The Second Time I Saw You: The Oxford Blue Series #2

by Pippa Croft

  Immy rolls her eyes and pulls out a biro with the end almost chewed off, and the St Nick’s porter finds me an envelope. I rip a piece of paper from the Moleskine in my bag and scrawl a note to Scott. The faster I write it, I figure, the less time I have to think about the consequences of sending it. ‘Sorry I’ve been AWOL. Things have happened but it would be great to see you some time soon. Thanks for you know what.’ Actually, I’m not sure what you know what is but I hope he’ll get the gist.

  While Immy walks out of the Lodge to speak to someone she’s spotted, I locate Scott’s pigeonhole and shove the note in.

  Immy’s waiting under the Lodge porch, chatting to a girl with a bike and a racket bag. The girl laughs and says ‘See you on Monday’ when I reach them, before wheeling her bike away.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘Sure you don’t want to see if he’s in?’ Immy asks mischievously.

  ‘I doubt he will be. He’s always on the river or training with the Blues squad.’

  Immy’s mouth falls open. ‘He’s a Blues rower?’

  Shit. I walked into that one. ‘He’s in the final squad. I don’t know whether he’ll get into the First Eight for the Boat Race yet.’

  ‘Oh my God, even if he doesn’t make the First Eight, he’s a good chance of being in Isis.’ From my conversations with Scott, I know this to be the reserve boat, which will also be racing on the Thames after the end of term. Immy is almost hopping about in excitement. ‘Hang on a minute. Scott Schulze …’ she goes on. ‘I think I saw him in Cherwell. There was a feature on the Blues team training. He’s blond, isn’t he? And American, of course. And unbelievably fit. Oh yes, I remember him. Who could forget him?’

  ‘How do you know his name?’

  She rolls her eyes. ‘You wrote it on the envelope.’

  I sigh. ‘So I did. But we’re not going to stalk him.’

  ‘Rubbish. You need a bit of light relief and I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you.’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘I hope you’re not worried what Alexander will say?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  ‘Then you can have no further objections, Miss Cusack. It sounds to me like it would be rude not to call on him as we were passing. Now shall I ask the porter for his room number or will you?’

  ‘They won’t tell you,’ I say, with a smug smile.

  ‘The young Geordie porter will.’ She taps her nose. ‘Trust me.’

  With a wink, she sallies into the Lodge office and in seconds is back out with a grin as wide as the Potomac on her pretty face. ‘Staircase VIII, Room 15. Top floor in the far garden quad. Come on, the exercise will do us both good.’

  And grabbing my arm, she practically drags me. My God, she is fiendish.

  ‘He won’t be home,’ I say, hurrying to keep up with her.

  ‘Maybe not but there’s a good chance. I reckon he’ll be back from the river and lectures by now and be knackered. He’ll probably be getting some rest before he does some work and some more training.’

  ‘How do you work that out?’

  ‘One of the girls from my field trip lives on a narrowboat opposite the Blues boathouse. She knows their routines inside out. She and her friend have binoculars trained on the place. Sometimes they pull the exercise bikes into the open doorway and cycle for an hour in the sun, the Lycra rolled down to the extent that they’re barely decent.’

  ‘Is your friend studying anatomy as well as Geography?’

  Immy laughs. ‘She is now. You have to introduce me to him. Let’s go and see if he’s in.’

  I’m not sure whether Immy wants to see Scott because she fancies him or is just nosy, or both, but she’s definitely a woman on a mission and maybe she’s right. I do owe Scott a visit – and an apology for avoiding him – and it might look more natural if he thinks I was ‘just passing by’ with a friend and then decided to drop in as well as leave the note.

  After marching through the quads, Immy locates Staircase VIII with the skill of a bloodhound and takes the steps that lead to Room 15 two at a time.

  ‘He might be asleep,’ I hiss, trotting up the stairs behind her.

  ‘He might.’

  Finally, we reach the door. There’s a notepad stuck to it, with a pen hanging down. Someone’s scrawled, ‘Scott, you tosser, where the fuck are you?’ on the pad. I guess it’s a term of affection.

  ‘I’m not sure we should disturb him,’ I say, my feet growing colder by the second.

  Ignoring me, Immy raps on the door and executes a deft move whereby she’s standing behind me and I’m just a foot from the door. Shit. Why am I so nervous? It was only a friendly kiss, a comfort kiss, nothing sparked between us, did it? Then again, is it a great idea to have company if I have to tell him I’ve seen Alexander again despite my determination not to?

  ‘Yeah?’ The door opens and Scott appears, in boxers and a tee, rubbing his dark blond hair and blinking.

  ‘I knew you’d be asleep.’ I grin, embarrassed. ‘Shall we leave you to it?’

  ‘I was.’ His scowl morphs into a grin. ‘But it doesn’t matter. To what do I owe this honour?’

  ‘It was Immy’s idea,’ I blurt before Immy cuts in.

  ‘To disturb you, she means. We’re so sorry. You must be exhausted after all that hard physical exertion but Lauren and I were passing by and she mentioned you’re at St Nick’s and she wondered how you were and I thought it would be a shame if she – we – didn’t at least see if you were here. I’ve heard so much about you.’

  Scott seems surprised but definitely not unhappy and he opens the door wider.

  My God, I am going to kill her when we get out of here but for now I grit my teeth and do the introductions.

  ‘Scott, this is Immy, Immy, Scott.’

  ‘Hey there, Immy. Cute name.’

  ‘Short for Imogen.’ She pulls a face. ‘Scott is short for Scotty, I assume.’

  He laughs. ‘Come on in, ladies, if you dare to step into the bear pit. I don’t have much time for the chores.’

  We follow him in, picking our way over kit bags and sports shoes in the semi-darkness. There’s a pungent smell, kind of spicy and medicinal. When Scott turns his back on us to open the drapes, Immy pinches my elbow and mouths, ‘OMG.’ I give her an Alexander-style glare before Scott turns round.

  ‘It’s a bit of a dump, isn’t it? Sorry about the smell. Embrocation.’

  Immy sniffs the air. ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, it’s not my cologne,’ he says, ‘and luckily for you, I got my laundry collected this morning so you don’t have a pile of sweaty kit to contend with.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with a bit of healthy sweat on a man.’ I want to melt through the floorboards as Immy raises a suggestive eyebrow. Good job Skandar isn’t here now.

  While Immy starts to interrogate Scott about his Blues training, I stand by awkwardly, forcing a smile to my face. Scott focuses on Immy and I can tell he’s enjoying the attention and is amused by her blatant flirting, but I can’t miss the subtle glances in my direction, and the slight look of confusion.

  He tells Immy an outrageous rowing anecdote and we all laugh but then, out of nowhere, there’s an abrupt silence and a gap in the conversation like the Grand Canyon. After the banter, it’s like we’re all staring into the abyss of why we – I – decided to seek him out in this way. I can’t blame it on Immy totally; I could have simply walked out of the Lodge and ignored her protests. The thing is, I’m not sure I can explain without giving him the wrong idea. Oh hell, have I done the right thing?

  ‘I should have offered you guys coffee. I don’t have any beer. I’m supposed to be dry for the rest of the term.’

  ‘Don’t worry. We only just had lunch,’ I say.

  ‘Was it good?’

  ‘Great.’

  Scott’s eyes are on me. ‘So you’re feeling OK?’

  ‘Sure. I’m doing … great.’

  ‘Oh, I appear to have a text.’ We both glance at Immy, who fis
hes her phone from her bag.

  ‘I didn’t hear anything,’ I say.

  ‘It’s on silent,’ says Immy. ‘And I need to call him – I mean her – back. Excuse me while I go outside. I’m sure you don’t want to hear me wittering on.’

  She lets herself out, and the door closes behind her with a soft click. Scott and I are alone and the smile on his face has been replaced with something else I can’t quite fathom. Annoyance? Concern?

  ‘I know, I know … I’ve been a very bad girl,’ I say, keeping my tone light, while squirming inside.

  He raises an eyebrow, still looking a little pissed. ‘I know that much.’

  ‘Scott. I did mean to call you but things got … complicated.’

  The smile is back as if he’s enjoying me digging a hole for myself. I can hardly blame him.

  ‘After I split up with Alexander and you and I … uh … kissed, I needed some time to sort out my life. I needed time on my own.’

  ‘I worked that one out. So what are your conclusions?’

  ‘I have no idea, to be honest,’ I confess, unable to look him in the eye. ‘But I haven’t been finding it as easy as I’d thought to stay away from Alexander …’

  Chapter Seven

  Once I’ve delivered this bombshell, Scott glances away out of the window as if he wants to spare my embarrassment. I’m really hating this – he’s gorgeous and he’s like a centre to my life, a reminder of the normal things, the fun things I sometimes think I’ve let go by plunging into Alexander’s world. I also think I’m going to need his friendship during my time in Oxford so I really hope we can get back on track.

  ‘Then good luck to you,’ he says, meeting my eyes again and giving me his usual cheery smile.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ I say, mortified. ‘You think Alexander is going to chew me up and spit me out and that I should walk away.’

  ‘Really? You acquired telepathic skills since you arrived in Oxford?’ he teases me.

  ‘That’s not fair!’

  ‘No. You’re right. Look Lauren, I like you a lot and I just don’t want to see you get hurt.’ His body relaxes and he takes hold of my shoulders lightly. ‘More than you already have been.’

  I take a deep breath. ‘I’m a big girl, Scott, I know what I’m getting into. And to be honest, I don’t know if I’m even getting into anything at all, it’s so complicated.’ I give him the same cheery smile back.

  He looks down into my face thoughtfully. ‘I’m sure you do. I’m not going to try and persuade you that this Alexander’s wrong for you. That would be arrogant and controlling and I’m not that kind of guy.’

  And Alexander is? I think that’s what he’s implying but I say nothing.

  ‘You might think you’re cool and sophisticated but in reality you’re just as prone to falling in love as the rest of us mortals. I saw how you were with Todd.’

  ‘Alexander is not Todd.’

  ‘No, he’s far more dangerous.’ I laugh out loud and so does Scott. ‘I wouldn’t dream of getting in the guy’s way. I might end up tied to some chair in a dungeon, minus my balls.’

  I roar with laughter at this, so relieved that we are on safer ground and the old easiness with Scott is returning.

  ‘Listen,’ he says, still smiling, ‘if you need a friend, I’m here, you know that. We Americans need to stick together, even if Alexander might not like that!’

  I smile back. ‘I know and don’t worry, I would never let Alexander stop me seeing my friends.’

  ‘Well, I’m happy to hear that,’ Scott teases. ‘So you’ll come to the next USSoc mixer? It’s just about the only time I’ll get let off the leash these days.’

  ‘I’d love to.’ And I realize I really would.

  ‘You could bring Immy along too.’ His eyes twinkle in the roguish way that I guess has most women melting.

  ‘She’d love that.’

  He opens the door and Immy appears to have just finished her call. ‘Good to meet you, Immy,’ he says, kissing her on the cheek. I then see something I’ve never seen before: pink stealing into Immy’s face. I fear the weight of a massive crush on Immy’s part.

  Scott brushes his lips over my cheek too and whispers, ‘Take care of yourself with his lordship.’

  I try not to rise to the bait but can’t help smiling as I picture Alexander’s face if he were here. ‘See you, Scott.’

  ‘Good luck with the training!’ Now recovered, Immy waves cheerily and we’re on our way downstairs.

  The moment we’re out in the quad, she claps her hands together and squeals with delight. ‘Wow. Wow and wow!’

  Oh God, this is worse than I thought it would be. ‘You liked him, then?’ I say.

  ‘He’s OK, I suppose.’ She shrieks, ‘He is completely gorgeous. I can see why Alexander would have gone totally batshit insane if he saw you kissing Scott. I’m amazed Scott hasn’t been found dumped in a skip, minus part of his anatomy.’

  I’m a little surprised myself but I shrug in what I hope is a nonchalant way. ‘Alexander knows that the kiss didn’t mean anything. Scott’s hot and so much fun and a breath of fresh air sometimes, but I don’t really know if I fancy him …’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ says Immy gleefully, as we reach the Lodge.

  ‘Oh, shut up. It’s just so different with Alexander. I crave him, like you might crave something that’s addictive but not that good for you.’

  ‘Are we talking the Jägerbomb kind of not good for you or the crystal meth kind of not good for you?’

  ‘Somewhere in between?’

  She blows out a breath of exasperation. ‘I give up.’

  ‘Before you get too frustrated with me, I have news. Scott asked if we were going to the USSoc party. I said I’d ask if you could fit it into your busy schedule.’

  She heaves out a sigh. ‘We-ell, you know I am sooo busy … Of course I can bloody fit him in, I mean fit it in. Come on, I think that some while ago we’d planned to do some shopping. I think I need a new top for this party.’

  ‘What about Skandar? Won’t he mind?’

  She winks. ‘I haven’t done anything yet for him to mind about.’

  Some of Immy’s favourite stores are along the High and I think we did them all by the time we got to the top where Cornmarket and St Aldate’s join the street. The History of Art Faculty is only a few minutes’ walk away.

  ‘Thanks for a lovely lunch. I feel a lot better but I’m going to drop by the faculty to visit the archive before I go back to Wyckham,’ I say as we’re about to go our separate ways.

  ‘OK. Glad you enjoyed yourself, and thank you for introducing me to Scott, even if I did have to drag you there.’

  ‘I’m happy to have cleared the air.’

  ‘See you tomorrow for a game of tennis, if it’s dry?’ she asks.

  ‘Sure.’

  Immy saunters off down Cornmarket, swinging her Ghost bag, while I scurry down St Aldate’s towards the faculty. I end up doing some work in there and it’s dusk by the time I come out. The streetlights are on and a grey mist hangs in the air that seems to cling to my exposed skin. I take a short cut down Turl Street, and pop into one of the antiquarian bookshops to check if they still have a pair of beautiful Victorian lithographs of Wyckham and its gardens that I saw last term. It’s my mother’s birthday in a couple of weeks and I think I’ll have them shipped over to Washington.

  Luckily for me, they do still have the prints in stock and while the bookseller takes down my details, I get my credit card ready.

  ‘I’m sure your mother will love these. They’re very fine,’ he says, waiting for my payment to go through.

  ‘I’m sure she will.’

  Outside the window, my attention is drawn by a black limo that has stopped by the kerb opposite. I’m wondering how it managed to get this far up the narrow street and am amused by the irritated students weaving round it on their bikes. The driver dodges one of them and scoots around to open the rear door. Must be someone important, i
f he’s in that much of a hurry.

  ‘There, that seems to have gone through. I’ll just write you a receipt.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ The bookseller must think I’m rude paying so little attention to him, but I don’t care because I can’t quite believe my eyes. A tall thin figure swathed in a fur coat has just climbed out of the limo.

  ‘Here you are, Miss Cusack.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  I glance back at him and he holds out the piece of paper. ‘Your receipt.’

  ‘Oh, thanks.’

  ‘I hope we’ll see you again soon if there’s anything else you might be interested in …’

  ‘Yes … thanks. Bye.’

  I dart to the door, trying to see where the woman has gone. Was that her just disappearing round the corner under the glow of a lamp? Out in the street, I weave my way through the students and shoppers and on to the Broad. Looking left and right, straining my eyes, I try to spot her among the other pedestrians but she’s nowhere to be seen. It is dark and very misty, I tell myself as I walk back to Wyckham through the gloomy streets, and I might be imagining it – but here’s the thing: if it was Valentina getting out of that limo, what the hell is she doing in Oxford?

  A couple of hours later, I’m enjoying the view as Alexander bends over to rake the embers of the fire in his sitting room. I had a call from him when I got back to Wyckham, saying he was back in Oxford and inviting me to go round to the house he owns in the city. Despite the way we parted at Falconbury, I agreed. I’ve calmed down now, and although I still have misgivings about him practically bundling me out of the house, his invitation to dinner – and more – was way too tempting to resist.

  As it happens, he had me even before hello. As soon as he had the door open, he practically dragged me into the sitting room and started to take off my clothes before I could catch my breath. The fire was already burning down, and the carpet spread with tartan rugs and scatter cushions.

  Now, I’m watching the tiny sparks from the fire fly through the air and enjoying the way the orange glow lights up the angles and contours of his body, the muscles of his magnificent butt and everything else below. He drops the poker into the hearth with a clatter, turns around and gets back under the rug, beside me on the floor. Now, as I lie here, glowing from the delicious sex and the heat from the fire, my fear that I saw Valentina earlier seems a world away. It’s clear that I’ve been working too hard; I may have eye strain and it was a gloomy afternoon.