by Paige Toon
Lukas drives way too fast on the return journey, slamming the car through its gear changes as he navigates the country roads. I have no idea what the hell has got into him, but I clutch the armrest with terror, neither of us speaking. Then he’s pulling up outside Jessie’s house. He glares out through the windscreen, then he yanks open his door. I quickly open mine and climb out before he can reach me.
‘I’m sorry,’ he blurts.
‘Don’t be,’ I snap. He puts his hand on my arm, but I shrug him off. I’m beyond perplexed now. I’m back to being angry again. All men, right?
‘Alice, wait!’ he calls as I hurry across the road. He runs after me. ‘I said I was sorry.’
I spin around to face him. ‘What are you sorry for, exactly?’
He looks away, then directly at me. ‘For driving too fast.’
I shake my head and start to walk off.
‘I want to see you again!’ he calls. My footsteps slow to a standstill. I sigh. Yes, it was an amazing evening, but I ended up feeling humiliated and then confused. I could really do without these two emotions in my life right now.
‘Thank you for dinner,’ I say over my shoulder. ‘I’m sure I’ll see you around.’
He nods curtly and then stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets before determinedly setting off in the direction of the city.
‘How was your hot date?’ Jessie teases the next day at breakfast. Regardless of the fact that I heard him stumble in at one o’clock this morning, he’s in the kitchen at nine, rustling up pancakes.
‘It wasn’t a date. He’s just a friend,’ I say pedantically, although in truth I’m not even sure he’s that.
I looked out of the living-room window first thing this morning to see that Lukas’s Porsche had vanished, collected by the mysterious Klaus, no doubt. I hope the poor man wasn’t up too late cleaning away after us.
‘Morning.’ Emily appears. ‘I’m starving. What are we having?’
‘Pancakes,’ Jessie replies.
‘Mmm, my favourite!’
‘That’s the reaction I was expecting.’ He gives me a pointed look.
‘I’m sorry, I’m not hungry.’
‘What did you have for dinner last night?’ Emily enquires.
By the time I’ve finished telling them, their mouths have dropped open.
‘Who the hell is this guy?’ Jessie exclaims. ‘Prince fucking William?’
I smirk. ‘Not likely.’
‘You didn’t have a good time?’ Emily asks.
‘I did, but . . .’
‘What?’ they both ask eagerly in unison.
‘It ended a bit strangely.’
‘What do you mean?’ That was Emily.
‘I . . . I don’t know. I don’t really want to talk about it.’
‘Did he do anything?’ Jessie demands to know. From his tone of voice, he means ‘anything bad’.
‘No, he didn’t do anything.’
And, although I hate to admit it, therein lies the problem.
The next few days pass with no sign of Lukas. In fact, it’s not until Saturday, a week later, that I see him at all. I’m halfway through a late-morning tour when I spot him up ahead, perching on the stone wall at the end of Trinity Bridge with yet another textbook. I decide the most professional thing to do is to press on with my tour and ignore him. Then it occurs to me that he might ignore me and I feel slightly sick. But for all my attempts to avoid eye contact, we end up looking straight at each other. He manages a shaky smile. I carry on regardless, regaling my passengers with tales about Trinity. He stands up as I approach the bridge, and by the time my boat has passed through to the other side he’s standing in the middle of the bridge.
‘Alice,’ he calls.
‘Yep?’
‘I need to talk to you.’
‘I’m a bit busy right now.’
The next thing I know, he’s walking on the grass outside the Wren Library, a few metres away, keeping pace with my boat.
‘Have lunch with me,’ he says.
‘I can’t,’ I reply, too distracted to tell my passengers about A.A. Milne’s manuscripts of Winnie-the-Pooh. I think they’re finding my conversation with this gorgeous undergraduate far more exciting. Did I say gorgeous? I didn’t mean to.
‘Please,’ he persists.
I shake my head, trying to ignore the eager stares of twelve sets of eyes. And then I’m rounding the bend in the river.
He reaches Magdalene Bridge before I do, but thankfully he waits until all my passengers have disembarked before making his presence known.
‘You know,’ he says with a raised eyebrow as I step onto the jetty, ‘it’s not actually true what you told your passengers about Trinity.’
This statement makes me feel even more cross with him than I already was. But curiosity gets the better of me. ‘Which part?’
‘One can’t walk all the way from Cambridge to Oxford on land owned by Trinity.’
‘I don’t tell them that it’s true, I tell them: “it has been said by some . . .”’
‘But it’s nonsense,’ he says.
‘It’s not nonsense,’ I snap, even though I know that it probably is. ‘Anyway, it makes for a more interesting tour.’
‘I think there are plenty of other fascinating facts that aren’t based in fiction.’
‘Do you, now?’ I fold my arms across my chest. ‘Like what?’
‘Like the fact that Lord Byron kept a pet bear when he was a student at Trinity.’
‘I’ve heard that one,’ I say with a roll of my eyes. ‘He allegedly did it to spite the no-dog rule. That sounds like nonsense to me.’
‘It’s not. He wrote it in a letter to Elizabeth Pigot in 1807.’
‘Who the hell is Elizabeth Pigot?’
‘Come for lunch with me,’ he pleads again. ‘I’ll tell you all about her,’ he adds with a grin.
‘Ooh, that sounds like an invitation I can’t refuse,’ I say sarcastically.
He grabs my arm and spins me around so I’m looking at him.
‘Please, Alice.’ His smile has vanished. Now he looks so sincere that I hesitate. ‘I owe you an explanation.’
I regard him for a long moment and then I nod.
The restaurants we pass are heaving, so Lukas suggests we eat at Trinity.
‘Isn’t it really formal?’ I ask worriedly. ‘Don’t you all wear gowns and dine in a big hall?’
He smiles. ‘Students only wear gowns if they wish to go to Formal Hall, later at night. Lunchtimes and the early dinner sitting are casual.’
Formal Hall. It all sounds so unfamiliar. In truth, I’m intrigued.
Great Hall is already bustling with students sitting at four long tables spanning almost the entire length of the enormous room. I feel like I’m at Hogwarts as I survey my surroundings. The walls are clad in dark wood, the ceiling beams are gilded and there are stained-glass windows towering overhead.
‘That’s the High Table,’ Lukas explains as we walk past some smaller tables on a raised platform. ‘That’s where the members of the Fellowship sit.’
‘No way?’ I gasp. ‘Frodo sits there?’
He chuckles at my joke. ‘Trinity came before Tolkien,’ he replies.
I take a seat opposite him. It’s like another world, here. An exclusive, elite world that I can’t imagine ever being a part of. I have to admit I’m envious. To study within the walls of this college . . .
‘Lukas!’ Someone calls his name and I look up to see a tall, but slight, young man approaching. He has dark, dishevelled hair and round glasses. He’s attractive, if a little nerdy, and he’s wearing a tweed blazer and a checked shirt that hasn’t seen an iron in who knows how long.
‘Hello, Harry, take a seat,’ Lukas says amiably, pulling one out for him.
‘I’ve got the Mallard!’ he tells Lukas in a conspiratorial whisper, opening up his backpack to reveal a wooden duck inside. What the hell? All of a sudden, Harry notices me. ‘Hello, hello!’ His accent is te
rribly posh.
Lukas introduces us.
‘What’s this about?’ I ask.
‘The Mallard fell down,’ he says with excitement.
Is he barmy?
Lukas leans forward to explain. He points to the eaves above our heads. ‘There’s usually a duck up in the rafters. Don’t ask me why. It’s one of Trinity’s traditions.’
‘I’ve heard about it!’ I suddenly recall a vague memory.
‘Not “it”: “them”. A veritable flock have fallen down over the years,’ Lukas reveals. ‘Harry wants to put the next one up.’
‘How will you do that?’ I ask with curiosity. It’s a very high ceiling.
He taps the side of his nose.
‘Well, be careful,’ I say, a little worried about this strange, er, stranger.
‘Aw, she’s concerned about me,’ he tells Lukas with delight, before turning back to me. ‘I haven’t seen you around. Are you a first year?’
‘No, second.’
‘Alice doesn’t go to Trinity,’ Lukas explains.
‘Don’t tell me you go to John’s,’ Harry teases. ‘Boo! Hiss!’
The two colleges have an age-old rivalry, although it’s mostly good-natured.
‘No.’ I smile. ‘I go to Anglia Ruskin.’
‘Aah . . . O-kay,’ Harry says knowingly.
Why is he saying it like that? Is he being rude?
‘Now it all makes sense,’ he continues. ‘I thought I must need new glasses.’
I stare at him, confused.
‘He clearly thinks you’re as beautiful as I do,’ Lukas interjects, instantly making me blush.
‘I was sure I would have noticed you before,’ Harry adds.
‘I’m surprised you haven’t seen Alice on the river,’ Lukas says to him. ‘She works as a tour guide on the punts.’
‘Argh, no!’ Harry exclaims with mock horror, sitting back in his chair and throwing his hands up in the air. A few students sitting further along the table turn to look at us. ‘I hope you’re not one of the ones spewing ridiculous stories.’
Lukas tries to keep a straight face.
Harry continues in a silly voice. ‘Trinity has a fortune of over two billion pounds; you can walk all the way to Oxford . . . or York . . . or London . . . on land owned by Trinity . . . What a load of tosh.’
‘Er—’ I start.
‘Just ignore him,’ Lukas interrupts, nodding at Harry. ‘He’s a mathematician.’
My brow furrows. ‘Meaning?’
‘They’re usually either very introverted, or very extroverted, like Harry, here.’
Harry lunges forward in his seat, making me jump. ‘So is that how you two met, then? Did you spy Alice on the river?’ he asks Lukas.
‘Yes,’ he replies.
‘Well, it wasn’t quite like that,’ I start to correct him. ‘You saved me from the wrath of a cyclist, first.’
‘I had seen you on the river several times before that,’ he reveals, calmly meeting my gaze.
‘Really?’ I ask with surprise. I’d never noticed him. Then again, I don’t suppose I’d been looking.
‘What are you reading?’ Harry drags my attention away from Lukas.
‘Um, Heart of Darkness at the moment,’ I reply. Harry looks perplexed.
‘He means, “What are you studying?”’ Lukas clarifies.
‘Oh!’ I forgot they say ‘reading’ instead of ‘studying’. Another difference between their world and mine. ‘English Literature,’ I tell him.
He nods, regarding me intently. I shift in my seat. His stare is making me uncomfortable. Lukas seems to notice. He turns to Harry.
‘Don’t you need to speak to Terence about something?’
‘Oh! Yes!’ Harry jumps to his feet, almost knocking over his chair. He runs after a student who is on his way out of the hall. Lukas turns back to me.
‘Sorry about Harry.’
‘He’s funny,’ I say, and I mean it, even if I didn’t feel overly relaxed in his company. ‘Albeit a little eccentric,’ I add.
‘A little?’ Lukas queries.
‘Okay, a lot.’
He leans across the table and takes my hand. I look at him with surprise. ‘I’m sorry about the way I acted last week,’ he says earnestly. ‘I was confused.’
‘About what?’ I want to understand.
He hesitates, but doesn’t take his eyes from mine. ‘About the way I feel about you.’
My blush returns in force. I can’t keep eye contact with him so I look away.
‘I would like to see more of you,’ he says, squeezing my hand gently and bringing my focus back to him. ‘What are you doing on Monday?’
‘I’m supposed to be on the river.’
‘You don’t have any lectures?’
‘No.’
‘Can you take some time off?’
‘Um . . .’ I suppose I could ask one of the others to cover for me. Mike was looking for more work. ‘Possibly.’
‘Good.’ He smiles and lets go of my hand. ‘I’ll pick you up at eleven.’
I nod. ‘Okay.’
Harry returns and collapses down in his chair. ‘I hate eating cold curry!’ he exclaims in disgust.
Lukas and I smile small smiles across the table at each other and tuck into our food.
At eleven o’clock on Monday, Lukas rings the doorbell.
‘Where’s Klaus?’ I ask, spying the Porsche parked across the road.
‘He’s gone shopping,’ he replies, taking my hand and swinging it as he leads me across the road.
‘You’re in a good mood,’ I comment.
‘I am.’ He beams at me and my heart unexpectedly flips.
He’s wearing a dark-grey sports jacket with tailored trousers and a light-blue shirt. His shirts always look so pristine and perfect. I wonder who does his ironing.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask when I’m safely buckled in. I hope he doesn’t drive as fast as he did the last time.
‘I thought I’d take you to Wimpole Hall.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s owned by the National Trust. It’s quite a pretty house, I believe. I thought you might like to see something outside the city, for a change.’
‘Yes, I would,’ I reply. ‘May as well make the most of your car, right?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Where does Klaus live?’ I ask as he drives off.
‘Girton. Just up the road from here,’ he replies. ‘It’s outside the city perimeters,’ he tells me with a grin.
‘Glad to hear it,’ I reply. ‘Wouldn’t want you getting into trouble, now, would we?’
‘Absolutely not.’
He reaches across and squeezes my hand. He does this a lot. I can’t say I don’t like it.
‘Quite a pretty house’ are not the words I’d use to describe what turns out to be the largest country house in Cambridgeshire. Wimpole Hall, built of red brick and stone, is set within three thousand acres of parkland and farmland, and its landscaped gardens are beautiful.
We wander side by side along the gravel paths. It’s a cold day today, but the skies are clear and blue. Some of the trees have been sculpted and look unreal, like something out of Alice in Wonderland. Lukas and I sit down on a bench facing the back of the house.
‘It’s lovely here,’ I breathe, moving in closer to him to keep warm.
‘It is nice,’ he concedes.
The miniature hedges in the formal gardens form shapes like circles and triangles, and they’re inset with pink and purple flowers. The lawn is perfectly manicured and its edges perfectly straight.
‘I wonder how they get those grass edges to be so straight,’ I muse aloud.
‘Our gardeners do ours with scissors,’ Lukas answers casually.
‘Scissors?’
‘It’s the most effective way. My mother is very fussy,’ he adds.
‘But that must take forever!’
He shrugs. ‘Not really.’
‘How many gardeners
do you have?’ I remember he used the plural.
‘Four or five.’
My mouth drops open. ‘You have five gardeners?’
‘Four or five,’ he corrects me.
‘How big is your house?’ I exclaim.
‘It’s quite big,’ he replies modestly, which probably means it’s enormous.
‘What do your parents do?’
‘My father runs the family business, manufacturing car components.’
‘Sounds interesting.’
‘It’s not, I assure you. At least, it has no interest to me.’
‘What about your mother?’ He didn’t mention her.
‘She runs the household.’
‘Oh, right.’
A peacock ambles past and I’m distracted by a memory of being at Brownsea Island with Joe.
‘If a peacock is a male and a peahen is a female, what’s the generic term for them?’ I remember Joe asking. ‘Pea?’
I smile to myself. ‘I wonder what the generic term is for peacock.’
‘Peafowl,’ Lukas answers without a moment’s hesitation.
He didn’t even need me to explain what I meant.
‘How can you know that?’ I cry. ‘You’re not even English!’
He laughs. ‘My siblings and I had a very good language tutor.’
‘Bloody hell,’ I say, regretting my language immediately. Swear words sound wrong in front of Lukas.
‘How many brothers and sisters do you have?’ I ask him, moving on.
‘I have one brother and one sister,’ he replies. ‘They’re both older than me.’
‘What are their names?’
‘Markus and Frieda.’
‘I love the name Frieda,’ I coo. ‘Markus is Maximilian’s father, right?’
‘Correct.’
‘How is the baby doing?’
‘Very well. They expect he’ll be able to go home next week.’
‘That’s fantastic!’ I enthuse, feeling guilty for not thinking to ask after him before.
‘What about you?’ he asks. ‘Any brothers or sisters?’
‘No. It’s just me.’
‘I bet your parents miss you.’
I stare ahead. ‘Probably.’
‘Why aren’t you close to them?’ he asks gently, leaning forward on the bench and resting his elbows on his knees.
I sigh. ‘I used to be.’ Pause. ‘We had a falling out last summer. I still haven’t fully forgiven them.’
