by Croft, Pippa
The following week, I’m enjoying the warmth of the sun on my arms as I walk out of the Sackler Library. Brandon dropped me in Oxford again, before driving Alexander to London to see his lawyers. I have so much to do here and I’m grateful for the chance to spend some time catching up with normality. The cherry blossom hangs in thick clusters from the trees and the golden stone of the colleges seems to glow as I walk along the Broad towards Wyckham. My phone rings and I grin at the name on the screen before remembering that I have some news he may not be happy to hear.
‘Scott, hello!’
‘Hi there. How’s Washington?’
Oh fuck. ‘Even warmer than here, probably, but I’m actually in Oxford right now; I just got out of the Sackler.’
There’s a pause, then, ‘I thought you were going home?’
‘Sorry, I ought to have called. Things got complicated.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I decided to stay on for a while myself. In fact, I’m in Oxford too. It’s suddenly hit home that I have a master’s to complete and only a term to do it in,’ he jokes, making me laugh as he always does.
‘Well, if you will try and be a Boat Race hero …’ I tease. ‘And as you’re studying Water Policy, it shouldn’t take you more than five minutes to learn all you need to know.’
‘Make that more like ten.’ His deep laughter down the phone makes me smile. ‘However, I do need to knuckle down because I ought to leave Oxford with more than blisters. Anyway, how are you?’ he asks. ‘I heard you and Alexander broke up …’
Arghh, this is going to be excruciating. ‘Oh?’ I stall for time.
‘Jocasta told me at the party. I thought you might have told me – we’re meant to be friends, aren’t we?’ he teases.
‘And rain on your parade? No way; you were having a great time and you were with Lia. She seems … um, nice.’ I remember how inexplicably jealous I had felt when Scott waltzed in with Lia, a gorgeous rowing medic. I remember the feeling now with a jolt of surprise – Scott is my friend, and yes, I think he might have a soft spot for me, but why did I feel so jealous? Does that make me a bad person?
‘So are you staying with Immy? When are you going back to Washington?’ he asks before I have time to tell him the rest of the story.
There’s no point waiting any longer so I plunge straight in. ‘I’m staying with Alexander actually. We, er, didn’t stay broken up for long, I guess.’
‘What? Oh … wow.’ He bursts out laughing. ‘This story has more twists than a switchback ride. OK, so fill me in. Where exactly are you now?’
‘Walking towards Wyckham. You?’
‘In the middle of town. How do you fancy lunch? Better still, a picnic?’
‘Sounds lovely. I have no food though.’
‘I’ll take care of that. Meet you by High Bridge in thirty minutes?’
I end the call, feeling much better. I’m looking forward to seeing Scott. The last couple of weeks have been so crazy and so much has happened that I haven’t had a chance to really think, and seeing a good friend who always lifts my mood is just what I need.
After calling in at Wyckham to check my pigeonhole and popping into a wine merchant for a bottle of Prosecco, I scurry eagerly past the Pitt Rivers Museum to the Parks. The breeze ripples through the reeds at the edge of the river and moorhens pootle around in the shallows. I’m a little chilly in my skinny jeans and Joseph top but thankfully I grabbed a cashmere cardigan on my way out. Finding a spot in the shade of a willow, I sit down on the grass to wait for Scott. Punts glide past; laughter and shrieks combine with the quacking of drakes harrying reluctant ducks. Oxford lives up to every idyllic cliché at this time of year, on the surface at least.
Scott greets me with a kiss on the cheek and a grin. ‘Hi, beautiful, how are you?’
I give him a hug and grin back. ‘I’m good, all the better for seeing you actually. The last few weeks have been frantic.’
‘I aim to please,’ he says, holding up a bag filled with delicious food and a rug to sit on, which he spreads on the grass.
‘Wow,’ I whistle, looking at all the treats he’s brought and suddenly feeling very hungry. ‘You’re a regular Martha Stewart.’
He grins. ‘You have no idea.’ He proceeds to unpack chips and dips, some Brie, black grapes, mini baguettes and a pyramid of profiteroles, and couple of bottles of Peroni.
I hand over my bottle. ‘This is my contribution. I haven’t really celebrated your awesome victory yet and I presume you’re not teetotal any more.’
He unwraps the tissue from the bottle. ‘No way. This is great, thanks for the thought.’ He smiles. ‘However, even though I’m not training these days, I could still eat a horse. Shall we get started?’
Scott bats away a gnat before taking a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and sawing a hunk off a baguette.
I pop a grape into my mouth while Scott slathers Brie on his bread. ‘So, what is all this drama with Alex? Are you OK? It sounds like you’ve had a pretty tough time with him.’
‘I don’t really know where it’s going myself,’ I say lightly. ‘We had a big fight and I thought everything was off but the morning after the party, Alexander had a really serious accident. He asked for me, so I went, and I’ve kind of not left.’ I look up sheepishly.
Scott frowns. ‘Jesus. Is he all right?’
‘Things were a little hairy for a while but the surgeons fixed him up and he’s on the mend now.’
‘My God, how did it happen?’
‘I don’t know. It all kicked off while he was on a mission.’
‘I’m sorry he’s been injured,’ he says, then adds, ‘genuinely.’ He swallows a grape. ‘And what about you?’
I don’t know quite how to answer this, all I know is I can’t keep away from the flame, no matter how many times I get burned. I can’t really explain or justify it, it is just the way things are at the moment.
I take a deep breath. ‘Well, I had no choice initially, I had to go to him when he was hurt, and then, I don’t know …’ I tail off. ‘We’re both feeling our way, Scott. I guess that’s all we can do.’
‘Well, that’s an honest answer,’ he murmurs, giving my arm a friendly squeeze. ‘Look, whatever happens, just remember I’m here, always, you know, if you need a shoulder. We’re buddies, you and me.’
‘Buddies?’ I laugh.
He looks at me, his eyes teasing. ‘Do you want us to be more than buddies?’
I blush, as the memory of a kiss in the street, with Alexander looking on, comes back to me. We exist in this limbo land, Scott and I, somewhere between very good friends and would-be lovers. But I ignore the facetious question and give him a playful shove.
‘Hey, thanks, I appreciate the support. Really. But now tell me, what about Lia? Anything to share with me about her?’ I ask lightly, my tone gently teasing.
‘Hmm, not really. She’s fine, we’re good,’ he says, giving nothing away.
‘I love being able to talk to you …’ I say.
‘Good.’ He smiles and squeezes my hand. His hand is shovel-sized and calloused from the oars, yet the pressure he exerts on my fingers is of the lightest kind. ‘Can’t you talk to Alexander?’
I shrug, unable to give an honest answer, which is ‘no’. I’ll always be tiptoeing around Alexander, and the contrast with Scott has never been more stark than now. Scott represents a life I could choose: of steady, uncomplicated fun, of laughter and good times. I’m attracted to him: who wouldn’t be to a six-foot-six hunk of blond gorgeousness with a great sense of humour to boot? Scott would never get himself into a knife fight, or be filmed in a sex video, or leave me curled up on my bed in misery or walking the streets of Oxford with tears streaming down my face.
As if he can read my mind, he says in a mournful voice: ‘You know, life isn’t fair. I go through hell to make the Boat Race squad, I thrash myself to win the race for Oxford, and it still isn’t enough. You want me to parachute into some hellhole and get myself half killed to impress you?’ He grins,
grabbing another piece of baguette.
I can’t help but laugh at this – he is outrageous – but while I am flattered by what he says, I don’t grace him with an answer, swatting him away and suggesting he open the wine and stop yanking my chain.
He picks up the bottle. ‘Sure,’ he says easily. ‘Let’s drink to both our futures, whatever they may be.’ He raises an eyebrow at me and I shake my head at him, laughing.
There’s a pop as he twists out the cork and holds the bottle out to me. ‘You first.’
‘No, I think you earned that privilege.’
He drinks deep and then hands the bottle over. The Prosecco is cool, dry and deliciously fizzy against my tongue. I drink too much in one gulp and hiccup in a very unladylike fashion. Scott bursts out laughing and I do too. Perhaps it’s simply the release of tension between us, but I realize that I’ve laughed too little when Alexander has been around.
The evening sun is slipping towards the horizon when my cab arrives at Falconbury the next day. I stayed in a college guest room last night and managed to get quite a bit of work done. All of the undergraduates have left for the vacation but there were a few master’s and DPhil students around. In fact, I bumped into a couple of friends, Chun and Isla, this morning and we went for a late breakfast.
On my way out of college, I also bumped into my tutor, Professor Rafe, who asked me why I was still in Oxford and hadn’t gone home to Washington. He’s been trying to hit on me all year and warn me off Alexander, but he obviously knew about Alexander’s accident – he is a member of the senior teaching staff and they had to be informed, naturally. I couldn’t deny I’d been visiting Alexander but I lied and told him I’d been staying with Immy. Even so, he gave me a lecture about focusing on my revision and take-home exams and not being distracted.
In one way, he’s right, of course: I am distracted by Alexander’s drama – not to mention his body – but there is no way I’d ever admit that to Rafe. He may be my tutor but he’s also a creep and I would never give him the satisfaction. I mull all of this over on the drive back to Falconbury, where Helen walks down the steps the moment my cab rolls up on the forecourt. From her anxious face, I can tell immediately that something is wrong.
‘I ought to warn you we’ve got a visitor,’ she says in a voice so quiet I can hardly hear.
‘Who?’
She swallows, and I have a terrible feeling of foreboding. ‘Well, Lauren, I’m afraid Valentina arrived last night.’
I was expecting something bad, but not quite this level of bad. ‘What?’ Oh Jesus, I think to myself, this really might finish me off.
Helen grimaces. ‘I know, I’m sorry.’
I swallow hard and try to look slightly less like I’m on my way to the guillotine. ‘Hey, it’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s not your fault. Where is she?’
‘I think she’s gone to the stables with Alexander.’
I tell myself to get a grip. ‘OK, thanks for the warning. I appreciate it.’
‘Do you want Robert to take your bags to your room so you can go straight to the stables?’
‘Thanks, but no. I’ll take them up myself. I could do with a few moments.’
Helen allows herself a brief smile. ‘Good luck.’
OK Deep breaths, Lauren. You. knew she’d turn up sooner or later … I sit on the edge of the bed and try to calm myself. Any fool might have guessed Valentina wasn’t going to disappear so easily, and that she’d come running as soon as she heard about Alexander’s accident. Maybe she knows I’m here too and wants to cause more trouble – Rupert might have told her.
I pace the room, unable to keep still. No amount of deep breaths will make me feel calm about this; I just know it will end in a massive row and mostly likely heartache for me. I close my eyes and remember the easy, relaxed time I just had with Scott. Am I really up for all this, I wonder to myself. Why am I so bothered by Valentina? She’s just a vindictive witch, and Rupert an idiot who does whatever she asks.
It’s no good, I decide. I can’t leave Alexander to Valentina any longer. I touch up my make-up, like I’m putting on a suit of armour – then laugh at myself for doing it. After scooting downstairs so fast I’m out of breath, I force myself to saunter casually along the back corridor that leads through the boot room to the stables.
I stop a few feet from the boot room, the door of which is open a few inches.
‘Amore, you must listen to me. Surely this latest disaster has convinced you that you must leave the army. When I heard you had been mortally wounded, I almost fainted.’
‘It wasn’t mortal, Valentina, or I’d be dead.’
I hold my hand over my mouth at Alexander’s sarcastic reply. It must be nerves making me giggle.
‘Yet look at you. You barely escaped with your life!’ She tuts. ‘I think you are being very stoical, but at least it will be a wake-up call for you, and now I am here to help you.’
Help? Stifling the urge to swear, I hover by the door.
‘You see, you still need me, Alexander.’
There’s a pause after this statement that goes on so long I have to open the door.
‘Arggh! Fuck!’
‘Shit, I’m sorry!’
Alexander’s face is screwed up in pain where the door hit him on the shoulder. His Barbour jacket slides to the floor.
Valentina’s glare is enough to strip the flesh from my bones.
‘What do you think you are doing? Alexander is in agony.’
He clutches his lower arm with his hand and winces. ‘I. Am. Not. In. Bloody. Agony.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t know you were behind the door!’
‘You should be more careful, Lauren,’ Valentina snaps, looking me up and down like I just crawled out of a swamp.
Ignoring Valentina, I pick up Alexander’s Barbour but she snatches it from me and tries to drape it around his shoulders. ‘Here, tesoro, you must not get cold.’
‘I’m not an invalid,’ he growls and, shrugging the coat aside, brushes past us and stalks off up the corridor.
She sweeps into the library after him. I follow too, my head held high.
Alexander is facing away from us, standing by the window, clutching his arm.
‘I don’t care what you say, amore. I am going to stay here until you are well again. Lauren will fail her exams if she stays, and she doesn’t know how to take care of you anyway.’
Valentina walks up to him and touches his arm but he shakes it off.
‘I’m not bloody helpless. There are plenty of people to help me here. Robert and Helen can lend a hand if I need it, and Lauren is here by choice; we don’t need you too.’
And with that, Alexander stalks off. Pushing open the heavy door with one arm and a sore body gives him trouble but I wouldn’t dare intervene.
I am left with Valentina, standing with her hands on her hips, her lips pursed in frustration. ‘You see the agony he is in? He is a wreck. You are obviously not looking after him properly. I will stay no matter what he says!’
She sits down in Alexander’s chair, and crosses one long leg over the other.
‘The last thing he needs is a nursemaid, Valentina.’
She curls her lip in contempt. ‘A nursemaid? I have no intention of being a nurse.’ She shudders. ‘I would hire someone for that, if I needed it. Obviously, our ideas of therapy are very different.’
A hot fury burns through me. I stare coolly at her and take my time to reply. ‘Yes, of course, I’ve seen,’ I say lightly. ‘That sex clip left nothing to the imagination. Thank you for sharing it with me.’
She smirks. ‘You are so puritanical, but I guessed you would not be giving Alexander what he needs, what he loves. I am his age, with more experience than you have in your little finger.’ She waves her pinkie at me, tipped with a glossy talon. ‘You know what you are up against now, little Lauren – a real woman – and you’ll be gone before the end of the week now I’m here, you’ll see.’
Her audacity takes my breath aw
ay. I don’t want to get in a catfight but really, how much am I supposed to put up with? ‘Oh really? A “real woman”? Not a desperate witch who can’t leave her ex boyfriend alone?’ I ask, with an arched eyebrow. It’s a little below the belt, I admit, but you can be pushed too far.
She raises her eyebrows. ‘Don’t you think hurling insults in Alexander’s home is a little inappropriate? At least you’ve shown your true colours, and your lack of class, if I may say so.’
‘Well, your true colour is definitely green,’ I snap back, utterly furious. ‘Emerald to the core. Try any therapy you want on Alexander, and see what he thinks about it. I have my own life to lead and I’ve wasted enough breath on this ridiculous conversation.’
I try hard not to wrench the door open and let it slam but the sound of the wood hitting the frame echoes around the grand hallway of Falconbury and causes Robert to stare at me as I stomp up the stairs to my room.
I walk along the landing, where Helen is arranging tulips in a vase. As I pass, she shoots me a questioning look but I can only give her a hands-up WTF gesture. I think I can hear Alexander thumping around in his study but I carry on, back upstairs to our room. I won’t be part of some undignified scrap over him.
If I thought the first dinner party I ‘enjoyed’ at Falconbury was awkward, tonight’s knocks that occasion out of the park. We’ve gathered for supper in the dining room. I don’t know why Alexander wants to eat here; maybe he wants to make a deliberate statement about keeping things formal or about Valentina being part of the past – perhaps it has nothing to do with him and Robert merely assumed that because we had guests, dinner should be served in here.
Whatever, the atmosphere is somewhere below glacial. We sit around the dining table, Valentina at one end, me at the other, with Alexander in between. Valentina is in a skintight dress with a plunging neckline and out of sheer determination not to be accused of trying to ‘compete’ and, I admit, to show how ‘at home’ I am here, I decided to go for a more casual look with new tightly fitting cargos from Anthropologie and a top that’s simple but beautifully cut and always gets Alexander hot under the collar. Though the way Alexander has his eyes focused on his dinner, I don’t think he’d notice if both of us were dressed as clowns. This is one occasion when I so wish Emma was here, ‘accidentally’ putting her foot in things in her own inimitable way, but she’s away for the night at a charity fashion show.