The First Time We Met: The Oxford Blue Series #1 (25 page)

I’m not far from the doors of the ballroom now, and I can see a flurry of movement. Is it coincidence that the musicians strike up Handel’s ‘Arrival of the Queen of Sheba’ as Valentina makes her entrance?

Though it hurts me to admit it, she looks incredible. The boned bodice of her scarlet column dress shoves her breasts together like two apples in a basket; and if I thought my dress was low, hers barely covers her nipples. Her hair is a black silk veil shimmering in the light from the chandelier, her skin as smooth and brown as latte.

Waving away a waiter with a flick of her hand, she cuts a swathe through the crowd of guests near the door. It seems as if every head turns in her direction as she glides among the masses to the centre of the room. The women stare with a mix of admiration and envy while the guys of all ages are drooling so much I’m surprised the staff haven’t got floor mops out. Even General Hunt’s eyes are popping as if he’s about to have a heart attack.

‘Good God! I can’t stand the woman, but she knows how to make an entrance, I’ll give her that.’ The distinctly horsey tones come from a woman behind me. I sip my champagne, hoping to calm the nervous fizz in my bones.

‘Yes, if that dress was any lower, you’d be able to see her navel. Why did Alexander split up with her?’ It’s another voice, older and deeper.

‘I heard she demanded he leave the army or it was over between them. General Hunt wanted him to come out too, but you know Alexander. He’ll go out of his way to do anything that annoys his father.’

‘Including an American?’

I freeze, feeling my pulse quicken.

The older woman tsks. ‘That’s naughty, Stephanie, but I think you’re right. The general must be apoplectic that his son and heir is shagging one of our former colonists. Did you know she was from Los Angeles or some equally appalling place? I expect she’s an aspiring actress on the make.’

‘I don’t think so, Mummy. He met her at Oxford. She’s from New York and her father’s something to do with politics. I think they have family money too.’

‘What from? Oil or coal or some other unspeakably dreary activity, I expect. My God, that’s hardly any better, is it? Poor Frederick! No wonder he’s even more miserable than usual and Grace must be turning in her grave.’

Stephanie intones dramatically: ‘Are the shades of Falconbury to be thus polluted?’

Mummy’s whinny almost deafens me. ‘That is
very
wicked of you!’

Stephanie giggles. ‘She is
quite
pretty, though. I love her dress and I’d love to know where she gets her highlights done.’

Turning, I smile politely at the women, a girl with a nose to rival Calliope’s and a middle-aged matron with a face like an old saddle. Genes can
so
deal you a rough hand.

‘Enjoying the ball?’

Their faces are pictures of frozen horror. ‘Yes, thank you.’

‘Full of dreadful Americans, though, isn’t it? I can’t think who let them in.’

Stephanie giggles nervously. Perhaps she thinks I have a Smith & Wesson concealed under my gown.

I raise my empty glass to them. ‘And actually, Stephanie, they’re not highlights, they’re natural.’

With my flute trembling in my hand, I walk off towards the windows, trying to maintain a dignified demeanour. That’s not easy when my blood is boiling. These people go beyond any degree of snobbishness I’ve encountered before and that’s saying something. It’s not like me to be outwardly rude, but they damn well deserved it. But it’s a Pyrrhic victory; it only makes me more dispirited that I sank to their level.

A frisson of apprehension prickles my flesh. A few yards away, the flash of scarlet draws my eye. Valentina has wasted no time hunting down Alexander and is holding court among his friends. That’s it. I won’t be sidelined any more – I’m going to fight my corner. But as I grow near, I stop and my heart catapults to my mouth.

While everyone laughs at something she’s said she lays her hand on Alexander’s behind. I expect him to move away, but he stays where he is. She squeezes his
butt and he turns to her, yet not to object as I expected, but with an indulgent shake of his head and a smile. Then as she transfers her hand to his arm his fingers rest for a nanosecond on her perfect bottom. It’s the lightest of touches, almost unconscious, then he breaks away to chat to Rupert.

Next to me, the French doors to the terrace are open a little. I down my glass and swipe another one from the nearest waiter. It’s hot in here and I feel a little light-headed.

But not light-headed enough not to recognize what I just saw. Alexander had his hand on her butt, for God’s sake! OK, maybe it was only a brief gesture, the kind of thing that could easily happen between two people who were once lovers – more than that, two people who were once engaged to be married. I’ve only known Alexander eight weeks; Valentina has been part of his life for twenty-five years and that kind of connection can’t be dissolved quickly – if ever. They are always going to share a bond and he
is
a man and she
is
completely stunning.

It’s naive of me to expect him to ignore her,
but
.

My stomach clenches violently as I remember my vow never to be taken for granted or treated with the casual cruelty that Todd did. Fuck them.

My glass abandoned, I slip through the open French doors. Cold air hits my lungs and chills my bare shoulders. The lawns and clipped box hedges are crisp with frost, the tranquil gardens a sharp contrast to the heat and tension inside the ballroom. Catching my
breath, I try to calm my racing pulse. Should I tough it out and tackle Alexander later, or simply ignore him touching Valentina? What the fuck is going on here and with him? Hugging my body, I glance to the sky where the moon glows mournfully down at me.

‘
Buona sera
, Lauren.’

Keeping my eyes on the frozen garden, I answer, ‘Valentina.’

‘You liked the hunt?’ she asks, taking her place by my side.

‘I followed for a while.’ Finally, I meet her eyes and she gives a sharp laugh.

‘Followed? You should have been there with Alexander and I at the top. There is nothing like the thrill of the chase for me.’

‘Then it must be so disappointing for you when you’ve no chance of catching your quarry.’

Her dark eyes flash with anger and her voice is a hissed whisper. ‘How do you know that I haven’t caught it? The chase has only just begun and I never give up until I get what I want.’

‘Good luck with that.’ My tone is as chilly as the night air.

She tosses her hair over her shoulder. ‘I don’t need luck. Alexander is in love with me; he always has been and he always will be.’

My God. Her sheer nerve robs me of a reply.

‘Let’s not beat round a bush. This thing you have with Alexander cannot last. When you go home to your parents next week, he will soon forget all about you.’

‘You really are a very sad and insecure person, Valentina. Have you thought of getting some therapy?’

‘Therapy? I do not understand you. I do not need therapy. I know what I want and what everyone here wants, his father, his family and friends and mine. They want Alexander and I to marry. It’s what is expected of him and, no matter what he tells you, Alexander will do his duty.’

I shake my head, because I genuinely believe she’s pitiable, but my bravado is crumbling. ‘He also knows his own mind and he won’t be manipulated. By you, his father or anyone. The more you try to hound and pressure him, the more he’ll follow his own course.’

She pouts. ‘Poor little Lauren. You really have no idea of what keeps a man like Alexander happy, do you?’

‘What do you mean, a man like Alexander?’

‘I mean that he may want to fuck you all the time now, but he’ll soon grow tired of what’s on offer from his tame little American. He needs more than that. He likes a challenge and the thrill of a battle too. Did he pursue you at the start? Call you? Text you? Batter down your resistance until you gave in and opened your legs for him?’

‘Jesus. You really are disgusting.’

‘I think you mean “exciting”. That’s what Alexander loves: he lives only for competing and winning. You saw him at the hunt today; nothing else mattered but getting to his goal before anyone else. Nothing else keeps him happy. That’s why he loves the army and all
the dangerous sports, because he wants to feel exhilarated and alive. Since his mother died, Alexander will not let anyone near this part of him.’ Her fingertips press on the spot where most people have a heart. ‘Except me; because I know how to keep him chasing and wanting me. He needs me, and he will always come back to me.’

Even while I know that she wants to wound me, her bitchy words stick like barbs in my heart because I have a horrible feeling that in some ways she’s right about Alexander’s need to win at all costs. There’s still no way I’m giving her a single inch.

‘If he was really anything like you say, he’d be a monster and you’d be welcome to him, but you’re wrong,’ I say.

She snorts. ‘He
did
pursue you, didn’t he, like a hound after a fox? Rupert told me you got the full Alexander onslaught.’

I recoil like I would from a cockroach as she lifts my necklace. ‘Did he give you this?’

‘It’s none of your business.’

She lets it drop on to my chest and nods in satisfaction. ‘I guessed he did. I have something like it. Not Cartier, that is not my taste. Bulgari is what he had sent to me. He makes it his business to know what his women like.’

‘
Women?
So you’re not the only heinous bitch he’s dumped then?’ As I lash back my reply, I can imagine my mother’s gasp of astonishment – and the cheering from my sorority sisters.

She arches a slim eyebrow. ‘
Oddio!
Lauren has claws after all.’

‘Believe me, you ain’t seen nothing yet.’ Inside, I feel physically sick. I’m determined to give as good as I get, but I hate being dragged down to Valentina’s level, which is somewhere south of Hades.

‘Lauren?’

Alexander is silhouetted against the French doors and my heart skips a beat. I’m so relieved to see him, but at the same time reeling from Valentina’s comments. She greets him with a dazzling smile.

‘Alexander,
tesoro
! Lauren and I were wondering where you had got to.’

He steps between us, his hand at my elbow. ‘Lauren, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’

‘
Everywhere?
Really?’ I can’t keep the edge from my voice.

‘Yes. The food’s being served. Valentina?’

She pulls a face. ‘All that fat and carbohydrate. Urghh.’

‘I would have thought the hunt would have given you an appetite,’ I cut in.

‘Not for English food.’

‘Let’s go in. Valentina, are you coming?’ he asks impatiently.

She blows him a kiss. ‘For you,
amore
, always.’

The buffet is a Valentina-free zone; she spends the time flirting with General Hunt while we sit down at a table with some of Alexander’s friends. I’ve simmered down
a little, but my own appetite has deserted me. Alexander has moved on to more champagne and he isn’t drunk, exactly, but he’s definitely louder than I’ve ever seen him before. I’ve tried to cut him some slack. His father is determined to do battle with him and almost everyone here must remember the days of Lady Hunt, so it’s hardly surprising the younger ones still regard Valentina and Alexander as an item.

Her comments have also shown me how desperate she is; and how threatened she must feel. I should take some comfort from that fact, but I’m determined not to get into a catfight over Alexander, no matter how much she provokes me.

Alexander dances with me a couple of times, but now he’s laughing with his friends again. That’s fine; we’re not joined at the hip and I don’t think it will do any harm to show him and Valentina that I’m not some clingy ingénue who needs to hang on his every word. So when Angus invites me for a reel I don’t say no. Two dances later, I’m dizzy and exhilarated from being whirled around the floor. I love dancing, and the endorphins are pulsing through me as the music finally stops. Angus and I stroll back to our drinks, laughing and chatting.

Then I see Valentina again. Does the woman never give up? I can’t help staring as she hangs on to Alexander’s arm. He’s laughing with a group of hunting friends, and may not even have noticed. Then – Jesus! – she curls her fingers round his behind again. Pangs of
jealousy stab me and I curse myself because this is clearly what she wants – maybe she knows I’m watching. Valentina lets out a shriek of laughter that draws attention from the people around her and then she throws her arms round Alexander’s neck and kisses him full on the lips.

I knock back the rest of my wine savagely. Why doesn’t Alexander move away from her? Why does he simply stand there while she hangs on to him like a limpet? Does she know I can see them? Is that what she wants? Now she’s stroking his bicep like he’s some kind of furry pet.

The band strikes up some folksy tune with a fast tempo and there’s a buzz of recognition from around me. Seems like everyone’s well past the stage where they don’t care about making a fool of themselves.

‘Oh, let’s have another dance!’ I say. ‘What about another reel?’

There’s a brief look of total confusion on Angus’s face, then he laughs. ‘Well, this is hardly reeling music, but why not?’

‘Come on!’ Grabbing his hand, I haul him back on to the dance floor, aware that Alexander has torn his attention from Valentina and is now watching me with a look of incredulity on his face that I believe is described over here as ‘gobsmacked’.

In seconds, his face is a blur because Angus is whirling me around the ballroom. We bump into someone, but there’s no time for apologies because we’re off again, hands crossed, skipping down the middle of the floor.

When the music stops, I can hardly speak. Angus leads me from the floor, and I flop down at a table. I scan the room for Alexander, expecting to find him watching me, but he’s nowhere to be seen – and neither is Valentina. A kick of panic hits low in my stomach, making me feel faintly nauseous.

‘I need a drink. What can I get you?’ Angus asks.

‘More champagne, of course – or, better still, a bottle?’

He laughs. ‘I can ask, but I’m not drinking tonight. I’m on call.’

‘On call? Oh, yes, I’d forgotten. That’s tough.’

‘Just the way it is, but don’t let me stop you … Are you sure you don’t want to share this drink with Alexander?’

‘I don’t know where he is. Maybe playing poker? Sliding down the stair banisters?’

Angus laughs. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

Another dance tune strikes up and I tap my foot against the floor, waiting for Angus to return. There are now so many people at the bar that I can’t see him, but what I do notice is Alexander, drink in hand, talking to Rupert. He doesn’t look at me, and is intent on what Rupert is saying.

Two more dances later, there is still no sign of Angus.

‘Hello. You must be Lauren.’ A blond, almost white-haired, guy stands opposite me, holding a bottle of champagne in one hand and two glasses in the other. I think he was one of the people baiting Rupert after the hunt, which puts him up a notch in my estimation.

‘Here’s your champagne,’ he says.

‘I thought Angus was going to get me one … but I’m not sure where he is.’

‘He had an urgent phone call from the hospital and sent me over with this.’ He puts the bottle and glasses on the table and takes the seat next to me. ‘I’m Henry Favell, by the way. I’ve been waiting to be introduced all night and, frankly, I didn’t think Alexander was going to let you out of his sight, but I see he’s been distracted.’

He turns slightly to Alexander, who is now intent on something Rupert is saying.

‘Has he? I hadn’t really noticed. How do you know Alexander?’

‘I was in his house at Eton.’

I raise my eyebrows. ‘Really? I bet you know all of his bad habits. Why don’t you tell me about them?’

While he pours me a glass of fizz, he laughs. ‘I don’t think we’ve got that long, and who wants to waste time talking about Alexander when I could hear all about the most stunning girl in the room.’

As if he heard his name mentioned, which is impossible, Alexander has turned towards us and is making his way over. I angle myself towards Henry. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere.’

‘Hopefully …’ he says.

‘He’s a nice guy, Angus …’ I say, feeling Alexander’s eyes burning into my back.

‘He is. But me, I’m a different matter.’

I rest my chin on my hand. ‘Uh-huh?’

‘And if you’re seeing Alexander, I suppose nice guys aren’t really your thing.’

I raise my voice a notch. ‘Bastards appear to be.’

‘Then I think I can help. Do you want to dance?’

‘Love to.’

Henry takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor past the astonished figure of Alexander, who must have heard our conversation. Good, I wanted him to. As Henry’s hands settle on my waist, the band plays some cheesy eighties ballad, but I hardly care. There’s no mistaking now that I have Alexander’s undivided attention. He’s standing at the side of the dance floor, rigid with fury – and his aren’t the only eyes intent on me. General Hunt, Valentina, Aunt Celia and assorted other stiff-assed relatives are all staring at Henry and me as we shuffle around the floor.

I half expect Alexander to march in and haul me off the dance floor like he did at Rashleigh Hall, but he doesn’t. Not that I’d go with him. He can go to hell.

When the music stops, my head seems to take a little while to catch up with my feet.

‘Whoa …’ Henry steadies me and keeps hold of my arm. ‘Do you think you should get some fresh air? Why don’t I take you outside?’

I glance at him and then to Alexander, whose face is a mask of suppressed fury.

‘No, really. I’d rather go upstairs.’

‘So would I.’

Then it registers what he’s said and how close he’s
leaning in to me. I shake off his arm. ‘Thanks for the drink, but I’m going to bed. On my own.’

Still a little light-headed from the booze and from throwing myself round the floor, I march past Alexander and towards the ballroom doors.

‘Lauren, wait.’

Oh shit. Henry has followed me. ‘I’m just going to the bathroom to wash my face,’ I say. ‘Why don’t you wait out on the terrace for me?’

With a leer, he heads for the doorway – while I dash in the opposite direction, past the cloakroom door and out towards the orangery at the other end of the house. From my tour earlier, I know it’s been a long time since the place was heated. Now it’s just a summer room and the chilly atmosphere hits me the moment I walk into the moonlit interior.

I walk to the glass French doors, looking over the side of the house towards the gardens. The cool air has helped my dizziness, but I know I’ve had far too much to drink as a wave of nausea hits my stomach. I sit on one of the white ornate benches and put my head in my hands.

‘Lauren!’

I take my hands away from my face and Alexander glares down at me. He has no jacket on now and the two ends of his bow tie hang down his collar.

‘Good evening, Alexander. How nice to see you again.’

‘Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?’

‘Enjoying myself. What about you?’

‘Is that what you call being all over Angus and Henry Favell?’

I sputter with laughter. ‘I’m surprised you noticed, as you’ve spent the evening surgically attached to Valentina.’

‘Don’t talk bollocks.’

‘You were touching her butt, if I recall.’

‘What?’

‘Didn’t you even notice you were doing it?’

‘No, I didn’t – unlike you, who knew exactly what you were doing when you jumped on Angus and then let Henry Favell stare down your cleavage.’

‘I was only being nice to your friends – wasn’t that what you wanted?’ I sneer. ‘And you were otherwise engaged with Valentina, or maybe that’s the wrong choice of words.’

‘Everyone noticed you flirting with Favell – they couldn’t fail. Do you realize what a fool you’ve just made of yourself?’

‘
What
did you say?’

‘Was this some plan to get my attention?’ This is too close to the truth for comfort, but I’m so mad at him for calling me a fool that there’s no way I’m going to back down.

I laugh in his face. ‘Don’t kid yourself. Look, this is pointless. I’m going up to my room.’ I get up but he bars my way.

‘I should have known better after what happened while I was away.’

His words stop me dead. ‘What?’

‘That evening I got back from Helmand. I know you’d been out celebrating with the all-American hero.’

Turning, I see the flicker of frustration in his eyes as he realizes the secret he just let slip, but he carries on as if nothing happened. ‘Rupert saw you and Scott cosying up in the Turf.’

Rupert?
I didn’t see him at the pub but he, the snake, must have seen me and probably exaggerated what he saw by a factor of ten. I lift my chin. ‘Not that it’s any of his business, I
did
go for a drink with Scott before you got back. So what? It didn’t mean anything.’

‘Then why did you lie to me about going out with some friends?’

‘Scott
is
a friend. And you said you’d phone me when you were on your way home. You didn’t and I felt like getting out of college. I’m not going to sit and wait around for you to call me, Alexander.’

‘I never asked you to,’ he snaps back, then his voice quietens. ‘I knew something like this would happen if you came to Falconbury.’

‘Something like what?’

‘Us. The rows. This place always brings out the fucking worst in people.’

‘Maybe it brings out who you really are. Who we both really are.’

‘And who do you think I “
really
am”?’ He brackets his fingers around the last words. ‘Go on, Lauren. I’d love to hear.’

‘OK, then. Let’s start with Troubled, Guilty, Defensive,
Emotionally Stultified.’ I count off the fingers of my hand. ‘Shall I go on?’

He folds his arms, his voice mocking. ‘Please do. I’d hate to stop you now you’ve started.’

I realize I’ve backed him into a corner and made him angrier than ever, so I soften my voice, trembling a little now. ‘I just think … that this weekend has shown how far apart we really are.’

‘Then why don’t you go and find someone who’s closer to your ideal?’

My heart thumps away. ‘Alexander …’

‘Breakfast’s at eight thirty,’ he says coldly. ‘I expect I’ll see you there.’

Can it rain any harder? Could I get any wetter? Will the sun ever show its face or has it finally abandoned this soggy, gloomy country with its repressed and class-obsessed citizens for good? With a shiver that shakes me to my bones, I retreat a little deeper inside the little stone shelter opposite the gates to Falconbury House and clap my hands together. Water droplets fly off my gloves into the dank air and my head throbs. With three bags to carry, I couldn’t use my umbrella and every inch of me that wasn’t covered by the Barbour is sodden.

It’s still better than the cab arriving at the magnificent door of Falconbury.

And way better than another confrontation with Alexander.

I didn’t sleep after we parted in the orangery last
night. How could I? I lay awake for the rest of the night until I made my decision: that no matter how much I want Alexander, it’s never going to work for us and that the differences between us are fundamental.

So, I looked up the name of a twenty-four-hour cab company from my phone and asked them to pick me up from outside the gates of Falconbury at first light. I’d rather they met me at the end of the drive, even if I had to walk up there in the gloomy dawn, because I didn’t want the cab pulling up outside the house and the staff answering the door. I think one of the early shift did spot me as I crept downstairs and across the hall, hoping that Robert or Helen wouldn't catch me. It was like escaping Alcatraz, and just as wet.

The walk to the end of the driveway was maybe no more than a mile but felt like five as I lugged my bags through the driving rain. A front from the Atlantic – from home – must have gathered overnight and I know it’s crazy, but it seems as if even the weather is telling me I’m doing the right thing, because all night I’ve been afraid that in fitting in with Alexander’s world, socially – emotionally – I have become someone different to who I am. I don’t do that for anyone. Period.

Wiping my watch face on my sleeve, I pray the cab is on time; almost immediately the rumble of a diesel engine makes my pulse beat a little faster. Briefly, my heart is in my mouth in case it’s the Range Rover with Alexander, darkly sexy, begging me to stay, wearing me down as he has before and changing my mind about leaving.

I don’t want the drama – my mind is made up – and to my relief my cab stops and the driver gets out to help me load my bags into the trunk. He pulls away from Falconbury and I stare out of the window at the retreating gates, thankful now that my rain-spattered face hides the tears streaming down it.

It’s nearly nine on a Sunday morning and apart from the chaplain I saw scuttling through the showers in the front quad, Wyckham is as quiet as the grave. Most of the undergraduates were picked up by their parents yesterday, although I know Immy wanted to stay on for a week or so with Skandar. She’s probably in bed with him now, sleeping it off after a night, or maybe shagging him, which is why I haven’t dared phone her. I mean, who would phone someone on a Sunday morning at this hour?

I put my ear to Immy’s door, but I can’t hear anything. Immy, where the hell are you?

It’s no good. I’ll have to wait until I hear her surface … but she may not be in there at all; she’s probably at Skandar’s house and, anyway, what could she do if I do call her?

No one can help me except myself and my mind is already made up.

So why am I sitting here contemplating the remote possibility that I might want to keep my relationship with Alexander Hunt going?

I turn the key in my lock and walk inside, almost treading on an envelope that someone has slid under
the door. Immediately, I recognize Immy’s handwriting and open it up to find a Christmas card.

Sorry I missed saying goodbye. Have had to rush home because George is in hospital. He’s had his appendix out, poor thing (!) and is doing OK now but I really want to see him and my parents need me. Hope you had a fabulous time at Falconbury. Have texted you but guess you are far too busy having fun to reply. Call me when you get back, am dying to hear all the gossip & have a good journey home. Can’t wait to see you next term – Skype me if you get chance
.

Hugs, Immy xxx

PS Happy Holidays!

Maybe I can call her from the airport or perhaps I should wait until I get home; she has enough to worry about right now. And I have things I need to do too. The airline customer line crackles into life and I take a deep breath. ‘Hello. I’d like to make an amendment to my flight.’