Third Time Lucky

by Croft, Pippa

  ‘Really? Sounds awesome. Where?’

  Immy picks at the cushion my grandma sent over for me. Some of the embroidery has long since unravelled now – we’ve both given that cushion some angst over the past year. I feel relieved; I was probably reading more into her comments than she intended. We’re all tired and edgy at the moment.

  ‘Probably Australia or New Zealand, via the Far East. I’ve only started thinking seriously about it in the past week or two.’

  ‘It sounds so exciting.’

  She hugs my cushion. ‘I think so. I’m hoping to make more specific plans but I need to get my degree first.’

  ‘You’re still coming to the play though?’

  ‘With all that free Pimm’s and the codpieces? Wild horses wouldn’t keep me away.’

  Alexander picked Emma up from school earlier and has brought her straight to the play. She hugs me. She’s still coltish but she looks brighter, her cheeks are pinker and she doesn’t look so tired. ‘How are you?’ I ask discreetly while we’re waiting for the play to start.

  ‘I’m fine’ she insists. ‘By the way, who did you say the guy on the gate was?’

  ‘Which guy?’

  ‘The big blond American who handed out the programmes. He seems to know you very well.’

  ‘Oh him; that’s Scott. He’s a friend from home.’

  ‘He’s lush.’

  ‘He has a girlfriend,’ I say firmly, pleased that Emma’s moved on from Henry but dismayed that Scott’s come on to her radar.

  ‘Serious?’

  ‘I – ​uh – ​don’t really know.’

  She holds up her programme. ‘I’ll have to find out then,’ she announces breezily.

  Fortunately for everyone, the production keeps us all quiet for the next hour or so. Much Ado is my favourite Shakespeare play; I never tire of the sparring between Beatrice and Benedick, nor the moment they finally fall for each other.

  At the end of the play, we all pile out of the temporary stands and mill about by the outdoor bar, drinking. Emma’s been allowed a Pimm’s and is fizzing like champagne in a glass, probably because Scott has joined us.

  Emma turns to him with a flirtatious smile. ‘Would you like to introduce us to the cast, Scott? Lauren said you know most of them.’

  ‘Sure,’ says Scott. ‘Would you like to come, Alex?’

  ‘Oh, he won’t want to come. He’s not interested in costumes.’

  ‘I don’t expect Scott is either,’ Alexander says tersely.

  ‘True, but if the girls want to see behind the scenes, I don’t mind showing them around. If it’s OK with you.’

  Alexander shrugs. ‘Be my guest. While you’re showing the girls behind the scenes, I have to make a phone call.’

  ‘We’ll see you in a little while then. Come on, ladies.’

  He holds out his arms to Immy and me, much to Emma’s annoyance, and off we trail to the backstage area. While we’re chatting to the cast, Emma is flirting like crazy, but Scott’s not rising to the bait. He’s friendly, chatty and polite to her but that’s where it ends; and there’s definitely no way Emma can get the impression he’s interested in her. I hope.

  Later, back at the house, with Emma in bed, I lie next to Alexander, who’s staring up at the ceiling.

  ‘You seem on edge. If it’s Scott and Emma, you’ve nothing to worry about. Scott’s been the perfect gentleman and he’d never hit on a girl as young as Emma, especially not your sister.’

  ‘I’m not worried.’

  ‘That’s good, because he is gorgeous, and Emma’s only human.’

  He turns to me. ‘Gorgeous? Is that what you think?’

  ‘It’s what most women think.’

  He snorts in derision. ‘I hope you don’t say that sort of thing about me.’

  ‘Of course I don’t.’

  ‘Good,’ he says.

  I circle my finger around his nipples and they harden under my fingertip. ‘It would be a lie,’ I say. ‘You’re not gorgeous.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  I walk my fingers up his chest. ‘You’re annoying, awkward and borderline rude …’

  ‘You flatterer.’

  ‘I’m not flattering you. It’s true. You’re scary.’

  He looks incredulous. ‘No, I’m not.’

  I smile. ‘Would you rather be gorgeous or scary?’

  ‘Neither. I’m just … normal.’

  I burst out laughing. ‘Alexander Hunt, normal is the last thing you are.’

  I roll on top of him, delighted to feel the rigidity of his erection against my stomach. I lay my head against his chest, and the hair brushes my cheek.

  His voice resonates against my ear. ‘So you don’t think me at all gorgeous?’

  ‘Not one bit.’ I fizz with excitement at what I do find him: Hot, dangerous, knicker-wettingly sexy …

  My hand moves lower, circling him between my thumb and forefinger and he moans with pleasure.

  ‘As you can see …’

  Next morning, Alexander went for a run and has now gone up to London for some dark purpose that I assume has to do with the regiment. I’ve been working all morning and to be honest, will probably be working for most of the day, so I decide to blow away the cobwebs with a quick walk to the Parks and back.

  Emma is also meant to be revising but she’s already at the door when I walk back up the steps of Alexander’s house.

  ‘Lauren. I’m so glad you’re back.’

  ‘Really?’ I joke.

  ‘Yes.’ She hugs me tightly. Too tightly.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I ask when she finally lets me breathe again.

  ‘I think so.’

  A lump settles in my throat as I follow her into the sitting room and dump my bag on the couch. ‘You think so? What’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing really … except I saw Henry.’

  ‘What? Here in Oxford?’

  ‘Yes, he texted me and asked me to meet him in a cafe in the Covered Market.’

  I resist the urge to scream: ‘no, no, and no’. ‘What did he want?’ I ask nervously.

  ‘To get back together, of course. He said he’d made a “fucking massive mistake”,’ she says, bracketing her fingers around the words, ‘in leaving me and that things would be different from now on.’

  I snort.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that. Of course I didn’t believe him, and I told him where to go.’

  ‘And did he?’ I ask, crossing my fingers.

  She curls her lip. ‘Not to start with. He started grovelling and almost begging me to take him back. It was pathetic, really, so in the end, I walked out.’

  She lifts her chin proudly but her eyes are suspiciously bright.

  I hold out my arms. ‘Oh, Emma, how horrible for you but I’m sure you’ve done the right thing. It must have hurt to face him again and tell him that.’

  She hugs me again, and her tears wet my cheek. ‘More than I thought it would, and maybe I shouldn’t even have agreed to meet him, but I had to see him face to face. I wanted to prove to myself as much as to him that it was over and he couldn’t hurt me any more.’

  ‘So, how did he take being dumped for a change?’

  She pulls a face. ‘Not well. He turned a bit nasty, in fact, and I was glad we were in the cafe. He said Alexander must be bullying me into doing it, and that I ought to grow up and make my own decisions.’

  ‘My God, he is a prize asshole. He only said that to try and stop you from telling Alexander he’d hit on you again.’

  ‘I know.’

  I mime applause. ‘Well done you.’

  She wipes the back of her hand over her eyes. ‘So, I’m glad I saw him, even if it was horrible, because if I hadn’t faced him again, and finally seen what a loser he is, I’d always have been wondering what might have been. And it was sooo sweet to dump him this time. I think he was only after me to hurt Alexander and get his hands on my trust fund. After the scare I had last term, I wonder if he hoped I’d get pregnant so
he could marry me or something.’

  I feel sad to hear her say this but also suspect it’s possibly true. ‘Whatever his motives, you don’t need a shit like him. You’re gorgeous, Emma; you’re funny and feisty and …’

  ‘A real pain in the bum at times?’

  ‘That too,’ I laugh. ‘It seems to be a Hunt trait.’

  ‘I know,’ she says proudly, then looks right at me, with the kind of look that slices like a scalpel, the sort her brother does so well, ‘But you can’t resist us, can you?’

  This statement is so accurate I am momentarily dumbstruck, but then I shake my head and say: ‘I was thinking of getting out of here and taking you out for tea at Brown’s but now I don’t know.’

  She laughs. ‘I’ll behave from now on. I promise I won’t give you any more trouble. Ever.’

  ‘I doubt it very much, and maybe I’d be a little bit disappointed if you didn’t.’

  Later that evening, after Alexander has taken Emma back to school, I climb into bed next to him.

  ‘How was Emma?’ he asks, knowing we went out for tea.

  ‘OK.’ I hesitate. ‘She saw Henry earlier today.’

  His fingers still and he stares at me. ‘What? Was he here? At the house?’

  He shakes his head from side to side, as if can’t believe what I’ve told him. ‘If he comes within fifty feet of her again, I will rip off his dick and shove it down his throat.’

  ‘You’re too late. Emma has already done it – ​metaphorically at least.

  He snaps up to sitting upright and rakes his hands through his hair. ‘Good girl!’ he exclaims. ‘Was she upset?’

  ‘She’s a Hunt, isn’t she?’ I grin. ‘She’s proud, like her brother, and she’s also smart enough to have seen through Henry now she’s not feeling so vulnerable.’

  He shakes his head, as if he’s lost for words, then looks at me. ‘I do … appreciate what you’ve done for Emma; she likes you. I know that occasionally I may seem a little overprotective of Emma …’

  ‘Only a little …’

  He glances at me. ‘You’re laughing at me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. But Emma needs to make her own mistakes. We all do it.’

  My look lets him know I mean he’s my biggest one. Right now, he is a massive mistake because something has changed between us and I feel light-headed. He looks at me, unties the ribbons of my cami, pulls it apart and exposes me.

  He kisses the side of my neck. I close my eyes, almost unable to bear the velvet softness of his mouth on my skin. He kisses his way down my throat and down my cleavage.

  ‘Sometimes,’ he murmurs, lowering his head towards my breasts, ‘I wonder how I’m ever going to survive without you.’

  I have no reply. I daren’t utter a word. All I can do is focus on the sensation of his mouth because, no matter how hard I try, I can’t help wondering exactly the same.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The following Saturday, there’s hardly room to move, let along swing a cat, on the terrace of Wyckham boathouse. The place is jumping, literally, and I half wonder if the boathouse roof might give way. A bunch of us have dragged ourselves away from the library to come to watch Bumps, the traditional Summer Eights Week on the Thames, or the Isis as I must remember to call it, unless I want to attract curled lips. Immy’s gone to the bar while I keep a prime viewing spot overlooking the river and slipway.

  My mind ought to be on drinking in the sights and sounds, but instead it’s on my exams, all the work I still have to cover, and on Alexander, and on the job, and my future …

  ‘More Pimm’s?’

  Immy has picked her way through the forest of boat club boozers to reach me. Pimm’s sloshes over my fingers when she hands me the plastic glass but, hey, I already seem to have half of the boat club bar over me, so why worry?

  ‘Eww, cucumber. I hate that in Pimm’s.’ She fishes out a chunk with her fingers and flicks it over the wall.

  ‘What the hell?’

  At this bellow, Immy peers over the edge of the terrace to the crowds below. ‘Oh dear, what a shame!’

  When I glance over, I see Rupert glaring up at us and wiping a piece of cucumber from his face.

  ‘Sorry, Rupes, I had no idea you were down there!’ Immy calls cheerily.

  Rupert, holding a bottle in his hand, shakes his head and resumes his conversation with a bunch of guys with bikes.

  ‘Good shot,’ I say.

  She grins. ‘It really was an accident but I suppose you could call it a happy one. Is Alexander still not speaking to him?’

  ‘Other than essentials, no, which is why we haven’t been to college dinner much. The de Courceys have been to Falconbury on business but I’m sure they don’t know about the video.’

  ‘Rupert’s lucky Alexander hasn’t ripped his balls off.’

  ‘That’s assuming he had any.’

  Immy laughs. ‘So, where’s Alexander now?’

  ‘Working, but he’ll be here later. Rowing’s not really his thing but he wanted to come.’

  We hear a swell of noise from further down the river.

  ‘Oh, Wyckham must be on their way!’

  There’s a rush for the edge of the terrace and a buzz of excitement. Further down the towpath, I see dozens of bikes racing along and the cheering grows louder. People start shouting behind me as the first boat comes into view round the bend in the river.

  ‘Come on Wyckham!’

  The screams are deafening now as the boats chase each other in single file, trying to bump the boat in front without being caught up by the boat behind. It’s crazy, really, and there have already been a couple of collisions, one of which ended up with some of the crew in the river. In a minute, it’s all over. Someone shouts down my ear and spills his pint on me.

  ‘Look at that! Wyckham have bumped Merton!’

  I dab at the lager stain on my dress. ‘And this is a good thing?’

  ‘It’s awesome. It means that with one more race Wyckham could be Head of the River.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘Try and sound more enthusiastic, it matters. They’ll burn a boat tonight if we do it.’

  ‘What? Literally?’

  ‘Yes. The Warden has given permission for the boat club to set fire to an old one in the Garden Quad, if we do it.’

  ‘But aren’t St Nick’s up for the title as well?’

  ‘Oh yes, but we can beat them, even if they do have Scott.’

  A while later the victorious Wyckham crew arrive at the bank, where their girlfriends are waiting by each college’s pontoon with a plastic pint glass of Pimm’s for each rower. I find myself alone on the terrace. The crowds have thinned a little but it’s still busy up here. Immy had gone to the ladies, but I can see her below on the slipway in front of the boathouse, chatting to the hunky rower she spent the night with at the Boat Race party. There’s no way I’m going to interrupt that. Alexander has arrived, but headed to the bar by way of the gents about half an hour ago, and while I don’t need to be joined at the hip to him, I’m beginning to wonder what could have kept him. Maybe he’s had a phone call from work – ​or from Emma.

  It’s then that I spot him outside the boathouse doors below me. He’s talking to Rupert, although ‘talking’ isn’t an accurate way to describe their conversation. Judging by his animated gestures, Alexander is laying into Rupert, who has his hands in his pockets and is leaning back defensively. He’s obviously trying to act cool, but I can tell he’s intimidated. I catch a snatch of sneering laughter. Their voices are raised a little and then Rupert jabs a finger at Alexander’s chest before turning his back and stalking off. He glances up briefly, but I don’t think he sees me. I hope not; I don’t want any crap from him today.

  ‘Hey!’ I stumble a little as beer splashes on my dress. It’s Professor Rafe.

  ‘Lauren, I am sorry. Here, let me help.’

  He pulls out a handkerchief.

  ‘It’s OK!’ I say through gritted teeth but he’s alr
eady dabbing at the wet patch on the front of my dress.

  ‘No, really. I’m fine.’ I scoot backwards, knocking the arm of the boat club president, who curses.

  ‘I am so sorry. I can have your dress cleaned.’

  ‘No. Really. Please don’t bother.’ The idea of Rafe having my laundry done makes me want to barf.

  ‘That’s very generous of you, Lauren, but I am most awfully sorry.’

  He’s acting way over the top, even for Rafe, and when I get a strong whiff of beer fumes, it occurs to me that he’s a bit tipsy.

  ‘I didn’t know you liked rowing,’ he says.

  ‘Likewise,’ I say coolly, trying to keep some distance between us.

  ‘Of course, I do. I’m here representing the SCR. It’s a momentous day for Wyckham. We haven’t been Head of the River since 1850, you know.’

  I resist the urge to ask him if he remembers the event. ‘You don’t say?’

  He treats me to another beery leer. ‘Can I get you a drink? I hate to see a woman empty-handed.’

  ‘No, thanks. Alexander went to get one …’ I search the terrace, frantically hoping he’ll materialize and save me from a prolonged conversation with Rafe. Having to see him in tutorials is bad enough without meeting him at social events. Particularly when I suspect he’s had more than a few drinks.

  ‘You seem a little concerned? Has he been gone a while?’

  ‘Not really. I guess there are still long queues at the bar.’

  ‘Not as long as earlier. Maybe someone distracted him.’

  ‘It happens.’ I shrug. My skin prickles as it often does when I’m in close proximity to Rafe, and I swear he’s just moved a few inches closer.

  ‘I wouldn’t get distracted from you, Lauren.’ My flesh really crawls now. He must be drunk to hit on me like this in a public place. ‘You’re pretty difficult to ignore.’ He leans even closer and I would take a step back but the wall of the terrace is stopping me.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s a good thing …’

  ‘Oh, believe me, it is and I’m glad you’ve snatched a few hours’ respite from essays and revision. In fact, I’ve been waiting to catch you in a more … informal moment. I’m not sure if you’ve had a chance to think about what you might do after your master’s. I’m sure you have many ideas.’