it could be time to, you know, get a bit of practice for when Mr Right finally shows up? I mean, with all that experience, he’s gotta know what he’s doing.’
‘Good point,’ said Leigh. ‘And what were you saying earlier? About living in the moment? Letting yourself be caught but not getting involved? Perhaps you should take your own advice, girlfriend.’
‘He’s the Devil in disguise,’ sang Frankie under her breath, as Will and Kit returned.
Eliza rallied her sensible side as Kit sat down beside her, but soon acknowledged it was losing. Badly. More cider demolished her final defences, and when he turned to her and said, ‘Shall we go?’ she found herself looking into his eyes and saying, ‘Lead on.’
She stood, swaying a little. Lifting her leg over the bench was a challenge.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Frankie, her eyes widening.
‘To the Devil,’ said Kit with a grin. He held out his hand to Eliza.
She smiled at her friends, shrugged and took it. Will’s jaw dropped, before Kit led her down the alleyway into the narrow lane beyond.
Eliza took his arm, leaning on him. ‘I appear to be a little drunk. Where are we even going?’
‘My place.’
For a while they walked in silence, past the old three-storey houses leaning out above them, softly illuminated in the glow of the wrought-iron streetlamps. The night air had cooled, and Eliza pulled her jacket tighter round her.
‘You cold?’ asked Kit.
‘Tad chilly.’
He put an arm around her and rubbed her shoulder.
‘This is weird, Kit. I shouldn’t have had all that cider.’
‘It’s good. You need to lighten up. You’re always stressing about work. There’s more to life.’ His tone was characteristically flippant, but there was something different this time. Something that invited her confidence.
‘It’s not that easy for me. My future’s all laid out; people expect things of me. I don’t want to let them down.’
‘Daddy’s girl. I get that. But you should take time out while you’re here. You won’t get the chance again.’
‘Come with me, Kit? To Rose? I meant what I said the other night.’
‘Maybe.’
He kept his arm round her shoulder, and it felt good. Kit was right, she should lighten up. For the first time in her life, she was feeling . . . what was she feeling? She had butterflies; she was nervous. But excited. Her heart was in her mouth. She’d never been down this path before. Kit was most certainly Mr Wrong, but . . . she recognized the contradiction. He was dangerous, but she felt safe. In spite of his reputation, she trusted him.
‘I’ve never had a proper boyfriend,’ she blurted out.
‘Never? Why the fuck not?’
‘Always studying, I suppose. Pressure to get into Oxford. Then I was working at Rose. And I’ve never really met anyone I liked enough. Just had the odd snog at school. Didn’t even like that very much.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘Maybe I’m frigid. No one’s ever—’
‘Turned you on?’
‘No. I must be a late-blooming Rose.’
‘Eliza, I don’t do boyfriend.’
‘I don’t want boyfriend.’
‘So what do you want?’
‘I think I want . . . you.’
He stopped walking and turned her towards him. ‘Only one way to find out.’
Kit had an indecently beautiful mouth – the sort of full, pouty lips a girl would kill for. Eliza found herself touching them, tracing their outline.
He moved her hand aside and kissed her.
It was sweet, delicious . . . addictive. A wave of heat pulsed down her body as his hands moved inside her jacket and up her back, pulling her close.
Not frigid, then.
She looped her arms around his neck, melting into him.
So this was what all the fuss was about.
He stopped. ‘My place?’
She hesitated. ‘Another kiss first?’
He led her into the shadows of a nearby alleyway, and as the kiss became intense, slipped his hand up her skirt.
And all at once, the exquisite sensations fled.
‘No . . . stop!’
‘Why?’ he said, not stopping.
She pushed him away. ‘I said stop!’
He looked at her for a moment, then touched her arm. ‘Hey, what’s up?’
She didn’t know. She had no idea what just happened. One moment she’d been in heaven, the next she’d been hit by a blind panic that came out of nowhere.
Maybe she was overwrought – her nervousness, the cider.
‘God, I’m sorry, Kit. I . . . I felt sick. Must be the drink.’
He smiled. ‘Look, maybe I should just take you home. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea.’
‘But I want to, Kit. I really do. That was lovely, and it’s ridiculous, me not having . . . at my age. Maybe not the whole way, this time. Perhaps we could . . . go out sometime? I like you. Quite a lot.’
‘I run a mile when that happens.’
‘Why?’
His smile faded. ‘Don’t try and work me out, Eliza.’
‘You’d rather just be mates?’
He looked at her steadily, then smiled again. ‘Time for bed. You in yours, me in mine.’
Chapter 4
Eliza
Eliza woke to a thumping on her door. Or was it in her head? She groaned and pulled the pillow over her eyes.
‘Eliza Rose, get your lazy arse up this minute!’ came Frankie’s voice with its gentle West Country burr. ‘We have much to tell and much to find out. We’re going for brunch. Full English – best hangover cure. You know it makes sense.’
‘Can I see you there?’
‘OK, but there will be time penalties. No later than eleven at St Giles’. Got it?’
‘Whatever. Got it.’
She hauled herself out of bed and tentatively sniffed under her armpits. A shower was what she needed, to clear her head too, but it was shared with others and there’d probably be a queue on a Saturday morning.
She pulled off the T-shirt she’d slept in, rolled on some deodorant, and dressed. As she bent down to lace up her Docs, blood rushed to her head and she drew in a sharp breath as pain pounded her skull. The thought of eggs nearly made her gag. But then . . . coffee.
She pulled her hair into a high ponytail without brushing it first – that’d just turn it to frizz – then went over to the basin in the corner of her room and splashed cold water on her face. Finally she brushed her teeth to get rid of the old carpet taste.
As she picked up her jacket, the memory of Kit sliding his hands inside flashed into her mind.
Oh my god, what was I thinking? How strong was that cider?
She sat down on the bed, her jacket in her lap, and closed her eyes for a moment.
No. The cider had simply helped things along. Kissing Kit had been divine.
So what had happened? Why the panic?
There was a rush of embarrassment as sh
e remembered pushing him away.
She stood up, shrugged on her jacket, then picked up her phone and saw the red ‘1’. The text was from Kit.
KIT: Movie later? Tolkein?
She smiled.
ELIZA: Sure. Txt me details.
‘So?’ said Leigh, as Eliza pulled up a chair. The two girls had already started on their breakfasts.
‘So yourself,’ said Eliza.
‘You first.’
‘Too drunk, in the end. Bit embarrassing. He took me home.’
‘Kit? A gentleman? Who’d have thought?’ said Frankie.
‘He is. He’s lovely.’
‘So that’s it? You staggered home and said goodnight?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘So that’s not it,’ said Leigh. ‘And?’
‘Well . . . We did kiss.’
‘Short kiss? Long kiss? Good kiss?’
Eliza grinned. ‘What do you reckon? You’ve seen that mouth.
But sensible me won out – friendzone only.’ It was a version of the truth. ‘Over to you, Leigh. Did you get caught?’
‘Well, when Will didn’t crumple at the sight of you leaving with Kit, I figured I may as well offer comfort for his non-existent trashed dreams. That’s not making sense, but you get what I mean.’
‘I think so. And?’
‘Clichéd romantic walk by the river. Very nice. He was almost like a normal bloke.’
‘No sonnets?’ said Frankie.
‘Not a single line. He said nice things about my eyes, though. And my lips.’
‘So are you an item?’ said Eliza.
‘Maaaybe. I’m kind of hoping so.’
Eliza’s food arrived, the plate piled high, and she pulled a face at it. ‘The Will Bardington of breakfasts – totally over-the-top full English.’
‘Whereas Kit would be a hash brown with scrambled eggs and the blackest of coffee,’ said Frankie. ‘Eliza, you’re holding something back. You kissed him, you say he’s lovely, but you friendzoned him. Why?’
‘Like I said last night, I’m waiting for Mr Right. I’m not giving it up for someone with the morals of a . . . I don’t know. I’m hungover. Whatever a person with no morals is called.’
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