My Oxford Year(33)

Maggie touches my hand. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Even after last night?”

I freeze. I don’t allow my voice to have even the slightest tremor, my tone nothing more than inquisitive. “Last night?” I flick my eyes lightning quick to Tom and Charlie.

Charlie leans in. “Arse-Face Ian didn’t ruin your night?”

“Oh!” I nearly chortle. I pour myself a generous glass of wine from the bottle they have open before them. “Completely forgotten.”

Maggie sighs in relief. “Brilliant. We were ever so worried.” Tom and Charlie nod in unison.

Charlie adds, “Ridley and Ahmed took him home after forcibly hydrating him for an hour.”

“Ridley!” I cry. “How did things go with Row Boy? Does he paddle in the same current?” I waggle my eyebrows at Charlie and take a sip of wine.

“That remains to be seen. At present, he wants to see me cox.” I choke on my wine slightly. Charlie squints witheringly at me and says laconically, “Coxswain, darling. The tiny loudmouthed wanker who sits in the front of the boat and yells at the rowers?” He downs the rest of his wine and pours more. “Anyway. Were you completely put off or did you venture forth in search of other diversions?”

Everyone in the room suddenly stops talking and stands up. Maggie, Charlie, and Tom leap to their feet and stand stock-still, like soldiers waiting to be inspected. Instead of asking what the hell is happening, I decide to follow suit and ask questions later. After a moment, a procession of people, in much fancier gowns than ours, walks down the center aisle. They are mostly older and distinguished-looking, except for one head of mussed brown hair that—

What is he doing here? This isn’t his college. He doesn’t see me, but I keep my eyes on him, wondering, in some irrational part of my brain, if he planned this. If he’s trying to see me again.

The procession gathers at the front table, the “important” table. Then, from the back, a deep voice starts speaking quickly but purposefully in Latin, and everyone dips chins to chests and closes their eyes. The prayer is long. So long, in fact, that I can’t help but open my eyes ever so slightly. His beautiful head is bowed in prayer, but his eyes are open, staring down at the table in front of him, the slightest smile on his lips.

The prayer over, everyone takes their seats again and the din of chatter resumes. I risk another glance and see Jamie talking with the woman on his right. She’s laughing.

“So,” Charlie says, and I snap my attention back to him. “Last night?”

“Oh, I just went home. Got some sleep. I really needed it.”

I’m saved by the arrival of food. Servers descend upon us, dropping off plates. My eyes move to the front table again. Jamie pours the woman next to him some wine. Turning back, I find a plate of little fishes staring up at me accusingly. Anchovies. Whole anchovies. With the heads still on. “They still have eyes,” I murmur.

Tom, already digging in, nods happily. “Best part!”

I slide my plate over to him. “I’ll wait for the lasagna.”

“You were saying something about needing it?” Charlie prods.

“Yeah! I was exhausted. Probably adrenaline or something.” I don’t know for sure if what happened last night is supposed to be a secret, I’m just assuming Jamie wouldn’t want his students to know he slept with one of them. But Charlie’s far too perceptive. He’s a bloodhound. If there’s the faintest scent of scandal in the room, Charlie will sniff it out.

He sips his wine. “Did you not hear that catlike screeching in the wee hours?”

The lasagna arrives and I dig in, buying myself some time. “Uh, no.”

“No? It sounded as if it were being mauled right outside our windows. Maybe it was just in heat.”

Unbidden, my eyes flit to Jamie yet again as I take a significant swallow of my wine. He’s still in conversation with the woman on his right. He hasn’t seen me yet. Which is good. It would probably be awkward. For him.

“Did it sound something like this, by chance?” Tom asks, and then proceeds to make the most ungodly screech, a cross between a cat, a siren, and peeling tires. It’s ungodly loud, too, drawing attention to our table. I quickly pivot away from Jamie’s sight line.

Maggie, suppressing a laugh, slaps Tom on the shoulder. “Tom! We’re in Hall. Show some decorum, for God’s sake.”

Tom, oblivious, looks to Charlie and me for confirmation. “Mountain lion?”

“Perhaps it was the Magdalen Bridge troll,” Charlie drawls. “Perhaps he found his larder bare of children and made a dash to Sainsbury’s.”

Tom shakes his head, licking his fork. “Trolls don’t eat children. That’s witches.” I smile. I could listen to Tom being Tom for hours. I’m also relieved to have the focus off of me for the moment. The servers come back and grab our semi-empty plates. “Excuse me?” Tom asks one of them. “What’s the pudding tonight?”

“Custard,” she answers unexcitedly, already leaving.

“I’m well shot of it,” Tom says, tossing his napkin on the table. “I could do with some chips, cheese, and beans, actually. I’m starved.”

“I have chocolate,” Maggie suggests. “My dad just returned from Brussels. Shall I go get it?”