The First Time We Met: The Oxford Blue Series #1 (13 page)

One week later and judging by the knowing looks whenever I show my face in public the whole of Wyckham knows that I’ve shagged Alexander. I’m not sure word has got out into the rest of Oxford yet, but Immy has warned me we could end up in the student press gossip columns, which I’d hate every bit as much as Alexander.

I’m kind of hoping word hasn’t spread to the American students’ society, because tonight I’m at their Transatlantic Cocktail Party, which according to the invite is meant to be an ‘informal themed mixer for graduate students’. After skipping the introductory party to go to the Rashleigh Hall ball I feel I ought to show up at this event. My mother sits on the same charity committee chaired by the mother of the organizer and while I haven’t met Maisey before, from the tone of her email, I think she’s following in her mom’s footsteps. Looking around at the Anglo-American themed decor, canapés and cocktails, I suspect Martha Stewart herself could take a few tips from Maisey’s party-planning skills.

‘What the hell are you doing here, Lauren Cusack?’

A deep East Coast voice cuts through the throng of guests in the grad students union. Even if I hadn’t heard Scott Schulze first, I guess I would have spotted
his six-and-a-half-feet frame within seconds of him entering the room.

With an Amstel Light in his hand, Scott shoulders his way through the throng. I suppose it’s not
that
surprising I should meet someone who knows Todd in Oxford. But Scott is his second cousin and that’s a little too close to home for me right now. I wonder how much Todd told him about the break-up, or how accurate any of it was. I shouldn’t be bothered any more, but I always liked Scott, and I do care what he thinks of me.

‘So what
are
you doing here?’ he asks when he reaches me. At five-seven plus a pair of Coach heels, I’m hardly vertically challenged, but he still has to duck low to kiss my cheek. I wonder if he’s grown an inch or two since we last met.

I throw on a smile. ‘Hey there, I could ask you the same thing. It’s great to see you, but I had no idea you were planning to study at Oxford. You never mentioned coming here when I saw you at the Adlers’ last fall.’

‘That was before my rowing coach mentioned he knew a friendly Fellow at St Nicholas who happened to be in urgent need of a stroke for the college’s First Eight. St Nick’s is determined to beat Christ Church and be Head of the River this year.’

A few weeks ago, this statement would have gone over my head, but given Wyckham’s obsession with rowing I now know exactly what he means.

‘So you’re studying rowing?’ I tease.

‘If only. My family think I’m doing a master’s in
Water Science Policy, but, honestly, if I’d thought it would get me a place in the Blues boat, I’d have studied my own toenail clippings.’

‘Is there a difference between the two?’

‘Ouch. I’m hurt. Don’t you know that water science is fascinating?’ His ‘hurt little boy’ expression makes me smile and his sea-green eyes are alive with mischief. As we talk about Oxford’s weird and wonderful ways, I realize why I liked him so much, although I guess I was always too caught up with Todd to recognize it. With that athletic physique and surfer blond hair, it’s no wonder Scott had a string of girls after him at Harvard.

Soon Scott has me laughing out loud with some tales from his Blues training that I find so hard to believe that they must be true.

‘Oh, come on. You must have made that one up. No one on the planet has a fifteen-inch penis! It’s anatomically impossible.’

He winks. ‘Don’t you know by now that the more outrageous the story, the more likely it is to be true? This
is
Oxford.’

Since truly remarkable things have also happened to me in the three weeks since I got here, I can hardly contradict him. I sip my Bay Breeze. It’s not quite how they make them back home, but the staff have done a pretty good job.

A waiter wafts by with a tray of canapés. ‘Mmm. Interesting combination: mushroom polenta diamonds and mini Yorkshire puds,’ says Scott, selecting a pudding.

‘I guess Maisey thought it was symbolic. A fusion of our two great nations,’ I say.

The canapé goes down in one gulp and he grimaces. ‘So, are you here to snag a prince or make my cousin even more pissed than he already is? Why exactly did you guys split up? I thought you’d have been engaged to be Mrs Todd Adler III by now.’

The conversation has nose-dived and I’m obviously not quick enough to hide my discomfort because he screws up his face and groans.

‘Shit. I think I overstepped the mark.’

‘With the princes or the Todd thing?’

‘Maybe both?’

His smile is rueful and I can’t be offended by it. ‘Don’t worry about it. Besides, the princes appear to be taken and I’m not planning on being Mrs Anybody any time soon. Todd and I started to go downhill soon after his parents’ anniversary and we’ve been history since midsummer. I’d already planned to come here to study and that didn’t help. Todd wasn’t happy, but this – the master’s and Oxford – is what I’ve wanted for a long time.’

I keep it to that; the last thing I want to do is criticize Todd to his own cousin and drag up the whole saga of the shitty way he treated me. I flash him an ironic smile. ‘You can make a remark about toenail clippings if you want and I can’t even claim to be studying to get a place in the Blues boat.’

‘It’s OK, Lauren, you don’t have to apologize for going for your dream. It’s obvious you were passionate
about your art and you’ve always seemed to be your own woman … Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but I’m not totally devastated that you broke up with Todd even though you guys did seem serious. In fact, I salute you for having other, dare I say higher, ambitions.’

I’m not sure how to take his remark, which sounds sincere enough, but I’m also not sure what his definition of a higher ambition is. Suddenly, I become conscious of antennae twitching, mostly of the female variety. I can hardly blame them; Scott is handsome, loaded and single. The vintage clock above the bar tells me we’ve been chatting for almost half an hour and it must look like one or other of us is hitting on the other.

He seems to have picked up on my restlessness. ‘Am I monopolizing you? I guess Maisey meant this to be a chance for the US grad students to interact socially, at least that’s what her invite said.’

‘You’re not monopolizing me but maybe we should go mingle with a few others, if only for Maisey’s sake. I’m sure I’ll bump into you in between training and your water-policy studies.’

‘You can count on it.’ He lowers his voice and his expression becomes serious enough to set off tiny alarm bells in my head. ‘I may be about to crash and burn … but we’re going to be around the same small world for a year. How would you feel about going out for dinner one night?’

His ruggedly handsome features are softened by a disarming and slightly sheepish look. But for all the laid-back charm I can’t help but compare him to
Alexander’s icily polite veneer. Alexander would take it as a huge insult to be called charming. The very thought of it makes me smile to myself and all I have to do is tell Scott about him to end this, but can’t see a way of doing it neatly or nicely.

‘I thought you spent all your spare time down at the river? I’d hate to scupper your chances of making the Blues boat.’

‘I don’t think there’s much chance of that and, even if you did, it would be a major consolation to know you were the reason I failed.’

It’s so deft a compliment, that I’m wrong footed. ‘At the risk of sounding boring, I have a lot of work. My tutor’s a real diva and he keeps cracking the whip over me.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘My tutor’s a demon too – some say she has scales under her gown.’

Scott has made me laugh out loud again. In fact, he makes me laugh a lot more than Alexander. But then I haven’t exactly fallen for Alexander because of his comic timing. Plus, I
have
to put Scott out of his misery right now and tell him I’m seeing someone.

‘You can’t blame me for trying. You were always the sexiest girl in the state and, since I last saw you, well, it’s like you’ve lit right up from inside.’

Heat rushes to my cheeks. This is way too much. ‘Scott, I don’t think –’

He holds up a hand. ‘Don’t beat yourself up trying to explain. I can see it might be too soon for you to think of dating again after the break-up, but it’s only
dinner and there’s really no pressure. You know where I am – call into St Nick’s any time or give me a call. Here’s my cell number.’ He pulls a card from the pocket of his Carhartt’s and waggles it in front of my nose.

Just as he slips the card between my fingertips and I’m about to tell him about Alexander, Maisey’s shriek reverberates in my ears.

‘Lauren! I’ve been trying to get to you all evening, but people
will
keep talking to me. I am so happy you made it tonight. Do you know how many of the grad students have asked me to introduce you? You have quite a reputation already.’

‘Are you thinking a Lindsay Lohan-type reputation or full-on Bernie Madoff-level of notoriety?’

Maisey’s face registers a mix of confusion and dismay. Irony is obviously not her major at Oxford. She gives me a little push on the arm as Scott looks on, trying not to laugh. ‘Oh, you’re joking. Now, you must solve a little mystery for me. I heard a rumour you’re dating a British aristocrat. I said it couldn’t be true, so soon after you broke up with your fiancé. Everyone was so upset for you both. You seemed like the perfect couple.’

Can you get arrested for skewering people with a swizzle stick in the UK or is it considered a public duty?

‘Well, I –’

‘I knew it was a lie. I told Deanna Robeson – you remember her? Her father’s running for the Ohio nomination?’

I don’t, actually, but I already worked out that Maisey is the kind of woman who doesn’t need a reply.

‘I
said
I didn’t believe you would be in a serious relationship with some British guy this soon.’

‘Well, Todd and I weren’t engaged and, as you pointed out, Alexander and I only met less than three weeks ago.’ Oh shit. That didn’t work, did it? Maisey’s eyes pop out on stalks and Scott is failing manfully to show he’s not totally pissed. Why do I feel guilty when I have no need to be? But I
should
have told him about Alexander before Maisey dropped the bombshell. I don’t really know why I hesitated.

‘I understand,’ says Maisey, meaning precisely the opposite.

‘But you
are
dating this aristo Brit?’ Scott asks with great relish.

‘I suppose we’re kind of seeing one another …’ Mostly naked, I think with a blush.

‘Deanna said he was a duke!’ Maisey’s squeal is as sharp as a lancet.

I picture Alexander’s face at the way she pronounces the ‘u’ as an ‘oo’ and thank God he’s not around. ‘Where did Deanna hear that?’

‘Her house-mate’s at Wyckham. You should have known you can’t keep anything secret in Oxford.’

‘Alexander isn’t a duke. He’s only a marquess’s son.’

Scott raises an eyebrow. ‘
Only?
So, you decided to lower your expectations. The princes being taken, that is.’

A snarky reply hovers on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back. ‘Hey, well, sometimes you have to make compromises. Alexander’s only twenty-third in line to the throne, but I can deal with that.’

The droplets from Maisey’s cocktail wet my face. ‘You have to be kidding!’

I back off a little to avoid further cocktail snorting. ‘No. Didn’t you see him at Kate and Will’s wedding? Westminster Abbey? Second from the right, two rows back from Princess Beatrice’s pretzel.’

Scott flicks Fuzzy Navel droplets off his jacket, looking about as impressed as a Westboro baptist at a Richard Dawkins tribute.

‘So, it’s not too soon after Todd, after all?’ he asks mischievously.

Maisey lasers in on this comment. ‘Oh. My. God. Was I interrupting something?’

‘Not at all,’ says Scott, and slurps down the last of his cocktail, eyeing me over the top of the straw.

‘He’s just joking,’ I say through gritted teeth.

‘If you’re both sure? I’d
hate
to be a fifth wheel.’

‘Oh, you’re so not,’ I say sweetly.

‘In that case, can I borrow Scott?’ She slips her arm through his. ‘I’ve got a long line of women who are dying to meet him and I’m sure Deanna would love to hear more about your new boyfriend. Did you say he was called Alexander? So do you call him Sir Alexander or is he only an honourable?’

The USSoc party is now just a memory in the manic round of Oxford life. It’s already the start of Fourth Week, and it’s Formal Hall night at Wyckham. Somehow I’ve found time to do some studying, but the opportunities for distraction have been so many – and
so pleasurable – I’m not sure I’m giving enough time to my work.

Alexander is talking to his tutor and looks hot in his MA gown with its red silk hood. Immy’s gone to see a movie with Skandar so I brace myself as Rupert snags the space next to me at the dinner table. ‘Oh, you’ve got me again. Goody, I’ve been dying to know how you finally wore down Alexander.’

‘Actually, Rupes, he wore me down.’

‘And I bet you loved every minute of it. I would have.’

‘Would you? Sometimes I think that your interest in Alexander verges on the obsessive. There’s something um …
classical
about it, if you know what I mean. You should commission a Greek mural featuring the two of you.’

It takes a second for him to register that I deliberately misunderstood his words. ‘You are very, very funny, Lauren. I’ll bet Alexander is smiling the whole time he’s with you.’

‘I do hope so.’

As Rupert swipes the wine bottle and fills up his glass, I remind myself that I’d fully expected this reaction from him. It’s been almost a week since Alexander and I first made love and we’ve spent every moment together when we weren’t studying – and some when we were supposed to be. We’ve had a wonderful time walking along the river to the Trout, and through the Parks and Christ Church Meadow, past the boathouses
where the college Eights are practising for the end-of-term regatta.

We haven’t spent too much time in my room because Alexander’s house gives us more privacy. I think I’d curl up and die if we ended up as ‘Couple of the Week’ in one of the gossip columns and I can only imagine what Alexander would feel about that happening.