had a perfectly good house to take her back to.”
Michael had handed her the ideal excuse. “Where does he live, then?”
“A big Victorian terrace in Norham Gardens. His house is up near the Cherwell Boathouse. Now that’s the kind of place I’d like to have one day. In my dreams, that is.”
“You never know,” Carla replied with the breeziness of someone with four bedrooms and no mortgage. She liked Michael. He seemed so ordinary, a tenuous but welcome link with her real life amid the hormones and madness. “Does Alex live on his own?”
“As far as I know.”
“I thought he was divorced…”
Michael’s face was puzzled, and Carla knew she’d veered dangerously close to being far too interested in Alex’s marital status.
“He is divorced, and there might have been a new woman while he was on sabbatical, but Rana, the head of our lab, hasn’t mentioned anyone, and he knows him really well. I think Alex is too busy making a name to get involved with a woman. Did you know he’s landed a TV series about erotic classics on the BBC? Lucky sod. Rana said he got a big fee for it and it’ll help his book sales when he finishes it.”
Carla mentally crossed her fingers. Perhaps the woman had been Alex’s agent. Any sensible person would assume that, yet Carla wasn’t feeling very sensible where Alex was concerned. Their attention was diverted by Gideon, who had collapsed on the lawn, snoring gently.
Michael rolled his eyes. “Better get him to his room and make sure he doesn’t come to any real harm.”
“I’ll help you.”
“I can’t have you doing that. Sorry if that’s sexist of me, but he’ll probably chunder again, and you don’t want kebab all over your lovely dress, do you?”
Michael was so sweet and so eager to be PC that Carla felt a cruel bitch, asking him about Alex. “If you’re sure…”
He beamed. “I am. Carla, I’ve really enjoyed tonight. These aren’t the best circumstances but…do you fancy going out for a drink sometime?”
“Me?”
“Well, yes, I don’t mean Gideon. I know that you might think there’s a difference in age between us, though it’s only a few years… Oh shit. I’m making a right mess of this, aren’t I?”
“No. No.” She squirmed. She liked Michael, but he seemed barely more than a boy. Stephen’s face flashed across her mind, shaking his head and laughing in a gently amused way like when she’d backed the Volvo into the garage doors and the time she’d dripped paint stripper on the dining table.
“I think that…”
Her words were interrupted by Gideon suddenly waking and chundering again, and maybe that was a relief to both of them. Michael took Gideon’s arm. “Come on, mate, let’s get you back to your room before you pebble dash the whole quad. Carla, sleep on it. You know where to find me if you want me. Drop me a note in my pigeonhole or,” he added with a smirk, “I’ll drop something in yours.”
In Emma’s room, Carla couldn’t sleep, even though it was past three a.m. She ran over the tutorial again, trying to think—objectively—about every point Alex had made about her work. To be fair, he had said it was ”well researched” and had some “original insights and showed a lot of promise”, but she’d ignored that praise and focused on the negative things he’d said. Now she’d had space and time to think, he probably hadn’t trashed her essay as much as she’d thought and was only trying to push her. After all, that was why she’d longed to come to Oxford and St Bert’s, to be challenged and dragged out of her suburban comfort zone; to do something for herself, something Stephen would never have expected or thought her capable of doing.
She also thought about the scarlet woman. Even if that woman was a business acquaintance, surely Alex must have a partner, or partners, no matter what Michael had said. No man who dripped sex appeal and charisma from every Provençal pore would have a cold bed for
Michael had handed her the ideal excuse. “Where does he live, then?”
“A big Victorian terrace in Norham Gardens. His house is up near the Cherwell Boathouse. Now that’s the kind of place I’d like to have one day. In my dreams, that is.”
“You never know,” Carla replied with the breeziness of someone with four bedrooms and no mortgage. She liked Michael. He seemed so ordinary, a tenuous but welcome link with her real life amid the hormones and madness. “Does Alex live on his own?”
“As far as I know.”
“I thought he was divorced…”
Michael’s face was puzzled, and Carla knew she’d veered dangerously close to being far too interested in Alex’s marital status.
“He is divorced, and there might have been a new woman while he was on sabbatical, but Rana, the head of our lab, hasn’t mentioned anyone, and he knows him really well. I think Alex is too busy making a name to get involved with a woman. Did you know he’s landed a TV series about erotic classics on the BBC? Lucky sod. Rana said he got a big fee for it and it’ll help his book sales when he finishes it.”
Carla mentally crossed her fingers. Perhaps the woman had been Alex’s agent. Any sensible person would assume that, yet Carla wasn’t feeling very sensible where Alex was concerned. Their attention was diverted by Gideon, who had collapsed on the lawn, snoring gently.
Michael rolled his eyes. “Better get him to his room and make sure he doesn’t come to any real harm.”
“I’ll help you.”
“I can’t have you doing that. Sorry if that’s sexist of me, but he’ll probably chunder again, and you don’t want kebab all over your lovely dress, do you?”
Michael was so sweet and so eager to be PC that Carla felt a cruel bitch, asking him about Alex. “If you’re sure…”
He beamed. “I am. Carla, I’ve really enjoyed tonight. These aren’t the best circumstances but…do you fancy going out for a drink sometime?”
“Me?”
“Well, yes, I don’t mean Gideon. I know that you might think there’s a difference in age between us, though it’s only a few years… Oh shit. I’m making a right mess of this, aren’t I?”
“No. No.” She squirmed. She liked Michael, but he seemed barely more than a boy. Stephen’s face flashed across her mind, shaking his head and laughing in a gently amused way like when she’d backed the Volvo into the garage doors and the time she’d dripped paint stripper on the dining table.
“I think that…”
Her words were interrupted by Gideon suddenly waking and chundering again, and maybe that was a relief to both of them. Michael took Gideon’s arm. “Come on, mate, let’s get you back to your room before you pebble dash the whole quad. Carla, sleep on it. You know where to find me if you want me. Drop me a note in my pigeonhole or,” he added with a smirk, “I’ll drop something in yours.”
In Emma’s room, Carla couldn’t sleep, even though it was past three a.m. She ran over the tutorial again, trying to think—objectively—about every point Alex had made about her work. To be fair, he had said it was ”well researched” and had some “original insights and showed a lot of promise”, but she’d ignored that praise and focused on the negative things he’d said. Now she’d had space and time to think, he probably hadn’t trashed her essay as much as she’d thought and was only trying to push her. After all, that was why she’d longed to come to Oxford and St Bert’s, to be challenged and dragged out of her suburban comfort zone; to do something for herself, something Stephen would never have expected or thought her capable of doing.
She also thought about the scarlet woman. Even if that woman was a business acquaintance, surely Alex must have a partner, or partners, no matter what Michael had said. No man who dripped sex appeal and charisma from every Provençal pore would have a cold bed for
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